SSSSS-Rank: Negative Leveling

The Gorgon Mines were a place of absolute misery, a colossal scar carved into the face of the Northern Wastes where branded slaves toiled under the watchful eyes of Syndicate hunters. At the heart of this operation, within a crude fortress built of black rock, Gorgon Silas was seated upon a throne carved from a single, massive geode.

A messenger, one of the Syndicate's lower-ranking members, knelt on the floor before him, his body trembling.

'This was a bad idea, I should have just run away. He's going to kill me.'

Silas did not look at him, his attention focused on a petrified songbird he held in his palm, a perfect, stone effigy of a creature caught mid-trill.

"Well? What did the old man say? Is he ready to hand over the filth that dared to touch my people?"

The messenger swallowed hard.

"My lord, we received no word. Lord Moria's guards at the gate simply stated that he was… unavailable."

Silas's fingers tightened around the stone bird, causing it to crumble into a fine gray dust that sifted through his knuckles.

'Unavailable? That senile old fool dares to ignore me? After an outsider makes a mockery of my authority in his own town?'

Without a word, Silas reached down and placed a single finger on the kneeling messenger's forehead. A wave of gray energy, like ripples in water, spread from the point of contact. The messenger's eyes went wide with terror as his skin hardened, his flesh turning to solid rock in a silent, creeping wave that consumed him from the head down.

In a matter of seconds, he was no longer a man, but a perfectly detailed statue frozen in a posture of eternal fear.

Silas casually kicked the base of the statue, and the stone figure tipped over, shattering into a thousand pieces on the floor.

"Get a new messenger."

He turned his gaze to one of his elite guards standing by the door.

"And find me the survivors from the tavern brawl. I want a full description of this outsider. His face, his weapon, every word he spoke. I don't care what it costs or who you have to threaten. I want to know who I'm going to be adding to my garden."

---

From the grand window of his study, Moria watched the small cart trundle down the hill until it was just a speck disappearing into the dusty streets of Outpost K.

"Alfred."

"Yes, my lord."

"What do you think? That boy and his pet gremlin. What are their chances against Silas?"

The butler stood perfectly still, his posture ramrod straight.

"To speak plainly, my lord, their chances are statistically insignificant. They are functionally zero."

'Functionally zero, he says. And yet...'

Moria picked up one of the eyeballs, his metal fingers turning it over and over.

"What did they take from the armory? Did he choose the Voidfang Dagger? Or perhaps the Shield of Unyielding Will? A good shield would serve him well against Silas."

"They took nothing, my lord."

'Nothing?'

"The boy stated he had no need of our weapons. He claimed the chain wrapped around his arm was sufficient."

Moria set the eyeball down, a faint smile touching his lips as he picked up a new, unpolished glass eye and began his meticulous polishing process once more.

'Sufficient? A simple iron chain against a B-Rank's Path? This boy… he's either the greatest fool I have ever met, or he is something else entirely.'

'Alfred is right, the odds are zero. But for some reason, I have a feeling the casino is about to burn down.'

"Alfred."

"Yes, my lord."

"Open a new betting pool in the town. 'The Unranked Anomaly vs. Gorgon Silas.' I want odds on everything. Method of victory, time of death, number of limbs lost before the end. Start the boy's odds of survival at a hundred to one against. That should get the high-rollers interested."

The butler bowed his head, "At once, my lord. The Syndicate's enforcers will likely place heavy wagers on their master's success. It will be a significant influx of capital into the town's coffers."

Moria's grin was predatory, "Let them. Their overconfidence will make me a very rich man if this walking contradiction somehow pulls it off. Or, their money will cover the cost of cleaning up the mess when he inevitably fails. It is, as they say, a win-win scenario."

---

Luthra drove the cart through the gates of the outpost, leaving the chaotic settlement behind as they ventured back into the desolate Northern Wastes. The file on Silas was tucked securely in a sack of supplies, along with the food, water, and new clothes Moria's butler had provided. Rebecca, who was now munching on a piece of sweet bread, sat beside him, kicking her feet against the front of the cart.

'Alright, System. Give it to me straight. My chances of defeating a B-Rank hunter like Silas, even with all this information.'

[Analyzing all known variables: Host's current combat parameters, target's established abilities, environmental factors, and the presence of over three hundred hostile combatants.]

[Calculating probability of success for objective: [Terminate Gorgon Silas].]

[Result: 0.00001%.]

'So, basically zero. I figured as much.'

He was not an idiot. He knew the gap between his current strength and that of a B-Rank was not a gap, it was a chasm. A frontal assault, a sneak attack, a duel, it did not matter. In a direct confrontation, he would lose. The system's analysis only confirmed the obvious.

'My current fighting style is just brute force. It worked on idiots and F-ranks, but against a real, high-ranking opponent, it's useless. It has no structure, no technique.'

'System. You were created by a god and his friend from another universe. Your processing power is beyond human comprehension. Is it possible for you to create a new fighting style for me? One tailored specifically to my unique constitution and abilities?'

[Analyzing query… Commencing theoretical combat-style synthesis. The process requires a comprehensive analysis of the Host's negative energy core, physical response times, muscular potential, and existing skills. A new framework can be constructed.]

'Good. How long will it take?'

[Estimated time for the completion of [Negative Void Combat Arts - Stage 1] framework: 4 days, 7 hours, 13 minutes.]

'Four days?! The time limit for the quest is two weeks! That's too long! The first four days will be the most dangerous. That's when Silas will be actively hunting us!'

[The calculation is absolute. The complexity of creating a new martial Path from zero requires this processing time. The system cannot be rushed.]

'Tch. This is a problem. I need to survive for four days against an entire Syndicate without a real way to fight back.'

He needed a place to hide, a place to train, a place to wait out the system's four-day timer. He looked at the crude map Alfred had provided. Most of the area was open plains, with a few rocky canyons and a single, large dead forest.

'The canyons are the only option. They offer cover and chokepoints. We'll have to lose them in there.'

He snapped the reins, urging the horses to pick up their pace, turning the cart away from the main path and toward the jagged line of canyons on the horizon.