The Goblin Club swung.
Dante didn't just see the movement; he analyzed it.
It was a heavy attack for a trash mob. He had seen it thousands of times in dozens of different beginner zones.
Slow, predictable, and designed to bypass Level 1 players who knew the mechanics of dodging.
But Shivvy wasn't a player.
She was just a little girl, paralyzed and clinging tightly to the tree bark; a picture of pure fear.
"Shivvy!" Dante's voice sounded harsh and panicked. "Move! Dodge! Do something!"
He pushed his will onto her, demanding action.
He searched for the button to activate an ability: [Evasion], [Shadowstep], [Gouge], or any of the dozens of Rogue abilities he knew were listed on her class sheet.
But the control panel didn't display anything. Not a single skill list.
Shivvy was shocked to hear his scream, her eyes immediately welling up with tears.
"I-I-I don't know how! I'm sorry, Creator! I'm so sorry—"
CLANKKKKKK
The hammer struck, not to her, but the tree trunk an inch from her ear. The impact made the wood shake and splinters rained down on her face.
The goblin roared in frustration, pulling back his heavy weapon for another swing.
'Shivvy isn't just a summon. She's a little girl!'
A little girl he had designed as a background character, leveled up to 3 with auto-grinding, then left without any combat training at all.
A little girl whose class was Rogue, but whose combat experience was exactly zero.
Another goblin, who had wounded him, was watching. His rusty sword was lowered. His black eyes shifted between the blood-soaked man and the frightened girl.
He was assessing.
"Hmmm. There must be an aggro table."
That thought pierced through his panic.
They were low-level enemies.
'Alright, Dante.'
Observation: They would divide their attention: one on the weak target, one on the wounded threat.
Analysis: They would attack whoever was closest, or whoever posed the greatest threat.
Hypothesis: He could pull aggro.
"Shivvy!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "H-Hide! Sneak!"
He didn't know if the command would work. He just needed him to dodge, or disappear from there.
After the shout, he picked up a sharp rock. He rushed to his feet even though his injured arm screamed in protest.
The movement caused a wave of burning nausea, but he ignored it.
"HEY!"
He threw the stone at the Club-Goblin. The throw was weak and shaky. It probably didn't even cause any damage, literally zero.
But it worked.
The Goblin's head turned. He forgot about Shivvy instantly.
Its small, hate-filled eyes locked onto Dante. It let out a rough growl, a sound of pure unshakable hatred.
'Yes! Aggro pulled.'
"Right!" Dante hissed, already retreating. "Come on! Aggro me, you little bastard!"
He turned and ran.
It was an awkward run, he stumbled and looked pathetic. His bare feet slipped on the wet leaves.
His pajama pants got caught on thorns. The burning pain in his arm was a constant signal, and every step that shook his body was a new stab of pain up to his shoulder.
But that was enough.
He heard them behind him.
Two pairs of heavy footsteps.
He had caught their attention. Both of them.
'Alright. Now, kiting.'
He wasn't a warrior, of course. But he was a gamer. He knew the basic loop.
Keep them chasing. Don't let them get close. Use the environment.
He dodged around the giant tree trunk, using the wood to block their line of sight. He heard them breaking through the bushes.
They didn't anticipate him. They were just following him.
The more he ran, the more Dante bled and slowed down. His lungs were burning.
The one holding the sword was closing in. Ten feet.
He raised his sword.
"I'm going to die."
He had no [Blink], no [Charge], no [Shadowstep]. He was just a slow man in a blood-soaked shirt.
"C-Creator..."
The voice was a whisper. Coming from his side.
He blinked, turning his head to the left. There was nothing there. Just thick, dark ferns.
"...here... this way..."
He frowned. And he saw Shivvy. She wasn't behind the ferns. She was part of them.
She knelt, perfectly still. The light and shadows of the leaves seemed to bend around her, enveloping her and merging with her.
[Sneak].
"Yes, that's right."
She was useless in a fight, but she was good at hiding.
The goblins broke through the bushes behind her. They didn't see her.
Dante didn't hesitate. He turned sharply, jumped into the bushes, and grabbed Shivvy's trembling little hand.
