Fifth Ring Wilds, 433rd year since humanity’s arrival.

The end of disappointment was found twelve feet under. It used to be only six, but the undead had ruined that. It turned out that six feet of dirt just wasn't enough to keep loved ones where you left them. But such was life in the Rings. The dead always left their problems to the living, as though the poor souls above the mud didn’t have enough of their own.

Chief among Ryu’s disappointments was the state of his socks. A tug freed Ryu’s wiggling toes from the wet sock that trapped them so. He hated wet socks. Any man with a mind for living would. Wet socks meant wet feet, and wet feet made dead men. Women too, for that matter. And as for dying, well… He wasn’t quite ready to be free from disappointments just yet.

A bead of sweat ran into his eye, and he sighed into the thick, humid air. Little annoyances. Small distractions. They, too, made dead men. He put on a pair of dry socks, followed by a pair of relatively dry boots. Not that they’d stay that way. Nothing ever stayed dry in this miserable swamp.

His head came to rest on the rough bark of the tree behind him. He was alone. He always was, really. It was how he liked it. No. It was how he told himself he liked it. Wet feet, little annoyances, and sad truths. They were the story of his life, it seemed. He figured they might even be in the title of his biography, if he ever had one.

The soft squelch of mud reached him through the ambient hubbub of the swamp. Right. Wet feet, little annoyances, sad truths, and sounds that didn’t belong. If nothing else, he had a damn good list of band names. He stood on his oh-so dry boots, frowning at the pain in his back. If anyone could find even death disappointing, it was Ryu. The soil would probably be too poor of a companion for his tastes.

Life was not completely without benefits, however. Combat, among other things, proved to be quite the release. The other side of him- that single shred of ambition he blamed for keeping him so miserable- agreed. After all, without hope or ambition, it was hard to become disappointed at even the worst of outcomes.

Another squelch in the mud reached him. He ran the noise through his head, nodding slowly. It was a leshy. He was sure of it. He continued to think as he strung his pale bow, giving it a few pulls to test its draw. A combination of beast and plant, the leshy were creatures best known for their long periods of inactivity. In fact, it was this inactivity that lured in prey. A resting leshy looked damn similar to a tree, and their bodies made a dry resting place for the unsuspecting creature.

He let a small grin sneak onto his face. The only time they moved was in mating season, and Ryu, it seemed, was an unknowing rival. He drew an arrow, nocking it on the string with careful movements. His fingers shook, his body making a silent demand. So be it. He’d let the other side out to play.

The leshy didn’t walk. It flowed. Like a fish in water, the leshy’s bottom half swam through the mud and ground towards him. His first arrow took it in the wooden bark of its shoulder joint. His second landed a few inches away. The beast’s natural armor cracked. The third came between the first two, piercing the soft flesh underneath the cracked wooden plating. The leshy roared in pain. Its arm was limp, useless.

He hung his bow on a nearby branch. The leshy was close now, a huge mass of brown flesh, wood, and moss reaching out for him with two clawed hands. His hands fell to his waist, only to rise back up with two hatchets. They were plain weapons really, stripped of all decorations or frills. They were tools. Tools he used for a very specific purpose.

His Skill [Whisper Step] carried him to the leshy’s side with the subtlety of the breeze. Another Skill, [Cripple], rippled across the hatchets, and he hacked into the monster’s bark-like skin. Then he was behind it, chopping into its back. Another chop reached the soft flesh underneath. He ducked under a swing of its arm. A vine speared up from its lower body. He severed it. A fourth swing shattered its spine. The beast fell to the ground rigid. He walked along its trembling body, reaching its head.

“Be at peace, my friend,” he said. His hatchet split its skull. A feeling rose up in him. A feeling of need. Of bloodlust. He shook his head roughly. It seemed today’s disappointments had just begun, and he had not even reached the city yet.

What had it been? Five years? Yes, that sounded about right. Five years since he’d first came to the Fifth Ring. What a different place it had been then. Vibrant. Alive. Hope had been in the air. Climbers from all over had rejoiced. Their dream, the idea that there were more Rings beyond the Fourth, had been finally vindicated.

