Just when the System had finished handing me one suicide note disguised as a quest, it chimed again like an unpaid credit card reminder.

I was just thinking about how to do the first one.

But sure, let's stack more on the "How to die creatively" to-do list. More quests meant more rewards or Exps.

Show me the second quest.

[ Quest: Side Gig ]

[ Details: Daily, for five years, before the day ends, go out and kill one guard of Malthus. There are many of them roaming around so it will be easy for you to find one. Use whatever means necessary but it should only be you killing them. No outside help you can take. Only one guard you have to kill. You can make it two but not zero. ]

[ Rewards: One Skill after each successful killing. 100 Exps as well. You will level up using them. ]

[ Failure: Death. ]

[ Quest Duration: Five Years ]

Da fuck? What kind of quest is this?

[ The manly kind. ]

Oh yeah? At least ask the man whom you are turning manly.

[ Look, Racis. I'll be honest with you. You are the leader of all these humans and the safety of the planet is in your hands. This planet is without its God and it won't be able to work that well without a God. Supreme Man has to wake up and it will only happen when you are strong enough. You have to learn to fight. And killing the guards will only make you able to use the training of Sexis' mother in real life daily. This is for your own good. ]

Alright. Who are you?

[ I am the same. ]

No way. That thing never talked to me like this. Did you fall in love with me?

[ I would rather fondle Sexis' tentacles. ]

Yeah. You are the same. Anyway, since you said all that, I will show you I am a man too.

[ Yes. Kill the boy and let the man be born. ]

Don't say that. Copyright would fondle my balls then.

[ Right. Carry on. Make sure to tell Sexis' mother about this quest though. She might not let you leave this basement if she doesn't see any good reason to. ]

Got it.

The system went silent after that andI turned my attention to Sexis' mom. She'd been talking this whole time while I pretended to listen — classic student move.

Because let's be honest, one wrong blink and that woman might turn me into an omelette for disrespect.

"Alright," she said, voice sharp enough to shave gods and pierce turtle houses. "First of all, you all will do a hundred push-ups, a hundred laps around the basement, a hundred squats, and three hours of deep meditation."

"Yes!" everyone shouted — including me — like a choir of idiots volunteering for hell.

Meditation though… that's where I'd die.

I can't sit still for one damn second.

My thoughts run faster than cops behind black men.

But I had to do it. Failure meant death — and I wasn't ready to die before breakfast.

Stronges carried on.

"After doing that, you all will practice with the Nano bites."

"Huh? What the hell is that?"

"They are the robots who served you food yesterday. Excellent fighters. One Nano Bite can take down twenty of you. I made them myself back on my planet."

Of course you did.

Because normal moms bake cookies — and this one manufactures Terminators for fun.

"I needed sparring partners," she continued, "but no other alien dared to fight me. So I created thousands."

Thousands.

Lady, that's not training, that's a cry for therapy.

"Anyway," she went on like One Piece, "after your warm-up, you'll fight one Nano for five hours straight, then go hunt for food in the forest. It will seem harsh, but that's how you gain freedom. Scholars can go and fuck themselves. Brute strength wins wars. When you're ready, I'll fight beside you. Together we'll win our independence!"

She said it so passionately that my brain stopped roasting her halfway through.

By the end, I was ready to die for her cause — or at least pull a muscle for it. Now I know how that Austrian painter almost won.

"Yes!" I shouted, with the energy of a toddler pledging allegiance to chaos.

"YES!" echoed everyone else.

Even the aliens were hyped.

Stronges looked proud enough to flex her ego into orbit.

"Good," she said. "Start now. Hundred rounds around the basement. Go! And don't try being oversmart — the Nano Bites are watching you. Closely."

She shouted, and everyone bolted like their unpaid debts just called them through WhatsApp.

She jogged too. No, sprinted.

We hadn't even finished one lap before she was already lapping us twice — like a treadmill possessed by God or Goggins.

"Don't copy me," she called out, "I do this daily. A thousand times."

A thousand?

Ma'am, that's not fitness. That's a war crime on your own body.

I didn't feel ashamed, though.

You can't compete with a woman who probably eats lightning for breakfast.

After — I don't know how many hours or mental breakdowns — we finally finished the laps.

Our lungs screamed like pseudo feminists, our souls cried, and Stronges yelled, "Push-ups now!"

My body begged for mercy.

She gave me none.

This woman was Satan's personal trainer.

I wasn't even done with one push-up when she finished three.

At this point, I suspected she was fueled by pure spite or caffeine or unicorn semen.

Still, I held on — because failure = death = not a fun combo.

After what felt like seven hours (or eternity), we finally wrapped up the warm-up: A hundred laps, a hundred push-ups, a hundred squats, and three hours of "meditation" (read: internal screaming).

Now came the real nightmare — fighting the Nano Bites.

I looked at those shiny metallic things. They were small, cute even, like robotic puppies.

But I've seen enough anime to know cute things are what kill you the worst.

And she called them Nano Bites.

Yeah, I'm entirely sure they bite — both physically and existentially.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.