Viscus had passed his 10th shop with yet another failure, something that he was grinding his teeth for. Again and again, rejected for an ambiguous reason or plain distrust, and he knew it wasn't universal. When he applied and another person came in, the reception was completely opposite to his, and he didn't know what to think about it.

He was mad, boiling even, yet he knew it would pass within the next minute. The System didn't conform with extreme emotions, and it wouldn't this time. Unfortunately, whenever it cleared his head, he also felt drained, like all the energy in his emotions dissipated into the air, and he hated it.

Sighing deeply, Viscus raised his head and stared at the broken moon above, and he wondered whether he was doing the right thing. It'd been days since his last hunt, days where he barely progressed through his skills, days where his level remained the same - days where he was not doing the System's quest.

There was no time limit on the quest, that much was clear, but it was implied more than anything. The blond believed he was sent to Remnant in this specific time period to allow him to grow and prepare for the fights coming ahead, and all he was doing at this moment was waste time looking for someone to help him.

"There's no one to help," he had to remind himself. "No one but myself."

He headed back to the hotel, reviewing his memories for anything to redirect his actions, meeting the same lazy receptionist, and standing in the same room he had come to treat as home for his stay in Vacuo.

Humming, he seated himself and decided to look at his status and skills. Viscus imagined they might help him make his next moves, because he was completely out of ideas.

[Character Screen :
-Name : Viscus Lime
-Level : 5 (123.5/170 EXP)
-HP : 100/100 (0.175/sec)
-MP : 107/107 (0.15/sec)
-AP : 207/207 (0.325/sec)

-Stats :
-STR : 31.3 (25)
-END : 14 (14)
-VIT : 17.5 (14)
-DEX : 20 (16)
-AGI : 20(16)
-INT : 16.2 (12)
-WIS : 15 (12)
-LUK : 14 (14)

Stat Points : 0]

He grumbled at the numbers before him. Unfortunately, his gains were pitiful compared to when he first entered Remnant, and the one he was most annoyed at was STR. When it reached 25, it stopped, and he couldn't understand why. It wasn't as if he was lazing around at night - he had nothing to do but train!

Clicking his tongue, he willed the status screen away and moved to the bed, not feeling like watching the TV. The comfort was a good trade-off, because if he got any more annoyed, he might have broken something. A quick glance at the wall showed an imprint of his anger, and he didn't feel like making another mark any time soon.

He took a deep breath and summoned the skill menu, and his disappointment lessened by just a bit, but not enough for him to consider himself happy.

[-Skills :

-Gamer's Body LvMAX
-Gamer's Mind LvMAX
-Stealth Lv7 (78%)
-Assassinate Lv4 (5%)
-Dagger Mastery Lv5 (12%)
-Pistol Mastery Lv7 (14%)
-Aura Lv5 (65%)
-Driving Lv12 (56%)
-Meditation Lv20 (MAX)
-Mana Vision Lv4 (3%)
-Mana Heart Lv7 (11%)
-Mana Circulation Lv5 (17%)
-Mana Shield Lv3 (26%)
-Explosives Mastery Lv2 (42%)
-Mana Bomb Lv1 (76%)]

Many of his skills had improved, but only by a tiny amount. His [Aura] had risen by a single level, adding an extra 5% to his physical stats, and his skills pertaining Mana had both improved and expanded, and one new skill that scared him was [Explosives Mastery]. Viscus wondered if focusing on it would let him throw tennis ball-sized nukes, but the thought erased itself before he could.

His [Pistol Mastery] had risen by two levels, giving a total of 7% in bonuses for damage and recoil, and 3.5% increase in durability, however that translated to reality. He still couldn't comprehend how these skills worked. "What even is 7% improvement in recoil?"

The question had him inspect many passersby, both huntsmen and civilians, and the only numerical values he noticed were ones for Level and Aura, but even the latter was quantified in percentages rather than a flat value.

He closed his eyes for a few moments, taking the time to review the information available to him.

For one, the "Mastery" skills could only realistically improve in combat situations, that much was clear. Swinging the kitchen knife in the room did nothing to his skill, so either he had to be in combat using it, or a knife wasn't a dagger, but he doubted the System was that particular about it.

Raising his stats was only worthwhile until it wasn't. The fact that he couldn't raise his STR more annoyed him greatly, and the rest of his stats weren't as easy to increase. He looked at each one and considered how he could manage to improve them before shaking his head. "Skills, then."

His Mana-related skills were the only realistic options, but they exhausted him so quickly that he hesitated to use them, especially [Mana Bomb]. He didn't feel like explaining to the hotel why the entire room turned to rubble, and he quite liked the room he was given, barren as it was.

