"I see?" said the other man. His partner sitting beside him, another cop, but not one of those three guys. He was pretty sure... He was completely sure of that. Although not having been directly involved in last night's incident didn't mean he wasn't the enemy. "What is it you see?"

  "How well things are going to go for me here," James replied, sighing.

  "I don't even know his name, but that man next to you tried to kill me last night. Him and two of his friends."

  "Do you have proof?" the partner asked immediately.

  He thought defiantly: how typical. They always covered each other's asses, in Ashfall and any other city.

  "No," he admitted. "I thought it was the police's job to collect evidence."

  He thought: the way he's looking at me right now should be enough for you, like he wants to strangle me to death. That's not exactly the look of an ideal police officer.

  "I mean proof that the attack happened in the first place. You're not helping yourself much with that attitude."

  "I have a couple of pieces of evidence. It was this man and two others. I stole a dagger from one of them after they stabbed me. Second, one of them let slip that he was leaving town. If he's left after all, it'll be obvious that I know something I shouldn't know."

  "That doesn't exactly prove they attacked you, but the dagger could be sufficient proof." The officer crossed his arms. "Where is it?"

  James wondered if he should tell the truth. He wondered if he should answer truthfully, that is, pull out the dagger right now, or keep that card up his sleeve just in case. It was a risk, but he figured hiding it wasn't going to help him make any progress at all. He figured sometimes the risk was worth it. He pulled the knife from his inventory and placed it on the table.

  "Right here. Your partner is being very quiet," he commented.

  "Anyone would be," the son of a bitch responded, "after being baselessly accused of attempted murder."

  "Yeah, baseless, of course. Whatever you say."

  The other cop picked up the dagger.

  "Let me talk to this kid."

  "Wait, sergeant."

  "No waiting, Davis. Get out of here. You're clearly this close to losing control. It's better if I talk to him. That good cop, bad cop shit only works in stories. So go out there and bring me a moment. Will you?" Except it wasn't a suggestion, of course. It was an order.

  And the son of a bitch, Davis, apparently, finally left.

  The other guy sat down.

  "My name's Marcus, by the way. Well, getting to the point." He pulled out his phone, presumably from his pocket, and after a while turned it around to show him a photo. "Are these the two?"

  The image was of Davis and two other guys. Whoever they were, they weren't the ones who had attacked him that night.

  "No," James said.

  "All right."

  He turned the phone back around, resuming his search, apparently.

  "What about these?"

  The second photo hit the mark. Especially, James noticed the son of a bitch he had killed with his own hands.

  "Yes, that's them."

  "Right. They're close friends. If Officer Davis really had done this, it would be expected that he would have recruited their help. That makes sense. I showed you a photo of two random guys first to see if you'd fall for it. Two guys Davis barely knows, just a coincidence. But I still don't have enough to decide whether you're telling the truth or lying."

  Damn, so he'd tried to trick him. Well then.

  Though at least he didn't get the feeling that Marcus had already decided he was the enemy. Maybe he'd cover for Davis and the others, but... He wouldn't rule it out, but it was still true. It seemed he hadn't made up his mind. That he cared about the case. He cared about his job as a cop.

  He hoped he wasn't wrong about him, because he needed all the help he could get.

  "What about the dagger?" James said.

  "It's certainly Richard's, but of course, that doesn't mean he, Davis, and Julian attacked you last night. Your possession of the weapon could have many explanations. You could have stolen it, for example."

  "Aren't you at least going to check for fingerprints?"

  "I could, but I don't think it would help. That kind of thing gets erased when items go in and out of inventory. And I imagine you've already done that, right?"

  James clicked his tongue.

  "I didn't know that."

  "Not the kind of thing you can put in a pamphlet, I'm afraid. Well, which one of them did you say was leaving town?"

  "This one here." James pointed to the son of a bitch he had killed with his own hands.

  "Okay. He didn't show up for work this morning, pretty unusual for him. Point for you, I suppose. It doesn't have to be for the reason you're saying, of course, but at least your story checks out. Anyway, unless you have something else to tell me, we're done here."

  "Am I going to receive protection?"

  "Of course not. There are incidents every day, and we can't employ resources on something we don't even know for certain is real."

  "Is it about that, or about Davis and the others being police officers?"

  Marcus snorted.

  "You don't have to believe me, but I don't give a shit about that. I do my job. I enforce justice. That's all. If I prove that man belongs behind bars, I'll gladly put him in a cell and throw away the key. But only if I prove it."

  "Then prove it. The truth is on my side. Your skills, I don't know."

  "Yeah, that's always the question, unfortunately."

  James simply returned to the hotel. He didn't like it, especially now, knowing there were so many people nearby with potential access to keys that would open his room.

  But he had no choice. He didn't have money to buy his own house yet.

