The boost towards his power stemmed the flow of blood, passively healing him for the amount his stats rose. But the pain refused to be washed away. It clung to every ounce of clarity Dexter had, attempting to sink him into unconsciousness.

With spearhead in hand, he desperately searched for his guitar bag, in need of the health bars stashed inside the satchel. He had kept a handful on his person, but during the brawl they had gotten squished, reduced to crumbs and a sticky mess inside his pockets.

Dexter grew more frantic as time ticked on, and he couldn't find the gig bag. Grimacing, he slowly checked over his wounds and forced another batch of crumbs into his mouth. He wasn't sure if the amount would help, but it was currently the only method he had available.

In his compromised mental state, it was hard for him to think, let alone send enough vital energy towards his wounds. The energy would passively work to assist him, but without an insane Constitution attribute, or proper guidance, the wound would heal normally.

Eventually, Dexter found the location he was searching for, but the bag was still nowhere to be found. The patches of grass in the area weren't thick enough to conceal it, nor the scattered rocks and miniature boulders, yet it was missing.

Moments later, it dawned on him that the bag had to have been moved, and the only person who could do that—anger rose within Dexter as he looked around for the asshole. The bastard hadn't even gone far and was rummaging through the bag without a hint of subtlety.

"Stop," Dexter said. He hadn't yelled, there was no need to because his voice traveled with an open threat and the message was perfectly clear.

"You're alive?"

"Back away from the bag."

"N-no. This is mine, you stole it."

"Take the shitty armor and back away," Dexter raised his voice. He could tell the man was growing bolder as his eyes drifted over Dexter's tattered appearance. Dexter was sure he looked atrocious, he didn't need a mirror, but even if he had both feet in the grave, he could take the guy. Hell, he wanted to as punishment for leaving him to fight the weregoats alone.

The thought of killing another person had never entered his mind before, but at the moment he felt so unstable, so out of control that killing him would be tantamount to crushing a bug—as easy as lifting a finger. Staring at the man, Dexter allowed Iron Shroud to drip down the broken shaft of his spear, towards the head covered in blood and gore.

"Alright, alright," the man backed away. "Jesus, what's wrong with you?"

Dropping to his knees, Dexter ripped open the satchel and stuffed three whole health bars into his mouth. He grabbed the other two flavors as well, washing them down with water.

The mix of flavors weren't the best combination, but they each worked in tandem, and Dexter felt each ration bar work its magic. The most satisfying were the health bars that regenerated his vital energy, and flooded his wounds to heal them. Puss leaked out of the worst wounds and the pain turned to a burning itch, but with each passing second he felt healthier, and a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

Slouching back, Dexter let out a heavy sigh as all the adrenaline left him. It was a close fight, but he had turned out victorious, gaining 5 levels for himself, entirely new quests, and progress in his first quest.

"One down, nine to go—" Dexter stopped with his jaw wide open, looking at his quest panel. He had spoken far too soon.

[ Quest: Adept Rogue (Bronze) ]

Fill the Path Token with Vital Energy. Level: 1/10. Elites slain: 0/10 Reward: +15 Dexterity.

Dexter stared at the blue screen for a full minute, when it finally clicked into place. He hadn't killed an elite beast at all. And after all he had done, the tokens level only increased by 1 point. It seemed his first guest was correct, the Token's level was entirely separate from his own. In order to increase its level, he would have to slay beasts in battle.

Shaking his head, Dexter must have looked delirious as he stared at the quest panel and counted on his fingers the amount of weregoats he had slain. Because as he started laughing, his eyes locked with the conman, causing the man to take two steps back.

"...You're f'n crazy hõmes," the conman blurted out, forgetting to mask his accent.

The new accent caught Dexter off guard, but he only laughed harder.

"What's so funny?"

Sighing, Dexter held up his spear, nudging it towards the quest panel. But the blank look he received informed him that others weren't privy to his status information.

"Nothing," Dexter finally said, "and since when in hell did you become Mexican?"

It was a rhetorical question, but it was given an answer.

