The forest changed. The familiar oaks and ferns grew sparse, replaced by a fungal labyrinth. Giant mushrooms towered like silvery-gray sentinels, their caps wide enough to cast entire clearings into deep, damp shadow. The air grew thick with the smell of loam and spoiling meat.

  Great. A mycological nightmare. Perfect place for more murder-fauna.

  She moved with silent caution, her boots making no sound on the spongy ground. The plan was solid: head southwest, find the wall, find answers. The team could rot.

  A sound cut through the fungal silence. Not a birdcall. A cacophony of snarls, high-pitched barks, and a weak, desperate shout—human, or close enough.

  Her body reacted before her mind could debate. A fight. A distraction. Possibly intel. She altered course, not with a reckless charge, but with a hunter’s purpose. She ducked behind the massive, gnarled trunk of one of the last great oaks, pressing her back against the bark. Listened. The sounds were close.

  Assess first. Die never.

  She sidled along the tree, then darted to the cover of a towering, striated mushroom stalk, peering around its curve into a small, mossy clearing.

  The scene was clear. A pack of three creatures, wolf-like but wrong. Their hides were a mottled, hairless gray, muscles coiled under slick skin, mouths full of needle teeth. Hounds. They had a small figure surrounded.

  The figure was a boy. Blonde hair plastered with sweat and a trickle of blood from a gash on his forehead—not a bite, maybe a fall. He looked maybe eight years old, shivering violently, but his stance was pure, terrified defiance. He held a small hunting knife in both hands, pointing it at the circling hounds with desperate determination. One darted in; he slashed wildly, forcing it back. Another tried to flank from behind; he stumbled away, the knife keeping it at bay for a second.

  A kid. In this hellscape. Armed with a toothpick.

  Phantom didn’t feel heroism. She felt a cold, professional calculation. A native. A source of information. A guide. And he’s about to become dog food, rendering him useless and she never liked to see kids die.

  “Miri, tactical assessment of the canids.”

  “Three biological signatures. Aggressive pack behavior. Speed appears primary asset. Threat level: low to none for your current physical profile.”

  Low to none. Good enough. A warmup and field-test.

  Her mind flashed to her empty Core Slots. She had a tool for this.

  Slot Bash. Now.

  A mental command. The skill crystalized in her consciousness, clicking into the second empty socket.

  [Bash slotted into Rank Zero Core Slot Two. Remove at will. One-day cooldown until the core slot can be reused again. One-year cooldown for re-slotting the same skill.]

  One year, one day. Got it. She’d heard the rules before but shelved them. With only two skills, it wasn't important.

  She focused on the feeling of Bash—a coiled spring of intent in her fist. The 30-second timer began in her mind.

  She didn’t yell. She exploded from cover.

  The hounds were fixated on the trembling boy. The third one, the flanker, saw her first. It turned, a growl rumbling in its throat. Jess was already in the air, a leap aimed not to land beside it, but to collide.

  Trigger Bash.

  Her fist, swathed in tattered black biosuit material, met the hound’s ribcage with a sound like a cracking walnut. The 30% increased force wasn't just a push; it was a localized detonation. The creature’s yelp was cut short as it was flung sideways, crashing into a mushroom stalk with a sickening thud and sliding down, motionless.

  [F-Rank Hound slain. Exp +35]

  The notification flickered in her periphery. First one down.

  The other two whirled, confusion and rage in their milky eyes. The boy gaped, his knife lowering a fraction.

  Jess didn’t stop. She landed, pivoted, and drove a savage kick into the side of the nearest hound as it lunged. It sprawled, yelping. She was on it before it could rise, her fist a piston hammering down onto its skull. Another wet crunch. No Bash, just raw Orc strength and fury.

  [F-Rank Hound slain. Exp +35]

  The last hound, the largest, backed away, then turned to flee into the fungal maze.

  Oh no you don’t.

