chapter 29 new room
Fighter stepped into his new quarters, the door sliding shut behind him with a heavy, metallic thud. He stood still for a moment, taking it in. It was a massive room by current standards—outfitted with a plush bed, a sturdy desk, a tall wardrobe, and even a private stove.
"It's... luxurious," Fighter whispered. "No sharing with family, no cramped bunks with roommates. It's almost lonely." He ran a hand over the desk. "The treatment of an SSA-class student really is in a different league."
In a world ravaged by Horror infestations, dimensional [Fractures], and the lingering chill of nuclear winter, arable land was a disappearing treasure. For someone from a modest middle-class background, a room of this size wasn't just a living space; it was a fortress of privilege.
[A poor man is satisfied with little indeed. Ok.] Rechal's voice rang in his mind, dripping with its usual dry sarcasm.
"Let me be happy for a second, Rechal," Fighter muttered. He walked toward the far wall. "Oh, a window. Let's see the world."
He pushed the window open, but the view offered little comfort. The street below was a ghost town, and the sky above was bruised a deep, bleeding red. Night was falling fast. Somewhere else in this silent wing, Kaizer was settling into a similar room. For now, they were the only two occupants; the other two roommates had yet to arrive.
On the bed lay a crisp, new UCA uniform. Fighter opened the wardrobe to hang it up and found a stack of clothes already waiting for him, topped with a small, handwritten note.
Take care of yourself. Call me if you run into any trouble. See you soon. — Veera
Fighter stared at the elegant script. "When did she even find the time to do all this?"
He picked up the uniform. The standard UCA attire was more than just clothing; it was the mark of a Story Bearer. Crafted from laboratory-grown cotton infused with magitech, these mass-produced [Artifacts] were designed to interface directly with a user's [System].
Fighter's expression darkened. Because he lacked a [System], the uniform's active functions—the HUD, the environmental regulation, the magitech enhancements—were locked away. To him, it was just a durable, slightly heavy suit of armor.
"A waste of potential," he sighed.
[You were thinking about something rude again, weren't you? Ungrateful owner. Ok.]
Fighter took a deep breath, intending to argue, but a sudden, foul odor hit him like a physical blow. The adrenaline of the day had finally worn off, leaving behind the stench of sweat, blood, and grime from his journey.
"Ugh... I stink. It's making my head spin." He gagged slightly. "I need a shower, now."
Suddenly, a shimmering blue light flickered in his vision, popping up like a persistent advertisement.
[I have been enduring your scent without a word, yet you can barely stand yourself? Ok. Now, do you wish to check the Trial?]
"No," Fighter snapped, heading toward the bathroom. "Not now. I'm going to wash this filth off, then I'll think about it."
Inheritances were dangerous. He knew that the trials to claim them were often lethal, and his plan was to wait until he reached Chapter 2 [Chaste] to attempt the [Black Box] trial. Safety was his priority.
But the blue light didn't vanish. It turned a violent, pulsing red.
[ADDITIONAL TRIAL: START THE FIRST TRIAL]
Time Limit: 2 Hours
Failure Condition: Death
Fighter froze, his hand on the bathroom door handle. His heart hammered against his ribs. "What is this? I didn't trigger this!"
[You were trying to delay the inevitable,] Rechal's voice was no longer just sarcastic; it held a sharp, authoritative edge. [I am your helper, yes, but I am also your Examiner. It is time to prove your worth, Fighter. Start the trial. Ok.]