Yasha stepped forward toward the revealed stairs, his sword gripped tightly in his fist, ready to be drawn at any moment. The stairs were almost like a rift in space as, upon descending, a bright light blinded his eyes for a second, revealing a vast room similar to the one from the first floor. It was silent, calm, and empty, unlike anything he had seen since the start. Just cold, gray stone stretching into darkness. Standing at the side, toward the center, was a young man, maybe thirty or even younger. His black hair was messy, matching his clothes, which seemed like they hadn't been washed in weeks. A massive bag completely filled to the brim hung from his shoulders. He looked less like a warrior and more like a homeless traveler. “Hello, Adventurer…” Yasha’s survival instinct screamed. He didn't think; he exploded forward, his blade aimed at the stranger’s throat. "WAIT! WAIT, WAIT, WAIT!" The stranger scrambled backward, tripping over his own feet, hands held high in

In the center of the wastelands was a group of five men who were mid to high level when compared to Yasha. Their levels ranged from the lowest being a level 23 player to the highest being level 30.In front of them was another group of players, being circled on all sides by the other group. The victims stood in between the hunters, cowering in fear. Their hands shook continuously against their swords, with others attending to the injured.Their faces were etched with the kind of hollow, soul-deep exhaustion that only comes from hopelessness."System points are so easy to come by when you hunt the weak," the leader said, his blade hovering inches from a woman’s throat.The woman cried out, her eyes drifting toward Yasha, who had just come out from the shadows behind a huge crater.“Run!" she said, her voice creeping with terror. "Don't let them catch you! If you value your life, just go!"Yasha looked toward her, his expression completely blank, confused but not concerned.He slowly st

The hot air intensified as the sun moved higher, but even with the scorching intensity of the sun, Yasha didn't feel the heat. He just sat, slowly chewing on the stale bread that was given to him. His feet were grounded and his back slightly leaned forward. Elara sat beside him, the same lady who had approached him earlier. The shock of the massacre was beginning to fade, replaced by a cautious, quiet curiosity about the young man of similar age to hers who had torn those thugs apart with his bare hands. Yasha sat looking like a weary traveler, but behind his calm exterior, his mind was a furnace, processing every piece of information like a master strategist. "You're a long way from home," Elara murmured, bringing the awkward silence between them to a stop. Yasha gave her a soft, appreciative nod. "You could say that. Everything here is... different from what I’m used to." He took a slow sip of water, his eyes tracking the endless amount of death and dryness. "How does a

Yasha stood over the alley from the rooftop. His violent eyes glowed brightly against the night darkness as he gazed down, watching the scene unfold in front of him. His face was hollow under the hood, with no form of pity despite the ticking of the clock nor the intensity of the beating. Four boys about fourteen years old with sharp blades in hand and eyes filled with greed and rage each taking turns beating a child who couldn't have been more than ten. The victim curled into a ball as his stomach was ruthlessly stomped on, his breathing coming in ragged, pathetic gasps. The gang's laughter echoed through the walls, their kicks heavy without even a pause between strikes. It was a complete act of cruelty with not even a piece of human empathy or love, but it was the kind of place the city of Remnants was, especially to rookies with nowhere to go. Yasha’s gaze remained cold, his eyes fixed and his expression neutral. He felt nothing for the victim; empathy was a luxury he had tra

"Truly impressive for a mere newbie—or better still, a sin.” The man took a step forward, his face slowly getting revealed by the bright moonlight. His boots rattled softly on the cobblestone. “What did you say?” Yasha asked, his hand reaching instantly for his blade. “Hmm, I said you were quite impressive—or by chance are you talking about the ‘sin’ part?” The man said, slowly moving forward even more, this time revealing the large smirk curled around his lips. He was the same Gunslinger from the tavern—the man who had executed the thugs with a gun with terrifying skill cut between precision and undeniable accuracy. He wore his brown hat tilted low, obscuring his eyes, but his presence was undeniable. It was a suffocating pressure that made even Yasha tense up just standing next to him. His hand didn't just reach for his blade; it shook continuously. Without even waiting further, Yasha's stance was different. His muscles coiled up, ready to spring into action if necessary. H