  Jess was already moving, a sprint that ate up the ground. The hound was fast, a gray blur. She pushed her legs harder, the regenerating muscle fibers straining. She closed the gap, leapt, and landed on the creature’s back, her weight driving it to the ground. It thrashed, teeth snapping wildly at the air beside her head.

  She locked an arm around its neck, ignored the claws scrabbling at her biosuit, and with her free hand, formed a fist.

  Bash was recharged.

  She focused, felt the skill snap into readiness, and drove her fist down like an axe onto the base of the hound’s spine.

  A final, decisive crack. The thrashing ceased.

  [F-Rank Hound slain. Exp +35]

  Silence rushed back into the clearing, heavier than before, broken only by Jess’s ragged breaths and the boy’s terrified, hitched gasps.

  She stood up, wiping a smear of grayish blood and mushroom spores from her face. She looked at the three broken bodies, then turned her gaze, green and unreadable, onto the small, bloodied, wide-eyed human boy still clutching his knife as if it were a holy relic.

  The fight was over. Silence, thick and sudden, fell upon the fungal clearing, broken only by her own steadying breath and the boy’s sharp, terrified gasps.

  She stood up, rolling the tension from her shoulders. Gray blood stained her knuckles.

  Didn’t she forget something?

  A pulse, subtle and deep, resonated through her core. It wasn't a flash of light or a chime. It was a quiet, pervasive shift, as if every cell in her body had simultaneously taken a precise, strengthening breath.

  [Level Up]

  There it was. The EXP threshold crossed.

  Wow, no golden sparkles and fanfare? Let’s see how much, ohhh, it is holistic. Like everything got a bit better.

  A warmth, different from the stim-cocktail rush of battlefield chems—cleaner, more integral—suffused her limbs. She felt… tuned. She flexed a hand, watching the muscles cord in her forearm. They looked the same, but the potential felt greater.

  More strength.

  Curious, she pressed a finger into her own bicep. The tissue felt denser. She unsheathed her field knife, and with careful, clinical pressure, pressed the very tip against the skin of her forearm. Before, it would have pierced almost immediately. Now, the skin dimpled but held firm. She increased the pressure significantly before a tiny bead of copper-green blood welled up.

  Yes, definitely. It takes much more pressure just to get through the skin. Maybe class-dependent.

  She’d experienced artificial enhancements before. Gene therapies. Cybernetic weaves. This was different. This wasn't an implant or an injection; it was her very template being refined. It felt healthy. Natural. It didn’t strain her heart or make her nerves jangle.

  It was like a holistic upgrade.

  Her status flickered in her mind’s eye, updated.

  [Name: Phantom]

  [Age: 320/331]

  [Race: Orc]

  [Class: Frontline Huntress]

  [Level: 2/25]

  [Exp: 5/200]

  [Slain Unique Enemies: 1]

  The most significant number wasn't the level. It was the second one under Age. A full year, added to her clock. A modest, incredible reprieve. The cold specter of her looming expiration date receded, just a step. Improving grants a longer life. Great.

  “Miri. How much did this increase my baseline?” she asked aloud, her voice a low rumble in the quiet.

  A moment of processing. “Approximately a twelve percent increase across your primary Orc physiological parameters: musculoskeletal density, neural conductivity, dermal resilience, and metabolic efficiency. Replicating this enhancement through conventional means would require approximately five million galactic credits in tailored gene-sculpting and augmentation, or the equivalent of two years of peak-condition training for a freshly cloned baseline.”

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  She had chosen her body at the point of diminishing returns—optimal, not opulent. An expendable asset. So a lost arm or leg didn’t make a mission economically unfeasible. This was different. This was free, internal, and earned.

  Just level two and I feel like a new person. This feels nice, and it’s only the beginning. Hello, super-Orc body. Here I come, she mumbled, rolling her shoulders experimentally. The motion felt smoother, more powerful.

  “Phantom, a reminder that it is just a twelve percent increase,” Miri stated, her tone flatly corrective.

