Registration Day Disaster
The stench of stale piss and decaying leaves filled Fen’s nostrils, a potent cocktail that did little to improve his mood. Mud caked his face, his clothes, and, most annoyingly, his massive rucksack, the Heart-Locker, which felt heavier than usual. Nine Dire-Wolves, their eyes glowing with predatory hunger, circled him like vultures.
A strangled cry ripped through the air, followed by the familiar, panicked stammer of Gwenna. “Oh, my Heavens! Lord Fen, thou art in dire straits! This is a cross too heavy to bear!” She stood at the edge of the clearing, her polished armor gleaming, her holy symbol clutched so tightly her knuckles were white. Her gaze, however, was fixed on the ground, her holy might seemingly frozen by a wave of crippling anxiety.
Fen gritted his teeth. “Just… try to aim, Gwenna! That’s all I ask!” His internal monologue kicked into overdrive, a cold, analytical hum that cut through the primal fear. Target: Dire Wolf Alpha. Distance: 15 meters. Target’s current state: Focused on me. Threat level: Critical. Optimal solution: Diversionary tactic. Item: Stink-Bomb (Grade 3). Probability of success: 78%. He shifted his weight, the rucksack digging into his already aching shoulders.
Gwenna wrung her hands, her voice a desperate whisper. “But what if I miss? What if I offend the spirits with my aim? Oh, the indignity!” A faint shimmer of divine energy flickered around her, then died, much like her resolve. Fen sighed internally. This was why they called him the “Garbage Party.”
He’d found Gwenna during an inquisitorial purge, hiding her in a confessional booth, his magic weaving a temporary illusion of commoner status around her. He’d stayed with her for three days, a silent, steadfast presence against the storm of her terror, until the inquisitors moved on. He remembered her shaking, her faith a fragile thing then, and he’d promised himself he wouldn’t let that fragility be shattered again.
Backstory: Fen, a former logistics manager from Earth, died of overwork and was reincarnated with a unique “Carry-All” soul. He possesses immense mana but zero stamina, making him a walking paradox: capable of immense power, yet physically fragile. His rucksack, the Heart-Locker, is enchanted to reduce its weight by 90%, but it still feels like carrying a mountain.
“Seriously, Gwenna,” Fen said, his voice laced with dry sarcasm, “the wolves are less offended by your aim than by your general state of panic. Just throw the damn thing!” He needed a distraction, anything to buy himself a few precious seconds to activate his Synapse Link and properly coordinate the girls. These beasts were fast, their bites capable of tearing through even the most robust armor.
Suddenly, a flicker of shadow detached itself from the dense undergrowth. Kestrel, moving with an unnerving silence, was already a blur of motion, daggers glinting. “My property is in danger,” a cold, possessive voice stated, barely a breath of sound. Fen felt a phantom touch, Kestrel’s unseen form brushing against his arm. She was incredibly skilled, but even she couldn’t take on nine wolves alone.
Current Status: Kestrel engaged. One wolf down. Remaining threats: Eight. Fen’s stamina: 15%. Mana: 85%. Need to synchronize. He reached a hand into the Heart-Locker, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of an anti-demon grenade, a potent stink-bomb, and a pack of dried fruit. The sheer volume of items within was staggering, a testament to his Earthly obsession with preparedness.
Gwenna let out a yelp, stumbling backward as a wolf lunged. Fen reacted instinctively, a surge of mana flowing through him. Activate: Synapse Link. Target: Gwenna. Buff: Fortitude Aura (Minor). Duration: 10 seconds. A faint golden light enveloped Gwenna, her defensive posture stiffening, her eyes widening as she felt an unexpected surge of resilience.
“Oh! I… I feel… sturdier!” she exclaimed, her voice regaining a sliver of its usual conviction. She raised her shield, a heavy slab of polished steel, and met the wolf’s charge with a surprising amount of force. It yelped, staggering back.
Fen allowed himself a small, internal nod. The Link was working. He could see through
Gwenna’s eyes, feel the tremor in her hands, the quickening of her heart. It was an overwhelming influx of sensory data, but he processed it with the practiced efficiency of a seasoned strategist.
“Good girl, Gwenna! Now, the stink-bomb!” he urged, already rummaging deeper into the Heart-Locker. The wolves were closing in again, their snarls a symphony of impending doom. He needed more than just one girl to function. He needed all of them.
