The Central Library of Fwerah stood at the village's Southeastern boundary like an old storyteller — weather-worn, ivy-draped, and full of secrets whispered only to those who knew how to ask.
Three storeys tall, but shaped like a giant cottage, the library's outer walls were all carved stone, patched with moss and speckled with wildflowers. Wooden shutters flanked tall windows, and a large brass bell hung silently above the door.
Ezekiel stepped inside, and the musty scent of old leather and parchment wrapped around him like a familiar coat.
Every wall, from floor to ceiling, was crammed with books — bound in hide, stitched in silk, engraved with runes. Floating globes of light drifted lazily under the ceiling, casting a warm glow across ladders, maps, and softly humming sigils.
Behind the oak reception desk sat a man who looked like he belonged to the furniture: thin-framed, all angles and robes, with a beard that spilled into his lap and glasses perched too close to the end of his nose.
He was scribbling something furiously in an oversized ledger, muttering under his breath.
Ezekiel cleared his throat.
The man didn't look up.
"You're late. Or early. Or both. Library's closed. Come back tomorrow."
His voice came out husky and impatient.
"I'm here to archive a hidden dungeon," Ezekiel said.
That made the man freeze mid-scrawl. Slowly, he looked up. His face was worn but sharp, with bright eyes that peered over his spectacles like someone reappraising an unfinished puzzle.
"A hidden dungeon?" He repeated. "Not many ask for that service anymore. Who would waste time doing something without a reward? Most people just loot and leave."
"I suppose I'm not most people then," Ezekiel replied with a smile.
The librarian's lips twitched into something between a smirk and a nod.
"I see. Well, if you're taking the time to record, you've earned my attention. Name's Reed. Senior Archivist and part-time insomniac."
"Ezekiel. Adventurer."
Reed nodded in acknowledgement as he rose from his chair — a slow, deliberate motion — and retrieved a long, twisted cane from beside the desk.
"Follow me."
They moved through a narrow corridor lit by flickering glyphs, until Reed unlocked a plain wooden door tucked behind a tapestry of the Klarincè Kingdom's flag.
The room beyond was tall and narrow, perhaps twenty square meters in area but stretching upward like a shaft, three stories high.
At the center stood a vertical tube made of clear crystal, filled with slow-churning blue liquid that glowed with mana. Small metallic rings hovered around it in a lazy orbit, humming softly.
"This," said Reed, "is the Conduit for the Central Information Hub of Enia. Place your hand on it. Think clearly. Be truthful. The rest will happen as it should."
Ezekiel gave a small nod. He already knew how the process worked — and had spent the walk to the library carefully sorting through which information he was willing to share.
The Conduit didn't penalize omission. Withholding details was fair game.
But deception? That was another matter entirely.
The anti-falsification runes woven into the device would instantly detect any lie. And if triggered, they delivered a punishment no one forgot: a 500-volt surge straight through the nervous system.
Painful. Humiliating. And very public.
Ezekiel had no intention of testing them.
He stepped forward, pressed his palm to the crystal, and exhaled.
The tube lit up instantly.
~Initiating Dungeon Archive Process~
Then the mental prompts came — one after another, each clearer than the last.
~Name of Dungeon?~
"White Stone Cave."
~Location?~
"Northwestern outskirts of the Doma Forest. Latitude 423.21. Longitude -237.08."
~Level Range?~
"Between Level 5 to Level 15."
~Monster Types?~
"Children of Darkness. All in the pre-evolution stage. May have other evolved Dark creatures as well."
~Monster Levels?~
"Range is between Level 1 to Level 10 for the Children of Darkness. May produce other boss monsters with higher levels, but not entirely sure about that."
~Environmental Features?~
"Complete darkness. Cold and damp. No traps encountered. Previously formed White Stone Ores have been mined. May produce more over time."
~Boss Traits?~
"Unclear."
Each answer he spoke clicked into place like a lock turning. He moved through the entire data set in under ten minutes. The Conduit dimmed slightly as the final answer settled into the system.
A ping rang in his ear. Not from the tube this time — from the system.
