Chapter 30: Spoils of the Scavengers

Chapter 30: Chapter 30: Spoils of the Scavengers

"I’ll spin the gacha after I get back to home," Eric muttered, waving away the glowing blue system notifications. "For now, let’s see what these three were carrying. It’s harvest time."

Crouching over the fallen scavengers, Eric methodically stripped their pouches, leather satchels, and tactical belts.

Unsurprisingly, they carried no physical cash cards or municipal identification tags, likely burned or discarded beforehand to prevent Association tracking. However, their gear wasn’t completely worthless. A pair of balanced iron shortswords, the leader’s broad spear, a notched alloy scimitar, and three scuffed composite chestplates were made of standard military-grade alloys that would easily fetch a fair price at the secondhand equipment exchange.

"These vultures were practically running on fumes," Eric scoffed, tossing the metallic gear into his system inventory alongside the paralyzed Ashfang Hound, which he cleanly finished off with a swift strike to extract its cloudy E-rank core. "Barely any personal wealth to speak of."

He walked over to a flat limestone boulder and sat down, letting out a long, heavy breath as the searing combat adrenaline began to ebb from his veins.

"Let’s call it for today, Coal. I’m mentally drained."

*Caw,* Coal landed gently on his shoulder, his dark eyes observing his tamer with quiet intelligence.

Back on Earth in his previous life, Eric had never experienced genuine, life-or-death violence, let alone taken another human’s life. Even in this world before his awakening, bloodshed was something distant, watched through pixelated broadcast feeds from the front lines. Taking down demonic beasts was one thing, but carving steel through three living, breathing men had left a bitter, metallic knot tightening in his stomach.

Yet Eric understood the brutal reality of this era.

In the lawless wilderness of the dimensional rifts, hesitation was synonymous with suicide. If he hadn’t struck first, blinded their sightlines, and executed them without mercy, his own mangled corpse would be rotting in the tall grass right now, picked clean by scavengers and beasts alike.

If he truly intended to stand at the apex of this world and walk the path toward immortality, hardening his heart to blood and violence wasn’t an optional mindset, it was a non-negotiable prerequisite.

*Maybe one of those three gacha tickets will yield something valuable I can sell on the market,* Eric thought, letting the cool wind clear his head. *Only hundred thousand credits left to clear the syndicate.*

Eric made his way to a clear, rushing stream winding along the western border of the grasslands. Kneeling by the pebbled bank, he thoroughly washed the dark bloodstains from his forearms, jaw, and blade, rinsing the copper scent from his gear until the water ran clear.

Exiting through Gate 3, Eric bypassed the standard rookie registration desk and headed straight toward the Association’s secondary equipment pawn terminal and liquidation hall.

He registered the scavenged weapons, the salvaged armor scrap, and his full day’s hunting tally of Riftspawns, Fleshcrawlers, and the hound carcass under the intake scanner.

The digital ledger processed the total in seconds: 20,000 credits.

*BEEP.*

MUNICIPAL CITIZEN BANKING

Account Holder: Eric (ID: #247-RD)

Transaction: +20,000 Credits [Liquidation & Scrap]

Current Available Balance: 523,500

With 520,000 credits sitting securely in his verified account and only eighty thousand remaining before Scarface Vane’s thirty-day deadline, a wave of profound relief washed over him.

The suffocating noose around Sunshine Home had finally loosened.

Taking the transit line back to the lower district, Eric pushed the day’s lingering fatigue aside the moment he stepped through the front gate. The yard was filled with the sounds of laughter as five-year-old Lily chased the twins, Jake and Mili, around the old oak tree.

Eric spent an hour playing tag with the kids on the grass, letting their carefree shouts wash away the remaining coldness of the rift.

After a warm, hearty dinner of stew and crusty bread with Emily and the children, he helped clear the table, bade the family goodnight, and climbed the creaking wooden staircase up to the attic.

He firmly clicked the door latch shut, kicking off his boots.

Sitting cross-legged on his straw mattress with Coal perching eagerly on his knee, Eric called up his subspace interface with a broad, anticipatory grin.

"Three tickets in the chamber," Eric whispered, rubbing his hands together. "Gacha time, baby."