Grind-to-Cash System: Buy SSS Skills to Spam them Infinitely with Cash-Chapter 24- Maira’s dilemma

[ Suggestion: Increase skill output to x10? Cost: 10,000 GC ]

Vex's lip twitched, knowing well that his ability's power had already diminished since he did not have a weapon. He took a wooden stick from nearby, and although the system was always scamming, it did make sense.

'Yeah, fine. Whatever. I will definitely squish her boobs off to extract every drop of my money!'

[ Skill upgraded. -10,000 GC ]

The stick in his hand howled—literally. It cracked from within, glowing white-hot for half a second.

Vex lifted it.

"Smile for the camera, ugly."

He brought it down.

The hit didn't just connect—it erased the upper half of the man's body. The dome burst forward like an amplifier, enhancing the strike until blood and armor vaporized into mist.

The man's legs collapsed on their own, still twitching.

"...Damn," Vex muttered, panting. "That better be worth a sandwich later."

But they were still coming.

Two more left. One circling with a spear. Another trying to go wide and flank him.

Vex spun to meet the spear—

Too slow.

The dome caught the stab, but the impact knocked him sideways, scraping along the inside of the barrier. His foot twisted.

He stumbled—vulnerable.

"GOT HIM!"

The flanker rushed in with a short blade aimed straight at Vex's side—

[ Skill Ready: Sword Energy Strike (x10) ]

He didn't hesitate.

His hand moved before his brain caught up.

WHAM.

The glowing stick hit the attacker square in the ribs—and kept going.

The man didn't even scream. He just bent backward unnaturally and flew into the air, flipping once before crashing through a pine tree. The trunk cracked in half.

Panting, Vex turned.

One last guy.

'...Ah, right. Focus the camera on the damsel, god-complex bastard... no one likes action scenes if it's not in bed.'

----

Outside the cart, chaos reigned—but it wasn't the chaos of trained men fighting, or of battle formations clashing.

It was desperate chaos.

Uneven thuds.

Flesh hitting bark. Metal glancing off something invisible.

Grunts. Screams. Bones cracking.

And through the canvas flaps of the cart, Maira saw it.

A figure—barefoot, shirtless, his dark hair whipping around his face. A man surrounded by a pale green dome, translucent like shimmering glass.

He stood at the center, not leaving the dome, just spinning wildly—swinging what looked like a broken branch.

A stick.

There was no technique.

No grace.

He struck like an animal cornered—wide swings, staggered footwork, knees bending with each hit like he might collapse at any moment.

And yet...

Each swing landed.

Men screamed. Blood splattered. Metal swords shattered when they clanged against the dome's barrier.

Two—maybe three—bodies already lay twitching near the cart.

Maira's throat caught.

"He's... fighting for me?"

It didn't make sense.

She didn't know him. Didn't even recognize his face.

Yet there he was. Bleeding. Heaving. Still turning, still swiping at the others when they got too close—never once stepping beyond the dome.

He was fighting like it was his life on the line.

Not hers.

Why?

She looked down at herself—limbs still tied, dress soaked in tears and dirt, her chest heaving beneath the ropes.

A pathetic sight.

She gritted her teeth.

"I was supposed to protect Mirea..."

The thought struck like a blade.

Her vision blurred, but it wasn't fear. Not anymore.

It was shame.

She was supposed to protect Mirea. To guide her. She was a delta once—trained in healing magic, but weak, fragile. Her condition... the coughing fits, the fatigue, the muscle tremors that never healed. All her life, she had been a burden.

She remembered the first time she collapsed in front of Mirea. Her sister had carried her home crying the whole way, blaming herself.

She remembered the herbs. The prayers. The way Mirea had learned to cook, to clean, to speak politely to men she despised—all for her.

And now... this?

Tied in a cart. Sold like meat.

And Mirea... fighting for her?

Her body trembled.

Her heart throbbed, not from fear now—but from shame.

Cooking. Cleaning. Dealing with angry tradesmen.

Her little sister had taken on the world while she—

No. Not again.

She didn't deserve this rescue.

Not from anyone.

Not after everything.

A blade shattered like glass against the barrier, and a body hit the ground with a dull thud.

She didn't even see who it was. Her vision was blurred from tears she couldn't wipe.

"I'm not worth saving," she whispered with head pressed on floor of cart, barely audible even to herself.

She could feel her body trembling. It wasn't just fear. It was... something deeper. Rotten. Hollow.

"Let me die..." she choked out, a muffled whisper against soaked cloth. "Maybe it's better if I just—"

But then—footsteps.

Rushed. Familiar.

Her body jolted at the sudden thudding of boots on dirt—wild, hurried.

Her head snapped up instinctively.

Before she could even think, fingers were already fumbling with the knots behind her. A tug at her shoulder. She froze.

Then a hand gripped her firmly—warm, rough, alive.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She turned her head, tears streaming freely now—and her eyes widened.

Green hair. Freckles. That furious scowl.

"M-Mirea...?"

It came out in a hoarse gasp, disbelieving, fragile.

Her sister stood before her, drenched in sweat, breathing hard—yet full of fire, like she had sprinted through a storm just to get here. Her cheeks were flushed. Her voice cracked.

"What did you just say, idiot?" she barked.

Her hand shook as she gripped Maira's collar tighter—not to hurt, but to anchor her.

Maira blinked. Once. Twice.

Everything inside her cracked.

It wasn't a dramatic collapse. It was soft. Broken. Her chest caved inward as a sob rose like a tide she couldn't hold anymore.

"I—! I was scared..." she stammered. Her voice trembled like a child waking from a nightmare. "I thought I was alone—I didn't want to die, but I didn't want to live either—I just—"

She hiccupped mid-breath, crumbling forward into her sister's arms.

"I missed you," she sobbed. "I missed you so much..."

The words were ugly. Raw. They spilled out with mucus and salt and all the shame she'd buried for years. Her fingers clutched Mirea's sides as if afraid she'd vanish again.

"I'm sorry... I've always been so weak..."