Chapter 41: Another Raid, another opportunity

[Store Status]

Synthesis Credits (SC): 0

[Fixed Catalog]

* [Minor Mana Recovery Potion (Rank F)] — 50 SC

Restores 5 Mana instantly upon consumption.

* [Standard Health Salve (Rank F)] — 40 SC

Accelerates natural healing of physical trauma over 30 minutes.

* [Hardened Ridgeback Plate Vambrace (Rank D)] — 220 SC

Provides structural forearm protection against physical bludgeoning and low-tier piercing attacks.

* [Bonewretch-Bone Reinforced Blade (Rank D)] — 260 SC

D-rank melee weapon. High durability, sharp edge.

Rain sat on the edge of his cot, staring at the glowing blue text floating two feet in front of his face. He reached out a finger, tapping the space where the Hardened Ridgeback Plate Vambrace was listed.

’Two hundred twenty credits,’ Rain thought, leaning back against the wall. He ran a hand through his damp, black hair, looking down at his bare forearms. He wore only a black t-shirt and his dark grey zip-up hoodie. No gauntlets, no leather wraps, no chest piece. ’Zero protection if something gets past my guard.’

He tapped the screen again, returning to the main menu.

[Sell Function: Active]

Place any material, item, or core into the system field to evaluate Synthesis Credit value.

’Zero credits,’ he muttered under his breath, closing the interface with a flick of his wrist. ’I haven’t cleared a single system mission since then, and I haven’t put a single item into the sell field. Looking at a catalog doesn’t do a bit of good when your balance is empty.’

He stood up, adjusting the sleeves of his hoodie. The air in his room was cooling down as the night set in. He checked his phone. It was eight-forty.

’If this run goes right tonight,’ Rain thought, locking his phone and sliding it into his pocket, ’I walk out with a share of the take, clear Peter’s leash, and finally get something worth putting into the store.’

He unlocked the door and stepped out into the quiet corridor.

The basement of Dorm Block A smelled of damp concrete, rust, and old hydraulic fluid. A single bare light bulb hung from a frayed cord in the center of the ceiling, casting long, wavering shadows across the cracked floorboards.

Peter was already there, leaning nervously against a stack of rusted steel drums. He wore his familiar green jacket, his fingers twitching against his thighs as he stared at the floor. When the wooden stairs creaked under Rain’s weight, Peter jumped, his brown hair flopping over his forehead as he whipped his head around.

"Rain," Peter breathed out, letting a heavy rush of air escape his lungs. "You actually came."

"I told you I would," Rain said softly, stepping into the dim yellow light.

Before Peter could say anything else, a heavy metal door at the back of the basement clicked open. Corwin stepped out first, followed closely by Dax and Petrov. Corwin wore a clean, dark blue leather jacket, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked down his nose at the two younger boys. Dax slouched against the doorframe, tossing a heavy brass key from hand to hand.

"Look at that," Dax sneered, his lip curling up. "The F-rank special unit actually showed up on time."

"Shut up, Dax," Corwin said flatly. He stopped three feet in front of Rain, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and flicking it against Rain’s chest. Rain caught it effortlessly between two fingers.

"That’s your assignment," Corwin said, his voice cold and efficient. "Rift Site 44-B, out past the old rail yards. A private D-rank party hired two carriers through the lower-city board. You two are those carriers."

Peter reached out, his voice trembling slightly. "Do we get any gear? A leather vest? A short sword? Anything?"

Petrov let out a booming laugh from the shadows near the door, shaking his head. "Gear? For two hundred-credit-a-day pack mules? Don’t waste my air, kid. You carry the crates. That’s your job. You don’t need a sword to pick up a box."

"Listen closely," Corwin cut in, stepping right into Rain’s space, his voice dropping into a sharp threat. "The party leader is a D-rank named Holt. He thinks you’re basic manual labor. You keep your mouths shut, you stay ten paces behind his front line, and when the marked crate is harvested, you wait for the signal. You swap the box, you take the real one out through the secondary gate, and you bring it straight to Reeve’s drop point in the south alley."

Dax leaned forward, stopping his brass key mid-toss. "And if you panic, or if you get cornered by a monster, don’t go calling for help. Nobody is coming back into that hole to pull out an F-rank. You get dropped, you stay dropped."

Rain folded the crumpled paper, slipping it into his hoodie pocket. Something small and hot flickered behind his ribs at that last line, not fear, closer to anger, the kind he usually let pass through him without holding onto. He held Corwin’s stare anyway, his blue eyes calm on the surface even if the rest of him wasn’t quite as settled as he let on.

"Understood," Rain said simply.

Corwin stared at him for a second, annoyed by Rain’s lack of fear, before spitting on the concrete floor. "Get out of here. The transport leaves the south gate in ten minutes."

