Kisodeth

Kisodeth narrowed her eyes, scowling at the absolute lack of gathering nodes under the shaded tree. It was like the game itself was mocking her. No herbs. No materials. Not even a useless twig to kick out of frustration. Just a whole lot of nothing.

Then, movement. just off the path, she spotted another player hunched over, their hands working quickly. A gathering node! Her gathering node!

Without hesitation, she sprinted toward it, boots pounding against the dirt. If she could just get there before…!

Ding! [Node Expired.]

”¡Mierda!” she cursed, skidding to a stop just as the shimmering remains of the node flickered out of existence.

The player, a young guy in light armor, whirled around with wide, panicked eyes. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I didn’t do anything! I swear!”

Kisodeth blinked, taking in his stiff posture, the way his hands were half-raised in surrender. He thought.

Oh. Oh, he thought she was about to kill him.

A slow smirk spread across her lips, wicked and toothy. “Relax, chico. If I wanted to gut you, you wouldn’t have seen me coming.”

That did not seem to help. The poor guy swallowed hard, shifting his weight like he was debating whether to run. “O-Okay? Then… what did you want?”

She sighed dramatically, jerking a thumb toward the now useless ground. “That node. I was trying to grab it before it expired, but you beat me to it.”

His tension evaporated instantly. “Oh! Wait, that’s why you were running at me? I thought I was about to get PK’d.”

Kisodeth rolled her eyes. “Please. I have way better reasons to kill people than gathering disputes.”

Again…not helping.

The guy laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head. “R-Right… Well, uh, sorry about that. It was just some basic herbs. If you need gathering spots, there’s usually a good patch of them near the broken shrine down the hill.”

Her smirk softened just a fraction. “Now that is actually useful. Gracias.”

The player gave a stiff nod, clearly relieved to still be breathing, then awkwardly shuffled away. Kisodeth chuckled to herself, shaking her head as she made her way toward the shrine. Maybe she did need to dial down the murder aura…

…Nah.
 

WC: 370

Materials Gathered: 2

Kisodeth stalked up to the water’s edge, scanning the reeds for the next item on her list. The moon’s reflection shimmered on the lake’s surface, casting everything in an eerie glow. A quiet splash nearby caught her attention.

She turned her head slightly.

A trio of players sat along the shore, fishing rods in hand, their lines cast lazily into the water.

The moment they noticed her, however, their entire demeanor changed.

One nearly dropped his rod. Another flinched so hard that his bobber skipped across the water like a stone. The last one, clearly the most skittish, froze completely his hands locked in place, gripping his fishing pole like it was a lifeline.

Kisodeth narrowed her eyes slightly, cocking her head to the side. “…What?”

No one answered. They just sat there, stiff as boards, eyes darting between her skull-painted face and the wicked blade at her hip.

The tension thickened.

Finally, the skittish one blurted out, “W-We were just fishing, I swear!”

Kisodeth blinked. “And?”

“AND—uh…” He gulped. “…We’ll leave if we’re in your way!”

The second player, still gripping his fishing rod like a battle axe, gave an awkward, forced chuckle. “Y-Yeah, we were just about to wrap up, haha… ha…”

Kisodeth sighed through her nose, dragging a hand down her face. “Oh for…relax, I’m not here to drown you in the lake, pendejos.” She turned back toward the reeds, muttering, “Just looking for a damn flower…”

The three exchanged nervous glances but didn’t move.

After a beat, one of them whispered, “…So… she’s not gonna kill us?”

The first player shrugged. “…I dunno, man. She still could.”

Kisodeth shot them a sideways glare. They flinched.

Her lips twitched upward in amusement. 

Kisodeth plucked the last of the reeds she needed and straightened up, dusting off her gloves. The fishermen were still side-eyeing her like a pack of nervous rabbits, not daring to move too suddenly lest she actually decide to drown them.

She stretched her arms over her head with a sigh, then turned to them with a sharp-toothed smirk. “So. You guys catch anything big and juicy, or just drowning worms out here?”

The three exchanged hesitant glances before the second player—the one gripping his fishing rod like a lifeline, finally cleared his throat. “Uh… W-We got a few decent ones. Some Iron Scaled Bass, a Golden Trout nothing huge yet, though.”

The first player, still nervous but eager to shift the conversation, chimed in. “There’s supposed to be a giant catfish boss that shows up sometimes, but, uh… we haven’t seen it tonight.”

Kisodeth raised a brow. “Huh. Sounds like a hell of a fight. Maybe I’ll come back and wrangle it myself.”

They all chuckled, though it was laced with nervous energy like they weren’t sure if she was joking or actually considering murdering a fish just for fun.

Kisodeth dusted off her hands and tilted her head, getting to the real reason she was still loitering. “Say, you guys see any players running around in cloaks, not saying shit, just sending duel invites?”

The atmosphere shifted.

The first player frowned. ”…Cloaked players? Silent duel invites?”

The second furrowed his brows, muttering, “Now that you mention it, I think I did see someone like that a few nights ago. Thought it was just some weirdo looking for PvP.”

The third one shuddered. “Yeah, but something about it was off, right? No words, no taunts, just…boom, duel request. Almost like they were testing people.”

Kisodeth’s smirk thinned. “Testing, huh…?”

The first player nodded, rubbing his chin. “They dueled someone near the west gate of Tolbana. Didn’t stick around to see who won, but the guy they fought looked freaked out after.”

Kisodeth rolled that information around in her mind. West gate. Tolbana. Another duel.

Maybe she wasn’t the only one they were testing.

She clicked her tongue, then gave the fishermen a sharp nod. “Thanks. Keep those lines tight, yeah?”

They all nodded quickly, half in respect, half in relief that the conversation was over. As Kisodeth turned to leave, she could hear one of them mutter under his breath.

“Dude… she’s even scarier when she asks nice questions.”


WC: 695

Materials Collected: 2

Kisodeth stalked through the fields outside the city, boots crunching over patches of dry grass and loose soil. The sun had dipped past the horizon, painting the sky in deep blues and purples, but her sharp eyes adjusted quickly to the shifting light. She muttered under her breath, cursing Zackariah’s errand even as she scanned the terrain.

“Gathering flowers like some damn forager. Not exactly my idea of leveling up.”

Her fingers grazed a cluster of pale blue blossoms growing between jagged stones. She plucked a few, recognizing them as Moonveil Petals, a common ingredient in stamina potions. The old man would definitely want these.