"So.. Back to square one?" he huffed and turned on the bed, his mind reminding him that he had to find a way to get a crafting skill.

Then again, he managed well without one, relying on scavenging and looting his opponents for the fights coming after. But it wasn't sustainable, that he was sure of. Each gun he grabbed was likely used in the same instance it was gotten from, he was out of daggers, and his supply of Dust canisters wasn't infinite.

"But do I really have to?"

Maybe he was underestimating his supplies, but a quick glance at his inventory dissuaded him from that thought. Nearly all the guns he scavenged were of "Extremely Low" quality, and he dreaded that quality coming into play in the middle of some fight. From his sparse knowledge about guns, he knew that they could be prone to jamming, or even blowing up in his face if they were made from as shoddy of a quality as the System was classifying them.

More likely than not, his Luck came into play each time and saved him from these jams. It made more sense that way: when his shots missed, it may have been because his Luck was instead preventing any funny accidents that might have cost him his life. He groaned loudly, and then began screaming into the pillow.

He had to find a way to unlock his crafting. One of his traits was focused on only crafting, after all, and that made him scream once more. "Why couldn't it have been something overpowered, like a skill that made me impervious, or something."

30 more minutes before he would start training again, he promised himself, and after a while more, he would go on yet another hunt. It would at least provide tangible benefits, and, as averse as he was to the idea, he had put it off for too long.

-CEM-

After nearly an hour, Viscus hovered around some of the less savory streets. His brown eyes shifted as he looked for new targets - manageable ones, at least. He looked into his inventory while formulating his plan of attack, though the clear lack of melee weapons disheartened him.

He wasn't willing to use his kitchen knife for combat, not unless it was necessary. A part of him said that combat meant necessity, but he had guns instead. Guns that were mostly out of ammo and some that, on inspection, were on the verge of collapse. He clicked his tongue, then slowed down his movements as he spotted a group.

His eyes scanned the area, finding a pair walking deeper into the street, but far enough that they would be out of sight by the time he approached the group. He grabbed the mask from his inventory and stared at it for a few seconds, a frown on his face.

White and unblemished, the mask stared back at him, yet more featureless than a mannequin's. It was blank and untouched by even a hint of blood or dust, as if it was brand new off the shelf. It was one of the items granted to him by the System from day 1, and he couldn't help but want to take a moment to think about it.

But when he glanced at the targeted group, he found them not in their place. Rather, they were walking toward him, some with their hands hovering around their waists. Partially, he was relieved to know he had yet to target any innocents, but that feeling didn't stay for long once they were face to face with him, standing a few meters away.

Silently, they stared at him, the lamp light above reflecting their tense faces. Viscus could see some of them drawing their guns, and he did not want to know what they would do if he wasn't ready.

They flinched once the mask disappeared from his hand and aimed their guns at him while he was pointing with his finger at them, then they blinked once again when the mask reappeared on his face, and a gun manifested in his hand.

"Kill him."

In an instant, the Gamer felt bullets bounce off his Aura, and he retaliated with gunfire of his own. He barely aimed as he shot, yet the fact that all of them met a mark proved his idea. However, the gun in his hand clicked in four shots, none of them a killing blow, which forced him to abandon any thought of ranged combat as he cursed and jumped into the group, his hands glowing blue as his fist met head.

The man tried to dodge, but the bullet holes in his jeans and chest prevented him from doing so. He rocketed to the ground, his head slamming into it in the same moment the Gamer switched targets. Two members didn't hesitate to continue their firing, the blond tanking more hits as his Aura dropped to nearly half.

The other three hurried to assist their companions, but their hands were unsteady, so their shots missed by a large margin. The Gamer heard the sound of glass breaking, briefly giving him a scare when he thought his Aura was already out, but a quick glance disproved that, so it was most likely a window that got unlucky. He then refocused and jumped at the terrified man in front of him, using both mana empowered fists to hammer his head in. A loud crack was followed by a thud as the man slowly fell, the gun in his hand dropping to the ground.

The blond used this chance to grab the gun to try and shoot with it, but it, too, clicked empty, so he threw it at one of the other men, the pistol slamming into his shoulder. The man's shots missed by a large margin, allowing the Gamer to rush the stunned opponent, though he was interrupted when a kick hit his stomach.

The blow was dulled, but his eyes noted the attacker standing next to him with a dagger in hand. The gunfire stopped then as two more men surrounded him, one with a pipe and the other with another dagger. The Gamer glanced at each of them, then he summoned the kitchen knife into his hand.

