The Record Fragments.

  The system had mentioned them before, but whenever I tried to ask about them, it glitched out. If the Universal Records dictated everything in this world, then what exactly were Record Fragments? Pieces of the past? Fragments of futures not yet written?

  And why did the system want me to collect them?

  I exhaled, leaning back in my chair.

  "System, open interface."

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then, the system buzzed violently, and a new window appeared before me.

  My stomach dropped.

  "What the hell—"

  I hadn't even been notified of the mission before. And now? Half the time had already elapsed.

  But that wasn’t the worst part.

  The penalty.

  I stared at the text, my hands going cold.

  If I failed… everything I had gained—my levels, my skills, my stats—would be wiped away.

  Gone.

  A punishment like that wasn’t just harsh—it was insane.

  I shot up from my seat, my breathing uneven. "System, what the hell is this? Who am I supposed to save?"

  For the first time, the system actually responded.

  A map interface opened, displaying a general layout of Vaeloria. My location was marked clearly, but in the far outskirts, a large red circle glowed ominously.

  Not a specific location.

  Just a general area.

  I clenched my fists. You’re joking, for fuck's sake.

  "This isn't helpful. Be more specific!"

  No response.

  I gritted my teeth. If I had more time, maybe I could have investigated slowly, but I had already lost an entire day.

  I needed help.

  I turned to Cael, my instinct telling me to bring him along. If anyone could handle whatever danger was there, it was him.

  But before I could even move—

  My breath hitched.

  Unlike the usual glitched texts, this time the words were crystal clear. No distortions. No broken code.

  The system wasn’t letting me bring anyone.

  I was on my own.

  A chill ran down my spine.

  What kind of mission was this?

  Why was the system suddenly enforcing rules so strictly?

  I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to focus. If I couldn’t rely on anyone else, then I needed to make sure I was as strong as possible.

  I pulled up my stat window.

  I hesitated.

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  With how broken my system was, if I tried to allocate them myself, they’d probably end up in random places.

  "System, distribute the points efficiently."

  The moment I said it, my stats shifted automatically.

  At first, I was relieved.

  Then I noticed something off.

  There were extra stat points added.

  The system had only 25 points to distribute, yet my stats had increased by more than that.

  A slow, uneasy feeling crept up my spine.

  "System, where did the extra points come from?"

  No response.

  I clenched my fists.

  My body tensed.

  Was the mission going to be so hard that the system actually felt pity? Was it giving me extra stats because it knew I wouldn’t survive otherwise?

  I let out a slow, shaky breath.

  I didn’t know.

  And that terrified me.

  I moved carefully through the crowded streets, keeping my hood low over my face.

  Vaeloria was dense, filled with people of all walks of life, but even among the chaos, I stayed hyper-aware of my surroundings.

  My arm ached.

  The corruption pulsed harder the closer I got to the marked location. It wasn’t unbearable.

  I glanced at my map again—16 hours left.

  Cael had gone off to handle his own business, which meant I was completely alone in this.

  I took another turn, entering a narrow side street where buildings were packed closer together.

  I had been surveying the area for a while now, trying to pinpoint anything that seemed off. The general location the system had marked was large, and I couldn’t afford to waste time checking places blindly.

  But then—I saw it.

  A normal-looking building, wedged between two others. It didn’t stand out—no fancy decorations, no signs, nothing. But I noticed something off.

  People were coming and going.

  Not just any people—a specific kind.

  They dressed well—not nobles, but clearly not street rats either. Many had hoods, others wore masks, and their movements were too precise, too intentional.

  At first glance, it could’ve been a gambling den, a hidden trade market, or even an underground meeting spot.

  But it was located exactly in the general area marked on my map.

  And that meant I had to check it out.

  I didn’t rush in blindly.

  For the next two hours, I observed.

  I watched how people entered and exited, noting their patterns. The way they spoke, the way they walked, the way some lingered near the entrance for a second too long before stepping inside.

  The most important detail?

  There was no obvious guard.

  No armored brute standing at the entrance. No one stopping people at the door.

  But there was a man sitting outside, dressed in filthy rags, his hand outstretched like a beggar.

  He looked like just another poor soul trying to survive.

  But I knew better.

  He wasn’t just a random beggar.

  He was listening. Watching.

  The people entering all spoke a few words to him. Some said more, some said less, but there was always a brief exchange.

  A password, then.

  I needed one of them to get inside.

  I didn’t wait long.

  One of the masked individuals—a man in a long dark coat—stepped out of the building, making his way through the streets and into an isolated alleyway.

  Perfect.

  I moved quickly, keeping my steps silent.

  The moment he turned a corner—

  I struck.

  With a single calculated movement, I wrapped my arm around his neck, cutting off his airflow in a clean chokehold.

  He struggled, his hands clawing at me, but I was stronger. My stats had increased significantly, and now? I could feel the difference.

  Within seconds, he went limp.

  I lowered him carefully, making sure no one had seen.

  "Sorry," I muttered under my breath as I quickly pulled off his cloak, mask, and gloves. I switched outfits, securing his hidden blade as well—just in case.

  The mask fit snugly over my face, covering my features.

  I adjusted the cloak, making sure the hood shadowed my corrupted arm completely.

  Then, with a deep breath, I stepped back onto the main street.

  I was one of them now.

  As I walked toward the building, I slowed my steps, keeping my posture relaxed but purposeful.