As she tucked them into her inventory, movement in the distance caught her eye. A lone creature shuffled near a tree line…a hunched, twisted thing with a bulbous body covered in dark, bristling vines. A Creeping Briar, a low-level monster known for its toxic barbs. Kisodeth narrowed her eyes, considering.

If Zackariah wanted rare ingredients, this thing’s venom sacs would probably be a prime alchemical material. But the real question…was it worth the trouble?

She rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck. “Screw it.”

Kisodeth exhaled sharply through her nose and broke into a sprint, closing the gap between herself and the Creeping Briar in seconds. The monster’s bulbous body quivered at her approach, its thorny tendrils twitching like it sensed the danger. Too late.

“Tch. No running now.”

Her sword glowed faintly as she activated a sword art thrust slicing through the thick mass of vines. The impact sent a burst of green ichor into the air as the Creeping Briar recoiled, screeching in a high-pitched, distorted wail. Its tendrils lashed out in retaliation, aiming to wrap around her arm, but she twisted out of range with practiced ease.

The monster shuddered, its health bar dropping by a third.

Kisodeth scoffed. “Not enough.”

The Creeping Briar suddenly rooted itself into the ground, its body convulsing. She recognized the motion, an area attack that would release a cloud of paralytic pollen.

“Not happening.”

With a sharp pivot, she activated another sword art, slashing upward in a brutal arc. Her blade cleaved straight through its pulsing core, severing the main body. The Creeping Briar let out one last gurgling screech before collapsing into a writhing pile of withered vines, its data fragmenting into bright, dissolving shards.

Kisodeth flicked her sword, letting the last drops of its sap-like blood splatter onto the grass. “That better be worth something.”

Without another glance at the fading remains, she turned and resumed her search, stalking through the moonlit fields for the rest of the ingredients.
 

WC: 434

Materials Collected: 1

Kisodeth stepped into the alchemist’s shop, the faint chime of a bell announcing her arrival. The air inside was thick with the mingling scents of herbs, flowers, and something vaguely metallic. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with jars of powders, vials of swirling liquids, and bundles of dried plants hanging from the ceiling like trophies of past experiments.

A bubbling sound drew her attention to the back of the shop, where an elderly man hunched over a small cauldron, his long snow-white beard nearly dipping into the sweet-smelling purple liquid he was stirring. He barely glanced up as he greeted her.

“Oh, hello,” he said absentmindedly, eyes still fixed on the bubbling concoction. “If you’re here to order something, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait. I’m absolutely swamped with requests, and my supplies are dwindling faster than I can restock.”

Kisodeth folded her arms. “I’m not here for an order. I’m looking for information.”

Zackariah finally looked up, squinting at her. His gaze lingered on her skeletal face paint for a second before he chuckled to himself. “Well, aren’t you a sight? You trying to scare off bandits or just the occasional shopkeeper?”

“It’s none of your business,” she said dryly. “I’m here on behalf of Mayor Dorian. He’s trying to track down a missing loan. Ring any bells?”

The alchemist scratched his chin, deep in thought. “Hmm… A loan, you say? That does sound familiar, but I’ve had so many transactions lately, it’s hard to recall details.” He suddenly snapped his fingers, eyes lighting up. “Tell you what! I could use an extra pair of hands. If you gather a few materials for me flowers, herbs, rare woods, whatever you can find outside the city I’ll have time to think it over. Maybe jog my memory.”

Kisodeth exhaled sharply through her nose. “So, a bribe?”

Zackariah grinned. “Think of it as an exchange of services. You help me, I help you. And, if you’re lucky, I might even show you a trick or two about potion-making. It never hurts to have a little extra knowledge, especially for someone who seems like they… run into trouble often.”

Kisodeth rolled her eyes but knew she had little choice. She was about to leave when she caught the scent of the bubbling potion again, sweet, warm, almost nostalgic. “What are you making?”

The alchemist beamed. “Ah, this? This is fondue…well, my special version of it. Packed with a few alchemical properties to invigorate the mind and body. Would you care for a taste?”

She eyed him warily, then the potion. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch! Consider it a sample for your troubles.”

She took the offered spoon, dipping it into the thick, purple liquid before bringing it to her lips. The moment it touched her tongue, warmth flooded her body, a subtle energy coursing through her veins. It wasn’t just a taste; it was an effect…like a mild buff.

[Status Effect Gained: +3 LD.]

Kisodeth set the spoon down and licked the residue from her lips. “Not bad.”

Zackariah laughed. “Glad you think so! Now, off you go. Bring me those ingredients, and I’ll see what I can remember about your little missing loan.”

Kisodeth turned on her heel, already planning her route beyond the city walls. This better be worth it.
 

WC:540

Updated Combat Stats: Combat Data: Kisodeth | HP: 140/140 | EN: 32/32 | DMG: 9 | MIT:42 | ACC:2 | LD: 3

Kisodeth stepped into the dimly lit streets, her boots clicking against the cobblestone as she moved with her usual languid stride. The town was quiet at this hour, save for the occasional NPC shuffling about their scripted routines. Just as she passed a fountain in the center square, a voice called out as urgent, yet polished.

“You there! Stop, please!”

Her gaze flicked toward the speaker, a man with neatly combed silver hair, an immaculate coat, and a monocle perched over one eye. He strode toward her with long, purposeful steps, his expression one of barely concealed distress.

“Ah, pardon me, but I am in need of some assistance, and you appear to be…” he hesitated, giving her an assessing look, his eyes briefly lingering on her skeletal face paint before he cleared his throat, ”…quite capable.”

Kisodeth crossed her arms, waiting.

The man heaved a quick sigh and ran his fingers over his perfectly groomed mustache. “My name is Dorian, and I am the mayor of this fine town. Part of my many, many responsibilities includes ensuring the economy remains stable, which occasionally requires me to issue small loans to aid local businesses. The issue is…” He grimaced. “I seem to have misplaced my records on one such loan. That is to say, I…well, I’ve completely forgotten who I lent the money to.”

Kisodeth lifted a single brow. “Seriously?”

“Yes, yes, I know how it sounds,” Dorian waved his hands as if swatting away the sheer absurdity of the situation. “But I am a very busy man! Keeping track of every transaction personally is…frankly…beneath my station. That’s what assistants are for. Or rather, what they should be for, had mine not quit last week.” He exhaled sharply. “Which brings me to you.”

Kisodeth let the silence stretch, unimpressed.