  “A twelve percent increase per level, Miri,” Jess corrected back, a grim, hungry smile touching her lips. “The math is what makes it beautiful.”

  The level-up euphoria settled into a steady, background hum of enhanced potential. Jess turned from the stirring hound and walked toward the boy, her movements deliberate but non-threatening. She extended a hand, palm up.

  "Yes, yes, I get it. I will be cautious, just record that I got your warning. If I can improve this way, others can too," she muttered to herself, a grim acknowledgment. She was a newbie on Mega Earth, not a pro, even if her body was now a slightly more cheaty asset. She had no evidence but the events of the day to go by—the bird, the hounds, and the system’s cold, numerical promises.

  Right. The kid.

  She finally turned her full attention away from her own upgraded form and back to the clearing. To the small, primary reason for this fortuitous encounter.

  The boy hadn’t moved. He stood frozen, his knife still held out, his eyes—wide and blue—darting between her green, scarred face, her pointed ears, the massive fists that had just pulverized three forest predators, and the terrifying, intelligent calculation in her gaze. She read it from his every breath how he saw her in this low-light environment.

  The boy’s eyes, wide and shocked, finally processed that the immediate threat was gone and that a new, much larger one was now standing right before him. As she approached, he scrambled backward on the moss, a fresh wave of terror overriding his exhaustion.

  "AHHH! ORC! ORC! NO! ANOTHER ORC REMNANT!"

  "I'm sorry, I'm—" Jess began, trying to inject some calm.

  "THEY ARE HERE! THEY ARE INVADING AGAIN! MOMMY, HELP!"

  Speaking Galactic Standard, huh? Interesting.

  He stopped screaming, his breath hitching. He looked at his own hands, turning them over as if checking for bites. Then his gaze shot back to her, accusatory and bewildered. "Why… why am I not dead?"

  Kid’s got a point. In his shoes, I’d be wondering the same.

  An accusatory look thrown at Jess that said clearly: 'Why didn’t you eat me?'

  "Why would I do that?" Jess replied, her tone flat. It was a genuine question.

  He blinked, his raised eyebrows showing utter confusion. His eyes traveled up and down her form again, a child’s scrutiny cutting through prejudice.

  "You… you look too pretty for an Orc? But you are green and got tusks. That is what the city hall in the outer capital showed when I got my class. The ceiling showed how your kind besieged the walls."

  He gave another look of examination, then a firm, confirming nod to himself. "No. You are not such an ugly, muscle-bound green brute. What are you?"

  Too pretty? Ugly, muscle-bound green brute? Okay. A data point. A cultural image. And ‘my kind’ besieged walls. Fantastic.

  "My name is Jess. And you are welcome for preventing you from getting eaten by the mangy things."

  "F-Rank beast hounds. Nest in the forest. They are wild titans, or so old Matt said. Sorry. Thank you for rescuing me." The gratitude seemed to fight its way past his fear.

  "They were not hard to beat. Are you injured anywhere?"

  "I'm Litos. Of the outer village of Reiro."

  Got a name. And a location. Progress.

  "Can you guide me there? And is it behind the big wall?" She gestured vaguely southwest.

  "No. It’s one of the few villages out here. Hardly a good existence." He paused, studying her with renewed curiosity. "Do you live in the jungle and eat shrooms and beasts? I knew the legendary hermits were real. You are not an elf?"

  "No, I’m not. Not that I know of." Spiky ears. Right. "You mean because of the spiky ears?"

  A nod.

  "You think I could sleep, trade, or enter that village of yours?"

  His face clouded with conflict. "I… I can’t guarantee it. Since… sorry, you look so much like them. I want to give you something for saving me. I thought I could find a rare herb to improve my class…"

  "No problem. Guide the way. It is enough to pay me back," Jess said. Think like a responsible adult, Jess. Ha. "Better not try something like that alone again." Forget it, just say it. "Make sure you bring a better weapon next time."

  He looked up at her with wide-eyed admiration. "Really? You think I could do that?"

