1% Lifesteal

After sleeping for nearly thirteen hours straight, he felt pretty good. He was now more used to the smell and the cold, and he still had almost six hours until his first actual workday began.

So, as was the best choice, he grabbed the guide and started reading it.

After glancing at some of the more common ores and treasures, he promptly skipped the rest and went straight to the rules section. He wasn't planning on paying off the debt any time soon. While he wanted to earn the quota as quickly and efficiently as possible, not dying was more important.

Rules were his priority, and then, the dangers the caverns might pose.

As he read over the rules, he found himself quite amused. It had been a long while since he had done anything fun, so even reading these bullshit rules was enough to make him audibly laugh.

Don't congregate in groups larger than five unless staff is present, don't gather, don't ascend, don't intentionally grow abilities (unless for productivity purposes), don't train, don't communicate with people in set patterns, do not hide any form of written content you have received from another worker, do not preach religions, do not… and so the list went on.

The rules were clearly aimed at crushing any chance of organized resistance appearing, and there was even a rule that outright stated that one would be rewarded quite handsomely if they reported suspicious behavior.

Even though training, gathering, and growing abilities were forbidden, that wouldn't stop him, and hell, it wouldn't stop most people. The rules even added a very convenient exception for productivity. And as long as nobody saw him, who could say whether his growth had come from work or training?

As for gathering, there was just no point in keeping constant track of every single person, and even then, it took quite the acute senses to determine whether a one-star had gotten slightly stronger. The only thing the administration could reliably track was whether someone had ascended or not.

But the rest of the rules weren't there for no reason. They made trusting anyone nearly impossible.

The rest of his free time was spent combing over the cave's threats and dangers. There was little merit in knowing the ores if he walked into his own death due to ignorance.

Eventually, the bell rang, pulling him out of his focus. It was the sound that marked the start of a new day. While, strictly speaking, as long as he fulfilled his quota within the next twenty-four hours, he could start whenever he pleased, he got up anyway.

A large box was seated right beside his futon in the tent. Inside, he discovered the new gray work uniform and an assortment of essential tools.

He donned the clothes—the rocky-gray-and-brown camouflaged uniform made of thick, rough material, scattered with numerous pockets and compartments, the large, metal-plated boots, the helmet, the goggles, and the tool belt.

On the tool belt, he placed the first-aid kit, a utility knife, a metal baton, the weight-reducing bag, and the chisel, while he put the sledgehammer and pickaxe into a strap that he swung over his back.

There were some more tools he could take with him, but most he either wanted to try later or just had no idea what they were meant to be used for.

So, without hesitation, he stepped out of the tent and followed the flow of the crowd toward a large cave entrance on the other side of the camp.

***

On his first day out into the wilds of the cave system, Freddy boldly walked past the heavily populated area with several expedition employees organizing the workflow and stepped out, looking for a place to work in peace.

Most of the immediate surrounding area was filled with workers. The plant life was low to nonexistent, while most of the walls had tunnels dug into them, held in place by heavy support beams that looked to have been created by earth manipulation.

The populated area was rowdy, the air was full of dust, and while some air-affinity archs seemed to be tasked with keeping the dust down, they could only do so much when earth- or water-affinity archs swung their pickaxes with force that sent shards of stone flying.

Several people simply put their hands against the wall and, through either an ability, a talent, or just raw manipulation, forced a section of the wall to break off and clutter to the ground.

Earth-affinity archs were clearly in their element here, while other affinities had to get more resourceful.

There were the standard attack-strengthening abilities that most affinities had at least some form of access to, but there were more creative applications as well. A woman with the nature affinity used it to spread roots into the stone to break chunks off, a fire-affinity worker triggered tiny explosions between cracks and a death-affinity arch employed some undead servants to work for them.

The little creatures were clearly assembled out of the bones of dead monsters, and their power wasn't all that impressive, but they were reliable enough to help carry heavy loads.

Even if the sight of them left him feeling rather disturbed.

The sounds of metal on stone resounded loudly through the cave, and so did the half-orders given out by the organizers. They seemed to be more like suggestions, actually. Stuff like "Please move aside," or "Do not move along this edge if possible."

He was absolutely sure that every captive here would be executed in one way or another.

That only made this clear morale management feel that much more disgusting.

Many workers stared at him as he passed by, and it couldn't have been more evident that his looks made them uncomfortable. Given that if he ever wanted to get out of here, he would have to prepare out of sight of others, he wasn't thrilled to be around them either.

Eventually, he made it past the core of the mining expedition and stepped into an area that hadn't been processed so thoroughly. Every part that had been explored had also been marked in numerous ways. The most basic were the lanterns. They were everywhere, illuminating the entire cave system's moist, glistening outline.

Other than that, numerous signs were laid out, marking sections, characteristics of specific areas, notable dangers present, the overall danger level, directions, the most common ores, which tools were recommended for use in certain areas, and so on.

