I became 1-Star fodder in a gacha game (Chapter 4) (Patreon)

Al let out a low groan, his consciousness slowly returning. For a moment, he almost didn’t know who he was, never mind where. He could barely even think. His body felt like a block of lead. Even breathing was hard, sending sharp pains through his chest.

Somehow, he managed to prop himself up, leaning his back against a wall and forcing his heavy eyelids open. He tried to check his environment, but it was useless. Everything was pitch black. He couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face.

Wriggling his arm, he gingerly touched his torso, wanting to find the source of his pain. His shirt was wet and sticky, entirely soaked in blood.

A sense of crisis rose in Al’s heart. He knew he was in bad shape, but couldn’t remember why. His last memory before waking was a strange sensation, like he was a piece of ravioli, squeezed and stretched through a pasta-machine.

He tried gathering his thoughts, but they passed through his fingers like grains of sand. However, he knew he couldn’t stay like this. He was bleeding far too much. He needed to-…

Suddenly, while trying to think of a plan, something unbelievable happened. Symbols emerged from the darkness, like smoke rising from a pile of embers.

Al’s eyes went wide. What the hell was happening? Was he hallucinating from blood loss?

The strange markings hovered in front of him, their color shifting from black to grey, then crimson. Somehow, it seemed familiar, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t make sense of it.

While he was still in shock, the letters distorted strangely, flickering and flashing in a headache-inducing manner. They twisted and swirled, changing colors again, going from crimson to violet, then a soft electronic blue. Writing that had once been illegible was transformed, spelling out sentences in plain English.

[Initializing…]

[Compiling area data…]

[Retrieving objective…]

Al watched with his mouth open as countless lines of code appeared, running from top to bottom. Before he could blink, it was over, prompting a series of messages.

[Debriefing hero…]

[The town of Crow’s Rest is currently resisting a monster wave.]

[You are among its last living inhabitants.]

[Find a way to overcome the odds, or survive until the timer expires.]

[You have ten hours.]

[Good luck.]

When the series of notifications had completed, they disappeared suddenly, like a screen turning off.

Al just sat there like a lifeless corpse, staring out into the darkness, not having a clue how to react. If it wasn’t for a small timer in the corner of his vision, counting down from ’10:00:00’, he might really have believed it was a hallucination, or some perverse nightmare.

Still in a daze, a random thought flashed through his mind, prompted by the information he’d just received. The talk of a hero, a town called Crow’s rest and a sudden monster attack—it seemed very familiar, like something he’d experienced countless times.

‘…isn’t it similar to the tutorial mission of Heroes of Nexus? I had to retry that one over and over before I got it right.’

When that realization struck, he felt his thoughts becoming clear, the fog receding from his mind.

He remembered going home and accidentally locking himself out. The truck showing up in his driveway. Fred’s appearance. Their argument. Him being shot, and shot again. And then…

Feeling emotionally overwhelmed, Al took a deep breath—or as deep as he dared. There was no time to come to terms with everything. He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but his condition had only worsened during that period. He’d lost a lot of blood. Frankly, it was a miracle he could still think and move.

It might’ve seemed insane, but he had no choice but to believe the system’s claims—that he’d ended up in the world of a game. That way, there might be a chance of survival. If he’d really gone insane, locked up somewhere in Fred’s basement, then he could only wait for death.

Chewing his lip, Al tried recalling everything he knew about Crow’s Rest.

Despite being a tutorial mission, success wasn’t guaranteed. In fact, it was the opposite. In order to introduce the perma-death mechanic, the first ‘hero’ was meant to die.

After waking up in a shack, injured and bleeding out—though, from slash wounds instead of bullet holes—they were faced with three choices. To keep hiding, heading out to help with the monster wave or seek treatment.

Eventually, the shack’s door would be broken down and the hero devoured, so waiting wasn’t an option. And callus as it seemed, there was no point in trying to save the village.

Already, no more than a handful of villagers remained, clinging onto life. Even uninjured, they stood no chance. Their levels ranged from one to five—with the hero starting from scratch—while the monsters were level fifteen plus. It was simply suicide.

That left seeking treatment. This too was a fool’s errand. That is, unless a specific set of criteria was met.

First, before the tutorial’s advent, the player needed to pick the thief as their hero, one of three different classes. A character with random stats would then be generated. If they high-rolled on wisdom, having perception as a sub-stat, they had a chance of making it out alive.

Al didn’t know how to check his class, or if his stats met the criteria. However, it shouldn’t matter. He technically didn't need the stats, since he already knew what to look for.

Clenching his teeth, he slowly started dragging himself over the floor. If he could find the satchel, something he knew was nearby, then the next step wouldn’t be too difficult.

After fumbling around in the dark for longer than he liked, unable to see a thing, he finally found it. Fortunately, the space wasn’t too big, probably around tree yards on each side.

Feeling it against his hand, made from rough linen and tied with a drawstring, he heaved a sigh of relief. He could already hear some unsettling sounds from outside. He didn’t have much time.

