One week earlier...

  It had been three weeks since the 'Guarded Spoils' event, and during that time, Richter had focused on exploring and gaining experience. However, levelling his class had become noticeably slower. The event had temporarily transformed common creatures into rare variants, significantly boosting the experience they yielded. Now that those rare versions were no longer easy to find, progression had slowed to a crawl. In the past three weeks, Richter had managed to gain only two class levels.

  His profession, on the other hand, had skyrocketed. Once he realized that existing skills could be upgraded without costing him a new skill choice, he dedicated his nights to refining them. Both [Parchmentbind – Inferior] and [Quillshaper – Inferior] had since advanced to common rarity. While he hadn’t yet managed to improve [Bloodscribe Ink – Common], it continued to perform reliably. As for his grimoire skill, there had been no change, he hadn’t even attempted to craft one yet.

  Over the last few weeks, Richter hadn’t been able to replicate anything close to the [Resonant Ink of Duskbeak Scavenger (Unique)]. He had used up all the essence he’d collected, channeling it into a growing archive of notes on various creatures from the surrounding area. With the latest event now underway, he had even begun compiling detailed observations on rare plants. Unlike his previous work, this required far more effort, without essence to automatically supply information, he had to rely entirely on his own analysis and deduction.

  Yet despite the slow pace of class progression, his profession had surged ahead, leaving his combat levels in the dust.

  Human Level: 9

  Healer Level: 8

  Bloodscribe Level: 11

  He had received two profession skill choices through leveling. For the first, he selected:

  [Bloodscribe Memory – Common]: A passive skill that significantly enhances memory retention for any information recorded using [Bloodscribe Ink]. Efficiency scales with Wisdom, allowing written knowledge to be recalled with vivid detail and precision.

  The second had been a rare one:

  [Bloodscribe's Library – Rare]: Grants the ability to create a semi-ethereal archive space tethered to your soul. Any Bloodscribe-written document, scroll, or grimoire can be stored within this mental library and accessed instantly regardless of physical location. Pages within can be summoned for reference, copied for use, or temporarily projected for others to view. Capacity and responsiveness scale with Intellect and Wisdom.

  Managing his growing collection of scrolls had become impractical, he had to stash most of them in the small den he used for sleep, effectively tethering him to one spot. His only spell scroll remained stored in the ring; the telekinetic effect was simply too efficient, and the retrieval speed far outpaced that of the library.

  Today, he'd ventured farther than usual, drawn by the memory of a vivid splash of crimson he had glimpsed the day before, tucked deep within the forest, barely visible from the hill where he'd made camp.

  The walk had taken him a few hours. The heat beneath the green-tinted sun was oppressive at first, but the forest canopy soon offered welcome shade. The trees themselves, curiously, appeared unaffected by the current event.

  As he reached his destination, the trees thinned out, revealing a secluded meadow bathed in soft light. A few trees with dark green, almost black leaves stood scattered at its edges, like silent sentinels. But it was the flowers, lush, vibrant, and bleeding shades of crimson across the grass, that had drawn him here.

  Thanks to his dedicated study over the past few weeks, Richter had refined his [Identify] skill from Inferior to Uncommon, granting him access to more detailed and nuanced information with each use.

  [Emberpetal Lily – Uncommon]: A heat-retaining woodland flower known for its use in delicate magical crafting. Often found in areas with elevated mana saturation. Valued for its ability to stabilize volatile spell components and extend the usability of perishable mixtures.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Richter knelt beside the flower, quill in hand, carefully sketching its likeness onto the parchment. He knew he’d never capture the full depth of its colors with the ink he had, but he still aimed for accuracy in form and structure. The stabilizing gloves he’d acquired proved invaluable, his lines were steadier now, his script tighter, the overall detail in his notes far more precise.

  He was intently observing a delicate butterfly-like insect as it fed on the ember-glowing pollen of a rare Emberpetal variant, mesmerized by its behaviour and the shimmering haze around the bloom. Then—his concentration shattered. Shouts echoed through the trees, followed by the unmistakable clang of metal and the sharp cries of combat. People fighting, getting closer. Instinct took over. Richter dropped flat to the ground, hoping the tall meadow grasses would conceal him from whatever was coming.

