The air hung heavy, thick with grief between Grace and Duskblade. I too was upset, but more in a 'I spilled a bowl of cereal' type of way. My chance of a flawless dungeon clear had imploded when practically everyone died, dashing my hopes of our adventure spreading through embellished bar tales.

  I had the sinking feeling that achieving a stellar reputation as an adventurer was going to be a long, frustrating road. Although hopefully not as long as this goddamn tunnel.

  We moved in silence, continuing the seemingly never-ending trek down the corridor. Grace loosely clung to my back while Duskblade hobbled at our side with staggered strides. Sweat stung my eyes as Grace's wheezing breaths brushed against my neck.

  “Are you OK? Do you want me to carry you in my arms?” I asked.

  “Fuck off, we're a stone's throw away from the end.”

  I figured she was lying for her own sake. We were still a good mile from the end and my broken right hand had swollen up like a blowfish. As much as it hurt, I surely wouldn’t be the first to complain.

  After a solid 15 minutes of agonized walking, a pungent stench wafted through the air, growing in potency as we approached the corridor’s end. I pinched my nose, spotting a disturbing pile of excrement in the corner. How long had Derulo been down here? More importantly, a charcoal-colored chest bound with silver bands awaited us, perched on a small pedestal in front of the sprawling back wall.

  At first, I ignored the chest, far too disturbed by the lack of a visible exit. My heart sank as I stood before an imposing stone wall with a purple gemstone embedded in its center.

  “Don't tell me we have to backtrack,” I muttered, placing my hand against the wall's cool alloy surface.

  Grace let out a loud, exasperated sigh in my ear. “No, you fool. We'll be teleported outside once Duskblade empties that chest. When we get back to Ingcaster, I suggest you hire a tutor.”

  Duskblade stood frozen, gawking at the wall, completely ignoring the chest on the pedestal in front of him. He pointed at the embedded gemstone in awe. “I can't believe it. I think that’s a chaos shard. It matches the description I’ve heard from other adventurers. Same color, and it should be warm to the touch.”

  “Huh, really?” I said and gently pried the shard out of its groove.

  Like Duskblade suggested, a strange heat emanated from the plum-colored shard. Its warmth swept across my fingertips as I inspected it, watching the prismatic hues dance across its facets. Despite everyone calling it a chaos shard, it looked more like a hexagonal gemstone cut with absolute precision.

  Admittedly, it looked quite expensive. I secured the chaos shard, tucking it away into my bag.

  Quest Cleared -The Emerald Dungeon

  +1250 XP

  -500 Karma

  Additional awards will be granted upon opening your status window.

  Minus five hundred karma? I blankly stared at the floating text, contemplating what that even meant. Was it a flaw in the system? I'd never lost karma before, and losing it now because I completed a quest prompted by the system made little sense.

  It pissed me off seeing Chaos import beer, lawn furniture, and other crap, while Justice couldn't even spare me a goddamn instruction manual. At this rate, the sly demon would beat her at whatever game they were playing because he wasn’t afraid to cheat.

  The 500 point drop in karma stung, but that bothered me less than my perpetual bewilderment regarding the system's grand design. It simply made no sense.

  Mass murder? Totally cool, plus 100 karma. Cut out a man’s tongue? Eh, we’ll let that one slide. Complete a quest? Bad dog! Go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

  Maybe the system had penalized me for my personal performance? That was a chilling notion. I truly attempted to keep everyone alive. Sure, I hid my abilities, but I doubted they would’ve changed the outcome, anyway.

  The lack of clarity was frustrating, only compounding my impression that the karma system was a hollow piece of trash. Why was it only rewarding me for killing?

  LEVEL UP

  +1 Ability Point

  +2 Mastery Points

  +1 Agility

  +1 Stamina

  +1 Strength

  +1 Resilience

  +1 Recovery

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Leveling up slightly eased my concerns surrounding the drop in karma rating. It was an odd detail I planned on discussing with Justice the next time we met. I was tempted to snitch on Chaos, call his bluff, and see if my heart would really explode. Was dying again to see Justice squash that snake worth it?

  Eh, probably not.

  The new stat points took immediate effect. My skeleton seized as the point in resilience reinforced my tendons and bones. The recovery stat also passively activated, dialing back the pain in my injured hand from an eight to a four. My entire body felt lighter and more durable.

  Gaining two new stat types was a massive boon. Not only were they incredibly useful stats, but they also opened an entire realm of new possibilities.

  What other hidden stats are out there?

  With each passing day, I was growing stronger in different aspects. Clearly, I had still barely scratched the system’s surface. Yet, there were no limits in sight, and that prospect was all too exciting.

  “What... What just happened?” Grace stuttered. “You just went slack jawed and zoned out into some weird trance. Then I felt it. Your body changed,” she said, repeatedly poking my shoulder.

  “Sorry, I was meditating to restore my energy. It’s a secret martial arts technique,” I bluffed, pushing her suspension of disbelief off a damn cliff.

  “Incredible. I’ve heard of monks using similar abilities, but usually it’s for increasing mana regeneration,” Duskblade said as he approached the chest, not giving my reasoning a second thought.

  “Meditation, my ass.” Grace tapped my collar. “Your bones and muscles thickened. Almost like you put on a layer of armor underneath your skin.”

