Luke left the Safe Zone and slipped back into the Wild Zone. On the way, he scanned every direction, paranoid enough to even hurl his kukris at his own shadow just to be sure no one was tailing him. But he didn’t return to his old hideout. This time, he wanted someplace different. Thanks to his storage item, he carried a mobile home wherever he went.

He found an abandoned building on a random street in the city, though not just any street. It was the same one where Paul had died. Luke climbed the stairs and picked a room with the doors shut tight. His body dissolved into mist, slipping through the cracks. The room was sealed off by solid stone walls, no flimsy wood, no windows. Nothing that could let in a fireball barrage if a squad of mages decided to level the place. That was exactly why he had chosen it.

From his inventory, he pulled out the familiar stone.

“Ah, you’re alive?” Franky’s voice chimed from within. “For a second, I thought you’d taken a fatal blow and pulled me out just so I could watch your last breath.”

Luke froze. “And why would I do that?”

“So I’d know you were dying,” Franky replied, perfectly matter-of-fact.

Luke decided not to argue with a rock. He sat down on a chair, letting his mind churn over the problem ahead. The Midnight Siege event had to be cleared if he wanted access to the chamber of the second mechanism. Which brought him back to the question that kept gnawing at him.

“How the hell am I supposed to kill that Warden Captain?”

“You die to him, and in your final moments, you let me watch you writhe in agony,” Franky suggested.

“You really don’t understand what talking to yourself means, do you?”

“No,” the stone answered.

Luke sighed.

“That’s because Mr. Shitpants. doesn’t think,” Artemis muttered.

He decided to ignore the two chatty souls and went back to thinking about his situation. It had been twelve hours since he faced the Midnight Warden. His mana reserves were fully restored, and his stamina was almost topped off. In other words, he was ready for another suicidal attempt.

Should I blow up my kukris this time?

The axe was still under repair. When his bow had broken, it took twenty-four hours to return, so he figured the axe would be the same.

Explode the kukris with mana infusion or not?

The problem was that the monster’s armor had tanked a full axe explosion. To make it work, he’d have to throw both kukris at once. That would leave him with only the bow, which meant losing access to Demonic Blade Dance and his channeling of Mana Infusion through the kukris for extra cutting power.

Definitely not worth it. Even if he managed to crack the armor, he would cripple his own arsenal.

His bow was just a common rarity piece. Charlie could help, but she didn’t have Force Infusion, let alone Mana Infusion. Her sword wouldn’t put much of a dent in the Warden Captain’s armor, and certainly not in his health.

And then there was the army of Wardens inside the fortress.

He replayed every detail of the battle in his head. Fighting the monster itself wasn’t the problem. Give him the right weapon and he could handle it. The real issue was the reinforcements. They had pulled Charlie away, preventing her from doing anything meaningful in the fight, and she had nearly died for it.

I need stronger arrows. And I need to isolate the Warden Captain from the others. Actually, isolating him at all would be enough. With just me and Charlie, we could handle him.

Dragging the monster out of the fortress would give him the edge. He had taken down the Fallen Stone Angel with strategy and planning. The situations were not so different. All he needed was the right plan. The problem was, the Captain was not stupid. He would not leave the fortress, and he sure as hell would not wander far from the mechanism’s gate.

“Assassination…” he muttered.

Luke pushed himself up from the chair. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh no. Not this again,” Artemis groaned.

“Trust me. It’s a good one.”

“No. Absolutely not! Your plans are insane, Luke. I’ve seen you actually plan to lose your own arm just so you could give an enemy diarrhea. That’s not strategy, that’s lunacy.”

Luke paced the room, hands clasped behind his back. “You’re judging without even hearing it.”

“Judging? Please. After everything we’ve been through, I can smell your disasters a mile away. Remember your brilliant idea to blow up the orc dam so we could get out of the forest?”

“Hey! That was a good plan.”

Artemis burst out laughing. “Good? You nearly got eaten by giant crocodiles and spent God knows how many days stuck in a cave with a monster mantis. Yeah, real genius. Ask Mr. Shitpants over there if he likes the outcome of your plans.”

“My name is Frankzaroth!” the Beast Lord snapped.

Luke ignored him, still pacing, his thoughts drifting far away, back to old movies he used to watch. He almost could not believe he was actually considering what had just crossed his mind.

“Plan whatever you want,” Franky cut in. “I’ll be right here, waiting, praying for your long, agonizing death. Hahaha!” he laughed wickedly.

“Shut it, rock,” Luke snapped. “I need to think!”

“Yeah, shut it, rock!” Artemis echoed.

