《New Race Humans》 Prologue The grand hall buzzed with anticipation, a million voices weaving a tapestry of whispered alliances and quiet schemes. Gods and pantheon elites gathered beneath the cold blue lights, their power crackling in the air like an impending storm. At the heart of it all, she watched. The feline goddess, her ebony fur shimmering with a deep violet hue, strolled through the crowd with effortless grace. Bowed heads greeted her passage, reverent but never truly loyal. She knew better than to trust this nest of opportunists¡ªparasites drawn to power, ready to latch onto the next rising force. She smirked. Let them plot. It made the game more entertaining. But tonight wasn¡¯t about them. No, something much more important was about to happen. Her gaze lifted to the massive floating screen at the center of the hall. The Integration List was being finalized. 256 pre-system races, newly integrated into the grand design of the universe. At first, nothing caught her interest. Elves. Beastfolk. Dwarves. Demons. Orcs and ogres. Fae and fauns. A few boutique subraces tossed in for flavour. All very traditional. All very predictable. Then the list flickered. Then the list flickered. An error message pulsed for the briefest moment¡ªa glitch, a hesitation. The screen distorted, flickering between languages long forgotten and scripts belonging to lost civilizations. The System recalculated. For the first time in its existence, the System had faltered¡ªstruggling to classify a race it had never accounted for. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Then, the final line appeared. New Race Found: [Human] A sharp inhale shattered the stillness. The blue-skinned humanoid beside her¡ªa god whose very flesh bore the history of the cosmos, runes and glyphs carved into his skin pulsing with a faint golden glow¡ªwent rigid. His golden eyes flickered with frantic energy as his luminous veins pulsed in rhythm with the knowledge he sought. His fingers traced rapidly across the pages of his ancient tome, flipping through lines of text that blurred beneath his trembling hands. ¡°No records¡­¡± he whispered, voice shaking. ¡°Not a single mention.¡± The feline goddess¡¯s tail flicked. Interesting. A heavy thud announced the arrival of another figure¡ªa towering, battle-worn deity with piercing green eyes and a burn-scar in the shape of a handprint on his cheek. His lips curled into a smirk as he read the screen. ¡°A new race, huh?¡± His deep voice carried amusement, but there was an edge to it. ¡°Didn¡¯t think the System could still surprise us.¡± The blue god ignored him, still lost in his book. His golden eyes flickered as he traced the ancient glyphs, searching for something¡ªanything. But the pages yielded no answers. His voice dropped to a near whisper, almost as if speaking to himself. "A race without records is a race without destiny¡­ or one that was meant to be forgotten."¡± A chill spread through the hall. Even gods feared the unknown. The feline goddess let out a low purr, her golden eyes gleaming with intrigue. "Oh, this is going to be fun." She slid her arm over the scarred man''s shoulder "Let¡¯s see how these new gods handle a wildcard." The screen flickered once more. Integration Commencing¡­ Far beyond the divine halls, in a world unaware of its fate, a different kind of countdown was reaching its end¡­ A massive digital clock blinked on every screen on Earth. 00:00:03 A lone man stood before a monitor, fingers clenched into fists, his breath shallow. 00:00:02 In the last six months, no one had been able to explain it. No scientist, no government, no machine. 00:00:01 Richter Scott swallowed. His world was about to end. 00:00:00 Everything went dark. Chapter 1 Richter: The Countdown Ends For the last six months, Richter''s life had revolved around that countdown. Every government, every global power, had scrambled to assemble the greatest minds of their era¡ªphysicists, engineers, theologians, military strategists, and even historians. They dissected every possibility, theorized every outcome, yet the answer remained elusive. Was it an extinction event? An alien invasion? A cosmic joke played by some unseen intelligence? Skyscrapers in every major city bore massive digital clocks, ticking down with unyielding precision. News broadcasts ran nonstop, offering speculation and panic in equal measure. Protests erupted, doomsday cults formed, economies wavered. The world was holding its breath, teetering on the edge of an unknowable future. And Richter? He was in the thick of it, part of one of the government research teams tasked with unravelling the mystery. As one of the leading ecologist in Britain he was flown out to America, to help with the project. But despite their best efforts, despite simulations and quantum calculations, the only certainty they found was that no one knew anything. And now, time was up. The lab was silent. No frantic chatter, no last-minute theories¡ªjust the hum of machines that would never solve the mystery in time. Richter glanced at his phone. One unread message. He knew who it was from without looking. His sister. He had promised her answers. But now, the screen was frozen on the countdown. He¡¯d never get to reply. Richter sat in the dim glow of his office, the flickering light of his monitor casting shadows across the stacks of reports and data drives littering his desk. The final seconds of the countdown pulsed on the screen, each number a hammer blow to his chest. 00:00:03 He exhaled; his breath unsteady. For months, he had poured over theories, run calculations, and simulated possibilities. And yet, as the final moments arrived, he had no more answers than when the countdown first appeared. 00:00:02 His fingers twitched over the keyboard, instinct screaming at him to do something¡ªanything. But what was left to do? The world had already braced itself. Military installations were on high alert. Shelters were full. Every possible action had already been taken. All that remained was the unknown. 00:00:01 Richter¡¯s eyes locked onto the screen. His mind raced. Maybe this was nothing. Maybe it was a grand hoax, an anomaly, some cosmic miscalculation. Or maybe it was the end of everything. 00:00:00 The world went dark. A sharp, piercing tone filled Richter¡¯s ears, rising in intensity until it was all he could hear. His body seized, every muscle locking in place as if reality itself was constraining him. A crushing pressure bore down on his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. Then¡ªrelease. The sound vanished, the pressure lifted, and for a fleeting moment, he felt weightless. Then he was falling. Or was he? His limbs flailed, searching for resistance, for anything to grasp onto¡ªbut there was nothing. No wind, no weight, no gravity. Just an overwhelming absence. It wasn¡¯t like falling through air. It was like falling through existence itself, untethered, slipping away into an abyss without end. No walls, no ground, no sky¡ªonly the vast, infinite blackness stretching beyond comprehension. It was not merely dark; it was an emptiness that swallowed all concept of direction, space, and time. Richter¡¯s pulse pounded in his ears, loud and erratic. Panic clawed at the edges of his mind. He tried to move, to stabilize himself, but his limbs felt sluggish, disconnected. He reached out instinctively, but his fingers met nothing. It was as if his body was dissolving, unravelling at the seams. His body felt weightless, untethered from reality itself. Was he dead? Dreaming? Trapped in some simulation? Light slashed through the void, burning symbols into the nothingness. A deep, emotionless voice resonated, vibrating through his skull, demanding to be understood. The words weren¡¯t just being shown to him¡ªthey were being etched into his consciousness, absolute and undeniable.
SYSTEM NOTICE The world designated ¡®Earth¡¯ is no longer a viable environment for human habitation. All remaining human life is undergoing Integration. Richter¡¯s breath caught in his throat. The words burned into his vision, his mind struggling to process their meaning. No longer viable? Integration?
[Humanity has been selected as a New Race in the System¡¯s Grand Integration Initiative.] As such, the species will be transported to the designated world: Eden. Eden is a System-regulated planet designed to accommodate newly Integrated races.
Eden? A planet created for humanity. Richter¡¯s mind reeled. This wasn¡¯t just an evacuation¡ªit was relocation on a cosmic scale. The System wasn¡¯t saving humanity, it was restructuring it, moulding them into something that fit into its grand design. He swallowed hard, a bitter taste rising in his throat. If Earth was no longer viable, then what had happened to it? Had it been wiped clean in an instant, reduced to nothing? Or had it been abandoned, a husk left to decay while humanity was forcibly dragged to this so-called Eden? The weight of billions of lives simply displaced pressed against his thoughts. Were they all here? Or had some been lost in the transition, discarded like faulty data in a corrupted file? The more he thought about it, the colder his blood ran. The System spoke in absolutes, in finalities. It did not ask. It commanded. He had spent months trying to decipher the countdown, running models, testing every possible theory with some of the brightest minds on the planet. And yet, the truth had never been within their grasp. The answer had been decided long before the countdown ever appeared. Because the System had never intended for them to understand. This wasn¡¯t an invitation. It was a forced reset. Eden. A planet made for them. What did that even mean? Was it a paradise, or a cage? A testing ground or a battlefield? The word itself carried connotations of new beginnings, of utopias¡ªbut Richter doubted the System cared for such things. It was a machine, a force beyond human understanding, and it had placed them here not out of kindness, but out of necessity. For what purpose, he couldn¡¯t begin to guess. And that uncertainty terrified him. The blue screen continued, heedless of his turmoil.
[All humans will be assigned a starting zone within Eden¡¯s Tutorial System.] Duration: 1 Year. Primary Objective: Survive. Failure Condition: Death.
His stomach churned. A tutorial? A survival test? It was like something out of a game¡ªbut this wasn¡¯t a simulation. He could feel his body, the cold sweat on his skin, the hammering of his heart. This was real. Failure Condition: Death. Richter inhaled sharply. No retries. No do-overs. If he failed, that was it¡ªhis existence erased. The System had no concern for fairness, no safety nets. This wasn''t some game where he could reload a save or grind experience until he felt ready. Survival wasn¡¯t just a challenge; it was an ultimatum. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. His mind whirred, piecing together the implications. If death was permanent, did that mean the System intended to weed out the weak? Was this a test? An experiment? A form of population control? Or was it something even more sinister¡ªwas humanity now just another race to be integrated, judged, and discarded if unworthy? His grip tightened. If that was the case, then survival wasn¡¯t just about making it through this tutorial. It was about proving that humans deserved to exist in this new reality. And there was no way out. A new notification flashed across the screen, forcing Richter¡¯s gaze forward.
[System Directive: Class Selection Imminent] All Integrated Humans must select a class suitable for survival in Eden.
Richter exhaled sharply, his mind still reeling. His entire existence had been uprooted, torn from Earth without warning, and now, before he could even process what that meant, the System was already pushing him forward. Forcing him to adapt. The blue screen shifted, lines of text unfolding in an orderly sequence.
[Choose Your Class]
Richter¡¯s analytical mind kicked into gear. He had spent years studying ecosystems¡ªdecoding how predator and prey, environment and adaptation, death and rebirth wove together into complex, interdependent networks. Now, he faced a new kind of ecology: one shaped not by evolution, but by the System¡¯s brutal, manufactured logic The class choices followed traditional RPG archetypes, but that didn¡¯t mean they were balanced. Heavy Warriors were the frontline, absorbing damage, but their slow movement meant they would be vulnerable in any situation requiring adaptability. Light Warriors and Archers had high mobility and damage potential but suffered from fragility. Casters wielded the most power¡ªyet they were bound by resource management, meaning they might burn out in prolonged engagements. And then there was the Healer. A class rarely played for its own strength, but one indispensable to any long-term survival effort. In games, healers were always undervalued until they weren¡¯t. A party without healing would crumble under attrition. But here, there were no game mechanics to fall back on, no safety nets, no respawns. He crossed his arms, his mind racing through scenarios. This wasn¡¯t just about power¡ªit was about staying alive. If the System truly intended for this to be a brutal, year-long trial, the ability to mend wounds and sustain himself might outweigh sheer damage potential. But would it come at the cost of being defenceless? What if he couldn¡¯t fend for himself? What if being a healer meant relying on others¡ªand they decided he was expendable? He exhaled, staring at the glowing menu before him. There was no telling what dangers lay ahead. No rulebook, no walkthrough, no meta-strategy to exploit. He had already made his decision. It could be the wrong one¡ªhe had no way of knowing yet¡ªbut with limited information, he had to trust his instincts. The moment he confirmed his selection, a surge of warmth flooded his veins, unfamiliar yet not unwelcome. It wasn¡¯t just energy¡ªit was awareness. A pulse of something unseen yet deeply intrinsic, as if his body had always been capable of wielding mana, but only now had the key to unlock it. A new notification appeared before his eyes. He had always gravitated toward support roles in games, not because they were the easiest, but because they were the most vital in the long run.
[System Notice: Healer Class Assigned]
Richter frowned at the numbers on the screen. Strength: 5. Agility: 5. He had never thought of himself in terms of stat points before, but now? These values could define whether he lived or died. His researcher¡¯s mind kicked in, analysing the numbers like data points in an experiment. Strength and Agility were average, neither giving him an edge nor making him a liability. But Toughness at 3? That was low. Too low. A direct hit from something strong could be fatal. Intellect and Wisdom at 7, though¡ªthat was interesting. Those stats likely governed his mana reserves and regeneration, and if this world operated on RPG logic, then his effectiveness as a Healer would hinge on how well he managed them. Vitality at 7 was a welcome surprise¡ªit might mean slightly better survivability than he had expected. As he processed the numbers, the air around him shifted. A shimmering wave of light engulfed his body, sending a brief yet potent pulse of energy through him. His skin tingled, as if unseen threads were weaving something into his very existence. His casual attire dissolved into motes of light, reforming into a simple white robe with golden embroidery¡ªlight and breathable but offering little in terms of protection. At the same moment, a wooden staff materialized in his grasp. Its surface was smooth, cool to the touch, but faint runes pulsed along its length as though reacting to his presence. The weight was unfamiliar, yet balanced, like an extension of himself rather than just a weapon. As he tightened his grip, a faint warmth pulsed from within it, syncing with the new energy thrumming in his core. This wasn¡¯t just an item¡ªit was a tool, an artifact granted by the System to shape his role. Richter exhaled slowly, absorbing the transformation. Everything had changed, but the real test had yet to begin. Another notification followed.
[Starter Equipment Assigned] Richter exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip on the staff. This was real. There was no turning back. No second chances. He was no longer a researcher in a government lab, analysing distant threats from the safety of his desk. He was a healer. And the trial had only just begun. Before he could fully process the transformation, the void trembled. The weightless abyss around him cracked¡ªno, shattered¡ªsplintering into shards of light. A force wrenched at his body, pulling him downward at impossible speed. He barely had time to brace himself before¡ª Impact. Richter hit the ground hard, dirt and grass cushioning the fall. His breath left him in a sharp gasp, and for a moment, all he could do was lie there, feeling the solid earth beneath him. No more void. No more emptiness. Just the scent of damp soil and fresh air. He rolled onto his side, blinking against the sudden brightness filtering through the trees. He was in a clearing, a wide, open patch of dirt surrounded by towering trees that loomed like a natural wall. Their thick trunks rose high into the sky, their canopies stretching far above, enclosing the space in a dome of shifting green. The bark was rough and natural, a comforting contrast to the alien patterns he had feared. Patches of bioluminescent mushrooms nestled at their bases, casting a soft, eerie glow at the edges of the clearing. The ground beneath him was firm but uneven, a mixture of packed earth and scattered tufts of grass. The air was thick with the scent of damp soil, fresh leaves, and the quiet hum of unseen life rustling beyond the tree line. This wasn¡¯t just a random landing spot¡ªit felt designated, intentional. The clearing was eerily silent. But he wasn¡¯t alone. Chapter 2 Richter: The Fall Begins The impact rattled Richter¡¯s bones. Dirt and grass cushioned his fall, but it did little to soften the disorientation that gripped him. A damp, earthy scent filled his lungs¡ªfresh but tinged with something wild, untamed. The trees stood like ancient sentinels, their towering trunks stretching high above, swallowing most of the sky. The air was unnervingly still, yet he could sense movement within the undergrowth, just beyond his vision. He wasn¡¯t alone here¡ªnot by a long shot. His breath came in ragged gulps as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his fingers digging into the cool, firm earth beneath him. The world was spinning¡ªno, not spinning. Shifting. A notification flared to life in front of him, its stark white text cutting through the fog in his mind.