"Run!"
He dragged her with him. Shivvy moved, and the spell broke.
She returned to being an ordinary girl, pushing through the leaves while crying softly.
The goblins screamed, suddenly confused by their second target, and charged after them.
"Split up!" Dante shouted, pushing her away. "Just hide! Don't let them see you!"
He ran one way, she ran the other. She was the distraction here. She was the bait.
He ran until his vision blurred at the edges, until the pain in his arms became a distant signal.
He finally jumped, rolled, into a hollow tree trunk covered in moss, the stench of rot and damp earth filling his nose.
He held his breath.
Silence.
One, two, three seconds…
Then, heavy footsteps sounded.
The goblins passed the trunk. And they stopped, snorting, trying to smell the air.
He could hear their wet, labored breathing.
But that was enough. They were confused. They had lost their target. He could almost see invisible question marks appear above their heads.
One of them kicked the nearest tree trunk, growled, and then... they continued on their way.
Their footsteps faded, and their low murmurs faded into the background noise of the forest.
But Dante remained inside the tree trunk.
He counted to thirty seconds, fifty, sixty... one hundred.
"Haaaaaahhhhhh, I'm still alive."
His heart was pounding so hard.
He slowly, painfully, crawled out. His body was now covered in mud, sweat, and his own dried blood.
The world felt tilted. He climbed down from the tree trunk, gasping for breath.
The adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind painful exhaustion and a burning pain in his arms.
He was still alive, but badly injured. And his Mana bar, floating in the corner of his vision, was still steadily decreasing.
[Creator Mana: 4/10]
That 1 Mana/Hour upkeep. He was "paying" for Shivvy to be manifested, wherever he was.
"Shivvy?" he called, his voice hoarse and dry.
Silence.
"Shivvy!" he tried again, louder. Panic began to rise within him.
A rustle.
She emerged from behind the tree, not from the bushes, but from the shadow of the tree trunk itself. Her face was pale, but fortunately she was unharmed.
She ran toward Dante, her eyes wide with fear.
"Creator! You... you're bleeding! There's so much blood!"
"I'm fine," he lied, biting his lip. He slid down the tree trunk, holding his arm.
"Just... need... to stop the bleeding."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her hands twisting the torn edge of her cloak.
"I'm sorry. I... I'm useless. I can't fight. I just... I run. I hide. That's all I know..."
Dante looked at her frightened and tear-stained face.
"No," he said, his voice soft. "You're perfect."
He was a gamer. Even though she wasn't a warrior, he knew the value of a perfect scout.
"You did exactly what you were meant to do."
He tried to tear a piece of his pajama pants to make a tourniquet. His fingers were slippery with blood, so he couldn't grip it.
"I need..." he muttered, his head spinning. "Bandages. Potions. Something."
Shivvy's eyes widened.
"Oh! Um. I have..."
She stopped her trembling hand. She held out a small, dirt-covered hand, palm facing up.
She frowned in concentration.
And a small red-capped bottle, containing a shiny red liquid, appeared instantly in her palm.
Dante stared at it. He recognized the bottle. The shape was exactly the same. The color was exactly the same.
It was a [Minor Health Potion] from Aethelgard Online.
Shivvy held out the bottle to him, her hand still trembling.
"I... I have this," she said. "And... I have 50 [Linen Cloth]. And... and... a [Level 25 Boar's Fang]... and 200 gold. And... a [Faded Blue Shirt]?"
As she mentioned them, the items flashed into her other hand.
A neatly folded pile of cloth. A curved yellow tusk. A small bag that jingled. And a plain blue shirt.
Oh, right...
Alt bank.
He didn't just summon a Rogue who feared battle.
He summoned his bank.
His [Inventory] ability wasn't just his inventory. It was his now. What he had filled with useless items over the course of ten years.
Yes she wasn't a warrior, after all. But... she was a walking supply depot.
Dante let out a sound that was half laugh, half cry.
The usefulness of uselessness.
He was wounded, lost, and hunted. But he was no longer empty-handed.
He snatched the potion.