Dimensional Trader: From F Rank To Top Trader
Chapter 34: Not On The Map

Chapter 34: Chapter 34: Not On The Map

Frank woke up face-down in a puddle that smelled vaguely like ozone and spoiled herbs.

He groaned, rolled over, and stared up at the sky, a dull green gradient split by two suns, one steady, the other flickering like a candle about to die.

Birds or something pretending to be birds cried in sharp, digital chirps overhead. Leaves rustled around him, wide and flat and glowing faintly blue at the edges.

Frank sat up slowly, blinking at the alien trees, the dark soil, and the distant sound of water dripping in rhythmic patterns.

Then, softly:

"...Not the tea shop."

He stood, wobbling slightly. His boots left cracked impressions in the damp ground—too soft, too springy, like walking on old memory foam.

His system pinged.

[Warning: Dimensional Anchor Disconnected]

[Current Location: Unlisted | No local data]

[Nearest System Node: None]

Frank blinked. "No node? No signal? No map?"

The system gave a cheerful chirp.

[Status: You are off-grid. Good luck.]

He looked around again, slower this time.

The trees stretched up like antennae, their trunks spiraled with glowing moss. Giant spore-blooms pulsed gently every few seconds, like they were breathing.

Something in the distance let out a wet, echoing click.

Frank squinted at it.

"Nope. Not approaching that."

He tapped his wrist console. "Juliet? Sarina? Anybody?"

Silence.

No reply.

He sighed and muttered, "Okay. Unknown world. Unknown threat. Zero backup. And I didn’t even finish my tea."

A rustling sound came from the brush to his right.

He spun, dagger in hand, eyes narrowing.

The leaves parted—then stopped. Nothing emerged.

Frank didn’t lower his weapon. "If this is a welcome committee, you’re really blowing the hospitality angle."

Another ping. This one slower. Different.

[Passive Signal Detected: Trader ID—Unknown | Realm Tag: Classified]

[Status: Watching]

Frank froze.

"...Watching?"

The message vanished.

Just gone.

He stared at the empty sky, the haunted trees, and the soundless horizon.

Then muttered:

"Great. I’m not alone."

Frank moved carefully through the brush, stepping over a vine that twitched as he passed.

"Sure," he muttered, "let’s pretend that wasn’t alive."

The moss grew thicker as he pushed forward, the light dimming as the canopy twisted above. Faint pulses ran through the ground with every step—as if the very soil were relaying his location.

After about fifteen minutes of slow hiking and whispered curses, he saw it.

Half-buried in a mound of moss and rust, a curved metal structure jutted out of the ground like a cracked rib. It was once a dome—now slouched to one side, its supports twisted, the framework half-swallowed by vines.

Frank approached cautiously.

A broken trader terminal lay near the entrance—charred, dented, long-dead.

He knelt, brushing off the moss.

[Device: Trader Sync Hub v2.1]

[Last Sync Attempt: 9,230 hours ago]

[Trader ID: —Redacted—]

[Status: Failed]

"Someone was here," he said aloud. "Someone system-recognized."

He pushed open the warped hatch.

Inside: broken crates. Shredded tarp. A long-cold firepit. Half of a pack—ripped clean through—and a logbook pressed against the far wall, soaked halfway through.

He pried it free carefully.

Pages were damp, words half-smeared, but some of it was still readable.

Day 2: No node. No extraction signal. This place blocks outgoing pulses.

Day 6: Something’s watching me from the trees. Not a beast. I think it used to be a trader. Or wear one.

Day 9: Tried to trade a flare crystal with a moving vine. It hissed. I ran.

Day 11: The ground whispers when I sleep.

Day 14: If anyone finds this—don’t trust the signal.

Frank lowered the journal, eyes narrowing.

"...That’s comforting."

A faint wind blew through the broken dome, rustling leaves and old gear.

Something clinked against the far wall.

He turned, dagger drawn again.

A small charm—a consequence marker, cracked down the middle—rolled into the open. Someone else had accessed the same system tier he had.

And hadn’t made it out.

Frank crouched, picked it up, and whispered, "What did you see?"

Behind him, a faint static buzz clicked through the broken sync hub.

Just one line appeared on the screen—like a memory surfacing before it died for good.

"Trade denied. Too much taken. Nothing left to give."

Frank exhaled slowly.

"Okay. Lesson learned: don’t overpromise."

He pocketed the charm, glanced once more at the ruined shelter, and stepped back into the wild.

Somewhere out there was a way off this world.

But now he knew two things.

He wasn’t the first to arrive.

And he might not be the first to leave something behind.

Frank slipped past the collapsed archway of the ruined dome, boot treads pressing carefully into the mossy earth. The cracked charm in his hand felt colder now, like it had soaked up the warning from that last log entry.

He didn’t like carrying another trader’s failure.

But he liked not learning from it even less.