[Tutorial Quest Received]
Richter¡¯s mind raced as he processed the details. A year? He had assumed this tutorial would be a short-term survival challenge¡ªdays, maybe weeks¡ªbut an entire year? That wasn¡¯t a tutorial. That was a trial by fire. And "performance-based rewards"? What did that even mean? Did it scale based on skill? Luck? Was there a ranking system? If so, was he competing against other humans? The System wasn¡¯t giving him any answers, and that set off alarm bells in his mind. Without a clear metric, failure wasn¡¯t just possible¡ªit was probable. The Great Forest itself sounded more like a country than a biome. Beast-Class creatures, deadly terrain, and limited resources¡ªit wasn¡¯t just dangerous. It was designed to be lethal. The fact that this was a "human-only tutorial" made him wonder¡ªwere other humans somewhere else? If so, why separate them? Why was the System doing this? The official reasoning was "preparation," but for what? If it wanted them to survive, why not give clearer objectives? Why separate humans instead of keeping them unified? Unless¡­ that was the point. Forced adaptation. Selective pressures. The System wasn¡¯t just training them¡ªit was watching them, recording them, testing them. But for whose benefit? Was this a test? An experiment? If the goal was just survival training, why were there multiple tutorials? Why scatter humans across different locations instead of keeping them together? Was the System testing their adaptability? Comparing results? Judging them? He clenched his jaw. This was too big to figure out now, but one thing was clear: the System had no intention of holding anyone¡¯s hand. A faint breeze stirred the dirt, the first true shift in the eerie stillness. Then¡ªmovement. Somewhere beyond the trees, something shifted, crunching against the undergrowth. Richter tightened his grip on his staff, turning swiftly. He wasn¡¯t alone in the clearing. Four figures lay scattered across the ground, their forms flickering with the same residual glow of System interference. They were just beginning to stir, groaning as they struggled to adjust to their new reality. He recognized their expressions¡ªdisorientation, panic, and the creeping realization that whatever they had known before was gone. His eyes flicked from one to the next. A broad-shouldered man, his weathered face set in grim determination. A younger woman, lean and tense, gripping the dirt as if grounding herself. Another figure, around nineteen, blinking rapidly as his hands patted down his own body in disbelief. And lastly, a tall, dark-haired woman who pushed herself upright almost immediately, her sharp gaze already scanning their surroundings. The broad-shouldered man was the first to react, his movements instinctive as he pulled the younger man and woman toward him. It wasn¡¯t hesitation¡ªit was protection, an automatic response that spoke of familiarity. Richter¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly as he took in their features. Similar jawlines, the same earthy brown hair, shared expressions of disorientation and resolve. A family. The realization settled quickly in his mind. The way the man positioned himself, subtly shifting to shield them from the unknown, wasn¡¯t just leadership¡ªit was parental instinct. "Name''s Dave," the man said, his voice deep and steady, matching his broad frame. He pulled the younger two even closer instinctively, his protective stance reinforcing what Richter had already guessed. "These are my kids." Richter studied him more closely. Early fifties, grey peppering what little hair he had left. His form was clad in dull metal armour, the kind built more for endurance than agility. A short sword hung at his hip, its blade worn but serviceable, while a round wooden shield rested on his back. The way he stood, the way he had instinctively placed himself in front of the others, told Richter everything he needed to know. Heavy Warrior. It made sense. A tank. Someone designed to take hits, to hold the line. But here? In an unknown world with unclear rules? The value of that role would depend entirely on what they were up against. His body spoke of past strength¡ªonce muscular but now softened by age and time. Despite that, there was a presence to him, the kind of quiet authority that didn¡¯t need to be forced. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Dave exhaled sharply, eyes scanning their surroundings before settling back on Richter. "So, this is what that countdown was about? You think this is some kind of government experiment?" Before Richter could comment, the dark-haired woman scoffed. "Does it matter?" Her tone was sharp, dismissive, as if she had already decided this conversation wasn¡¯t worth having. "We¡¯re stuck here, and the only thing that matters now is survival. And looking at you lot, I¡¯m gonna be better off alone." She didn¡¯t wait for an argument. With an almost lazy movement, she reached over her shoulder, pulling a sleek, unmarked bow from where it rested against her back. There was no hesitation in the way her fingers adjusted the grip, no uncertainty in how she moved toward the treeline. It was clear¡ªshe knew exactly what she was doing. Richter watched her go, noting the way her movements remained fluid, controlled. Archer class. It suited her. Distance over risk, precision over brute force. The way she carried herself, the way she had barely spared them a glance¡ªshe had never planned to stay. "Just like that?" Dave asked, his brow furrowing as he took a step forward. "You don¡¯t even know what¡¯s out there." She didn¡¯t turn back. "That¡¯s exactly why I¡¯m leaving now," she said. "Before I have to waste time arguing about it." And with that, she disappeared into the trees without a second glance. She was gone. No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just like that. Richter exhaled slowly, gripping his staff. One less person meant one less set of eyes, one less fighter. But it also meant fewer mouths to feed. Was she right? Would they slow each other down? "Stuck-up cow," the young man blurted out, his tone brash and unfiltered. His words barely left his mouth before Dave shot him a sharp glare, the kind that promised consequences. Jason huffed, crossing his arms. "It¡¯s fine. She¡¯ll regret it later." But Richter caught the way his fingers tapped against the metal of his staff¡ªa nervous habit? Or just excess energy waiting to explode? He wasn¡¯t sure yet. Richter turned his attention to the boy. He was younger, likely around nineteen, with a leaner build than his father but the same strong jawline and earthy brown hair. A patchy beard, still trying to fill in, gave him an almost rebellious look. His robes were similar to Richter¡¯s, though black instead of white, and his staff¡ªlong, metal, and far more intimidating than Richter¡¯s wooden one¡ªmade it clear. Caster. It fit. The way he carried himself, the impulsiveness, the way he seemed eager to throw out comments without thinking them through. He was the kind of person who acted first, thought later. "Jason, do not speak to a lady that way," Dave scolded, his deep voice carrying weight. "I raised you better than that." Jason rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath, but wisely didn¡¯t argue. Richter noted the slight tension in his posture¡ªthe way his grip flexed against his staff, like he had to physically restrain himself from snapping back. Impulsive, quick to speak, and likely just as quick to act. That was something to keep in mind. "Dad, J isn''t wrong. I know the type¡ªthinks she''s better than everyone else," the girl spoke up, her tone more measured than Jason¡¯s, but just as certain. Unlike her brother, she wasn¡¯t lashing out¡ªshe was making an observation. Richter studied her more closely. She bore the same family resemblance¡ªsimilar jawline, the same brown hair¡ªbut softer, sharper in different ways. Her hair was pulled back in a practical style, meant for movement rather than looks. She wore a basic brown leather outfit, built for agility rather than defence, and at her belt rested two long Daggers¡ªsleek, sharper than Dave¡¯s short sword. The way they were positioned, perfectly balanced, made it clear they weren¡¯t just for show. Melee combat, but throwable if necessary. Light Warrior. It fit. Someone who relied on speed and precision rather than brute force. She looked like the type to act first and deal with the consequences later. Just like her brother. "Sophie, don¡¯t encourage him," Dave said, his voice firm but lacking the edge he¡¯d used on Jason. "You know what he¡¯s like¡ªhis mouth is gonna get him in trouble one of these days." Jason huffed but didn¡¯t argue. Sophie just shrugged, her focus already shifting elsewhere. She had made her judgment and had already moved on. Dave turned to Richter, his posture firm, but his eyes betrayed something else uncertainty. He was holding it together, projecting strength, but Richter could see it for what it was. This was taking a lot out of him. "I¡¯m sorry about my kids," Dave said, exhaling slowly. "They aren¡¯t normally like this." Richter caught Jason smirking at the words, not quite denying them but clearly amused by the attempt to smooth things over. It was a small detail but telling. Dave ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, his shoulders carrying the weight of months of uncertainty. "It¡¯s been hell. That countdown¡ªsix months of watching the clock tick down without a clue what it meant. People argued, governments scrambled, but no one had real answers. Just endless speculation. And then, when it hit zero..." He let the thought hang, shaking his head. "Now we¡¯re here, wherever here is. And we still don¡¯t know why." He looked back at Richter, his tone shifting from reflective to practical. "I don¡¯t know about you, but I think there¡¯s safety in numbers." "My name''s Richter," he said, extending his hand for a shake. His gaze flicked between them; Richter had already analysed "None of you picked Healer. That can¡¯t be a coincidence. Looks like the System put us together as a team¡ªme as the healer, you as the tank, and three DPS." He hesitated, glancing toward the trees where Laura had disappeared. "Well, two now." A balanced team. In an RPG, that would be ideal. But this wasn¡¯t a game. These weren¡¯t pre-programmed allies¡ªthey were real people, with flaws, emotions, and egos. Dave seemed steady, but leadership didn¡¯t mean invincibility. Jason had potential but lacked patience. Sophie was sharp, but she hadn¡¯t revealed much of herself yet. And Laura... she was already gone. "DPS?" Dave repeated, his brow furrowing slightly as he shook Richter''s hand with a firm, steady grip. "Damage per second, Dad," the younger man¡ªJason¡ªcut in before Richter could respond. "It¡¯s a gaming term. Guess you¡¯ve heard my name by now." Without hesitation, he reached out, prying Richter¡¯s hand from his father¡¯s grip and giving it an overly enthusiastic shake, his grip strong and almost too eager. Richter resisted the urge to pull away. Jason¡¯s energy was unfiltered, raw¡ªnot just confidence, but impatience. "Oh, you into all those video games too?" Dave asked, giving Richter a curious glance. "Never really been my thing. Hell, I can barely turn a computer on without one of the kids walking me through it." He let out a hearty chuckle, shaking his head. "Guess that kind of stuff might actually come in handy now, huh?" Before anyone could say more, a distant, low growl rumbled through the trees. It was deep, guttural¡ªtoo far away to be an immediate threat, but close enough that it wasn¡¯t comforting. Richter¡¯s fingers tensed around his staff. Dave turned sharply, his expression hardening. Sophie¡¯s hand drifted toward her Daggers. Jason stiffened, his smirk vanishing. None of them spoke. Chapter 3 Richter: First Blood The forest held its breath. Richter could feel it¡ªan eerie stillness that settled over the clearing, the kind that didn¡¯t belong in a living, breathing ecosystem. The usual hum of birdsong had faded, the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush had gone silent. Even the wind, which had been threading through the towering branches overhead just moments ago, had stilled like it too was waiting. Then came the snap. A low, guttural growl rumbled from beyond the tree line. It was deep, vibrating through the ground, sinking into Richter¡¯s bones. Not a warning. A statement. Something massive stirred in the undergrowth, each step sending dull thuds through the sun-dappled earth. Jason muttered a curse, gripping his staff tighter. Dave shifted, subtly moving in front of his kids, his shield already sliding into position. Sophie lowered her stance, one hand drifting toward the twin Daggers at her belt. And then, it stepped into view. A bear. Or at least, something that might have once been a bear. It was huge, easily twice the size of a grizzly, its hulking form moving with an unnatural fluidity for something so massive. Patches of its fur were sparse, replaced with bark-like plating that covered its shoulders and forelegs, giving the illusion of armoured flesh. Its eyes¡ªglowing green, unnatural, predatory¡ªlocked onto them with an eerie intelligence. The ridges along its back flexed, wooden tendrils shifting beneath the surface, as though the forest itself had moulded this creature into existence. As Richter locked eyes with the creature, a faint pulse of energy flickered in his vision. A notification materialized before him, confirming his suspicion¡ªhe had an identification skill.