At that moment, the man with a pipe dashed from behind, but the Gamer wasn't allowed to respond as a dagger zoomed to his face. Rather than take the blow standing, the blond pressed forward, the dagger slicing at his chest, but Aura took the blow for him.

He retaliated with a stab to his opponent's head, but he was met with a dodge and soon enough a ringing slam to his head. The Gamer felt disoriented, but he had enough time to block another swing with his forearm, the blow shaking his bones but he grit his teeth and tugged on the pipe, wrenching it from his opponent's hand.

Rather than use it for its intended purpose, the Gamer threw the pipe at the dagger wielding man's head, the weapon meeting its mark, but the blond didn't wait to watch for more. He used the knife in his hand and stabbed it at his disarmed opponent, but it met a hand rather than a chest.

The man yowled as the knife dug through, but he couldn't make more sounds as a fist hit him in the stomach. He bowed over, then his head flew up as a knee met his nose, and he unceremoniously fell to the ground, though a gunshot prevented the blond from continuing.

His Aura was running low, less than a third, so the Gamer decided to use his newest skill. He held his palm open as a baseball sized sun of blue manifested, the light making the remaining three opponents flinch. Seeing the opportunity, he chucked it at the two thugs who still had their guns out. They tried running away, but its speed meant that their attempt was fruitless, and an explosion soon followed.

The blue light intensified, forcing the Gamer to cover his eyes, if not for the rush of sand and dust that soon followed. He lowered his arm with his ears ringing to the sight of one gun wielder lying down in front of a building, a bloody mark on the wall above him.

The blond took a deep breath then glanced at the last opponent standing, a man slowly retreating away while the dagger that was in his hand clattered on the ground. The Gamer clenched his hands and rushed at his opponent, roaring before beating him to the ground. The only remaining person alive was the other dagger wielder who took a pipe to the face, his groans echoing in the silent street.

The Gamer only hesitated for a few seconds before securing his XP, his gaze hardening as he finished the job.

Huffing, he stared at the aftermath of the fight. 6 men - 5 lying in a heap, and one turned to ashes. The blond closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He debated on whether he should loot their bodies or not, but he knew that if it wasn't him, then it was some other passerby who got lucky and found them after he left.

Gritting his teeth, he did what he should, then piled the bodies in one random alley. He stared at the corpses, at the result of his actions, then walked away, a notification for getting level 6 in the corner of his vision. The mask then disappeared, and he sought another dark street, a deep sigh escaping him.

He wasn't going to be done with one single fight, Viscus promised himself, but he knew one thing for sure.

This night was going to be a long one, and he knew that he wouldn't enjoy any single second of it.

-CEM-

By the time Viscus was back in the hotel, the birds were chirping as another day dawned. He lied on his stomach, his head facing the balcony while his eyes stared at nothing. His mind felt empty - blank, and out of thoughts - even exhausted. He shut his eyes for a brief moment while frowning.

He did as he promised to himself and looked for thugs one after the other for entirety of the night and as much as he could muster, and with it came a haul made up of a bunch of guns and daggers, different types of ammo, a whole bunch of lien, though he didn't care about them for the most part, and the most important of which was the increase in levels.

In a single night, he went from level 5 to level 7 along with minute but clear improvements to his stats without any input. He was more reckless than he liked to admit, and he had to use [Mana Bomb] one more time, but he lived through the night, and for that he was grateful.

He didn't know if he had it in him to go for another hunt the night after. Even when he tried to ignore the feeling and push on, he found his spirit falling after each group, and he simply couldn't go for more after the third. It wasn't fun to see a human or faunus look at him with fear in their eyes, or the sheer struggle they made before he took their lives.

He hated the situation with passion, but the results spoke for themselves. Viscus predicted that, in less than a week, he most likely would be done with the current quest, but he strongly wanted to rest, at least for this day. Laze around in the bed, have a nice meal, look at things easy on the heart - to relax.

He mused for a bit, imagining what he would do next, but he couldn't help but shake as he noticed what he was doing. He grumbled, sighing loudly as he flipped himself to stare at the ceiling.

He was returning back to the status quo, or trying to, and that wouldn't do. Time was ticking, time where he could be improving himself and preparing for the inevitable war, time that he wouldn't earn back, but he was exhausted. He knew he had training to do, and he had to find a way to get a crafting skill - he hadn't forgotten - but he wanted to take a break.

When he tried watching the TV that was running in the background, he wanted to slam his head on a wall. Whoever designed the hotel room was probably damaged in the head since the TV was right next to the bed - meaning he couldn't watch it while lying down, but the noise would do, he acquiesced.

