《The Makings of a Myth》 Prologue: False Hero In an age, long since passed, there was a world encased in war and ruled by tyrants, here a hero rose unlike any before him. For he was not born of prophecy, nor was he trained in the ways of kings. Holding no divine blood, wielding no enchanted blade. Yet when faced in battle, none could stand before him. For Korin was a phantom unknowing of weakness. He did not believe he could die. And so, for a time, he did not. The Birth of a Legend Korin was not born into greatness. He was a nameless peasant from the outskirts of a fallen village raised in the ash of once bountiful fields. His family, like countless others, had been destroyed by the wars ravaging the planet. Unshielded from the evils of the world he lacked the chance to be just a boy. Especially in his own mind. ¡°I am meant for more¡± It began as a whisper in his thoughts, each day growing louder. ¡° I am unbreakable¡± He chanted. It becoming his truth, even when he was wounded. ¡°I am meant to be remembered¡± And the world, cruel and indifferent, could not argue. Not at first. A Man Untouched Violence found the ruins of his village as it found all places in those dark days. The King of Flames Immoral, a powerful tyrant of smoke and steel, sent his armies to pillage the lands and extort the weak. Korin did not flee. Faced with the warlord¡¯s armies he stood unarmed, unarmored, and unafraid. With a voice dauntless he spoke ¡°Your blades nor your spears can harm me¡± And the soldiers ¡ª¡ª hardened, merciless ¡ª¡ª laughed. Quickly they struck him down, leaving him bleeding in the mud as they turned unsparing of even a glance for the boy they had beaten. Despite the state they had placed him in the day previous, Korin walked into the war camp, untouched. Standing before the very same soldiers he uttered, ¡°Your blades nor your spears can harm me¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. They struck him again, harder this time aiming to kill. Yet the next morning, he walked through their gates once more unscathed. And they began to fear. For no man or beast could endure such wounds. No man could defy death so. So, they stopped trying to fight. ¡°He can¡¯t be harmed¡± they whispered as if one stray word may spell their ends. ¡°He is beyond death¡± ¡°He¡¯s more than a mere man¡± the dared mutter And in time, the warlord¡¯s army knelt before him. The Phantom¡¯s Rise Each battle grew the legend. Tales crossed the land of how he¡¯d strode through fires unburnt, took thousands of arrows without the slightest scratch, walked through wailing storms and left them silenced. Wherever Korin went, the people swore they saw an aura of shadow, an unseen force that turned away blades and beat back death. However, Korin wielded no magic, no armor, no blessing of the divine. His only weapon was his truth. A truth so certain, so absolute, that the world itself had no choice but to warp and shape reality around him. He became the Phantom, a warrior untouched. A legend who could never die. And legends? They do not need proof, only belief. The War Against the Gods For years, Korin conquered. Not with strategy or might but with his certainty. Legions surrendered before the first charge, casting down their swords without a second thought. Empires fell as he advanced not because he was unstoppable, but because they believed he was. The planet as a whole decided that Korin could not be beaten. So, for ten years, he wasn¡¯t. Until the gods noticed his reign. For the heavens are unforgiving to the paths of mortals. Not suffering them to walk unhindered. The gods above long forgotten and silent looked at the Phantom and were afraid. Knowing that with belief came power, Korin¡¯s legend had grown too strong to leave alone. If he couldn¡¯t die, then he had already become immortal unallowable for those yet to reach divinity. So, the gods sent forth a champion¡ª a warrior ordained in celestial armor golden and powerful. Armed with a sword imbued with light, singing with the power of divine will¡ª to strike him down. ¡°Korin the Phantom King,¡± the chosen of the gods spoke, ¡°your reign ends.