Dorian cleared his throat again, adjusting his monocle. “If you would be so kind as to track down the recipient of this loan and… retrieve the amount owed, I would be most grateful. And, of course, compensated.” He hesitated, lowering his voice. “Perhaps… we keep my little memory lapse between us?”

The notification popped up in Kisodeth’s menu.

[Quest Accepted: PART I | THE FIRST LESSON]

She exhaled through her nose, glancing back at Dorian. “And where exactly am I supposed to start?”

Dorian’s posture immediately lifted, relieved. “Yes! Excellent. I knew I could count on someone of your… presence to get things done. I would suggest starting with Zackariah, the town’s alchemist. He’s frequently working on projects for the community; quite possible he’s the one who borrowed the sum in question. If not, well…” He gave a flippant wave. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Kisodeth muttered something in Spanish under her breath before turning on her heel. Time to go chase down debtors like a glorified collections agent.
 

WC: 469

Combat Data: Kisodeth | HP: 140/140 | EN: 32/32 | DMG: 9 | MIT:42 | ACC:2

As the last rays of sunlight bled into the darkening sky, Kisodeth stirred, stretching out the stiffness from her limbs. She sat up, cracking her neck with a slow roll of her shoulders before pushing herself off the bed. Time to get moving.

Her fingers instinctively reached for her menu, summoning it with a practiced flick. She tapped through her inventory, re-equipping Death’s Embrace first, the black steel breastplate materializing onto her form with a faint shimmer. Next came Winter’s Discontent, the familiar weight of the greatsword settling across her back. Satisfied, she turned to the small mirror hanging crookedly on the wall.

With methodical precision, she traced the skeletal paint over her features, hollowing out her eyes, streaking lines down her jaw. A death’s visage staring back at her one that kept the unwanted away. At least, most of the time.

She made her way downstairs, her boots heavy against the wooden steps, and found a quiet corner in the inn’s dining area. A quick meal nothing extravagant, just enough to keep the hunger mechanic from becoming an annoyance. She leaned back against the chair, waiting for her food when something in her menu caught her eye.

Active Quests: 1

Her brow furrowed. She hadn’t taken on anything new, so what—?

She tapped the tab, scrolling through until she found it. A quest from… two nights ago? Tch. She had completely forgotten about it in the chaos of everything else, the duel, the information hunt, the stale experience with the Nepent…

Quest: The First Few Lessons are Free
Status: Incomplete
Reward: 800 EXP, 2000 Col

Her eyes lingered on the reward. 800 EXP. That alone was worth getting off her ass for. It would  push her to a level up, and it would make the grind a hell of a lot easier.

Her food arrived, but she barely acknowledged it, already planning her next move.

WC: 316

The door shut with a quiet click, sealing Kisodeth away from the noise of the Town of Beginnings. Finally. Solitude. She stepped into the dimly lit room, rolling her shoulders to shake off the tension from the night’s battles. The weight of Winter’s Discontent eased as she unequipped it, the greatsword vanishing into her inventory with a brief shimmer of blue light. Her heavy black armor followed, leaving her in the simple underlayer beneath.

With a sigh, she sank onto the bed, the stiff mattress creaking under her weight. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. A quiet refuge from all the nonsense outside. Leaning back against the wall, Kisodeth flicked open her menu with a casual swipe of her finger. The glowing interface bathed her in pale blue light as she navigated to her experience tab.

Her eyes narrowed. Too slow. She had fought well tonight, but well wasn’t enough. If she wanted to level up at a reasonable pace, she’d need to put in more hours or hunt something stronger. She traced a finger down the numbers, doing the mental math. At her current rate, she’d need another six, maybe seven, nights of this kind of grind.

A grind she didn’t particularly want to do.

Her thumb hovered over the Aincrad floor listings. The first few levels were nothing but low-level players and weak mobs. But if she pushed up…Floor Two, maybe even Three? she’d find stronger enemies. Better loot. Faster gains.

But then there was him.

She exhaled through her nose, eyes narrowing as she leaned her head back against the wall. The duelist. The silent challenge. His strange way of fighting, no wasted movement, no arrogance, just precision. What was his deal? Why her? And why did it feel like there was more to that fight than what was on the surface?

Her fingers mindlessly scrolled through her inventory, eyes flicking over the items she had looted tonight. Nothing spectacular. A few materials she could sell. A health potion or two. A piece of gear she wouldn’t use. The usual.

Her mind, however, wasn’t on her inventory.

Kisodeth tapped her fingers against her thigh, considering her next move. Grinding was necessary, but information was power. If she ran into that duelist again, she’d be damned if she was going to be caught off guard. She had to get stronger. Had to be prepared.

But for tonight… she let out a slow breath and closed her menu. It could wait.
 

WC: 413

Kisodeth strode into the Town of Beginnings, her footsteps measured, deliberate; a predator who knew she had all the time in the world. The dim lantern light cast flickering shadows against the cobblestone streets, distorting her skeletal visage into something even more unsettling. 

She had a target now.

The duelist.

And in a place like this, information had a price.

She made her way through the winding alleyways, the lower districts where whispers held more weight than steel. It didn’t take long to find the brokers…players who had abandoned the frontlines in favor of dealing in knowledge, rumors, and secrets.

A group of them lurked near the entrance to an old, half-run-down tavern, their eyes watchful, suspicious. They weren’t fighters, not really, but they knew how to survive.

Kisodeth didn’t bother with pleasantries.

She stepped forward, her heavy black armor catching the light just enough to glint ominously, the long shadow of Winter’s Discontent draping behind her. The conversation among them halted instantly. A few shifted uncomfortably, but the leader, a wiry man with sharp eyes and a sly grin, tilted his head.

“Didn’t expect the Grim Reaper to be in the market for words,” he mused, arms crossed.

Kisodeth’s blue eyes locked onto his, unblinking.

“A duel. A cloaked player. Green cursor. Skilled.” Her voice was flat, cold. “Tell me if anyone else has run into them.”

The group exchanged glances.

“A lotta players wear cloaks, sweetheart.”

She tilted her head slightly, her skull-painted face expressionless. The silence that followed stretched, uncomfortable.

The leader cleared his throat, putting on a smirk. “Might have some info, but info costs—”

Kisodeth stepped forward.

The way he tensed, instinctively flinching back, told her exactly how much confidence he had in his words.

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice.

“I don’t pay for scraps.” Her fingers curled against the pommel of her sword, just enough to be seen. “You either have something, or you don’t.”

The tension thickened.

