'Hey, what did you do to me?' Vell asked. He had finally climbed out of the sewers and was now in a part of the city that most people avoided.
[I don't understand the question.]
'Don't play dumb with me; you know exactly what I am talking about,' he thought, his irritation clear. 'Why did I react like that with my old friends? Showing no mercy? I wouldn't normally go that far.' He remembered the cold satisfaction as he'd watched them flee, the mangled pipes a testament to his barely contained power.
[I didn't influence your emotions or actions; that was all you. Think back: how have you felt toward the people who accused you? What did you want to do to them before I appeared?]
Vell's mind drifted to the long months on the streets, the constant hunger, the looks of disgust, the way people clutched their belongings tighter when he passed. It had festered into a deep-seated resentment, a quiet rage that simmered beneath the surface.
He had often imagined confronting them, making them understand the injustice, but sometimes, darker thoughts of retribution had crept in. The system had been a distraction, a new focus that had seemingly pushed those feelings aside.
He'd thought he had let go of that burning anger, but the encounter at the crepe shop had been the first crack, that surge of violent impulse he'd barely suppressed. The confrontation in the sewer with Marek and Larisa, however, had been different. Their continued accusations, their refusal to even consider his side, had chipped away at his control until it snapped.
"Haha," he muttered, a dry, humorless sound. "I thought I was over this, but it seems I still harbor a pretty intense hatred for them. I need to be more careful from now on; running into more people like that could actually make me lose it."
[Yes, self-control is advisable. However, I should inform you that something seemed to lift from you when you confronted your former companions. It was like a constraint, a chain binding you, was loosened. I am not entirely sure, but if my hunch is correct, this situation might be more complex than you realize.]
"Yeah, it doesn't make sense for everyone to suddenly turn on me without any proof," Vell mused. "I am starting to think a Player is behind all this. Maybe I should try to find Kana and ask her about it. She was the one who accused me, after all, and that look she gave me back when she fought that monster... ugh, whatever. Let's focus on why we came to this particular spot."
It did not take him long to find the large, ancient tree he was looking for, but something felt wrong. The air was heavy, carrying a foul, sticky quality, as if something terrible had occurred nearby. As he drew closer, he saw them: numerous small, dead animals scattered around the base of the tree. And carved deeply into the trunk was a Christian cross.
"What the fuck."
Before he could fully process the disturbing scene, a powerful kick connected with the side of his head. The world exploded in a flash of pain, and he was sent flying, crashing hard against the tree trunk.
'What? Who kicked me? I couldn't sense anyone.'
His vision swam, and sounds were muffled and distorted. He could hear voices, but they were indistinct, like listening to a conversation underwater. It took a few long moments for his senses to gradually return to normal. As they did, he could make out what the voices were saying.
"Why did you kick him so hard?" one voice asked.
"What the hell are you talking about? That was a normal kick, barely any power behind it," another, rougher voice replied with a sneer. "Tch, weak bastard. If he dies from that, I am in trouble."
'Ugh, shit,' he thought, his head throbbing. 'Did I let my guard down that badly? No, whoever kicked me is just way stronger than I am. This might be bad.'
His vision finally cleared, and he saw five Players standing a short distance away. He did not try to move; he just observed them for now, assessing the situation. They did not seem to be paying him much attention, likely assuming he was incapacitated.
He took this momentary lapse to his advantage. This was a place he knew intimately from his childhood explorations. They had made a mistake by taking their eyes off him.
One of the Players, a young woman, glanced towards the tree and noticed he was gone.
"Uh, guys... he is gone."
They all turned sharply. He was, indeed, gone.
"Fuck."
They spread out, beginning to search, but Vell was already hidden in a place they would not easily find: a narrow, concealed opening at the base of the tree that led to a small underground hollow. He pressed himself into the damp earth, his mind still reeling from the impact of the kick.
'Dammit, what should I do now? Those guys are too powerful for me to fight head-on.'
[The animal you mentioned, find it. Immediately.]
'Right, Let me call him.'
He brought his fingers together and snapped them in a specific, complex rhythm, repeating the sequence for about twenty seconds before stopping. The hollow was silent for a moment, then a faint rustling came from the hidden entrance.
A small, furry snout sniffed the air cautiously, and then, recognizing a familiar scent, a sleek, dark-furred weasel darted into the hollow. It let out a series of happy chitters and leaped towards him.
"Hahaha, whoa there, little guy, easy," he chuckled, catching the agile creature. He gently stroked its fur as it wriggled in his lap, clearly overjoyed to see him after such a long time.