¡± Knowingly Korin only smiled. ¡°You cannot harm me,¡± he ushered. Heaven''s Will Without hesitation the god¡¯s champion blurred into action. He struck, blade humming with power, as Korin stood unwavering. He did not dodge. He did not fight. He did not even raise a hand in defense. Because he knew as he had always known that no blade would touch him. He was certain because that was his truth his reality. And yet¡ª For the first time in his life¡ª Reality did not bend to his beliefs. Stunned, the sword struck his chest cutting deeply. And in that moment the world went silent. The Fall of a Dream Korin dazed, started to stagger. Wearly, he began to look down at his hands his own blood stained them not making sense of what happened. ¡°I can¡¯t be harmed¡± he said desperate for relief. The world that had at one point seemed so large once, shrunk. The weight of the sky seeming pressed down on him holding him down, air that used to beg to be taken in hard to come by, the pull of gravity not a suggestion. For the first time, he felt them all. He felt human. ¡°I am untouchable¡±, he tried but the pain did not fade. The whispers of all those present stopped. Quickly the soldiers that once knelt before him and the people who worshipped him ran because they understood. They had saw his blood. Korin wasn¡¯t unkillable. Korin was not invincible. Korin was just a man like them. And if he was just a man, then he too could be defeated. And so, he was. In that moment the dam against the chaos that once plagued the world that Korin¡¯s strength provided shattered. His people turned their back on him leaving him all alone. In the ruins of his mighty empire, Korin, a man who shaped reality to his will vanished. The Whispered Truth Around campfires, in night times reading of old wives'' tales, in the dead of night to an unreceptive ear its sometimes said that no body was found. That maybe he still walks the world. That somewhere in the multiverse, in the forgotten places, there is still a man who believes so strongly in his own legend that the world has no choice but to agree. Some even say that if you dare ¡ªeven for a moment¡ª believe, that the Phantom will rise again. And this time ¡­. Perhaps the world will not doubt him. Chapter 1: One Last Game Chapter 1: One Last Game The roaring crowd should have filled Killian with something ¡ª pride in his performance, excitement in their victory, or maybe just a moment of satisfaction. But as he stood on the field, watching the clock finally creep to zero, wiping the sweat from his face, underneath the bright stadium lights he felt ¡­ nothing. Glancing up at the scoreboard it told of a great triumph. Not of his, but of the team, the fans, and even the commentors who all would soon talk as if they had just won some great battle with the fates of millions hanging in the balance rather than a game of rehearsed routines. He mustered up the strength to walk to the locker room, putting one foot in front of the other as he had countless times before. Nearing the tunnel, with every fans cheer, he felt like a wall of sound was slowly crushing him making each step harder and harder. His teammates running past already celebrating seemed oblivious to his struggle. Reaching the locker room Killian sighed deeply, stretching to reach and untie his cleats. Once that was done, he tugged off his helmet, shoulder length black hair spilling out. Greeted with the cool night¡¯s air, his sweat drenched body hot from the night¡¯s exertion felt some relief, but it didn¡¯t clear the fog clouding his mind. ¡®Yet another win,¡¯ Killian thought. ¡®Another step closer to the team¡¯s goal to make the playoffs. Another point where he was supposed to feel alive¡¯. Breaking his concentration, he heard ¡°Hell yeah baby!¡±, as Noah, a freshman player, clapped him on the back. ¡°That was a great block on the last play, man. Mason would have been killed if you hadn¡¯t got there in time¡± Forcing a smile, Killian managed a practiced ¡°Just doing my job.¡± Noah use to the bland response grinned, simply saying ¡°Yeah, yeah. If you could call what you did to that linebacker just before half just doing your job¡± making air quotes as he spoke the last part. ¡°Any way you should get a highlight or two from that¡± Killian laughed. ¡°Maybe¡± Noah soon jogged off rejoining the chaotic celebration with the rest of the team. Killian watched him go, a small shadow of something shading his heart. It might have been jealousy, not of his talent on the field, but at how much he cared. Thinking on it a second, he decided that wasn¡¯t it. It would be more accurate to say he was experiencing hate. Hate at how Noah had something that Killian couldn¡¯t grasp no matter how much he tried. Killian wasn¡¯t a star. He was just a guy who worked his ass off to get where he was. He was solid, a role player, that every team needed but would never build around. Maybe that was the problem.