Jonathan stared at them both, then slowly leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

"So… I'm an idiot."

Caroline didn't even try to deny it. "A lucky idiot," she said with a shrug.

"A very lucky idiot," Sšurtinaui added, grinning as she poured herself another cup of whatever steaming drink they'd found. "Your aura was loud as hell. Your speech? Way too casual. Not even trying to hide the Earth tone. And don't get me started on your Ryun—it looked like you were trying to wrestle a wet blanket made of lightning."

Jonathan groaned into his palms. "So what, I've just been walking around with a giant 'kill me' sign on my forehead?"

Sšurtinaui nodded. "Pretty much. Most natives speak Earth languages now just to catch your kind. English, Spanish, Mandarin. Helps weed out the amateurs."

"Great," he muttered. "Love that for me."

Caroline chuckled. "It's annoying at first, trust me. Took me months to stop sounding like an urban Montana kid. But you'll get used to it."

Jonathan sat back, rubbing his temples. "I feel like I walked into a hardcore survival game on nightmare mode with a plastic spoon and a hangover."

Sšurtinaui smirked. "Yeah, and somehow you're still breathing. So maybe that spoon's sharper than it looks."

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "Or maybe the world just isn't ready for my brand of dumb luck."

Caroline raised her cup. "To idiotic miracles, then."

"Cheers," he muttered. After a moment he thought he asked his next question.

"So what's a Ranker?"

"It's how Narloic operates. They're the ranking institution that tracks most Freelancers across Requiem. Outlanders, natives—doesn't matter. If you want legitimacy, you register through them. You're either a Cadet or a Ranker. And if you're not on the list, you're nothing."

He scratched his head. "So when you called me a Cadet…"

"I was being generous," she said with a half-smile. "You were acting like a new Cadet. But you're probably around Regular level now, maybe Elite depending on your growth rate. Still a pebble in the river."

He blinked. "Right. So what's above Cadet again?"

She listed them off on her fingers. "Cadet, Cadet Regular, Cadet Elite, Cadet Master, Legendary Cadet. Once you hit that last one, you can challenge into Ranker status."

"And Rankers are broken up too?"

Sšurtinaui nodded again. "Three tiers. Basic Ranker, Intermediate Ranker, High Ranker. High Rankers start around top 300,000."

"Three hundred thousand," Jonathan echoed. "Like, that's top?"

She smirked. "There are over 173 quadrillion Rankers in the Narloic registry. Requiem is big, North. Like, bigger-than-your-concept-of-big big."

Jonathan just stared, mouth slightly open.

She continued. "I'll show you the full registry breakdown when we're not dodging armies."

Jonathan let that soak in. The numbers didn't even sound real. 173 trillion-plus. And that was just registered Rankers?

He rubbed his temples. "Okay… okay. That's a lot to process. Do we have alcohol?"

Caroline—leaning back and forth on the stool—burst into laughter. "That's the first smart thing you've said since I met you."

Sšurtinaui just chuckled and pointed toward a small cabinet near the wall. "Second shelf. But don't drink too much. You'll need your liver tomorrow."

Jonathan stood up slowly and shuffled to the cabinet. "In a world where people can blow up mountains by accident, I think I can handle a lost liver."

"So the woman," he began, taking a swig straight from the bottle. His face wrinkled at the taste. "The one with the halberd and murder eyes…"

Sšurtinaui glanced over. "She's a Dorferan. Native to this region."

"Oh," he said, nodding slowly. "She's pissed her home is being turned into an interdimensional gladiator ring. She could've just said that."

Sšurtinaui arched an eyebrow. "Assuming she spoke English. Most Dorferans don't bother with Outlander languages. Especially not here."

"Yeah, well…" Jonathan sighed, "she had a very aggressive dialect."

With that bit of useful context rolling around in his brain, he turned to Caroline, who was lounging with her legs propped up, casually inspecting something he couldn't see.

"So, how'd you end up in this wonderland, ma'am?"

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"Ew," Caroline grimaced. "Don't call me ma'am. I'm not your schoolteacher."

"Noted," Jonathan smirked. "Miss?"

She flipped him off playfully before answering. "I was playing Arc Sigil Unite 4—world event dropped with some countdown timer. Whole server was hyped. Timer hit zero, screen went white… and I blinked, and bam. I was here."

Jonathan stared.

"In your game character's body?" he asked.

"Yep," she said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Woke up with my gear, spells, levels—just had to adjust to how real it all felt."

"And you're just… chill about that?"

Caroline shrugged. "Took me two weeks to stop crying. Now I'm built different."

Jonathan threw his hands up. "Man, gamers have such an advantage! Wait! You got the…damn… UI and everything?"

"Yup," she said, smug. "Helps with translation, local lore, artifact recognition, danger levels, stamina regen—you know, the basics."

He just stared at her in mild betrayal. "That's bullshit."

Sšurtinaui chuckled. "That's why some Outlanders last and others don't. Some get lucky. Others… well." She glanced toward the window, where the city still smoldered in the distance.

Jonathan groaned. "I got dumped here raw. No UI. No guidebook. Just vibes and trauma."

"Don't worry," Caroline said, while leaning on the stool. "We'll mold you into a proper war criminal in no time."

"Great," he muttered, taking another swig. "Can't wait."

Sšurtinaui leaned back against the window frame, arms crossed, her expression businesslike.

"We'll leave tonight," she said. "There's a cave about fifteen miles north. Caroline detected a purple gem signature inside—likely buried deep."