Their peaceful reunion was abruptly shattered. An attack, likely a concussive force or an earth-shattering spell, struck the ground above them, causing the roof of the hollow to cave in. Dirt and debris rained down, and Vell scrambled to pull himself and the weasel out of the collapsing den.
As he emerged, blinking in the dim light, he found the Players waiting for him. This time, they had him surrounded, leaving no obvious path for escape.
'Guess we are screwed,' he thought, holding his little friend protectively against his chest.
"Okay, man, enough of this," one of the Players said. He seemed young, maybe around Vell's age, with intelligent eyes that appeared to assess Vell carefully. "Just come back with us. I am not sure what you did, but it cannot be worth all this trouble, right?"
He looked at the one speaking. He stood up slowly, making no sudden moves, trying to project an air of non-aggression.
"...what rank are you guys?" he asked.
The Players exchanged glances before one of them, the one who had kicked him earlier, spoke up, his voice laced with annoyance. "Why does that matter? Just come back with us; my patience is growing thin."
The young woman among them, Jolly, stepped forward. She seemed to sense no immediate hostility from him. She smiled faintly and reached out to gently tickle the weasel under its chin. The little creature, usually wary of strangers, seemed to relax under her touch.
'Hm? He's usually hostile toward new people, but he opened up to her that quickly? Interesting.'
"Hi," Jolly said, her voice friendly. "My name is Jolly; it's nice to meet you. I am sorry we are being a bit harsh towards you; we are just following orders. You asked what rank we are. Give me a sec... here."
She handed him her Player license. He took it and glanced at her name, rank, and age.
"Apprentice rank? Really?" Vell was surprised. "The energy I sense from you all is quite strong. So this is what a real Player feels like, huh?"
He returned the license and looked at the others. They all appeared relatively approachable, except for the one who had kicked him, who still looked ready for a fight.
"Yeah, we are low-ranked Players," Jolly admitted with a slight smile, "but we try our best."
'Yeah, I remember seeing a list of Player ranks years ago,' Vell recalled. 'Apprentice is the second-lowest rank. But this... this power is truly from one of the weakest tiers? Just how strong are the higher ranks, then?'
He looked at Jolly again and decided to take a chance.
"Can we talk?"
"Sure," she replied. "Is this about why the Association is after you?"
"Yeah... I am not actually a Player yet," he began. "I only recently awakened, in a town far from here. I came to the city this morning to register, but things were more complicated than I thought. I heard you need an ID to enter the test, so I went to the registration desk. The woman there told me to grab this strange crystalline orb, which I did, but then it just… broke. She looked at me with a really strange expression, and moments later, I found myself being chased as if I had committed some major crime."
Jolly listened to his story, her expression thoughtful. His shabby clothes and generally unkempt appearance seemed to lend some credibility to his account of being new and uninformed. Yet, she sensed he was holding something back.
"If that is true," she asked, her gaze steady, "then why did you run? They did not say they wanted to hurt you, did they? So why run?"
Vell sighed. There was no point in trying to hide everything. "It would be faster if I showed you. Can you give me your hand?"
She hesitated for a moment, scrutinizing him closely, then nodded and extended her hand. He gently took it and tried to channel a small amount of his mana into her body, intending to show her its nature.
However, as his mana made contact, it was met with a resistant force from within her and was unexpectedly, forcefully repelled. The others tensed, thinking he was trying to harm her, and started to move forward, but Jolly quickly waved them off.
"What was that?" she asked, pulling her hand back and looking at it with an intrigued expression. The sensation had been strange, unlike anything she had felt before. 'It's weird; he transferred some of his energy into me, and I was repelled. Why? I need to know.' She stepped closer, positioning herself directly in front of him, her eyes fixed on his, waiting for an answer.
"Do you know something called corrupted mana?" He asked quietly.
"Corrupted mana?" She repeated, her brow furrowing.
The intelligent-looking Player also stepped closer, his curiosity clearly piqued. "Why are you asking about something like that?"
"Just tell me," he pressed. "I am not a Player, as I said, but I have my suspicions about the Association and its methods."
Before anyone could answer, the Player who had kicked him earlier, his patience clearly exhausted, lunged forward. His fist connected with Vell's jaw, sending him stumbling back.
A sharp pain lanced through his mouth, and he tasted blood. A tooth clattered to the ground. He glared at his attacker, his eyes beginning to emit a faint, cold light, like a cornered beast ready to strike.
The weasel in his arms mirrored his stance, its tiny body tensing, a low hiss rumbling in its chest, its own eyes reflecting a similar, fierce glow.
[Will you tame this weasel?]
'Yes.'
[Activating skill...]