Shadows of the Past

The following morning was unnervingly peaceful. The sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across Jarred's apartment, but the light did little to dispel the darkness that clung to him. The weight of the previous day's events hung over him like a storm cloud, and despite the system's calm influence, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had settled in his gut.

He had killed people—not monsters, but actual human beings. The realization was like a stone in his chest, heavy and unyielding. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw their faces—the mercenaries who had tried to kill them, the ones he had killed in self-defense. The memory of their lifeless bodies, the blood on his hands, was seared into his mind.

Jarred tried to focus on the practical things, the little rituals of his morning routine—making coffee, tidying up his small apartment, checking the notifications on his phone—but nothing could distract him from the gnawing sense of unease. The system had pushed him into this, forced him to act, and now he was left to deal with the consequences.

As he sipped his coffee, the bitter taste doing little to wake him from his daze, his phone buzzed with a message. It was from Shaine.

Shaine: Are you okay?

He stared at the screen for a long moment, unsure how to respond. How could he put into words what he was feeling? How could he explain the guilt, the confusion, the fear that had taken root inside him?

Finally, he typed out a simple response:

Jarred: I'm fine.

It was a lie, but he didn't know what else to say. The truth was too complicated, too raw. He wasn't sure if he could even admit it to himself, let alone to someone else.

A few minutes later, another message came through.

Shaine: If you need to talk, I'm here.

The sincerity in her words tugged at something deep inside him, but he wasn't ready to open up, not yet. He needed time to process everything, to figure out what it all meant. So he replied with another short message:

Jarred: Thanks. I'll be okay.

He put down his phone and stared out the window, watching as the city below him came to life. People were going about their day, unaware of the turmoil that had engulfed his world. It felt surreal, as if he were caught between two realities—the ordinary life he had once known, and the dark, dangerous world that the system had thrust him into.

The doorbell rang, jolting him out of his thoughts. He wasn't expecting anyone, and a spike of anxiety shot through him as he went to answer it. His hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment, his mind racing with possibilities. Was it someone from the association? Had they come to question him about the dungeon incident? Or worse, had they discovered the truth about what had happened?

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and opened the door.

To his surprise, it was Mike, looking as serious and composed as ever. There was a brief moment of silence as they regarded each other, neither quite sure what to say. It was Mike who broke the tension, his voice steady but tinged with concern.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

Jarred nodded and stepped aside, allowing Mike to enter. They settled in the small living room, the air between them heavy with unspoken words.

Mike leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I wanted to check on you," he said finally. "After everything that happened… I know it wasn't easy."

Jarred swallowed, his throat dry. "It wasn't," he admitted. "But I'm handling it."

Mike looked up, his eyes searching Jarred's face. "You don't have to handle it alone, you know. What you did back there… it was incredible, but it was also a lot to take in. I've been doing this a long time, and I've seen what it can do to people."

Jarred felt a pang of guilt. Mike had taken the blame for what happened in the dungeon, had shielded him from the scrutiny of the association. He owed him more than he could ever repay, but he also knew that he couldn't tell him everything—not about the system, not about the special quest.

"I appreciate that," Jarred said quietly. "But I'm okay. Really. It's just… a lot to process."

Mike nodded slowly, as if he understood. "If you ever need to talk, or if you need help… with anything, you can count on me. We're in this together, Jarred. Don't forget that."

There was a weight to his words, a sense of camaraderie that Jarred hadn't felt in a long time. It was comforting, but it also made him feel even more isolated. How could he explain the things that haunted him when they were beyond anything Mike could imagine?

"I won't forget," Jarred promised, though the words felt hollow in his mouth.

They talked for a while longer, their conversation drifting to safer topics—recent hunts, upcoming missions, the usual chatter of hunters. But underneath it all, there was a tension, an unspoken understanding that things had changed between them. The events of the dungeon had created a rift, one that neither of them knew how to bridge.

When Mike finally left, the apartment felt emptier than before. Jarred stood by the door for a moment, staring at the spot where his friend had just been, and then turned back to the window, his mind racing.

The system had changed everything. It had given him power, yes, but it had also taken something from him—his sense of control, his freedom to choose his own path. And now, it had made him a killer.

He didn't know how to reconcile that with who he used to be, with the man he still wanted to be. But he knew one thing for sure: he couldn't keep this up forever. Something had to give, and he wasn't sure what it would be.

Later that Day

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Jarred tried to keep himself busy, to push the dark thoughts to the back of his mind, but it was a losing battle. Every time he paused, every time he allowed himself to think, the memories came flooding back.

By evening, he was exhausted—not physically, but mentally and emotionally. The weight of it all was crushing him, and he didn't know how much longer he could hold out.

As the sun set and the shadows lengthened, he found himself pacing the small space of his apartment, his thoughts spiraling. He needed to do something, anything, to break the cycle. But what?

The answer came in the form of a notification—a new quest from the system.

Quest: Investigate the Mercenary Guild

Objective: Uncover the truth behind the mercenaries' attack in the D-rank dungeon.

Reward: Increased influence and reputation.

Failure Condition: Unknown

Jarred stared at the screen, his heart pounding. The system was pushing him again, driving him towards something he didn't fully understand. But this time, it wasn't just about survival—it was about uncovering the truth.

Why had the mercenaries attacked them? What had driven them to such extremes? And who, or what, was behind it all?

There was no denying the pull of the quest, the sense of urgency that gripped him. This wasn't just about the system anymore—it was about finding answers, about taking control of his own destiny.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Jarred grabbed his gear and prepared to leave. He didn't know what he would find, but he knew he couldn't ignore this. Not anymore.

As he stepped out into the night, the cool air brushing against his skin, he felt a strange sense of calm settle over him. The fear, the guilt, the confusion—they were still there, but they were muted, overshadowed by the drive to move forward.

He wasn't sure where this path would lead, but he knew one thing: he wouldn't stop until he found the truth.

And maybe, just maybe, he would find a way to make peace with the man he had become.