  By the time he had it, this situation would probably be over one way or another.

  "Hello, James," Alma said, greeting him. "How did it go?"

  Right now there was no one else in the reception area. Still early morning, people hadn't returned to their homes to cook yet. They'd be shopping, having fun, killing time or whatever. In any case, out there. So he decided to be honest.

  "Not very well. They didn't promise me anything, well, after all, I didn't bring conclusive evidence. And on top of that I discovered those sons of bitches are police officers."

  "Are you sure?" she asked. It didn't seem like she doubted him, though. Just asking to ask.

  "Who were they?"

  "A guy named Davis, Richard and... Okay, I don't remember what the last one was."

  "I know them." She sighed. "Really, I should be surprised, they should deny it, but somehow I believe you."

  "Thanks."

  "The truth is I have no choice. You have a face like an open book. I'm not sure you could lie to me even if you wanted to. I wish I could do something to help you."

  "Don't worry about that, you take care of yourself."

  "I know we're not even friends."

  "That we're not friends," she said. "Well, that's news to me. How about that!"

  James grimaced.

  "Well, we barely know each other. We've barely talked. I didn't think you'd already consider me..."

  "Well, you were wrong," she said, firmly. "So let me be a good friend."

  James nodded obediently.

  "I'll think of something," she continued. "Scene change."

  And she did it faster than he'd thought possible.

  There was a knock on his door the next day. No need to say who was on the other side.

  "Let me in just for a moment."

  "Sure, come in."

  He closed the door when she came through.

  "I have exclusive information, for now. In a few days there'll be an event for a rare armor, 'Ash Crow.' It'll help you level up quickly and provide you with special protection. Much better than what you have now, in any case."

  Okay, that sounded very good, but there had to be a catch, right? There was always a catch.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "There are no level restrictions. Everyone will be invited to participate, though low-level people are advised against it because of how dangerous it is."

  Ah, there was the but. Still, it was a lifeline in dark waters. It didn't solve his legal situation or the danger posed by the survivors who still had it out for him. But it would make him harder to kill, and that was something. That was everything, really. In any case, it was something he would have jumped at even if this situation hadn't developed so unpleasantly. So he had no reason to refuse to go.

  "Thank you so much, Alma. How did you find out?"

  "I have my secrets, like any girl." She crossed her arms behind her back. "But I think you've misunderstood me. I'm not warning you about the event in advance so you can be prepared. What I'm telling you is that, many people won't like it... but I know exactly where it is. I can tell you where you need to go to simply take it. No competition."

  "Oh. I see. That's much better."

  "I don't know how to repay you."

  "It's very simple. Make sure you don't get killed."

  What if it's a trap? That insidious thought arose as he approached the place Alma had indicated. It didn't make sense. Alma was a good girl. He'd known her for very little time, and even a person you knew for years could surprise you in an unpleasant way. He was no fool, nor was he born yesterday. However, it didn't make sense. What reason could she have to deceive him like that? She was the safest person he knew. Was he really going to imagine she was in cahoots with the three sons of bitches who had tried to murder him? Very unlikely.

  Alma had seemed genuinely surprised when he mentioned it. Besides, Davis clearly hadn't received advance warning by the way he'd reacted at the police station. Alma couldn't have stabbed him in the back. If he felt this way, it was only because he thought what she'd told him was too convenient: special armor that would make him stronger and more resilient than others. On top of that, he wouldn't even have to compete for it. He could get ahead of an event that Alma somehow knew about in advance.

  Of course it sounded too convenient. Of course his instincts were telling him to turn back while he still could. Most of them, anyway. The rest of him was saying the idea that it was a trap made even less sense. And, truth be told, that was winning. He had no intention of backing out, at least.

  "Where does that confidence come from? When was the last time things went well after trusting someone?"

  Yes, he was talking to himself. So what? It was like in TV shows, when you felt so shitty you just wanted to hear other people's voices. Perfectly normal, right?

  It's not about trust, I'm simply analyzing the facts and making a rational decision, like in my career. My old career. It was that simple. It was about what made sense and what didn't. After all, Alma was just the receptionist. She didn't mean anything to him.

  "Don't tell me you've fallen in love?" he asked himself, and couldn't help but laugh. Please. He'd be pathetic, but not so pathetic as to fall at the feet of the first pretty girl who was nice to him.

  Besides, he was here to forge a future for himself, period. Living on his own was great. He didn't need nonsense like love.

  Finally, he arrived at his destination.

  It wasn't exactly a hidden place, he had to admit, but he did have to walk for quite a while to get there—climbing, sliding, all that. Not to mention going through a waterfall.

  His eyes adjusted to the darkness right away.

  Some light came through the water, but eventually it would get completely dark, right? And he didn't have anything to make a, a torch. He didn't have anything to make a torch with. He should turn back, go buy supplies, maybe. What he should have done, he thought, was think about that beforehand.

