Chương 31: The Break Was Also Content

Meno used the last two iron bars because leaving them in his inventory felt wasteful, and he wanted to check the karma threshold. He quickly crafted two perfect Common I daggers.

"Crown donation," Meno said. The trainer took the daggers, inspected the edges, and placed them in the accepted tray. [Karma Gained: +2] [Current Karma: 350] Meno waited. The forge kept ringing. Chat kept moving. A player at the next station burned a blade blank badly enough that the metal sagged into a curved little failure. The trainer looked at Meno with his usual disappointment and said nothing. No title, no status, no golden sparkle. No hidden lawful halo for being a good person.

Meno stared at the empty edge of his vision.

"Really?" 350 baited threshold denier maybe 500 reputable plus when"Four hundred," Meno said, because his brain needed a number to hit.

"Has to be four hundred. Negative threshold was minus two hundred for Disreputable. Reputable was plus two hundred after the dragon quest cleaned me. Next clean breakpoint is four hundred." copium math actually plausible 400 or riot go steal to test -400 He was disappointed anyway. Common donations gave scraps, and Uncommon I would probably give four karma at most if the pattern held. But perfect Uncommon gear was not charity trash.

In this market, it would sell above material cost unless every crafter in the world suddenly got competent overnight. Donating one for four karma would be the kind of decision people clipped with sad music. Meno exhaled and stepped away from the station.

"I'm opening BrineSaint," he told chat.

"Need to see if SpreadsheetGod is back online." finally gameplay BrineSaint spying arc he will be level 40 don't compare yourself bro compare harder The stream overlay folded open at the corner of his vision. BrineSaint was live. Meno expected the usual: clean dungeon route, sponsor banners, calm support calls, some cursed optimized farming loop that looked boring until the experience bar begged for mercy. Instead, BrineSaint stood in a resurrection shrine. Meno stopped walking.

[BrineSaint | Class: Dawn Bastion — Level 35 | Ability: Radiant Aegis] Level thirty-five. That alone was strange, since Meno had expected more, but the real hit was the party around him: three ranged damage dealers and one support, each tagged Level 26. The cleanest rank-one candidate in Veyrath had died, and his whole setup had gone down with him.

"No way." BRINE WIPED find clip day saved look at his face looks calm BrineSaint's face on stream barely moved. He was a broad-shouldered man in gold-white armor, shield resting against one knee, mace clipped at his side. Sponsor banners floated around the broadcast like holy decorations paid for by energy drinks. His chat was too fast to read, but the stream layout kept it caged and professional.

"Again," BrineSaint said. That was it. His party moved. They left the shrine and climbed a high dune under a white desert sun. Wind dragged sand across the ridge. The zone had to be the Melrai Dunes north of Westmarket, the place Honeygrave had mentioned between stealing fries and pretending not to be useful. Then Meno saw the problem: a cloaked figure standing in the distance.

It did not pace or gesture, only stood there with its arms folded inside loose gray cloth, hood dipped low, facing nothing and everything at once. Around it, the desert had gone wrong in a wide circle. Sand burned black. Heat shimmered above the ground. The air bent like glass over a furnace. Even through BrineSaint's stream, the inspect prompt showed enough. [Hostile: Sleepwalker | Type: Dream-Touched Humanoid | Threat:??? | Trait: Dreamer]"For him too?" Meno said.

"That thing is question marks for BrineSaint?" Chat changed flavor immediately. SLEEPWALKER your fault btw Dreamer trait world grief confirmed lvl35 sees??? yeah bad go apologize to everyone Inside the burning circle, something moved beneath the sand before a worm erupted halfway from the dunes. It was enormous, larger than a village house, with a segmented body plated in burning glassy scales where ordinary sand-colored hide should have been.

Dark fire streamed along its ridges, and its circular mouth opened wide enough to swallow a cart while rows of sharp teeth ground together like millstones. [Hostile: Evolved Greater Sandworm | Type: Dream-Burned Beast | Threat:??? | Trait: Flame Burrow] Meno's stomach tightened.

"That was probably a normal sandworm before the Sleepwalker touched it." BrineSaint's party approached slowly. The Sleepwalker remained still until they crossed some invisible range. Then it began walking toward them. The burning circle moved with it. Sand ignited wherever the Sleepwalker stepped, its presence dragging the hazard field forward without a cast bar or projectile, like the desert itself had been converted into a boss arena. The worm charged from inside the burning zone. BrineSaint planted his shield.

Golden light erupted around him in a clean dome as the worm crashed into the front line. The impact pushed sand outward in a ring. BrineSaint's boots sank half a foot, but he held. The worm staggered. Three archers behind him fired ice-laced arrows in a steady rhythm. The arrows struck burning plates and hissed into steam. Good element choice. Bad numbers. The worm's health bar shaved off almost nothing.

