Chapter 3: Instruments of Will
The clicking of bone on asphalt was a soft, metronome counterpoint to the eerie silence of the changed world. Rocky moved with a scavenger's economy, his eyes scanning the crumbling storefronts and weed-choked alleys not with a teenager's fear, but with a commander's tactical assessment. The Skeletal Hound—click-clack, click-clack—padded beside him, its empty sockets sweeping the shadows, a low, sub-audible hum of vigilant death-energy radiating from its form.
His mini-map was his scripture. The blue circle of the Safe Zone was a receding haven to his back. Ahead, the streets were a grayscale canvas slowly being painted with System information. Two more pulsing green dots glowed within a block. One was stationary behind the rusted husk of a delivery truck. The other moved erratically near a storm drain.
Herbs, his God of All Professions memory supplied. Silverleaf likely. The mobile one is a Minor Mana-Phage, Level 2. Drains Stamina on touch. Aggressive to spellcasters. Irrelevant.
He was no spellcaster. He had no Mana pool to drain. To the Phage, he would be an empty vessel, uninteresting. Probably. The legacy knowledge was comprehensive, but this was reality, not a server. There could be deviations.
He approached the truck first. The Silverleaf was there, growing through a crack in the pavement, its leaves shimmering with a metallic sheen under the diffuse afternoon light. A common low-level alchemy ingredient. Useful for basic mana potions or silver-coating weapons for ethereal foes. He harvested it with a careful twist, the plant dissolving into his inventory—which had finally unlocked upon creating his first undead, a tiny, 10-slot spatial pocket.
Item Acquired: [Silverleaf] x3.
As he stood, a gurgling shriek echoed from the direction of the storm drain. The Minor Mana-Phage, a amorphous blob of iridescent, sucking gel, oozed into view. It sensed the Silverleaf's faint magical residue, or perhaps the anomalous energy of his Skeletal Hound. It pulsed, a pseudopod lashing out towards them.
Rocky didn't move. A thought, clear and sharp as a knife: Guard.
The Skeletal Hound moved. It was a blur of grey bone and violet impetus. It didn't attack the Phage's main body. Instead, it darted in, bony jaws snapping shut on the extended pseudopod with a sound like breaking icicles.
\-11 (Crushing)
Target Afflicted: [Shatter] (Minor).
The Phage recoiled, its form shuddering. It had no real intelligence, only hunger. It tried to envelop the Hound. The undead creature didn't breathe, had no stamina to drain. The Phage's corrosive touch sizzled against magically-hardened bone, doing negligible damage. The Hound, an instrument of pure physicality, simply tore into it again and again, methodical, unhurried, relentless.
Rocky watched, analyzing. The Hound's movements were efficient, but crude. It had the stats of its former self, but not the feral instinct. It fought with a chilling, procedural violence. He filed the data away. Control is absolute, but finesse must be learned or imprinted.
In seconds, the Minor Mana-Phage dissolved into a puddle of ectoplasmic sludge, leaving behind a single [Gelatinous Core].
Experience gained: 20 XP (Shared with Minion).
He collected the core. Junk to most. Potentially useful as a binding agent later. The Hound returned to his side, unmarked, its violet eye-lights fixed on him, awaiting the next command.
This was the rhythm he sought. Isolated, efficient, productive. No wasted words, no compromised goals. He was a needle threading through the chaos, pulling the thread of his own power tight behind him.
The sound of clumsy footsteps and panicked breathing shattered the rhythm.
From around the corner of a brick apartment building, three of his classmates stumbled into the intersection. He recognized them: Mark, a bulky guy who'd gotten [Apprentice Warrior]; Lisa, who'd been tearfully happy with [Novice Healer]; and Ethan, the guy with glasses from his class, now sporting [Apprentice Elementalist] robes that looked absurdly grandiose over his jeans.
They were battered. Mark's cheap, system-generated breastplate was scored with deep claw marks. Lisa's face was pale, her hands glowing with a faint, unsteady green light as she tried to heal a gash on Ethan's arm. Ethan was clutching his wrist, his expression a mix of pain and fury.
