Noir left the pub with a full stomach and a clearer goal, but the warmth of the meal did little to thaw the cold memories clawing at the edges of his mind. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, casting the hidden village in a foggy gray haze. The streets were quiet, like the world itself was holding its breath.
He didn't check his status right away. Instead, he walked slowly, letting the silence wrap around him. His boots splashed through shallow puddles, each step echoing faintly in the mist.
Then, he opened his status panel.
[LEVEL UP!]
You are now Level 3
+5 Stat Points Earned
He hesitated. His fingers hovered over the panel.
Six players… The thought stabbed through him. Faces flashed in his mind — some twisted in rage, others in fear. One had begged. Another had laughed, even as Noir's blade found his throat.
"I didn't have a choice," he reminded himself. "It was them or me."
He placed 3 points into Agility, 2 into Strength. A surge of energy coursed through him, sharpening his senses, hardening his resolve.
Then he began the search.
What should've been a simple errand turned into a frustrating maze. For nearly an hour — 30, 40, maybe 50 minutes — Noir wandered through the fog-choked village. The deeper he went, the more the streets seemed to twist and loop back on themselves. He passed the same crooked lamp post at least three times. A wooden cart. A broken statue. Again and again.
He asked around.
A hunched woman sweeping her porch froze when he mentioned the house. "No such place here," she muttered, eyes fixed on the ground.
"But—"
She turned and went inside, slamming the door.
A merchant shook his head and walked away. A guard narrowed his eyes and said, "Don't go poking where you don't belong." Even a child ran when Noir approached.
It was like the village itself was hiding something.
Then, finally, he saw it — barely visible through the mist. A house that looked like it had no right to still be standing. Sagging beams, moss-covered roof, windows so filthy they were opaque.
"Finally…" he breathed. "This better be it."
He stepped closer and knocked three times.
"…Oblo," he whispered, repeating the strange word Ray had told him.
Nothing.
Then—creak open into pitch black. No torchlight. No furniture. Just darkness.
Noir stepped in cautiously, heart thudding.
"Hello? Anyone here?"
Cold steel touched his neck.
"Wrong house, boy."
The voice was low — not loud, not angry — but it carried weight. Like a whisper that could crush bones.
Noir froze. His hand twitched toward his dagger but stopped. Whoever this was, they weren't bluffing.
"I'm not here to cause trouble," Noir said slowly. "I was sent by someone. Ray. The blacksmith."
A pause. Then the blade vanished.
Noir turned.
A man stood in front of him — old, yes, but not frail. His posture was crooked, but his presence was sharp. His white hair was wild, his robe patched and worn, and his cane looked more like a weapon than a walking stick.
"You're Ray's errand boy?" the man said, voice dry as dust. "He must be desperate."
"I'm not an errand boy," Noir muttered.
The man smirked. "You're standing in my house, soaked, twitchy, and one wrong word from pissing yourself. You sure about that?"
Noir narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The man turned, walking deeper into the house with a limp that looked half-fake. "Name's Clark. You're lucky I didn't gut you on the threshold. Most people don't knock when they come to kill me."
Noir blinked. "Kill you? Why would anyone—?"
Clark waved a hand. "Old grudges. Bad bets. Assassins with something to prove. You know how it is."
Noir followed, still tense. "Ray said you could help me. Something about a blueprint."
Clark stopped at a dusty table and tapped it with his cane. "Fangs Monlit Twin. Poisoned daggers. Nasty little things. I designed them back when I still had patience for art."
"You'll give me the recipe?"
Clark looked over his shoulder. "Give? No. You want it, you earn it."
He leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. "There's a scroll. Wrapped around the neck of something that shouldn't exist. It's mine. And I want it back."
"What kind of something?"
Clark chuckled. "Big. Fast. Smarter than it looks. You'll know it when it tries to rip your spine out."
[QUEST RECEIVED!]
Name: ???
Description: A mysterious and dangerous figure has agreed to teach you how to craft the Fangs Monlit Twin. But first, you must retrieve something he lost long ago.
Objective: Hunt the creature that stalks the woods at dusk. Recover the scroll it carries.