[Barkskin Bear] Rank: F Level: 6 Class: Beast
Richter knew they stood no chance. "Run!" he shouted. But it was too late. The bear reared onto its hind legs and let out a deafening roar. Yet, it wasn¡¯t just sound¡ªit carried something deeper, something that gripped his gut with cold terror. A wave of unnatural pressure crashed over him, and instinct screamed the truth. A Taunt skill. They all felt it¡ªrunning was no longer an option. They had to fight. Dave pulled his shield from his back, stepping forward just as the bear dropped to all fours and launched into a full sprint. The ground trembled beneath its massive weight, each footfall leaving deep indentations in the earth, scattering loose soil and uprooting patches of grass. The bark plating along its body rattled like the snapping of brittle branches, the grinding of wood against wood echoing through the clearing. It moved with terrifying momentum, a force of nature barrelling toward them, dust and leaves swirling in its wake. Richter¡¯s breath hitched, his heart hammering against his ribs. Every survival instinct screamed at him to flee, but his legs refused to obey. He was paralyzed, locked in place by the taunt. This wasn''t just a bear¡ªit was a force beyond anything he had ever encountered. The glowing green eyes bore into him, primal and unrelenting, and for the first time since arriving in this world, Richter truly believed they were no longer on the same world. Dave planted his feet firmly, his stance unyielding. A green aura flared around him, wrapping his frame in shimmering energy. Richter¡¯s mind worked fast, drawing from every game he had played¡ªthis had to be some kind of stamina-based skill, likely enhancing his resilience for the coming clash. Richter knew he had to do something, but what? Panic clawed at his thoughts, his mind racing through the skills he had acquired. Mana Barrier. Could it stop something this massive? He had no choice but to try. As the thought formed, so did the sensation¡ªan awareness that hadn''t been there before. A wellspring of energy deep within him stirred, pulsing like a second heartbeat. He focused, willing the power to surface, and the response was immediate. Warmth spread through his veins, tingling in his fingertips as an unseen force coalesced at his command. Instinct guided him. No words, no gestures¡ªjust intent. The mana surged outward, forming a thin, nearly invisible wall in front of Dave. The air shimmered as the barrier took shape, a translucent veil that flickered like heat off sunbaked stone. Just as the bear closed the final distance, its bulk thundering toward them, Richter¡¯s barrier solidified. And then, impact. The barrier shattered, exploding into a cascade of shimmering blue fragments that scattered like glass before dissolving into nothing mid-air. The force of the impact sent a concussive shockwave through the clearing, kicking up dirt and loose debris. The bear crashed into Dave¡¯s shield with earth-shaking force, its momentum driving deep furrows into the ground as it pushed forward. Dave gritted his teeth, his green aura flickering under the strain. His boots skidded backward, carving trenches into the soil as he braced against the beast¡¯s relentless power. Sweat beaded on his brow, but he held firm. The bear let out a frustrated snarl, its massive claws scraping against the metal, while man and monster locked in a desperate contest of strength. Sophie had already positioned herself, moving with a predatory grace as she dashed toward the bear from behind. Her twin blades gleamed in the filtered sunlight, aimed precisely at the beast¡¯s hind leg. She struck with precision, the edge of her blade carving against the bark-like plating. The cut wasn¡¯t deep, but it was enough¡ªthe bear let out a pained roar, its massive frame flinching from the unexpected strike. The way Sophie moved, the way her attack flowed seamlessly from one motion to the next, made Richter certain¡ªshe wasn¡¯t just swinging blindly. She had fighting proficiency, likely some kind of passive skill augmenting her technique. The bear abruptly ceased its struggle against Dave, shifting its massive frame as it reared onto its hind legs. Its massive claws arced through the air, aiming to crush the elusive Sophie, who had been striking at its weak points. But before it could complete the motion, Dave let out a thunderous roar of his own. The force of it rippled through the clearing, a raw, commanding energy that resonated deep in Richter¡¯s chest. It was the same unnatural pull that the bear¡¯s taunt had carried earlier¡ªheavy, unavoidable, absolute. Dave had his own taunt skill. The bear¡¯s glowing green eyes flickered, its aggression abruptly redirected. It snarled, twisting its bulk toward Dave, answering the challenge. Jason now joined the fight as a blue ball of energy slammed into the side of the bears head, staggering the bear. Dave¡¯s shield absorbed blow after blow, each impact sending tremors through his arms, but he held firm. Richter, pushing past his exhaustion, continued summoning Mana Barrier, each translucent wall flickering into existence just in time to intercept the bear¡¯s relentless swings. The barriers cracked and shattered under the sheer force, but they bought Dave precious moments to brace himself. Sophie finally drew blood. Her blades struck true, slashing at the same weakened spot she had targeted earlier. Bark and flesh split open, dark ichor seeping from the wound as the bear let out an enraged roar, its movements faltering for a brief moment. Richter and Jason saw their opening. Without hesitation, both summoned Mana Bolts, hurling them toward the exposed wound. The twin projectiles streaked through the air, crackling with raw energy. Jason¡¯s bolt surged ahead, its form denser, more stable, the telltale sign of his class advantage as a caster. Richter¡¯s, though weaker, still hit true. The impact sent a pulse of blue light rippling across the injury, the bear reeling backward, its growl turning into something closer to a pained bellow. The bear''s massive arm swung out, a blur of raw power and brutal force. Dave barely had time to shift before the limb clipped his shoulder. A sickening crunch filled the air. Even though it was just a glancing blow, the sheer force dented the dull metal of his pauldron, sending him stumbling backward. His sword arm dropped limp at his side, the weight of his weapon forgotten as pain contorted his face. His breath came in ragged gasps, sweat dripping down his brow as he struggled to stay upright. Richter¡¯s mind raced. If this was a mere grazing hit, then a direct strike would be lethal. A single, clean blow could reduce any one of them to nothing more than a broken heap. Fear clawed at his gut, but it wasn¡¯t just his own mortality that terrified him¡ªit was the stark realization that this fight was hanging by a thread, and the bear had barely begun to show its full strength. Dave¡¯s green aura flickered, wavering under the strain, but he gritted his teeth and managed to raise his shield just in time to deflect the next devastating blow. The impact rattled through his frame, his injured shoulder barely holding, but he refused to fall. Richter didn¡¯t hesitate. He sprinted forward, weaving Mana Barriers into existence as he ran, each one forming a flickering shield between them and the beast. As he reached Dave¡¯s side, his breath came in ragged gasps, but something deep within him surged to life. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. A faint green glow pulsed from his fingertips, instinct guiding his hands to Dave¡¯s injured shoulder. The moment he made contact, he felt it¡ªthe raw damage beneath the armour, the fractured bone struggling to hold together. His mana flowed outward, threading through muscle and sinew, knitting the shattered fragments like an unseen force pulling the pieces into alignment. The sensation was strange, almost magnetic, as if the magic was not only healing but understanding the injury, working to restore what was broken. Dave sucked in a sharp breath, the tension in his posture easing slightly. The pain hadn¡¯t vanished, but his arm no longer hung limp¡ªit had stabilized. He gave Richter a quick nod, jaw tight with determination, before raising his shield once more to meet the next attack. Richter staggered back, putting distance between himself and the fight, his legs trembling beneath him. A wave of exhaustion crashed over him, his limbs heavy, his vision swimming at the edges. He felt hollow, drained¡ªlike something vital had been siphoned from within. That skill had taken more out of him than he had expected. His mind reeled, trying to make sense of it. Then, his eyes flickered toward the floating interface. Mana: 4%. A cold knot formed in his stomach. This wasn¡¯t good. Not good at all. Richter remembered the pouch¡ªthe System had provided them with precious resources. His fingers fumbled inside, and he immediately noticed something strange. The inside was far larger than the outside, a spatial distortion that reminded him of the TARDIS. It felt like reaching into a deep backpack, far bigger than it should be. His fingers brushed against several small vials. How would he know which one was the mana potion? As the thought formed, the answer came instinctively¡ªone vial shot into his grasp as if the pouch itself responded to his intent. Pulling the potion free, he uncorked it with a swift motion. The liquid inside was a vibrant, almost luminescent blue, swirling faintly like captured starlight. As he tipped it back, the bitter taste hit immediately, sharp and medicinal, making him scrunch his face in distaste. But the effect was instantaneous. A cool wave surged through his veins, washing over his exhaustion like a tide rolling back the shore. His muscles loosened, his vision steadied, and his mana bar blinked back to full. A cooldown timer appeared beneath his mana bar: 1 hour. Richter¡¯s stomach tightened. That meant he couldn¡¯t use another potion for a full sixty minutes. But what if he ignored the cooldown? Would there be consequences? Would the potions share a universal cooldown, or could different types be consumed in succession? His mind buzzed with questions, but this wasn¡¯t the time for experimentation. The fight wasn¡¯t over, and distractions could get them killed. Dave was clearly struggling, much like Richter had moments ago, as Sophie and Jason maintained their relentless assault. Recognizing his limit, he quickly disengaged, stepping back to create distance. His hand dove into his pouch, retrieving a small green vial¡ªthe same hue as the flickering aura surrounding him. Richter¡¯s eyes narrowed. A stamina potion. Dave uncorked it in one swift motion and downed the contents in a single gulp. Almost instantly, his aura surged back to life, flaring with renewed intensity. The fatigue in his stance lessened, his posture straightened, and his grip on his shield tightened once more. Rejuvenated, he took a steadying breath and reentered the fight. Jason and Sophie¡¯s relentless assault finally took its toll. The bear¡¯s massive leg buckled under the accumulated damage, its immense weight shifting uncontrollably. With a deep, guttural groan, the beast collapsed like a tree being felled, the sheer force of its fall sending a shockwave through the ground. A dense cloud of dust and debris exploded into the air, momentarily obscuring everything in a gritty haze. The impact was thunderous, a deep, resounding crash that seemed to shake the very forest around them. The group stood frozen in that surreal moment; their breaths heavy as the dust slowly settled around them. Jason was the first to break the silence. "Yes!" he shouted, pumping his fist in triumph. "Did you see that? I''m awesome!" "Oh, absolutely," Sophie deadpanned, rolling her eyes. "None of us did anything at all. We bow before your almighty greatness, J." She smirked before giving him a firm punch to the upper arm, drawing a startled yelp from the taller boy. As the group moved forward, relief settling over them, Richter barely registered their banter. His focus was elsewhere. Something wasn¡¯t right. Dave checked the others over, ensuring no one was seriously hurt, but an unease crawled up Richter¡¯s spine. He scanned the fallen bear, his instincts screaming at him. They had missed something. And then¡ªit happened. The ground beneath the beast fractured, deep cracks forming where its paws pressed into the earth. A primal, ear-splitting roar tore through the clearing, shaking the trees, sending birds screeching into the sky. Its eyes, once glowing green, now blazed crimson, its body pulsing with raw, violent power. An enrage skill. It must have triggered when it dropped below a certain health threshold. And Richter¡ªwas standing far too close. The heat radiating from the bear¡¯s body was suffocating, waves of warmth rolling off its massive form like a furnace. The damp, mossy scent of earth and bark filled his nostrils, laced with something more primal¡ªthe thick, musky stench of a predator. Every breath he took felt heavy, his chest tightening as the sheer presence of the beast pressed down on him. The bear¡¯s labored breaths came in deep, rumbling huffs, each exhale sending a rush of hot, damp air washing over him. Too close. Too close. The thought pounded in his skull, but his body wouldn¡¯t move. The glow of its crimson eyes bore into him, unrelenting, an unspoken promise of the devastation about to unfold. A low, guttural snarl rumbled in the bear¡¯s throat, vibrating through the ground beneath Richter¡¯s feet. He could feel it¡ªthe sheer power coiling within its limbs, ready to be unleashed. His skin prickled, every hair on his body standing on end as terror wrapped itself around his spine. Move. But he couldn¡¯t. He was frozen, locked in place by something far worse than the System¡¯s taunt¡ªa raw, instinctive fear, the kind buried deep in the marrow of every prey animal when faced with a predator far beyond its means. And then, the bear lunged. Richter braced for death, his breath frozen in his lungs. But before the fatal strike could land¡ªsomething slammed into him with bone-rattling force. Dave. Richter was sent flying, tumbling across the dirt as the world blurred around him. Dazed, he barely had time to process what had happened before his vision cleared¡ªjust in time to witness the bear¡¯s claws carve into Dave instead. The massive talons tore through metal like wet parchment, rending through armour and flesh with horrifying ease. Blood sprayed in a brutal arc, Dave¡¯s body jerking from the sheer impact. His green aura flickered¡ªthen vanished. Richter¡¯s heart pounded, his pulse a deafening drum in his ears. He wanted to scream, to move, to do something¡ªbut his body felt leaden, frozen in the weight of the moment. He could only watch, helpless, as Dave¡¯s breath hitched, his chest rising in a final, shallow gasp. His fingers twitched, his grip loosening around the shield he had fought so hard to hold onto. His legs buckled beneath him, his body sagging as if the very essence of life was being drained away inch by inch. For a fleeting second, their eyes met¡ªDave¡¯s gaze, clouded with pain but filled with an understanding far deeper than words. Then, the light faded. His body slumped, armour clanking dully against the dirt as he crumpled to the ground, unmoving. Time seemed to fracture, stretching the moment unbearably. The world blurred at the edges, but the image of Dave falling was seared into Richter¡¯s mind, an irreversible reality. And Richter could do nothing but watch. Dave had saved him. But his sacrifice had been absolute. Jason¡¯s scream tore through the clearing, raw and unfiltered, a sound that carried more than just pain¡ªit was loss, grief, and disbelief all tangled together. Richter flinched at the sheer intensity of it. Jason wasn¡¯t just crying out in horror. He was watching his world shatter before his eyes. His father was gone. Jason stumbled forward, his breaths ragged, his hands shaking at his sides as if unsure whether to reach out for Dave or lash out at the bear that had just taken him. His entire body trembled, locked between the desperate need to act and the crushing weight of helplessness. Richter could see it¡ªthe way reality was sinking in, carving itself into Jason¡¯s mind in a way that would never leave. The Bear''s red gaze locked onto Jason, its muscles tensing as if preparing to charge. But before it could move, Sophie launched herself forward in a frenzied assault. She had just witnessed her father die, but there were no tears¡ªonly rage, raw and untamed. Her blades danced, slashing and striking with a desperate, relentless fury. Each hit chipped away at the beast¡¯s defences, forcing it back inch by inch. Richter barely registered Jason¡¯s sobs¡ªthere was no time. He focused everything on the fight, summoning mana bolt after mana bolt, each one searing through the air, hammering into the beast¡¯s hide. Sophie and Richter moved in perfect rhythm, their attacks synchronized, the bear¡¯s red aura flickering and fading. They were going to do it. Then, it happened. Sophie¡¯s foot caught on uneven ground, twisting at an unnatural angle. She faltered¡ªjust for a fraction of a second¡ªbut it was enough. The bear¡¯s massive claw swung out in a brutal, sweeping arc. Her body staggered, her eyes flicking down to the bleeding stump where her arm had been. The realization hit her all at once¡ªshe had made a mistake. Her mouth opened, her breath shuddering, but the shock stole her voice. A strangled sound escaped her lips, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, as her knees buckled beneath her. Pain hadn¡¯t even fully set in yet¡ªonly the horror of what came next. Her gaze, wide with shock, lifted toward Richter. For the briefest moment, their eyes met¡ªsomething unspoken, something desperate passing between them. A silent plea? A final regret? There was no time to know. The bear¡¯s final strike came down. The world seemed to slow, but there was no stopping it. A blur of motion, a devastating impact¡ªand then nothing. Her body collapsed beside her father, lifeless before she even hit the ground. Now, only three remained¡ªthe bear, Richter, and Jason. The fight had to end. Richter¡¯s pulse thundered in his ears as he raised his hand, mana crackling at his fingertips. A Mana Bolt seared through the air, striking the bear¡¯s head just as it took a sluggish step toward him. Its once-blazing red aura had faded to a flicker, a mere shadow of its former power. The beast let out a final, guttural grunt as two more Mana Bolts slammed into its skull. Its massive frame swayed, legs trembling under its own weight. One last step. One last breath. Then, with a slow, staggering collapse, the bear toppled backward, sending a deep thud through the clearing as it crashed into the earth. The world seemed to hold its breath. A notification flashed in Richter¡¯s vision