Luke smirked. “Artemis, how far did you even get in the movies stored in my memories?”

“Don’t know. I’m focused on the series for now,” she said.

“Good enough.” Luke pulled Charlie out from his soul.

“Charlie, I won’t be able to bring you out again for a while. Don’t worry about it. Artemis will fill you in while I start putting this plan into motion.”

He could already see it in his mind, ambitious, complicated, time-consuming. But if it worked… it would be worth it.

“Alright, Charlie,” Artemis began, all too gleeful. “Luke went to the Safe Zone and had a little meeting with a woman.”

Charlie’s visor lit up, the twin red glows turning straight on him.

“Hey, hey!” Luke raised his hands. “Explain it properly!”

While the soul kept rambling in her usual idiotic way, Luke forced his focus inward. Because what he was about to do… he was not exactly thrilled with. He was going to attempt something that even scared him.

***

He had already set his plan in motion, though unfortunately it was going to take time. Which meant he needed a backup plan layered on top of the first. Since he would be stuck in a fixed base until the fortress was his, he might as well use the downtime to push his profession a few levels higher. Class advancement was not really an option in this corner of the tutorial. The local mobs barely scraped level thirty, and the only real threats were the Wardens and its Captain.

Once I have taken the fortress and handed it over to the Haven… should I hunt down the Orc Lord?

He kept running through the Wild Zone, mind split between movement and calculations. Profession leveling was something he could do while the rest of the plan unfolded. All it took was tending plants for a few hours and waiting for them to grow. Simple, boring work, but the payoff was attribute points and twelve free stat points per level. If he could squeeze out ten levels, that meant a flat fifty Strength from the profession itself, five per level, plus one hundred and twenty free points to spend however he wanted. That was a mountain of raw stats just waiting to be claimed, no grinding bloodbaths required.

If everything went the way he pictured, he would secure new arrows, bait the Warden Captain out of the fortress, and in the meantime climb at least ten profession levels. By the time he stood face-to-face with that monster again, he would be far stronger, and when it finally went down, he would cash in on class levels and maybe even a rare drop. In other words, the plan was brilliant. The only catch: to pull it off, he had to do something that terrified even him.

“Seriously? This is what your genius plan hinges on?” Artemis asked.

He perched atop a half-ruined building under the cover of night. “Once it works, you’ll see I’m a genius.”

‘DING-DONG.’

The midnight bell tolled, and from his vantage point the Wild Zone lit up with dozens of white flares. Reward events. Midnight Wardens stirred, crawling out of their hiding places.

“So what is this? Some kind of grand heist?” Artemis pressed.

“This,” he said, “is just the warm-up. Trust me.”

He leapt from the rooftop, boots slamming onto tile, then stone, sprinting across the connected roofs like a shadow. He had a mental map of where the chests tended to spawn, and one of them was not far.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

When he dropped to street level, creatures were already clawing toward the glow of a fresh chest. He drew his kukris in one smooth motion, spun through them like a whirlwind, and left nothing standing.

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

When he cracked open the chest, his eyes caught the gleam of gold, jewels, rations, and of course… seed bags. That was his jackpot. A pocket-sized farm, the chance to plant new and exotic crops that would feed his profession with precious experience. Absolutely essential. What he really wanted were healing potions, though. No luck. This chest did not have a single one.

“Grab the food!” Artemis shouted.

“Relax,” Luke muttered, stuffing the seed bags into his storage item.

“Luke, there’s peanut butter in here!”

He kept cramming the sacks inside the necklace until a sharp sound sliced through the air. His instincts flared, and he twisted aside just as a spear shattered against the wall behind him.

A towering figure loomed at the edge of the street, its hollow gaze locked on him.

[Midnight Warden – Lvl 40]

Luke hurled a kukri, lacing it with stamina and a thread of mana. The impact rocked the armored knight back a step. Without hesitation, he launched the second blade, this time pouring in more mana. The kukri struck like a thunderbolt, detonating helm and skull in a single brutal burst.

[You have slain a Midnight Warden – Lvl 40]

Both blades whipped back into his hands, drawn by the magnetic pull of his skill. He turned them over in his grip, watching the faint glow still clinging to the steel.

“Guess I’ll see how much mana these beauties can handle before they start falling apart,” he murmured.

Exhaling, he lifted his gaze to the horizon where more pale glimmers pulsed, other chests waiting. The plan was simple now: plunder every single one he could get his hands on before six in the morning.

***

Luke was deep in the forest, tilling the soil and laying the groundwork for all the seeds he had collected. The earth here was rich with mana, saturated with both natural and mystical nutrients, perfect for what he had in mind.