"I wonder how everyone is doing."

Unconsciously, he couldn't help but remember his family and friends. He had just started the summer holiday, and there was so much he planned to do that he couldn't help but feel his heart tighten at the thought. His parents would most likely be looking for him all over, his friends would be asking around, and here he was, a serial killer in the making with a penchant for targeting thugs and evildoers.

"Yeah, right." He closed his eyes and imagined. He pictured what he would have done in the holiday - everything that pre-Remnant Viscus would have done.

And he smiled, seeing himself hanging out with his friends, with his family, visiting his grandparents and playing with their cats. He wondered how everyone was doing, and then he disappeared from the picture. Viscus was no longer home, he was in Remnant, in Vacuo, the worst place after the Grimmlands, and he was doing everything that a terrible person would do.

Kill without provocation, steal from those he killed, and grow through that. It was a vile method to become stronger, like that of a life stealer, or a vampire - a parasite, a creature made just to take, take, and never give.

From the start, he was alone, left to fend for himself. Alone and weak, nearly dead on more occasions in these few days than his entire lifetime back home. And it wasn't as if his actions were deserving of any applause.

He started willingly killing people, looking for targets and taking them out one by one, only for an ounce of experience. He couldn't even count how many men he killed until now - the attack on the Hoarders, just on its own, had him kill 13 people!

And now he sat with thousands of lien in his inventory, most of which taken from men with honest jobs and directly into his own pocket rather than back to theirs. Was he any better than Blayne, then?

But he had no choice. He never had a choice, not from the moment he was pulled from his bed like dust to a vacuum cleaner. He truly was like dust, wasn't he? One among many, indistinguishable from all the vile in this world.

"I'm tired," he couldn't bear it anymore.

Then a notification popped up, breaking him out of his thoughts, followed by three more in rapid succession, all old notifications of no current value. He blinked, confused at the System's actions. "What are you trying to do?"

It was then he remembered a similar situation where it acted just the same, which had him shaking before tiredly chuckling.

"I hate you, but," he sighed. "But I don't know what to think of you now."

Despite all that happened, in spite of all the difficulties he faced, in the face of all of his woes, wasn't it the System that stood steadfast, giving him support in the only ways it could? He was wrong, wasn't he? He wasn't as alone as he thought himself to be. The System did throw him in the fire, but it made sure it actually had a way to help him - wasn't Luck its own way of intervening?

It was always there when he was at his weakest, always there to pick him up when he couldn't, and that made the edges of his mouth move up slightly.

Viscus was grateful, but he still couldn't help but feel some revulsion toward the System: it was there to help him, and it was also the reason he was in his current situation. He didn't know what to think of it, whether he should stand on one feeling or the other, so he stared at the notifications while contemplating.

After a while, the notifications were dismissed and the blond was left staring at the ceiling. He couldn't reach a final conclusion, not when his mind was barely focused and struggling to create a thought. He clenched his hands, bundling up the sheet before relaxing and exhaling loudly.

"Nothing changed even till now," nothing but his will to live, a will and desire that strengthened and solidified. That was his choice, to not lower his fists and keep getting up. So he shouldn't be complaining. He had no right to complain.

What he had to do was get up and get going. If he was to live, then he had to stop slacking and start fighting.

He hated his situation. He hated it so, so much. He despised it, he abhorred it, but he made his choice. A choice he wouldn't regret.

He would follow through, because that was what he had to do, what Viscus would do, to survive.

He got up from the bed and turned off the TV before getting to the ground, his face rigid.

"I have to train. I don't have time to rest, not now."

And maybe not ever, not until he was back home, safe, and reunited with his family and friends, like he should have been. "Should," however, wouldn't bring him home on its own. He had to fight through.

"And I will."

He promised himself, and he wouldn't accept otherwise.

They wouldn't, either.

No more hesitating, Viscus. No more.

Chapter been ready since last release, but just yesterday did I finally fix what I thought what was wrong with it.

You may skip on ahead, I just wanted to cover something real quick.

So, it came to my attention that some might view Viscus's actions a certain way that wasn't my intent. If, up till now, it wasn't obvious enough, then it should be known that I am trying to portray Viscus as not a typical Gamer.

As in, he is actually a human and not a robot made up of 200% efficiency. Like, as a Pasta, I don't see myself acting perfectly under stress, let alone in Viscus's situation.

That's all for today. Next chapter is being cooked, mostly done, and it might be released either by the day after this is released, or by next friday.

Also, with this chapter, I think Dragged Along is past 60k mark. Woohoo!

Hope you have a great day/night!