Eric took a deep, steadying breath as he found himself before the metal door once more, the slightly gnawed but still perfectly serviceable lock once more in hand.

It didn't matter how much he had grown, these past few weeks. Even if he was a long way from being as strong, graceful, and quick as he had been in his prime, he was perhaps even better at delivering vicious draw cuts than he had ever been before. Or perhaps he was fooling himself, those lost three points of Strength a massive game changer in their own right.

Yet he was now fully kitted in armor, had practiced shooting his crossbows and wielding his weapons and pivoting around the training pel with everything he was now wearing, and had advantages he never could have dreamed of, before the world ended.

He smiled as he summoned one of his cocked and ready crossbows before making it vanish and summoning the second, then finally his spear, all in the space of six seconds. He even had a skill for his Extra-Dimensional Storage now, which hopefully meant he could improve it further. Though whether it would affect the amount of stuff he could store or how fast he could pull things out of storage, or both, or involved something completely different, he wasn’t yet sure.

Definitely another skill to develop, when he had the time.

Now, it was time to face that which he had been putting off for far too long.

Still, even with that resolve, it was all he could do to spin the vault door open, heart racing just the same as it had weeks ago, when he had first entered.

And stepping into that darkness, even with his infravision automatically lightening up the surroundings like an exquisitely detailed infrared camera, for all that everything had a dull cool glow, was perhaps the hardest thing he had ever done.

Save for taking leather gloves off hands that were both trembling and sweaty, and forcing himself to turn around, with the corridor at his back as he practiced locking, spinning the combination, and unlocking the combination lock in his hand half a dozen times before he finally found the courage to put it back on the padlock securing his vault from the world.

Before his terror suddenly spiked, just knowing a hoard of rats was going to come surging around the corridor, forcing himself to slowly, carefully, spin the lock open once more, relieved beyond words to find that it did not jam shut at the worst possible moment, that it opened clean and easy… as it had the half dozen additional times before he finally forced himself to turn around and walk away.

He quickly re-donned his leather gloves after checking the strap securing his half helm, scratching his neck under the buttoned-up collar and many times-wrapped pink silk scarf before finally summoning one of his two loaded crossbows with a moment's concentration. Only then did he take his first steps as an adventurer determined to step past his fears, and do whatever it took to survive and grow stronger.

One step at a time.

Today? Just a single rat, shot without fear botching his shot.

That was his goal.

Just like he used to hunt these tunnels with his sister, what now felt like a lifetime ago. Of course, the rats had been quite a bit smaller then, and nowhere near as savage. And without eyes that glowed with feral, hostile intelligence.

Like the pair suddenly looking his way as a massive rat easily three and a half feet long began frantically sniffing the air. Just fifty feet down the corridor when Alex left the bend leading back to his own little sanctuary and took his first steps down the main arched tunnel that had been his hunting grounds, not that long ago.

His blood ran cold when one rat turned into three, all of them chittering madly as they popped into the main tunnel from the distant side corridor the first had darted free of.

Eric froze, taking soft, shallow breaths, not moving a muscle as all the lessons in stealth and stalking that Vincent had taught them when they first began their hunts came to the fore. His galloping heart began to ease as he realized that the rats, though aware of something, could see absolutely no trace of him in the inky darkness.

It was their noses alone guiding them, and now they were without the convenience of the original blood trail that had made it so easy for the rats to follow him to his layer, Eric realized as he made use of the incredible boon his Fire essence had granted him, infravision allowing him to draw a bead on the closest rat, aiming for just under its sniffing snout, and gently squeezing the trigger.

A surprisingly loud hiss cut through the air as the rat jerked back and collapsed, blood spurting from its gaping mouth as Eric's bolt tore completely through it, a flash of heat streaking down the hallway making it clear that the viscera covered bolt had torn completely through.

But Eric allowed neither startlement nor exhilaration to affect his slow, careful movements as the rats squealed and chittered, much as he was terrified of them drawing more of their numbers than he was ready for.

He struggled to focus, to keep his cool. Hating the way the flood of adrenaline was causing his still imperfectly coordinated hands to tremble when he summoned forth his second crossbow. He did his best to breathe easy, to remain calm as the squealing, agitated rats began darting back and forth around the corpse of their brethren.

Eric waited for the most agitated one to come closer, keeping his grip as steady as he could, demanding his hand stop trembling as fifty paces became forty, then thirty, then the massive rat must have smelled him, squeaking in sudden confidence now less than twenty feet away, when Eric gently squeezed the trigger.

