CHAPTER 45: 45. CRISIS IN LOW-RANK SAFEZONES

Grunts and breathy moans of pleasure echoed from Darren’s room. Inside, Gegee worked his cock with slick strokes, her hands moving rhythmically up and down his lubed shaft.

Just cum already, you insufferable bastard, she thought, pumping faster with growing irritation. I have better shit to deal with.

Her fingers moved expertly, gliding up and down his five-ish inch dick. Every time her grip tightened near the crown, Darren shuddered, groaning as waves of pleasure surged through him. His eyes shut tight, and with one final grunt, his body stiffened. Hot spurts of thick cum erupted from his tip, spraying across Gegee’s face and shirt in messy, powerful jets.

She kept stroking him through it—milking every last drop—until his body collapsed against the mattress, panting hard and spent. Her hand finally let go of his softening cock. A fake smile curled on her lips as she lay beside him.

"Did you enjoy it?" she asked, brushing her fingers lazily through his damp hair.

"Fuck yeah... best ever," he muttered, satisfied.

"I’m glad," she replied softly. Her touch trailed down to his chest, tracing lazy circles over the fine hair there. After a pause, her tone changed—light, but deliberate. "So... honey... I need a favor."

Darren’s brow twitched. Of course. He’d known it wasn’t just a pleasure call.

"What is it?"

She hesitated, then inhaled sharply. "Three days. I want out for three days."

Darren jolted upright, his back hitting the headboard. "Three days? Are you insane? You know I can’t let that happen."

"I’m begging you, boss." She dipped her head, voice quiet. "Please..."

He shook his head. "Hell no. You’d be out there sniffing for that traitor brother of yours—him and those other rats that turned their backs on me. You could be a spy for all I know."

"I’d never betray you," she said quickly, eyes wide with something close to fear. "You and I both know what happens to those who do. I don’t wanna end up like Yolanda... or the others."

Darren groaned, rubbing his temples. She had a point. Ever since his Weaponry skill evolved into Weaponry God at level 25—after slaughtering more bodies than he could count—he’d become untouchable. The system gifted him the power to conjure deadly weapons out of thin air. He could weaponize anything he touched—even a napkin could turn lethal in his hands.

But it was his skill called the "Mark of the Forged" that truly made him feared. That skill allowed him to weaponize the shadows of anyone who served him. If someone betrayed him, their shadow would split into dozens of blades and rip them into unrecognizable chunks. No warning. No escape. It had already happened before. Yolanda was a gruesome reminder of what happened when you crossed him.

He sighed. "I know you’re not dumb enough to cross me. But still... if you want time out, you need to earn it. Lead the boys on a scouting run. Hit the nearby towns and bring back supplies. Do it right, and I’ll give you your three days."

Gegee’s face lit up, relief and satisfaction washing over her. "Thank you, boss." She dipped her head respectfully and slipped out of bed.

"I’ll get ready right away."

She bent down, grabbed her stilettos from the floor, didn’t even bother putting them on. Just clutched them in her hand and strode out of Darren’s room, his cum still glistening on her chest, hitting her nostrils with its odor.

Finally... freedom. Even if temporary. She’d gotten what she wanted—permission to walk out of this hellhole. But first... the supplies. Then she’d find the bastard who killed her brother Gerald.

Her fists clenched tight at the thought, mind swirling with violent fantasies of how to make the killer suffer.

**

Meanwhile...

The shortage of supplies wasn’t just Darren’s problem—it was a global crisis in the Low-Rank Safezones. All across the world, players were struggling. The system had deliberately choked off resources, watching like some twisted god to see how humanity responded to desperation.

Some fools believed they could live comfortably forever in the Safezones, as long as they had the coins. They thought Safezones were paradise. Just collect coins, live in luxury, kill a few mobs here and there. But coins weren’t infinite. Neither were people. Sooner or later, the blood would run dry—and the Safezones would be ghost towns.

But the system had different plans. It didn’t want total extinction—just a purge. A calculated culling of the weak.

Lilian wandered from one shop to another, seeing the same thing at each one: long lines, empty shelves, desperate faces. Even the NPC vendors were tapped out. No fruit. No drinks. No food. The only things left were blades and axes gathering dust at the dwarven weapon stalls.

With no other option, she slipped into one of the lines, her face hidden under a hoodie. A feeble attempt to blend in. What she didn’t realize, however, was that a soft glow hovered above her head—three letters floating there like a curse: NPC.

No matter how she covered herself, it wouldn’t go away.

A man shoved her shoulder. "What the fuck is an NPC doing in line?!"

Lilian kept her head down, quietly stepping back in.

Another push. "Waste of rations! Get her out!"

The crowd started turning. More angry voices. Accusations.

And she didn’t understand a word of it. Every time they said "NPC," her hearing glitched

unable to comprehend the word. The system wouldn’t let her. And it wasn’t just her—every NPC had the same problem. The truth of what they were was sealed, glitched out like forbidden knowledge.

Another man ripped her hood back, revealing her face to the crowd.

"Wait a sec... isn’t she a hostess from the Pleasure Hub?"

"She is! I haven’t seen her there lately..."

"I saw her leaving some brat’s room. Maybe she’s feeding him!"

"No way. NPCs don’t break code. Hostesses stay hostesses. Sluts stay sluts."

"What if... that kid hacked something? Bent the rules?"

The whispers turned to theories, suspicions, and accusations. Lilian trembled, heart hammering in her chest.

Did I... put Lord Divine Shade in danger?

The line wasn’t moving. Food was nowhere in sight. With panic bubbling in her gut, she turned and bolted—leaving the murmurs and shouts behind.

TBC