Chương 8: Crimes Per Second

Meno watched the orc camp long enough for his knees to start complaining. The patrols were cleaner than boars and meaner than field mobs. Raiders moved in overlapping pairs, stopping near choke rocks, firepits, and cave mouths. Sentries stood higher, half-hidden by black stone ribs along the valley wall. Shamans were the problem. They did not wander much, but when they turned their skull-staves, green sparks crawled toward the same places Meno wanted to use as cover. He was no longer Level 5 prey.

That helped, but it did not make him invisible. A Redscar sentry paused near the upper path and stared toward his ridge. Meno flattened behind a boulder, held still, and watched the orc sniff once before moving on. Below, a player party worked the outer edge of a smaller camp. Tank first. Archer second. Caster behind a rock. Healer bored and alert at the same time. They pulled two orcs, dragged them away from the fire, killed them cleanly, and waited before the next pull.

Launch had caught up to the place Meno had reached by being stupid early. Meno shifted along the mountain face, keeping the camp below him and the road to Emberhollow off to his right. He checked caves as he moved. Most were small, shallow holes behind campfires: storage dens, sleeping pits, blocked tunnels with cracked crates and dirty bedrolls. Raiders did not decorate. They piled what they stole and slept near weapons. He kept looking. A valley like this had to have a boss pocket.

Something stronger than patrol trash, tucked behind enough bodies to make a normal party say, "We need cooldowns." The larger camp sat near a bend in the road where the cliffs pinched together. Five orcs guarded the cave mouth behind it. Three raiders, one lookout with a horn, and a thick-necked brute leaning on a spear like he was waiting for a reason to ruin someone's hour. Too many to fight cleanly. Not impossible to bypass. Meno picked up a rock. Chat reacted before he threw it.

advanced tactics surely orcs are smarter than this if this works I'm mad caveman strats He threw it down the slope toward a broken cart wheel near the left edge of camp. The rock clicked off stone, bounced, and knocked the wheel over. Two raiders turned. The lookout lifted his head. One raider shoved another and barked something harsh. The brute pointed toward the noise. The argument opened the cave entrance by three body widths for maybe four seconds. It worked.

He slipped down behind a smoke drift, crossed between two stacked crates, and entered the cave with his shoulders tight and his hand on the Common III sword. The interior smelled of old fire, wet hide, and meat kept too long near warmth. Animals hung from hooks along one wall. Stolen packs lay in piles beside cracked tools, broken spear shafts, dented kettles, torn cloaks, and player-looking junk stripped of obvious value. Bones had been swept into corners instead of cleaned away.

Cooking smoke crawled along the ceiling and made the torchlight dirty. At the far end, the cave opened into a wider pocket around a black firepit. A larger orc stood there with a two-handed axe across his shoulder. Iron rings hung from his tusks. Scars cut through red paint on his chest. Beside him, two shamans stirred bowls of water that moved in the wrong direction, circling against gravity around their fingers. Meno inspected them.

[Hostile: Redscar Cave Commander | Type: Humanoid Warrior | Threat: Lethal | Trait: War-Axe Command] [Hostile: Redscar Water Shaman | Type: Humanoid Caster | Threat: High | Trait: Restoration Current] Lethal. Meno frowned.

"Only lethal?" ONLY??? bro got??? poisoning lethal is still lethal idiot"Five to ten levels above? Maybe," Meno said under his breath.

"Question marks could be ten-plus or boss class. Theory, not fact." The setup was obvious in a way the Dustbound Elemental had not been. Commander holds space. Shamans heal and interfere. Cave limits movement. A normal party would assign interrupts, tank the axe, burn shamans, then clean up the commander. Meno was alone, because apparently he liked pain. He drew the Common III sword.

"Data run." The commander's head snapped toward him. The roar filled the cave hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling. Meno moved before the axe did. The first swing came overhand, huge and readable, biting into the cave floor with a stone-splitting crack. The impact shook his boots but did not explode the room. Heavy pressure, not Tremor-Slam. Honest in a brutal way. The shamans were less honest.

Water bolts shot from both sides of the firepit, one straight, one angled off the cave wall in a sharp bend that made Meno swear and throw himself sideways. The bent stream hissed past his ribs and slapped against stone behind him. He did not hit yet. Survival first. Axe speed. Recovery time. Turn speed. Shaman cast rhythm. Wall angle. Safe pockets near hanging meat, not near crates. Commander turned slower clockwise, maybe because of the axe grip. Counterclockwise was shorter and meaner.