He stepped into the forest again.

The air felt different now.

Thicker.

Still quiet... but the wrong kind of quiet.

No wind. No birds. Just that faint, almost-inaudible thrum in the soil—a pulse beneath his feet.

He moved slower, scanning the treeline.

Then—

Crack.

A branch snapped.

Behind him.

Frank froze.

He didn’t turn immediately—just shifted his fingers slowly toward his belt. Grabbed the handle of his dagger with his left, a flash pellet with his right.

Another sound.

Three soft footfalls.

Something—or someone—was circling him. Quiet. Controlled. Familiar with stalking.

His system flickered again, trying to sync.

[Passive Signal Detected – Unknown Format]

[No ID Registered]

[Proximity: Close]

"Yeah," Frank muttered. "No kidding."

He rotated on one heel, quick and sharp.

Nothing.

Just more of the same trees. Same glowing vines. Same silence pretending not to hold something.

He lowered his stance slightly, breathing slow. "Okay, Hagan. Let’s not die thirty minutes after surviving the worst first date of your life."

A new sound.

Not footsteps this time—breathing.

It came from the left.

Frank whipped his dagger up, ready to throw the flash.

Then a shape flickered between the trees—too tall, too smooth. Like something wearing skin that didn’t fit quite right.

He couldn’t make out details.

Only the outline.

And the sound.

Click. Click. Click.

It stepped forward once.

Then stopped.

Frank didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

And the shape did something worse than move.

It mimicked.

"Frank..."

A voice.

His own.

Whispered back at him from the trees.

"...Hagan."

Frank’s grip tightened.

"Oh, hell no."

He threw the flash pellet. Light exploded across the forest in a searing pulse.

And when the white faded—

The shape was gone.

But a symbol had been carved into the dirt at his feet—fresh, wide, and glowing red at the edges.

It wasn’t a language he knew.

But it pulsed like a countdown.

Frank stood frozen.

The mimic was gone. The carved symbol still pulsed faintly beneath his boots, like a heartbeat with a bad rhythm.

Then the air split.

Not magically. Not cleanly.

Violently.

A golden rift tore across the canopy above him like a blade ripping parchment. The pressure hit a second later—raw, bludgeoning, the kind of force that didn’t ask permission.

Frank stumbled back, shielding his face as something massive dropped through the tear in space.

BOOM.

The impact cracked the moss-covered earth.

Dirt flew.

Branches snapped.

A figure rose from the small crater.

Massive. Armored in aura-threaded leather. Shoulder scrolls burned with living ink. Crimson clan paint ran like war tattoos down each arm.

Frank blinked through the dust. Who the hell—

The man looked up.

Eyes like forged steel.

Not glowing. Not magical.

Just focused, like a lion deciding if the thing in front of it was prey or threat.

"Are you Frank Hagan?" the man asked, voice low and heavy.

Frank blinked. "...Depends who’s asking."

The man stepped forward. The earth cracked beneath him. "Answer."

Frank drew his dagger, but didn’t raise it. "Look, if this is about unpaid shipping fees, I can explain—"

"I am Zaruun of the Infinite Clans."

Frank said nothing.

Zaruun’s brow twitched. "You don’t know that name?"

"Should I?"

A beat.

Then the warlord said, flatly:

"You’re the one who betrayed Sarina."

Frank’s mind spun.

Betrayed?

He narrowed his eyes. "She sent me into a trap. I walked out. That’s not betrayal. That’s surviving."

"She issued a duel-cancel through emergency code—one reserved for traitors."

Frank took a slow step back. "Look, I didn’t even know her two days ago."

"You trapped her," Zaruun growled, taking another step forward. "You took the core token. You accessed Consequence Tier by force."

"I didn’t force anything!" Frank snapped. "She handed it to me."

Zaruun’s blade gleamed as he unsheathed it—twin seals glowing at the hilt.

"She gave you a chance," he said. "And you turned it into war."

Frank’s hand twitched.

Not toward his dagger—toward his flare glyphs.

This wasn’t a bluff anymore.

This guy wasn’t here to intimidate him.

He was here to end him.

Frank held up one hand. "Okay. Hold on. I don’t know your rules. I don’t know your code. But I didn’t break anything that wasn’t already broken."

Zaruun didn’t flinch.

"You stepped into something you don’t understand. And now I offer you a choice."

Frank’s eyes narrowed.

Zaruun raised the sword and pointed it straight at Frank’s chest.

"Fight me.

Or be marked as a coward across the trade tier."

Frank’s pulse kicked into gear.

He smiled grimly. "You know, this date started with tea."

Zaruun said nothing.

Frank sighed and reached for his belt. "Fine. Duel it is. But I’m warning you now—"

He pulled out a gleaming potion, popped the seal, and downed it.

The heat hit his blood instantly.

"—I play dirty."