The support, a thin player in pale-blue and brass gear, cast a buff that rippled across the archers' bows, then sprinted away from the group toward the Sleepwalker.

"Bait," Meno said. The support entered the edge of the Sleepwalker's range, then backed away slowly. The hooded figure turned toward him and followed, dragging its burning circle away from BrineSaint and the worm. The support was removing the zone hazard from the fight, which also meant they were out of range to help BrineSaint. The party had split itself because the Sleepwalker's passive field made stacking impossible. The sandworm recovered and slammed its head down. BrineSaint blocked.

The shield took the main hit. Golden light snapped outward. Then the worm's plates flared, and fire washed over BrineSaint's body after the block like the attack had left a second bill behind. His HP dropped by twenty percent. Meno's jaw tightened.

"Blocked hit still burns him. Aftereffect." BrineSaint did not speak. He raised the mace in his free hand and struck the worm's side. The hit left a bright golden mark on one burning plate. Another mace swing, steady interval, different segment. Another mark. Not spammed. Measured. The worm attacked again. Shield block. Fire aftereffect. BrineSaint dropped to sixty percent HP. Then he triggered something.

Radiant light burst from the shield, slammed into the worm, and the golden marks along its body detonated in sequence. The worm staggered hard. Its health finally moved, dropping to around eighty percent. Chat on Meno's stream went quieter than usual. clean mark stacker shield bash reflects blocked damage% still slow archers doing nothing support too far should have used dps as bait Meno watched the health bars.

The support kept kiting the Sleepwalker, walking backward just fast enough to keep the burning circle away from the main fight. It never cast or sprinted, never attacked beyond walking. It only followed, patient and permanent. BrineSaint repeated the pattern. Block. Burn. Mark. Mark. Detonate. His HP hit forty percent. The sandworm dropped under seventy-five. Then the worm changed. It reared, twisted, and began spinning in place.

Sand rose around it into a flaming vortex, and small fireballs sprayed outward in all directions like a machine gun. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. BrineSaint raised his shield. He blocked the fireballs easily. Golden flashes danced across the shield face in disciplined pulses, his HP barely moving under the repeated hits. The archers did not have that luxury. One died first, caught by three fireballs and a splash of burning sand.

The second tried to roll out, ate another burst mid-movement, and dropped. The third lasted two seconds longer because they had a defensive cloak that flared blue before it failed. Three death notices blinked on BrineSaint's party frame. BrineSaint did not shout. Did not curse. Did not look back. He shield-charged into the worm, closing the space before the spin ended, and started striking with the mace again. Relaxed intervals. Different plate. Different mark. The worm's head snapped down, and he blocked again.

HP fell to twenty under the afterburn. Retaliation. The marks detonated, hammering the worm to around seventy percent. Then BrineSaint used a cooldown. Gold-white light poured over his armor, and his HP refilled. Cleanly enough that Meno's envy became physically unpleasant.

"Tank sustain cooldown," Meno muttered.

"Of course." must be nice having a class Dawn Bastion built different you have Panic Pump panic pump sets you to 1 lol reverse saint BrineSaint attacked harder after that. Faster shield pressure. Mace marks. Retaliation windows. His damage was steady, disciplined, and still too low for the problem in front of him. The worm reached fifty percent. It leapt. The entire sandworm launched out of the desert in a vicious burning arc, its body twisting above BrineSaint like a flaming bridge collapsing.

He dodged at the last second, shield up, and the impact threw him backward through the sand. Then the worm vanished underground. BrineSaint ran immediately. He retreated with control, taking a perfect line away from the disturbed sand, shield angled behind him, mace tucked, every step efficient. It still was not enough. The ground under him bulged, glowed, and detonated. The sandworm erupted like a fiery projectile directly beneath his feet, swallowing the space around him in flame, teeth, and molten sand.

BrineSaint died. The stream snapped back to the resurrection shrine with the three archers already waiting. A few seconds later, the support appeared too. BrineSaint stood, shield in hand.

"Again," he said. BrineSaint did not rage, explain, or put on a sponsor smile. He only said the word, like death had already been accounted for. Meno closed the overlay, and the forge building came back around him with a hammer strike ringing from the next station and chat already screaming for a reaction. He rubbed both hands over his face.

"That's crazy." Sleepwalker diff your raid unlock btw how dodge 50% False Wings FALSE WINGS you literally have air jump go steal worm kill"Maybe," Meno said.

"Maybe False Wings works. But did you see the size of that burrow eruption? It wasn't just a circle. The worm launched like a flaming rocket. You'd need the jump timing, then air-step clear, and you still take heat just being close. BrineSaint is a tank with a shield and actual defensive cooldowns, and he was getting chunked through blocks." He paced between the forge station and the empty material crate. His crafting irritation had been replaced by something sharper.