One of the other brokers shifted, visibly nervous, before muttering, “Actually… I did hear somethin’.”

The leader shot him a glare, but Kisodeth’s stare was far more convincing.

The broker swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“There was… uh, someone asking questions about a fighter that sounds like your duelist. Couple floors up. They weren’t dressed like a newbie, either. Looked like they knew what they were doin’.”

Kisodeth narrowed her eyes. “Who?”

“Didn’t get a name. But they were hunting for someone, no doubt. Had the same kinda ‘quiet menace’ thing you do.”

Interesting…

Someone else was looking for the duelist? That meant they weren’t just some random lone wanderer. There was more to this.

She exhaled slowly, straightening back up, letting the silence sink in. The leader of the brokers finally relaxed a little, though he was still stiff, clearly unsure if he’d just dodged a blade to the throat.

“Appreciate the insight,” Kisodeth murmured.

And with that, she turned on her heel and strode off, leaving the information brokers in uneasy silence behind her.

WC: 504

Kisodeth tilted her head back, eyes locked on the pale, distant glow of the moon. The cold light washed over the land, indifferent, unmoved. Just like the system itself.

She let out a slow breath, her fingers brushing over the hilt of Winter’s Discontent.

She drew the massive blade free, its blue steel gleaming in the moonlight like ice frozen over the night itself. The silver crossguard shimmered, half a snowflake’s delicate cruelty. A weapon of raw destruction.

She ran her gloved hand along the edge, feeling the weight of it. Its enhancements were straight damage. No accuracy buffs, no refinements to balance the brutal swings. It was pure offense.

And that had cost her.

If she hadn’t missed so damn much, she would’ve had the energy to finish the Nepent Variant. Instead, she had been forced to retreat, to waste time recovering. That wasn’t going to happen again.

“This thing’s holding me back.”

She clicked her tongue, turning the sword in her grasp. Winter’s Discontent was strong, but not efficient. Maybe it was time to start hunting for a replacement. Something sharper, faster, lethal in every stroke.

With a final glance at the steel, she sheathed it with a soft metallic click.

The night still stretched before her, cold and empty, but she had things to do.

Kisodeth rolled her shoulders, letting her ominous presence settle over her like a creepy specter.

No one was going to talk to her tonight.

She strode back toward the Town of Beginnings, her steps slow, measured, casting long shadows in the lantern light.

She needed information.

That mysterious duelist wasn’t just some random encounter. There had been something off about them…about their movements, their presence. The way they fought.

She smirked slightly to herself.

“Let’s see if this town has anything worth knowing.”
 

WC: 301

Kisodeth’s breath came in sharp, controlled exhales as she assessed her situation. Her energy reserves were dangerously low, not enough for another full-powered Sword Art. And the Nepent was still standing, barely, but standing nonetheless.

She gritted her teeth. Staying meant risking depletion. There was no victory in dying like a fool.

With a sharp pivot, she disengaged, dashing into the darkness before the Nepent could lash out again.

She moved like a shadow, the terrain blurring as she put distance between herself and that damn plant. The Nepent let out a shrieking rustle, but it didn’t pursue.

She didn’t stop running until she found a small clearing deep in the underbrush. No mobs. No players. Just the distant hum of the night.

Kisodeth exhaled through her nose and reared back…

THUD!!

Her armored boot slammed into a nearby tree, bark cracking under the force.

“Pinche mierda.”

She stood there, hand pressed against her face, fingers digging into her temple. The frustration burned hotter than the battle itself.

This isn’t good enough.

She needed to be faster. More precise. More ruthless.

She ran a hand down her face, feeling the smear of her skeletal paint.

“You got outplayed by a goddamn plant.”

Her fist clenched.

“Tch. No. You let it outlast you.”

She sucked in a slow breath, then exhaled, forcing the tension out of her shoulders.

Alright. Learn from it. Adapt. Move forward.

She pushed off from the tree and stretched out her arms, rolling her shoulders.

There was no quitting. No weakness. No failure.

Only leveling up. Only dominating.

Next time?

The Nepent wouldn’t even get a chance to breathe.

WC: 272

Kisodeth exhaled slowly, steadying the fire building inside her. This damn weed had wasted enough of her time.

She planted her foot in the dirt and shifted her grip on Winter’s Discontent, the greatsword humming with the telltale glow of an activated Sword Skill.

The charged energy coursed through the blade like veins of frost as she lunged forward.

Her sword sang through the air, carving a perfect, brutal arc.

SHLUNK—!

A solid hit.

Winter’s Discontent bit deep into the Nepent Variant’s vine-riddled body, frost spreading across its plant-like skin. A burst of icy shards exploded outward from the impact, momentarily freezing its writhing limbs in place.

The Nepent shuddered violently, leaves trembling as if in shock. Its glowing green hue dimmed, the regeneration effect disrupted.

Kisodeth bared her teeth in satisfaction. Finally.

The Nepent lurched forward, attempting to strike back with its razor-sharp vines.

She barely moved.

The vine whipped past her shoulder, missing entirely.

Kisodeth chuckled darkly, shifting her stance.

“Oh, what’s wrong? Can’t hit me now?”

She rolled her shoulders, feeling the weight of battle shifting in her favor. This overgrown weed was about to be cut down at the root.

WC: 193

The Nepent Variant whipped its vines forward, serrated leaves gleaming under the pale moonlight. Kisodeth barely had time to brace.

SLASH!!

A vine snapped against her side, but her black steel breastplate, Death’s Embrace, absorbed nearly all of the force.

She barely felt it. The only thing wounded was her patience.

“¿En serio?” she muttered, shaking off the blow.

With a growl, she planted her feet and swung Winter’s Discontent in a heavy, cleaving arc.

SHNK—!!

Missed again.

The Nepent twisted unnaturally, its vines coiling in a way that seemed almost mocking. Kisodeth gritted her teeth, a sharp exhale hissing through them.

“Pinche planta de mierda,” she cursed under her breath, shifting her stance.

Then…a familiar green glow.

The Nepent shuddered as Photosynthesis activated once more, its health ticking up another 15 points.

Kisodeth snapped her head up toward the health bar, her cold blue eye twitching slightly.

“This damn thing is healing faster than I can land a hit.”

She rolled her shoulders, tightening her grip on her sword. The usual cold, calculating patience she had in battle was starting to wear thin.

This wasn’t just a fight anymore.

Now it was personal.

WC: 194

Kisodeth lunged forward, twisting her body as she unleashed another sword art with Winter’s Discontent. The blade sang through the air, cutting a bright arc of blue light.

