Enochia froze mid-stride, staring at the loot as if she were expecting fireworks, gold sparkles, divine rays of light, or at least something worthy of getting hyped over. Instead, what sat on the floor was… a book. A brown, half-rotted, sad-looking book.

  She blinked, then loudly exhaled her disappointment. “…Really? Legendary my ass. Roo, this better be some kind of joke.”

  Before committing to the impending heartbreak of picking up the world’s most depressing item, she noticed a painting hanging directly above it, and instantly wondered how in the ever-loving hell she had missed it earlier. The room was filthy, battered, crawling with dust and demon residue… yet the painting looked untouched. Not a grain of sand, not a smear of grime, not even a lazy cobweb was brave enough to get near its frame. It was pristine, immaculate, practically glowing in comparison to its surroundings.

  Enochia stepped closer, squinting in mild offense. “Okay, what the hell. Did someone just… like… windex the crap out of this?”

  The painting was simple, yet weird enough to get past her short attention span. In the center hung a massive, golden sun except for a single black dot nested dead center like an eye looking down. Beneath it stretched a long field of serpents, hundreds upon hundreds, coiling and writhing like a living carpet.

  She stared at it a bit too long. “…Weird as fuck,” she muttered at last, stepping back.

  With a resigned sigh, she crouched and reached for the pathetic-looking book. Her fingers brushed its surface… And the system detonated across her vision.

  ─────────────────────────────

  QUEST ACQUIRED: Exploration- The Man in Sorrow

  Category: Legacy

  Objective:

  Collect all 7 Diaries of the Man in Sorrow.

  Progress: 1/7

  Description:

  A man once walked these halls bearing grief so vast that even Hell wanted to spit him out. His memories have fractured into seven lost diaries. Recover them, piece together his life, and reclaim what this world tried to erase.

  Primary Reward:

  ?The Black Key

  ? 100,000 XP

  ? 500kg of Grade Two Materials

  ? 5 Randomized Blueprints

  Additional Rewards:

  These rewards will be granted incrementally as each Diary of the Man in Sorrow is recovered.

  ? 1× Full Grade Three Armor Set

  ? 1× Grade Three Weapon of Choice

  ? 1× Grade Two Accessory

  ? 1× Soulstone

  ? 3× Shardshare

  ? 5× Grade Five Accessories

  ? 25× Instafix

  ─────────────────────────────

  Enochia stared at the sprawling quest window… then slowly broke into a grin so wide it pushed her cheekbones up like a cartoon villain.

  “Oh. Oh, hell yes. NOW we’re talking,” she whispered, hugging the rotten diary to her chest like it was freshly minted currency. “Full armor set? A good weapon? Accessories? Roo, holy shit, this is what a dopamine peak feels like!”

  The book flickered faintly in her grasp and her playful awe sharpened into something far more focused.

  “Seven diaries… A progressive-loot quest. Oh my god, I LOVE progressive-loot quests!” she said, turning the diary over. “The Man in Sorrow, huh? Drama king behavior, but respect. I like this guy already.”

  [+25 Instafix]

  ─────────────────────────────

  [COMMON ITEM ? INSTAFIX]

  A palm-sized metallic capsule engraved with geometric lines. Warm to the touch.

  Effect: Instantly and completely restores durability, stability, and structural integrity to any crafted equipment or created construct. One-time use.

  [Added to Category: Miscellaneous]

  ─────────────────────────────

  Enochia turned the metallic capsule over in her palm, unimpressed. “Neat,” she said, deadpan. “But kinda useless right now. Even when I get some low level creations, I doubt I’d waste one of these on ’em. Crafting cost is like… nothing. Still cool, though. Like a little band-aid for them.”

  With that brutally honest review given, she tucked the capsule into her inventory and finally opened the diary, half-expecting it to be some shiny, glowing, system-locked artifact. Instead… she was kind of disappointed.

  It was a real diary. Actual paper. Old, dried, frail paper. But the whole thing was seven pages long… and six of them had been torn out.

  “Huh. So I actually gotta find the other pages to finish this thing.” She flipped the remaining page over with exaggerated slowness. “Alright, Mister Sorrow, what did you leave me—”

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  She squinted and tilted her head.

  “…What the hell am I looking at?” she muttered, leaning so close her nose nearly touched the page. The letters were there, but none of it made sense. It wasn’t Japanese. Wasn’t English. Wasn’t anything. Just a bunch of lines having an identity crisis.

  [Check once more.]

  She raised an eyebrow. “Bro. If this turns into some ‘open your inner eye’ bullshit, I swear—fine, fine.” She angled the diary again and concentrated with genuinely heroic effort.

  Three seconds later, she burst out laughing.

  “Oh my GOD!” she wheezed, bending at the waist. “Holy shit! This isn’t a foreign language—this dude just has dogshit handwriting! What is this—cursed cursive?!”

  She laughed harder, tapping the page with her finger. “Look at this! LOOK at this! I’ve seen toddlers write clearer strokes in the snow!”

  Still snickering, she wiped her eyes as a sudden, warm memory flickered to life behind them, one of her brother. That stupid armor of his, making him look like a low-budget action hero. His horrible, horrible handwriting. The way he used to hide everything he wrote from her like it was a state secret. How he begged their parents for a phone early just so he wouldn’t have to handwrite things.

  Even with a phone, his spelling was absolute dogshit, but at least it was readable.

  “God, he’d actually might be able to read this…” she said under her breath, voice softening for half a heartbeat before focusing entirely. “Alright, Sorrow Man. Challenge accepted.”

