Testing the Blood

How many seconds does a starving predator waste before it decides a man in boiled leather is worth the calories?

Brono Kraznik had his answer before the mortar dust finished falling from the aqueduct. Two seconds. Just long enough for the beast's blind, chitin-plated skull to click sideways and register the seven men freezing on the flagstones below.

"Scatter back to the pylons!" Brono shouted, his boots sliding against wet slate as he drew his notched broadsword. "Kostya, don't face it—clear the line!"

The Dreg-Ward recruits did not need a second order. For eight copper coins a week and watered broth, none of them possessed an appetite for glory. Boots pounded in ragged retreat toward the rusted border markers. Kostya hesitated for a single heartbeat, his scarred jaw tight, before Brono shoved him hard toward the rear.

"Go! Keep the men from bolting past the perimeter!"

The anomaly did not chase the fleeing guards. Its pale, quad-jointed limbs bunched beneath an armored thorax, and then it launched. It cleared forty feet of open air with a sickening hiss, claws gouging twin trenches into the ancient stone right where Kostya had stood.

High above, perched atop the cracked cornice of a collapsed imperial storehouse, a man sat with his booted legs dangling over the drop.

Yevzkov.

The old hound had refused Brono’s offer at the border tavern yesterday, yet here he was, hunched in grease-stained leathers, calmly chewing bitter-root. A long hunting bow rested across his knees, untouched. He spat a dark stream of juice down into the alley, watching Brono with the flat indifference of a butcher weighing a pig.

The bastard was not here to reinforce the patrol. He was running a live-fire test.

The beast whipped around, scythe-spurs clicking against stone. In the active grid of Sector 04, faint blue text flickered across the creature's armored crest:

[Scavenger Chitin-Crawler — Level 3]

[Threat Tier: Lethal (Unranked Mortal)]

[Vitality: 180/180]

[Armor Class: Hardened Carapace]

Brono’s own interface hovered at the periphery of his sight, pale and stark:

[Name: Brono Kraznik]

[Rank: Mortal Recruit]

[Vitality: 100/100 | Stamina: 95/95 | Essence: 0/0]

A Level 3 anomaly against an unranked mortal with zero essence. A direct strike from those black fore-scythes would cleave his ribs like dry birch.

The crawler hissed, its ribbed throat inflating before it surged forward in a low, scuttling blur.

Brono did not swing. He sprinted left, ducking beneath the shadow of a decaying support arch that braced the lower tier of the aqueduct. The beast pivoted instantly, limbs clattering in a frenzied burst of speed as it closed the distance.

Brono knew imperial masonry. He had spent three years surveying border outposts before taking this command, and he knew how old mortar rotted.

The central keystone of the archway was shot through with dark frost-cracks. A heavy iron bracket hung loose from the left pillar, held by nothing more than rusted lime and calcified dirt. Two tons of dressed granite balanced on an anchor point no thicker than a man’s wrist.

The crawler lunged, scythes raised to decapitate him.

Brono slid feet-first across the wet grit, dropping under the sweeping arc of the left blade. The wind of its passage tore cold across his neck. In the same sliding motion, he dropped his broadsword, seized Kostya’s reinforced spear from the flagstones where the vanguard had dropped it, and drove the steel head upward with all the weight of his shoulders.

The spear struck the fractured stress point directly behind the iron bracket.

[Equipment Modification Active: +6 Durability, +2% Armor Piercing]

[Kinetic Impact Transferred: Structural Failure Triggered]

The nail repair held. The spear shaft flexed but did not splinter. The cold chisel edge bit deep into the rotted seam, shattering the keystone's final grip.

A sound like a thunderclap ripped through the alley.

The entire arch collapsed in a roaring avalanche of granite blocks. Brono rolled violently to the right, stone shards lacerating his cheek as the ceiling gave way.

The crawler shrieked, a high, metallic shriek that was cut short by the wet crunch of two tons of imperial stone slamming directly onto its thorax.

Dust boiled through the narrow passage.

Under the rubble, the beast's segmented hindquarters spasmed violently, trapped beneath a cracked granite lintel. Its carapace was pulverized, pale hemolymph bubbling through the fissures in its broken plates.

Brono pushed himself up from the gravel, his chest heaving, his left forearm scraped raw. He retrieved his notched broadsword, stepped onto the fallen masonry, and drove the point straight through the monster's unarmored eye socket into the soft matter beneath.

The thrashing stopped.

A sharp, electric chime rang behind his eyes, and a bright blue banner unfurled across his vision:

[Target Eliminated: Scavenger Chitin-Crawler (Level 3)]

[Combat Victory Confirmed]

[Essence Harvested: +14 Units]

[Grid Record Updated: First Anomaly Kill]

[Status Promotion: Mortal Recruit -> Level 1 Frontier Grunt]

[Attribute Points Available: +2]

[Stamina Expended: 38/95 | Current Stamina: 57/95]

[Essence Pool Initialized: 14/50]

A sudden surge of warmth rushed through Brono’s veins, washing away the ache in his shoulders and steadying his trembling hands. The dead grid was no longer just a backdrop; it had recognized him.

A soft thud landed behind him.

Yevzkov dropped down from the high cornice, landing without a sound on the rubble. He wiped a smear of bitter juice from his chin with the back of a scarred hand, his mismatched eyes scanning the collapsed arch and the crushed monster.

"Messy," Yevzkov said, his voice like gravel grinding in a bucket. "Wasted good stone. But you didn't piss your trousers, and you used the ground."

Brono turned, keeping the bloodied broadsword low at his side. "You were watching the whole time."

"Of course I was," Yevzkov replied, kicking a piece of crushed carapace with the toe of his boot. "I wanted to see if the new captain was worth burying, or if I’d just have to loot your boots and walk home."

He looked up, his gaze locking onto the faint blue glow still fading from Brono's eyes.

"Congratulations, Grunt," the old scout added, a thin, humorless grin touching his scarred lips. "You have essence now. Which means the ruins can finally smell you."