"I told you that firebolt was on cooldown!" Mark snarled, hefting his chipped longsword.
"It was the only thing hurting it!" Ethan shot back.
They hadn't seen him yet. They were twenty yards away, backs to him, facing the alley they'd fled from. A low, rumbling growl emanated from the darkness there. Something bigger than the Hound.
Rocky's first impulse was to melt into the shadows of the truck and let nature take its course. They were variables. Uncontrolled. Loud.
But his eyes caught the glint of something on Ethan's finger. A cheap, brass ring, but it pulsed with a very specific, dull grey energy. A \[Ring of Minor Earth Affinity\]. Utterly useless to an Elementalist focusing on fire. But to Rocky, who could see the hidden potential in all things, it was a seed. An earth-aligned item could be a stabilizer for necromantic rituals, a focus for binding stronger, heavier undead.
A plan, cold and multi-layered, crystallized in an instant.
"It's coming back!" Lisa whimpered.
From the alley, a hulking shape emerged. A [Graniteback Badger - Level 5]. Its fur was matted with stone-like growths, its claws were chips of obsidian. A notoriously tanky early-game monster, immune to low-level piercing damage, resistant to fire. The perfect counter to a Warrior and a Fire Elementalist. A terrible match-up they'd stumbled into through ignorance.
Mark raised his sword, bracing. "Lisa, be ready to heal! Ethan, try to slow it!"
The Badger charged, a surprising burst of speed for its size, heading straight for Mark.
Rocky chose this moment to step out from behind the truck, his Skeletal Hound at his heel. The clicking bones were loud in the tense quiet.
All three students flinched, their eyes wide as they took in the classless kid and his… pet skeleton. Their confusion was a tangible thing.
"Yun Chen? What the hell is that?" Mark grunted, keeping his eyes on the advancing Badger.
"A distraction," Rocky said, his voice flat, carrying easily. "Its back is armored. Its underbelly and eyes are weak. It favors a right-side lunge after a double-paw stomp."
His words, delivered with absolute certainty, cut through their panic. They were specific, tactical. The kind of thing a top-tier guide would say.
"How do you—?" Ethan began.
"Do you want to live or not?" Rocky interrupted, not looking at him. His eyes were on the Badger, which had slowed, sniffing the air, confused by the scent of death and unclassifiable energy. "Warrior, you will bait the lunge. Elementalist, you will not use fire. Use your basic \[Kinetic Push\] on the loose gravel by its left forepaw the moment it shifts its weight. Healer, do not heal until I say. Conserve your mana."
His commands left no room for argument. They were the voice of a raid leader, a voice that had commanded gods and armies. Mark, by sheer instinctive obedience to perceived competence, nodded tightly.
The Badger, deciding the group was the greater threat, roared and charged Mark again.
"Now," Rocky said, not raising his voice.
Mark, instead of holding his ground, feinted a clumsy overhead chop and jumped back. The Badger fell for it, rising up for the double-paw stomp Rocky had described.
"Gravel, now!" Rocky snapped.
Ethan, wide-eyed, pointed a shaking hand not at the beast, but at the ground. A weak pulse of force erupted, kicking up a spray of dirt and small stones into the Badger's face on its left side.
It flinched, head turning, its right side momentarily exposed as it prepared to lunge.
"Hound," Rocky thought. "Hamstring, right leg."
The Skeletal Hound shot forward like a grey arrow. It didn't growl. It was silent death. It ducked beneath the Badger's lunge, its bony jaws clamping onto the back of the creature's right knee with a sickening crunch.
\-23 (Critical)
Target Afflicted: [Crippled] (Movement Speed -50%).
The Badger howled, its lunge turning into a stumbling crash. Mark, seeing the opening, didn't need to be told. He drove his sword, not at the stony back, but into the softer flank exposed by the badger's fall.
\-18 Damage.
"Healer," Rocky said. "Top up the Warrior. Minimal output."