Reward: Blueprint – Fangs Monlit Twin
Difficulty: ★★★★☆
Accept? [✔ Yes] [✘ No]
Noir accepted.
Clark nodded. "Good. You've got guts. Or you're just too dumb to know better. Either way, I respect it."
"You're not going to tell me what the creature is?"
Clark gave him a sideways glance. "If I told you, you'd hesitate. And hesitation gets you killed. So no."
Noir sighed. "Great."
As he turned to leave, a flicker of text finally appeared above the old man's head.
Clark [Lv. 99]
Noir froze. "…You're level ninety-nine?"
Clark grinned. "Still think I'm just some old man with a cane?"
Noir glanced at the cane. "I'm starting to think the cane's just for show."
Clark tapped it twice on the floor. The sound echoed like a warning. "It's not. It's for cracking skulls. Keeps people respectful."
Noir gave a short laugh, but it faded quickly. "You could've killed me the moment I stepped in."
"I still might," Clark said casually. "Depends on whether you bring that scroll back or not."
Noir raised an eyebrow. "You always this charming?"
Clark smirked. "Only when I like someone. Or when I think they're going to die soon."
Noir turned toward the door, but paused. "You said the scroll's personal. Why?"
Clark's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes darkened. "Because it belonged to someone I failed to protect. That's all you need to know."
A beat of silence passed between them.
Then Clark added, "And if you lose it, I'll make sure you respawn so many times you forget your own name."
Noir nodded slowly. "Message received."
As he stepped out into the mist, Clark called after him, voice low but clear:
"Don't trust the fog. And if the beast speaks… don't listen."
Noir didn't look back. "I'll keep that in mind."
The door creaked shut behind him.
*****
Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving behind a thick mist that clung to the village like a veil. The air was damp and quiet, the kind of silence that made every footstep feel louder than it should. Noir moved through it with purpose, his breath steady, his mind sharper than it had been in days.
He followed the rhythmic clanging of steel on steel until he reached the blacksmith's forge. The smith here wasn't like Ray — no warm greetings, no idle chatter. Just a grunt and a nod. Noir didn't mind. He wasn't here for friendship.
He placed 110 silver on the counter and handed over his twin daggers. The smith worked quickly, tightening the armor straps and sharpening the blades until they gleamed with lethal promise. Noir tested the weight. Perfect.
Next, he headed to the potion shop — a squat hut nestled between two crooked buildings, its windows glowing faintly with the light of bottled magic. Inside, shelves were lined with vials of every color, each one pulsing softly like a heartbeat.
He stocked up:
HP Potion x50Stamina Potion x35
Total: 425 silver.
Noir didn't flinch at the cost. He wasn't planning to die, but he wasn't planning to be stupid either.
As he stepped back into the misty street, something caught his eye — a crooked wooden sign dangling above a narrow alley. It read: "SKILL SHOP", the letters barely legible through the grime.
Curious, he slipped inside.
The shop was quiet. Dust hung in the air like frozen time. A hooded NPC sat behind the counter, unmoving except for a slow nod as Noir entered.
"You're not from around here," the NPC said, voice low and neutral.
"I'm just browsing," Noir replied, eyes scanning the shelves.
Only one scroll glowed.
He stepped closer.
[Skill Scroll – Shadow Feint]
Type: Active
Description: Blink 3 meters forward, leaving behind a shadow copy that lasts for 3 seconds. The shadow will mimic your last used skill, dealing 50% of its original damage. Ideal for assassins who rely on burst combos and misdirection.
Cooldown: 20 seconds
Cost: 880 Silver
Noir's eyes narrowed. "This is…" he whispered. "This is perfect."
It was tailor-made for his style — distraction, burst damage, unpredictability. A phantom strike to confuse and kill.
He didn't hesitate. He paid the silver, and the scroll disintegrated into light, flowing into his body like smoke.
[New Skill Learned: Shadow Feint]
Noir exhaled slowly.
Everything was in place.
He pulled up the quest panel again, staring at the vague description, the unknown enemy, the weight of what Clark had said.
Then, under his breath, he whispered:
"Night Howler… let's see what you've got."