A water bolt clipped his shoulder. His health crashed to critical. Meno slammed into a wall, breath knocked thin, but he stayed alive. For one absurd second, he felt proud of being one spell away from paste.

"Survived a hit," he said.

"Progress." heal? bandage? no time He committed on the commander's recovery. [Compound Swing | Chain: 1 | Damage: +10%] The Common III sword felt better immediately. Cleaner balance. Less dead weight in the wrist. More edge response on contact. It was still a white-rarity iron sword hitting a lethal mini-boss, which kept the joy appropriately small. Meno cut the commander's thigh, then the axe haft, then the exposed forearm. Short contacts. No damage fishing.

[Compound Swing | Chain: 5 | Damage: +50%] The commander swung wide. Meno ducked under the axe head, stepped clockwise because clockwise was slower, and tapped the ribs. One shaman began a water bolt. The other shaped a flat stream toward the commander's back but held it, waiting. At ten stacks, Meno had the rhythm. [Compound Swing | Chain: 10 | Damage: +100%] The axe was large and threatening, but it told the truth. Windup. Line. Impact. Recovery.

Compared to riding an elemental's arm above a ground shockwave, dodging a big axe felt almost easy. The shamans made sure to keep it annoying. One water bolt forced him toward the wall. The second cut off the retreat. Meno had to choose between losing chain and taking a graze. He threw a desperate low cut into the commander's ankle while folding his body away from the spell line. The blade connected. Water grazed his back and dropped him deeper into critical. Still alive. Still chained.

At twenty, the commander had lost enough health to matter. [Compound Swing | Chain: 20 | Damage: +200%] The shamans changed jobs around half health. Both bowls rose. Water flowed out in thick bands, wrapping the commander's wounds. His health surged upward in hard chunks. Meno grinned despite himself. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Yes. Good. Be useful." he wants them to heal durable target found? chain battery boss healers are now employees this is cursed For a while, it worked. The commander lived through thirty, then forty. The shamans restored him whenever his health dipped too low and Meno stopped aiming for damage entirely. He touched axe haft, elbow, shoulder, thigh. He used the commander as a moving anchor and treated the shamans like weather he had to dodge. At fifty stacks, the damage began outpacing the comfort of the room.

[Compound Swing | Chain: 50 | Damage: +500%] The commander staggered from a short cut to the ribs. Meno's stomach dropped.

"Don't die yet." A shaman hissed something and poured another Restoration Current into the commander. The health jumped, but the jump was smaller than Meno wanted. His next few hits carved it back down too quickly. At seventy, the math betrayed him. [Compound Swing | Chain: 70 | Damage: +700%] The commander's HP fell in thick chunks now. The shamans cast faster, water flashing around their hands, but the rhythm could not keep up. Meno tried to soften his hits. Softer contacts risked invalid taps and misses.

He shortened the cut, struck the axe haft instead of flesh, clipped armor edges. Still too much. The commander roared, lifted his axe for a heavy cleave, and Meno touched the exposed wrist out of habit. The hit landed with a crack. The commander dropped. [Kill Confirmed: Redscar Cave Commander] [XP Gained: Redscar Cave Commander Kill] No level up. Meno stared at the corpse.

"You had one job." LOL boss failed DPS check no 100 kill confirmed, mad about it The shamans did not share his disappointment. Without the commander's body anchoring the fight, the cave became worse. Two casters split wide, water bolts snapping from opposite angles. Meno had no durable target, no safe chain, and critical HP. He tried to rush the left shaman, but he was distracted. The right one cut off his path with a pressure stream that slammed into the floor and forced him to jump. His landing was bad.

A water bolt hit him square in the chest. [Death | Penalty: Dropped Item, XP Loss, Rank Slip] [Respawn: Riverbend Shrine] [Dropped: Chipped Clay Saint x1] Blue shrine light replaced the cave. Meno sat up beside the river, wet grass under one hand and the sound of rushing water close enough to annoy him. Riverbend Shrine sat near the crossing below the orc valley, which was fair in the way a kick to the shin was fair. He checked gear. Common III sword safe. Backup safe. Bandages safe.

