"Who called?" Elena asked, curiosity lacing her weak voice.
"It's Elly," Jordan replied, slipping his phone into his pocket. "He said there's a job, so I'm going out to check it out."
"Hmm… so what kind of job?" Elena pressed, her brows knitting faintly. Even in her fragile state, concern for her younger brother came naturally.
Jordan only shrugged, trying to appear casual. "I don't know yet. That's why I'm going to meet him—to hear the details."
Trying to cut off any further questioning, he cleared his throat and turned away. "Alright, big sis, I need to get ready. Time isn't on my side, and I can't afford to miss this opportunity."
Before Elena could say anything else, Jordan was already moving. He didn't give her the chance to worry more than she already did.
Elena watched him leave, her lips parting slightly as if to call him back—but she stopped herself. Her strength was limited, and deep down, she knew pushing him wouldn't change anything.
Jordan had already made up his mind.
Jordan didn't need much preparation before leaving. Their aunt had already handled most of the chores before heading out to work, leaving the small, worn house in a manageable state.
Still, Jordan moved around quietly, making sure everything Elena might need was within reach—water, medication, her phone.
He paused briefly at the doorway and looked back at her.
"Big sis, I'll be back in a few. If you need anything, call me," he said.
"Okay… be very careful," Elena replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with meaning.
"I will."
Jordan turned and headed for the door. Just before stepping out, his hand reached toward a small table near the entrance. He picked up a dagger—old, slightly rusted, but still sharp—and slid it beneath his clothes.
Only then did he open the door.
A second later, he stepped outside.
The dull daylight greeted him without warmth.
He found himself in a narrow alley, the walls on either side stained with layers of graffiti and grime. Loose wires hung overhead like tangled vines, swaying slightly in the faint breeze. Trash bins overflowed, and scraps of paper drifted lazily across the ground.
The place felt restless. Uneasy.
But to Jordan, it was nothing new.
He didn't react.
This was his normal.
Without hesitation, he walked through the alley until it opened into a wider street.
The difference wasn't much better.
The street was alive, but not lively. Vendors shouted half-heartedly as they tried to sell cheap goods. People moved with urgency, each minding their own business, each carrying their own burdens.
The buildings lining both sides of the road were worn down—cracked walls, faded paint, broken windows patched with whatever materials people could find. Electrical wires sagged dangerously between poles, adding to the chaotic appearance.
And the people…
Most of them looked just as worn as the environment.
Scruffy clothes. Hardened expressions. Eyes that had seen too much.
This was the bottom of society.
An outskirts.
A place where survival came before everything else.
Jordan walked with steady, confident steps, clearly familiar with every turn and corner. But despite his familiarity, he did not relax.
His eyes remained sharp.
Alert.
Cautious.
He wasn't the only one.
Almost everyone on the street carried that same wariness.
A group of rough-looking men leaned against a wall, their gazes sharp as they watched him pass. Jordan met their eyes briefly—firm, unyielding—before looking away and continuing on.
That was enough.
They lost interest.
Some people along the way assessed him like prey, but the moment Jordan's gaze met theirs, they reconsidered.
No one wanted unnecessary trouble.
Not here.
As he continued walking, he passed an alley where a group of delinquents were beating a man mercilessly. The victim's weak cries echoed faintly, but no one intervened.
Not even Jordan.
He didn't slow down.
He didn't look twice.
In this world, interfering in something like that could easily cost you your life.
His sister's warning wasn't just caution—it was survival.
After the apocalypse, the world had changed completely.
Morality had become a luxury few could afford.
Jordan took several turns, navigating the maze-like outskirts with practiced ease until he finally reached his destination—the alley where he was supposed to meet Elly.
But the moment he arrived, his steps slowed.
There were unfamiliar faces.
Four of them.
Three men. One woman.
Leaning against the walls like they owned the place.
Jordan's caution spiked instantly.
But before his thoughts could spiral too far, a familiar voice broke through.
"Hey, Jordan! Over here!"
Elly.
A blonde teenager, same age as him, waved enthusiastically.
Jordan exhaled slightly.
If Elly was this relaxed, then things probably weren't immediately dangerous.
Probably.
He stepped forward into the alley.
Elly walked up to him with a grin and gave him a fist bump.
But Jordan's attention never left the others.
Something about them felt… off.
Not just dangerous.
Calculated.
Elly noticed his expression and chuckled.
"Jordan," he said, gesturing toward the group. "These are the guys offering the job."
Then he turned back to them.
"And guys, this is my friend Jordan—the one I told you about. Our sure clearance."
"This kid?" one of the men scoffed. "He looks like he'd die if a beast sneezes on him," the man added mockingly.
Jordan's eyes shifted toward him.