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! From a young age football had always been his life. Taking over everything. He couldn¡¯t remember all of the late nights, early mornings, and sacrifices he made to be better. Giving up the normal high school experience, skipping parties, missing time with friends, pushing past his limits ¡ª all for this. And now that he attained his goal¡­what was left? He wasn¡¯t like Mason, the quarterback with a golden arm almost guaranteed to go in the first round. He held no aspirations of playing in the league because he knew that he frankly wasn¡¯t good enough. His face wasn¡¯t destined to be on billboards or on a commercial. So where did that leave him? He was just Killian Holt, an above-average player on a star-studded team. Killian Holt, a name people knew but never talked about. He had 2 more years of eligibility left. And the thought of doing this for another couple of years was draining. Then what? Coaching? Broadcasting? It was sickening to think about. A sudden blast of loud music from the speakers jolted Killian awake from is revery. Tiredly he finished taking off his football gear and got dressed. To no one¡¯s surprise the locker room was a mess. Deliberately making his way through the maze of bodies his teammates formed he turned the corner just to see a mob blocking the exit. Inching closer he saw they were the typical group of reporters fawning over the usual heroes. Mason stood out among them, towering over them, locks of auburn hair bouncing as he laughed off one of the reporter¡¯s questions, charm effortless. Killian barely listened, sitting on a bench nearby. Placing his elbows on his knees, he waited for them to finish. He started to sink back into losslessness as he focused on his hands. Big hands calloused from years of training. These were the hands that had caught passes and thrown blocks. These were the hands that had fought for every inch of what he had on and off the field. Hands like that were intended for men attempting to climb and grasp for more. They were wasted on him he thought. He clenched them into fists, so tight it caused pain. Then slowly and deliberately he released them. It served no purpose just like everything else he did. Looking up he saw Mason¡¯s flock dispersing and finally made his escape. By the time Killian left the stadium, the city of Valdosta had settled into its standard nighttime rhythm. The streets weren¡¯t quiet, but the sounds of cars passing him were more comforting than any cheer. He made it to his dorm unbothered. Knowing which areas to avoid when trying to skip out on the post game celebrations. Opening the building¡¯s door he heard a chime. Confused, he looked around for the source unable to find one. ¡®Was it in my head?¡¯ he questioned. Another chime answered him. ¡®Feels like its coming from my mind¡¯ puzzled he played it off as him being tired. ¡°Maybe I need a vacation¡± he muttered. Chime. For a third time he heard it. This time the sound was more sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife. Killian frowned, lifting his head. The lights all around him started to flicker. Then, right in front of him, a translucent blue screen appeared out of thin air. [System Initializing¡­] Killian heard screams echoing down the hallway. He would have too if he¡¯d thought it would accomplish anything. Heart beating faster and faster he braced himself for whatever would come next. ¡°The hell is this?¡± Jenny yelled. One of his neighbors, she waved her hands franticly trying to get the screen to disappear. He was going to make is way toward her, but before he could move ¡ª [System Initialization Complete] Welcome To The System Earth Has Been Selected For Integration Tutorial Assignments Created Prepare The words seared into his vision. Then the world went dark. Chapter 2: An Interesting Room Chapter 2: An Interesting Room Darkness. Inescapable. Absolute and all-consuming. This wasn¡¯t the kind of darkness found on a moonless night or in a pitch-black room. This darkness was something deeper, emptier ¡ª like the very concept of light had never existed in this space. Killian tried to move, yet nothing happened. Again and again, he tried to move, straining with all he had, but to no avail. His body refused to respond to his will. Giving up, he found that he couldn¡¯t tell if he even had a body. A primal panic began to rise to the surface, threatening to consume him, but before it could gain a foothold, a new sensation emerged. Cold. A chilling, unnatural cold that dug into his very being, overtaking him it led him into unconsciousness When Killian next awoke, he was somewhere else. He found himself in a square, white room boxing him in, devoid of furniture, decorations ¡ª anything at all. The room, eerily clean and unnaturally empty, lacked even doors, light and worst of all sound. Killian remembering he might be in danger, pushed himself up slowly, pressing his back against the wall he had appeared by. The feeling of unease in his chest grew with each passing moment. He had no idea how or where he was. Something wasn¡¯t right The wall behind him shifted. Killian froze, scared