And what should have been a perfect shot instead tore into the beast’s shoulder in a violent spurt of blood as his left hand shook at just the wrong moment. Then the squealing, maddened rat was charging forward and Eric’s heart was pounding, knowing he didn’t have even the second to calmly draw his spear, instead unsheathing his saber and lunging forward in a thrust just as he had trained over countless hours of imagining one horror after another charging him.

And much to his shocked vindication, the creature did indeed fall on his blade, the weapon ramming at least a foot into its mouth before the squealing horror of a rat twisted and thrashed and yanked the weapon free of a startled Eric's hand. Because for all his training, he never had to use his sword against a desperately thrashing creature fighting for its life before.

The squeals of course led the remaining rat racing forward to its thrashing brethren spurting hot blood everywhere, and Eric was no fool, immediately turning around and racing back down the corridor. Because if nothing else, all his hours of running frantically up and down the stairs meant that his legs were both coordinated and powerful, and he was no longer in danger of tripping like the panicked fool he had been just a handful of days ago.

Though he sure as fuck was acting like the panicked fool again now.

But underneath that terror was a white-hot anger as he focused, took a deep breath, and pulled forth perhaps the greatest hunting instrument known to man. A tool that had been used by his ancestors for hundreds of thousands, if not millions of years.

The spear.

Which made his terrified fleeing a tactical repositioning, Eric now spinning around and planting the butt of his spear against his foot, lining up the point for the gaping mouth of the uninjured rat, squealing and charging right for him.

“Come and get it, motherfucker!” Eric roared, exciting the rat to a frenzied charge.

A rat that showed as a brilliant fiery red against an exquisitely detailed glowing blue backdrop that was the tunnel to Eric’s vision, was itself being led to its prey by smell and sound alone.

Its beady black eyes, blinded by the pitch darkness, failed to register the razor sharp bayonet until it had been completely run through. And this time, Eric was ready for the weight of over 40 pounds of muscular rat slamming into him, the force easily braced with both hands and his foot securing the shaft.

His primal shout was as old as man, turning terror to fiercest resolve as he leaped back, tearing his weapon free of his spasming target before plunging the bayonet spear tip into his squealing and thrashing enemy again and again, roaring his hatred for the viciously snapping monster, until at last it was still.

His eyes then darted to the only rat still moving, already brighter to his infravision than his cooling brethren, showing so brightly against the cool stone as it lumbered for the side tunnel from which it came.

“No way in hell, motherfucker!” Eric roared as he charged right for the rat with his sword still stuck in its craw, snarling with furious satisfaction when his spear plunged right into the squealing monster’s side in a spray of viscera, the air now ripe with the stench of blood and offal as Eric roared and plunged his makeshift spear into his already weakened opponent over and over again, until at last it too was still.

Eric took great heaving breaths of air thick with the coppery tang of blood, fighting to focus past the sheer rush of exhilaration he felt. A rush that was absolutely nothing compared to the sweet, delicious flood of potency now surging through his soul, Eric devouring the experience, or potency, of his kills. Like the predator he truly was.

He shook his mind free of distraction as he focused with everything he had, pushing his infravision and 13 Perception to the utmost, doing all he could to sense any sign of trouble heading his way.

There was nothing. Or at least, nothing that he could sense.

He gave a heartfelt sigh of relief as he cleaned and put away his spear, then carefully levered free his cavalry saber from the rat it had been lodged in, grateful to find that, as far as cleaning cloth, fingers, and infravision could tell, the blade was still undamaged.

He then loped down the corridor for a crossbow quarrel that could have all too easily gotten lost, had the faint traces of heat imparted from its passage through hot viscera not had it practically glowing against the stone bricks of the tunnel. And much to his relief, except for a minute curling of the tip, the bolt was fine. And with a 200 lb draw weight combined with a longer draw length than most crossbows, his bolts were streaking through the air at well over 400 feet per second. A slightly dulled tip wouldn’t stop it from tearing right through a moose, let alone one of these oversized rats.

Rats that had tried so hard to kill him.

He frowned down at the three corpses, all too easily imagining the stench of their violent deaths wafting through the corridors and inviting a killing rage in whatever rat came this way.

He had met his quota, he thought, with a certain amount of relief.

He was well within his rights to call it a day. He could finally allow himself to relax enough to read one of his favorite novels he had put off for the most hardcore two-week training regiment of his life. A fitting reward for finally facing his fears.