Jonathan leaned against the cabinet, eyes widening. "Purple? That's a big one, right?"

Caroline nodded from the stool, flipping her sigils through her fingers. "Seven hundred fifty million points. Fragile though. So no wild lightning strikes, Captain Red Sparks."

Jonathan held a hand to his chest, mock offended. "I am a delicate and strategic artist now, thank you."

Sšurtinaui rolled her eyes, smirking. "We'll see how delicate you are when things start exploding."

He shot her a crooked grin as he took a final shot and put the bottle back. "What can I say, I'm reckless in the streets."

Caroline snorted. "Ew."

Jonathan stared at her.

"You walked into that one." She chuckled.

Sšurtinaui reached into her side pouch and pulled out a small, unassuming silver box no bigger than a matchbook. "Anyway. This is how we're keeping the gems safe."

He raised a brow. "That's it?"

She pressed a small glyph and the box shimmered before shifting into a slim silver locket. "Ryun enchanted. Weightless. Nearly bottomless. Only opens for me. Won't break unless a high-ranker personally shatters it—which won't happen. I keep it under Ryun protection, always. And there's no high-rankers in this event."

Caroline gave a lazy smirk. "Also we can use North here. Clever name by the way. As an extra damage buffer."

"I like the potential of that," Sšurtinaui smirked.

Jonathan mock gasped. "Used. Objectified. Turned into a walking shield. What am I? A third class citizen?"

Caroline leaned back, twirling a loose strand of hair. "Could be worse. You could still be bleeding in the streets with one arm."

"Y'all flirt weird," he muttered, laying back onto the bed.

"Get your rest, North," Sšurtinaui said, brushing past him with a smile and flicking Ryun at his ear. Caroline followed, giving him a mock salute before closing the door behind them.

He blinked at the ceiling. "Okay. Wasn't the harem theme I was going for and I gotta make sure Caroline isn't a trap. But all in all not a bad day."

He was asleep in two minutes.

What felt like three seconds later—

"North!" Caroline's voice rang sharp through the dark.

"Mrrmph…"

"Get up. Soldiers are coming."

"Tell them to give me five more minutes," he muttered into the pillow.

"Get ya ass up!" she snapped, yanking his blanket clean off.

"Fine! Fine! I'm up!" he groaned, rolling out of bed and dragging himself up like a man twice his age.

Caroline shook her head. "Next time, don't take such deep naps."

He shot her a bleary look. "You say that, but I think this was the best sleep I've had in this damn realm."

Sšurtinaui opened the door. "Move it. We've got a purple gem to snatch and an army to avoid."

——

Tinsurnae narrowed his eyes as the wind whipped his robe around him, the mountain range jagged and high like fractured fangs reaching for the clouds. From the back of a massive bird—he surveyed the terrain.

A purple gem pulsed below, its signature faint but undeniable. He could feel it through the threads of Sryun in the air, as if the mountain itself hummed with anticipation. According to the winds—yes, he could speak to the wind—it was guarded by a formidable warrior. Not a contestant. A native. Which meant their connection to the realm was deeper, more instinctual.

Good. He hated boring fights.

Without a word, he leapt.

The bird screeched in amusement, its massive wings flapping once before disappearing into the high sky. Tinsurnae plummeted like a meteor, robes flaring, sandals glowing with sigils of anti-impact as the winds curled lovingly around him. He landed in front of the cave with a controlled boom, scattering loose gravel and startling a dozen small, twitchy-eyed critters nearby.

Instead of fleeing, the creatures circled his feet.

He ignored them. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could move on. He was nearing 20 billion points now. But the golden gems were thinning, and the smart ones were hoarding the higher rarities. Purple and red were the game-changers now. And he needed them before someone like Cawren or that red-haired lunatic from the south made a serious move.

Besides… he wanted to win.

As he walked into the shadowed mouth of the cave, the critters trailed him like a procession.

——

Civen brushed her long crimson hair back, the wind catching the strands and letting them dance like a battle banner over the smoldering remnants of the city below. Her amber-gold eyes, slit like a feline's, scanned the wreckage with boredom more than triumph. Cities fell too easily in this region. Especially to her.

She stood tall, her form a striking blend of elegance and savagery—mermaid smoothness in her silken lower body that shimmered with aquatic scale-like armor, and feline grace in her upper half. Sharp ears, subtle fangs, and a tail that curled with instinctual precision. Her beauty was undeniable—strange, exotic, arresting—and most found her mesmerizing, even as she led their homes to ruin.

But conquest wasn't the real prize here. Not for her.

Civen didn't care about the wealth, prestige, or even the power offered by Fortune Holder. Not directly. Her aim was personal. Vari's Jujisn was here.

And that changed everything.

Vari—the Supreme Family Head of venom, wealth, and divine disdain—had once trampled over Civen's ambitions with a single glance and a polite smile. Back then, Civen had been on her way to becoming one of AllFather Laos's royal ambassadors, set to oversee court expansion. But Vari had chosen another. Someone gentler. More obedient. More predictable.

Civen never forgot the humiliation.

And now? Vari's past self, the Jujisn, was walking freely within the Fortune Holder event. Younger. Unrefined. Vulnerable. The gods may play beyond her reach, so Civen would settle for torturing something she could grasp.

A slow smirk twisted across her face as she felt the realm's breath shift. Day 8 was approaching. Soon, the new rule would drop, and with it, chaos. That was when her real plan would unfold. For now, she was content to burn and conquer.

But when the time came, she would find Vari's echo…

…and make the Supreme watch as she bleeds, her own beginning.

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