The man was massive—broad shoulders, thick arms bulging beneath a sweat-soaked shirt. A bottle dangled lazily from his hand as a crooked smirk spread across his bearded face.
Jordan frowned slightly
He didn't like the tone.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he turned his questioning gaze toward Elly, silently asking for an explanation.
He wasn't about to walk away—not when there was a chance to earn crystals.
"Kid," another man spoke, drawing Jordan's attention.
This one was different.
Older. Likely in his thirties. His hair was cut low, almost bald, and his eyes carried a sharp, calculating glint.
'He must be the leader.'
Jordan could tell instantly.
"We've got a job," the man continued calmly. "It pays well. But it's dangerous."
Jordan didn't react to the word dangerous.
Instead, he asked the only thing that mattered.
"How much?"
The man smiled slightly.
"Three hundred thousand veil crystals."
Silence.
Jordan's eyes widened.
"Three hundred thousand…?" he repeated, unable to hide his shock.
Crystals. The one major resource that runs the world in this era.
After hunters began pursuing beasts, they discovered a shocking truth: every creature they killed was a goldmine, its body yielding crystals upon death.
And because of the rules the Gods had placed after the apocalypse, there was nothing on Earth that crystals could not buy.
The moment the chaotic signs of the end of the world appeared, humans cried out for salvation. They prayed to the Gods for protection from the unfolding chaos.
The Gods answered them.
But it was not the answer humans had hoped for. Instead of shielding them from calamity, the Gods had merely rewritten the rules.
Before the apocalypse, the Gods rewarded moral living with eternal peace after death. Those who did good deeds earned passage to heaven, while the wicked were cast into hell.
Now, however, the Gods demanded only one thing: crystals.
The only way to reach heaven was to possess enough crystals to purchase passage after death. Lacking the required amount meant being thrown into hell.
Morality became irrelevant. The wicked thrived, free to commit any atrocity as long as they could pay for their salvation.
Life became paradoxical: simultaneously cheap and invaluable. Cheap, because anyone would commit murder, betrayal, or theft for a single crystal. Precious, because dying without enough crystals meant eternal damnation. Jordan knew this truth all too well.
He had faced death firsthand that fateful night nine years ago. He had felt his soul begin to burn in the abyss for a fleeting moment before the skilled hands of healers brought him back. A stab wound had nearly claimed him, dragging his soul to the edge of damnation.
The memory haunted him still. He knew what it meant to die without enough crystals to purchase salvation.
And he intended never to let it happen again—not to himself, not to his sister, not to his aunt.
This was why he aimed to become a hunter. Only by slaying beasts could he earn the crystals needed to secure eternal peace for his family.
But time was against him. His sister's illness was worsening. Jordan knew the price of failure, and it was one he refused to pay.
Three hundred thousand veil crystals—that was the sum that could guarantee salvation for him and his family should death come knocking. Enough to secure their futures.
Yet when a man claimed he could earn that many crystals, Jordan instinctively sensed a catch. Nothing this lucrative came without risk.
"What do I need to do?" he asked without hesitation.
"To know, you must sign a soul pact first," the leader replied, smiling casually.
Jordan had expected this. Nothing so profitable could be obtained without a binding agreement.
The leader produced a magical scroll from his pocket and presented it to him.
The contract's clause was deceptively simple: whatever they discussed today must remain secret. There was no obligation to take the job—only a demand for discretion. And that meant after hearing what the job entails he can decide whether to accept the job or not. Any breach of the soul pact meant instant death.
Seeing the terms were straightforward, Jordan nodded. "I'll sign it."
"Good." The leader handed him a magical brush.
Jordan examined the scroll once more, ensuring he understood everything. The leader, Marcus Vale, offered him the job and his name was clearly written on the contract.
After double-checking, Jordan signed. The moment his pen touched the parchment, Marcus signed as well. Instantly, Jordan felt a strange, internal shift—the soul pact had bound them together. Neither could break it.
"Now, with that out of the way, I'll explain," Marcus said, meeting Jordan's attentive gaze.
"The job," Marcus continued, "is a heist."
Jordan was unsurprised. In a world driven by crystals, there was another way to acquire wealth besides hunting beasts: stealing it from others.
Everyone would become a thief if crystals were at stake.
But Jordan's mind raced. "Why me? I've never done a heist before. You wouldn't have asked my friend to contact me without a reason."
Marcus chuckled. "Smart. Your friend says you can grant us access to a very specific place."
"Access?" Jordan frowned. "Where exactly?"
"The Bloodthorn Guild elder's house," Marcus replied casually.
Jordan froze. Disbelief flared across his face. "You're all insane. That's basically walking into a slaughterhouse!"
Hope had flickered briefly—maybe this job would finally earn him enough crystals to cure his sister's illness and secure salvation for his family—but it crashed to the floor as reality set in.