As for the man who had opened the way to the Fifth? Well, he had been different then, too. A bit quiet. Shy, even. Optimistic in spite of the devil in his mind. Far from the jaded, melancholy man he was now. Ryu, once hailed as the Ghost of Ishida, was just that. A ghost. A specter of the man he used to be, but then again, that was the story of all things in the Fifth. Including the Ring’s sole city of Haven, the city he stood in front of now.

Haven. How ironic. The once proud city was anything but. A mass of leaning buildings, muddied streets, and murderous inhabitants, Haven was its namesake for criminals only. The stone walls still stood tall, however, defending the population from the horrors outside. Sadly, it did little for the ones within.

He entered the city through the tall wooden gates, not a guard in sight. He’d had a home here once, somewhere amongst the wattle and daub buildings of the Wood District. It was probably gone now. Haven was like that. The mud underneath proved an ill-tempered mistress for construction, and if the building did stay standing, it was most likely tilted, bent like the people inside them. It did leave the architecture in Haven… interesting, however. Some buildings were squat, built with heavy stone that sunk into the ground. Others were wood and clay, and others still were a mixture of bamboo and whatever else could be found nearby.

He passed a series of small huts and lean-to’s, trying to ignore the small, innocent eyes that peeked out at him. All of Haven was the poor district, yet these places, called the tent jungles, were poorer still.

At one time, the mighty corporations of the lower Rings had invested in this Ring, their mighty buildings dotting the town like beacons of wealth. Ryu wasn’t sure when exactly those factions had left, their buildings long returned to the mud. Probably sometime between the disappearance of the First Expedition and the outbreak of the Scale Hide disease. That was around the time he’d realized there was no money in the Fifth, at least. If there was any wealth left in the place, it was measured in regrets, not coins.

His feet carried him on their own, his mind caught in the bittersweet memories of before. He walked past the Gate, that place where he’d first stepped through into the Fifth long ago. Then he passed Anchor’s. Or where Anchor’s used to be. The old tavern was gone, replaced by a Dust Den. Such places were possibly the only business that thrived in the Fifth. Dust, after all, allowed one to relive memories of the past, and gods, were memories better than this shithole.

Small, flickering paper lanterns hung over the muddy streets between leaning bamboo buildings, casting some light in the presence of the gray clouds above. Dangerous stares met his from the shadow of alleys, and the raucous sounds of love-making- if it could be called that- rang out from a terraced wooden building decorated in red lanterns.

What few legitimate stores were left in the city were locked shut at this time in the evening, their windows barred and doors thrice-locked for safe measure. Not that it’d help, but best not to make things too easy for the thieves, eh? Even the streets were mostly empty, a crowd of ghosts and vacant gazes his only companions.

Before long, his depressing trip ended at the foot of a red door, its paint chipped and stained with grime. He opened it, breathing in the smell of stale air and damp wood. He was almost surprised that the building still stood. He walked in, a small bell announcing his entry. Behind a counter by the door, a woman lazily glanced up at him, her gray hair stacked in a messy bun.

“Mr. Ishida, you seem to be a few months behind on re-” The clink of coins interrupted her.

“I assume that covers it for the next six months,” he said. At this point, he wasn’t sure why he continued to rent the room. Maybe it was the comforting feeling of having a place to come back to, or maybe it reminded him of the old days when the place was bustling with humanity’s brightest. Change was ever an intimidating thing.

The older woman nodded, scraping the coins into her storage. He walked past her desk, heading for the stairs behind her. The creak of the stairs accompanied his slow steps to the top floor, breaking only when he had to cover a stretch of sinking wood floor to the next set of stairs.

How many still lived in this place, he wondered. No more than a dozen, if he had to guess, and he doubted any of those even touched the top floor. He couldn’t blame them, either. Who wanted to be at the top of a drooping building? Perhaps only a man with a deathwish. The thought made him snort.

Before long, his steps clattered against a familiar wooden floor, and he counted the steps until he reached the thin, white door. If he could call any place home, it was the Wilds, but this room came a close second. Perhaps first if he was sorely missing a bed.

