The taste of hot stew still lingered faintly on Aryan's tongue, even as the night chilled the streets of Drezan. With a few silver chips clutched in his hand, he wandered into a dim alley near the market—a place he'd passed many times but never dared enter before.
A weapon shop.
Inside, walls lined with blades, rusted guns, and dented armor gleamed under flickering lights. The shopkeeper, a scar-faced old man with a gaze like steel, raised an eyebrow at the boy's presence.
Aryan glanced at the racks, then at the pouch in his palm. Not even enough for the dullest dagger.
"Looking won't cost you," the shopkeeper grunted.
Aryan sighed. "I'll come back… when I can afford something real."
Without a word, he stepped back into the street and made his way to the back alley where he often slept—beneath broken awnings and between two dented barrels. The cold didn't bite as much tonight. His body ached, but his soul burned.
Tomorrow, he would hunt again.
The first rays of sunlight peeked over the wasteland, casting golden light across the ruins beyond the walls.
Aryan stretched his arms, his body still bruised from yesterday's battle. But he refused to show weakness.
"Focus," he told himself, standing tall. "If I want to survive out there, I need to move faster, react faster."
He dropped to the ground and started doing push-ups. Then squats. Then shadow strikes—practicing dodges and stabs with the old dagger tucked into his belt.
By midmorning, sweat glistened on his forehead.
He slipped past the city gates again, back into the heart of desolation.
The wasteland welcomed him with silence.
As he trudged across cracked earth and shattered ruins, he kept his eyes open for any signs of life—or danger. An hour passed. Nothing. Just wind and whispers of the dead.
Then he saw it—a lake.
Still. Deep. The surface shimmered with a strange blue tint, reflecting the sky in a perfect mirror.
"I could use some water," Aryan mumbled, approaching the shore. He knelt, scooped a handful toward his mouth—
Snap!
A ripple.
A blur.
Then pain.
Before Aryan could react, something wrapped around his leg and yanked him into the water.
He gasped—but no sound came. Just bubbles and darkness.
The lake swallowed him whole, dragging him deeper and deeper. His lungs screamed. He kicked and struggled, eyes darting through the murky depths.
And then he saw it.
A blue-scaled serpent, at least six meters long, coiled around him. Its glowing eyes locked onto him, its fanged mouth opening slowly in the dark.
"No… not like this!" Aryan's thoughts screamed.
His hand flailed for his belt—and found a blade. A small, sharp throwing knife, tucked into his boot as backup. He hadn't remembered it until now.
With a desperate yell muffled by water, he sliced through the serpent's coils. Blood clouded the water, and the grip loosened.
He kicked away, swimming upward with every ounce of strength in his battered body.
His head broke the surface—
Air.
He coughed violently, gasping, wheezing, alive—but only for a second.
The serpent shot upward behind him and dragged him down again.
Aryan clenched his jaw. This time, he was ready.
"You want me?" he thought. "Then come and try!"
The serpent wrapped tightly around his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. His bones creaked. But Aryan twisted his wrist and stabbed the blade deep into the beast's right eye.
The serpent shrieked, its grip loosening. It writhed in agony, slashing the water with its tail.
Aryan didn't stop.
He swam after it—chased it into the deep. The water grew colder. His limbs grew heavier. But he stabbed the other eye, blinding the monster completely.
Then he gripped the serpent's head with both hands and drove the blade into its skull.
A final tremor passed through the beast's body. Then it stilled.
Aryan floated in the silence, his breath shallow, his body drained.
But he was alive.
It took every drop of strength he had left to drag the snake from the lake.
Its body shimmered in the sun, glistening with magical blue scales. Near the chest, embedded beneath the skin, was a faint glow—a monster crystal.
Aryan collapsed beside it, laughing softly.
"That… was not… a small one."
Back in Drezan, whispers spread as Aryan entered through the gate—soaked, bloody, dragging a beast nearly twice his size.
At the BLADE counter, the same man stood waiting.
"You again?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're not just crazy, kid—you're suicidal."
Aryan dropped the corpse at his feet.
The man bent down and inspected the beast. Then, his fingers brushed the faint blue glow on the serpent's chest.
"Well, I'll be damned," the man said, impressed. "Mid-level water serpent. D-rank. With a core. You just earned yourself a bonus."
He placed a hefty pouch on the counter.
"700 chips. That's more than some full teams get."
Aryan stared at it, chest rising and falling slowly. His hand shook as he reached out and took the pouch.
This wasn't just survival anymore.
This was progress.
He didn't say a word. He just turned and walked away, the weight of the serpent's death heavy on his soul, but the warmth of hope flickering deep inside his heart.