of what he might see. Turning cautiously, he saw that it¡¯s surface wasn¡¯t solid. It conformed to his body, feeling like a liquid yet remaining firm enough to support his weight. Carefully, he reached his hand out to touch it, but before the hand could make contact ¡ª A table appeared. From nothing. Just like that. One moment, there was open air the next, a sleek wooden table stood in the center of the room. And sitting across from it, sat a man. Killian blinked. Then blinked again. ¡®People don¡¯t just appear,¡¯ he thought. Then again, that wasn¡¯t the weirdest thing to happen so far today. Before he could ask any of the questions running wild through his mind, the man held up a hand. A quick flourish, a flick of his wrist, and another chair was summoned on Killian¡¯s side of the table. The man gestured towards the chair. Seeing no better option, Killian sat down, trying to put on an air of calmness. The stranger leaned forward, clasping his hands together. Killian surveyed the man. He was well dressed sporting a dark, high collared trench coat lined with a golden trim. His features were bland, his expression unreadable. Then, he opened his mouth¡ª The sound that came out wasn¡¯t natural. ¡°KILLIAN!¡± The voice mechanical, felt wrong. Killian felt the blood drain from his face. He was frozen, fear gripping him keeping him in place. ¡®What did I do wrong?¡¯ Killian thought. Panic surging through him, he raced to find how he had offended the being in front of him. Had he all ready made a mistake? Before he had the chance to stammer out an apology, the man busted into laughter.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°Oh, you should see the look on your face!¡± He chuckled, slamming his fist on the table. His voice had lost its roboticness, now filled with genuine amusement. Killian forced a nervous laugh, deciding that releasing a stream of screams at the man who might control his fate a kind of bad idea. The stranger studied him for a moment, then smirked. ¡°You¡¯re an unusual one, Killian. Most people ripped from their normal day to day life and thrown into this situation either lash out in fear or beg for answers upon my entrance.¡± Sighing dramatically he continued ¡° Some even try to fight me. Attempts on my life get so boring after a while¡ªtho I will admit, some of the seduction attempts have been more than entertaining¡± he spoke, seemingly reminiscing. Killian didn¡¯t know how to respond to that, so he remained quiet. The man waved a hand dismissingly. ¡°Anyway, since you¡¯ve been such a good sport, I¡¯ll give you the usual rundown. Plus, a little extra tip, to get us off on the right foot. How does that sound?¡± Killian not trusting his words nodded. The man grinned. ¡°Good, good. Well then congratulations are in order. Welcome to the Fabula System.¡± He leaned back, spreading his arms out wide. ¡°Earth has been inducted as part of the 104th universe into the greater multiverse. That means life as you knew it is over. The system governs everything now. I say embrace it.¡± Waving his hand again, two books appeared on the table facing him. To his left set a book, old and worn, its bluish gray cover frayed along its edges. It lacked a title, pages barely held within. Killian felt a comforting sensation coming from the book. Killian had to force his eyes away as the man picked up the right book skimming it¡¯s contents. Scanning the cover the book was the complete opposite of the first. Its bright red cover gleamed, almost painful to look at. The title was clear: Fyreoth, Spear of the Eternal Blaze. To Killian it sounded powerful. Suddenly closing the book the man muttered to himself ¡°Decent I guess.¡± Then, his expression turned serious. ¡°First and foremost this isn¡¯t a game,¡± he said. ¡°Even if it was it wouldn¡¯t be the kind you¡¯re used to.¡± He placed both books in front of Killian. ¡°The system operates on myths. The stronger your myth, the stronger you become.¡± Looking pointedly at the books he went on ¡°One of these or a combination of the two will become the core of your story. The books are aptly named Fabula Cores.¡± He pushed the red book forward. ¡°This core was pulled from the vast history of the system, chosen specifically for you. As you can probably guess, its centered around fire and the spear. It¡¯s a solid start ¡ª better than what most will get in the tutorial.¡± Tilting his head as if thinking on if to say more he said ¡°It¡¯s a bit ridgid in its path¡± Then, he pulled it back, replacing it with the blue one. Killian frowned ¡°It¡¯s the accumulation of your life¡¯s work.¡± The man sighed, shaking his head. ¡°And it¡¯s awful. Directionless. Weak. It doesn¡¯t even have the basics of a compelling story.