You have slain [Barkskin Bear ¨C Level 6]
The fight was over. The system confirmed it. The bear was dead. But as Richter stood there, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his brow, he couldn¡¯t feel anything close to victory. Not with Dave and Sophie lying lifeless in the dirt. Not with Jason silent beside him, staring at the bodies as if refusing to believe what he saw. The fight was over. Chapter 4 Richter: The Cost of Survival Richter just stood, stunned. The battle was over, yet the chaos still clung to him like a second skin. Blood splattered his face and clothes¡ªwas it the bear''s? Dave¡¯s? Sophie¡¯s? He didn''t know. He didn''t want to know. His mind refused to process the grim reality before him. A cold shiver ran down his spine as his trembling hands curled into fists. The fight had been brutal, and now the price was clear. A couple of mana bolts had been the difference between Sophie being alive and being dead. The thought made his stomach churn. Then, the notification appeared before him, its glowing blue text indifferent to the carnage around him
[Level Up: Healer Level 1 Achieved]- Stats Allocated
Just as Richter received the notification, a sudden impact sent him sprawling into the dirt. His vision blurred as he tumbled, barely registering the pain before another blow struck his side, forcing a sharp gasp from his lips. The cold metal of the staff reverberated against his ribs, sending a jolt of agony through his body. Jason loomed over him, his tear-streaked face contorted with rage, grief, and disgust. Whatever sorrow had clouded his expression moments ago had twisted into something raw and furious. "This was your fault!" Jason spat, his voice hoarse with anguish, shaking with barely restrained fury. "Why did Dad have to die for you? He shouldn''t have had to make that choice! He shouldn''t have had to save you! If you had just¡ªjust stayed back, just done your damn job¡ªhe¡¯d still be here!" His breath hitched, his grip tightening on the staff. "You were supposed to heal, to keep us alive! But instead, Dad bled out in the dirt while you stood there! You let him die!" Another strike. The staff slammed into Richter¡¯s ribs with a brutal, unforgiving force, sending a shockwave of agony through his torso. A sickening crunch echoed in his ears, and for a fleeting moment, all sound seemed to drain from the world. White-hot pain erupted along his side, radiating like fire licking at his bones. His breath hitched, strangled, as the air was forced from his lungs, leaving him gasping¡ªdrowning in the sheer intensity of it. A broken rib¡ªmaybe more. Every nerve in his body screamed, but his limbs refused to respond. He tried to move, to push himself up, but the pain was a crushing weight, an anchor that kept him shackled to the blood-streaked earth. Richter tried to speak, but only a garbled choke of blood and spit escaped his lips. His body trembled, his vision swimming with pain and exhaustion. Jason stood over him, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Then, without a word, he let the staff slip from his grip, the metal clattering against the dirt. For a moment, he just stared down at Richter, his fists clenching and unclenching, as if fighting an internal war. His expression twisted, a storm of fury, grief, and something else¡ªsomething darker. Then, finally, he turned away. He''s really going to leave me like this. Broken, bleeding, abandoned. I could already picture it¡ªsome beast sniffing me out, drawn by the scent of blood, finishing what Jason started. Would he even care? Would he even look back? Or was I just another mistake that needed erasing? "Sophie was so brave. We never really got along¡ªshe always found me annoying. But I loved her. And now... look at her." Richter¡¯s throat tightened as he turned to see Jason crouched over his sister¡¯s body, his shoulders shaking. The weight of grief hung heavy in the air, suffocating in its intensity. Jason¡¯s fingers clenched against the dirt, his whole-body tense as if willing her to wake up, as if sheer force of will could undo what had happened. Richter swallowed hard. He had to do something¡ªanything. His body screamed in protest as he shifted, his ribs aching with each shallow breath. Summoning what little energy he had left, he let mana pool into his palm, warmth flooding his fingertips as he pressed his hand against his battered ribs. The faint glow of healing magic flickered, mending torn tissue and dulling the sharp edges of pain. Jason didn¡¯t notice. He was lost in his grief, his world narrowed down to the lifeless form before him. And for now, Richter let him have that moment. Summoning what little strength remained, Richter rolled onto his knees, each movement a struggle against the lingering pain. He forced himself upright, his breath ragged, and began making his way toward Jason with slow, deliberate steps. He had to try and comfort the lad. They were all they had now. Yes, he was a stranger, but in this unforgiving world, it was better to face the unknown together than to be alone. It was a mistake. The moment Richter placed his hand on Jason¡¯s shoulder, he felt the tension coil in the boy¡¯s muscles, a live wire ready to snap. Before he could react, Jason was on his feet, his grief and rage boiling over into raw, unchecked aggression. The punch came hard and fast, snapping Richter¡¯s head to the side. He barely had time to process the impact before he hit the ground, his back slamming against the dirt. But Jason wasn¡¯t done. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. With a guttural roar, he dropped onto Richter, straddling him as his fists came down, one after another. Each strike sent fresh waves of pain through Richter¡¯s skull, his vision blurring with every impact. He tasted blood, warm and metallic, pooling in his mouth. His head throbbed, his ears rang, and his vision flickered like a failing light. A faint glow caught his eye¡ªhis health bar. It was dropping fast, each punch dragging it closer to the brink. This wasn¡¯t just a beating. If Jason didn¡¯t stop, he was going to die. Richter had to act¡ªnow. His mind screamed for a solution, but with no mana left, there were no spells to save him. Desperation clawed at his thoughts as his hands scrambled over the dirt, searching blindly for anything¡ªanything that could turn the tide. His fingers closed around something solid. A hilt. He didn¡¯t have time to process what it was. Instinct took over, a primal, last-ditch effort to survive. With a ragged gasp, he thrust the blade upward. The world seemed to freeze. The sharp steel of Sophie''s blade was buried deep¡ªtoo deep¡ªthrough Jason¡¯s throat. The boy¡¯s eyes widened in shock, his expression a haunting mixture of disbelief and fear. He blinked once, twice, as if trying to understand what had just happened, his mouth opening, but no words came¡ªonly blood, thick and crimson, spilling from the corner of his lips. His trembling fingers reached up, grasping futilely at the blade lodged in his neck, his strength already fading. A choked, gurgling sound escaped him as his body began to sag, the fight draining from him in an instant. A cold, emotionless notification flickered before Richter¡¯s eyes, the System¡¯s indifference cutting deeper than any blade.
[You have slain: Human Level 0, Caster Level 1]
The System processed the kill with mechanical indifference, a simple string of data reducing Jason¡¯s life to nothing more than a log entry. No mourning, no hesitation¡ªjust cold efficiency. Richter¡¯s breath shuddered as he stared at the notification, his hands still trembling around the blood-slicked hilt of Sophie¡¯s blade. Jason¡¯s body slumped off him, landing unceremoniously atop the remains of his sister. The world seemed to hold its breath for a moment¡ªuntil it didn¡¯t. A sudden jolt of pain ripped through Richter, sharp and all-consuming, like fire threading through every cell in his body. His vision fractured, glitching, the world around him flickering like a corrupted system screen. The agony lasted only a second, but it left an imprint, a lingering ache that refused to fade. Then, the pain sharpened, localizing¡ªhis right cheek burned as though seared by an unseen brand. Panic clawed at Richter¡¯s mind. His health was already dangerously low, yet as the pain intensified, his HP remained untouched. Not a single point drained. His breath came in ragged gasps, his fingers trembling as he touched his face, confusion mixing with dread. But he couldn¡¯t move. Something had locked him in place, an unseen force anchoring him to the spot. His limbs refused to obey; muscles tense yet paralyzed. It was as if his body no longer belonged to him. The burning sensation in his cheek flared hotter, searing into his skin, and his vision glitched again, warping the world around him. His mind screamed for control, for escape, but there was nothing he could do. What was happening to him? Still unable to move more notification came to him
[System Notification] New Title Acquired: [First Human Murderer] New Passive Acquired: [Mark of Cain] Blessing Received: [Blessing of Cain, The First Murderer] [Skill Upgrade Acquired]
As the last notification flickered before him, Richter''s body succumbed to the overwhelming force overtaking him. His limbs slackened, his thoughts fractured, and the world around him dissolved into an abyss of darkness. Then¡ªnothing. Back in the divine halls, the muscular, scarred god received a notification¡ªone he had expected for an eternity. The first of any new race to spill the blood of their own would always bear his mark. It was an immutable law of the System, woven into its very fabric. When he first saw humanity¡¯s name appear on the Integration List, he knew this moment would come. A new race meant a new murderer. It was only a matter of time. But for it to happen this quickly? That was unexpected. He exhaled slowly; his expression unreadable. How far would this one go? Would he falter, as so many had before? Or had the System chosen something different this time? The air around him shifted. He straightened, already prepared as the System summoned him. Chapter 5 Richter: The Mark of Cain Pain dragged Richter back to reality, his body heavy, his mind sluggish. Peeling his eyes open was a battle against the dried, crusted blood sealing them shut. Reality hit like a hammer, shattering any illusion that this was just a nightmare. He had taken a young man''s life. Had there been another way? Had he hesitated too long, acted too rashly, failed in a moment where failure meant death? Doubt clawed at him, wrapping around his mind like a vice. Grief. Fear. Guilt. The weight of it all bore down on him. He was a murderer. His fingers traced over the searing mark on his right cheek, the skin raised and raw¡ªa cruel reminder of the System¡¯s judgment, branding him for the crime he could never take back. His body protested every motion, stiff and aching, as if he had aged a lifetime in mere hours. A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his ribs at the slightest shift, forcing a ragged gasp from his lips. His breath came shallow, each inhale sending fresh waves of discomfort radiating through his battered frame. His muscles burned, locked in place as if his body itself was resisting the very act of movement. He wanted nothing more than to remain where he lay, letting the weight of his pain keep him grounded. The sky, once a tranquil blue, had darkened into an ominous shade of red¡ªnightfall was approaching. The air was eerily still, absent of even the faintest breeze. No rustling leaves, no distant calls of life. The clearing was utterly, unnervingly silent. He strained his ears, listening¡ªnot for threats, but for anything. A whisper of wind. The chirp of an insect. A distant crack of branches. But there was nothing. The world held its breath, as if mourning with him. Alone. The realization pressed down like a crushing weight, settling in the hollow space where human voices should have been. He had never felt such an absence before¡ªnot just of sound, but of presence. No one to call out to, no one to answer. Just silence, vast and suffocating. How long had he lain there, drowning in blood and regret? Richter didn''t know for certain, but it must have been over an hour, as his potion cooldown had reset. Forcing his trembling hand downward sent another jolt of pain through his ribs, making him wince. His fingers twitched as they neared the pouch, the simple motion feeling like dragging lead weights through molasses, but still, he hesitated. His fingers hovered over the opening, uncertainty gnawing at him. Did he even deserve to heal? The weight of his actions pressed down on him¡ªJason''s lifeless eyes, Sophie''s final breath, Dave''s sacrifice. Was survival just another selfish act? A way to delay the inevitable judgment? He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his chest tightening under the weight of doubt. Instinct overruled hesitation. His survival instincts clawed their way to the surface, overriding the crushing guilt. He focused on the health potion¡ªand it was suddenly in his grasp, though his fingers trembled around the glass. Even the simple act of uncorking the vial felt arduous, his grip weak, uncertain. For a brief moment, he tilted the vial in his hand, watching the liquid swirl inside. The soft glow of the potion reflected in his tired eyes, its promise of relief stark against the weight of his guilt. He considered throwing it away, rejecting the comfort it offered, letting the pain remain as penance for what he had done. But his body screamed for relief, for restoration. With a quiet, shuddering breath, he tipped the vial back. The sweet, rejuvenating liquid slid down his throat, and warmth spread through his veins, unbidden yet undeniable. It surged toward the worst of his injuries¡ªhis ribs, his face¡ªknitting the damage together. His health bar steadily refilled. His fingers went back to his face, tracing the jagged lines of the mark. It pulsed faintly, not just a scar, but something deeper¡ªsomething woven into his very essence, a living condemnation of his crime. The System had ensured he would never forget, that every glance in a reflective surface would remind him of the blood he had spilled. A punishment. A warning. A curse. "Finally, he wakes." The voice was deep, resonant¡ªunmistakably male. Richter was not alone. Instinct took hold before reason could catch up. He surged upright, his staff raised, muscles tensed despite the ache in his battered frame. He didn''t know if he deserved to live, if survival was even worth fighting for. But his body had already decided for him. Richter hadn¡¯t known what to expect, but the sight before him shattered any lingering assumptions. The man before him was monstrous in stature¡ªeasily twice the size of any human Richter had ever seen. His bare chest, thick with sinewy muscle and marred by a tapestry of old scars, radiated raw power. A weathered leather gladiator-style skirt was his only clothing, the dark hide worn and battle-stained. His hair was a wild tangle of dirty blond, his stubble uneven, giving him a rugged, almost primal appearance. But none of that was what made Richter¡¯s breath catch in his throat. It was the scar. A massive, unmistakable handprint seared into the side of his face, the edges deep and brutal, as if someone¡ªor something¡ªhad once tried to crush his skull with their bare hand. It was an impossible wound, one that should have killed any man, yet here he was¡ªalive, whole, and undeterred. The air around him was different. It felt heavier, as though the very atmosphere bowed under his presence. A pressure clamped down on Richter¡¯s chest, his body instinctively recognizing the sheer difference in strength between them. This man could end him with a flick of his wrist. And yet, he lounged atop the slain bear¡¯s corpse as if it were nothing more than a worn-out piece of furniture. His posture was casual, his confidence absolute, like a king surveying his domain¡ªone who feared nothing. "Put that little stick down, boy. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn¡¯t have woken up at all." His voice rumbled like distant thunder, deep and filled with something between amusement and disinterest. "Not that the System would let me, anyway. Doesn''t like us gods roughing up you fragile little mortals." He flashed a wide grin, the expression almost clownish, but there was something unsettling behind it¡ªsomething that made Richter''s grip tighten on his staff despite himself. "G-God..." Richter stammered, his throat dry, his voice barely more than a whisper. A cold sweat beaded on his brow, his heart hammering in his chest. The sheer weight of the man¡¯s presence crushed down on him, every instinct screaming that he was prey standing before a predator. The scarred god let out a long, exaggerated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as if this entire interaction were an inconvenience. "Gods, I forgot how exhausting talking to mortals is. It¡¯s been way too long. Do I sound intimidating enough? Should I add more lightning and ominous whispers?" He smirked to himself, seemingly amused by his own joke. "You¡¯d think after all these years; you''d lot would be a bit less starstruck. But no, always the same wide-eyed fear and reverence. Makes it real hard to hold a decent conversation." Richter swallowed hard, his thoughts scrambling to reconcile the sheer casualness of the being before him. The man¡ªno, the god¡ªdidn¡¯t move with the ethereal grace Richter had always imagined divine beings possessing. There were no grand gestures, no celestial glow, no overwhelming presence of wisdom or righteousness. Instead, he lounged atop a dead bear, stretching like a man who had just woken from a nap, more amused than imposing. And yet, despite the humour in his voice, despite the ease of his posture, the sheer weight of his presence told Richter one undeniable truth: this god could snap him in half without a second thought. "What is it mortals usually ask in these situations?" The god mused, rubbing his chin with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Oh, right. Introductions. Let''s get that out of the way. Name''s Cain¡ªyou should''ve gotten a fancy little notification about it. Cain, the First Murderer. Quite the title, huh?" He smirked, his tone dripping with amusement, as if the weight of that name meant nothing to him. "You''re Richter, yeah? I got notification for the system about you getting my blessing." Richter just nodded, his mind struggling to process the reality before him. Cain. The same Cain the System had warned him about¡ªthe one who had killed more beings than any other in the universe. And now, here he was, lounging before him, amused, nonchalant, as if his very existence wasn¡¯t the stuff of nightmares. And even in that moment, Richter¡¯s curiosity momentarily overshadowed his fear. "Cain... like Cain and Abel?" The pieces had clicked into place¡ªthe name, the title of ''First Murderer''¡ªand the coincidence was too blatant to ignore. His voice wavered slightly, uncertainty lacing his words, but the question had already left his lips. The air grew heavy, thick with a crushing presence that pressed against Richter¡¯s chest like an invisible force. Cain rose from his lounging position in a slow, deliberate motion, his posture no longer relaxed but coiled with restrained fury. His golden eyes locked onto Richter, and for a brief, terrifying moment, Richter felt as if he were staring into the abyss itself. The playful smirk was gone, stripped away as if it had never been there, replaced by a glare of pure, unfiltered hatred. The ground trembled beneath them, faint cracks forming at Cain¡¯s feet as his power surged to the surface, reality itself bending under his wrath. But something held it back¡ªan unseen force, an invisible chain pulling him to a halt. Was it the System? Whatever it was, it stopped him from unleashing what Richter could only assume was devastation beyond comprehension. Cain¡¯s voice cut through the thick air, low and razor-sharp, stripped of its previous arrogance. Richter¡¯s grip on his staff tightened instinctively, his knuckles turning white as if the flimsy weapon could offer any real protection against a being like this. His breathing quickened, shallow and uneven, his chest rising and falling too fast, as though the very air had grown too thick to pull in properly. "What did you just say?" The words weren¡¯t shouted, but they didn¡¯t need to be¡ªthe sheer weight behind them made Richter¡¯s stomach lurch. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. "Where did you hear that name?" His eyes bore into Richter, sharp and unrelenting, as if peeling back the layers of his mind, searching for something buried deep within him¡ªsomething Richter himself wasn¡¯t even aware of. His legs locked up, his entire body stiffening under the crushing weight of that gaze, an animal caught in the sight of a predator that had already decided its fate. The weight of that gaze sent a chill down his spine, making him feel exposed, dissected, like prey caught in the unwavering focus of a predator. Richter¡¯s thoughts scrambled, panic clawing at his throat. Why had he said that? Why had he let his curiosity slip past his fear? His breath hitched, his words tumbling out too fast, uneven, desperate to fill the unbearable silence Cain had left hanging. "I¡ªit''s just a story! A religious story! Christianity¡ªit''s, uh, one of the biggest religions on Earth, people follow it, believe in it¡ªuh¡ªCain, he¡ªhe killed his brother, Abel, that¡¯s¡ªthat¡¯s how the story goes. The first murder." His voice cracked; his pulse thundered in his ears. He couldn¡¯t stop himself from talking, as if the explanation might somehow lessen the crushing weight of Cain¡¯s glare. "It¡¯s¡ªit''s just a myth! I-I didn¡¯t mean anything by it, I just¡ªit''s a weird coincidence, right? Y-you being called the First Murderer and named Cain? I wasn¡¯t trying to¡ªI mean, I didn¡¯t think¡ªI¡¯m sorry, I shouldn¡¯t have said anything!" For the briefest moment, Richter caught it¡ªthe god¡¯s brow furrowed, a flicker of something foreign in his golden eyes. Curiosity. The shift was almost imperceptible, but it was there. Then, a whisper¡ªbarely audible, as if Cain had spoken more to himself than anyone else. "How would they know..." The words hung in the air, a slip of thought not meant to escape. But it had. Cain¡¯s posture stiffened the instant he realized Richter was watching him. With practiced ease, he straightened up, rolling his shoulders, the usual smug grin sliding back into place. Too quick. Too forced. But Richter had seen behind the mask, if only for a second. Cain was unsettled. "Alright, enough with the dramatics. Let¡¯s get to the real reason I¡¯m here."" The large man rose, but not in the way Richter expected. He didn''t move like a warrior, nor like a seasoned gladiator accustomed to battle. Instead, his movement was something else entirely effortless, unhurried, almost lazy, yet there was an underlying precision to it, like a beast that knew it was the apex predator in the room. Every shift of his body carried a strange weight, as if space itself adjusted around him rather than the other way around. Richter felt it in his bones¡ªthe sheer certainty that this man, this god, had never once needed to fight for survival. Survival bowed to him. "I¡ªI didn''t want this. I didn¡¯t mean for it to happen," Richter''s voice wavered, thick with regret. His breath hitched, his chest tightening as the words tumbled out, desperate to justify what couldn¡¯t be undone. "It¡ªit all happened too fast." His grip on his staff tightened, white-knuckled, as if clinging to it might anchor him, might keep him from drowning in the weight of what he had done. His heart pounded, hammering against his ribs like a caged thing trying to escape. "I''m not a murderer." The words came out fragile, barely above a whisper, as if saying them aloud might make them true. But even as he spoke to them, they felt hollow. Empty. The System had already decided. Cain barely even blinked. "You killed this young man. That makes you a murderer. No sense arguing about it now." His tone was flat, devoid of empathy, like he was stating an unchangeable fact rather than condemning Richter for it. Then, with the same casual indifference, he stepped over Jason''s body. Not a glance, not a hesitation. As if Jason had never even existed. Richter¡¯s stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. The nausea wasn¡¯t just from Cain¡¯s words¡ªit was from the truth of them. Cain stretched slightly, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off an idle thought. "Anyway, where was I?" He spoke as if they were discussing something as mundane as the weather. "Right. Gods giving blessings. Normally, we hand them out to mortals we find promising. But me? I don¡¯t get to choose. You have my blessing, whether you want it or not." His golden eyes flicked toward Richter, unreadable. "Now, why do gods give blessings in the first place? It¡¯s not charity, kid. It¡¯s an investment. We put a bit of power into a mortal, let them do their thing, and in return, we get a share of whatever they accomplish. A small cost for a bigger payout." Cain¡¯s smirk returned, though this time, there was something sharper behind it. "So, congratulations. You''re my investment now. Best part? I didn¡¯t have to put a single bit of my own resources into you¡ªpure upside for me." He chuckled, shaking his head. "It¡¯s like finding a coin on the ground. No effort, all reward." "You showed up at a good time, not gonna lie. My resources are running a little low¡ªsome bad bets, poor investments, you know how it is." Cain stretched, rolling his shoulders before flashing a lopsided grin. "So, before the System decides it¡¯s done with our little meet-and-greet, any questions? Make ''em count." Richter stood frozen for a moment, the weight of everything pressing down on him. Earlier, he had questioned if he even deserved to live, if there was any point in trying. But the more he thought, the more he realized¡ªhe wanted to live. There were too many questions left unanswered, too many things that didn¡¯t make sense. He wasn¡¯t a murderer, no matter what they said. No matter what the System had decided. It was an accident. Any court would have seen that. But this world had no courts, no trials¡ªonly judgment. And so, he had to survive. Not just to stay alive, but to prove¡ªto himself, to the System, to whatever forces were watching¡ªthat he was more than the label they had forced upon him. That he was still him. "What do I do now? How do I survive?" Richter¡¯s voice was cold, detached, stripped of emotion. He had spent enough time drowning in regret¡ªright now, logic had to take over. "I¡¯m alone, a healer with barely any combat ability, and even worse survival skills. I won¡¯t last long like this." His gaze locked onto Cain, scrutinizing him. He had an all-powerful god in front of him¡ªone who clearly wanted him alive, though not out of kindness. Cain had already admitted it. Self-interest. An investment. Fine. If Cain was going to gain something from this, so would Richter. If he had to play along, he¡¯d make sure he came out of it with answers, power¡ªsomething that would help him survive. Cain couldn''t help but smile, a slow, knowing grin stretching across his scarred face. The boy had been teetering on the edge, but now¡ªnow something had shifted. Not broken. No, something had finally clicked into place. "Ah, there it is," Cain mused, his golden eyes gleaming with something between amusement and satisfaction. "That little moment when all the whining and self-pity burns away, and what''s left is something useful. Took you long enough." Richter''s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He wasn¡¯t about to give Cain the satisfaction of a reaction. Cain chuckled. "Don''t give me that look, kid. I¡¯ve seen it happen a thousand times before. That little shift in the eyes, the moment the brain stops wallowing in ¡®why me¡¯ and starts thinking ¡®what now?¡¯ Congratulations. You just figured out the only thing that actually matters in this world." Richter exhaled slowly, his fingers loosening slightly around his staff, as if testing the weight of his own resolve. "And what''s that?" Cain leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to something quieter, something almost conspiratorial. "You survive. That¡¯s it. Everything else is just noise." Cain¡¯s movements became exaggerated, almost comically so, as he strutted back and forth like an actor on stage. Richter furrowed his brows, watching in wary confusion. "Ah, now that¡¯s a tricky question!" Cain declared, throwing his hands¡ªwell, hand¡ªup in mock exasperation. "The System, you see, has all these pesky little rules about what gods can and can¡¯t do for their dear, helpless little mortals. It frowns upon direct intervention. Says it ''diminishes the integrity of the trial'' or some other self-important nonsense." He let out a deep, theatrical sigh, dramatically placing a hand over his chest. "So, alas, my hands are tied! Whatever shall I do?" Cain tapped his chin thoughtfully¡ªnot with his own fingers, but with Sophie''s severed hand, still attached to the arm the bear had torn off. The sight sent a cold shudder through Richter¡¯s spine. Cain noticed the look and grinned, wiggling the lifeless fingers like a grotesque puppet. "What? Waste not, want not." Cain made his way over to the bear''s corpse, running a hand across its thick hide. "Fascinating creatures, these ''bears.'' Every race seemed to have their own version, even before the System got involved." He crouched down, sniffing the air above the carcass, only to recoil with a disgusted grimace. With a contemplative hum, he traced the scars along the beast¡¯s muzzle. "Every one of these I''ve come across has a den. You see, other creatures, even the dumb ones, they know better than to wander into the home of a predator this big. Instinct, self-preservation¡ªit keeps them out. After all, you never know when the predator is going to come back." Cain let the thought linger before his expression shifted into something too deliberate, too performative. With an exaggerated flick of his wrist, he let Sophie¡¯s severed hand drop from his grip. The motion was pointed, theatrical¡ªtoo obvious. The dismembered limb landed with a dull thud, its fingers twitching slightly before going still, and yet, it just so happened to fall in a perfectly aligned direction¡ªpointing straight toward where the bear had entered the clearing. Richter¡¯s breath hitched. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning¡ªclear, undeniable. Cain wasn¡¯t just making a point; he was leading him somewhere. The direction, the timing¡ªit was all deliberate. "Anyway, sorry I can''t help¡ªrules and all. But hey, time''s up." Cain flashed a cheeky wink, his grin widening. "One last thing¡ªlook down." And then, just like that, he was gone. No grand exit, no dramatic farewell¡ªjust an absence, as if he had never been there at all. The moment he vanished, the world stirred. The wind returned in a sudden rush, rustling through the trees, sending leaves dancing across the clearing. The forest exhaled, sounds rushing back all at once¡ªthe distant calls of birds, the subtle hum of insects, the creaking of branches swaying overhead. Richter stiffened. Had time stopped? Or had he simply not noticed its absence until now?? Cain reappeared in the grand hall, his presence barely disturbing the flickering ethereal light. The blue god lifted his head from his tome, his glowing eyes settling on Cain with mild curiosity. "Why did you lie to that mortal? The System wouldn''t have stopped you from telling him how to survive." His tone was calm, almost indifferent, as if the answer didn¡¯t truly matter¡ªbut he had asked nonetheless. Cain smirked, stretching his arms behind his head as if the question amused him. "Where¡¯s the fun in that? If I handed him all the answers, there¡¯d be no challenge. No struggle. Mortals need a little pressure to show what they¡¯re really made of. But it¡¯d be nice to have a Blessed that lasts longer than a couple of weeks. Haven''t had one live longer than a few weeks, let alone a whole tutorial." Cain¡¯s chuckle was loud and hearty, vibrating through the hall as he clapped a heavy hand on the blue god¡¯s back, nudging him slightly forward. "Admit it, you¡¯re curious too. Let¡¯s see if this one actually makes it." Chapter 6 Richter: Alone in Eden In the span of mere hours, Richter had gone from a quiet office to a savage new world governed by an indifferent System. He¡¯d fought a supernatural bear, witnessed two people torn apart, branded a murderer, scarred by divine judgment, and personally marked by the god of murder himself. To say this wasn¡¯t what he expected from the countdown would be the understatement of a lifetime. What had that psycho said before disappearing? Look down. Richter couldn''t even muster the energy to be angry anymore. His emotions were burned out, hollowed by exhaustion and trauma. The god was clearly playing some kind of game, but Richter lacked the strength to resist, to question, or even to care. Logic told him Cain had no other Blessed, that he couldn¡¯t give his power to just anyone. So maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªhe¡¯d lend a hand, if only for his own selfish gain. "Well, in for a penny, in for a pound." Richter''s gaze drifted downward, and he knew¡ªhe should be horrified. The sight before him was grotesque, like something ripped straight from a nightmare or a banned horror film. Cain, in his theatrical cruelty, had somehow sculpted a path from blood-soaked soil, its dark crimson clumps glistening with wet rot, leading away from the bear¡¯s corpse like a trail of viscera. There was no point arguing with it. Numbly, Richter followed. Behind the bear, nestled in a macabre circle of saturated earth, lay the pouches once carried by the dead family. Their placement was too deliberate to be chance. For a fleeting second, a strange flicker of gratitude stirred in him¡ªhe would''ve forgotten them. Of course, they didn¡¯t need the gear anymore. And just as that thought passed, a darker one slid in behind it: why did that come so easily? Why did he think of them as ''the dead family'' like it was a character note instead of a memory? Then he saw it. Sophie¡¯s dagger. Bathed in the blood-red hue of the dusk light, the blade lay half-buried in the soil. The same blade that had once been embedded in Jason¡¯s throat, slick with betrayal. It hadn¡¯t been cleaned. The dried blood clung to the edge like guilt refusing to be washed away. Of all the things scattered in the dirt, it was this that struck Richter. It wasn¡¯t just a weapon¡ªit was a mirror. Was Cain trying to remind him of what he was now? Or did the god simply find joy in placing symbols of guilt where the dying light could glint off them just right? Richter didn¡¯t feel grief. Not yet. Just the hollow space where it should¡¯ve been. As he approached the circle, something else caught his attention¡ªwords etched into the blood-soaked soil, disturbingly clear: "Identify the Dagger." Richter froze. Confusion stirred in his chest, mingling with unease. Why? Why point out the dagger? It looked the same as before¡ªbasic, utilitarian. The System had given it to Sophie. Dull, dark grey metal, plain and unadorned. The red fabric wrapped around the hilt was soaked through, its color deepened to a near black. What was Cain trying to show him? It was just a weapon¡­ wasn''t it? As he reached out and wrapped his fingers around the hilt, a chill crawled up his spine. It hit him instantly¡ªthe same suffocating presence he had felt in Cain¡¯s aura. Dark. Oily. Sinister in a way that defied reason. The dagger pulsed with a wrongness that dug beneath the skin, settling like a parasite behind his eyes. It hadn¡¯t felt like this before¡ªnot when he held it, not when it was buried in Jason¡¯s throat. As Richter''s gaze locked onto the dagger, a pulse of instinct surged through him¡ªhis Identify skill triggered on its own, unbidden. The moment the information unraveled before his eyes, a cold weight settled in his gut. This wasn''t the same blade. Not even close. Whatever it had been before, it was something else now. Something transformed by blood, by death¡ªby him.
Blade of the First Murder (Unique) "When the first drop of blood stained this blade, it was ordinary. But murder¡ªmurder transforms things. This is no longer just steel; it is a conduit, a reflection, a scar that cannot be erased. It is bound to its wielder, as much a part of them as the act that birthed it." Effects & Abilities: Essence Reaper (Passive) Absorbs the Essence of slain beings, drawing fragments of their memories, emotions, and latent power. These Essences can be absorbed to grant Richter skill upgrades, influence future skill development, or reveal insights about the slain. Additionally, they can be harnessed for crafting or rituals. Bladebound (Passive) The blade is soulbound¡ªan extension of its wielder''s will. Indestructible and can be summoned at any time, responding instantly to the wielder¡¯s call, no matter the distance.
