I should have turned around and gone back to the shed like every other night.
Instead, spite took the lead. It burned hotter and moved faster than any careful plan I had ever made. My mind was still listing all the ways this could go wrong when my body had already dropped low and started crawling forward through the dark rows.
Berry bushes scraped against my arms and shoulders as I moved on elbows and knees. Sharp leaves left tiny cuts that stung with dirt and sweat. The ground felt cold and uneven beneath me, small stones pressing into my skin. Every few meters I stopped, held my breath, and listened. The only sounds were the faint scrape of metal on earth ahead and the low murmur of voices.
Closer.
I needed to hear what they were saying.
The two men came into clearer view once I reached the last row. They were not slaves. Their clothes were too whole, their boots too strong, and there were no collars around their necks. Hired labor from outside the barrier. Real people who would go home after this job and sleep in actual beds.
"...third time this month," the shorter one grumbled as he drove his shovel deep. "Pays well, I'll give him that, but digging graves in this cursed place at night? Feels like bad luck every single time."
The taller man spat into the dirt. "Quit your moaning and dig faster. The Traveller wants them deep this time. Says the ground here swallows bodies quicker than normal. Wants them gone before dawn."
The Traveller.
I locked the name in my head and repeated it silently. Not an overseer. Not a handler. Someone higher. Someone who could bring free men into Zero Grounds after dark and make them dig graves without question.
They worked without pause. Three wrapped bodies lay side by side on the grass like discarded sacks. No markings. No last words. Just three long bundles waiting for the earth. One after another the men lifted them and dropped them into the hole with heavy, final thuds. Dirt followed in steady shovelfuls.
I stayed perfectly still, belly pressed to the ground, memorizing every word and movement.
When the last body disappeared beneath the soil and the grave was packed flat, the men scattered leaves and twigs over the top, shouldered their tools, and walked off into the trees. Their torchlight bobbed once, twice, then vanished completely.
Silence swallowed the field again.
I waited a full minute, counting my heartbeats, then rose and approached the fresh grave. The turned earth looked darker, richer than the rest of the ground. I knelt slowly and pressed my palm flat against it and briefly digging my hand into it.
The counter in my vision exploded.
[EXP: +0.000012]
My breath caught hard in my throat.
Four times what moving a heavy stone gave me. More than tearing roots. More than anything I had tested so far. Grave-digging paid better than anything else in this entire zone.
Then new messages appeared, bright and sharp.
[Achievement Unlocked: Grave Digger ][You have discovered a hidden EXP gradient. +15% bonus to all ground-disruption actions for the next 30 days.][Title Earned: Secret Harvester]
I stared at the floating blue boxes, dirt still packed under my fingernails. A rare achievement. A temporary bonus. The System had just handed me something real for the first time since I arrived here.
I stayed on my knees in the dark, hands buried in the loose soil of a stranger's grave, and began running the new numbers.
If one grave gave this much, what would an hour of steady digging earn? What if I came out every single night? What if I searched for places where the ground had already been disturbed? The siphon would still steal most of it, but this changed the slope of the mountain I was trying to climb. Not enough to escape tomorrow. Not even next month. But the path had just become steeper in my favor.
I dug my fingers deeper into the earth, letting the cool soil pack tighter under my nails. The numbers kept spinning faster in my head. Calculations layered on calculations. Variables. Risks. Possible returns. For once the math didn't feel completely hopeless.
That was when new torchlight appeared behind me.
Warm. Steady. Much closer than the last.
A calm, smooth voice cut through the night air.
"What are you doing out here?"
I turned slowly, heart steady, face blank.
A man stood at the edge of the tree line, torch held low in one hand. Mid-thirties. Richly dressed in dark, well-made traveling clothes that spoke of money and movement. A massive, heavy leather bag hung over one shoulder, bulging with unknown contents. Most men would struggle under its weight. He carried it like it weighed nothing.
He did not look angry. He did not look alarmed.
He looked intrigued.
A small, sharp smile played across his lips, and his eyes glinted with open curiosity, as if finding a filthy slave girl kneeling at a secret grave in the middle of the night was the most interesting thing he had seen in weeks.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me the way someone might study an unexpected puzzle.
"Well," he said, voice low and almost amused, "this is new."
I remained kneeling, dirt still clinging to my hands, and met his gaze without speaking. My mind kept calculating even now. Who is he? Should i run? Should I stay and try finding out what all this is about? Her mind stopped working and her heart lept into her throat making her a lot nervous.