¡± Killian¡¯s stomach twisted. Years of effort. Everything he had ever done. All of it amounted to nothing. Sensing Killian¡¯s train of thought derailing, the man threw him a lifeline. ¡°But,¡± he said, smirking, ¡°it¡¯s yours. Unlike the other, This core isn¡¯t bound by past mythic concepts. It has no restrictions. It can become anything you want.¡± He then brought the two books together, interlocking their pages. ¡°Your last option is to combine them.¡± His grin widened. ¡°Ideally, this would create a core greater than the sum of its parts. The strengths reinforcing its weaknesses.¡± He pulled them apart again, placing them back on the table ¡°So,¡± the man said, eyes beaming with anticipation. ¡°Which will you choose?¡± Killian took a moment to think. Why wouldn¡¯t he pick the combination? If it was stronger, he¡¯d be a fool not to. But something was nagging at him. The man had said ideally. That meant it could make the core weaker, didn¡¯t it? Killian glanced up, trying to see if he could glean anything from his expression. The grin was still there, giving the man a mischievous look. If the man favored a choice, he wasn¡¯t showing it. ¡®Screw it¡¯ Killian thought. He decided to just ask. ¡°Which would you choose?¡± Killian asked. The man didn¡¯t answer. He simply stared, unblinking. Killian exhaled. ¡®Figures¡¯ In the end, he trusted himself more than some cryptic stranger. He went with his gut. He reached for the blue book. The moment his fingers brushed the cover, the red book burst into flames, crackling as the pages burned. Killian recoiled, but the fire didn¡¯t spread. It burned intensely for a brief moment before vanishing into a wisp of smoke. ¡°A bit dramatic¡± Killian said before pulling the remaining book close to his chest. The man¡¯s smirk widened. ¡°Interesting selection.¡± He leaned back. ¡°I¡¯ve already pushed the limits of what I¡¯m allowed to say, so I¡¯ll grant you one question before sending you on your way.¡± Killian had many questions, but only one that he couldn¡¯t figure out on his own later. ¡°Who are you?¡± The man grinning said ¡°Ah, now that¡¯s a good question.¡± He stood, taking a formal bow. ¡°I am the system¡¯s envoy for this tutorial instance, an S-rank human, and someone who may or may not have taken a liking to you.¡± His eyes glowing, he finished ¡°I am Grail the Wanderer¡± Killian didn¡¯t understand what that meant yet, but he would. Grail¡¯s smile started to fade. ¡°Before you go, some parting advice.¡± His eyes darkening, ¡°Don¡¯t trust the Blessed.¡± The world flashed. The light blinding forced Killian to shut his eyes. When the burning sensation faded, Killian found himself standing in the middle of a city. Chapter 3: A Different Experience Chapter 3: A Different Experience Mason stood alone in a spacious clearing, except for the creature before him. It was an owl. Looming over Mason, it was massive, standing nearly as tall as a bus, with stoney feathers that shimmered with an almost gem like quality. Its talons, the length of machetes, sharp and jagged. Despite cutting a terrifying visage Mason felt no fear. The creature in front of him wasn¡¯t an enemy, even if it was there wasn¡¯t much he could do about it. If it chose to kill him, he would die, there was no point in being anything other than calm and polite. What was more important was gaining information, so he did what he did best, charm. He slightly bowed his head, enough to be respectable with out seeming inferior. Lowering his tone into a calm, measured voice he said, ¡°Hello.¡± Studying him with its piercing yellow eyes, blinking slowly, it hooted, causing the entire clearing to shake as it spread throughout the space. Mason took this as a sign of approval of his actions. ¡°Fear is a powerful thing,¡± the owl said, each word sounding like a challenge, its voice carrying a strange power. ¡°It can paralyze, and it can foster growth, yet you stand unafraid.¡± The unwavering Mason met its gaze. ¡°Fear doesn¡¯t help you expand your understanding. Only knowledge can do that.¡± The owl tilted its head slightly, appearing to take him in and considering his words. Hooting again this time with a hint of amusement it said, ¡°You think yourself clever. You wish to understand, very well, I shall enlighten you.