Upgrade

Fin adjusted his headset and leaned forward, staring at the dimly lit market stalls in Ram Online's Underground Market. Jillian stood across from him, arms crossed, inspecting his equipment with barely concealed disappointment.

"Your gear is trash," she finally said, her voice dripping with disapproval. "You wouldn't last two seconds against level 90s."

Fin winced. He had worn this set for years—it was his companion, his identity in the game. Now, in the current meta, it was nothing more than scrap metal. He knew she was right, but it still stung.

"Do you have anything to offer? I'll at least give you a fighting chance," she added.

Fin hesitated before sighing. "I don't have much gold, and my inventory isn't exactly brimming with rare loot."

Jillian narrowed her eyes. "Then what's your plan? Beg for scraps?" She smirked, but there was a sharpness to her tone.

"PvP betting," Fin said simply.

Jillian blinked. "You want to gamble? That's your plan?"

"High-risk, high-reward." Fin crossed his arms. "I know I'm behind, but I still have my game sense. If I can win, I can make enough to buy proper gear."

Jillian exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "I thought you needed a hand, not my whole damn arm."

Despite her words, she didn't refuse outright. She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "You're serious about this? You realize these fights aren't fair? The ones running these rings? They're not just random PvPers—these are people who live off high-stakes gambling. Lose once, and you're broke. Lose twice, and you might get blacklisted."

"I don't intend to lose," Fin replied.

Jillian stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged. "Fine. You need money, you need gear, and you need an edge. I can help with one of those things. Follow me."

A Treasure Trove

Jillian led him deeper into the Underground Market, weaving through the stalls until they reached a back alleyway guarded by two high-level players. She exchanged a few words with them before stepping inside a dimly lit room.

Fin's breath hitched.

The room was filled with loot—rows upon rows of weapons, armor, enchanted trinkets. The sheer amount of gear here was more than Fin had ever seen in one place.

Jillian gestured lazily. "Pick whatever you want."

Fin hesitated. "Are you serious?"

She rolled her eyes. "I said common to semi-rare, don't get greedy. I'm not handing you legendary weapons."

He quickly scanned the inventory, searching for the best possible upgrades. His hands hovered over different pieces, weighing his options. His armor had always prioritized speed over defense, but he needed more balance now. After a few minutes, he settled on a reinforced chestplate, enchanted gloves for attack speed, and a pair of lightweight boots for better mobility.

For weapons, he found an improved longsword—nothing legendary, but leagues ahead of his old one.

Equipping his new gear, he flexed his fingers, feeling the difference in weight and responsiveness. It wasn't perfect, but it was something.

"You're half-decent now," Jillian commented, watching him test his movements. "But I'll be real with you—your damage is lacking. Against demi-humans and tanks? You'll barely scratch them. The meta right now heavily favors burst damage, armor penetration, or sustain. You have none of those."

Fin clenched his jaw. He had new gear, but he was still at a disadvantage. "So what do you suggest?"

Jillian folded her arms. "I can help with basic upgrades, but I'm not giving you anything rare. You haven't earned that yet."

He exhaled, thinking. "Then I need an edge. Some way to make up for the gap."

Jillian tapped her fingers against her arm, then smirked. "There is one thing that might give you a chance."

Fin raised an eyebrow. "What?"

She studied him for a moment before speaking. "Your movement is still sharp. You might be a bit rusty, and your reflexes aren't what they used to be, but your game sense is intact. The way you move—it's different from most Swordsmen."

Fin frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jillian took a step forward, looking directly into his eyes. "You're a Swordsman, but you move like an Assassin. You need to lean into that. You need to stop thinking like a traditional melee fighter and start thinking like a rogue."

"And how do I do that?"

Her smirk widened.

"Throw away your sword."

Fin's breath caught in his throat. "You can't be serious."

Jillian crossed her arms. "You want an edge? You need to adapt. If you fight like every other Swordsman, you'll lose like every other outdated player. But if you change how you play—make them fight your game—you might just stand a chance."

Fin looked down at his newly equipped weapon, gripping the hilt tightly. It felt foreign in his hand now. He had played this game for years as a Swordsman. His identity in Ram Online had always revolved around his sword.

And yet…

He thought back to his last fight, how his footwork had saved him more times than his strikes. He thought about how his body reacted instinctively, dodging, weaving, closing gaps in ways that most Swordsmen didn't.

Maybe Jillian was right.

Maybe he had been playing the wrong way all along.

Slowly, he loosened his grip on the sword.

Then, he let it drop.

Jillian's grin widened. "Good. Now, let's make you dangerous."

Fin stood in the training room, arms crossed, staring at the tank player in front of him. Jillian had stripped him of his sword, leaving him completely unarmed. He felt ridiculous.

"This is stupid," Fin muttered. "I already have barely any damage as is, and now you're making me fight with nothing?"

