It's disheartening when broke bandits try to kill you, only for it to turn out they weren't even after you. What kind of "communal fund" holds just seven hundred rubles in small bills? And what are these "valuable securities"—debt notes, some bloodstained?
I glared at the stack of papers in my hands.
"Twenty-nine rubles." Trash!
"Seventy-seven rubles." Trash!
"One hundred three rubles." Trash!
"Eighty-six thousand rubles." Trash…
All worthless. These notes were likely extorted from nobodies, probably for fabricated debts. I wouldn't be surprised if the eighty-thousand-ruble note was written by a homeless man while his arms were being broken. Why not twenty million?
I returned home dejected. I didn't take much from their hideout—nothing valuable. Just a petty gang, existing only as long as their master needed.
I walked back, unable to catch a ride. It happens. Even Shnyrka couldn't help. He led me to a taxi, but it was gone. I figured nights are for jogging, so I ran. Not too tiring, and my body appreciated it. I could've kept going for who knows how many kilometers. My fitness is solid—good news!
At home, I showered and slept… but first, I lit the fireplace. It wasn't cold, but I wanted to burn that junk. Good thing I bought extra tracksuits. I tossed everything into the fire and hit the sack.
Morning brought a call from Androsov.
"Sleeping?" Dumb question, friend.
"Six bloody a.m.…" I mumbled, groggy.
"Perfect! No sleeping in, you're off schedule," he chirped. "Anyway, we're set! Me and the guys—plus others—are coming for your housewarming tonight! Expect guests!"
I couldn't even retort before he hung up.
Damn… Woken up, I couldn't fall back asleep. You know how it is when your brain kicks on, making you feel like sleep wastes time. I want to ditch that habit in this world. I'm on vacation, aren't I?
After morning routines, I dressed in my last tracksuit, noting I'd need more. I checked the fireplace—everything burned, but I added logs and relit it, just in case.
Downstairs, I approached the concierge, whose name I forgot to ask, and requested a car.
I'd already picked my destination: a Rift. Money and souls don't collect themselves.
There was a fresh Rift, and I'd probably stick to those. Why not? They're unclaimed, with no proven strategies.
This Rift was a week old, visited by one squad. Of six, only four survived, describing it as horrific. The cave teemed with spiders and dog-sized bats. The spiders' sticky webs were everywhere, making movement a nightmare.
Per their report, one girl died during retreat, stuck to a wall. Damn… Why do I find it funny and want to say "really stuck"? My humor will get me in trouble someday. Though, in my past life, it already did—often.
The taxi arrived, I gave the address, and—miracle!—the driver took me there. Nothing notable about the trip.
This Rift was in a residential building's basement. The street was cordoned off, residents evacuated. The mission appealed because the Slayers' Association offered a thousand rubles to the squad that cleared it quickly. I registered on their site and was set to go. This time, I went official to avoid another group causing trouble.
"Stop!" a soldier at the seven-story building's entrance halted me. "You're going alone?"
He was visibly shocked.
"Yup…"
"Pfft," he scoffed. "Suicidal, got it. You know the last group lost two people?"
"Yeah," I replied lazily, scratching my head. "Bad luck. Should've prepped better."
"And you're ready?" he eyed me skeptically.
"Yup," I repeated. "See, even bought a sword," I pointed to my toy.
"Fine… Won't talk you out of it. You're your own master."
I called the sword a toy for a reason. In my past life, I'd be ashamed to touch such junk. We had smiths, enchanters, and master craftsmen. Their work was pricey. They made me armor from dragon hide and scales—gorgeous! Though, we chased that dragon for a month and fought it for two days. Everyone got a share of valuable materials.
Now, I'm scraping for cash to hire a lawyer to reclaim a useless ring, without which I'm barred from aristocratic circles. What a life…
At the Rift's entrance, I stood still for a minute, reviewing what I knew about such dungeons and their challenges. A half-flooded grotto, possibly an old mine, ruled by dampness and darkness. The creatures were temporary residents, not a concern.
All set. Exhale, step into the murky veil.
I emerged on a small ledge and instantly wanted to throttle the last squad's leader for their intel. They didn't mention that three steps forward lands you in a deep puddle.
The grotto's terrain resembled the last place. A spiral descent led to caves. The leader wasn't wrong about the dampness and darkness.
"Come out!" I called Shnyrka, who appeared eagerly, not empty-handed.
"N-n-ada?" He offered a rusty, long nail—three hundred millimeters, maybe.
Could kill with that.
"Eh… sure, it'll do," I took the "nail." "Scout everything and show me."
"S-s-s-doing!" he hissed, vanishing into shadows.
First, he revealed a curious bat perched on the ceiling opposite me, studying me intently. Damn Slayers… Why didn't they mention these bats have chameleon-like camouflage?