Maneuvering through the caves was a damn nightmare. Everything was overgrown with thick plant life, and the colors varied from zone to zone. At first, he walked through the area where the plant life had been stripped down quite heavily—without even realizing it. Only when he walked into the less explored section of the cave did he understand what a genuinely overgrown cave looked like.

Once he reached a bulky metallic fence that blocked off what could only be called a wall of thick, verdant vines, fungal growth, and these soft, white… trees? Big mushrooms? There were muffled sounds of movement within, too, not to mention the lack of illumination. Only then did he realize that the unexplored area required a machete and a lantern at the very least, and plants might not be the only thing he'd have to cut through.

And that was a problem. A big one.

Without much hesitation, he turned around and returned to the already-explored section, looking for a place to start mining.

While a bit of plant slaughter wouldn't impact his current state much, if he used his talent too much, he'd reveal its quality sooner rather than later. Whether this was something to be worried about depended on how the expedition leaders would react.

They could end up not caring. But was that really going to happen?

No.

The far more likely outcome was that he would be used as a test subject for experimental alchemical concoctions. If not for some other morbid purpose he wasn't brave enough to imagine.

That obviously didn't mean that he could stay as he was. His body was falling apart. Finding a way to use 1% Lifesteal without raising eyebrows was pretty high on his list of priorities.

The first thing he needed to do was find a place where he could have some privacy. The less interaction with others, the better.

Unfortunately, however, most of the places in the caves had at least one or two stragglers looking for decent spots. True privacy was a problem he would have to find a solution to eventually. As it stood, it was either other people or monsters.

For the time being, he would settle for the scattered stragglers.

To his surprise, however, he found a place that might actually be entirely abandoned.

Danger level: Low.

Recommended tools: Standard pickaxe, sledgehammer, and wedge.

Notable ore deposits: None.

This was the first time he encountered an area with no notable ore deposits. Not even he was interested in mining here, per se, but he still headed there to give it a once-over and check for any decent hidden spots.

The area itself was a cavern of barren rock, with no growth of any kind in sight.

To his bewilderment, however, the first thing of note he found inside were… people. At least ten men, actually. They weren't a part of a single group either, but all were heading in different directions. One of them walked past him, a burly man with long hair, and he was bruised, with a cut lip and a large black eye.

Huh…? he mused internally. Had he encountered some form of gathering spot?

The pattern of people coming and going was quite obvious, and he couldn't help but get somewhat curious. He casually followed behind a few men who seemed to be heading in the same direction. He eventually noticed a faint sound. It was muffled and non-descript, like overlapping whispers, clinks, and distant grunts, all underlined by the constant hum of… wind?

Eventually, however, the sounds became clearer. It was cheering. The men finally reached a well-concealed, tight turn that led into a large, open room.

"Fucking get him!"

"No, you dumb cunt! Don't grab the leg!"

"Hahaha, that's gonna hurt like a bitch!"

Two large men, dressed in nothing but boxer shorts, stood in the center of what could only be described as an arena, surrounded by a crowd of cheering onlookers sat upon a makeshift stadium. The fight between the two of them was far from a graceful martial arts match, but it was clear that neither of the two were amateurs.

Oh, so this is where they hold the sanctioned matches… he realized immediately.

Rather than stick around, he decided to turn tail and leave, but before he could, several men quickly walked over to him, surrounding him and effectively cornering him.

Oh boy, here we go.

"What's this?" one of the men, a skinny, dirty guy, asked.

"Shaven fella, I see?" a bearded man to his left commented, remarking on Freddy's appearance, which was in line with what most rookies looked like. Anyone who had been here for a while had already grown their hair back, making newbies easily identifiable. "I reckon you know what's up already."

Freddy grinned at the man, and two people before him winced once they saw the absolute terror inside his mouth. One of them even swung a hand before his nose, likely in a futile attempt to chase away the stink.

"Do you eat coal as a snack, you rotten bastard?" the skinny man asked, and the bearded one put a hand on his shoulder to interrupt him.

"Listen," he said, referring to Freddy. "This place has a certain… tradition. Need me to spell it out for ya?"

As if to punctuate the man's question, the slightly larger of the two fighters landed a solid punch on the other man's liver, dropping him to the ground. A wave of cheers and boos echoed out, and he could see numerous people exchanging bags, likely the stakes of a bet between them.

A couple of men ran out, using different forms of healing on the two fighters. It didn't seem to be anything special, and it was hard to see what they did through the thick layer of blood covering the two men's faces, but the one still standing appeared visibly relieved after receiving the heal.

"Well then," Freddy said as cheerfully as he could, "you boys have fun. I'm gonna go get some work done.

"Wait a minute," the man said, grabbing his shoulder. "I don't think you quite understood me."