{Congratulations on Successfully Archiving Hidden Dungeon — White Stone Cave!}
{Dungeon Clearance Rewards and Bonus Rewards Now Accessible!}
{New Stat Unlocked: "Perception" Available}
{Stat Bonus: +2 Perception}
{Bonus Rewards: +3 Gold Coins}
Ezekiel's lips curled into a quiet smile.
Perception. One of the many locked hidden stats that needed to be unlocked manually through meeting some very specific conditions.
To unlock Perception, a player had to discover a hidden dungeon and clear it solo within twelve hours of its discovery.
This elusive stat was as precious as it was difficult to obtain. It didn't only sharpen one's five physical senses — it also fine-tuned intuition, awareness of the opponent's reflexes, and eventually… had the potential to unlock a Pseudo-Legendary skill called 'Premonition'.
The ability to glimpse a few seconds into the future. Only those incapable of meeting the requirements would give it up.
Of course, such an overpowered stat couldn't be increased with regular stat points. Only through specific quests, training regimens bordering on suicidal, or through stat absorption — Ezekiel's secret weapon.
He stepped back from the tube and turned to Reed.
"It's done."
The old librarian nodded, satisfied.
"Then the world is a little better recorded than it was yesterday. Thank you."
Ezekiel offered a polite farewell and exited the library.
As soon as the doors closed behind him, Ezekiel came to a halt. Something had shifted.
His vision sharpened — colors richer, details finer. His hearing, more acute now, picked up the muted hammering of a smithy from several streets away, each metallic clang crisp despite the distance. A subtle draft carried the scent of burning charcoal, previously unnoticed.
Even the wind felt different — each passing breeze traced light, tingling paths across his skin, and the afternoon sun no longer merely warmed him — it soaked in, slow and deep.
He exhaled slowly, giving his body a moment to adjust to the heightened sensitivity. The newly unlocked Perception stat was already making itself known.
Only once the overwhelm settled into clarity did he resume walking, this time toward the village square.
He moved past vendors calling out about fire-roasted skewers and baskets of sun-blushed tomatoes, sidestepped a runaway barrel that clattered past, and approached a wide, two-storey building made from sun-bleached wood and beige stone. Above its door hung a painted sign in looping letters:
Florence's Needle & Rune
Ezekiel paused and cast a glance down the alleyway behind him, his gaze narrowing.
Bizarre.
He hadn't seen a single other player since his class change.
That alone wouldn't have bothered him — some players preferred the wilderness or isolated questlines — but the streets should've been bustling with new arrivals, late starters, or those returning from the recuperation phase after their first run.
Fwerah was a known safe zone in early game progression. Even at off-peak hours, it shouldn't be sitting this empty.
And now, someone was following him.
He hadn't paid much attention before, too focused on his objectives. But with his senses heightened, the faint scuff of movement in the alley stood out. Deliberate. Close.
This wasn't a coincidence.
His thoughts churned quickly. Could it be his parents' enemies? Had they somehow traced his login this early?
Unlikely. That wouldn't explain the entire village's eerie emptiness.
PKers?
That made more sense… but still raised questions. What group of low-level killers could clear out a starter village and establish territory this early? The system wasn't supposed to allow mass interference at this stage — not without consequences.
He considered it for a moment longer, weighing options.
Five of them at most. From the scattered noise signatures and pace of trailing steps, that seemed right. An ambush in waiting. Perhaps testing him. Or worse, underestimating him.
He sighed, gaze lingering on the alley a moment longer before turning away.
If they were targeting him, so be it.
Ezekiel wasn't quick to draw blood — but he wasn't foolish enough to flinch when someone stepped over the line. There were rules in this world. Bottom lines. And he knew his own.
And if they touched his?
They wouldn't get a second chance.
Resolved, Ezekiel stepped forward and opened the tailor's door.
Inside, the shop burst with color — bolts of cloth in gold, deep violet, sea green, all carefully hung or rolled on racks. Mannequins stood at attention in enchanted robes and battle-ready tunics that shimmered with soft enchantments.
The air smelled strongly of threadwax, stitched magic, and something floral.
