Osric left the abandoned stone building alone.
The night air hit him harder than expected, cool and sharp against his skin. Only then did he realize how fast his heart was still beating. The noise of the arena faded behind him, replaced by distant voices and the familiar sounds of Lowbrook settling into darkness.
His hands shook slightly.
Not fear.
Aftershock.
Osric slowed his pace, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. Each step grounded him a little more. The ache in his arms and shoulders surfaced now that the adrenaline was gone—dull, spreading, undeniable.
'So this is the price,' he thought. 'Not pain during the fight. After.'
He reached into his cloak and felt the weight of coin.
It was real.
He hadn't counted it yet, but he already knew it was more money than he'd ever earned in a single night.
Osric exhaled.
Then—
Blue text flickered into existence before his eyes.
[ Challenge Completed. ]
Objective: Fight inside an underground fighting ring to earn money and gain combat experience.
Condition: Win a fight.
Failure: None
Reward: Combat related skill.
Osric stopped walking.
The text lingered in the air, steady and unmistakably real.
So it counted.
He hadn't known whether the system would recognize something like that—an illegal pit, an unregulated fight—but apparently violence was violence, no matter the setting.
Another line appeared.
[ Skill Acquired. ]
Combat Instinct (Rank F)
Description: Enhances situational awareness and decision-making during combat.
That was all.
No surge of power.
No sudden clarity.
No change he could feel.
Osric frowned slightly, flexing his fingers once before letting his hand fall back to his side.
Nothing.
He exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders.
'Figures,' he thought. 'It wouldn't be that obvious.'
Still, the confirmation settled something in him.
The system hadn't lied.
It hadn't exaggerated.
It had watched—and rewarded him accordingly.
Osric started walking again, the streets of Lowbrook stretching out ahead of him, dark and familiar.
Tomorrow, he would test it.
Not in theory.
But in blood and movement—where it actually mattered.
Osric reached home long after the streets had quieted.
The small room welcomed him with stale air and darkness, unchanged from when he had left. He shut the door behind him, slid the bolt into place, and only then let his shoulders sag.
Slowly, he lowered himself onto the floor, settling onto the thin blanket laid out in the corner of the room.
Osric lay back on the blanket, one arm draped across his chest, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
From inside his cloak, he withdrew the pouch.
The sound it made as he loosened the string was soft, restrained—but unmistakable.
Osric tipped the contents onto the bed.
Copper crowns spilled out, dull in the low light. He stared at them for a moment before beginning to count.
One by one.
Carefully.
When he was done, he stopped.
Thirty.
Osric leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose.
Thirty crowns.
It was real money. Not the most he had ever held—but the first he had earned this way.
His gaze lingered on the coins as his thoughts began to turn.
An adventurer mission, he considered.
Without a weapon, though? He dismissed the thought almost immediately. Even the lowest-ranked tasks carried risks. A single mistake, a single animal with sharper teeth than expected, and it would be over.
He glanced down at his empty hands.
I could buy a dagger.
Iron wasn't cheap. A serviceable one would drain almost everything he had just earned. And even then, he'd still be inexperienced—armed, but barely.
That left the third option.
The underground ring.
Osric was quiet for a long moment.
It was illegal. Dangerous. Brutal in ways official work wasn't. But it was controlled. Limited. And he already knew he could survive it.
More than that—
It paid.
He gathered the coins back into the pouch, fingers tightening around it.
Least risk, he decided. Fastest return.
He could earn enough there to buy a weapon later. Maybe armor. And each fight would sharpen him further, whether the system acknowledged it or not.
Combat experience wasn't something you could fake.
Still, his thoughts drifted back to the blue text from earlier.
The skill.
Osric hesitated, then raised his hand slightly.
"Status," he murmured.
Name: Osric
-
-
His eyes moved to the new addition.
Combat Instinct (F)
He focused on it—and selected it.
The text shifted.
Combat Instinct (F)
Description:
Improves awareness of threats, timing, and decision-making in combat situations.
No numbers.
No conditions.
No explanation of how.
Osric stared at the description, brow furrowing faintly.
"That's it?" he muttered.
It told him nothing he could use outside of a fight. Nothing he could test safely. Just a promise—one that only mattered when things turned violent.
He closed the screen with a thought.
Curiosity lingered, quiet but insistent.
'I'll find out soon enough.' He decided.
Osric lay back on his blanket, one arm draped across his chest, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Tomorrow, he would return to the ring.
Not because he wanted to.
But because it was the smartest move he had.
And for now—
That was enough.