I Level Up by Killing Gods-Chapter 44: Blood Debts.

The Ravager core hits the floor, rolling under a stool. Varek’s grin is a slash of rotten teeth and arrogance. He doesn’t see Kael move—no one does.

One moment, Kael stood frozen. The next, his fist cracks into Varek’s throat.

The man stumbles, gagging, but recovers faster than expected. He lunges, dagger swinging in a wild arc. Kael ducks, the blade grazing his temple.

Hot blood trickles down his cheek. He doesn’t flinch.

Varek swings again. Kael catches his wrist, twists. Bone snaps. The dagger clatters to the floor. Varek roars, swinging his other fist. Kael sidesteps, drives an elbow into the man’s ribs.

The crunch is wet, brutal. Varek wheezes, spitting blood.

The tavern erupts. Stools screech as patrons scramble back, forming a ragged circle. Lira perches on the bar, legs swinging, her white eye gleaming.

"Come on, prettyboy!" Varek snarls, clutching his ribs. "Is that all you—"

Kael’s knee slams into his gut. Varek folds, retching. Kael grips his hair, yanks his head up, and smashes it into the nearest table. Wood splinters. Varek collapses, twitching.

But he’s not done. With a guttural scream, he surges up, a broken bottle in his hand. Kael pivots, the glass slicing air inches from his neck. He grabs Varek’s arm, slams it against the table’s edge. The bottle shatters. Varek howls, bloody fingers clawing at Kael’s face.

Kael headbutts him.

Nose cartilage crunches. Varek staggers, blood cascading down his chin. Kael doesn’t let him fall. He hooks a foot behind the man’s knee, drops him to the floor, and drives a boot into his sternum. Varek’s breath leaves him in a wet gasp.

Silence.

Kael crouches, retrieves the Ravager core from the floor, and wipes it clean on the man’s tunic. The dried blood flaking from his own clothes mixes with Varek’s fresh crimson, painting the floor in rust and violence.

Lira hops down, whistling low.

"Well. You’re exactly what I thought you were."

---

The innkeeper slams a meaty fist on the bar.

"Entertaining. Now pay."

Kael turns. The man is built like a Ravager himself—thick-necked, scarred, with eyes like chips of flint. Behind him, two brutes emerge from the shadows, weapons glinting.

"Twenty Etherite shards," the innkeeper growls. "For the table. The stool. The bloodstains."

Kael stares. "I don’t have money."

The room freezes.

Lira groans. "You’re joking."

"No guild? No faction? No shards?" The innkeeper’s laugh is a saw blade on stone.

"Then we’ll dice you. Sell your organs to the Collective. Your bones to the Pact." He nods at his men. "Start with his hands."

The brutes step forward. Kael tenses, fingers curling—

"Wait!" Lira slides between them, hands raised. "Look at him. Fresh from the First Reach, right? You think someone this strong won’t make the shards?" She glances at Kael. "Right, uh...?"

He hesitates. "Kael."

"Kael," she repeats, grinning at the innkeeper. "See? He’s got a name now. That’s worth something. Give him a day. He’ll clear a Void Breach, slaughter a Ravager nest—whatever you want."

The innkeeper leans close, his breath reeking of Blight-rot gin.

"One day. If I don’t have my shards by sundown tomorrow..." He grabs Lira’s wrist, twisting until she hisses. "I’ll dice her first. Then hunt you down and peel your Light Core from your ribs."

He shoves her away. She stumbles into Kael, her grin strained.

"Charming guy," she mutters.

---

The night air bites as they spill back into the streets. Sanctus Nexus never sleeps—torches flicker in the distance, guild patrols stalk the alleys, and the Market Quarter’s noise has dulled to a drunken murmur.

Lira rubs her wrist, scowling. "Twenty shards. In one day. You know how many Ravager cores that is?"

"Five?" Kael says.

"Five C Rank cores. Which means hunting in Blight Fields or the Shardspire. Both are suicide without a team."

"I work alone."

"You’ll die alone." She stops, blocking his path. Her white eye seems to glow in the dark. "Why’d you even come here? The Second Reach eats solo challengers. You need allies. A guild. A plan."

Kael walks past her. "I have a plan."

"Oh? Let me guess: ’punch harder’?"

He doesn’t answer.

She jogs to catch up. "Fine. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it smart. First, we need gear. You’ve got..." She eyes his threadbare clothes, the makeshift bandages. "Nothing. Perfect."

"We?"

"You owe me. That innkeeper’s knife was inches from my spleen."

He stops. "Why help me?"

She shrugs. "Like I said. You’re fun. Also, I’ve got a lead on a Void Breach. Minimal guards, ripe for looting. We hit it at dawn, grab the cores, and pay off your debt."

"We?" He asks again.

"Sixty-thirty split. I’m taking a risk here."

"Fifty-fifty," he says.

She grins. "Deal. But you’re buying breakfast."

---

They move through the back alleys, Lira navigating the labyrinth with practiced ease. Kael watches her—the way she pauses at corners, listens for patrols, pockets a stray Etherite shard from an unattended cart.

"Here," she whispers, stopping at a rusted gate. Beyond it, a narrow path winds toward the outskirts. "Breach is half a mile out. Guilds haven’t tagged it yet, but Ravagers’ll be thick as fleas."

Kael peers into the darkness. "How do you know about this?"

"I listen. Also, I may have borrowed a map from the Iron Pact."

"Stole it."

"Borrowed. Permanently." She wiggles through the gate. "Coming?"

He follows.

The path slopes downward, the air growing colder. Ruins rise around them—crumbling walls, half-collapsed towers, the ground littered with Blight-cracked bones. Lira’s steps slow, her cocky swagger replaced by wary silence.

Then Kael hears it: the low, resonant hum of a Void Breach.

Ahead, the ground ripples, reality itself fraying. A jagged tear hovers midair, its edges dripping viscous darkness. Ravager tracks scar the mud around it.

Lira crouches, pulling a scratched dagger from her boot. "Ready?"

Kael reaches for Aether’valis. The blade materializes in a flash of black light and grey sparks, its cracks glowing brighter, hungrier.

Lira’s mismatched eyes widen. "Well. That’s new."

---

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