Chapter 6: D-Grade Was Better Than Dead
Chapter 6: D-Grade Was Better Than Dead
She was giving the orders. I was technically in charge.
I scrambled toward the bookshelf, the one that had already half-collapsed during the Crawler’s entrance. The creature had its back to me, all six limbs scrabbling for purchase as it tried to corner Liora against the wall. She was faster than it, but only barely; her Level 1 body couldn’t execute the movements that twenty-one levels of survival and combat experience were demanding of it.
She slashed one of its forelimbs. Black blood sprayed. The Crawler screamed and lurched toward her.
"Now!"
I didn’t pull the shelf, because I didn’t have the strength to pull it. I kicked the support beam instead.
The shelf groaned and tilted. Liora dove sideways, rolled through a gap that shouldn’t have fit her, and came up with both knives raised as the whole structure came down across the Crawler’s hind legs. It didn’t kill the thing—it thrashed, splintering wood, dragging itself forward on its front four limbs—but it was pinned. Slowed. Distracted.
"Your left!"
The warning was out of my mouth before I’d thought about it, and the coordination link carried it cleanly through the Crawler’s scream. Liora heard me and moved on her own judgment, pivoting left as the claw swept through the space she had just occupied.
She saw the opening I’d seen: the vertical mouth stretched wide in fury, soft pink tissue exposed behind the spiral teeth.
Both knives went in. The Crawler screamed once, wet and gurgling, and died.
❖ ❖ ❖
Silence.
I leaned against the wall, breathing hard, my ribs a chorus of complaints. The Crawler’s body was already dissolving, black blood evaporating into thin mana residue that smelled like rot and ozone. Liora yanked her knives free and wiped them on her thigh. Her ears were still flat and her tail lashed behind her, quick and agitated.
Silent blue windows appeared.
[Class-Assisted Kill Confirmed.]
[Host remained within combat range.]
[Combat contribution verified.]
[Earth progression allocation: Host.]
[Experience transferred.]
[Resonance updated.]
Resonance: 1% → 2%
[Level increased.]
[Adrian Vale has reached Level 2.]
Warmth bloomed in my chest. It wasn’t much—a brief pulse of energy, like swallowing hot tea on a cold morning—but the exhaustion weighing down my limbs lightened by a fraction and my breathing came easier. The bruises still ached. The ribs still protested. The sharpest edge of the starvation dulled.
I was still hungry, still weak, still one good punch away from a hospital bed.
But I was Level 2. Progress. Glorious, pathetic, barely-measurable progress.
Then I looked at Liora’s status window again.
Summon Grade: D
The warm feeling died a quiet death.
"D Grade," I muttered.
Her ears swivelled toward me. She was still wiping black blood off her second knife, but her amber eyes narrowed. "Is that supposed to mean something?"
Right. She can’t see the System. She didn’t know about grades, the Blind Call, or the interface that had sorted her into the lowest accessible band.
"Nothing," I said.
"Liar." She sheathed one knife in a smooth practised motion, the blade disappearing without her looking at it. "Your invisible magic just insulted me, didn’t it?"
"Not directly."
"How indirectly?"
"Very."
She snorted—an undignified sound, rough and unladylike, and somehow more reassuring than anything Velisara had said.
A new timer panel appeared.
[Initial manifestation limit calculated.]
[Summon Grade: D]
[Level synchronization active.]
[Minimal world rejection.]
[Maximum Manifestation Duration: 58:00]
I stared at the number. Fifty-eight minutes.
Velisara—EX grade, divine, capable of crossing universes on impulse—could manifest for one-point-seven seconds under ordinary conditions. This cat-eared D-grade knife fighter could stay for nearly an hour.
[Combat exertion above synchronized limits accelerates dimensional instability.]
[Manifestation Remaining: 47:36]
Low-grade summons had advantages. Longer duration, lower cost, less rejection, easier stabilisation.
The multiverse’s cheapest option might actually be useful.
"Something funny?" Liora asked.
I realised I was smiling. "Just... reconsidering some assumptions."
Her tail curled—suspicion, maybe, or curiosity. "You’re strange."
"You fell out of a dimensional portal onto my face. You don’t get to call anyone strange."
"Fair." She finished cleaning her knives and sheathed the second one, then turned to inspect me.
Not the room. Not the monster corpse. Not the broken door or the blood trail or the barricade. Me.
She walked a slow circle around me, amber eyes tracking from my torn shirt to my bruised face to my dirty hair, her tail swaying behind her with the tip twitching. Her ears had come forward again, alert and focused. She reached up and lifted a lock of my silver-white hair.
I stepped back.
She raised both hands immediately, palms out. The gesture needed no translation: I won’t touch without warning.
"That’s new," I muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing." I shook my head. "Previous... visitor... had different boundaries."
"Previous visitor?" Her ears flicked. "The one who hit you?"
"No. Different person. She..." I stopped. How do I explain Velisara? "She was a goddess. She showed up, groped me, accidentally triggered my class, and vanished."
Liora stared.
"Groped you."
"Among other things."
"And then gave you a class."
"Also among other things."
Her tail curled into a question mark. "Your world is very strange."
"You have no idea."
She stepped closer again, and this time she didn’t reach for me. She only looked—at the healed split in my lip, the bruise near my eyebrow, the exhaustion carved under my cheekbones.
"You’re filthy," she said.
"The apocalypse has limited bathing facilities."
"Your face is still ridiculous."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It’s a complaint." Her gaze dropped to my torn shirt and the dark bruising visible beneath the fabric. "Someone hit you."
I tensed, and she noticed immediately. Her ears angled back, just slightly. Her tail stilled.
"We can discuss whoever it was after you stop looking like a stiff breeze could finish the job," she said.
And that was it. No pressing, no demands, just an acknowledgment and a closed door. That restraint shouldn’t have felt like a gift.
It did.
Liora searched the apartment like she’d been doing it her whole life. The cabinets first, opening them with the tip of her knife, scanning the contents, closing them silently. Then the drawers, the bags, the windows—testing each frame with her palm. The escape routes, noting the fire escape and the drop to the alley below. The barricade, assessing how long the remaining furniture would hold.
"The blood trail," she said, crouching near the doorway. "It leads up the stairs. Something followed you home."
"The Crawler. It tracks blood."
"Then we can’t stay." She rose, dusting her hands on her thighs. "More will come. The blood and mana residue will draw them."