But even as he smiled in fond anticipation, he was using the stirrup and cocking rope to reload both crossbows with the recovered and cleaned bolts before putting them back in storage, now walking back to the hot carcasses steaming in the cold damp. And much to his relief, he found it effortless to relegate not just one but all three rats into his extra-dimensional storage, now taken up by spear, 2 crossbows, lots of bolts, and over 120 pounds of rat meat.

He flashed a fierce smile, the last of his fatigue turning to exhilaration as he sensed his experience meter slowly climbing to a third full in his mind’s eye, ready to begin his hunt anew.

Before stopping to glare as he took a closer look at his interface combat notes, not at all liking what he was reading.

“I only got 90% of full potency for the two rats I finished off with the spear, and just 50% for the one I sniped with a single crossbow shot? What kind of bullshit is this?”

Though the interface didn’t answer with words, he was left with a faint, visceral impression that the closer he was to the target, the more directly connected he was to his weapon, the more of his enemy’s potency he could claim as his own.

The time he had killed the two rats with a surge of his own Fire Essence had of course allowed him to claim maximum potency. The two melee weapons he had trained for so many hours with and intimately knew, leveraging the weapons with his own physique and intent, were almost as good. But the highly complex mechanical tool he used to snipe a target at range had far less direct a connection to him. And Eric had the sneaking suspicion that if he hadn’t been the one to cock and load the crossbow, if it hadn’t been his will and intent loading the weapon, his experience points, or ‘potency claimed’ would have been even less, limited to whatever he earned for just pointing and shooting with killing intent.

He wondered if there were ways to get around that limitation. Assuming killing with magic was a real thing here, and his own experiences implied that it was possible to kill with some power transcending the physical body, he’d hope that he wouldn’t be penalized for sniping at range if he was using, say, his own spells. But either way, there was a least one definite upside.

He flashed a grim smile, somehow certain that anyone killing with explosives or gunpowder, such as the orcs above, would earn almost no experience at all. Not unless they had actually made their own black powder, and were thus somehow chemically or, perhaps, alchemically, responsible for the original storing of all that potential energy in the powder, just as Eric was responsible for the potential energy he had invested in cocking his crossbows.

It was a faint silver lining that would hopefully assure his enemies wouldn’t shoot up to level absurd, just by striking their competition with volleys of shot. Though he was cynically certain that there were plenty of invading forces far more experienced with whatever new forces and fields of reality that had infected Earth than a caught-totally-off-guard humanity. Invaders that were no doubt well versed with monsters, essences, and leveling up. Individuals who would know how to get around whatever strictures there might be, far better than he.

But even so… there just might be an upside that he could at least take advantage of.

He flashed a hopeful smile, wondering if perhaps there were hyper futuristic trade towns he could visit that would have magical tomes or high-tech crystals, or even just cheaply written pamphlets that could explain to him how everything worked. Because he was almost certain that knowledge, or the lack thereof, would be the greatest determining factor in just how far he could go in this brave new world.

He nodded to himself, now certain that finding some trade or information hub, or just interacting with people who might know more than him, should be a major priority for him at this point.

Because that murderous pod had given away at least one kernal of valuable knowledge, no matter how much it might, or might not, have been trying to fuck him over. Conscript was the most basic of classes. But upon reaching tenth level, he could attempt to evolve his class, if he met the requirements.

But what classes were available? What requirements did he need to meet? And what the hell had it meant by evolving from a White Tier class to a Bronze at level 100? Was it like evolving from an F grade to an E grade profession in the isekai novels he had once so loved to read? How big a deal was that?

And how important was it to pick a class that seemed powerful, versus one that, how did the pod put it, resonated best with him? Was choosing an Advanced class at Level 10 the best option if he felt most in tune with a Standard tier class? Was it a tradeoff between long-term potential and short-term power, or was a more exclusive class always the way to go?

He shook his head and sighed, frustrated with just how little he knew, knowing that he needed a hell of a lot of questions answered before he could move forward with any assurance that he wasn’t playing the fool. For all he knew, if he wasn't careful, he'd be stuck as a basic Conscript indefinitely.

Then he shook his head and laughed. So what if he was a Conscript forever? At least he could level up. At least he could finally make something of himself! And right now, he had far more important things to do than worry about matters completely beyond his control. Best he focus on what he could control. Hunting down rats, improving his skills, and leveling up. So that by the time he was ready to get major questions answered, he’d be tough enough to survive whatever journey he’d need to take to find those answers.

With that resolve firmly in mind, Eric continued his hunt once more, feeling, for the first time in weeks, a sense of exhilaration that far exceeded his crippling fear.