A death wish
The Outer District's main square was a chaotic mess of movement—scavengers haggling with traders, hunters showing off fresh kills, and people just trying to survive. Dion wove through the crowds, heading toward the building at the far end of the square.
A thick, reinforced stone structure loomed ahead, its metal doors marked with the sigil of RidgeFort's Mission Hall—the place where the awakened and high-ranked hunters accepted contracts in exchange for Nyx Crystals or points.
For most, it was the fastest way to earn. The stronger you were, the better the missions, and the greater the rewards.
For Dion, it had always been a dead end.
He stepped inside, the scent of ink, old parchment, and sweat thick in the air. The hall was wide and dimly lit, with walls lined with massive boards displaying mission listings. Some were written on thin, glowing sheets—high-risk, high-reward jobs. Others were scribbled on plain paper, low-tier work that barely paid.
A crowd of hunters and mercenaries stood clustered around the boards, discussing their options. Some were clad in light armor, others in robes, and a few bore enchanted weapons humming with dormant NyxFlow. These were the ones with power. The ones who had a future.
Dion ignored them and walked toward the front counter.
An older man sat behind it, scribbling something down in a thick ledger. Harlan. Bald, broad-shouldered, and with a permanent scowl etched into his face, he had been running the counter for years.
Dion stopped in front of him, waiting.
Harlan didn't even look up. "No."
Dion exhaled. "I didn't say anything yet."
Harlan finally raised his gaze, sighing. "You don't have to. You come here every week asking for a mission, and every week I tell you the same thing."
"I'm strong enough."
"You're Hollowborn," Harlan said flatly. "Go kill some rats or something."
Dion clenched his teeth. "I kill Dreadspawns."
A scoff. "Sure. And next, you'll tell me you slayed a Dreadlord."
Dion remained silent.
Harlan rubbed his temples. "Look, kid. I don't doubt you've survived some fights, but that's different from completing contracts. These jobs aren't charity."
"Then test me," Dion said.
The hall had fallen quieter. Nearby hunters had turned their attention toward the conversation. Some with curiosity, others with amusement.
A woman leaned against the counter beside Dion, flipping a Nyx Crystal between her fingers. "You still trying, kid?"
Dion didn't answer.
The woman smirked. She was tall, dark-haired, her coat lined with reinforced plates—someone who had clearly done well for herself. She studied him for a moment before tilting her head toward Harlan. "Maybe you should let him take one. If he dies, problem solved."
Harlan shot her a look. "You volunteering to take responsibility?"
She raised her hands. "Hey, just saying. Either he proves himself or he stops wasting your time."
Dion's patience thinned.
Hollowborn. Unawakened. Weak. It was always the same.
What they didn't understand—what no one ever really talked about—was Oracle Integration.
It was common knowledge that when you killed an abomination, your Oracle Integration increased. Even killing another human caused it to rise. But most Hollowborn never reached past 50% before awakening.
Dion was at 64%.
And it wasn't because he had been sitting around.
People assumed being Hollowborn meant you were at the bottom. And they weren't wrong. But even within the same rank, integration separated the weak from the strong. A Hollowborn with 25% integration was nothing compared to one at 50%. Although small the difference is still noticeable.
And no one—no one—had ever seen a Hollowborn reach as high as Dion.
But they didn't know that.
And no one cared.
Harlan sighed, flipping through his ledger. "Look, if you want something, there's a courier job. No combat, just—"
"I'm not a damn errand boy," Dion snapped.
The hunters around them chuckled.
Harlan leaned forward, expression darkening. "Then get stronger."
Dion clenched his fists, the frustration rising in his chest.
"I'll take a Rank F mission."
Harlan leaned back, unimpressed. "Why? You got a death wish?"
Dion met his gaze, unflinching. "I don't die easy."
The woman beside him raised an eyebrow. "Cocky for a Hollowborn."
Harlan was silent for a moment. Then he pushed himself up, rolling his shoulders. "Fine."
Dion blinked.
The older man reached under the counter, pulling out a small parchment slip. "One mission. You fail, you don't come back."
Dion took the paper, glancing over it.
---
[Mission: Abomination Cull]
Rank: F
Target: Grimling Nest
Location: South Outskirts
Objective: Eliminate 10 Grimlings
Reward: 15 Points + Possible Nyx Crystals
---
A Grimling Nest. Ten kills.
It wasn't impossible, but it was risky. He had taken on lone Grimlings before, but a full nest? He'd have to be careful.
Dion nodded. "I'll do it."
Harlan grunted. "Get it signed by a witness."
Dion frowned. "What?"
The woman beside him grinned. "Someone's gotta confirm you don't cheat. And that you don't die."
Dion's gaze flickered over her. "You volunteering?"
She smirked. "Nah. But I'll watch."
Dion studied her for a moment before pocketing the mission slip.
Fine. If that was what it took.
Without another word, he turned and walked out of the hall.
Behind him, the woman chuckled. "This should be fun."
"The kid will just getting him self killed, nothing more." Harlan shake his head.