The ash fell in steady waves, smothering the slums of Drakmoor like a shroud of death. Ardyn Veyne pulled his frayed scarf tighter over his nose, the fabric as blackened as the ground beneath his boots. The scent of soot, sweat, and despair filled the air, choking the narrow alleyways where shadows moved like predators.

Ahead, the glow of a cracked lantern marked his target—a tavern Garrin "Red Tooth" used as his lair. Garrin was a guild enforcer, notorious for squeezing blood and coin out of the slumfolk. Tonight, Ardyn planned to end him. Not for vengeance. Not for justice. But because the man had resources. Resources Ardyn needed to survive.

His fingers tightened around the hilt of the rusted dagger hidden beneath his cloak. It wasn't much—a relic from a time when his family still believed they could fight back. Now, that belief was long buried, along with everyone Ardyn once cared about. Only survival mattered now.

The plaza behind him echoed with screams as another execution unfolded. Drakmoor's ruling class, the Elite Houses, didn't just punish dissenters—they made examples of them. Ardyn had learned that firsthand at ten years old, when his father was burned alive for daring to forge weapons for a failed rebellion. His mother and younger sister had followed, taken as "collateral." Their screams had faded years ago, but in the stillness of nights like this, they returned to haunt him.

Ardyn shook the memories away. He couldn't afford to be distracted. He slipped from shadow to shadow, the outline of the tavern growing sharper with each step. The cracked wooden sign overhead depicted a pair of dice and the words The Lucky Hand, though luck had long abandoned this part of the city.

From inside, he heard laughter—deep, guttural, and punctuated by the clink of coins. Garrin was holding court, surrounded by his usual crowd of thugs. Killing him wouldn't be easy, but it wasn't supposed to be. Survival never was.

The door creaked as Ardyn pushed it open, the noise drawing a half-hearted glance from the brute stationed by the entrance. The man's hand moved lazily toward the hilt of his sword.

"Who're you, then?" the guard grunted, leaning against the wall.

Ardyn didn't reply. He kept his head down, his face obscured by the scarf. His heart pounded, but his steps remained steady as he moved further inside.

Garrin sat at the center table, a wide grin on his scarred face. His nickname, "Red Tooth," came from the bloody sheen always staining his teeth—a badge of pride from countless fights. Coins clinked in his hand as he played with his winnings, his laughter booming.

"You think you can out-drink me, Kellan?" he roared, slapping the back of the man beside him. "You're welcome to try, but I'd save that coin for your burial."

Ardyn didn't hesitate. He reached into his cloak, pulled out the dagger, and lunged toward Garrin in one fluid motion.

The tavern erupted into chaos. Garrin moved faster than Ardyn expected, flipping the table over and knocking the dagger from Ardyn's grasp. The blade skittered across the floor, out of reach.

"You've got guts, boy," Garrin snarled, his grin widening. "But I've dealt with rats like you before."

He charged, a massive fist aimed at Ardyn's head. Ardyn ducked, rolling to the side and grabbing a broken bottle from the floor. He swung upward, catching Garrin across the cheek. Blood sprayed, and Garrin roared, clutching his face.

"You're dead!" Garrin bellowed, pulling a curved blade from his belt.

Ardyn's mind raced. He couldn't win this fight in a straight contest. His eyes darted to the overturned table, where Garrin's coins spilled across the floor.

"Finish him!" Garrin barked to his men, his voice dripping with rage.

Three thugs surged forward. Ardyn grabbed a chair and swung it, shattering it against the first man's head. He ducked beneath the second's swing and drove the broken bottle into the man's gut. The third caught him with a punch to the ribs, sending him sprawling.

Pain radiated through Ardyn's side as he scrambled to his feet, panting. Garrin was already advancing, blood dripping from his face, his sword gleaming in the dim light.

Then, it happened.

System Notification:

Do you wish to initiate the System of Judgment? Actions henceforth will be tracked. Rewards or penalties will be issued based on your efficiency and decisions.

The words burned into Ardyn's vision, floating like ghostly fire.

"What the—?" he muttered, shaking his head.

Garrin didn't give him time to think. The brute swung his sword, the blade grazing Ardyn's shoulder. Blood seeped into his tunic, but adrenaline pushed him forward. He grabbed his fallen dagger and slashed upward, catching Garrin's arm.

The enforcer howled, dropping his weapon. Ardyn didn't hesitate. He drove the dagger into Garrin's throat, his hands trembling as warm blood spilled over his fingers.

Garrin's body crumpled to the floor.

System Notification:

Target Eliminated. Efficiency: 74%. Reward Allocated.

Reward: Enhanced Dexterity (Tier 1).

Ardyn staggered back, his chest heaving. He stared at the glowing words, his mind reeling. "What... what is this?"

The remaining thugs hesitated, glancing at their fallen leader. Without Garrin, they had no orders to follow. Ardyn seized the moment, grabbing a pouch of coins and a small vial from Garrin's belt before bolting out the door.

The cold night air hit him like a hammer, the screams from the plaza merging with the pounding in his ears. He didn't stop running until he was deep in the alleys, hidden among the shadows.

His hands still shook as he leaned against the wall, his breaths ragged. The glowing words lingered in his vision, a constant reminder of what had just happened.

System Notification:

New Quest Available: Secure a Safe Haven. Reward: Basic Crafting Blueprint.

A bitter laugh escaped Ardyn's lips. "Great. Now I've got a glowing ghost in my head giving me orders."

But deep down, he knew this was the start of something far bigger than himself. For better or worse, the System had chosen him. And in Drakmoor, power was everything.