  He weighed it a bit more and, even though he could barely see any light from outside, the truth was it was pretty manageable. Maybe it was because of his class selection, maybe rogues had the passive ability to see in shadows. That would be useful. He hadn't seen anything about that in the screens, but that didn't mean it wasn't possible. In any case, seeing so clearly with barely any light was obviously abnormal. It had to do, really, with his new improved body, and that seemed most plausible.

  It didn't take long to find trouble—just a couple of skeleton warriors ahead of him, or with their backs to him, but he still froze, scared almost because this was a cave, not a dungeon. And monsters were supposed to only exist in dungeons; he'd never heard anything about them being able to escape. He felt like an idiot. Of course, how would he hear anything about it? It wouldn't be good publicity. He approached them from behind, ready to end the fight before it started. Then he suddenly got a notification, the screen blocked his view, but he didn't stay irritated for too long.

  The notification read: Skill Selection. There were two options. He was happy, though he honestly didn't understand why now, so late after selecting his class. It's not like he'd done anything special—well, except kill a person. But if that had been it, he would've gotten this notification last night, right? So he couldn't explain it.

  Just walking here wouldn't have been it, would it?

  "Well, what the hell? Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

  He simply read the skill descriptions.

  Shadow Step: Your footsteps and breathing make no sound whatsoever.

  Art of Shadows: You are nearly invisible in shadows. Your backstab attacks deal double damage.

  I'd love to be able to choose both, honestly. He figured that eventually he could get the one he didn't choose now, but as for what was best for the situation... at least Art of Shadows gave him a clear advantage as long as he could catch monsters by surprise. He thought Shadow Step might be more useful in the long run, but he didn't think about it too much to avoid being paralyzed by stupid indecision. He chose Art of Shadows. It was a cave, there was plenty of darkness, lots of opportunities for surprise attacks.

  It wasn't a bad decision. As much as he suspected the other would be more profitable long-term, what mattered to him right now was obviously the short term.

  He didn't feel different, but he hadn't felt different at all even after improving his stats. It was as if it had been normal from the beginning, almost. Like his body didn't need to get used to it or anything. As natural as breathing. So he hadn't expected anything different now, he just had to test it out. He advanced quietly, or at least doing everything he could to not make noise to surprise the enemies and attack them from behind.

  A smile sharp as a knife split his face.

  "Got you," he whispered as he swung his sword.

  It came out without thinking, but it didn't turn out to be a huge mistake. The pair of enemies noticed his presence before dying. They weren't deaf, of course, but he didn't give them time to turn around. The attack with doubled damage was more than enough to kill them. One was all it took. He'd won the fight without even having to risk his life. Jaén laughed.

  "Yeah, that's exactly why I chose this class. This is awesome."

  He couldn't help laughing like a little kid, as if this was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Ah, the efficiency with which he'd crushed those obstacles was really something, the power he could now wield whenever he wanted. And this had only just begun. Now there were many levels left to climb, many skills to discover and acquire. You could barely say he'd crossed the starting line. Just thinking about it, about the infinite possibilities of his future, was intoxicating. And, of course, before, not even a week ago, when he'd thought about his future, he'd only seen darkness everywhere, hopeless, a dark pit where everything ended.

  Now he was rich in possibilities—that is, he had hope. And there was nothing better in life than the power of having hope.

  What if it was a trap, after all? Not just dangerous. What if there was no armor, no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?

  The presence of monsters outside a dungeon was too strange.

  Something bothered him. It didn't make sense, but the thing was all this was too convenient and that was its own logic. Even if it was true, well, he simply couldn't, couldn't believe his luck. That was normal, right? It was like winning the lottery, or a prize worth talking about, anyway. Even with the winning ticket right in front of your nose, it was something you couldn't believe, or at least that's what he imagined. Well, this was the same. Even though his world had changed a lot, what counted as the jackpot was a damn suit of armor that would protect him better, but at the same time let him throw himself into even more dangerous quests.

  "Hahaha. Kind of ironic."

  He encountered more or less half a dozen monsters along the way, but he dispatched them quickly thanks to his new skill. Every time he saved himself from saying "got you" or similar bullshit, like this was a fucking movie and he wanted to hand out idiocy. He felt powerful enough already without having to let a killing machine know its end was near. There was no need to take unnecessary risks, obviously. The more sensible his decisions were, the further he'd get. And he intended to go very, very far. He wasn't going to screw up so soon.

  It was great to win fight after fight without risks and barely getting his hands dirty. It wouldn't make a very exciting story. It wouldn't make very exciting stories, unless something went really wrong. But well, who the hell cared about that? What mattered more was keeping his head on his shoulders.