“When this is all ready, I’ll be able to make potions, salves, mixtures, even food. In the end, it all comes down to the profession experience bonus,” he muttered to Artemis.

“What pathetic nonsense, human. Playing gardener?” Franky scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. “I expected something more exciting.”

“It was these little plants that killed you, remember?” Luke shot back.

A sharp click of the tongue echoed.

He checked on the crops in his pocket dimension and decided to leave them out here so they could finish growing. Several were already close to harvest. He spread fertilizer, whispered to the seedlings, did everything he could to push their growth along, without cheating. Using Plant Growth would ruin the process entirely.

“Caw!” A crow burst from the trees, wings thrashing.

Luke froze. “Damn bird…” he muttered, realizing he had nearly hurled a kukri on instinct.

His mind shifted back to organizing the mess inside his dimensional space, slotting things into neat piles. Artemis hummed cheerfully while eating peanut butter. Luke pulled out gold bars, rings, and assorted jewels from his necklace, more wealth than most people would see in a lifetime of honest work. He did not care about the riches themselves. They were just the fastest way to strip loot chests clean, dumping everything into storage in one go.

Still, luck wasn’t on his side. Only eight healing potions had been found, each restoring just 150 HP, giving him a total of 1,200 HP. On top of that, he still had three healing potions he had brewed in the past, which together restored 1,500 HP. At least he had discovered something important: not every event chest contained healing potions. The drops were random.

Not that it mattered. Potions were not his focus. Seeds were. But the gold and jewels… those would be very useful for the heart of this insane plan.

***

A few days passed. Luke spent his free time drifting into the Safe Zone, his goal simple: gather information. It did not take long before he stumbled onto a few interesting details, like the fact that he had apparently become the most wanted criminal in the entire place.

The rumors were wild. Some whispered he was a psychopath who had already killed more than fifty people. The count is wrong. Closer to seventy.

The attack on Ronan’s group at the barrier was not even included, probably because Bartholomew did not want word of that getting out. Still, the stories painted him as the one responsible for opening the gate and letting dangerous creatures flood this side of the tutorial. Others swore he was a surviving member of the Renegades, intent on finishing what Marshall had failed to complete.

The gossip piled so high that even Luke could not keep track anymore. But the one thing that stuck, the one thing that gave all the other lies weight, was the fact that he had killed Angelica. That part was true. And because of it, every other rumor sounded real enough to terrify people. His name alone carried fear now.

He was inside a tavern, sitting on a stool at the barkeep’s counter, his gaze fixed on a notice board plastered with sketches of criminals. His eyes stopped on one in particular, his own face. The drawing was crude, scratched out in pencil, but the details were unmistakable.

The description beneath it was a patchwork of rumors:

“Luke: Terrorist, Renegade Member, Discovered the Mechanisms…”

He chuckled quietly. At least they got one thing right. I do know where the mechanisms are.

Of course, the truth had been twisted. The word around the Safe Zone was that he planned to activate all three and slaughter everyone.

“Class: Mercenary.

Crimes: Terrorism, Murder of Angelica of Haven.”

That last line pulled at something buried deep. Being back in the Safe Zone brought his past rushing back, uninvited and heavy.

“You want another round?” a voice asked, pulling him out of it. Doug, the tavern’s owner, stood there with a pitcher in hand.

“Sure,” Luke answered.

Doug filled his mug with liquor. Luke found it amusing that alcohol even existed here. Just like he had learned to brew potions, others had unlocked skills solely to produce booze.

I wonder… could I make beer with the ingredients from the First Universe?

He filed the thought away for later. Taking a long pull from the mug. No alcohol. He had unconsciously triggered [Botanical Purification], stripping the drink down to nothing but clean water. That was how he collected intel: by sitting quietly, eavesdropping, and occasionally making small talk. He wanted to know how things stood back in Haven, but asking outright would draw attention. So he waited, letting conversations drift until someone let something useful slip.

He had not seen Allison. The whispers said she was the current leader. He avoided looking for her directly. Not only was the Safe Zone crawling with Bartholomew’s soldiers, but he also carried the weight of guilt for how things had ended between them. Still, he swore he would make it right.

Once the fortress was his, he would hand it over to Haven as payment for promises he had made to Angelica. He had already been gone nearly four months. A few more days would not matter. He would reclaim the fortress, deliver it in her name, and then… then he would continue his plan.

Bartholomew would die.

“What a shitty day. Raining again,” someone muttered.