  The beggar-guard glanced up as I neared, his dull eyes barely flicking toward me.

  Now came the real test.

  I focused, listening—sharp, keen.

  With my enhanced senses, I had caught snippets of other conversations from people entering earlier.

  I took a gamble.

  As I stepped closer, I murmured the same phrase I had overheard.

  "The silver sun sets at midnight."

  The beggar nodded, his expression unchanged. "And the shadows whisper in return."

  I said nothing, simply inclining my head slightly—just as I had seen others do.

  He gestured lazily toward the door.

  I didn’t hesitate.

  I stepped inside.

  The moment I stepped inside, I knew.

  This wasn’t a gambling den.

  This wasn’t some underground black market.

  It was a slave auction.

  The interior was almost insultingly bare. No grand decor, no lavish chandeliers—just a large, open chamber filled with wooden benches and dim lanterns, enough to provide light but not attract attention.

  The walls were stone, rough and undecorated. The place had been designed with one purpose only—efficiency.

  It wasn’t meant to be beautiful.

  It was meant to hide in plain sight.

  I scanned the crowd, keeping my movements subtle.

  Most of the people here were masked or hooded, just like me. But from their posture—the way they carried themselves, the arrogance in their stance—I could tell.

  They weren’t just random criminals.

  These were aristocrats.

  Rich bastards from the higher districts of Vaeloria. Nobles and merchants with too much wealth and too little morality.

  They didn’t want to be seen here, but they also didn’t want to give up their twisted luxuries.

  The capital had laws against slavery, but here they were, buying and selling people like property.

  How did I know all this? Well, I read enough fantasy novels to assume and be right about it—uhm.

  It was almost laughable how predictable these things were. The hidden auctions, the corrupt nobles, the underground dealings—the moment I saw the masked figures and the chained prisoners, I knew exactly what kind of place this was.

  I clenched my fists beneath my cloak, forcing myself to stay calm.

  I needed to find the woman in the chamber—if she was here, that is.

  Which should be likely, because this place felt like a chamber, but I could be wrong.

  I couldn't afford to waste too much time if I was mistaken.

  As I moved toward the back of the room, I noticed a raised platform at the far end. A man in a dark suit stood there, overseeing the auction.

  Beside him, a row of people in chains.

  Some were beaten, malnourished. Others looked defiant, but exhausted.

  My stomach twisted.

  The auction had already begun.

  One by one, slaves were presented, their prices shouted out by the bidders.

  Some were bought for a few silver coins. Others—those deemed more valuable—went for gold.

  That’s when I realized something.

  I don’t have any money.

  Even if I found the woman I was supposed to save, how the hell was I supposed to buy her?

  A bead of sweat rolled down my temple. Shit.

  I needed a plan.

  Or at least, I thought I did—until I instinctively patted the pockets of my borrowed coat.

  And froze.

  There was something inside.

  Frowning, I reached in and pulled out a heavy leather pouch.

  I slowly opened it.

  Inside?

  Gold.

  Not silver. Not copper. Pure gold coins.

  My breath hitched.

  The bastard I had robbed wasn’t just some random noble.

  He had been carrying a ridiculous amount of money.

  Arrogant. Stupid. A spoiled rich brat who thought no one would dare rob him.

  Well. Sucks for him. I did.

  I stayed still, blending into the crowd, watching.

  Each time a slave was dragged onto the raised platform, the auctioneer would chant out their strengths, their worth, their use.

  Some were exotic species—beastkin with enhanced strength, elves with latent magic, dwarves with craftsmanship skills. They were sold within seconds, nobles bidding ruthlessly, gold coins exchanged with cold efficiency.

  It was sickening.

  Then, the system buzzed.

  My breath hitched.

  Bingo. So she was indeed here.

  And as if on cue, a new slave was brought onto the platform.

  She wasn’t dragged or forced forward like the others.

  She simply... stumbled.

  Her frail frame barely supported itself as she collapsed onto her knees, her shackled arms trembling under her weight. Her clothes were tattered, her skin sickly pale, almost ashen, as if she had been drained of life itself. Her dark, unkempt hair clung to her face, matted with dust and sweat. Beneath the strands, her eyes—dull, sunken, and a faded shade of blue—stared blankly ahead, empty of emotion, empty of hope.

  She looked less like a person and more like a wraith, a forgotten remnant of someone who once lived.

  No life in her eyes.

  No will to live.

  Compared to the other slaves, who still had some strength left, some hope, she was the closest thing to a corpse I had seen so far.

  And unlike the others, when the auctioneer started the bid—

  No one spoke.

  The room was silent.

  She had no worth to them.

  A weak, dying human.

  I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to stay calm.

  If the system had reacted, that meant she was the one I had to save.

  So, before I could hesitate, I raised my hand.

  "10 silver."

  A few heads turned toward me.

  I stiffened. Shit. Was that too much? Too low?

  The auctioneer paused, eyeing me with mild amusement. "A bid of 10 silver. Any others?"

  Silence.

  No one even considered it.

  Then, the man beside me let out a chuckle, leaning slightly toward me.

  "Are you that desperate?" His voice was smooth, mocking. "You could get something better than that over there. Or…"

  His gaze flickered toward the stage, and his smirk curled into something darker.

  "Are you just into such things?"

  A cold shudder ran down my spine.

  I didn’t react. Didn’t even look at him.

  But deep down, my stomach twisted.

  These people… were worse than I thought.