"Since I was birthed out of mi mamá's vagina."

The seriousness in his tone caused them both to laugh, breaking the ice. Dexter still wanted to punch him, but he wouldn't crucify the guy for being scared. If he didn't know what he was capable of, he couldn't say he wouldn't have done the same. Especially witnessing the ominous glow of those red horns.

"You weren't lying about having a daughter, were you?" Dexter asked, standing up after his pain further subsided, and the cloud fled from his mind.

"Only about my wife, I haven't proposed yet."

Dexter saw an emotional and physical wince on the man's face, finally noticing that he had wounds of his own. "Here," he tossed two health bars over. "I guess I took those from you as well, what was your name again?"

"George," George said. "But weren't there two other flavors?"

"That's the price you have to pay for me saving your ass."

"Sí," George nodded, staring at the dead weregoats.

"You can at least look guilty," Dexter muttered.

Making sure his guitar was okay, Dexter removed the satchel and strapped it to his armor. He chided himself for not doing that at first, when he recalled the runes on the armor. There was no reaction the first time he had infused it with energy, at least from what he could tell. But...

Focusing his mind, Dexter released the energy out of his body. His control was rough, as he hadn't gotten used to controlling his energy without the use of a skill. But in the end he managed it with minor setbacks, visualizing a chef stretching pizza dough to fill an entire tray.

The first armor piece that came to life was his torso. The blood steamed, evaporating until the vapor cleared, and the gear looked as good as new. And to think, he wasted all that time cleaning it.

"You fixed it," George shouted, "how?!"

Ignoring the questions from George, Dexter focused on sending his energy to the leather chest piece. He even peered closer, focusing his senses, and could see the material merging, consolidating into a stronger whole. By infusing the armor with vital energy, he could not only repair the damage, but increase the durability further. There was a cap, of course, but the ability was more than he could ask for.

Digging right back into his satchel, Dexter stuffed his face with the ration bars that smelled of blueberries and cream. The regeneration of his energy rose with a fuzzy feeling, and he wasted no time infusing each piece of gear until their durability was maxed out. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for his spear. Its shaft was split right down the middle.

I should search for discarded chests, Dexter thought. Maybe there I can find a new spear. His spear was once a proud weapon, standing over six feet with wing guards at the tail of a foot long blade. Yet, it now resembled a dagger, begging for a growth spurt. Unfortunately, the wrong end had been chosen, leaving behind a handle that was a meter in length.

Lost in thought, Dexter twirled the weapon, becoming accustomed to its new weight distribution. It surprisingly felt more natural, like an extension of his own arm. The new size could possibly become an issue, but it was a Bronze tiered weapon after all and its ability was still functional.

On second thought, I should be fine as long as the edge remains sharp, Dexter told himself. Besides, size isn't everything. It's about how you use it that counts.

Balancing on the balls of his feet, Dexter slashed forward, extending the reach of the spearhead by holding the end of the splintered shaft.

It's about the motion of the ocean!

Stepping forward, his palm slid up to the guard, and into an imaginary opponent.

It's about the dip of the tip!

"What are you doing," a confused George interrupted, his questions finally getting through to Dexter.

"Huh? Oh, um, nothing," Dexter said, reassembling his gear to seem busy. After he finished, he waved goodbye and promptly left. He had points to assign and wanted to do that before more weregoats arrived at the scene. But after a handful of steps, he turned, staring at George. "Why are you following me?"

"Because you're strong."

"I'm afraid that's not how this works," Dexter said. "And don't walk behind me, I don't trust you."

"Aren't you going to the Safe Zone? I need help getting there. These t-things, I can't fight them like you can."

Deciding on how he should handle the situation, Dexter chose truth as the best response.

"Look, George, I'm going to be frank with you. You're not a hot girl, so I simply can't take pity on you. What, don't look at me like that. The world's gone to shit, so we might as well be as blunt as possible. And you did yourself no favors by leaving me to fight those beasts," Dexter let the word linger before continuing. "The best advice I can give you is to take that sword and stick it to the new world. I'm not a master at anything, I'm simply willing to fight."

