Comprehension Skills (2)

Not lost—scattered.

That was the difference between trying and surviving when it came to dealing with an enraged werewolf boss.

Montico wasn't just strong—he was fast. Dawei couldn't see him clearly, only sense a shadow that moved like a nightmare. Werewolves were agile, quick-attack monsters. Ordinary players couldn't even track their movement, let alone fight them.

And that's why Dawei didn't aim.

He scattered the Corruption Elixir.

He hurled it like a desperate fisherman casting a wide net—just hoping to catch a fin in the splash.

In that split second, as the potion left his hand, a strange thought hit him.

This game… is a scam.

It didn't hit him because he was about to die. It hit because of something deeper: the backpack space.

In any other MMO, even a free-to-play gacha trap, you started with a few inventory slots. Maybe a starter potion, a dagger, a healing herb. But in Mercenary World?

One. Grid. Total.

It was like being born with a single pants pocket.

"No lime powder, no backup smoke bomb, not even a spare potato," Dawei thought bitterly. "Just one slot. And I used it to carry the apocalypse."

ROAR.

The werewolf shrieked—a scream laced with agony.

Dawei was flung like a ragdoll, slamming into the dirt. His bones screamed. His soul did, too.

He lifted his head groggily and saw Montico snarling, half-blind, swiping at the air. A haze of blue smoke curled around the clearing, some of it bubbling at his feet, and Dawei flinched—the potion had landed... but most of it hit the ground.

Only a splash tagged Montico directly.

System Prompt:You are badly injured. Movement speed reduced.

"Of course," Dawei muttered as he limped backward. "Even my best throw in ten years and I still miss."

Montico's bloodied snout lifted, nostrils twitching.

The prince-turned-werewolf didn't need eyes. With hearing and smell, he could still fight like a champ—and Dawei had just become his primary scent of the week.

Another gust. Another blur. Another slam.

Pain exploded through Dawei's body, his right shoulder nearly torn out of its socket.

The realism of Mercenary World was its blessing and its curse.

Now, it was just a curse.

Back in his real-world basement, Dawei tore off the headset, collapsed onto his bed, and stared at the ceiling.

For a full minute, he lay there in silence.

Then whispered:

"…She's dead, isn't she?"

"She" being the persona. His character. The one he'd gambled everything on. It wasn't just a role—it was his shot.

He had been prepared to fail. Truly. He'd even joked about it.

But now that it had happened?

It hit different.

The rage was one thing. The regret another. But what crushed him most was the question:

"Did I lose for nothing?"

He sat up slowly.

"No. I need to know. Did Montico die? Did I at least take him down with me?"

Even if the mission failed—maybe he dropped loot. Maybe he dropped something worth selling. At least enough to buy a ticket home, metaphorically and literally.

Dawei slipped the headset back on and braced for the worst.

And then… the screen loaded.

He was back in the game.

And he wasn't dead.

System Prompt:You have slain [Werewolf Montico]! Experience gained. World Reputation increased.

His eyes widened.

System Prompt:[Quest Failed: Kill the Three-Headed Dragon]Reason: Target NPC Montico killed.

System Prompt:You have acquired [Curse of the Werewolf].

System Prompt:Your reputation with the [Beast Faction] has become: Dreaded.

System Prompt:Your character attributes have changed. Please review your status panel.

System Prompt:...

The screen was flooded with prompts—one after another, a stream of cascading changes.

Dawei sat frozen.

His first reaction wasn't relief.

It was pure, unfiltered confusion.

He had killed Montico. The mission was marked as failed. He wasn't dead. He had a curse. His reputation had nosedived with an entire faction.

What the hell just happened?

He blinked, staring at the notifications. His hands hovered over the controls, unsure what to check first.

It was like being told you won a million dollars and also caused an international incident—at the same time.

"I killed Montico," Dawei muttered. "That's confirmed."

"But I didn't die."

"And the god-tier mission… failed?"

That hurt. More than he expected.

Because somewhere along the way, he'd started believing.

He sat there, in the in-game night, eyes locked on the now-silent clearing where Montico once stood.

The charred ruins of the hut were still smoldering in the darkness.

No werewolf. No loot. No cutscene. Just… a quiet emptiness.

And Dawei, broken but alive.

"Goddess of Luck…" he whispered. "You really are a piece of work."