Richter stared at the floating text, the words burning themselves into his mind more deeply than any System notification before it. Blade of the First Murder. The name alone should have rattled him. Once, it would have. But all he felt now was a quiet numbness, like watching himself from behind a thick sheet of glass. His mind tried to compartmentalize, to apply the analytical lens he¡¯d used in his old life: Unique-grade item, soulbound, essence absorption, ritual potential. These were terms he could understand, categories he could file away. He should have been dissecting the implications¡ªresource management, power scaling, magical synergy. Stolen novel; please report. But instead, something else gnawed at the back of his thoughts: This weapon was born from Jason¡¯s death. From Sophie¡¯s scream. From my hand. He tightened his grip instinctively, and the blade responded. Not with a glow or a hum¡ªbut with something more intimate. A pulse. Like a heartbeat. The energy it exuded wasn¡¯t malevolent in the traditional sense¡ªit didn¡¯t burn or scream. It simply existed as a reflection. Of him. Of what he¡¯d done. A blade forged not from metal, but from guilt and necessity. From blood that couldn¡¯t be washed away. Cain hadn¡¯t left him a message. He¡¯d left him a mirror. Richter¡¯s throat was dry. He wanted to drop it, but something in his chest whispered that it wouldn¡¯t matter. The blade would return. It belonged to him now. Just as much as the mark on his face did. There was something else embedded in the blade¡¯s presence¡ªsubtle, but undeniable. Beneath the oppressive weight of Cain¡¯s aura, there was a quieter echo. Familiar. Personal. Richter¡¯s breath caught in his throat as recognition bloomed. Jason. It wasn¡¯t just a weapon infused with power. It held something of the boy he had killed. Without thinking, his hand moved as if on instinct, summoning a translucent screen. He didn¡¯t know how he knew to do it¡ªonly that it felt natural, as if the knowledge had been burned into him when the blood first hit the blade.
Essence of [Human ¨C Level 0, Caster ¨C Level 1]
His chest tightened. Not data. Not numbers. A piece of Jason. A sliver of his soul, caught in the metal like a whisper of what once was. As he stared at the screen, trying to make sense of the presence lingering in the blade, another prompt blinked into existence¡ªcold, clinical, and utterly unfeeling. It offered no comfort. No time.
Do you want to absorb Essence now? [Y/N] Warning: Once absorbed, the Essence will be consumed entirely.
The words felt like a scalpel¡ªsharp, precise, and utterly devoid of empathy. Richter stared at the message, the flickering text hovering in the air like a verdict. He should have hit No. Every part of him wanted to. This was Jason¡ªwhat was left of him. A boy who had screamed, cried, and bled out on the forest floor. A boy who had hated him in the end. A boy whose death now offered power. The thought turned Richter¡¯s stomach, but no nausea came. Just a heavy, hollow ache. What would absorbing him mean? Would it be mercy¡ªreleasing Jason from the liminal space he was trapped in? Or desecration, one final violation in a string of tragedies? He didn¡¯t know. ¡°I don¡¯t want to do this,¡± he whispered. Not because of fear. Because it felt wrong. But then, something colder stirred¡ªreason. Logic. The part of him that had survived this far by clinging to data, not emotion. The part that understood this world didn¡¯t care what felt wrong. Jason was already dead. The only question now was whether his death could mean something more than pain. Richter swallowed hard. His hand hovered over the confirmation, fingers trembling¡ªbut only slightly. He clicked Yes. A small red orb emerged from the tip of the blade, hovering in the air like a dying ember. It pulsed once, twice, then unfurled like a flower in bloom¡ªexcept it wasn¡¯t petals that spread, but tendrils of crimson energy. They stretched outward, languid and purposeful, before latching onto Richter. The essence flowed into him like smoke drawn into lungs¡ªwarm, invasive, oddly intimate. Not painful, but unsettling, like something brushing against the inside of his thoughts. Then he saw it. A vision¡ªnot a memory, not quite. He was standing in the clearing, but untouched. Clean. Hair tousled but vibrant, no blood on his robes, no dirt beneath his fingernails. The wooden staff looked almost ornamental in his grip. And his face¡­ his face was whole. No mark. No scar. No murder. This was Jason''s view. The image lingered only for a breath, but it hit harder than any blow. That was who he had been. Before the blood. Before the death. Before the System made him something else. Next came the moment of the bear. It wasn¡¯t just a memory¡ªRichter felt it. Jason¡¯s fear flooded his senses like icy water, raw and suffocating. His panic spiked, frantic and wild, a silent scream echoing in Richter¡¯s chest. And then¡ªnothing. Then came a new sensation¡ªJason mid-fight, adrenaline crackling through his limbs as a Mana Bolt began to form in his hand. But this wasn¡¯t like Richter¡¯s version. This was sharper, more stable, more whole. The magic didn¡¯t flicker with uncertainty; it hummed with intent. Even under fear, Jason''s spell had been instinctive, practiced. Efficient. Richter leaned into the sensation, letting the memory pour into him. Information slid through his mind¡ªnot spoken, not written, but felt. Muscle memory. Emotional imprint. A deeper understanding of how Jason had cast¡ªnot just the technique, but the why behind it. And then it was gone. The final vision struck like a blade. From Jason¡¯s eyes, Richter saw the chaos unfold. He was straddling himself¡ªRichter¡ªbeating him, knuckles raw, blood running freely from his nose and dripping into Richter¡¯s pale hair. There was rage, yes, but also something deeper¡ªloss, confusion, betrayal that had nowhere else to go. And then¡­ the shift. Panic. Jason realized too late what he was doing. The anger fractured, splintered into fear. Richter felt it¡ªJason¡¯s horror at his own actions. The desperate attempt to stop. To pull back. And then¡ªthe blade. He saw the hand reach down. Felt the dagger being drawn. Saw it coming, but too late to stop it. The cold flash of metal. The split-second where instinct screamed, and the world slowed. Then pain. A searing, suffocating agony that erupted in his throat, drowning out every thought. Jason¡¯s vision blurred, not from blood¡ªbut from disbelief. Regret poured in, hot and thick, right before everything went black. It wasn¡¯t just death Richter felt. It was Jason¡¯s final understanding. The vision ended. Darkness swallowed him whole. Then¡ªclarity. Richter was back in the clearing, his breath shaky, heart thudding in his ears. A new System notification blinked into view.
System Notification [Mana Bolt (Inferior)] ¡ú [Mana Bolt (Common)] Condense mana into a small projectile and launch it at a target. Gains a increase in damage based on Intellect.
He blinked¡ªbut the screen didn¡¯t stay. The text stuttered, then glitched. A flicker. Then a ripple¡ªlike reality buffering. Lines of static danced across the interface. The words twisted, broke apart, rearranged. The original upgrade faded into static snow, replaced by something else¡ªsomething deeper, more personal.
System Notification Updated [Mana Bolt (Inferior)] ¡ú [Unstable Mana Lance (Uncommon)]
A volatile, high-intensity variant of Mana Bolt. Significantly increased damage scaling with Intellect and emotional intensity. May misfire when overcharged or emotionally unstable. A pulse shot through his fingertips. Heat¡ªnot from the environment, but from within. The spell was there now, just beneath his skin, like a coiled serpent of raw mana, twitching with potential. It wasn¡¯t just a spell. It was Jason¡¯s rage. Jason¡¯s fear. And now¡ªit was his. Somewhere far away¡ªor perhaps uncomfortably close¡ªCain smiled, slow and sharp. "Now that¡¯s something new," he murmured, golden eyes flickering with amusement. "These humans¡­ they¡¯re going to ruin everything. Gods, I hope they do. This is going to be fun." Chapter 7 Richter: The Blade Remembers His hand ached from gripping the hilt. With a shudder, he hurled the blade away in a moment of pure revulsion. What had he done? Was he truly a murderer? He¡¯d told himself it was self-defence¡ªbut now he had taken that death and turned it into power. He had gained strength, yes, but at what cost? For the first time, he wondered if survival was worth the price of someone else''s soul. Jason''s final moment would now forever be part of Richter. The skill had evolved from [Inferior] to [Uncommon]¡ªnow Richter''s highest-rated ability. Something within him shifted. His analytical mind, the part honed by years of research and rational thinking, surged back to the surface. He studied the skill again with new focus.
[Unstable Mana Lance (Uncommon)]: A volatile, high-intensity variant of Mana Bolt. Increased damage scaling with Intellect and emotional intensity. May misfire when overcharged or emotionally unstable.
He formed the skill¡ªthis time, the mana flowed with precision, deliberate and focused. It gathered into an orb before sharpening, condensing into a sleek, blue-glowing spear. The energy felt denser, more alive. Richter aimed at an untouched patch of the barkskin and released it. The lance shot forward and punched through the thick hide like it was paper, leaving a clean hole where once there had been armour. He stood in silence, staring at the damage. It had felt good¡ªtoo good. The clarity of control, the raw force behind the spell, the effortless precision. It was exactly what he¡¯d needed in that bear fight, and it disturbed him how satisfying it felt to wield that kind of power now. He tried to tell himself it was just relief, just catharsis. But part of him knew better. The spell had come easier this time. Not just because of the upgrade, but because he had felt it¡ªJason¡¯s fear, Jason¡¯s instinct. The memory of it was still there in the magic, a ghost in the casting. It wasn¡¯t just his spell anymore. And that weight... it clung to him like a shadow. He lowered his hand slowly, the last flicker of blue mana dissipating at his fingertips. Richter gathered the pouches, carefully transferring their contents into his own. As he surveyed the clearing, the weight of what had happened settled heavily on his shoulders¡ªthis place reeked of death, of violence, of something irreparably broken. He couldn¡¯t stay here. Not now. But he would return. These people deserved more than to rot beneath bloodied soil. They deserved closure¡ªa proper farewell. But that would have to wait. Right now, Richter needed rest. He glanced down at the severed hand still pointing toward the trees, Cain¡¯s twisted breadcrumb. "Yeah... I get it," he muttered. "I¡¯m going." A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. As Richter stepped into the trees, he was met with an unexpected serenity¡ªa jarring, almost offensive contrast to the blood-soaked clearing behind him. The temperature dropped a few degrees, the air cooler beneath the dense canopy, and the quiet hush of the forest wrapped around him like a weighted blanket. Night was settling in fast, draping the world in deep blues and muddy grays. His eyes scanned the trees¡ªoak, ash, and hazel¡ªtall and ancient, their bark rough and gnarled with age. The forest felt old, untouched, and strangely watchful. He noted how the leaves overlapped high above, forming a ceiling that blocked most of the fading sunlight. What little light remained filtered through in narrow shafts, casting sharp lines across the moss-covered ground. Thick bracken lay underfoot, soft but concealing, the perfect place for predators to hide. His boots sank into it soundlessly, and even his breathing felt too loud here. Insects had begun their nightly symphony, the rhythmic buzz and hum a low murmur of unseen life. He couldn¡¯t help but catalogue it all¡ªhow many exit points the path offered, how difficult it would be to climb the trees, how exposed he was if something decided to attack. It was peaceful. But Richter knew better than to mistake peace for safety. With just a thought, the blade he had discarded in the clearing reappeared in his hand¡ªno mana, no effort, as if it had always been part of him. He glanced over his shoulder, the weight of memory urging him not to forget the path back. He turned toward a slender hazel tree and drove the dagger into its trunk. The blade sank in with unsettling ease, as if the wood itself parted willingly. There was almost no resistance¡ªjust the quiet, effortless slide of something sharper than it had any right to be. A mark. A reminder. A line drawn in the forest saying: this way leads back to death. The walk wasn¡¯t far before he came upon another clearing, this one dominated by a massive rock formation that jutted from the earth like the spine of some ancient creature. Lichen clung to its surface, soft and green, while tendrils of moss draped down like nature¡¯s tapestry. Thin vines slithered from deep cracks, reaching toward the fading light. A narrow trickle of water cascaded down one face of the stone, catching the dim dusk glow as it joined others to form a still, reflective pond at the base. The source of the water wasn¡¯t visible, but Richter suspected it was a natural spring, nestled deep within the rock formation. That explained the clarity¡ªthe way the water shimmered with a kind of untouched purity, cold and clean as if it had never been exposed to the world above. It made sense geologically, but more than that, it added to the eerie calm of the place. The spring whispered of something ancient, a quiet constant in a world turned violent. Richter circled the pond, his gaze drawn to a shadowed opening nestled within the rock wall. In any other moment, its jagged shape and dark interior would have screamed danger. But now, in the quiet after all he had endured, the sight brought something else¡ªa strange sense of calm. A whisper of safety. Of shelter. A place not to fight or run or analyze, but to rest. His instincts didn¡¯t resist. For once, they agreed with what he felt: not fear... but relief. Entering the cave, Richter could barely see. He moved by instinct, guided only by the final sliver of fading daylight. The air was damp and cool, thick with the scent of moss and stone. He found a corner tucked beneath an overhang and collapsed into it, the stone unyielding but somehow comforting. For the first time since the Integration, he didn¡¯t want to think. He didn¡¯t want to fight. If something came for him in the night, so be it. Let it end. Just let it happen quietly¡ªwithout dreams, without memories, without waking up. Chapter 8 Richter: Fire and Memory Warm light gently stirred Richter from unconsciousness, brushing against his skin like a whisper. For a fleeting moment, he was grateful¡ªthe nightmare was finally over. But as his eyes adjusted and took in the unfamiliar forest cave around him, dread coiled in his gut. This wasn¡¯t a dream. This was real. When Richter had first stumbled in, the cave had been cloaked in darkness, its details lost to exhaustion and fading light. But now, with morning seeping through the canopy, he saw it clearly. The floor was littered with debris¡ªbones, feathers, torn fur, and patches of stretched, dried skin¡ªsigns that this was the bears home. But something in the cave didn¡¯t belong¡ªsomething far too deliberate to be the work of any bear. Etched into the back wall was a strange marking, part of a large, square stone tablet embedded in the rock. The tablet jutted subtly from the surrounding stone, not enough to feel artificial, but just enough to whisper of design. Its presence disturbed the natural flow of the cave¡ªnot violently, but insistently, like a thought that refused to leave. Richter couldn¡¯t tell whether it had been carved into the rock or if the cave itself had grown to cradle it over centuries. The surface was smooth with age, yet faint, angular etchings crossed its face¡ªsymbols or runes, perhaps, though they danced just beyond his understanding. It didn¡¯t feel like decoration. It felt like a message. A warning. Or maybe an invitation. He stared, tension winding tighter in his chest. Someone¡ªor something¡ªwanted this to be found. This world had been shaped by the System, every tree, every beast, and every blade of grass born of its intent. So as much as the stone tablet resembled the work of intelligent hands, Richter knew better. It hadn¡¯t been placed here by chance or by any long-dead race. This was the System¡¯s doing¡ªits way of leaving him a breadcrumb. A test. A quest wrapped in ancient mystery, daring him to solve it. And this was up his alley. But not yet. The puzzle could wait. Right now, his body had louder needs. He had water¡ªthankfully, the pond outside looked pristine, likely fed by a natural spring. That meant it was probably safe, at least by this world¡¯s standards. He''d take the risk. But water wasn¡¯t enough. His stomach twisted with hunger, and though adrenaline and grief had dulled it the night before, the ache was undeniable now. Food. He¡¯d need to find some. This was a forest, thick with life. That meant opportunities¡ªberries, roots, maybe small animals if he was lucky or desperate. He wasn¡¯t sure what was safe here. He¡¯d need to be cautious. Identify what he could. But first... He would return to the clearing. The decision settled over him with quiet certainty. That family hadn¡¯t chosen this fate¡ªhadn¡¯t asked to be torn from their lives and cast into this brutal world. They deserved more than to be left forgotten beneath the blood-stained soil. They deserved dignity. A farewell. He would build a pyre¡ªnot just to cleanse the remains, but to honour them. To mark that their lives, short as they had been here, had mattered. The System-provided mana flint in his pouch would spark the flame, but it was his own will that would give it purpose. Following his breadcrumb trail of marks etched into bark and stone, Richter found the path back to the clearing without trouble. But just as he reached the edge of the trees, he froze. He wasn¡¯t alone. Three large, black birds had descended on the clearing¡ªscavengers, feasting with grim purpose. Two of them perched atop the bear¡¯s massive corpse, tearing away strips of flesh with sharp, jerking motions. Their beaks glistened with gore, their feathers matte and oily like smoke-stained velvet. The third bird crouched low beside the severed hand, tilting its head with eerie curiosity as it plucked at the stiff fingers, as if expecting them to twitch back. Richter¡¯s stomach clenched. The scene was macabre, yes¡ªbut also strangely reverent, like the birds were performing some crude, ancient rite beneath the silent sky. Richter narrowed his gaze on the nearest bird and activated his [Eyes of the Murderer (Divine)]. Instantly, he felt the familiar surge of energy coil toward his vision¡ªcool, precise, and unnervingly sharp. The world around him seemed to still as the ability took hold, honing his perception into something predatory, unnatural.