"Problem isn't just the worm. It's the Sleepwalker. Support has to kite it away or the burn field eats the party. But then support can't support. Ranged DPS are underleveled, so they tickle the worm until seventy-five, then spin phase deletes them. BrineSaint can live through spin but can't kill fast enough before the fifty burrow check." brine needs better dps or sleepwalker tank kill sleepwalker? question marks tho"Kill Sleepwalker?" Meno said.

"Maybe. But it's question marks to a level thirty-five rank one tank. If it even has a health bar that matters, good luck." He looked back at the forge station and the Uncommon recipe list. Magic reagents. Money drain. Time drain. His phone link pulsed inside the capsule. Lysa. Meno froze for a moment. His sister did not call for nothing. Text, maybe. A sarcastic message, sure. A call meant either trouble, obligation, or family diplomacy.

He checked the stream timer and realized he did not know what it meant anymore.

"Taking this," he said. He logged out enough for the capsule to open, but left the stream live because switching everything off required remembering that the real world had buttons. The Soma-X7 hissed open, and the apartment hit him with stale air, warm electronics, and the sudden awareness that he had a body. His stomach growled loud enough that Meno checked the clock. 12: 04. Lunch. Maybe day three of Veyrath launch week. Maybe.

The exact calendar had blurred into queues, shrine lights, auctions, and being yelled at by people richer than him. He answered the call.

"Hey, Lysa? What's up?"

"Are you okay?" Meno frowned at the phone.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You were streaming when I went to sleep, and now you are still streaming." He glanced at the stream monitor and found chat still there. His camera caught part of the room, the open capsule, and him standing barefoot like a man who had been extracted from a machine and not yet reassembled.

"Yeah, well," he said, "that's the job."

"People get paid for jobs."

"Don't worry about that. I will get paid soon." A pause.

"Why are you streaming our call?" Meno's mouth opened. Then closed.

"Forgot. My bad." CHAT SAYS HI LYSA SISTER ARC she cooked him instantly people get paid for jobs LMAO mute button discovered when Lysa sighed in the same family tone his mother used when love and exhaustion had to share a chair.

"Look, never mind. My husband has organized a little party for tonight. He invited his friends and his brother. I would like you to come as well." Meno's whole body tried to dodge.

"I'm busy."

"Meno, please. I haven't seen you in ages. Mom can't come, and I need your support. You know how I am with his friends." He did know. Lysa's husband was a psychologist, or therapist, or something close enough that Meno had filed the whole profession under mind mage. Worse, he had colleagues. Other mind mages. People who asked questions softly and then waited through the lie like they could hear the cooldown tick down. They never got tilted. They never let bad answers pass.

They just kept asking until a person accidentally told the truth and felt grateful for the wound. Meno had not met the brother yet, but he already sounded like a boss variant.

"I can't take no for an answer here," Lysa said.

"Also, bring your girlfriend." Meno looked from the phone to the monitor, then back to the phone.

"You just had to say that because I hadn't muted the stream yet, right? You know I don't have any."

"Mom said you met someone. She was happy about it."

"Mom likes to exaggerate. It's nothing like that. Honestly, it's the opposite. It's a meme from my stream. There is no way she would want to hang around people like us."

"People like us?"

"You know what I mean."

"I do, and I hate it." Lysa's voice softened by half a degree, which was worse than anger.

"Look, Meno, I know you like to be difficult, but promise me you'll ask her. If she doesn't want to come, fine."

"I never said I was going."

"You are coming. I read that you ruined Veyrath already, so you won't fall behind much for taking a break." His spine straightened.

"Hey. Where did you read that? That's nonsense."

"It was all over the news. After your little event debacle, Feltforge Systems stock fell by eleven percent." Meno stopped hearing the apartment for a second.

"What?" The word cracked.

"I am dead," he said.

"Totally dead."

"Calm down. Nobody is doing anything to you. It's too public. Morlendo Felt went on camera and thanked creative players for pushing boundaries and helping his AI improve. He called it immersive and limitless, because apparently founders are required to talk like that. Registrations doubled after the clip went viral, the stock finished up two percent, and now you're useful instead of liable. You're fine." Meno's hand tightened around the phone.

"That does not mean what you think it means."

"Meno, shut up and come to our house by eight. And I want proof that you at least asked her."

"Lysa—""If you don't, I'll be sad."

"That's emotional blackmail." The call ended, leaving Meno staring at the dead screen. Chat was not helping. SISTER RAID AT 8 FELTFORGE -11% ANY% TRILLION CREDIT CRASH creative players btw actually shaking He was shaking. Meno pulled up the stock chart on his desktop with hands that felt colder than the apartment deserved. Feltforge Systems loaded with a line that made his stomach drop all over again: down eleven percent after the crash, then the interview, then a rebound to finish up two percent by close.

