Ratel transformation midway, John landed on top of a gaggle of shamblers. The mimic’s hold broke, but his situation became more dangerous now than ever. The monsters he dropped on fell into a pile with him. Others turned toward John and the mimic as he tried to reorient himself.

He couldn’t get his bearings easily. There were limbs everywhere. Reaching hands tore at him. The rasping moan of shamblers filled his ears. He was bewildered, disorientated, and angry.

Very angry.

“Grah!” John roared, letting [Ratel Rookie] take over. Through the haze of confusion and horror, his claws found a shambler’s face to knife through.

Ding! . . .

John clawed open the face of another shambler, stunning it. He kicked a shambler off of him, throwing it against a surging tide of shuffling attackers. Thrashing around, he elbowed a shambler off his back. One shambler reached for his neck. John shoveled an uppercut through its neck and decapitated the monster.

Ding! . . .

Getting to his feet, John chugged air down with every gasping breath. His face was covered in flecks of decomposed flesh. Shamblers swarmed him from all sides as his head grew hotter from [Ratel Rookie]’s use.

The mimic kicked through the shamblers to reach for him, emitting its deep hellish laughter. It was getting attacked by shamblers simultaneously, but it wanted John more than safety from the mob.

John used every inch of space he had. He twisted to the side and lashed out. His claws struck the side of the mimic’s palm and parried the reaching hand away. A few of its claws snagged on John’s shoulder and bloodied him. The pain was fierce, but John’s ratel anger was fiercer.

The shamblers got their licks against the mimic in the meanwhile. They thrashed the treasure monster to the side with their numbers. They attempted to throw down with John, too.

“[Gale Stream]!” Xanhilt stood on top of the tower’s perimeter wall, hosing shamblers at John’s flank. The ones that fell struggled to get up until the necromantic energy that kept them going stopped. Despite the terror of being surrounded by game zombies, John was mainly facing Lvl 2s, 3s, and 4s. They were somewhat manageable if he stayed light on his feet and aggressive.

One or two ratel claws strike led to one kill most of the time.

Ding! . . .

Ding! . . .

Ding! . . .

Ding! . . .

John broke free from the mob, dashing out from between reaching shamblers. His magic migraine was a hot and painful throb, forcing him to turn off [Ratel Rookie]. His stamina was low. He was bloodied and bruised up. He was at his limits.

Heart pounding, he dashed out into open space and found room to breathe. He also saw a route clear of shamblers that would lead him into the misty forest. A route that would save him from the overwhelming trouble brewing here.

Turning around, John faced what could be a vista found in hell. A damaged tower about ready to fall. An army of monsters between him and Xanhilt. Horror beyond his eighteen years of life. It was enough to break most men.

I could run away now and save myself.

The option to flee was more than valid. The weaker monsters weren’t hard to deal with individually, but their numbers as a group were overwhelming. Then he had challenges posed by the mimic and the mauling shambler.

“Run, John!” Xanhilt yelled from the top of the tower. “Save yourself!”

Hell, even Xanhilt was telling him to get out of here. But that bothered John a lot. Made him feel like a coward. A loser.

John gritted his teeth, feeling stupid and angry. He knew he was about to do something foolhardy, but he was too committed. He didn’t want to leave Xanhilt behind. If this is what it means to be a hero, heroes are dumb! And I’m dumb, too.

Three shamblers reached for him.

John stepped aside and entered a jog. He was tired as hell, but he pushed through it. He’d been tired before from boxing practice. He also had magic stones to make good use of.

Two vitality stones. Two stamina stones. Two mana stones.

He placed them down on a gravel patch and broke each stone under his boot heel. His bruises and cuts faded away, leaving him sore but whole. His stamina returned, getting him close enough to decent fighting shape. His head cooled drastically, leaving a minor headache.

When another shambler came around, John boxed it without magic. It stopped moving after a few punches, the system chiming as a result. He dropped two more shamblers soon after, picking off monsters at the edges of the horde as he loped around the glade. He snatched up pouches when he could, sifting through the contents. Mana stones and stamina stones took first priority. Occasionally, he found an essence stone and used it almost instantly for more [Strength].

Ding! Ding! . . .

John reached Level 9. He was anticipating this because he had an idea for how he wanted to maximize his chances here. He went all-in on [Strength]. He had more than enough agility to avoid retaliation attacks while out in the open field. Killing them faster is way more important right now.

The next shambler that came up was a Lvl 5. It would usually take three non-ratel punches to put it down. When it lunged at John, he responded with a heavy counterpunch. His knuckles smashed the bridge of its nose.

The monster dropped and stayed down.

Ding! . . .

John looted a pouch from it and found a mana stone. He slipped it into a pouch on his waist and magicked up [Ratel Rookie]. The tide of shamblers had shrunk significantly. The mimic had killed some, and it was now in a fight against the mauling shambler. As the two monsters duked it out in front of the tower with Xanhilt as their audience, John tore through waves of shamblers like a savage.

He punched his claws through their skulls. He ripped off their jaws with a swipe and smashed them over their heads. He decapitated them. Eviscerated their dusty stomachs. Plowed through their chests with a strong, stiff, claw thrust. He worked through nearly a dozen shamblers before his head got too hot and his stamina neared the redline.

John backed off, grabbing up pouches on the way. He turned off [Ratel Rookie] and sort through the pouches. He nabbed the most important stones, leaving behind the rest for now. He had enough to smash three stones for stamina and mana each and two stones for vitality.

