Chapter 3 — Rust In The Veins

The pit was unusually silent.

Even the wind felt still—like the world itself was waiting.

Veila was gone. Taken in the night. Not killed—removed. Plucked like a coin from mud.

Kairon sat alone at the edge of the trench, hands wrapped around a cracked steel flask filled with warm water and bitter saltroot. He hadn't slept. He hadn't needed to.

Not after what he saw.

The Coven Recruiter had watched him.

Not a slaver. Not a guard. A soldier of the Coven of Flesh and Steel—an elite war sect known for crafting cybernetic monstrosities and turning humans into weapons. He wore red under black, eyes hidden by chrome lenses. His body hissed as he walked. Mechanical veins pulsed across his neck.

No words had been spoken.

Only a nod.

Then Veila was gone.

Taken to their labs. For augmentation? Conversion?

Worse?

Kairon didn't know.

But she'd been a piece.

And he'd just lost her.

Unacceptable.

The pickaxe hit the salt wall harder than usual that day.

His leg throbbed. His hands blistered. The guards laughed at his limp.

Let them.

Let them mock.

He would grind.

Endurance – Lv.0 → 32%

Pain Tolerance – Lv.3 (9%)

Observation – Lv.1 (68%)

Tactical Instinct – Lv.1 (44%)

Assassination – Lv.1 (24%)

Just a little more.

Night fell.

The stars burned pale.

The slave pit quieted.

And Kairon moved.

He crawled toward the far corner of the trench, behind the old forge remains where heat sensors were weakest. No one noticed. No one dared stop him.

He unwrapped a torn cloth from his waist—inside it, the shiv he had claimed from the boy he killed.

Still bloodstained.

Still useful.

And beside it—his real prize.

A coil-plug, stolen from a dead guard's boot two days ago. No one had seen. No one had searched him.

That was their mistake.

He jammed the coil into his collar's lower socket, just enough to short the feedback loop for a few seconds.

Enough time.

He gripped the shiv tight, scanned the pit.

There—by the water barrel.

A slave. Alone. Half-asleep.

Not innocent. None of them were.

Just next.

He moved fast.

One slice—jugular.

Blood sprayed across the sand.

Assassination – Lv.1 → 31%

Observation – Lv.1 → 70%

Tactical Instinct – Lv.1 → 47%

The pain came next.

The collar re-engaged, shocking him through the spine.

He spasmed.

But he held onto consciousness.

Because this time…

[Core Survival Skill Threshold Reached]

New Trait Unlocked: Adaptive Grind (Passive)

— TRAIT: Adaptive Grind —

Your body learns faster when under pressure.

Skill XP gains increased by +15% during combat or near-death states.

Growth accelerates when malnourished, wounded, or hunted.

His breathing slowed.

His fingers curled around the bloody shiv.

Now, the story began.

❖

Next Morning.

"Up, scum! You breathe, you dig!"

They were dragged into formation. Numbers had thinned. Disease, exhaustion, punishment—who cared?

The Salt took all eventually.

But today was different.

Today, the Reaper Division arrived.

A convoy of black transports rolled into the trench. Sleek. Metallic. Marked with the triple-ring insignia of the Techno-Covenant's Reaper Corps.

Not slavers.

Harvesters.

Behind them came the Augur Priest—a woman in crimson robes woven from chainlink and circuitry. Her eyes glowed blue. Her fingers floated above the air, crackling with live code.

She spoke without moving her mouth.

Her voice crawled through their minds like spiders.

"We have detected irregular variance in cognitive profiles. One among you resists indoctrination. We require testing. One survivor. No refusals."

The guards cleared space in the trench. A circle of black dust. Collars locked into stun mode.

From the transport emerged a figure.

Metal skin. No face. Long arms ending in hooked blades.

A Servo-Knight.

Combat Level: Rank 2

Category: Sub-Enhanced

Execution Rate: 92%

Kairon stepped forward.

"You want a test?" he growled, voice low.

"Then I'll show you results."

The guards chuckled. One even laughed.

Until Kairon snapped a shovel handle in two and stabbed it through the man's throat.

Assassination – Lv.1 → 40%

Tactical Instinct – Lv.1 → 51%

The guards froze.

The Servo-Knight turned.

The fight began.

It wasn't a fight.

It was a hunt.

Kairon didn't stand and trade. He danced.

He limped on his ruined leg, baiting feints. He rolled beneath strikes. He let the Servo bury its claw in a dead man's ribcage, then slammed his bone stake into its sensor port.

Sparks flew.

He bled. He burned. He grinned.

The panel flickered.

Pain Tolerance – Lv.3 (22%)

Endurance – Lv.0 → 39%

Observation – Lv.1 → 73%

Adaptive Grind – Active: +15% XP

He couldn't win straight.

But he could survive.

And that was enough.

After ten minutes of blood, scrap, and screams—the Servo finally stalled.

Kairon lay in a pool of rust and blood, panting, laughing.

The Augur stepped forward.

Her mindvoice coiled again:

"You are... anomalous."

He coughed. "I get that a lot."

"We requisition this subject. For ascension."

"No," Kairon growled.

Silence.

Even the guards froze.

"You refuse a higher purpose?"

"I have my own."

"You cannot survive without us."

His eyes burned.

"I will survive despite you."

The Augur studied him.

Then, shockingly—

She laughed.

Once. Cold. Mechanical.

Then turned and walked away.

"Very well. Let the pit burn. He will rise or rot. Either path serves us."

That night, Kairon was not alone.

Slaves approached him—not with hope. With fear.

Whispers spread.

The cripple who fought a machine.

The man who defied the Coven and lived.

Some begged to follow him. Others offered food. Protection. Secrets.

He accepted none of it.

Only information.

But in the shadows, a new thought began to form.

If he could turn a pit of dying slaves into a network of assets...

If he could build a foundation of fear and skill...

If he could grind from mud and blood into legend—

Then nothing would ever cage him again.

He was done surviving.

Now, he would begin to conquer.