Dexter watched emotions contort George's face, and the message was clear. He'd only fight to protect his loved ones. For anything else, he'd consider it as needlessly risking his life. In truth, Dexter sympathized with the guy. He had his own loved ones he cared for. But there was a limit to another person's baggage he would carry around. And from the gaze George gave him, it was like a kid looking up to a superhero. However charming it may be on a kid, it reeked of selfishness on an adult.

"I'm sure your wife is strong and smart," Dexter started, "and she's pregnant, so she was probably sent to a Safe Zone along with the elderly and children."

"You think she's alive?" George stammered out, wiping away falling tears.

"There's a chance," Dexter said.

Gripping the sword handle, George steeled his eyes. "What do I have to do?"

An hour after Dexter went over his theories and understanding of the System with George, he helped the man allocate his stat points. Then he trekked back up the mountain and found a new cave. Inside was a venomous snake that he promptly killed and kicked out, then he sat down to check his status page.

Status//

Name: Dexter Hawk

Level: 7

Class: N/A

Attunement: Iron Shroud

Titles: Initiate, Sage, Exalted, Ranker, Primo, First blood, Lionhearted, Slayer, Giant Slayer

Renown: [Bronze]/37,000

Attributes//

Perception: 37 – [Skill Slot Available!]

Strength: 34 – [Locked]

Constitution: 35 – [Locked]

Dexterity: 44 – [Locked]

Magic: 41 – [Locked]

Effectiveness: +36%

Free Points: 6

Essence Tokens: 6,460

Almost ten hours into the new world and Dexter had gained four new Titles. The Titles complemented his previous ones very well, quadrupling his effective strength. Without them, he'd have been gored to death by the larger weregoats.

The lesser weregoats by his estimation had to be lower than level 5, while the red one he had slain pushed 8 or 9, judging by the Giant Slayer Title and accompanying quest he received. The sheer difference in power between the two types of beasts was staggering, he'd dare say intimidating, but it broadened his understanding of the Bronze tier and what ranked Classes were capable of.

Already he had passed level 5 and unlocked an attribute skill slot, gaining a Free Point for the achievement. He just needed a Perception skill to fill it. But Dexter knew that may take a while. His new quests would get exponentially harder as he leveled up, and the Safe Zone looked to be two to three days away by foot, and that didn't factor in the delays he'd encounter. Forests by their very nature held the most amount of predators. Aggressive wild beasts that grew up learning to kill through sport. Dexter could only imagine the type of changes they had undergone.

That bright pillar of light in the distance that offered hope to the desperate, was a deathtrap. Regardless of his feelings towards the guy, Dexter tried implanting George with a fighting will in hopes that he didn't just run straight there and get himself killed. But he doubted much of anything stopped others from running towards their death.

Briefly he wondered if what he said was true. He'd seen pregnant women perform miraculous feats, but they'd have had to have an attunement that surpassed his own in order to reach such a place. Either that, or have gods of fortune favoring them. Without Iron Shroud, the limits of what he could achieve nose dived off the very mountain he was occupying. Fortunately, he'd never have to worry about that.

"6 points," Dexter said, deciding whether he should divide them up or not. With the new length of his spear, he'd be too close for comfort to his opponents, required to dance around like a gymnast. Realizing that, the Constitution stat became more tempting for him to upgrade. But with the extra durability of his armor taken into account, he decided to place all 6 points into Dexterity. If he had to be a weasley little snake, so be it. There was nothing to complain about. His fortune during the introduction had set him up for greatness. Though time would only tell if he could bear the weight.

Yawning, Dexter shifted his body to get in a more comfortable position. He was still aching from the previous encounter and could use the rest. Sleep wouldn't come easy, but if he rested his eyes for just a bit...

"Dexter!" George's voice came yelling. "We have a problem!"

We? Dexter thought, growing annoyed. "What is it?" his eyes slowly opened when George's large silhouette refracted the sunlight entering the cave.

"Zombies!"