Lisa jumped, then cast her basic heal on Mark. The glow was steadier now, focused.
The fight was over. The crippled, disoriented Level 5 monster was no match for even this disorganized group once its weaknesses were exploited. Mark and the Hound harried it, Ethan used \[Kinetic Push\] to keep it off-balance, and within a minute, the Graniteback Badger lay still.
Experience gained: 80 XP (Shared).
A wave of relief washed over the trio. They slumped, panting, staring at the corpse in disbelief. They'd won.
Then they turned to Rocky. Their savior. The classless weirdo with a skeleton.
"Dude…" Mark breathed, looking at the silent, vigilant Hound with new eyes. "What is that? Is that a summon? I thought you chose 'None'?"
"A tool," Rocky said, dismissing the question. He walked past them to the Badger's corpse. He knelt, examining it. Not for loot. For potential. The flesh was still warm, the earth-aligned mana within it still dissipating. But it was incompatible. Too bestial, too raw. He needed a more… structured vessel for his next experiment. He stood.
Ethan approached, nervous but grateful. "Thank you. You saved our lives. That knowledge… it was insane. How did you know all that?"
"I pay attention," Rocky said, his tone ending that line of inquiry. His eyes fell on Ethan's ring. "Your ring. It's earth-aligned. It's interfering with your fire casting. A 5% reduction in potency."
Ethan looked startled, glancing at the ring. "It… it is? The system just said it was a 'minor magic ring.' I thought it was a generic boost!"
"It's junk for you," Rocky stated, the insult delivered as simple fact. "You'll find more suitable gear in the drainage culvert two blocks east. A staff with [Ember] enchantment is stuck in a grate."
Ethan's eyes lit up with greed. "Really?"
"In exchange," Rocky continued, his voice dropping to a cool, transactional level, "you give me the ring. Now."
It wasn't a request. The unspoken threat was the silent skeletal horror at his side, still smeared with Badger blood, and the chilling competence he'd just displayed.
Ethan hesitated for only a second. The ring was "junk." The location of a proper weapon was priceless. He yanked the ring off and held it out. "Deal."
Rocky took it. Item Acquired: [Ring of Minor Earth Affinity]. He pocketed it without a word.
"The culvert," he repeated. "Go now, before others find it." He turned his back on them, a clear dismissal.
The trio exchanged looks. They were being used, dismissed. But the promise of treasure was too strong. With mumbled thanks, they hurried off in the direction he'd indicated, already arguing about who would get the staff.
Rocky listened to their footsteps fade. He hadn't lied about the staff. It was there. A early-game prize for a diligent Fire Mage. It would serve them well. The ring was a fair trade. More than fair, in his calculus. He had given them their lives and a weapon. He had taken a component he needed.
The transaction was complete. They were instruments, now discarded.
His real objective was closer. The mini-map showed a faint, almost hidden grey icon—a dungeon entrance—in the basement of the collapsed grocery store across the street. A "cave" formed by fallen debris. According to his memory, it spawned low-level goblins and, in its deepest pocket, contained a small treasure chest guarded by a rare-spawn [Goblin Shadowseeker]. The chest had a chance to contain a class-specific catalyst.
He needed a catalyst. The Finger Bone. To evolve his \[Seat of the Bone Throne\] from a concept to an accessible power.
He crossed the street, the Hound following. The entrance was a dark maw behind a fallen sign. The air from within smelled of damp rot and a coppery tang that was new to this world: monster blood.
He paused at the threshold. A sound reached him from inside. Not goblin chatter. Human voices. Tense, frightened. And the skittering of many small, clawed feet.
Another party. Already here. And in trouble.
Rocky's lips thinned. More variables. More noise.
But the catalyst was inside. And instruments, he was learning, could be found in many forms.
He stepped into the darkness, his Hound's violet eye-lights providing just enough illumination to see by. The clicking of bone was swallowed by the din of panic and snarls up ahead.
The hunt within the hunt was beginning.
[End of Chapter 3]