ROCKY – Chapter 1: The Jobless King
Twenty-Seventh Rejection
The twenty-seventh rejection letter crumpled in Rocky's pocket like a dead bird.
"No class, no work," the clerk had said without looking up. "Next."
Rocky didn't move. He stood before the Guild's job board—a shimmering hologram of rotating quests he couldn't accept. F-Rank Dungeon Clear (Support Healer Needed). E-Rank Escort Mission (Tank Class Required). D-Rank Gathering Quest (Rangers Preferred).
Every posting ended with the same suffix: [CLASS LOCKED].
Name: Rocky
Age: 18
Class: Jobless
Rank: F (Provisional)
Clear Record: 0
Notes: Unassigned. Recommend civilian duties.
A snicker came from his left. A boy in gleaming novice plate armor leaned against the board.
"Still trying, classless? They'll let you scrub latrines if you beg nicely."
Rocky's fingers brushed the object in his other pocket: a smooth, cold metal core, thumb-sized, left to him by parents he barely remembered. It hummed, a vibration so faint most would miss it.
He didn't answer. Words were bullets; he saved them for targets that mattered.
Into Apex City
He stepped into the neon-drenched sprawl of Apex City. Sky-roads hummed with hover-vehicles. Giant screens flashed news of S-Rank clears and legendary loot. Here, under the Guild's shadow, the air smelled of ozone, wet asphalt, and desperation.
Patience, he told himself; patterns emerge, systems reveal themselves.
Rain began to fall—sharp, needle-like drops that sizzled against force-field umbrellas. He pulled his threadless jacket tighter. No class meant no license. No license meant no dungeon income. No income meant the tiny capsule apartment he rented would be revoked in nine days.
Survival first. Then mastery.
The Rift in the Sky
Then the sky screamed.
It wasn't a sound. It was pressure—a violent vacuum ripping through the city's noise. Hover-traffic stuttered. Neon signs flickered and died. Every hair on Rocky's arms stood up.
Above the central plaza, the air tore open.
A jagged wound of darkness split the sky, edges bleeding violet light. From it poured impossible geometry—shifting angles, impossible stone, a gateway forming mid-air.
<< Emergency Broadcast >>
Dungeon Breach detected. Classification: Unranked.
Location: Apex City Central, Sector 7.
Population Density: Critical.
All licensed Hunters within 5km are conscripted. Civilian evacuation mandatory.
The plaza dissolved into chaos. Screams echoed between wet, neon streets. Cars skidded, hover-bikes toppled. Sparks flew from streetlights.
And the first thing stepped through.
A mass of corroded metal and exposed wiring moved on six spider-like legs. Red optical sensor scanning the crowd. Dungeon Automaton—Scout-Type. F-Rank mob.
But here, it was a tsunami of terror.
Into the Fray
The Druid in green robes threw her hands up. Vines erupted from the pavement, wrapping the Automaton. Sparks flew. A cutting torch flared. The vines turned to ash. It lunged.
Rocky didn't run. He analyzed.
Pattern: Scout-Type Automatons prioritize target acquisition, not elimination.
Weakness: Central optical sensor. Leg hydraulics.
Environment: Wet pavement. Slippery. Fallen hover-bike to the left. Broken signage with exposed wiring.
He didn't have skills. He had physics. He had desperation.
And the core in his pocket burned like frozen sun.
Proto-Form Activation
Rocky's hand closed around the core.
"Fine," he whispered. "Show me."
The core exploded inward. Knowledge, motion, instinct, energy flooded his mind.
Blue holographic text scrolled behind his eyes. Infinite shelves of glowing tomes. All grayed out… except one. PROTO-FORM.
Metal flowed up his arm, coating it into a gauntlet.
<< Proto-Form Assumed: [CRUDE GAUNTLET]. >>
<< Impact Force +50%. Durability: Low. >>
The Fight
He sprinted. Rain hissed on wet asphalt. Sparks flew. A loose hover-bike slid toward him—he kicked it aside just in time.
The Automaton's claw whipped at his head. He dove, smashing the hydraulic joint.
CRUNCH. Sparks, hydraulic fluid, jolts of heat. He rolled, barely avoiding a falling streetlight.
<< Threat Assessment Updated. Primary Target: User Rocky. >>
Torch swung toward him. Pain seared his arm.
Think. Adapt.
The gauntlet quivered. Fingers elongated, jagged edges forming.
<< Proto-Form Adapting: [CRUDE GAUNTLET] → [SHIELD BRACE]. >>
<< Deflect Potential: Moderate. >>
Torch hit. Sparks flew. Back foot slipped. Rain sprayed. Heart hammered.
No. Not just defense.
Metal melted, recoiled, stretched into a spear.
<< Proto-Form Adapting: [SHIELD BRACE] → [PIKE]. >>
<< Piercing High. Reach Extended. Durability Critical. >>
The Automaton charged. Five legs scrabbling.
Rocky planted his foot. Adjusted the tip. Sparks flew. Sensor shattered. Hydraulic systems fried. The Automaton collapsed.
The spear dissolved back into the core. His arm numb, alive, scorched.
<< Combat Concluded. >>
<< Target Neutralized: Dungeon Automaton (Scout-Type). >>
<< Designation: Adaptive. >>
Aftermath
Violet rift still pulsed. Sirens screamed. Civilians scattered. Druid helped the child up, wide-eyed.
Rocky smiled. I don't need a class. I need them all.
A drone crackled: "Hunter, identify yourself! Report class and rank!"
"Class?" Rocky said. "I'm Jobless."
From the shadows, a flicker of movement. A girl with explosives in her hair, madness in her grin, watched him disappear into chaos.
<< Proto-Form Synchronization: 3%. >>
<< Repository Access Potential: 0.0001%. >>
<< Welcome, User Rocky. The Tower is waiting. >>
Next Chapter Preview: The Guild wants answers. The rift isn't closing. And the girl with explosives is hunting the "classless guy who fought a robot with a magic stick."