I infused my hand with energy and flicked my left wrist, launching the rusty nail at the beast.
Hit. Its soul joined me.
"Look at that! The nail actually worked," I chuckled.
I summoned the bat's illusion, infused it with its soul, and ordered it to bring three corpses of its kin, attacking only loners.
I didn't move. Why bother? I could clear this place solo, no problem. But why? We were taught to destroy, not play hero.
You'd think we only fought during training, but no—mental development was crucial in our order.
A dumb Hunter is a Dead Hunter.
The more Shnyrka showed, the clearer it became: those Slayers were lucky. This wasn't a basic Rift. Energy was low, creatures weak, but their numbers were staggering!
My "bat" delivered its first victim, and I gained another soul. I summoned it and sent it hunting, targeting weaker foes.
Spiders were trivial, but flying mobs could swarm like street thugs if provoked.
I descended slightly to a dead-end grotto tunnel with a nest of wounded spiders—either left to heal or die.
Just ten cripples. Why not?
It was a ten-minute walk. I donned armor, charged without warning, and attacked silently. No ranged techniques—I relied on physical enhancement, my ace. Ranged was child's play, a past-life memory.
Three spiders reacted, shambling toward me on shaky legs. Only two reached me—one collapsed, two legs snapping. A quick thrust pierced the first's head; a swing severed the second's legs, and I finished it.
The rest stirred, but most couldn't move well. It was quick and easy. None touched my armor. Biting through it would've taken forever.
While I had energy, I was invincible. Pity a Great Magister-level gifted could vaporize it in one hit, leaving me clueless. No matter my experience, I'm weak here. Too weak. It's infuriating. That's why I need Rifts.
Back to this one. I summoned ten spider spirits and ordered them to follow. At the exit, I found a pile of corpses.
I sensed souls flowing in, warming my body. This strengthened me, siphoning their stored power. It's slow, but thousands of spirits yield solid growth. That's how I hone my Gift.
"Right, ten brave warriors," I instructed. "Go wipe out smaller, weaker groups of your kind. Clear? If you meet a stronger foe, don't fight—return to me."
They understood and marched off. They craved freedom, though they had no choice. I told them freedom came after death or clearing the grotto.
Interesting. Shnyrka sent a new "video."
He stood before a crystal growing from the wall, radiating energy absorbed by monsters. So, the crystal siphoned power from these hills, distributing it to foes. Fun. Likely an ancient guard artifact, once powering something or someone. Now, it caused trouble. Who knows? Maybe this world's the same, just in remote corners. What was here a thousand years ago?
Damn… Noise… Approaching.
"Check…"
Seconds later, Shnyrka showed eight of my spiders fleeing three dozen kin. Why'd they run into trouble so fast?
Fine. Prey comes to the Hunter! Why's my heart racing with anticipation?
I hid behind a wall. As my spiders scurried past, I leapt, unleashing a fire wave. It incinerated a third instantly but drained my energy heavily. I'd hoped to kill all at once.
A mental command sent my spiders back to fight. I danced through, a butterfly with deadly stings, slashing like a damn bee. Why's this easy? Where's their strength?
"Show me what you've got! Make my blood boil!"
They did… for two minutes. Then it was over. Disappointing…
But it'll get livelier. My yell drew more than spiders. My bats didn't care. They'd killed thirteen kin. I summoned them, ordering them to join.
I summoned all spiders, assigning five to aid the bats with webs. They disliked spitting, but my orders were non-negotiable.
"Now… you, go steal something!" I told Shnyrka. Why let him idle?
I could've sent him to fight, but he hates it.
Standing on a broken stalagmite, I watched spiders approach as aerial battles raged.
Bored, I hurled weak lightning. Lacking Henry's gift, I managed cheap tricks. But they worked. A bolt hit a stalactite, crashing it onto foes, killing twenty. Weak magic, big payoff.
Half their forces fell before reaching me. My spider army finished them. The melee was intriguing. No need to hide—I sent everyone to attack and waited.
"N-n-ada?" Shnyrka appeared.
"What the… Where'd you get women's stockings, you little pervert?!"
Damn…
"N-n-ada?" he repeated slowly, squinting dangerously.
"Ugh… dumb creature, why me… Fine, give 'em here…"
Shnyrka grinned and dove into shadows.
I don't get him sometimes. Seems his thing is setting me up.
My fault, though. I said "steal," meaning "find." So, he left the Rift, rummaging nearby apartments.
I stuffed the stockings in my bag. I'd toss them when he forgot. Just don't forget myself.