SHNK!!

Miss.

Her sword cleaved nothing but empty space as the Nepent Variant lurched backward, its twisting mass of vines bending unnaturally.

She clicked her tongue. “Tch.”

Then, a faint green glow pulsed along the Nepent’s body, spreading through its tendrils like veins surging with life. The momentary dimness of the plains brightened as the Photosynthesis skill activated.

+15 HP recovered.

Kisodeth’s eyes flicked up to its health bar. 153/200 HP.

“Great,” she muttered, rolling her shoulders.

The Nepent trembled, then lashed out with its serrated vines, slicing toward her like whips.

Kisodeth pivoted sharply, her instincts screaming.

WHOOSH!!

The attack missed by mere inches, the razor-like leaves slicing through nothing but air as she sidestepped. Dirt and debris scattered from the force of the impact, but Kisodeth remained unscathed.

For a moment, they both stood there…opponent and monster, steel against vines. Neither had landed a hit.

A stalemate.

Kisodeth narrowed her eyes, gripping her greatsword tighter.

“Alright, time to stop playing around.”

WC: 191

Kisodeth surged forward, her boots kicking up dirt as she activated her Sword Skill. A streak of pale blue light trailed behind her greatsword as she swung it in a brutal downward cleave.

CRASH!

Winter’s Discontent bit deep into the Nepent Variant’s twisting mass of vines, splitting through its core with a satisfying crack. -62 HP. The health bar above its grotesque, writhing form dropped, leaving it at 138/200 HP.

The boss recoiled, its vines convulsing in anger. Then, with a violent shudder, it twisted its entire body, flinging its tendrils outward in a sweeping arc! AoE attack!

Kisodeth braced.

WHIP—SHRAAAAK!

Razor-edged leaves screeched against her black steel breastplate, but her Damage Mitigation rendered the attack worthless. -35 HP mitigated to 0. The impact barely budged her.

The same couldn’t be said for the rest.

Panicked cries filled the air as the party scattered. One was struck clean across the chest, their health plummeting as they hit the ground hard. Another barely dodged but had lost their nerve.

“Shit, we have to go!” one of them shouted.

“Run for it! It’s too strong!”

One by one, the surviving players bolted, some vanishing into the darkness beyond the battlefield.

Kisodeth exhaled sharply through her nose.

“Cowards.”

The last player, a young man barely holding his sword upright, lingered for a second too long, staring at her with wide, horrified eyes.

“You—y-you’re staying?” he stammered.

Kisodeth shifted her weight, raising Winter’s Discontent with one hand, its steel gleaming under the pale moonlight. She tilted her head just enough for the eerie glow of her blue eyes to catch the trembling player’s gaze.

“Get lost,” she muttered. “You’ll only get in my way.”

The player swallowed hard, his courage evaporating. With a strangled noise, he turned and ran, disappearing into the night.

Kisodeth rolled her shoulders, rolling her neck with a soft pop. Finally, some real combat.

The Nepent Variant quivered, vines curling as it prepared to attack again.

Kisodeth adjusted her stance, dragging her greatsword along the ground, its steel humming with a faint glow as she prepared another skill.

A smirk ghosted across her lips.

“Just you and me now, cabrón.”
 

WC: 359

Kisodeth perched herself on a small rise just beyond the chaos, arms crossed over her armored chest as she watched the battle unfold. The <Nepent Variant> lashed out with its razor-leafed tendrils, each swipe carving through the air with deadly precision. The party of players, five of them, by her count moved in frantically, their coordination sloppy, their attacks desperate.

She narrowed her eyes. They weren’t bad, but they were predictable. Too reactive, too focused on what was in front of them instead of what was coming next. And the Nepent Variant knew it. The damned thing fought like a seasoned predator, weaving its vines through gaps in their formation, forcing them to break ranks again and again.

One of the players, a spear-wielder, tried to strike at its core, but the boss coiled a vine around his weapon and yanked it out of his hands, sending him staggering backward. Another swung wildly, only to be caught mid-motion and thrown into a tree, their health plummeting into the red.

Kisodeth exhaled through her nose.

They were going to lose.

She didn’t owe them anything.

This wasn’t her fight.

But she wasn’t about to let some overgrown weed get stronger while she stood around doing nothing. Level up. Dominate. The words whispered through her mind, tightening her grip on Winter’s Discontent.

Then she saw it…one of the players, a short swordsman, taking a vine square in the chest. The impact sent them sprawling, their body skidding across the dirt. Their HP flickered. One more hit, and they’d be gone.

Her decision was made before she even realized she’d moved.

“Tch.” Kisodeth clicked her tongue, rolling her shoulders as she strode forward, her heavy boots crunching against the dirt.

The <Nepent Variant> shuddered as it turned, as if sensing something new, something worse approaching.

It wasn’t wrong.

Kisodeth’s fingers flexed around her hilt, and her voice dropped into a low, growling whisper.

“Level up. Dominate.”

Then, with a sharp inhale, she moved.
 

WC: 330

Kisodeth stood motionless for a moment, her breath steadying as she weighed the encounter in her mind. It didn’t sit right with her the way the cloaked player had moved, the strange, unsettling calm in their voice. Something about the duel felt like a test, and she hated tests. She wasn’t someone who waited around for answers; she made her own. But for now, there was no sense in dwelling on it.

She rolled her shoulders and glanced around the plains, shaking off the remnants of the unnerving encounter. The sound of a boar grunting nearby caught her attention, and she unsheathed Winter’s Discontent, the cold steel glinting under the moonlight.

Mobs.

That’s what mattered right now. Whatever that player had wanted, whoever they were, would have to wait. She had a job to do. She needed to get stronger, and quickly.

“Level up, become a force, stand on your own. Don’t rely on anyone else.” Like a mantra repeated through her head, “Level up…”

With a growl under her breath, Kisodeth set her sights on the boar. It snorted and stomped around, unaware of her presence. She wasn’t about to let it get too comfortable. Her fingers tightened around the sword’s grip, and with a savage swing, she sent it crashing through the creature’s defenses. The boar staggered, and before it could retaliate, Kisodeth brought the blade down with a clean, decisive strike.

The beast dropped, its health bar vanishing into the ether.

Another one down.

She took a deep breath and scanned the horizon, eyes sharp. The forest was still dark, and the quiet was almost oppressive. But it didn’t matter. She was used to being alone.

