The roar of the inferno consuming the wheat field crackled behind him, a symphony of dry stalks bursting in the heat. Its crimson glare cast a long, flickering shadow across Knight's back as he scrambled out of the golden territory that had nearly become his tomb. The moment his feet struck the soft, lush green grass beyond, the refreshing chill was a violent, welcome contrast to the blistering heat he had just escaped.
Knight's chest heaved, his ribs aching with every ragged breath. His blurred vision swept the landscape. To his left lay a forest so dense the treeline looked like a solid wall of ink. But just beyond that... he saw the jagged silhouettes of structures.
An abandoned village.
A cluster of dilapidated wooden huts stood in ruin, their thatched roofs caved in and strangled by lifeless vines. It was a ghost town, but to Knight, it was the only sanctuary in sight. He didn't hesitate. Drawing on his final reserves of adrenaline, he bared his teeth and forced his broken body into a heavy trot toward the settlement.
CLANG... CLANG...
The rhythmic rasp of armor echoed from the woods to his left. The knights hadn't broken off the pursuit; a detachment had likely flanked through the forest to cut him off. Knight gritted his teeth, lunging into the village and sliding into the crawlspace beneath the sturdiest-looking hut he could find.
He lay deathly still, his back pressed against the cool damp earth. He clutched his looted sword to his chest, listening to the hoofbeats grow louder as they entered the village, the horses' iron shoes crunching against the bone-dry dirt paths.
Taking a shallow breath, Knight focused his mind to bring up his status window.
Knight [Fragments: 6/1,000]
Class: —
Title: —
Condition: Extreme Exhaustion, Minor Bleeding.
Inventory: Knight's Longsword (Looted), Waterskin (20% remaining).
Skills: —
Knight scanned the hovering display, reading every line with frantic intensity.
Fragment:O, Child of Prophecy... lead those who have lost faith and those who have strayed back to the path of Light once more...
The cryptic description left him baffled, but one thing was clear: he earned these "Fragments" by killing the Red Cross knights. Having exactly six fragments one for each kill was proof enough. But what happened if he kept collecting them?
He took a quick inventory of his physical state. He was undeniably stronger than he had been in the real world. Taking down three armored men simultaneously was his first confirmation. Secondly, his wounds were knitting together not at a supernatural speed, but far faster than any normal human. Lastly, his vision had sharpened; the darkness was no longer a total veil, but a realm of grey shadows he could navigate.
'How do I get skills?' Knight wondered. He recalled the stories from the Old Man how some Boxes only granted a basic trade skill, like Low-Level Smithing, while others gave nothing but a weapon. But "Survival" was a top-tier difficulty. This wasn't a simple puzzle or a cave exit; this was an endurance test against a literal army. He surmised his Box had to be an Ascendant grade, a tier of legend.
As he rested, the stinging in his side faded and his stamina began to return. But then, the heavy presence of the Red Cross army filled the village streets.
"Search every inch! He's wounded, he couldn't have gone far!" a knight bellowed from directly above. The floorboards groaned under the weight of armored boots, shaking dust into the sweat on Knight's face.
He closed his eyes, forcing his frantic heart into a steady rhythm. He held his breath until his lungs burned, his newly awakened hunter's instincts taking over. Through the cracks in the floorboards above, he watched the shadows move.
'One kill, one fragment.' Knight repeated to himself, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. 'If I want to get stronger, I have to stop running. I have to hunt them back.'
SCRAPE... SCRAPE...
The sound of a blade dragging across the floorboards above was a deliberate psychological tactic. They were enjoying the pressure.
"I know you're in this village, sinner..." a deep, authoritative voice boomed from the front of the house. "Your stench is too foul to hide from the eyes of the Almighty."
Suddenly THWACK!
A silver blade plunged through a gap in the floorboards, stabbing into the dirt right where Knight had been lying. He rolled away just in time, but the edge grazed his shoulder, drawing a fresh line of red.
[Notification: 'Bleeding' status has returned.]
[Fragments (6/1,000) are responding to the Blood of the Chosen...]
Knight's eyes widened. His blood, soaking into the dirt beneath the hut, began to evaporate into a faint golden mist. The vapor spiraled upward, flowing directly into the "Fragment" counter on his status screen.
'My blood... triggers the fragments?'
Before he could process the thought, several pairs of heavy boots hit the ground outside, surrounding the crawlspace. He was a rat in a hole. He had to use the dark and his smaller frame to his advantage.
"Come out! Or I'll burn this shack to the ground!"
Knight didn't wait for the torch. He slammed his heels into a rotted wooden slat at the side of the crawlspace, bursting through the debris and launching himself like an arrow from a bow.
"There he is! Surround him!"
Two knights standing guard outside leveled their blades, but Knight didn't bolt for the street. He lunged at the man on his left, dropping into a low slide to bypass the swing of the longsword, and drove his blade upward into the unarmored joint behind the knight's knee.
"AGHHH!" The knight buckled, crashing face-first into the dirt.
Knight didn't stay for the kill. Using his newfound agility, he vaulted over the fallen man and vanished into the narrow, lightless alley between the huts.
[Notification: You have gained 1 Fragment (Total: 7/1,000)]
[Special Condition: Collect 10 Fragments to unlock one 'Starting Talent'.]
The message was a beacon of hope in the dark. Knight flashed a savage grin through the grime and blood.
'Three more. Just three more.'
He pivoted, leaping up to grab the windowsill of a single-story house and hauling himself onto the roof. He flattened himself against the rotted thatch and wood. From this height, he could see the entire village.
Under the cold moonlight, ten knights were fanning out, thrusting torches into the dark corners of the ruins. In the center of the main path, the commander on the black stallion sat motionless, a grim statue of steel.
'Too many to take head-on. I have to lure them in... pick them off one by one.'
Knight looked down at the knight passing directly beneath his perch, then shifted his gaze to the commander's horse in the distance. He picked up a jagged, heavy splinter of wood from the roof.
"Sorry, boy," Knight whispered to the horse. "But this is my way out."