A ten-trillion-credit company dropping eleven percent meant over a trillion credits of market value had evaporated because of him. The rebound fixed the chart. It did not make him feel safe. Morlendo Felt had smiled in public and called it creativity. Men like Carl Sorell had smiles too. Smiles did not mean forgiveness. Sometimes they meant a cost had been moved somewhere quieter. Meno closed the chart and looked at chat.

They had already turned the financial panic into memes, stock candles with prayer beads, fake headlines, and someone asking whether he could short himself. He grabbed the phone. Aureliana's contact sat there alone and judgmental.

"There is no way," he said.

"I am streaming this only for proof." proof of wife invite CALL HER WIFE CALL 2 speak like human be nice say nice words IMPOSSIBLE CHALLENGE Meno called. It rang long enough for defeat to settle into his shoulders before she picked up.

"What do you want?" Hostile, immediate, clean. At least she was efficient. Meno closed his eyes for half a breath.

"Um. Are you still in the city? Free tonight?"

"What does that have to do with you?"

"Yeah, so my sister is holding a small party. She forced me to invite you. That's all." The line went quiet for a second.

"Forced?" she said. Meno's mouth went dry.

"No, I mean, it would be nice if you could come."

"Nice?" Something in him snapped. Not anger, exactly. Pressure.

"Say no already. I can't take this anymore." Aureliana did not answer right away.

"I will come," she said, "provided you carry my party from Level 17 to Level 25 once we are done."

"Not happening." She hung up. Meno stood there with the phone still at his ear as chat detonated into grief, coaching, and terrible follow-up messages. CALL BACK you fumbled hard how is he so bad at life boost her bro CALL BACK IDIOT ask for money Meno walked to the bed and headbutted a pillow.

"This is worse than crafting." His phone buzzed. Lysa: You are just like Dad with women. Total brick. That one changed the room. Meno stayed bent over the pillow for a few seconds too long. His father had left five years ago, when Meno was twenty-two. The ending had been quiet in the worst way: no dramatic screaming match, no villain speech, nothing satisfying enough to explode.

He stayed until the kids were grown, then divorced their mother and left like a man clocking out of a shift he had already finished in his head. Meno had not spoken to him since. He was nothing like his father. This was different. Ladders to push, streams to keep alive, family to help, and a life that only made sense when he was moving toward a number. Relationship stuff was for people with spare inputs. Meno was already over capacity.

The phone felt heavier, but Meno called Aureliana back before he could route himself into cowardice. This time she picked up and said nothing. He stayed half on the bed, forehead against the pillow, and spoke into the silence.

"Look. I won't boost you. That's lame. You also don't need it." He swallowed, already hating every word and still knowing he had to keep going.

"You're probably good. And I don't want to ruin Veyrath for you, or have people say the rich girl got carried. I know you're not streaming, but if I carry you, it sticks. That's not what you want either." Silence. Chat slowed, then sped up again, but he barely looked.

"Um. Are you there?" Nothing. Meno closed his eyes harder.

"Look, I just want you to show what you're capable of on your own. I think that would be best for you. I'm getting rank one regardless, so you can't win even if you're good, but… okay, that came out wrong." He dragged a hand over his face.

"What I'm trying to say is, you should get better on your own. Not because you're bad. I mean, maybe you're bad, I don't know. Boosting won't last. It makes you worse, and then you won't keep up when things get ugly." He paused, heard no click, and kept falling down the stairs he had built.

"I also think you should play solo sometimes. Playing ranged DPS with a healer and tank is too easy. You don't learn much when someone else eats all the mistakes." He winced, but kept going.

"It would be great if we could compete. Even if you can't keep up, people would respect that you tried. Maybe you should stream too, just to prove you earned it. I know you don't need the money, but I know you care." His throat tightened in the wrong place.

"You have that fire. That look in your eyes. I saw it. So don't sell yourself short. Money is good for steaks, obviously, but it won't make you happy if you just buy everything in Veyrath. I know you're rich and beautiful, but…" Meno kept talking because stopping now would kill him.

"The best feeling is when you push yourself and keep going after it already seems impossible. That's when the game stops lying to you." Meno closed his eyes.

"You either win, or you fail so badly it teaches you something. And you'd be good at that. You're sharp. You hate losing. You care more than you pretend. So yeah. Try it, maybe. Push yourself a little. I think you can do it." Silence. Meno headbutted the pillow again, softer this time because the speech had already done enough damage. The line stayed quiet.

"Are you there?"

"Text me the address," Aureliana said, too quickly, and hung up. Meno exhaled so hard his whole body loosened against the bed. The phone buzzed again. Lysa: That was physically painful. Congratulations. Mom is getting the clip. She'll love it. Meno looked from the message to chat, then to the pillow.

"I'm ending stream before my family pulls another boss." Chat disagreed in every possible direction.