[Duskbeak Scavenger] Description: Opportunistic carrion birds commonly found across many regions, particularly near sites of recent death. They typically travel in flocks of 3¨C5 and are known more for their patience than aggression. Though not natural hunters, they will defend their territory or scavenge aggressively if provoked, relying on rapid flight patterns and coordinated group behavior to overwhelm threats. Level: 2 Class: Beast
A flicker of surprise passed through him. The last time he''d used this skill, it had given him a name, a rank, a level. Nothing more. But this¡ªthis was different. The [Duskbeak Scavenger] came with a full dossier. Behavior patterns. Habitat tendencies. Tactical assessment. It wasn¡¯t just identification¡ªit was insight. This skill would be useful. The entry confirmed what he already feared¡ªthese birds wouldn''t abandon a feast like this anytime soon. They were territorial, and they¡¯d defend what they considered theirs. But that wasn¡¯t going to happen. Not here. Not with them. Richter''s jaw tightened. He wouldn''t let the family''s final resting place be desecrated, picked apart by scavengers under a blood-tinted sky. Richter formed a quick plan and activated his skill again, focusing on the other two scavengers. One registered as Level 2, the other as Level 3. The highest one, he assumed, was the leader¡ªor at least the most dominant. They were still several levels beneath him, but levels alone didn¡¯t guarantee safety. There were three of them, and he was outnumbered. More importantly, they had home-ground advantage, a coordinated behavioural pattern, and no fear. The System¡¯s description hadn''t called them hunters, but it had emphasized their pack instincts. If he struck one, the others would react instantly. A clean kill might send the rest fleeing¡ªbut if he failed, he''d be swarmed. He tightened his grip on his staff. He¡¯d need to be decisive. One wrong move and he wouldn¡¯t just be scavenging the dead¡ªhe¡¯d be joining them. The most logical plan was to eliminate the highest-level bird first. If he could strike hard and fast¡ªdrop it before the others had time to react¡ªthere was a good chance the remaining two would flee. Fear was often the best deterrent, especially for creatures driven by instinct. From their build¡ªslim bodies, long wings, sharp movements¡ªand based on the System''s description, he pegged them as agility-focused rather than tough. The bear had been a brute, relying on raw strength and overwhelming durability. These birds, by contrast, would rely on speed, flight, and timing. If they scattered, he¡¯d lose the opportunity entirely. If they coordinated, he could get overwhelmed. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Still, he had a trump card. His new Unstable Mana Lance had pierced through the bear¡¯s thick hide with ease, and that had been a creature built like a siege engine. Compared to that, these scavengers were exposed nerves and hollow bones. If he landed the first shot cleanly, this would be over before the others could even react. Richter still had several questions about his new Unstable Mana Lance skill, but now was the perfect chance to test one. He remembered there being a slight delay between forming the spell and releasing it¡ªalmost like holding tension in a drawn bow. That delay gave him control. But what if he could hold that tension longer? Stack it? What if he could conjure a second lance and fire them both in tandem? A double strike could catch the flock off-guard, giving him the clean kill he needed before they could scatter or retaliate. The most optimal approach would be to launch the first lance at the dominant bird, then immediately fire the second at one of the others before they could react. If he timed it right, he might take down two targets before any of them had a chance to scatter¡ªkilling two birds with two lances, as it were. It was risky¡ªtoo risky. He wasn¡¯t sure if he had that level of control yet. Maybe with practice, he could manage two simultaneous shots. But now wasn¡¯t the time for experiments. He¡¯d focus on securing one clean kill. Precise, deliberate, and fast. That would be enough¡ªfor now. He could still test something else¡ªanother strategy that had been lingering in the back of his mind. It wouldn¡¯t take much focus, and if it worked, it could give him a tactical edge. The soulbound dagger¡ªthe same one born from blood and grief¡ªmight prove useful in ways he hadn¡¯t yet explored. Richter formed the first lance in the air before him, letting the mana swirl and condense into a glowing spear of volatile energy. He stayed calm, keeping his breathing steady as he anchored the spell in place, hovering just inches from his outstretched hand. Holding it there required focus¡ªa delicate balance of pressure and control. Without hesitation, he began forming a second. The moment he split his attention, the strain hit him. His thoughts blurred at the edges, like fog creeping across a mirror, and his concentration stretched taut, ready to snap. But he didn¡¯t falter. He pushed through the pressure, shaping the second lance beside the first. Both hovered midair, trembling with unstable potential. With the spells suspended and ready, he summoned the soulbound dagger to his hand. It appeared with a faint shimmer, the air pulsing around it as if disturbed by the memory of violence. Its presence grounded him, familiar and sharp. He was ready. The twin lances screamed through the air, blazing with raw mana as they tore toward the unsuspecting Level 3 bird. It had no time to react¡ªjust a flicker of movement before impact. In the same breath, Richter pulled back and hurled the dagger. He had never practiced throwing it¡ªhadn¡¯t even considered its aerodynamics¡ªbut it was worth the attempt. The blade wouldn¡¯t be lost, and if it hit, even better. He aimed for the closest scavenger¡ªthe one crouched over the severed hand¡ªits head tilted, oblivious to the strike about to come. The Level 3 bird¡¯s body exploded in a burst of feathers and charred flesh as the first lance struck true, erasing in an instant. The second lance sailed past its mark, disappearing into the trees beyond¡ªbut it didn¡¯t matter. One shot had been enough. He had overthought the moment; the spell didn¡¯t need precision when it had that kind of raw, destructive power.
You have slain [Duskbeak Scavenger Level: 3], gain bonus exp for slaying a foe of a higher level.
The dagger hadn¡¯t flown clean. It spun awkwardly through the air, end over end, before striking the intended bird¡ªbut with the hilt rather than the blade. The impact knocked the scavenger back slightly, more startled than injured. Still, it had landed, and that was enough to disrupt its feeding. Richter bolted, boots tearing across the earth as he created distance between himself and the clearing. The birds were momentarily stunned¡ªuncertain. They hovered at the edge of instinct, weighing their options. Would they flee now that their leader was gone, or turn and strike in retaliation? Flight or fury¡ªthat was their choice. And Richter wasn¡¯t going to wait to find out which they picked. They made their choice. With shrill caws, the remaining birds launched into pursuit, weaving through the trees in sharp, erratic bursts of flight. As Richter glanced over his shoulder, he noticed one lagging behind¡ªits movements jerky, its wings faltering. That had to be the one struck by the dagger. The blow hadn''t been fatal, but it had done more than startle¡ªit had wounded. They were closing in fast¡ªseconds away, at most. Richter had to act. He summoned the soulbound dagger to his hand once more and dropped flat to the forest floor in one fluid motion. The move was abrupt, not telegraphed. The birds, flying at full speed and expecting a moving target, overshot him entirely, their wings slicing through the air just above his back as they shrieked past. Richter sprang to his feet as the birds arced wide, struggling to realign their flight paths. The dense forest canopy and narrow gaps between trunks disrupted their momentum, forcing them into clumsy loops as they tried to circle back toward him. Richter summoned a mana lance, but this time his focus shifted to the injured bird¡ªthe one still struggling to keep up. It was wounded, slower, and more likely to fall with a single hit. He didn¡¯t need a flawless display of power; he needed to tip the balance. He launched the lance and the dagger in tandem, both spell and blade screaming through the air toward the faltering scavenger. The mana lance missed by inches, slicing through the space where the bird had been a heartbeat before, vanishing into the forest beyond. But the dagger¡ªit didn¡¯t miss. The soulbound blade struck the scavenger square in the chest, burying itself deep. The bird let out a shriek that turned into a choking gurgle as it tumbled from the sky, wings flailing uselessly. It crashed through the branches and slammed into the undergrowth, twitching once¡ªthen going still. The same dagger that had failed to kill it before had found its mark. And this time, it had finished the job.
You have slain [Duskbeak Scavenger Level: 2], gain bonus exp for slaying a foe of a higher level.
"Yes!" Richter gave a quick fist pump, a grin tugging at his lips¡ªnot for the kill, but for the throw. Landing that shot, especially under pressure, felt like a small but hard-earned victory. The dagger hadn¡¯t just struck¡ªit had answered him. Richter was blindsided, his body hurled backward as he slammed into a tree with bone-jarring force. Pain exploded in his ribs¡ªa white-hot flash that stole his breath. He¡¯d hesitated, and the final bird had taken advantage. Its beak had raked across his side, tearing through flesh before veering off. By the time he staggered upright, the scavenger was already wheeling through the air in a wide arc, lining up for another pass. The bird was lining up for its next strike as Richter forced himself to steady. The hit had carved a brutal chunk out of his HP¡ªhe couldn''t survive another like it. He could drop again, let the bird overshoot¡ªbut his body screamed from the last impact. He wasn¡¯t sure he¡¯d be able to get back up. No, this had to end now. He had one chance to stop it before it hit again. As Richter summoned the mana lance, the pain didn¡¯t just distract him¡ªit fueled the spell. Mana surged wildly, pulled in by instinct and agony. The lance began to grow, swelling larger with each passing second. He tried to release it, to fire before the bird closed the distance. But it didn¡¯t go. Instead of stabilizing, the spell expanded, the spear shape distorting into an unstable orb that pulsed with blinding intensity. It drew in more and more energy, bloating with chaotic light. Richter¡¯s eyes widened. He¡¯d lost control. The explosion came with no warning¡ªa thunderous flash of white light that shattered the air. The blast hurled Richter across the forest like a ragdoll, his body slamming into a tree with a force that left him gasping. His vision swam. His health bar clung to life, a sliver of red. The spell had nearly killed him. But the notification pinged through the haze:
You have slain [Duskbeak Scavenger Level: 2], gain bonus exp for slaying a foe of a higher level. [Level Up: Healer Level 2 Achieved] [Level up: Human Level 1 Achieved] New Stats Allocated:
Richter pulled out a health potion, his hands trembling from exhaustion and pain. It was the second day in a row he¡¯d come within a breath of death¡ªanother moment where survival meant choking down one of these bitter, glowing lifelines. He hated how familiar the motion was becoming. As the potion worked its way through him, warmth returned to his limbs, dulling the pain just enough for movement. He pushed himself upright, limping over to the fallen scavenger. It wasn¡¯t much, but meat was meat. ¡°Dinners sorted,¡± he muttered, hoisting the limp bird with a grunt. He turned toward the clearing. There was still one more fire to light. Chapter 9 Richter: Burial Rites It hadn''t taken long for him to gather the wood. The forest was quiet, save for the sound of twigs snapping underfoot and the low rustle of wind brushing through the leaves. As Richter dragged Sophie''s body toward the makeshift pyre, his breath hitched. Guilt clung to him like the blood still drying beneath his fingernails. He paused, fingers trembling as they adjusted her limbs. Was this for her? For Dave? For Jason? Or was this about him¡ªabout trying to wash away something that could never be cleansed? The thought dug deep. Those birds he had fought off¡ªthey weren¡¯t monsters. They hadn¡¯t killed anyone. They had only come to do what nature demanded of them: return the dead to the earth. In some cultures, he remembered, letting the bodies of the fallen be taken by birds was considered sacred. A final offering. A way to let go. So why had he risked his life? Why had he lashed out at them with such fury? Was it pride? Guilt? Rage? Or just the need to feel like he could still do something in a world where everything seemed to spiral beyond his control? He swallowed hard, throat tight. The weight of Sophie''s body in his arms felt heavier than it should have. As if the world itself was reminding him that there was no undoing what had been done. It only took a small infusion of mana into the flint to spark the fire. The dry wood caught quickly, the flames licking upward with greedy hunger. The pyre crackled to life, smoke curling toward the canopy, thick with the scent of burning flesh and pine. Richter stood in silence for a long moment, the flickering light painting his face in shades of orange and gold. The fire''s heat stung his eyes, but he didn''t blink. He couldn¡¯t. Not yet. "I¡¯m sorry," he said at last, his voice rough and low. "For not being strong enough. For not saving you." The flames roared louder in response, as if to drown out his guilt. He took a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on the dancing embers. "Dave... you were the shield we all hid behind. You didn¡¯t hesitate. You died saving someone you barely knew. I hope that means something, wherever you are." His voice cracked. "Sophie... I didn¡¯t get to know you, but you fought like hell. You didn¡¯t deserve this." A long silence stretched between each sentence, broken only by the crackling fire. "And Jason... I¡ª" He faltered, the words turning to ash on his tongue. "I wish things had been different." The flames reflected in his eyes, bright and relentless. He wanted to say more, but his throat closed up. In the end, there were no words powerful enough to make it right. So, he just stood there and watched. Until only embers remained. Richter made his way back to the cave, his legs heavy, not just from exhaustion but from the weight of everything he''d seen and done. The forest had quieted again, as if holding its breath after the pyre. Over one shoulder, he carried two staffs¡ªhis own Healer''s staff, and Jason''s Caster staff. The latter was a slender thing, lined with faint runes and pulsing with a dormant kind of energy. He wasn¡¯t sure why he brought it. Maybe it was practicality¡ªit enhanced intellect-based skills. Maybe it was something else. A reminder. A burden. In his other hand hung the limp body of one of the scavenger birds, the least damaged of the three. He¡¯d never plucked a bird, let alone cooked one over an open flame, but he¡¯d figure it out. Hunger gnawed at him now, cutting through the fog of grief. Entering the cave, Richter felt an unexpected sense of safety wrap around him. It was strange, almost surreal¡ªbut this place, hollowed and shadowed by stone and silence, was his now. His shelter. His home. He dropped the bird beside the cave wall and stepped back into the forest, gathering dry wood with a quiet focus. When he returned, he cleared the debris from the fire pit and began building the flames, methodically placing kindling, layering branches. The repetition grounded him. It gave his hands something to do, something to build instead of destroy. The fire came to life slowly, casting its warm, flickering light across the stone. Richter sat close, not for the heat but for the silence it offered. He didn¡¯t want to think¡ªbut thoughts crept in anyway. His eyes flicked to the back of the cave, to the strange markings etched into the tablet embedded in the wall. That puzzle. It called to him still, a mystery whispering just beyond reach. Even grief couldn¡¯t fully drown out the curiosity. And that scared him more than anything else¡ªthat even now, he wanted to understand. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Picking up the bird, Richter began plucking the feathers with unsure hands. He wasn¡¯t certain if this was the right method¡ªhe¡¯d only seen it done in passing, maybe on a video once¡ªbut it was working. Slowly. Messily. Still, the motion gave him something to focus on, a task with a clear start and end. He was careful with some of the feathers, setting them aside on a flat rock. Not for warmth, and not for fletching arrows¡ªthough those were still possibilities. No, this time he had something else in mind. A writing tool. The markings on the tablet had been haunting him since he first saw them. He needed a way to record, to draw, to copy the symbols and break them down piece by piece. Ink, charcoal, blood¡ªhe could make something work. But first, he needed the quills. "Feather quills," he murmured under his breath, eyeing them more carefully now. "Crude... but they¡¯ll do." In this world, anything could be a tool¡ªor a key. And he had a puzzle to solve. With a steady breath, he summoned the dagger back to his hand, the blade materializing with a shimmer. Working with quiet determination, he severed the head, wings, and feet, setting each aside with precision. The lifeless bird was now nothing more than food. He found a long, sturdy stick just outside the cave and drove it through the cleaned carcass, fashioning a crude spit. With care, he placed it over the fire, angling it to avoid burning. The scent of singed feathers gave way to the faint aroma of cooking meat, and despite everything, his stomach growled. "Guess this is dinner," he muttered, watching the fat begin to sizzle. The fire popped, and for a moment, the cave felt just a little more like a home. Richter picked up the first feather, twirling it between his fingers. He vaguely remembered a video he¡¯d seen years ago¡ªsomething about how quills were made. It had looked simple at the time, but now, with only a knife and trial-and-error at his disposal, he realized just how delicate the process really was. "It¡¯s not just dipping it in ink," he muttered to himself, narrowing his eyes. "Has to be cut just right. Hollowed. Shaped." His memory was sharp, one of the few blessings he¡¯d brought from his old life. He recalled the demonstration clearly: the way the feather''s tip had to be carved at a precise angle, the inner shaft hollowed to form a reservoir for ink. But knowing and doing were very different things. With careful hands, he made his first cut. The result was jagged, useless. The second feather split. The third curled at the end. Each failure stung, a frustrating reminder that he wasn''t in a world that allowed for wasted effort. By the time he reached the seventh feather, the result resembled something usable¡ªa rough but workable quill, its tip sharp and clean. He exhaled slowly, holding it up to the firelight. "Good enough," he said softly, more to the cave than to himself. It wasn¡¯t perfect. But it was a start. Richter fashioned two more quills from five additional feathers, each one slightly better than the last. He wanted backups¡ªthis puzzle might take more than one attempt, and mistakes were inevitable. By the time he was finished, the cave had filled with a mouthwatering aroma, rich and smoky, like roast chicken over a campfire. He¡¯d planned ahead. Earlier, he had peeled bark from a tree near the pond¡ªthin sheets that flaked easily, almost like parchment. After scrubbing them clean and leaving them to dry near the cave mouth, he now had makeshift paper. Crude, but usable. Carefully, he pulled the spit from above the flames and laid the roasted bird onto a flat stone slab covered with the clean paper like bark. Summoning his dagger¡ªnow sterilized in the fire¡ªhe carved chunks of meat from the crispy surface. The blade sliced through easily, steam rising from the tender flesh. The first bite hit his tongue like salvation. He closed his eyes and sighed. It was simple, slightly charred, but full of flavor. He didn¡¯t know if it was his cooking or just his starvation talking, but it was the best thing he¡¯d tasted in this new world. Once he was done eating, Richter made his way to the pond. He knelt beside the still water, rinsing his hands and splashing his face, letting the cold wash away the grime and smoke. Night was closing in fast¡ªthe sky above the trees dimming to a deep indigo. But for the first time in what felt like forever, he was fed, clean, and prepared. His firewood was stacked neatly inside the cave. He had bark parchment drying near the embers, and a few serviceable quills ready for use. All that remained was ink. He stared down at his hand, flexing his fingers. There was really only one option¡ªand it was going to hurt. With a resigned breath, he drew his dagger and, without hesitation, made a clean slice across his palm. Blood welled instantly, hot and thick, and he tilted his hand over his four empty potion vials, filling each one slowly. "There. Ink," he murmured, voice tight as he clenched his fist, forcing the last drops into the vial. His jaw locked against the sting, eyes narrowing not just from the pain¡ªbut from the strange satisfaction of creating something, even from his own blood. The sting faded quickly as he focused mana into his other hand. A soft glow flared around his fingertips, and within moments, the wound began to knit itself closed, leaving only a faint line where the cut had been. No bandage needed. Just magic, pain, and resolve. Richter walked to the back of the cave and sat down, letting the fire warm his back while shadows flickered along the stone walls. The soft, orange glow stretched out across the darkening space, giving the illusion of comfort where none truly existed. He set the bark parchment down with care, each sheet bearing the faint scent of dried sap and smoke. Uncorking one of the blood-filled vials, he dipped his freshly carved quill into the crimson ink. The liquid clung to the tip, thick and dark. His gaze lifted slowly to the tablet carved into the cave wall¡ªthe puzzle that had haunted him since he first saw it. "Alright," he whispered to the runes, the firelight catching in his eyes. "Let¡¯s see what secrets you''re hiding." Chapter 10 Richter: Blood, Ink, and Glyphs The fire cracked and snapped behind him, casting long, warping shadows against the cave walls. Flames licked hungrily at the stacked wood, illuminating the space in sharp orange bursts. Richter had fed it well¡ªpainfully aware of how vital that light was. He wasn¡¯t about to let it die down. Not in this world. Not when he needed every ounce of control he could muster. And he needed it for this. The vials of his blood sat lined up in a row beside him, thickening slowly. The top layers were already darkening, skinning over. He turned one slowly in his hand. Clotted. Of course it was. Blood wasn¡¯t meant to be ink. It dried too fast, spread too unevenly. It welled in some places, vanished in others. Even now, his fingers were sticky where the liquid had seeped through the corks. This was going to be brutal. Still, he reached for the first quill¡ªroughly cut, uneven, barely serviceable. It was more claw than pen. But he¡¯d made it himself, and it would have to do. He dipped the jagged tip into the vial. It clung to the shaft, a thick glob that refused to fall. He scraped it on the rim, tried again. This time, the blood crept reluctantly down the nib. Richter exhaled through his nose, steadying his hand. The first stroke came out jagged, clumsy. Too wet. He adjusted the angle. Second stroke¡ªbetter. Still rough, but legible. Not art. Not beauty. But function. He could work with that. He copied everything. Every symbol. No assumptions, no shortcuts. That was Rule One: record everything before forming conclusions. It was how he¡¯d trained. How he¡¯d survived academia, labs, and now¡ªwhatever the hell this was. Ten rows, etched deep into the stone. Some short, some long. At first glance, it was chaos. So he counted. ¡°Two in the first row,¡± he muttered, dragging his finger along the parchment. ¡°Three in the second. Five¡­ Seven¡­¡± His breath caught. He sat up straighter. ¡°Eleven. Thirteen.¡± He blinked. Counted again. ¡°Seventeen.¡± He looked at the next row. Twenty-three symbols. ¡°No way.¡± One by one, the numbers aligned. Every row held a prime number of glyphs. He felt the heat behind his eyes¡ªexhaustion mixing with something else. Something like awe. It wasn¡¯t language. It was math. A pattern. A filter. Richter stared at the rows again, slower this time. As he scanned the glyphs, something deeper stirred. The second row blurred into memory¡ªthe way the world had gone silent right after the countdown ended. That dizzying drop into the void. Fear. The fifth row¡­ the sound of Dave¡¯s body hitting the dirt. Despair. And the seventh... the soulbound dagger, slick with Jason¡¯s blood. Determination? No. Guilt. He blinked. No. The rows weren¡¯t just numbers. They were feelings. Memories. A psychological map. Etched in stone. Waiting for someone who had lived it. It didn¡¯t come easy. He broke two quills trying to copy the eleventh row¡ªeach crack of feather under pressure fraying his nerves a little more. Bark parchment filled up fast, the early sheets so blood-blotted and smudged they were almost useless. His pile of usable bark was running low, and the remaining sheets curled from the fire¡¯s constant heat. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. His fingers cramped around the third quill, knuckles pale, wrist aching from repetition. His eyes burned from hours of staring into shifting shadows, the smoke biting and blurring the fine edges of each glyph. The fire popped behind him, startling him, and he nearly threw the parchment in frustration. He cursed under his breath. Then steadied his breathing. Again. Focus. He glanced toward his firewood pile¡ªit was shrinking. He¡¯d been at this for hours. Outside, the faintest light began filtering through the cave¡¯s entrance¡ªsoft and cold, the beginning of dawn. Morning birds chirped faintly from the trees. The forest was waking up. And he was still here. One more row. But the final row¡ªtwenty-nine symbols¡ªwas wrong. The spacing was fractured, the symbols malformed, as if half-remembered by a dying machine. It didn¡¯t pulse like the others. It felt empty. Incomplete. He approached it slowly, blood-covered quill in hand, then stopped. This wasn¡¯t about copying. This was about completion. Richter stared at his hand. Fresh blood still welled along the cut in his palm. He pressed it to the jagged line of the final row. The glyphs didn¡¯t shift. Not yet. He closed his eyes. And let himself remember. Not the death. Not the pain. The choice. The moment he decided to live. Not just to survive¡ªbut to face what he¡¯d done. To carry it. To move forward. Resolve. His blood soaked the final row. And the stone pulsed. One by one, the glyphs shifted, reorganized, aligning into the final pattern. A notification blinked softly into his vision:
Memory Seal Completed Prime Emotional Signature Verified
With a slow rumble, the back of the tablet trembled¡ªthen slid inward with a grinding groan. A hidden compartment revealed itself, stone plates folding like ancient origami. Inside, nestled in a velvet-lined niche, was a small, metallic chest marked with glowing blue runes.
[You have discovered: Uncommon System Cache]: containing a System-generated reward of Uncommon rarity. The item inside is dynamically attuned to the traits, skills, and psychological profile of whoever opens the cache¡ªcrafted not just for their role, but their journey.
Richter stared, chest heaving. He reached forward, and for the first time in hours, let himself smile. A loot box. Behind all that pain, all that calculation¡ªthere was still reward. The System was brutal. But it never wasted effort. The next notification blinked into view, catching him off guard.
Profession Unlocked: [Blood Scribe ¨C Beginner-Level 1] Your persistence in recording, decoding, and offering your very essence has been acknowledged. The System offers this profession as a reflection of your will to understand¡ªand survive. Level-Up Bonus Gained: Updated Attributes: Skills Acquired Quillshaper (Inferior): Channel a small amount of mana to shape an organic material¡ªbone, feather, wood¡ªinto a refined writing instrument. The resulting quill is attuned to your mana signature, enhancing durability and precision. Quill quality is capped at Inferior but gains minor durability scaling with Wisdom. Parchmentbind (Inferior): Infuse mana into raw organic materials¡ªbark, hide, fibrous plants¡ªto compress, dry, and treat them into usable parchment. The process stabilizes the material for recording glyphs or rituals. Parchment quality is capped at Inferior but gains minor durability scaling with Wisdom. Bloodscribe Ink (Common): Transmute a portion of your own blood¡ªor a fresh sample¡ªinto ink imbued with trace emotional resonance. This ink is compatible with ritual glyphs, memory seals, and emotion-bound inscriptions. Effects scale with Intellect and Wisdom. Ink creation consumes a small amount of HP.
Richter studied the notification, eyes flicking over the details. He hadn¡¯t expected this¡ªcertainly not a profession like this¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t unwelcome. Some people might¡¯ve scoffed at it. Called it weak, pointless, non-combat. But he saw something else. The System had acknowledged what he¡¯d done¡ªwhat he¡¯d bled to create. Not a class born of brute force or flashy spells, but one rooted in observation, precision, memory. A scribe who wrote in blood and memory, not ink. The stat bonuses weren¡¯t flashy, but they landed exactly where he needed them. Intellect. Wisdom. Perception. Not filler. Focus. And the tools? They weren¡¯t weapons, no. But they were his. The ability to write, sketch, plan¡ªmaybe even chart this world in ways no one else could. He smiled faintly to himself. "I guess this place rewards obsession, too," he murmured, voice hoarse. "Time for the real reward." He opened the box. No glowing light. No grand fanfare. Just the soft click of old metal, and the slow creak of a lid lifting. Inside, resting on dark velvet, was a square glass inkwell with a polished golden lid. Black inlays curled like vines around the base, framing small, ruby-like gems embedded at each corner. It was empty. Yet it felt full of intent¡ªwaiting to be filled, not just with ink, but with purpose. A tool made with eerie precision¡ªfor him, and him alone. Richter identified it.
Inkwell of Resonant Binding (Uncommon) Effect: Bloodscribe Ink stored in this inkwell gains heightened emotional resonance, amplifying the potency of glyphs, seals, and inscriptions. Increases the success rate of emotion-linked rituals and memory-based scripting. Also slightly enhances ink preservation, preventing degradation over time.
Richter stared at the inkwell¡ªornate, precise, and undeniably tailored to him. Its effect was useful, no doubt about that. But still, a flicker of disappointment stirred in his chest. He had expected¡­ something else. He wasn¡¯t even sure what. A weapon, maybe. Some armor. Anything that screamed survival, not subtlety. Instead, he got a container. A beautiful one. A powerful one. But still¡ªjust a place to make his ink stronger. Then again, maybe that was the point. The System didn¡¯t just reward strength. It rewarded function. And this? This was a tool that could outlast any blade. He ran a finger along the glass edge, thoughtful. "Guess I¡¯ll just have to show them what ink can do."