  Anyway, after all that, he found the armor. He was even more surprised than he'd expected.

  It was on a pedestal, right in front of him, there, waiting. With no greater challenge than the little resistance he'd encountered so far and finding the path in the first place. Too good to be true—that's what he always thought, he couldn't help it. But it had to be the armor Alma had told him about. You could tell it was special. It looked covered in raven feathers and the helmet, because it had a helmet, was shaped like a raven's head and was as black as the rest of the armor, black as a moonless night. It had to be real. That armor seemed to exist for him. He approached the pedestal; all he had to do was get rid of the armor he was wearing right now and add the new one to his inventory. Then, he'd just have to equip and unequip it. He did just that. He put it on. He didn't feel a big change, not like unlocking his first skill, not like raising his stats. But as soon as the raven armor enveloped him, he felt stronger and more resilient and just different. He couldn't even say why, but different. In a good way, of course.

  Sometimes he had the feeling he was still a kid, that he needed to mature right now or else he'd keep falling and falling. And this kind of thought didn't help that impression, but the truth was it looked, it had a really cool appearance, in a rather chunibyo way, but cool.

  He looked around. No enemies appeared. No kind of trap was activated, like when he picked up that stone from the pedestal. Although in the end he had been able to get some money for it.

  There was only silence, just as Alma had promised him. He'd been able to get the armor without resistance, without competition. And he felt so great, like a new man, that now something inside him screamed: There has to be a trap, louder than ever.

  He turned around, retracing his steps, leaving the cave and going through the waterfall again. Just like that, no traps. James returned the armor to his inventory, thinking it would be easier to move, climb and jump without the added weight. But he realized it was a mistake and put it back on right away. Obviously he wasn't going to wear it 24 hours a day, but it was too soon to take it off. Without it he had felt, well, diminished. He didn't want to feel that way again. He had to adapt.

  "So? Did you get it?"

  Alma came looking for him shortly after he returned to the hotel, as if she'd been waiting anxiously this whole time.

  "Yes." James nodded. "Yes, I did. Alma, how... how did you know to tell me?"

  Alma just smiled.

  "A girl's got to have her secrets."

  "You can tell me, then."

  "I can, but I don't want to. Look, James." She sighed. "I like you and I think you deserve help. Be content with that."

  "Well... honestly, yes," he admitted, lowering his head. "It's been a long time since anyone helped me without expecting something in return."

  "Who said I don't expect anything from you?" Alma crossed her arms behind her back. "I expect you to survive. What's more, I hope you have luck and that you're happy."

  That was a bit corny. Okay. But James couldn't help blushing and feeling a bit diminished again, because he wouldn't be capable of being so... well... so unselfish. He wouldn't wish anyone luck from the bottom of his heart unless he knew them personally. For the first time he questioned whether he was more than just a victim. He wondered if he might not be a bad person.

  Certainly, no one could deny that his parents' accident was a bad hand whose consequences he'd be paying for the rest of his life. But to what extent was that an excuse?

  "Thank you," James murmured.

  "You're welcome. Really, you're welcome. But, if you can do me a favor..."

  Ah, James thought, that makes more sense.

  "Don't tell anyone how you found it."

  And immediately he felt more humiliated and childish than ever.

  "Of course. Your secret's safe with me. Don't worry." He swallowed. "You're a good friend."

  The next day, Ashfall woke up very early, before the sun finished rising.

  It was normal for a place this size. It wasn't exactly the city that never sleeps, but this wasn't a normal day. Everyone came out for a good reason.

  "Alert, alert. There will be an event today, an event."

  Alarm sounds, notification sounds. Screens rising above the town, gigantic, covering everything. It must be something only explorers could see, but the number of explorers in Ashfall... well, it was greater than anywhere else in the world, obviously.

  "An event, an event," the robotic voice repeated.

  It sounded like the tutorial dungeon guide. He supposed it was.

  "An event for Ash Crow, the legendary Crow, Ash Crow. Finders keepers. It will be held..." There was a buzz, a real-time correction. "It will not be held. There has already been a winner."

  The news, of course, made waves, like a stone thrown into the water's surface.

  "How is that possible? Who could have won?"

  "And on top of that before it was even held."

  "No fucking way. I can't believe it."

  "Who was it? Come on, come forward."

  A murmur, complete chaos. In the midst of that chaos, where no one was paying attention to him, James took a step forward. And then, he took the armor out of his inventory, equipping it.

  Not everyone noticed immediately, but they started to. They began falling silent, standing still, pointing at him and whispering.

  In the end, he had the feeling that every pair of eyes in Ashfall was fixed on him. On his armor black as night, on the feathers, on the billowing cape that almost seemed like wings, that almost made him look as if he were about to take flight.

  A crow reborn from its ashes. That's what he was, precisely.