  “Duskblade, we should hurry. She’s lost too much blood and isn’t making sense.”

  Leighland nodded as he hastened, tending to the chest.

  “I’m the one not making sense? Who did you say your master was?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Displeased with my uncooperative answer, Grace sighed, letting it go. Besides, she was in no position to demand answers from the guy giving her a free piggyback ride.

  Duskblade unlocked the chest, and quickly began bagging an assortment of interesting goods: unlabeled potions, gems, various ores, and an antique locket no larger than a thumbnail. The locket’s surface was smooth, yet alive, shimmering under the light, nestled in Duskblade's palm.

  He formed a fist and squeezed until blood trickled down the bottom of his hand. Fighting back tears, he dropped the trinket into the cloth bag with the rest of the loot.

  Once the chest was empty, it vanished as a familiar blinding white light overrode my senses. One moment we were standing at the dungeon's dead end, and the next we were outside, standing on rain softened ground, breathing in dewy forest air as dawn broke.

  After clearing my vision with a few blinks, I recognized the same horse-drawn carriage we rode in on just a few dozen yards away, parked behind a line of shrubs. At our backs was the imposing wall of bleached ancient trees that led to the dungeon's entrance.

  Grace dropped down from my back, balancing herself with a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks, but I can manage from here.”

  “No problem,” I said, noticing the earthy scent of a nearby campfire.

  “The coachman probably wasn't expecting us this early,” Duskblade said. “Let's head to his camp.”

  We followed our noses slightly off the trail, wading through a shroud of early morning mist. Grace hopped along, using my shoulder as a crutch. If her pride allowed it, carrying her would've been faster. I eagerly awaited returning to Ingcaster. The wealth of mastery and ability points I had collected weren't going to spend themselves. And strangely enough, Viessa was still on my mind.

  Muffled chatter convinced us to watch our step, making sure not to snap any fallen branches. Only one person should’ve been waiting for us. As we walked underneath the forest's massive canopy, I spotted a flicker of movement through the other side of the brush, which automatically set-off Karma's Gaze.

  Target: Klauser

  Level: 3

  Karma: -320

  Additional Data: Junior member of the Black Diamond Mercenary Company. Age, 28. Male. Favorite foods are muffins and grapes.

  “I sense martial energy up ahead,” I whispered.

  “Even I saw that,” Grace said.

  Seconds later, Klauser drunkenly stumbled out along a row of bushes and dropped his trousers, unleashing a fierce stream of piss upon an innocent rock. He stood behind a tree just a few yards from our position. Unbeknownst to our presence, he continued draining his bladder without a care in the world, humming a tune.

  30 yards behind the pissing mercenary was a camp occupied with more than just our coachman, who was sitting next to a campfire, nursing a flask with a shit-eating grin painted across his face.

  Karma's Gaze pinged seven names immediately. Six belonged to the same mercenary group. Going by their triple digit negative karma, The Black Diamond Mercenary Company wasn't a non-profit charity out here selling cookies. Klauser especially gave off weird Eastern European bad guy vibes with his buzz cut and square-shaped face.

  As status information flooded in, I activated Filter and set it to level four. Every name disappeared, but I assumed more of them were fast asleep in their tents. My heart fluttered with exhilaration.

  Duskblade grit his teeth, seething. “Someone sold us out. That coachman's clueless if he thinks he can rip-off Pearl Banner and live.”

  “Allow me to deal with this,” I said.

  Grace leaned up against the tree, peering out. “Your right arm's still useless and we're vastly outnumbered. See that bronze necklace he's wearing? It means he's a mercenary.”

  I tried stepping out, but Grace grabbed my shoulder. “They're not just some amateurs like the bandits you're used to fighting. These are professionals known for ambushing adventurers. They'll kill us for our loot and never look back.”

  It was like she hated fun. After watching those kids die and getting my ego bruised by Derulo, I needed to blow off some steam. Instead of wasting time trying to convince Grace, I turned to Duskblade and shoved her into his arms.

  “Double back for the carriage. If I'm not back in ten minutes, leave without me,” I said, dismissing them.

  Duskblade nodded, covering Grace's mouth as she was halfway through calling me an asshole, carrying her back the way we came.

  Once they were clearly out of sight, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. They would have only gotten in the way, if they even had any energy left to fight. Duskblade looked spent, and well, Grace was missing an entire leg. At least without them, I could unleash my abilities freely.

  I stepped out from behind the tree, waving my good arm. “Hello, fellow traveler.”

  Klauser tripped backwards mid-stream. “Son of a bitch. You scared me.”

  The mercenary crawled on his back as he tucked away his business. “Look what you did. I've got piss all over myself.”

  “Yes, that is quite unfortunate,” I said, calmly approaching. “To die in your own urine.”

  Klauser reached for the dagger by his side, but I beat him to it and sliced open his throat. Stepping over his fallen body, I loomed over the camp, tucked away in a shadow courtesy of the rising sun. Six mercenaries, plus our wasted coachman, sat on logs spread around the campfire. Half were hungover, and the rest were still drunk.

  +10 XP

  +5 Karma

  Invisibility.

  Like a ghost, I silently descended out of the fading night and into the camp.