¡± The owl began its lesson, diving into the ins and outs of the system, explaining concepts and connections that Mason had already, if only barely, start to grasp. He spoke of myths and destinies, the whims of fate and intertwining choices, and how they shaped the world. Every word carried a weight, yet Mason¡¯s mind absorbed it all with ease, as though they were meant to be his to hear. After what seemed like hours of teachings, the owl finally brought up the matter of cores. Lifting a large, imposing wing five books appeared before Mason¡¯s eyes, floating gently in the air. The space around the books parted, each pulsing with an aura so strong it made reality bend slightly, lending the auras an almost physical presence. The owl appeared surprised for the first time since their meeting occurred. After a moment it hooted in excitement before explaining his choices. It went through the options before saying. ¡°These are all your choices. They are all powerful, and ¡­ unlike most others your path is clear, your resolve unique.¡± Mason studied the books; each represented a different but sure path to prominence, each holding the promise of something immense. Analyzing him carefully the owl¡¯s expression softened, it spoke with more than a little awe in it¡¯s voice, ¡°Do not choose greed. To covet all you see is to be blind to risk. Choose wisely.¡± The warning made Mason think for a moment, feeling the weight of the decision before him. After the owl¡¯s words most would select the core they felt was best, discarding the rest. But Mason was confident in his ability to get a favorable outcome. He chose to combine them all. For just a moment the owl¡¯s eyes widen in surprise, and a hint of sadness. Many a promising initiate had failed to even begin their journey due to poor choices. Silence fell for a moment before being broken by the flutter of its wings. ¡°You would take them all.¡± Making a statement rather than a question. ¡°Yes,¡± Mason said simply. ¡°My father has always told me that collaboration will be the key to my success. He doesn¡¯t know how right he was.¡± Frowning at the memory, Mason started the process to combine the books into one. Mason felt the presence of the five books pull at him, each dragging his mind into a different direction. Mason felt the pulls but ignored them finding a common middle ground in each potential path¡­ himself. Choosing to build around himself he first selected his original path, the one he walked before the system. It was the strongest, however it was the one he was the most familiar with. He could feel the system aiding him in the process, helping cut away the weakest parts of the story that overlapped with the stronger portions in the other cores. But instead of throwing them away he kept them for the end. He did the same for the remaining four books forming a more impressive core with each addition. The owl hooted in admiration. It had seen countless candidates, but none had come close to Mason¡¯s intuitive understanding of how the system worked. Expecting Mason to be confused and overwhelmed, it couldn¡¯t help but be amazed when he approached the challenge with confidence and grace. Using it¡¯s other-worldly vision it could see that the core had been completed. ¡°You¡­ you are something else, Mason Sinclair,¡± the owl said, its voice tinged with respect. Then the core shifted. The system¡¯s help finished, marking the process as completed. Mason, however, didn¡¯t think as much. The system wanted him to use the best parts of all the cores and discard the rest. To most it would seem redundant to leave a second set of writings in place where one would due, but to Mason it seemed wasteful to remove them. These were perfectly good sections, just not at the same quality of the others. Mason felt that instead of discarding the leftovers if he could just shift them into one place in his story, he could use the overall weight of quantity to make up for the lack in quality, propping up whatever section he chose to reinforce. He chose to push the sections centered around the sword to new heights. The owl again was shocked. Few, even within the integrated universes, knew about this practice. Extremely difficult, if failed it would often times cripple ones myth leaving them stuck, yet a boy from a new universe did it on instinct effortlessly. The owl chose at that moment to take a gamble. He had already given the boy information that most initiates would kill for. But what if¡­ yes, what if it broke the rules just a bit more to give Mason one more push in the right direction. Mason, now finished to his satisfaction ended the process. The space around Mason shifted. The core he had created was not just powerful¡ª it was alive, swirling with energy, sublime in nature, it appeared too beautiful for this world. It was unlike anything he had ever felt, a manifestation of potential, blending power and purpose. ¡°You¡¯ve done it,¡± The owl said, staring at Mason¡¯s creation. Mason nodded, a slight upturn of the corner of his lips showing. He had done it. He had not only chosen a path but forged it. The owl hooted once more before raising its great wings, and from it a single feather detached, hovering over to float in front of Mason. The feather had a faint glow coming from it, shimmering with a fraction of the gem like quality the owl possessed. ¡°This¡­¡± the owl said, its tone reverent ¡°is a gift. It will serve as a beacon to fate, showing you the path that awaits.¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Mason reached out, grasping the feather. The moment he touched it, the feather dissolved, merging with him. He felt a pulse of energy from within him, marking the unmistakable pull of destiny. Mason thought for a moment, then broke his fa?ade of perfect stoicism, a smile stretching across his face. He had been cautious and calculating their whole meeting, taking nothing at face value, but this was different. ¡°Thank you¡± he said, the first real words of gratitude he¡¯d spoken. It felt strange, but right. There was a final hoot before Mason disappeared. The next moment, Mason was standing between a dense forest and a mirky river. The real tutorial was just beginning. He looked around, eyes scanning for any threats, Finding none, Mason allowed himself to breathe enjoying the moment. Then, he sent a mental command to the system. It was time to check his status. Status Name: Mason Sinclair Race: Human (G-grade) Level: 0 Titles: Lineage Patriarch (Unique) Health Points (HP): 104/104 Mana Points (MP): 91/91 Stamina: 70/70 Skills: N/A Fabula Core Myth: Fivefold Fate (Legendary) Chapters: 0 Innate Skills: Five Omens (Ancient) Manifestations: Oath Keeper (Unique) Stats Strength: 14 Agility: 12 Endurance: 12 Vitality: 11 Toughness: 13 Perception: 16 Intelligence: 12 Wisdom: 11 Willpower: 14 Free Points: 0 Mason¡¯s eyes lingered on his stats. His highest stat being perception was no surprise. He had honed his skills through years of football. Always surveying the field, always aware. His other stats were also impressive, above what most humans could achieve before the system appeared. But what interested him more were his titles and core. Lineage Patriarch (Unique): Awaken the power stored within your lineage. From the very origin of your tale, there was something more waiting beneath the surface, yours to shape. Plus 5% Mythic Density. It sounded impressive, if not more than a little vague. He resolved to explore it in more detail later. Fivefold Fate (Legendary): Five souls, each bound to have a role in shaping the world¡¯s fate, seeking unity as their destinies converge into a single path. Mason frowned, sensing a pattern with the system. Another cryptic description, but there was no point in dwelling on it. He moved on, focusing on the next item. Five Omens (Ancient): Summon forth five omens of change. He was expecting something good, but this left him speechless. He effectively had five skills for the price of one, each one powerful in its own right. Mason couldn¡¯t help but smile. He was overpowered, and the possibilities were endless. He had a massive lead, but Mason didn¡¯t know how long that would last. He needed to push his advantage as far as he could. Finally, he examined the last item of interest on his screen. Oath Keeper (Unique): Summons a long sword. To summon, an oath must be sworn. If the oath is broken, Oath Keeper may never be summoned again. Grows in tandem with the user¡¯s conviction to uphold their oath. Plus 25% to all stats. Mason¡¯s eyes gleamed with pleasure. This was exactly what he needed. His mind filled with the possibilities. He focused on the skill, speaking clearly, he swore his oath. ¡°I, Mason Sinclair, swear that as long as I live, no wrong against me will go unanswered, no loss unavenged, and that no one in this integration will surpass me in the end.¡± The words rang with conviction, the air around him stilled. Mason had chosen his words and phrasing carefully, making sure to give himself some leeway in its interpretation. Still, it was powerful. He had never been second in his life; he saw no reason to start now. The blade appeared in front of him waiting for its master. Its blade the length of a promise, as sharp as the truth. It¡¯s steel gleamed reflecting the vows of its master. The swords hilt was made of a simple black leather, symbolizing the simplicity of faith in one¡¯s word. Mason grabbed it, it¡¯s weight perfect. A surge of power rushed through him. The blade pulsing with energy, felt almost alive, reacting to his every thought. For a moment the forest around him seemed to hold its breath, the rustling leaves stilling. A deep growl cut through the silence. Mason¡¯s gaze snapped to the edge of the forest. There he saw a massive figure bursting through the tree line. A bear, wicked, its fur an unnatural black, eyes glowing with a deep red hue. Its claws were daggers waiting to disembowel, every step cracking the ground. Instinctively