A thought brought the worn iron key into his hand. Convenient, that. His storage ring, the enchanted jewelry that gave access to a space to store items, was one of the few luxuries he allowed himself. He unlocked his door, lifting on the frame as much as he could. He’d always hated the scrape the ill-fitted door made when it drug against the floor.

The room was small and sparsely decorated, little more than four walls and a bed, but that was the way he liked things. Other things about the room were less likable, however. A fine dust covered everything. The enchanted lamp that lit the room flickered more than the street lanterns outside. He sighed. How long would he stay this time? A day, a week, a month? Did it even matter? The Fifth was as much a place to die as a coffin and less comfortable to boot.

Each Ring was a world in its own right, and the Fifth was one inhabited by a few thousand, guarded by a few hundred, and visited by none. Whatever ambition was still left in this place lined the pockets of the latest thief to steal it. The Gate to the Sixth was little more than a stray hope, dwindling farther and farther away each time he happened to glance its way.

Lost in his thoughts, he tidied what little furniture there was, wiping away dust with slow, methodical movements. After that was done, he stripped off his gear. Leather armor covered in dark scale plates, a mottled green cloak, two hatchets, a bow of pale wood, and a multitude of darts and knives were laid on the floor, leaving him in only his tight black wetsuit. He sighed.

Repairments were growing in cost as craftsmen left the city, and he was scraping by as it was. The coins he’d given to the building tenant downstairs were pocket change compared to the cost of a skilled craftsman’s work. Many of them didn’t even accept the standard currency of bronzes, silvers, and golds. True professionals only worked for Qi crystals, the tangible version of the energy used to level up that carried a value of a hundred silvers at their smallest. Ryu wanted to keep the Qi he had, however.

He stroked his beard. Those thoughts could wait. He wanted a bath first. He opened the single door in his room, revealing the small wash closet. Pipes, bronze and inscribed with runes, connected to the tub that dominated the room. Seeing the sight, he smiled. Something about a nice, warm shower was enough to brighten anyone’s day. He turned the knob, pouring a small amount of Qi into the rune to activate the enchantment. Brown, stinking water flowed out of the spout. His smile fell.

---

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Ryu said to the woman. He took in her blonde hair, toned arms, and dirt-smeared face. Ellie Winrow, the finest craftsmen left in this hellhole. Swords, spears, and other weapons of all sorts of wicked designs decked the dark wall behind her.

“Well, the merchants have been trying to get rid of me,” she said. “Sent a few bruisers to threaten me even, but I busted a few heads. Been pretty silent since.” It should also be mentioned that Ellie, for all her prowess, was a bit off her rocker. Of course, Ryu wouldn’t ever say it out loud. Haven was the last place he wanted to die.

He grunted a small laugh, eyeing the small hammers at her side. “So, how much are repairs going to cost me this time?”

As much as it pained him, he knew he’d pay her whatever she asked. The other craftsmen in the city were as likely to sabotage his gear as fix it, and he’d have to pay a premium for even that.

It was not as though Qi was hard to find either, just hard to get. Most people used their Qi immediately, using it to upgrade their Class or body. They had to. The only way to get Qi was to kill a human or monster or to complete a Quest from the System. Unless you were a crafter. Then you just charged poor souls like himself for all of their Qi.

“I heard a rumor the other day,” Ellie said, giving him a bright smile as he handed her Qi crystal after Qi crystal. Professional or not, she was as much a swindler as everyone else in the Fifth.

“And that would be?” he said. After giving up so much wealth, a hard lump had formed in his throat.

“That a few of your adventurer buddies are getting together to make a push towards the Sixth.”

“A few can’t do it. Not unless… not unless they know something the rest of us don’t.”

“You’d have to talk to Lucius Augear. He’s the one heading this ‘Last Expedition’.”

He looked down at the counter. “I don’t know, I think I’ll just go back out on my own.” Joining a group hadn’t worked out well for him in the past. He didn’t think it’d be any different now.