Luke’s eyes drifted to a nearby table where a group of men gathered around, cheering and placing bets on a knife-throwing contest. Behind him, more tables buzzed with casual chatter, and farther in the back corner, another round of blades slammed into a wooden target.

“Damn it!” one of the men snarled.

“More winnings for me,” a woman in a green cloak laughed.

Every single one of them bore the symbol of Bastion, Bartholomew’s soldiers.

Luke studied the slips of paper they were gambling with.

“Hey, Doug. What’s that they’re using?” he asked.

Doug glanced over while polishing a mug. “That’s Bastion currency. With those you can buy things exclusive to Bastion: food, weapons, even a night at an inn near the fortress. Worth its weight in gold.” He chuckled lightly. “New around here?”

Luke kept his tone casual. “Since the tributes ended and King Bartholomew softened up a little, coming into the center’s been a lot more pleasant.”

Doug shrugged. “That’s how it goes.”

Those Bastion notes were how he could buy the arrows he needed.

“But this wasn’t around a few months ago,” Luke commented. “At least, I never heard of it.”

“It used to be exclusive to Bastion soldiers. But Bartholomew’s expanding it, turning it into proper currency. Businesses that partner with Bastion can take it as payment. Crazy, right? The place finally has money.” Doug smirked as he set the mug aside. “If someone opens up shop in the Safe Zone and allies with Bastion, they get the notes too.”

“You have some?” Luke asked.

“Of course.” Doug reached into his pocket and flashed a wallet.

“A wallet?” Luke raised a brow.

“Bought it for nostalgia’s sake, a little keepsake from the old world. With storage items around, wallets are pretty useless.”

Luke took another sip from his mug, half amused, half impressed by the sentiment.

“It won’t be easy building that tunnel to the castle,” someone nearby said. “That’s going to be a massive project. At least it’ll bring a little civilization to this place.”

Doug nodded. “Marching more than a thousand people through the city would be too risky.”

Over the past few days, Luke had pieced together the truth. Bartholomew had launched a massive endeavor: digging a tunnel that stretched from the Safe Zone all the way to the barrier’s entrance. It was supposed to be the safe passage that would let them move everyone through the Wild Zone without incident. But Luke knew better. Bartholomew was just buying himself more time after Marshall’s death. He had already stretched it to eight years, and he’d likely keep stretching it.

That bastard… he’s a genius.

The realization cut deep. For years, Bartholomew had bled these people dry, ruling like a tyrant, crushing them under rules and restrictions. But once Marshall was gone, Bartholomew shoved all that filth onto his rival’s corpse. Everything became ‘a necessary measure to stop the Renegades’. Now he was changing tactics. He was smoothing out daily life, shaping something that actually resembled a society. Functional. Comfortable. Free enough to lull them into complacency.

Luke saw the truth in it: who would risk their necks chasing the mechanisms in the Wild Zone when they had roofs over their heads, steady jobs, food on the table? More than that, in those eight years, most people had built families. That was the real play. Bartholomew had secured time in his war with the Renegades, then handed the people a “safe” space to prosper. With children in the mix, no one was thinking like desperate survivors anymore.

And the longer Bartholomew held on, the more those children would grow into a generation that never even dreamed of leaving. A real, functioning society would rise from the cage he built. Luke exhaled and let his gaze linger on the soldiers still gambling.

“I’m done. You’re way too good,” one of them muttered before draining his mug.

Luke rose from his chair. “I want in on the knife-throwing game. You taking new players?”

The soldiers sized him up. “Don’t waste your time. Eleanor will clean out whatever’s in your pockets.”

“That woman’s a menace,” another laughed.

“We play for things that actually matter,” the woman in the green cloak replied. “If you want in, you’d better put something on the table worth my time. What good is it if I win and end up with trash?”

A ripple of laughter moved through the group at her jab.

Luke stepped closer and set a pearl necklace down on their table, loot from one of the reward chests.

“Would this please you, madam?” he asked, gesturing toward the necklace.

One of the soldiers gave a low whistle.

Eleanor eyed the pearls. “It’ll do,” she said with forced indifference. But Luke wasn’t fooled. Post-apocalyptic wasteland or not, a woman was still a woman. Good looks and fine things were never out of style.

Luke heard the dry voice in his head. ‘If you really want to impress me, bring food’. Artemis remarked.

He made a note to himself: not every woman could be swayed by trinkets… excluding insane goddesses trapped in magical items, of course.

The woman extended her hand. “Eleanor,” she said, then with a half-smile, “and you are…?”

Luke clasped it. He met her gaze without flinching.

“Bond. James Bond.”

And just like that… the crazy plan was in motion.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep