Bab 8: Survive

"That's the card," Ben says, his voice dropping low. "Hotel Ambrose, room 503. She wants the two of you to… get acquainted," he adds, his tone dripping with suggestion.

Then, with a flourish, he pulls a sleek box from his coat and hands it to me. "A token of her intentions," he says smoothly.

I open the box, and my breath catches. Inside are twin daggers, crafted with a precision I've never seen, their edges dark as shadows, almost humming with energy. A-class weapons, with a darkness affinity, my exact mana match. Whoever this woman is, she's done her homework, down to my weapon of choice.

Korin steps closer, his eyes widening as he peers over my shoulder. He lets out a low whistle, clearly as impressed as I am.

"Told you," Ben says, smirking as he steps back. "Anyway, my job here is done." He melts into the shadows as easily as he appeared, leaving the faint echo of his smug satisfaction behind.

I snap the box shut, heart steadying. This is an incredible gift, but it changes nothing.

"Let's finish the job," I say, nodding toward Korin and Kirelle. They exchange a glance, then fall into step beside me as we turn back to the grim business of our mercenary work.

"So, what are you going to do about the daggers?" Kirelle presses, breaking the silence. We're all crammed together in this tiny, dimly-lit room, picking at stale noodles and hard bread. It's the best we can manage with most of our earnings funneled toward rent and dungeon passes. Sometimes, I can hardly stand it—scraping by, just to survive.

"What do you mean?" I snap, more curtly than intended.

Korin looks up from his bowl, eyebrows raised. "Will you go to the hotel?"

I say nothing, just keep chewing, though my mind's racing.

"Of course not!" Kirelle jumps in, her voice sharp.

"It never ends well with these 'offers.' Remember that guy two levels down? Murdered by the woman's husband! You could be drugged, locked up, trafficked—who even knows? What if this 'lady' isn't even a lady?" She huffs, crossing her arms, her green eyes narrowed. She's almost too passionate about it, like she's trying to convince herself as much as me.

Truth is, I'd already decided against it, but that doesn't stop my mind from wandering back to those daggers. They're the finest weapons I've ever seen, and they'd make a difference. Maybe even give me a real shot at leveling up and pushing further out of this miserable existence.

But I just close my eyes, trying to block it all out. Right now, it's only survival on my mind.

The silence settles again, heavy and thick. I try to focus on the bland taste of the noodles, willing myself to ignore the whispering temptation of those daggers. Kirelle keeps shooting me worried glances while Korin just stares blankly into his bowl. It's like they're waiting for me to say something, some assurance that I won't let desperation get the better of me.

Finally, I let out a slow breath, leaning back against the cold, chipped wall. "Look, I'm not going to the hotel, alright? I know the risks. We've all seen what happens to people who get tangled up with the rich and their 'favors.'"

Korin gives a faint nod, seemingly satisfied, though there's a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Kirelle, on the other hand, just shakes her head. "Good. We don't need any more complications. The dungeons are risky enough."

"Right." I agree, though a part of me still feels restless. My fingers twitch, like they're already itching to hold those blades again, feel their weight, test their sharpness. We need to head to a dungeon soon.

After a few more bites, Korin stands up, stretching his arms above his head. "Well, we should probably get some rest. The dungeon job tomorrow won't wait, and I'd rather be half-alive than dead-tired going in."