What had just happened…it didn’t shake her. It didn’t stop her. But it had made her realize something: if she was going to survive in this hellhole, she couldn’t stay stagnant.

She couldn’t keep just fighting.

She needed to dominate.

And that meant leveling up faster than she ever had before. That meant finding the right mobs, the right grind, and the right strategy to get stronger.

And then, when the time came, she would find whoever that player was. No matter who they were or what they wanted, they wouldn’t get away with making her feel small.

No one had ever gotten the drop on her before. She wasn’t about to let it happen again.

With a muttered curse under her breath, she flourished her blade and turned toward the next challenge.

WC: 407

The cloaked player steadied themselves, exhaling a sharp breath. Their health had barely dipped, but Kisodeth saw the way they flexed their fingers, recalculating. Good. They knew now she wasn’t some easy target.

But something felt… off.

They weren’t reacting like someone who had just been caught off guard. No frustration, no hesitation…just eerie, calculated focus.

Then they moved.

The moment was a blur. one second they stood across from her, the next they closed the distance with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible at this level.

Shadowstep?

Kisodeth barely had time to twist as the dagger lashed out again. She managed to angle Winter’s Discontent in defense, but the impact sent a sharp jolt through her fingers. Not because of the strike itself…no, it was the effect.

Her movement slowed.

A debuff.

Her eyes narrowed. That skill wasn’t common at this stage in the game. Where the hell had they gotten their hands on something like that?

A system notification flashed in the corner of her vision: “Paralysis Resistance: Insufficient.”

Shit.

The cloaked player struck again, this time a sweeping kick to her ankle. Kisodeth stumbled, the sluggish effect of the debuff making it worse. The moment she hit a knee, they pressed in, blade hovering just near her throat.

“Good,” they finally spoke, their voice calm, but with an edge that made her hackles rise. “You’re strong. That’s exactly why we’ve been watching you.”

Her blue eyes snapped up at them, heartbeat steady but mind racing.

“We?” she repeated coldly.

They smiled under the hood. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Then, without warning, they canceled the duel.

Kisodeth barely had time to register the notification before her opponent blurred backwards, retreating into the darkness of the plains. No teleport crystal, no menu navigation…just… disappearing.

A sharp exhale left her lips. She stood, rolling her shoulders, but her mind was already working overtime.

That duel wasn’t random.

And neither was that player.

She wasn’t just a solo fighter carving her own way through Aincrad anymore.

Someone had marked her.

And that meant something big was coming.
 

WC: 348

Kisodeth twisted at the last second, shifting her weight to deflect the dagger with the flat of Winter’s Discontent. The clash of metal rang out, and the impact sent vibrations up her arm. The cloaked player had aimed well, right at the gap in her armor but she wasn’t about to let them slip through that easily.

She shoved forward, using her brute strength to force space between them. They staggered back but recovered quickly, their footwork light, almost effortless.

“Tch.” Kisodeth rolled her shoulders. “You’re slippery, I’ll give you that.”

Her opponent said nothing, merely flipping the dagger in their hand as the faint glow of an activated skill flickered along its edge.

Alright, time to change the tempo.

Kisodeth didn’t wait for them to make the next move. She lunged, swinging Winter’s Discontent in a wide arc, the sheer force of the motion kicking up dust around her. The cloaked player ducked low, narrowly avoiding the blade as it roared past them, but Kisodeth wasn’t done.

The moment her sword met empty air, she wrenched it back, reversing her grip mid-motion and bringing the massive blade around in a brutal backswing.

This time, she was too fast for them to slip away entirely.

The tip of Winter’s Discontent clipped their side, sending them skidding across the dirt, their health bar dipping slightly.

Not much damage, but she had drawn first blood.

Kisodeth smirked and rested her blade against her shoulder. “Hope you weren’t expecting me to go easy on you.”

WC: 251

The ding of the system alert cut through the quiet of the plains, just as Kisodeth drove Winter’s Discontent through the final pixelated remnants of the boar. She barely had time to inspect the loot drop before the challenge window popped up in front of her…an invitation to a duel.

Kisodeth exhaled slowly through her nose. Another one?

She flicked her gaze toward the source, already expecting some cocky low-level trying to prove himself. Instead, she found a hooded figure standing a short distance away, wrapped in a dark cloak that concealed most of their form. Their face was obscured beneath the hood, but the indicator floating above their head confirmed their status as a green player.

Not a red. Not a PKer. Just… silent.

She let the duel window hover for a few seconds, studying them. No words, no taunts, not even a motion for attention. Just the request.

Kisodeth sighed, rolling her shoulders as she selected Accept.

The system responded immediately, throwing up the countdown timer between them.

3…

She took a step back, adjusting her grip on Winter’s Discontent. The air around them seemed to cool ever so slightly, the weight of the duel settling in.

2…

Her opponent shifted, their stance subtly lowering, still saying nothing.

1…

Kisodeth smirked, her boots digging into the earth.

Begin.

Her cloaked opponent shot forward the instant the system declared the match. Kisodeth barely had a moment to raise Winter’s Discontent before they were on her, moving with a speed that didn’t match their unassuming posture. A gleam of steel flashed from beneath the cloak…a dagger user.

Kisodeth pivoted, raising her greatsword in a defensive stance. The impact of the first strike rattled up her arms, her opponent’s dagger scraping against her blade in a shower of sparks before they twisted away, already repositioning.

Fast.

She exhaled through her nose, adjusting her stance. This wasn’t some reckless player flailing around. They were testing her.

Fine. Let’s see how much pressure they could handle.

She stepped forward with a brutal downward swing, Winter’s Discontent humming as she activated a sword skill. A blue arc of light traced the motion of her blade as it came crashing down.

The cloaked player barely avoided the strike, rolling to the side just as her greatsword slammed into the ground. The impact sent out a shockwave of dust and shattered stone, but she was already pivoting into another strike, aiming to catch them in recovery.

But they weren’t there.

She felt the air shift behind her.

A dagger shot toward the exposed section of her side.

WC: 429

Kisodeth exhaled sharply through her nose as she dismissed the friend request with a flick of her wrist. What a waste of time.

Her fingers tapped against the table as she pulled up her inventory, selecting the col needed to cover the meal. She tossed in a small tip not because she was feeling generous but because the chef had at least kept their questions to a minimum. After the transfer, she pushed herself up from the chair, rolling her shoulders until her armor shifted and creaked ominously.

The chef flinched slightly as she turned toward them. Kisodeth smirked, saluting lazily with two fingers before heading for the exit.