Junk buffer reduced by one useless saint, still hundreds left. Karma unchanged from death. XP progress shaved down by penalty. Hundredfold Cleave still untested. He stared across the river toward the mountain road. The actual problem sat clearer now. He needed something that could build Chain 100 without dying too early, without killing him too fast, and ideally something he could carry into range of other enemies before triggering Hundredfold. The commander had been close and useless in the final way.

The healers helped until the ramp outran them. Normal mobs died. Stronger mobs killed him. Groups made the payoff possible and the setup stupid. Built Tempo would have helped every fight. Rhythm Bank would have saved half his mistakes. Clean Break would be useful for people who understood health bars as more than decorations before one-shots. Hundredfold Cleave sat in his technique list like a dare with no ladder. Meno rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. Then the bad idea arrived. He looked at chat.

"Nearest farmland town with a training yard." Rillpost maybe north road shrine has yard? west farm garrison rat den basically town go to Bellrow no Bellrow is east DO NOT TRUST CHAT MAPS Meno trusted chat maps three times. The first route led to a field shrine with two benches, a bored priest, and no training yard. The priest asked if he sought reflection. Meno told him he sought things to hit. The second route led to a farmer NPC holding a basket of turnips.

"You look capable," the farmer said.

"My lower field has suffered from—""No."

"It is only a small matter of pests and—""No."

"Payment includes fresh—" Meno left at speed. Chat spammed turnip emotes until he threatened to ban vegetables. The third route led to a low-level rat den behind a collapsed shed. Meno stood in front of the hole while a Mudhook Rat stared at him from the dark.

"I'm banning directions," he said. rat mayor apologize to chat cartography turnip quest dodged west, actual west this time Eventually, after two bad fences and one argument with a road sign, he found the garrison. It was barely more than a large stone tower, three outbuildings, a training yard, and a few guards whose boredom had developed structure. Practice posts stood in the yard. A weapons rack held blunted spears. A yard master leaned against a fence with his hat over his eyes, possibly asleep.

The training dummy was not fancy. Just a thick wooden post sunk into dirt, scarred by blades, ugly as a debt. Meno approached it like it might report him. He tapped it with the Common III sword. [Compound Swing | Chain: 1 | Damage: +10%] Meno froze. Chat froze for half a heartbeat. Then the stream became a crime scene. wait no don't do what I think POST TECH Meno tried the obvious player solutions first because the system deserved a chance to disappoint him normally. He pulled the post. Nothing. He kicked it.

Nothing useful happened except his foot hurting. He dug around it with his sword tip, and the ground behaved wrong, too firm, too neat. The yard refused excavation around the base. The AI or system rules had already thought of players stealing training dummies directly. Sensible. Obnoxious. Possibly incomplete. Meno looked at the nearest guard. The guard had one hand on his spear and the other around a heel of bread. His helmet sat slightly crooked. His eyes held the dull hope of waiting for a shift change.

Bribe-shaped. Meno walked over.

"One gold if you help me remove that post." The guard chewed once.

"Why?"

"Treasure underneath." The guard looked at the post. Then at Meno. Then at the gold coin.

"That is a stupid lie."

"Yes." The guard took the coin.

"Corvan," the guard called toward the yard master, "training post needs inspection. Safety compliance." The yard master lifted one hand from the haystack without removing the hat from his face.

"If it bleeds, report it. If it doesn't, handle it." The guard grabbed a shovel. Now that an NPC was doing the work, the ground behaved like ground. Meno watched dirt loosen around the post with a creeping sense of victory and impending punishment. The exploit did not work because everyone was stupid. It worked because the garrison was low-stakes, bored, and the NPCs had their own rules for realism. The post came loose with a wet wooden pop. It was not a full dummy with target plates and arms.

Just a thick wooden post about Meno's body length, scarred, heavy, awkward, and visible enough to make stealth file a complaint. Meno grabbed it under one arm. The guard's expression changed.

"Hold on." Meno ran.

"Hold on!" The yard master finally sat up, hat falling into his lap.

"What's bleeding?" Meno cleared the yard gate with a stolen training post tucked under his arm like the least dignified knight in Veyrath. [Karma Loss: Theft] You have lost 50 Karma. [Current Karma: -50] NPCs may react unfavorably to low Karma. Severe negative Karma may restrict town access, services, or lawful protections. Perform worthy deeds, visit temples or aid citizens to improve Karma.