The transport was a battered, grey utility van with rusted wheel wells and a rattling engine. It dropped Rain and Peter off at the edge of an overgrown gravel lot two miles past the academy’s outer fence, then slammed its doors and drove off into the darkness, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Standing near the perimeter fence of an abandoned industrial park were three figures.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in his mid-twenties stood in the center, resting one hand on the hilt of a broad steel longsword strapped to his waist. He wore dark grey plate armor over his shoulders and chest, scuffed and dented from heavy use. This was Holt.

To his right stood Fen, a lean, wiry man with narrow eyes and a light leather harness holding three long throwing knives across his chest. To his left was Priya, a quiet looking woman with dark skin, her long hair braided back tight against her skull. She wore reinforced leather armor and held a short, heavy composite bow across her lap, checking the string tension with steady, practiced fingers.

As Rain and Peter approached, Holt turned his head, spitting a dark blob of tobacco juice onto the gravel.

"These are the carriers?" Holt asked, looking past Rain to glare at the empty road where the van had vanished. "They sent us two schoolboys? One of them looks like a breeze would knock him over."

"I’m Peter," Peter offered nervously, taking a quick step forward. "We’re assigned from the board for—"

"I don’t care what your names are," Holt snapped, stepping forward and shoving two large, empty canvas backpacks into Peter’s chest. Peter stumbled back a step, catching the heavy bags against his stomach. "You aren’t hunters. You aren’t fighters. You’re luggage racks with legs."

Fen snickered, leaning against a rusted fence post as he picked at his fingernails with the point of a dagger. "Try not to bleed on the cargo if something bites you, kid. Leather is hard to wash."

Rain took the second backpack from Peter’s arms without being asked, mostly so Peter didn’t have to carry both, but he kept his eyes on Fen while he did it. ’Funny,’ Rain thought, ’coming from a guy who probably signed up for this same board two years ago at the exact same rate.’ He didn’t say it out loud. There wasn’t a version of tonight where starting a fight with these three ended well for him or Peter.

Priya glanced at Rain, her dark eyes evaluating his simple hoodie and dark pants. She didn’t laugh, but her voice was completely flat when she spoke. "Keep your distance from the front line. If a fight breaks out, drop to your knees and cover your head. Do not run around screaming. You’ll draw aggro toward my sightlines."

It wasn’t kind, but it also wasn’t cruel for the sake of it. Rain understood that difference and was grateful at least that someone here wasn’t being a complete asshole just for the sake of it.

"Understood," Rain said again, slinging the backpack over his shoulder.

Holt turned away, drawing his broadsword with a sharp metallic slide. "Let’s move. The barrier on Site 44-B is fluctuating. We’ve got two hours before the municipal patrol sweeps the sector."

They stepped through the tear in the air, a shimmering, translucent rift anchored between two massive, rusted steel girders.

The temperature dropped instantly. The crisp night air of the city was replaced by a thick, suffocating humidity that smelled of rotting vegetation, damp soil, and sour fungus.

They emerged into what had once been a massive, multi-level agricultural processing facility or greenhouse. High above, shattered glass panes hung precariously from rusted iron frames, letting in pale, sickly green light from the Dead Domain’s sky. Massive steel support pillars were completely wrapped in thick, thorny vines as thick as a man’s leg. Black and yellow moss covered the broken concrete floorboards, slippery and wet underfoot.

"Stay tight," Holt commanded in a low growl, stepping over a fallen steel beam. "The lower level looks overgrown. And ground structure seems unstable."

Rain walked five paces behind Priya, his blue eyes constantly scanning the environment. He noted the structural failures in the concrete walls, the narrow sightlines caused by the hanging vines, and the damp, heavy echoes bouncing off the broken glass high above.

Beside him, Peter was trembling, his eyes wide as he looked up at the towering, dark foliage hanging from the rafters.

"Rain," Peter whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of dripping water. "This place, it’s huge. What if we get separated?"

"We won’t," Rain replied softly, his voice a steady, grounding anchor. "Watch your step on the moss. Keep your eyes on the ground."

They moved through a long, ruined corridor lined with broken glass cases. Deep inside the structure, a low, wet grinding sound echoed through the metal pipes, a slow, rhythmic tearing noise that vibrated through the floorboards.

Nobody could see where it was coming from yet. The sound rolled through the pipes ahead of whatever was making it, low and patient, in no hurry at all.

’Whatever that is,’ Rain thought, ’it’s not close. Not yet.’

Suddenly, Holt raised his hand, dropping into a low crouch. The party froze.

"Contact," Fen whispered, his hand instantly darting to the daggers at his chest.

Thirty yards ahead, where the corridor opened into a wide, ruined sorting hall, four figures emerged from the dense thorn bushes.

They were Bramble Hounds.

[Target Identified: Bramble Hound]

[Rank: D-Rank]

[Type: monster / Flora-Hybrid]

[Attributes: Pack Hunter, High Mobility, Thorned Hide]

[Threat Level: Moderate]