A middle-aged man in a pale cream vest and dotted scarf was humming a tune while pinning a rune to a half-sewn coat.
"Excuse me," Ezekiel said.
The man looked up — his face round and expressive, with laugh lines creasing his cheeks and soft green eyes that twinkled like a showman's.
"Well, well!" He said brightly. "A customer with taste, I presume. Tell me — silk or suede?"
"Silk," Ezekiel replied. "I'm looking for a tunic. Something light but enchantment-friendly."
"Say no more," Florence said, dramatically flinging the coat onto a nearby mannequin. "You, my friend, have walked into the right circle of the upper echelons."
He grabbed a roll of spider silk and held it up to the light. "Ah, can you imagine this as a sleeveless cut? Minimalist — makes a statement without trying. Paired with reinforced gold-thread inner seams—"
Then he stopped mid-spin and sighed deeply.
"What's wrong?" Ezekiel asked.
Florence let the silk fall back on the table.
"Bandits. The nasty ones. My silk delivery crew got ambushed three nights ago. Took nearly everything. What little we recovered wasn't even enough to finish a single sleeve."
"That's unfortunate," Ezekiel added sympathetically. "It must be a huge hindrance to the business."
"Tell me about it," Florence pouted, the dark circles under his eyes spoke of the stress the man was under. "I have a massive dress commission due in five days — full-length ceremonial regalia, fire-warded, custom color spells… and not enough spider silk to clothe a kobold."
Ezekiel raised an eyebrow.
There it is.
A quest one couldn't trigger without at least 500 reputation within Fwerah.
"Need help restocking?"
Florence blinked.
"Wait — are you offering?"
"I am," Ezekiel said calmly. "I can gather spider silk."
The tailor's expression lit up like festival fireworks. "Are you sure? I mean — absolutely yes! I just — are you sure sure? Widow spiders are nasty things. Terrible sense of humor."
Ezekiel gave a small grin. "I'll manage."
At that moment, a system ping echoed.
{Quest Accepted: A Master Tailor's Request (Gold)}
Objective: Deliver 25 pouches of Spider Silk to Florence so he could complete his upcoming commission.
Time Limit: 36 Hours
Rewards: +300 EXP per silk pouch submitted; +15 Silver Coins per pouch beyond 25; +1 Stat Point per 10 extra pouches
Failure Penalty: -200 Reputation in Klarincè Kingdom
Florence was already bouncing back to his shelves, muttering delightedly.
"I'll keep the good thread warm for you! And I'll brew a thank-you tea once you're back. No, two teas! One for the legs, one for the soul!"
Ezekiel chuckled under his breath and gave a short bow.
"I'll see you soon."
"Don't get silked to death!" Florence called as Ezekiel stepped out.
His next stop was none other than the village butchery.
Meanwhile, every step Ezekiel took was tracked with predator-like focus.
Hidden in the shadows of a narrow alley, five players observed him intently.
"Keep following him," murmured AshesNSmoke, their de facto leader. The others gave quick nods, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
To them, Ezekiel moved through the village with a familiarity that screamed experience. He wasn't hesitating, wasn't exploring like a clueless greenhorn. No — he walked like someone who'd been here before.
A beta tester. It had to be.
Their pulses quickened. If their hunch was right, they'd stumbled upon a treasure trove.
At first, it had just been about making an example out of a lone player — strip him of his gear, humiliate him a little, and solidify their positions within Fwerah. But now? This was an opportunity.
They could use him. Or break him. Either path was fine.
If he joined them, great. If he refused? Well, they had ways of making even the most stubborn newbies spill everything — including the names of their ancestors.
They couldn't wait to sink their teeth into him.
With practiced ease, the group fanned out, each player taking a separate path through the village. Their movements were subtle, coordinated — like threads of a net slowly tightening around their prey.
But unbeknownst to them, the so-called prey was already aware.
And as Ezekiel walked to his destination, a faint, cold smile curved at the corner of his lips.
So they've chosen to follow me.
Looked like he'd be making a stop at Somia's shop before leaving the village.