He got back to near tip-top shape. It was absolutely incredible. Within seconds, he felt returned to form.

Getting back into the action, John killed a few more shamblers and leveled up.

Ding! Congrats, John! You’re doing a great job on this optional quest, and we’ve been more than happy watching you grow. I know you’re busy, but please allow us to speak to you as you fight.

“This is not the time!” John shouted, retreating from the mob of shamblers hounding him.

Ding! True, it isn’t. But your tutorial is coming close to an end soon, and we got to make the most of it!

He could try to ignore the system, but the message prompts popped into his view aggressively. They refused to be ignored. They wanted his attention. Unable to split his concentration, John retreated from the mob as the people behind the system badgered him.

Ding! Reaching level 10 is a big deal. You’re becoming more of a hero of Urmatia. You’re leaving behind what made you less than a hero in the old world. Your race is now Rank 2, allocating +5 to all of your attributes for ranking up! Your [Identify] is now Rank 2. One Good Punch is now Rank 2 and made available for use again.

Keep up the excellent work! We’re all really impressed with you and little Xanhilt. Also, keep collecting those essence stones while you can!

“I hate you,” John said, coming to a stop.

He had some time to spare before the low-level shamblers reached him again. He could see an open lane that would lead him to the tower and the monsters there. The field was filled with unmoving corpses John had killed while accomplishing a move Reggie had called “kiting.” Now that he had [One Good Punch] again and more AP allocated to strength, he had a feeling he could take on the mauling shambler.

Heavy clouds gathered suddenly in the sky. A cool wind gusted past John, chilling him. Thunder clamored above, shaking the air. Coils of electricity snaked through the storm clouds above the tower. Eyes widening, John watched as Xanhilt called down [Lightning of the Gods] right on top of the mimic and the mauling shambler.

BOOM! A blazing bolt struck down like a snake. The storm clouds disappeared right after almost instantly.

The mimic hit the scorched earth and stayed down.

Ding! . . .

The mauling shambler hit the ground too, but it slowly started to get back to its feet. As a fire broke out in front of the tower, John’s blood boiled as he saw a huge opening to finish the big bad monster. He ran with all his might, calling on [Ratel Rookie] to help him again.

The mauling shambler got to its feet weakly.

John flew at it like a bat out of hell. He vaulted over the flames, arm cocked back. He caught the shambler’s face with a superman claw strike. The monster stumbled backward and slammed into the tower. Before John could follow up with a more devastating hit⁠—One Good Punch, Rank 2⁠—the structure groaned with a note of finality. It had endured its last abuse.

“Xanhilt!” John shouted.

“Ancestors, grant me wings!” Xanhilt shouted, jumping from the top of the tower.

John caught him easily enough with his greater strength and ratel enhancement. He moved away from the tower before he set Xanhilt down. The structure collapsed on top of the mauling shambler. It was too slow to escape the tower’s fall.

Ding! Ding! . . .

John was now Lvl 11, allocating points into [Stamina].

“Oh, wow, I leveled up twice,” Xanhilt said. “The mimic kill was a notable achievement. And the system’s telling me Lvl 10 is quite important.”

“Need mana stones or anything?” John asked, switching off his ratel magic for now.

“Yes, please,” Xanhilt said. “How are you doing? You’ve been fighting fiercely nonstop. I don’t know if that’s good.”

“Seems alright to me,” John said, passing him some mana stones. He handed him a few stamina stones just in case. “Every time I use these things, I get refreshed where it counts no matter what.”

“I doubt it’s that simple, though,” Xanhilt said. “There must be a cost somehow.”

A shambler lunged at them.

John punched it dead⁠—Ding!—and said, “We can worry about that after we mop up the rest of these fools.”

Xanhilt dodged one that tried to grab him. Without a weapon, he didn’t look that confident in a fight.

“Kick behind his knee,” John instructed.

“Like this,” Xanhilt said, giving it a go. He staggered the shambler, making it an easy target for John.

Ding! . . .

“I received experience for that,” Xanhilt informed. “It seems that assisting each other rewards partial experience compared to a full kill.”

“If you don’t mind assisting me here and there, let’s do this together,” John said. “Stay with me, and whenever one overextends, give it a good kick behind the knee. I’ll finish it off.”

“Okay!”

The timing wasn’t perfect at first. But it got better as Xanhilt grew more confident. They got in sync with each other soon enough, kicking and smashing shamblers with decent efficiency.

John had never fought in unison with someone before. But he’d played team sports plenty of times in the old world. Fighting with Xanhilt started to feel like a basketball game with a decent partner on his side. But instead of dribbling a ball, they were dribbling shamblers.

A crazy part of John couldn’t help but smile as he watched Xanhilt support him devotedly. The kid’s not bad. I’m glad I arrived to help him out.

When the shamblers were too slow to close the gap, Xanhilt used [Gale Stream]. He blasted them down and earned some solo experience.

John covered the saurian’s back by boxing any shambler that came up close. His fast and snappy punches put them back in the dirt where they belonged.

John reached Lvl 12, shoving more points into [Strength] as they finished off the stragglers.

Finally, the shamblers stopped being a threat. An overwhelming silence replaced the raspy moans the monsters had made. Despite the blood, grime, and dirt covering John and Xanhilt, the two stood victorious.

“Did we seriously pull that off?” John asked, scanning the field of corpses, rubble, and fire.

“I believe we did, John,” Xanhilt said, staring at his palm. “We are like mighty battle carnivores from my ancestor’s history. But with magic.”

“Wow.”

Ding! Ding! Ding!