The others moved before him, and he felt that he could sense the direction this was going. He was heavily outnumbered, and there really was no point in resisting, so he hurried things along rather than let them waste more of his time.

The bearded man was clearly about to speak, but he interrupted him. "Who am I up against?" he asked.

The man's demeanor shifted slightly, and he grinned. "You'll know when you're called out."

Freddy nodded and waited as the man ran off to a couple of people, pointed at him, and waved him over. After a brief talk with who appeared to be the ring leaders, he was told to wait a few minutes as they looked for an opponent.

"Remember," one of the ringleaders instructed him, "no lethal techniques, keep external abilities to a minimum, and don't aim for the nuts."

No lethal techniques, huh? he thought jokingly. What a stupid thing to say.

He put his equipment aside and took off the goggles as he waited. Nobody was fighting, so most people were looking at him and the other ringleader running around searching for an opponent.

He felt his body flush with adrenaline as he waited, seated in the corner of the arena. It was hard to pinpoint precisely what he was feeling. Was it just excitement? Maybe it was fear. Before he could place it, his opponent was already stepping into the ring.

He got up, took a few steps forward, and walked into the plain, cleared stone of the arena—

"Wait!" one of the men behind him yelled. "The uniform, man! Take it off!"

Without any protest, he merely nodded and complied. As he unzipped and gradually removed the gray suit… the cheering of the crowd grew quieter, and as he finished stripping it off, the room turned deathly silent.

The missing fingers, the scars, burns, and other marks lining his skin were gruesome. He looked like he'd been put into a giant blender, then an oven, and then struck by lightning. Every inch of the surface of his body was battered, and he was pretty skinny on top of that.

The many days of confinement had cost him most of his body mass, and even now, he felt stiff and rigid. Yet, despite all of that, he stood ramrod straight and walked forward with absolute confidence.

He wasn't sure he'd win, but he had little to lose. Hundred Wet Hells at peak stage zero made the odds of him dying from a single strike by another one-star nonexistent.

And he had a thing for coping with injuries.

"Hey!" someone yelled from behind him, and he felt a hand grabbing his arm. "Wait! Are uh… Are you sure you can fight?" the man asked, wincing at the sight of his mangled skin.

"It's fine," he said, pulling his arm back with more force than this person was expecting to see.

The last thing he wanted was for others to see him as weak. The weak were prey. He was done being at the mercy of others.

His opponent was a bald man roughly his own height but with a bit more muscle and quite a bit more fat on him. Another one-star, just like himself, and just as expected.

His eyes were green, his face was clean, and he had his fair share of battle scars. Yet the air of uncertainty was thick around him as he took Freddy's form in, despite his blatant attempt at trying to seem confident.

Freddy's body was a consequence of torture. A lot of torture. And anyone with a good head on their shoulders would wonder what kind of lunatic could still stand so proudly while looking like that, regardless of how they earned such injuries.

Upon stepping right before the man, Freddy stood, calmly taking his opponent in. His guard was down, and he was simply standing still, waiting for the fight to begin.

The man who would be the judge of the fight glanced at someone beside him, and once he received an affirmative nod, he finally swung a fist down. "Begin!"

The bald figure lunged, capitalizing on his opponent's total lack of defense. His movement was unnaturally smooth and quick, likely due to whatever his talent was.

His fist landed right in the middle of Freddy's torso, who felt like a boulder had smashed into his stomach. The man had used Tectonic Strike, and his stone-like skin was clearly the product of much tempering. Even beyond that, the man's attack was simply well-placed.

But Freddy hadn't moved an inch.

Flowing Strike could be used in several ways, but in essence, it was about moving water within one's body in a particular direction. Just as the man was about to land his blow, Freddy used Flowing Strike to concentrate the thick, heavy water in his body right in the middle of his torso, countering the momentum.

The result had echoed loudly through his body, and even with his internal toughness, he felt the pain. But he ignored it. The man's shock at finding his attack ineffective briefly exposed him, and Freddy rushed to grip his wrist.

For all that time during confinement, he could barely move. But there was one action that he could still do and often inadvertently did while coping with the pain of Hundred Wet Hells—clenching his fists.

The steel grip of his left hand was like an iron vice, even with his ring finger missing, and the man was stuck out of balance, awkwardly trying to wrench his arm back, now very clearly afraid to be standing where he was.

It was finally coming together. Beneath all the shame and panic he felt when he killed that man in the alley…

He pulled his fist back. Flowing Strike pushed his arm in a clean haymaker, and as he watched it land on the man's chin, he felt it. That was it. The rush of a decisive blow. The pleasure of life force coursing through his body.

His entire life, he had been a speck of dust. A pitiful animal that could be stepped on and played with by predators.

As his opponent crumpled to the ground, unconscious after receiving the blow, and the crowd gawked in absolute disbelief, he knew exactly what he felt.

The refreshing rush of finally being the one in power.