George POV

  George stood at the center of the clearing, the remnants of a dead fire behind him. The air was heavy with the smell of soot and ash, the kind that clung to clothes and memory alike. It reminded him of stories told around campfires, of voices lowered at night and shadows dancing at the edge of vision. He preened as he told the tale of his battle, recounting how he had wrestled a beastly opponent. A killer of men.

  Eight pairs of eyes followed his every movement. Four of them watched with rapt attention, hanging on every word he spoke. George let the silence stretch where it needed to, savoring the weight of their focus. He loved this new world. One where he mattered. One where his past standing meant nothing.

  Seated before him was a collector, listening as if they were equals. If they were still on Earth, the man would have dismissed George without a second thought. George would have been invisible. The memory stirred a quiet resentment he quickly buried.

  The collector, who also served as the camp leader, cleared his throat to draw attention to himself. “Let’s keep an eye on the lake. I’m not sure how we’d deal with a monster like that.” His voice carried an even cadence, calm on the surface, but George could see the cracks beneath it.

  This camp’s inhabitants appeared under-leveled compared to their own. Sentries carried no spare weapons and bore no scars; their clothes were suspiciously clean, betraying a lack of combat.

  George scanned the three representatives involved in the discussion. The camp leader sported the unmistakable potbelly of a senior civil servant and didn’t look athletic. George doubted the man could bring out the full potential of physical skills like Dash or Wall Walk.

  The pastor sat at the edge with the kid clinging to him. At first glance, he looked fragile. But when George’s eyes lingered, he saw the stains and tears in the fabric of his robe. Dried blood told a story the man’s demeanor tried to hide. George adjusted his estimation upward.

  Then there was their quartermaster, the one in charge of supplies. He was an entirely different story. He watched George’s team with the eyes of a predator, constantly evaluating them. The camp leader deferred to him without thinking, and even the pastor waited for his cues. George felt a chill. This was the man who kept the camp alive. This was also the man who kept it weak, hoarding experience and skills for himself.

  “We don’t know what’s out there anymore.” Tony’s eyes sharpened with resolve. “That’s why we need more people. Alone, we’re vulnerable. Together, we’re stronger.”

  George barely masked his irritation. Tony craved the spotlight now. Family tragedy had stripped away his old insecurities. The man who once hid behind a scarf now walked with pride, forcing everyone to acknowledge the elephant tusks on his face.

  “What are you suggesting?” the quartermaster asked, confusion clear in his tone.

  Tony rose to his feet and turned to face the three representatives. “We’re stronger together. Come and join our camp.”

  George gritted his teeth. He had wanted to make that proposal himself, to be seen as the leader of their envoy. Once again, someone else had outmaneuvered him.

  Back at the camp, George understood too late that he had misjudged Naga’s reach. The camp itself had felt different once he had noticed it. Conversations quieted when he approached. Groups clustered together more tightly. Every attempt he made to push the blame for the murders onto Sid unraveled in public discussion, with dissenters calmly pointing out the absence of proof.

  The kids did not help his case. Their reputation followed them like a stain, even in death. Whispers spread easily, and sympathy was scarce. When their names came up, eyes rolled and attention drifted.

  Only the Kurishingal family believed him. Even that support was fragile. Members of the family were dying one by one, and at the current rate, they would only last a week or two. The thought drew a quiet laugh from George. The humor tasted bitter, but it steadied him.

  George ruled his group with an iron fist, both literally and figuratively. Fear and force kept people in line, but that only worked as long as he was the biggest fist in town. The existence of Sid and his team was a direct challenge to that position. They had taken down a squad of eight goblins without a single casualty, while George himself had struggled against a lone monster. The comparison gnawed at him.

  He tapped the skill diary in his back pocket. Sid’s Sixth Sense must have flagged the mushroom trap. It had to be above the uncommon rank. Aditi said Sid passed out for hours after getting it. If Uncommon skills caused screams, hours of unconsciousness meant something far more powerful.

  Sid and his team would come after him. George had no doubt about that. The kids would have talked. Even if they had not, George had shown up when they were supposed to be drugged. Sid’s loaded words during their exchange had all but confirmed they knew something was wrong.

  George clicked his tongue. He should have killed them on the spot. But Sid had hidden the skill gains from the goblins. That meant he could’ve gained something like Mana Shield. George had limited bullets, and wasting them on a shield was not an option.

  The camp leader stood, voice cutting through George’s thoughts. “It’s difficult to move people without an obvious threat to their safety. Why don’t we stay in touch and alert each other if a threat shows up?”

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  The words pulled George out of his thoughts. One corner of his lips curled into a smirk. People in power never gave that up easily.

  “It’s almost two days of travel from here, and there’s no fast way to communicate,” Tony said, lifting his chin as his shoulders squared. “Besides, isn’t it better to leave early on your own than scramble when there’s a crisis?”

  “Why don’t you come here instead? Why should we move?” A trace of irritation crept into the camp leader’s voice.

  Tony’s gaze moved between the three representatives, weighing their reactions. “No offense, but I think we have more high-tier people than you.” He glanced around the campfire before looking back at the camp leader. “And better fortifications.”