The cool night air greeted her as she stepped onto the quiet streets. Midnight had long since passed, and yet the town still held a handful of stragglers, players lounging near the teleport gate, trading goods, or simply wandering like lost souls. Too many of them had approached her tonight. Too many words.

She wasn’t playing this game to be social.

As she stalked toward the city gates, she decided it was time to crank up the intimidation.

Her stride slowed, becoming more deliberate. The heavy clink of her black steel armor echoed off the cobblestone, each step measured, weighted. She let her hands hover near the hilt of Winter’s Discontent as if itching to draw it at the slightest provocation. She let her posture sink just a little, shoulders sloping forward in a way that made her silhouette predatory.

And then, of course, there was the face paint.

She reached up, running two fingers along her jaw, smudging the edges of the skeletal markings. The imperfections made it look more like the natural decay of a corpse, uneven and eerie. Her blue eyes burned beneath it, catching the glow of the scattered street lamps.

As she passed a small cluster of low-level players, she barely turned her head…just enough to let her gaze linger.

They went stiff. One of them, a fresh-faced newbie still wearing beginner’s gear, gulped audibly.

Kisodeth suppressed a smirk. Good.

Another few steps, and she brushed past a merchant setting up a late-night stall. The man hesitated, fingers pausing over his menu screen. He looked ready to ask if she wanted to browse, then thought better of it.

Better.

By the time she reached the main gates, she could feel the weight of the silence behind her. No comments. No invitations. No small talk.

Finally.

With a final glance over her shoulder, she turned toward the open fields beyond the town, darkness stretching before her like an invitation.

Time to get back to work.
 

WC: 438

Kisodeth was just about to rise from her seat when the restaurant’s door swung open again. The atmosphere shifted instantly. A group of four strode inside, dressed in darker, more battle-worn gear. They didn’t carry the nervous energy of casual players…no, these ones owned their space. They moved with confidence, the kind that made others shrink back.

The leader, a sharp-featured woman with piercing eyes and a cocky smirk, immediately honed in on Kisodeth.

“Well, well,” she mused, stepping right up to her table. “Now this is a sight.” She gestured vaguely at Kisodeth’s armor, her sword, the skeletal face paint. “You look like a killer. But looks can be deceiving, can’t they?”

Without waiting for an invitation, she slid into the seat across from Kisodeth, lounging back as if she owned the place. Her crew lingered behind her, silent but unmistakably watchful.

Kisodeth didn’t acknowledge her right away. She took another look at her menu, then exhaled through her nose. “Something you want?”

The woman smirked. “More like something you want. See, people like you? Solo players? You think you’re different. Stronger alone, better off without ties.” She leaned in, her voice dropping just a notch. “But you know this world isn’t built for lone wolves. You might last a while, sure. But eventually, the system gets you.”

Kisodeth finally looked up, her piercing blue eyes glinting under the dim lights. “And let me guess,” she drawled, voice dry. “You’re here to save me?”

The woman laughed, a low, knowing chuckle. “I’m here to offer you something better than just scraping by. A guild where people like you don’t have to play by the rules set by weaker players. You think the game’s about clearing floors?” She scoffed. “It’s about control. Power.”

Kisodeth leaned back in her seat, folding her arms. “You recruiting or just stroking your own ego?”

The woman’s smirk twitched. “I’m offering you a place among real players. People who fight on their terms, not the system’s. You’ve got the look, the presence…hell, you probably have the skills to back it up. So why waste all that on hunting mobs and living like some back-alley merc?”

Kisodeth let the words settle for a moment before she sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t dress like this to be a PKer,” she said bluntly. “It’s for something else.”

The leader tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “That so? Huh.” She leaned forward again, resting her elbows on the table. “Well, here’s the thing I don’t think you mind scaring people. I think you like the way they look at you. That edge of fear, the respect. You know that power. And I’m telling you…you could own it.”

Kisodeth exhaled, staring her down with an unreadable expression. Then, with slow deliberation, she set her utensils down and met the woman’s gaze dead-on.

“I don’t need to own fear,” she said, voice cold. “It already follows me everywhere.”

The woman regarded her for a beat, then smirked, pushing back from the table. “Suit yourself.” She flicked open her menu, and Kisodeth’s HUD pinged; an unsolicited friend request. “You change your mind, you know where to find us.”

With that, she turned on her heel, her crew following her out without another word.

Kisodeth didn’t move. She stared at the notification for half a second before dismissing it without hesitation.

Let them think what they wanted. She had no interest in playing their game. Everyone had an opinion on how to game the system. It just wasn’t her thing.

WC: 591

Kisodeth settled into a corner booth, away from the few other diners. The wooden chair creaked under the weight of her black steel armor as she leaned back, exhaling slowly. She grabbed a skewer, biting into the grilled meat with deliberate slowness. It was good better than expected, even. Smoky, well-seasoned. She chewed, lost in thought as she pulled up her menu screen.

Her inventory flickered to life in front of her, neatly listing the spoils of the night’s hunt. A few low-tier drops; wolf pelts, a couple of fangs, and some col not much to get excited over. Her gaze drifted to her XP bar in the corner of the screen. She was close to leveling up, but not quite there yet. She’d need to push further, take on harder prey.

“Maybe it’s time to head for the upper floors.”

The thought lingered. The first floor was getting stale…too many weaklings, too much wasted time. If she wanted to get stronger, she’d have to push ahead alone. She scoffed to herself. It was better that way. No one to slow her down. No one to betray her.

As she finished the last of her food, voices at the front of the restaurant pulled her from her thoughts. A group of players had just walked in, chatting excitedly.

“Man, I can’t believe we actually did it! That boss was insane.”

“We finally unlocked our guild’s emblem! We’re official now!”

Kisodeth glanced up just enough to see them. A trio of fresh-faced players, their gear a mix of mid-tier upgrades. The leader, a swordsman in steel-blue armor, was grinning, clapping his comrades on the shoulders as they ordered their meals. Their camaraderie was warm, loud, obnoxious.

Kisodeth scoffed, low and sharp, shaking her head.

Guilds.

Nothing but people clinging to each other out of fear. She had no patience for it. She’d seen what happened when people got too comfortable, too trusting. It always ended in betrayal, in someone getting left behind.

She sat back, arms crossed, watching from the shadows as they laughed and congratulated each other.

They wouldn’t last.

She’d seen too many players like them before.

