Bounty Hunter's Path to Ascension

Three years ago, someone in the firewood yard swung a white waxwood staff. What Ah San remembered was something else: in this world, some debts aren't written in the open—they're written on people's names. He carried firewood, kept accounts, entered the side courtyard, climbing step by step until he reached a place where he could take bounties. Only he could see that line of text—deadline, stake, reward. Screening meant acceptance; confirmation meant the stake was locked. When the deadline came, if he didn't take it, it dissolved; if he took it, he had to see it through. Every job he took was a gamble with his life: the shorter the deadline, the higher the stake, the heavier the reward. His name was in the firewood yard's ledger, and the extra entry on the register hadn't been struck out yet—but the one who struck names came knocking first. He had only one skill—taking the jobs others dared not accept, and finishing them alive. (Cold, spare prose; there is a system, but the system only gives the price, not the answers; every object has an origin, every line of dialogue has a cost.) — Description from novelcodex.orgFull novel: Bounty Hunter's Path to Ascension — read the rest free on N​o⁠v​e⁠l​C⁠o​d⁠e​x⁠.​o⁠r​g⁠