  The camp leader opened his mouth to argue, but stopped when the quartermaster placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Why did you think we didn’t have many higher-tier people with us?” the quartermaster asked. His voice was flat, revealing nothing.

  “I have a trait called Tyrant’s Aura.” Tony paused, watching the reactions around the fire. He swallowed, the faint tension in his jaw suggesting he still found the awkward name difficult to say aloud.

  “It allows me to sense anyone capable of opposing me.” Tony extended his hand forward, spreading his index and middle fingers, pointing at the pastor and the quartermaster. “Of everyone here, only the two of you could fight me on even ground.”

  The quartermaster tensed, his posture shifting as he sized Tony up.

  George blinked, caught off guard. He’d pegged the leader as Tier 1 at minimum. He glanced at the leader, then back to Tony, his assumptions shattered.

  George once thought that numbers and money were the Kurishingal family’s strength. That illusion shattered quickly. Their members were dying at an alarming rate, and whatever wealth they had back on Earth carried no weight here. He was ready to cut his losses and abandon camp—until Tony arrived with a plan. One fueled by vengeance against Sid and his group.

  If it had been just a plan, George would have walked away. Plans were cheap. What changed everything was Tony’s ability to back it up. His trait. The only trait George had seen so far. He pulled up his own status window out of habit, his eyes drifting to the blank space where a trait should have been. He dismissed it with a quiet sigh.

  There were crystals to be earned. George had always been good at recognizing profitable violence. It was how he survived. It was also how he had failed before, by pushing too hard and thinking too little.

  Sid likely possessed a Tier 2 skill. George felt increasingly confident about that assessment. His teammates were no pushovers either, each probably holding at least one uncommon skill. George flexed his fingers, thinking about his limited slots. His fifth slot remained deliberately unused. Reserved. As per his agreement with Tony, Sid’s skill would go to him.

  “You’re bluffing.” The camp leader squared his shoulders and met Tony’s gaze.

  Tony did not move. Still, George felt something intangible surge outward from him, spreading in every direction. George himself felt lighter, almost refreshed. Those standing against Tony were not so fortunate. Their movements slowed, as if they were pushing through water.

  The camp leader began sweating profusely. Words stuck in his throat as his limbs moved with visible effort, each motion delayed and labored.

  The quartermaster stepped forward and placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Enough.”

  The pressure vanished. The camp leader sagged as Tony withdrew his aura.

  “You’ve made your point,” the quartermaster said. “But we have more people like me scouting the area. They’ll return soon.” He removed his hand, eyes still sharp.

  “I’m sorry,” Tony said with a sheepish smile. “I thought that was the fastest way to prove it. We haven’t noticed any side effects.”

  “Okay.” The quartermaster kept his tone neutral. “We need time to consider your offer. Is there anything else you want to discuss?”

  George observed the negotiation unfold beneath the dim canopy of the clearing. The quartermaster controlled the negotiation with an ease that contrasted with the camp leader’s visible strain. The camp leader was a collector who had managed districts, people, and resources. None of that mattered here. The quartermaster spoke with confidence rooted in personal power, and George understood why.

  Personal power ruled this world.

  George glanced at Tony. The only person he knew who possessed a trait. He did not know whether traits dropped like skill crystals, but power of that magnitude was worth the risk. He would wait until Sid was dealt with before making any move. One thing was certain, though. There was a bullet in his gun with Tony’s name on it.

  “Yes.” Tony’s shoulders sagged, his gaze dimming. “There’s a murderer who escaped our camp. Siddharth Krishnan. He goes by Sid. If he comes here, I’d like you to inform us. That is, if you decide not to join us.”

  “What happened at your camp? Why did he kill your family?” There was a hint of concern in the quartermaster’s voice.

  Tony did not answer immediately. He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself. “You know people drop crystals upon death, like monsters do, right?”

  George saw the camp leader and quartermaster’s eyes widen. They clearly had not known. The pastor merely nodded.

  “Sid is a fiend,” Tony said, eyes lowered. “He would do anything to gain skill crystals. He killed my cousins for theirs.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” the camp leader said, stepping forward to stand beside the quartermaster.

  “How did he escape?” the quartermaster asked, his gaze sweeping over Tony’s group. “You all seem strong. Is he stronger than you?” His eyes settled on Tony at the last word.

  “They’re a team of four. All Tier 1. Sid might even be Tier 2.” Tony’s words were slow and measured. “They left before we could corner them with evidence. Sid has a skill called Sixth Sense. It warns him of danger.”

  The pastor leaned forward, interest clear.

  “So we wouldn’t be able to detain them even if we tried,” the quartermaster mused, a trace of humor in his voice, born of frustration.

  “Not likely,” Tony said. “All I ask is that you inform us if they show up. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

  “That’s doable,” the quartermaster said, nodding once. “Provided we know where to find your camp.” He folded his arms, waiting.

  “We can take someone from here back with us,” Tony said, standing straighter. “And escort them back safely.”

  “Let’s break for now,” the camp leader said. “We need time to consider your proposal.”

  The three leaders left with the child. George and the rest of the envoy remained behind.

  “I think that went well,” Tony said, rolling his shoulders as tension eased from him.

  “You shouldn’t have lied,” George said, his lips tightening in disapproval. “It’ll come back to bite you.”