I gauged my spirits' success by the soul influx. At Slayer training, they said if Rifts stopped appearing, it'd be great. For me, it'd be catastrophic. Sure, anomalous zones house creatures—I knew that from the Prussian Principality. I learned much there. Pity I only trained my body, wringing it dry. No souls to harvest for faster progress.
My spiders advanced far.
I occasionally paused planning to bisect bold bats thinking they could swoop and bite. Wrong target, pests. I could bite them back.
Within half an hour, my spider army was gone. In fairness, they killed twice their number. Their kin didn't expect betrayal, which my spiders exploited.
"Wake up and search!" I called Shnyrka. "We'll be begging on the streets soon. Find gold or valuables."
He nodded and vanished.
I summoned twenty more spider heads.
"You, keep killing!"
I could summon all, but why? I need to grow as a gifted, and energy's never wasted. If I get in trouble, how'll I manage? I could rely on my strength, but why, with obedient, useful spirits?
Shnyrka returned with junk. A cart wheel—maybe rare metal, but likely rusty iron. A few copper and silver rings, probably lost by miners, not necessarily worn on fingers. Some cultures used rings for beards or ears.
Shnyrka reported a large bat group approaching from a tunnel.
I tested a theory, sprinting there before they emerged.
At the corridor's entrance, I prepared. Hearing them, I conjured a soulless black dragon illusion. As they flew out, it roared, spewing bright flame.
Hah…
The bats fled. The front ranks died of fright. Others collided in panic.
Brutal… Over ten souls, and I did nothing.
I finished the rest with mass-damage fire techniques. Clustered in a narrow space, they required little effort.
Some escaped, but I calmly summoned twenty bat illusions, infusing them with souls, and thirty spiders. I split the bats: half guarded spiders, half hunted freely.
In about two hours, my army wiped everything out. The spider-bat combo excelled. I'd call the bats rats. While spiders fought, bats struck from behind, landing fatal blows. Not funny—my army's pathetic, yet I'm thrilled.
Time for loot—my favorite part.
Knowing my foes, I researched them. The Slayers' Encyclopedia had access tiers by class. I couldn't reach much… so curious.
I learned spiders had valuable ingredients, eagerly bought by the Center or middlemen. Legs and such were cheap and finicky—prices depended on freshness, measured in minutes.
Their hearts were valuable, but extracting them required precision within minutes, then storage in special containers or a spatial ring. I don't have one and won't for maybe thirty years. They cost a princess's head, sold only at closed auctions among elites. Though, if I took down a rich aristocrat whose daddy bought one, I might get it.
Hearts were a bust. But venom glands, less perishable, were in demand, though hard to extract. I'd task Shnyrka—piece of cake.
I checked corpses for jellies myself. The first ten. Then realized it'd take a week.
Damn, it all hinged on my little pest, who should've piled loot by the Rift's entrance. Nothing for it—I headed there, releasing all summoned spirits. They served well. At the exit, I found a heap of stuff… sort of.
Not sure anything's valuable, but he brought plenty. Next time, I'd set clear guidelines on what's worthwhile. I ordered him to fetch all jellies he could find, activating "video link" so I could see what he extracted and from whom. I also hinted venom glands were his job.
In the junk pile, nothing stood out. The most "valuable" was an inscribed stone, once a signpost, etched with miners' drawings. Old and heavy. Maybe four hundred rubles. I'm no market expert—some collector might pay tens of thousands. I'd lug it to the taxi.
Grumpy Shnyrka appeared.
"What now?"
"T-t-tired!" He tossed a "cluster" of glands on the cave floor. "Y-y-you do it!"
And vanished, the jerk! I grabbed a knife and gutted spiders myself. Hunter skills don't fade, so it was quick.
*Later…*
Elder Nechiporuk stood guard at the new Rift. His men cordoned the area, while a Slayer squad idled nearby, sent for cleanup. They couldn't enter while another was inside—either physically barred or a superstition. Learning from Nechiporuk that a lone, crazy Slayer was within, the squad leader noted the entry time and set a timer for an unknown duration.
"No way!" a young Slayer cadet beside Nechiporuk gasped, standing in the basement by the Rift.
Nechiporuk frowned and looked. The Rift flickered, its glow halving—a sure sign it was "closed" and would soon vanish.
"Only one of ours went in?" the cadet asked.
"Affirmative, your honor!" Nechiporuk nodded, stunned. The youth who entered looked younger than this cadet.
"What was his class?"
"Ring glowed red—5th Class!" Nechiporuk mused.
The Rift blinked again, and the young Slayer emerged, covered in slime and blood, clutching a stone he dropped with relief.
"Hey, soldier!" he grinned. "And you, colleague, same to you! Listen, Elder! Grab a couple big bags—I'll owe you! And, not a duty, but a favor! This damn rock's heavy—help me get it to the taxi!"