  After a few seconds, she finally deciphered that there was something written there. A lot, actually. Emotional. Angry. Messy. And deeply, deeply human. She cleared her throat, holding the diary at arm’s length. “…Alright, let’s try this again. Starting from the top. I think this first word says… ‘I’? Or ‘Lo’? Or maybe that’s just a squished worm. Whatever.” She dragged her finger along the page, following the chaotic scrawl line by line, piecing it together.

  “‘I— I was a hero.’” Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Damn. Confident, aren’t you?” She continued, deciphering each unstable letter like she was assembling a skeleton. “‘A damn hero! This is an outrage! I saved people! I fought, I bled— I earned every level I got…’” She blinked, impressed despite herself. “Okay, drama prince. Relax.” She leaned closer. “‘And now? Now I wake up here, with no guidance… no…’” She squinted. “Is that ‘no direction’ or ‘no erection’? Please be direction—oh thank God, it’s direction.”

  She pushed on, the tone shifting sharply as the handwriting turned into an emotional earthquake. “‘Everything I built—gone. All of it stolen from me. This… this place, whatever it is, thinks it can humiliate me like this. Reset me. Reset me to LEVEL ONE?!’” Enochia snorted. “Yikes. Someone is big mad. But honestly? Valid.” The next line was stabbed into the page hard enough to nearly puncture through. “‘God must be laughing at me.’” She stilled, her amused grin softening. “…Damn,” she murmured. “I can relate to this guy a lot.”

  She read more carefully now. “‘At least… at least I still have my skills. Every single one. Even if I have zero stat points to back them up, they’re mine. And my mana reserves didn’t reset… so I guess somebody up there still likes me.’” Enochia scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Lucky bastard. When I fell in here, lost them all… Though I kept my stat points, which could be a better deal actually.”

  She angled the diary. “‘Today I scouted east of this old church. There’s a weird camp of those little imp things. Maybe hundreds. They come back every day. It’s annoying, but also… a decent farming spot? I guess? Free XP is free XP.’” Enochia’s eyes widened. “Oh shit! I could farm that place into the ground! Continuing!”

  She pressed on. “‘I found a river a half-mile south, though the water tastes like rust. I also saw a collapsed tower west, but I didn’t check inside of it, because it looked cursed as Hell. Might check later anyway because I have no self-preservation, but I sensed no mobs there.’” Enochia barked a laugh, clutching the diary with one hand. “Oh my God. He sounds like someone I’d bully.”

  The handwriting devolved again, and it was shaky and frantic, as if written during a panic attack. “‘I don’t deserve this. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was a hero. How does a hero end up in a place like this? Why punish me? Why—’” The next five lines were violently scratched out, deep gouges ripping the paper. Enochia tilted the page, trying to read through the ruin. “…‘W…wish…’? ‘Will…’? Nope...”

  She flipped to the next page and nearly choked laughing.

  “Holy SHIT,” she sputtered. “This page looks like he spilled all the ink over it. The Hell happened?” The entire sheet was a battlefield of frenzied lines, crossed-out words, angry spirals, and shitty maps. But one section near the bottom was still legible. She squinted, reading aloud. “‘This church is a nice place to rest, but that fucking eye painting is creeping me out.’” She wheezed. “Valid.”

  She kept going. “‘I’m gonna bounce. From my expeditions, I saw a great cave north of here. That’s where I’m heading.’” Enochia nodded slowly. “North… cave… okay, easy enough.” She read the last part on the page, tone softening. “‘If anyone finds themselves in my situation, though I don’t know why anyone would, come find me. This isolation is driving me insane.’”

  Enochia exhaled, something tightening in her chest. “…Damn,” she whispered. “You sound… lonely.” She stared at the torn edge of the page, thumb brushing one shredded corner before she gently closed the diary. “Alright, Sorrow Man,” she murmured, voice low. “…I’ll find your pages. And I’ll find you.”

  Then she paused, cracked a grin, and flicked the cover with her thumb. “…But seriously, dude. Work on your handwriting. This is a hate crime.”

  “Alright,” she muttered, sliding the diary into her inventory as the interface swallowed it. “That’s enough emotional rollercoasters for one day. I need to sit my ass down before I fall over.” Her HP bar hovered stubbornly low, but she could almost feel the regeneration about to kick in.

  She stretched her arms overhead, shoulders popping, and plopped down onto a chunk of broken pew. “God, that spirit took way too much out of me… a single spirit. ONE. Pathetic.” She groaned and let her head fall back dramatically.

  “And that stupid imp settlement… yeah, no, absolutely not going there until I’m at least level thirty. Forty if I’m being honest. If one skinny little spirit almost made me taste the double Hell, I’m not fighting a whole village of them.”

  She snorted, rubbing at her temples. “Not until I get abilities again. Or, y’know, actual useful equipment. Or something.”

  But even as she said it, the excitement buzzed under her ribs. East was suicide for now, north was the cave, and she wasn’t stupid enough to sprint after some overconfident hero wannabe without prep. So that left south.

  “The lake…” she murmured, tapping her chin. “He wouldn’t just write that for nothing. I hope.” Her face twisted. “Actually, considering the rest of his notes, he totally might’ve put it just because the water tasted like rusty metal. But screw it, I’m curious.”

  She stood, dusting off her legs. South first. Then west to that cursed-ass tower. Then east, when she was ready. When she was strong enough.

  And maybe, if the universe cooperated, she’d snatch a few stray imps or an isolated spirit on the way. Her smile went even more wicked.

  “I can’t wait to bash their fucking heads in.”