Jillian rolled her eyes. "Just do it."

The tank in front of him was massive, clad in full plate armor with a shield that looked as big as Kuma himself. His opponent barely moved, standing firm like a fortress. Kuma sighed and dashed forward, throwing a punch. His fist bounced off the armor like a pebble hitting a boulder.

The tank retaliated, swinging his hammer. Kuma barely dodged it, rolling to the side just in time. The fight dragged on for two minutes—Kuma evading, the tank swinging, neither dealing a decisive blow. Eventually, the tank's patience wore thin, and he landed a clean hit that drained the last of Kuma's health.

Fin respawned back in the training area, rubbing the back of his head. "So what was the point of that? I lost."

Jillian let out an exasperated sigh. "I can't believe you were a former legend. I'm actually considering abandoning you now. Did you at least notice anything?"

Fin thought back to the fight. He had lasted far longer than expected. "I guess… dodging was easier?"

Jillian snapped her fingers. "Exactly! Without that massive sword weighing you down, you were moving faster, reacting quicker. You could keep up with a tank for two minutes without even landing a hit. Imagine if you actually had a plan."

"I see," Fin admitted, rubbing his chin. "But dodging alone won't win me fights. I need a way to deal damage."

Jillian smirked and reached into her inventory. "Use this, then."

She tossed a steel-plated, green leather glove toward Kuma. He caught it, inspecting the strange item. "What is this? You want me to punch people to death now? I just had a sword earlier, and now you're making me a boxer?"

Jillian snorted. "Dummy. It's a weapon made from a poison frog."

Something clicked in Kuma's head. Poison. Damage over time.

His eyes widened as the strategy finally made sense. Without the heavy sword, he could maximize his agility, dodging attacks with near-perfect precision. And with poison-based attacks, he wouldn't need raw power to break through tanky opponents—he only had to land a few glancing hits and wait for the poison to do its work. Against high-defense players, this would be his only shot.

"You finally get it," Jillian said, crossing her arms. "I was seriously starting to believe it was time for you to retire."

Kuma's grin returned. "Not yet. So, what's the plan?"

A New Fighting Style

Jillian laid it out for him. Kuma would still fight as a swordsman against most players—his usual aggressive playstyle would work against squishier opponents. But when facing ranker Tanks or Beastmen, players whose defenses were absurdly high, he would switch to the Poison Fighting Gloves.

"Your job in those fights isn't to attack nonstop," Jillian explained. "It's to dodge every single attack until the poison eats them away. You won't be dealing damage instantly, but they'll be dying slowly while you avoid their swings. Then, when they're weak enough, you finish them off."

Fin exhaled. "So this all hinges on my ability to dodge."

Jillian grinned. "That's why you're gonna train till you drop."

And so the brutal training began.

Fin alternated between two fighting styles. Some days, he fought with his sword to keep his old skills sharp. On most days, he trained exclusively with the Poison Fighting Gloves. He had to get used to fighting without relying on raw power, learning how to read opponents, anticipate their attacks, and survive without taking a single hit.

Jillian and her team pushed him to his limits. Every night, they set up PvP matches for him, forcing him to adapt. Kuma had never fought this way before—it was exhausting, mentally and physically. But with each session, he improved. His reaction speed sharpened. His movements became more fluid. By the end of the week, he was dodging strikes like a phantom, striking at just the right moments to apply the poison before retreating.

Jillian, ever the opportunist, was already thinking ahead. She had placed bets on Kuma's fights during training, making quick money off his gradual improvement. But the real payday would be at the tournament.

The Underground Betting Center

The morning of the tournament arrived. Jillian led Kuma through the back alleys of Ram Online's capital city, eventually stopping in front of a massive, heavily guarded warehouse. Inside, the underground betting center was a chaotic mess of shouting players, flickering neon signs, and intense PvP duels happening in private rooms.

Kuma's eyes scanned the room. There were fighters of all kinds—

A towering Beastman Berserker, his massive axe resting against his shoulder, cracking his knuckles in anticipation of a fight.

An Elf Arcane Sniper, her sleek black armor making her look more like an assassin than a mage.

A Dwarven Shieldmaster, who stood as still as a statue, his golden-plated shield reflecting the dim light of the room.

A Demon Warlock, his crimson robe lined with glyphs, dark energy swirling around him as he muttered incantations.

A Human Duelist, dual-wielding rapiers, lazily flipping a gold coin between his fingers.

These weren't just normal players. They were killers—specialists who thrived in high-stakes battles.

Jillian nudged him. "So? Feel intimidated yet?"

Fin smirked. "Nope."

"Good." She patted his back. "Because if you lose, I'll kill you IRL."

Fin laughed, shaking his head. But deep inside, he knew—this wasn't just another game anymore. It was a battlefield where only the smartest and most skilled would survive.

And he had no plans on being left behind.