He tore at the knot with his teeth, eventually managing to get it open. When the contents clattered to the floor, he was already rummaging around, finding a few strips of cloth, a leather skin with some liquid inside, dry rations and a short knife.

As much as Al wanted to take a sip of water and bandage his wounds, he knew he couldn’t afford to.

Grabbing the knife—a shoddy thing with a rusted blade and a cracked handle—he immediately scooted over to the wall, running his hands over it. Being in the shack’s basement, he knew there was a tunnel here somewhere. However, it was hidden. His only clue was it being near the satchel, in the same corner.

After a bit of thinking, he started feeling for gaps in the bricks, periodically knocking against one area, then the other. His tenth knock finally revealed something, sounding slightly hollower than the rest.

Steeling himself, he shoved the knife between the bricks, starting to wiggle it around in an attempt to dislodge them. He could feel his wounds tearing open, warm blood running down his leg and chest, but he forced himself to continue. If he didn’t get out of here, he’d die anyway.

When he felt something moving, he couldn’t help heaving a sigh of relief. Fortunately, it seemed his knowledge was correct. If something had changed, he didn’t know what he’d do.

It was an excruciating five minutes, digging out one brick after another, but he managed to open a space big enough to crawl through. It would be a tight fit, but fortunately he wasn’t claustrophobic.

Thinking quickly, he fumbled for the satchel’s drawstring, stuffing the contents back in and tying it around his ankle. Maybe it was a bit optimistic, but he was already thinking of what’d come after his escape. At the very least, having something to eat and drink wouldn’t hurt.

When he was done, he didn’t give himself time to hesitate, going head-first into the tunnel. His eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness, but the hole in front of him was pitch-black, descending into the bowels of the earth.

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If it weren’t for the faint blue light in the corner of his vision, recording the passing of time, Al might’ve really gone insane.

The tunnel seemed endless, with it becoming narrower the further he went. Dirt pressed in on all sides, ready to bury him at any moment. Unable to move his arms, he could only keep them in front, slowly clawing his way forward.

His shoulders ached. His chest burned. He couldn’t feel his leg. Barely five minutes had passed, but he already felt like he couldn’t go on.

And then it ended.

The next moment, when he stretched out his hand, looking for another hold, he felt nothing. Instead of a narrow dirt tunnel, a space opened up in front of him.

Al’s heart leapt in his chest.

With the vigor and enthusiasm of someone who’d gained a new lease on life, he pulled himself over the edge. He hadn’t even given thought to the distance, dropping about three feet before hitting the ground.

Though his body reacted unconsciously, twisting to land on his good side, Al wasn’t able to avoid a shock of intense pain. He almost welcomed it, bringing clarity to his flagging mind.

Gathering his strength, his arms flailed around desperately in the cramped space, looking for something.

It wasn’t long before he touched an unusual object. It wasn’t small, but was around his size. A little stiff and a little soft, covered in coarse fabric. It leaned against the wall of the atrium in an L-shape, silent and unmoving.

As Al’s hands travelled upward, he felt a sticky, squishy and clammy sensation. Then something bristly, almost like hairs. In fact, they were hairs. And they were covering someone’s face.

The object he’d been looking for… was a corpse.

Al didn’t have a clue who this person was or how he ended up down here. The game never said as much. However, it didn’t matter. Rather than their identity, their possessions were far more important.

Patting the corpse down revealed a trio of cylindrical objects, stashed in its waistcoat pocket. Reaching inside, Al felt something cold and smooth, textured like glass. It was some kind of stoppered container, with a cork on top.

Without hesitation, Al took them out, holding one in his hands and placing the other two nearby. 

Hastily removing the cork, an extremely strong smell filled the space, unlike any he’d experienced before. Medicinal with a sharp, almost metallic component, it pierced straight into his brain.

Al couldn’t help turning his face away. It wasn’t at all what he expected. How the hell was he supposed to drink this?

Pinching his nose, he forcibly brought it to his mouth, taking a small sip. It was a big mistake.

The stuff covered his mouth like liquid metal, all while burning like hell. It was like he’d just poured swimming pool acid straight down his throat. Never mind swallowing it, he felt that if he didn’t spit it out, it might actually kill him.

He roughly pulled on the thread attached to his ankle, finding the satchel and waterskin. In a panic, he poured as much as he could into his mouth, swishing and gargling with a fury. After repeating this process a few times, he was finally able to gain some relief.

When he was done, Al coughed a few times into his hand, tasting blood. The inside of his mouth was completely raw.

It went without saying, but he learned his lesson. Health potions weren’t meant for drinking.

After regaining his composure, he rummaged around in the satchel with one hand, taking out the knife, slowly cutting open his shirt and trousers. They were already ruined, and he was in no shape to undress himself anyway.

Gripping the vial, he carefully brought it closer to his wound, taking care not to spill. He had to do it by feel, hoping he’d get most of the stuff where it needed to go.

With a shaky hand, he tipped the vial, pouring the contents over the hole in his thigh.

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