  The sounds grew louder, closer. Not the disorganized scuffle of beasts, but the chaotic rhythm of people in real danger. Grunts, spell detonations, and the heavy beat of boots tearing through underbrush echoed through the clearing’s edge.

  Richter stayed low, his breath shallow. He dared a glance between the tall blades of grass.

  Two figures broke into the meadow.

  The first was a woman with tangled red hair streaked with ash, her robes torn and scorched, flames flickering faintly at her fingertips even as she stumbled forward, clearly wounded. The second, a towering man with dark skin and a hammer clutched in one hand, moved with a brutal precision, his blood-spattered boots crushing the grasses beneath him.

  They were running. Not in panic, but with grim, focused desperation.

  And behind them, the forest spat out shadows. Figures emerged from the gloom—six, maybe seven, spreading out in a loose net as they pursued, spells and arrows already in flight.

  As Richter watched, the pair came to a halt, surrounded, with nowhere left to run. In the open meadow, there was no cover, no escape. Red flames flickered weakly around the woman; she was clearly exhausted, her mana reserves running low. With a guttural roar, she raised her arms, and the advancing pursuers instinctively pulled back. This woman wasn’t just dangerous—she was relentless. The burn marks and scorched armor told the story of someone who hadn’t gone down easily.

  A wall of vivid red flame erupted from her outstretched hands, momentarily halting the attackers and buying the pair a few precious seconds. She fumbled into a pouch at her side, retrieved a small object, and swallowed it in one motion. Her wounds remained open, clearly not a healing item, likely something to restore mana. Richter had activated [Eyes of the Murderer] the moment she entered the clearing; she was a level 9 Human Caster who had the Alchemy profession.

  Arrows whistled through the wall of fire. The armoured man deflected several with his shield, but one stray shaft slipped through the chaos and struck the woman in the shoulder. She staggered, the flames faltering, then collapsed entirely, the wall of fire vanishing in an instant.

  "Nowhere left to run, big man," the clear leader of the pursuers said, stepping into the meadow with casual menace. The armoured man shifted back instinctively, positioning himself between the woman and the threat, settling into a defensive stance.

  "Try anything, and Dan over there will turn you into a pincushion," the leader added, nodding toward a wiry archer already drawing another arrow.

  The group was relatively weak compared to the two defenders. Both were Level 9 humans, each with a well-developed class and profession, granting them a significant edge in versatility and combat synergy. Only the leader of the attackers stood out, identified as a Level 10 Medium Warrior with an unusually profession that piqued Richter’s curiosity.

  [Bondsmith – Beginner – Legacy – Level 12]: A legacy profession passed down only through members of the ancient Oath-Clan, a lineage bound by duty to contain what others cannot kill. Bondsmiths specialize in crafting bindings, physical, magical, and emotional. Their implements can suppress, restrain, or dominate through enchanted chains, psychic seals, and soul-linked constructs. The Oath-Clan only gifts this profession to ones who pass many trials.

  Questions flooded Richter’s mind. Was this man not from Earth? The tutorial had said 'Human only.' So how had he unlocked a profession supposedly exclusive to a clan that didn’t even seem to originate from Earth, or this world at all?

  Two of the attackers who had flanked the heavily armoured man suddenly lashed out, releasing the chains they’d been spinning. The weighted links struck his arms from both sides with brutal precision. With coordinated tugs, they yanked his limbs outward, forcing him into a spread stance—his grip faltered, and his hammer and shield fell to the ground.

  Richter knew he had to act, the pair was outnumbered and visibly struggling. But a sliver of doubt crept in. Why were they being hunted? What if they weren’t the victims here? For all he knew, they could be criminals, just as dangerous as the ones chasing them. Still, instinct warred with caution. Right or wrong, they didn’t deserve to be taken down like this.

  In the same breath, Richter summoned both his scroll and knife, ready to shift the balance. He didn’t know them, but something told him they weren’t the villains here. He'd trust his instincts. For now, that was enough.