  "Speak with somebody who is more responsible than me, kid. You handled the three hound things pretty well, all in all. With a better weapon, you would have taken all three. Two, you might have had a chance against."

  They began to move, Litos leading the way with renewed, if shaky, purpose. Jess followed, her senses alert. They crossed a small, clear brook. As he climbed the opposite bank, she took the chance to observe his gear more closely.

  The knife was simple steel, not mono-filament. No energy weapon signatures. No holo-projector. No visible ports for an AI chip. The tech level seemed medieval, but the fabric of his rough tunic and trousers had a uniform, sturdy weave that hinted at something beyond cottage industry. It looked industrial-grade, but in a stalled, maybe repurposed way.

  Idiosyncratic. Was it because of the class and game-like rules shaping society? Or something else?

  As they walked, Litos spoke, filling the silence with a boy’s need to explain. "Trying to reclaim anything beyond the village is hard and slow. But the founder got kicked out. They said he confronted the Saintess that came from the sky hundreds of years ago and is now no longer welcome."

  Saintess from the sky. Hundreds of years ago. The words hit Jess like a physical blow. Temporal displacement. A ‘saintess’ could be a crashed survivor. Could be… anyone. Could be corporate. Could be…

  She shoved the thought down. No jumping to conclusions.

  Litos glanced at her sidelong, another childish non-sequitur striking him. "Orcs are never female. You are weird."

  "You are weird too, human boy." She grasped for a thread. "How do you speak Galactic Standard?"

  He looked at her as if she’d asked why the sky was blue. "Sky-debris. Everybody speaks it for the past ten thousand years. And some are— Are you a strange elf?"

  Antagonize, then offer grace. No female Orcs seen so far. Think fantasy. Think gamer. A flimsy, convenient lie formed. It was better than the truth.

  "I’m a dryad," Jess said, the words feeling absurd as she said them.

  Litos stopped, turning to face her fully, his confusion absolute. "What is a dryad?"

  Great. Local folklore doesn’t match her trope heavy preconceptions. "Nothing. Something like a green elf."

  The boy’s face cleared, acceptance dawning. A story he could work with. "Oh! I have to tell everybody that an elf rescued me! We thought you were all gone, with your walking giant tree, before it got too big deep into the jungle."

  Walking giant tree. Right. Of course. Jess just nodded, letting the misconception settle. Elf, dryad, green hermit—it was all better than ‘Orc Remnant.’ It was a passport, however flimsy, toward a roof and potentially, information.

  "Lead on, Litos," she said, her voice a low rumble in the twilight. "Let’s see this village of yours."

  The forest began to thin. The towering, silent mushrooms gave way to more familiar oak and pine, though everything was on a grander, older scale. The first hints of dawn painted the sky in muted grays and violets, leaching the cyan from the air. They had walked through the night.

  Litos stumbled over a root, catching himself on a tree trunk with a weary groan.

  He’s running on fumes.

  “I’m not carrying you,” Jess stated, not unkindly. “So catch yourself.”

  “I can walk on my own,” the boy protested, pushing himself upright. “I’m almost an adult.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “I am! I’m already level five, and I will be able to get a better class soon. My first was already Scout—a rare class! I go to school behind the wall and get my ration of Violet Starfall Dust from the city hall. Then it might improve.”

  Compulsory education. A resource-based progression system. Violet Starfall Dust? She filed it away. “Not interested in city planning, kid.”

  She cut a hanging vine with her knife and stepped over a rotten log. Movement in the ferns to her left—a slithering, glossy shape the size of a dog. A leech, but grotesquely enlarged, its sucker mouth pulsing faintly. It oriented toward them.

  Jess didn’t break stride. She turned her head, bared her teeth—the sharp Orc canines prominent in the dim light—and let out a low, rumbling growl from deep in her chest. The leech hesitated, then slid backward into the deeper foliage, disappearing.

  “Miri, warn me if another one of those approaches.”