"Oh, that's vague as hell," Meno snapped. THEFT -50 KARMA Prayer Bead God turns criminal guard snitched The guard shouted behind him, but no pursuit crossed the yard at first. The consequence had only moved somewhere less visible. The post slowed him. It banged against fences, caught on a low branch, and nearly spun him into a ditch when he turned too sharply. Carrying it made posture worse, and dignity unrecoverable.

He kept one hand on it and one near the sword, already thinking about whether entering towns with stolen training equipment would get him arrested, or laughed into a debuff. The AI director was watching everything. Of course it was. It had written global rules over the mythic design loophole. A stolen post was smaller, but smaller problems still got patched when stream chat screamed loud enough. It was only a matter of time.

He could only hope it considered the issue minor enough not to allocate resources immediately. He reached the river near the orc valley entrance and stopped where no town guard could see him. The stolen post lay against his hip and ribs, long end forward like a lance. He drew the Common III sword with his right hand, adjusted the post under his left arm, and touched the far end with the weakest possible cut he thought might count. [Compound Swing | Chain: 1 | Damage: +10%] The river sounded too loud.

Meno did not move. Chat did not move either, at least in the way a thousand people could go still while typing nothing for half a second. Then everything broke. IT WORKS PORTABLE STACK BATTERY EXPLOIT POLE FRAUD bannable bannable bannable not bannable if system lets it THAT IS NOT HOW BANS WORK Meno stared at the post.

"No one clip that," he said. The chat responded with seventeen clip links in less than three seconds. He practiced. The goal was the smallest hit that still counted. Not damage. Contact. The sword tapped the post in short, insulting motions. Tap. Tap. Tap. A sewing machine committing a crime. If the hit was too soft, nothing counted. If the angle shifted, he missed. If the post bounced against his ribs, the rhythm died. If he walked too fast, his own steps broke the timing.

[Compound Swing | Chain: 5 | Damage: +50%] He moved along the riverbank slowly at first, then faster, tapping the posts as he walked. The chain stayed alive for eight steps before the post slid under his arm and his next cut glanced past the end. [Chain Broken: Miss]"Angle drift." He reset. [Compound Swing | Chain: 1 | Damage: +10%] The post restricted everything. He could not block with it. Could not climb well. Could not dash without risking the chain.

Carrying it turned him into a visible idiot with one arm occupied and a weapon rhythm tied to wood he had stolen from a government nap yard. It also built stacks without needing the enemy to survive. Meno's smile started small and got worse. He tested failure cases. Too soft, no stack. Too hard, post jolted and ruined the next tap. Bad footwork, tempo break. Stumble, chain death. Need both hands, dead idea. Tight brush, bad idea. Jumping with it, worse idea.

Turning left was easier than turning right because of how the post sat under his arm. He could jog with it. [Compound Swing | Chain: 20 | Damage: +200%] The notice landed, and Hundredfold Cleave stayed dark.

"Twenty works." Meno knew the clock had started. Maybe the system would mark carried posts invalid. Maybe the garrison would flag the item as contraband. Maybe guards would confiscate it. Maybe stolen public training objects would stop counting for class mechanics. Maybe he would lose more karma every minute he held it. Maybe the AI would do something creative, like spawn an inspector with a hammer and no sense of humor. Until then, he had a portable stack battery.

Hundredfold Cleave had not been bad because the payoff was weak. It had been bad because reaching Chain 100 in normal combat was stupid. Meno had found a stupid way to do the stupid thing. He kept tapping. Ninety. Ninety-five. The post shifted once. He caught it with his elbow, nearly lost the rhythm, and touched the end of the wood with the ugliest possible half-cut. Valid. Ninety-nine. One hundred.

[Compound Swing | Chain: 100 | Damage: +1000%] [Hundredfold Cleave Ready] Meno stopped walking, but he did not stop swinging yet. Two more taps to confirm he had not imagined the icon. It stayed lit, waiting like a loaded trap. Then he deliberately pulled the sword away and let the rhythm die. [Chain Broken: Stop] The ready icon went dark. His breath came out slow. The test was real. He adjusted the stolen post under his arm and looked toward the orc camp smoke beyond the river.

The Common III sword rested in his hand. His inventory was full of junk. His karma was negative. His stream had enough witnesses to form a tribunal, sell tickets, and argue about whether the tribunal had been an exploit. Meno started tapping again. [Compound Swing | Chain: 1 | Damage: +10%]"Chat," he said, eyes on the valley path, "you're about to see the ugliest tornado in Veyrath."