WC: 358

The small restaurant wasn’t much, just a handful of wooden tables, a counter, and an open kitchen where the smell of sizzling meat and fresh bread filled the air. A few late-night stragglers sat hunched over their meals, but as Kisodeth stepped inside, the soft hum of conversation stilled.

She ignored it. She was used to it.

Her armor clanked as she made her way to the counter, where the lone chef; a nervous-looking player in a white apron was already standing stiffly behind the counter. They were a younger player, maybe late teens, with short, messy hair and wide eyes that flickered between Kisodeth’s skeletal face paint and the massive greatsword on her back.

Kisodeth leaned one arm against the counter, scanning the menu board mounted on the wall. The silence dragged. She could feel the player watching her, the way their hands fidgeted like they weren’t sure whether to greet her or run.

“…Uh,” the chef finally spoke, voice wavering. “W-Welcome. What can I get for you?”

Kisodeth hummed, still reading. “Something cheap. Meat, preferably.”

The chef swallowed. “We have… grilled boar skewers for 50 col. Or, uh, a beef stew for 80 col.”

She considered it. The stew would probably be better for restoring health, but she wasn’t in the mood for something soupy. “Skewers,” she muttered.

The chef nodded so quickly it was almost comical. They turned to start prepping, but hesitated, glancing back at her. Their fingers twitched against the countertop before they finally blurted, “Why do you look like that?”

Kisodeth’s gaze flicked up from the menu, slowly locking onto them.

The chef visibly tensed, as if regretting the question immediately. “S-Sorry! I mean…um, the face paint. You look like a skeleton. Is it, like… a guild thing? Or…”

Kisodeth sighed through her nose, reaching up to rub her temple. “It’s cultural.”

The chef blinked.

She rolled her shoulders, deciding she might as well answer properly. “It’s for Día de los Muertos…Day of the Dead. It’s a celebration of the dead, honoring ancestors, remembering the people we lost. Most people celebrate it once a year.” She exhaled, a dry smirk pulling at her lips. “I celebrate it every day.”

The chef’s expression softened with curiosity. “That’s… actually kinda cool.”

Kisodeth huffed. “Yeah, and it’s a sick aesthetic. Most people just get scared and avoid me.” She tapped her gauntleted fingers against the counter. “Which is fine. I don’t exactly need company.”

The chef gave a nervous chuckle, the tension in their shoulders easing just a bit. “Well… I think it suits you.”

Kisodeth smirked, but didn’t respond. She just watched as they turned back to grilling her food, the smell of sizzling meat filling the small space.
 

WC: 453

An hour into mob slaying and Kisodeth felt the need to protein up after a good workout. As the midnight moon cast over the field, she headed back with a slow easy gait. Passing by, players watched her move like a wraith in the fog scared out of their minds sensing something not quite right with this individual. The cursor read green, but she looked orange.
 

The Town of Beginnings was never truly silent. Even at this late hour, the streets still bustled with night owls, merchants, and the occasional “drunk” stumbling out of a tavern. Lanterns flickered against the cobblestone roads, casting long, wavering shadows that stretched and twisted between the towering buildings.

Kisodeth strode through the main square, her heavy black armor clanking with each step. Most players avoided her on sight…some recoiling, others quickening their pace to get out of her way. It was a reaction she had grown to enjoy.

She wasn’t looking for a high-end meal. Just something cheap, something hot. She could’ve bought a loaf of bread and called it a night, but there was something about sitting down with a real meal, even in a game, that satisfied a deeper instinct.

She was just about to push open the door to a small, hole-in-the-wall tavern when a sharp voice cut through the hum of the square.

“I said—get your hands off me!”

Kisodeth turned her head, scanning the street until she found the source of the commotion. A cluster of players had gathered near a shopfront, murmuring amongst themselves. In the center of the attention, a young woman with short brown hair was glaring up at a broad-shouldered man in heavy iron armor. His gauntleted hand was clenched around her wrist, keeping her from pulling away. Two other players flanked him, both similarly armored. 

“What’s the problem here?” Kisodeth muttered to herself, stepping closer, arms folded for sheer intimidation values.

The man sneered down at the girl. “You think you can just walk away after stealing from us?”

“I didn’t steal anything!” she snapped, jerking against his grip. “I just took a drop from a mob…my kill!”

One of his companions, a wiry-looking guy with a sneer that screamed “lackey,” laughed. “You really think some lowbie like you gets first dibs? We were right there, if we wanted it, it was ours.”

Kisodeth exhaled slowly through her nose.

Ah. One of those types.

She could already see how it had gone down. The girl was probably soloing, managing to take down a mob, only for these jackals to come along, try to intimidate her out of her reward, and then cry thief when she didn’t cave. It was pathetic.

The onlookers whispered, but no one moved to intervene. No one wanted trouble.

Kisodeth, however, had never once shied away from trouble.

Her boots hit the cobblestone with deliberate weight as she closed the distance, her greatsword resting casually against her shoulder. The low murmur of the square dimmed.

The man gripping the girl barely had time to turn before Kisodeth was upon them. She didn’t stop walking…just kept moving until she was right there, so close he had to take a step back or be bowled over.

“Let her go,” she said, voice low and devoid of amusement. 

The armored man scowled, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes as he took in her appearance. The skeletal face paint. The black steel of her armor. The sheer presence she exuded…cold, implacable, predatory.

His grip loosened slightly, but he forced himself to sneer. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Kisodeth tilted her head slightly in mock chalance, “That’s not your concern.” She let Winter’s Discontent slip from her shoulder, the blade’s tip tapping lightly against the ground. A small, meaningless movement but it made all three of them flinch.

The wiry lackey tried to recover first. “Tch. What, you gonna fight over some random newbie?”

Kisodeth’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “No need.” Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the air like a razor. “Because if you don’t let her go, I’m going to make you wish player-killing wasnt an option.”

That did it.

The man’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking to his companions. No one wanted to be the first to back down, but neither did they want to see what would happen if they pushed her.

Finally, with a growl of frustration, he wrenched his hand away from the girl. “Whatever. She’s not worth it.”

The three of them turned, skulking away into the crowd, muttering curses under their breath.

Kisodeth exhaled slowly, watching them go before shifting her gaze back to the girl. “You good?”

The girl rubbed her wrist, blinking up at her. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m good.”

Kisodeth grunted. “Then get stronger. Next time, don’t let scum like that push you around.”

She turned without waiting for a response, stepping back toward the tavern. She still needed to eat, after all.

And if those bastards were smart, they’d stay out of her way from now on.

WC: 848