  “Yes, Phantom. Task received and tracked.”

  Litos stared, wide-eyed again. “Who is Miri?”

  “Nobody, kid.”

  “Then don’t tell me. Hmph!” He crossed his arms, a portrait of childish indignation.

  Eight hours until the bounty packet unlocks. Miri could probably brute-force it, but it would flag me as untrustworthy to corporate and burn too much processing power for a head-chip AI. Not worth it.

  The trees opened up ahead. A cleared area of terraced fields spread before a low hill. A wooden palisade, sturdy but not militaristic, surrounded a cluster of about thirty buildings. The houses were timber and thatch, simple but solid. One larger structure with a stone foundation sat at the highest point—a longhouse. In the fields, people should have been harvesting strange, bulbous tubers, filling woven baskets.

  But the scene was wrong.

  A thick, greasy column of black smoke rose not from a chimney, but from the center of the village. A house, maybe two, were fully ablaze, orange flames licking defiantly at the dawn.

  Oh, hell.

  “Kid,” Jess said, her voice dropping to a flat, dangerous calm. “Please tell me your village head is so powerful he stages defensive burn drills at sunrise or that you got regular Bandit raids.”

  Litos froze, his face draining of color. “N-no… Bandits? We don’t have bandits out here. The guards…”

  “Then I fear I know who did this.” The image of Jake’s cold, calculating face flashed in her mind. Securing the area. By any means necessary. Looking for intel on a high-value target.

  Litos turned to her, his earlier bravado shattered, replaced by the raw panic of a child whose world is burning. “Can… can you help us?” He didn’t wait for an answer, starting to run toward the gate.

  Jess’s hand shot out, catching his shoulder, holding him back with gentle but unyielding force. “I don’t know if I can. If they don’t have a class, I think I might. The leader… he is a league of his own." An understatement. Jake was a veteran corporate field commander with a cybernetic body, even if his toys are glitching.

  " Do you have one of those orb things in your village. The thing that.. you know grants you a class?”

  “We don’t have a class orb in the village! I had to go back to the second city behind the wall to get mine as said!”

  “Then this is going to be fun.” The word was a bitter curse. “I pray for your friends and relatives.”

  “Old Matt… little Wendy…” His voice cracked.

  “Don’t cry,” Jess said, the order sharp. “Tears fog your vision. I will try to help. They are not the types to go for non-combatants… but no guarantees.” A lie for comfort. Corporate black ops had no such lines but killing random was inefficient.

  They reached the open village gate. Two men in patched leathers lay sprawled face-down in the dirt, their halberds beside them. Unconscious, not dead. A professional disabling. Jake’s work.

  “Kid. Stay behind me. Stay low. If I say run, you run into the woods and don’t look back. Understand?”

  “I, I… yes.”

  She stepped past the threshold, into the shadow of the palisade. The smell of smoke was stronger here, mixed with the sour tang of fear.

  How did I get myself into this again? Babysitter. Village defender. I just wanted to find a damn wall.

  Her new, upgraded muscles coiled. The Bash skill was a cool, ready potential in her mind. Her passive was likely going to become handy.

  She looked at the burning house, at the eerie quiet of the other huts, their doors shut tight. The confrontation wouldn’t be in the open. It would be near the longhouse. Where the headman would be. Where information would be.

  A cold fury settled over her, clean and sharp. Not for the village, not really. For the sheer, unprofessional disruption. For the fact that these arrogant, backstabbing amateurs were here, ruining her first lead, terrorizing children, and making a mess.

  She filled her lungs, and her voice, amplified by Orc physiology and pure, undiluted rage, shattered the morning calm.

  “HEY JAKE! RED HAIRED BITCH, AND YOU TOO COWARD! JAKE YOU AND YOUR GANG OF BANDITS BETTER STOP, OR I’M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASSES BACK TO ORBIT MYSELF!”

  The shout echoed off the hillside, startling birds into flight.