Mason¡¯s hand tightened around the hilt of Oath Keeper. A flood of knowledge of just how to use the sword invaded his mind. Grateful, Mason focused on the bear. Remembering the owls words on how to gain the skill identify, Mason analyze everything about the bear. It¡¯s every movement felt deliberate, every muscle tight with killing intent. It was larger than any pre-system bear. Finally sensing the difference in his analysis, he thought Identify. Shadowpaw Bear lvl: 3 The Shadowpaw Bear released a guttural howl, deep red eyes dripping with malice. Its hulking form shifted, readying it to pounce. The moment stretched. Mason held Oath Keeper poised to strike, its presence a comfort. He embraced the fragility of the moment preparing himself for battle. Then, the bear finished closing the distance. Mason barely had the time to react as the creature turned into a blur of black. The shadows of the clouds warping to help mask the swipe of its paw sent at Mason¡¯s chest. Pushing his perception to its limit he managed to track the attack. Twisting to the side, he watched as massive claws tore through the space he had been in a moment before, rending the air with it¡¯s sheer force. Pivoting, Mason brought Oath Keeper around in a calculated arc, aiming for its exposed side. Striking true the blade left a deep gash running down the bear¡¯s side, dark blood spurted out of the space before landing on the forest floor. Roaring in pain, it seemed even more determined to end him. Choosing to press his advantage, Mason activated his second omen, Silent Night. Shadows swarm forth, encasing both combatants in a dome of darkness. While the bear had an affinity with shadows, Mason felt like Silent Night would still work. During its first attack he felt the bears control of shadows and found it wanting. It was like a watered down version of an off shoot of what Mason did with his omen. He had dominion over true darkness, not just a scant few shadows. The bear¡¯s vision completely cut off, Mason moved. Swiftly, weaving through the shadows like a ghost, he stuck with uncanny precision, Oath Keeper guiding his movements. Each slash left shimmering lines of silver on the darkness, before cutting deeply into the bears hide. Frantic, the bear swiped wildly, its claws slicing through nothing but air, unable to follow Mason¡¯s movements. It bellowed in frustration, causing the earth to quiver. Sensing an opening, Mason deactivated Silent Night, letting the dome of darkness fade. The bear, momentarily stunned by the light, hesitated. A fatal mistake. Mason invoked Frozen Hour, forcing as much of his will as he could into the skill. The bear¡¯s movements slowed, struggling to move it¡¯s limbs, as if dragging them through honey. It¡¯s eyes flickered in confusion as it fought against time itself. Surging forward, blade poised, Mason poured all of his force into a single, decisive blow, aiming for the creature¡¯s throat. Oath Keeper found it¡¯s mark, not even slowing, it severing muscle and bone alike, with terrifying ease. The bear collapsed onto the ground, blood pooling, releasing a final wet gurgle in defiance. Then it¡¯s movements, and sounds halted, form lifeless. Mason exhaled deeply, standing over the fallen monster. His pulse was steady, breathing even. He wiped the blood from his blade and glanced at the system notification he received. [Shadowpaw Bear Slain] 164 EXP Gained. Myth Developing¡­ Mason allowed himself to chuckle. This was only the beginning, and he had work to do. ¡°Oh this is going to be fun,¡± he said, daring fate to say otherwise. Chapter 4: First Day Chapter 4: First Day Killian found himself standing in a square at the center of a vast city. Stunned by the sudden change in scenery, he spun in place taking it all in. What he saw amazed him. His eyes were greeted by a city of white. White buildings, white streets, white walls ¡ª the city was a blinding expanse of white. Everywhere he looked, there wasn¡¯t a single speck of color except for four distant towers, each standing in the four cardinal points. He took special notice of the southern tower. The tallest of them all, the southern tower, gleamed as the light reflected off its stained glass. From where he was, he couldn¡¯t make out more details. A sudden shove from behind sent him stumbling forward. Spinning, ready for a fight, Killian was taken aback when he saw a woman standing there. No taller than 5¡¯3, possessing silken blue hair, she crossed her arms impatiently. Before Killian could fully gather his thoughts, she snapped, ¡°Are you just going to stand there like an idiot?¡± Still confused, Killian managed a weak, ¡°What?¡± Rolling her eyes, she asked, ¡°Did you check your quest log yet?¡± Killian even more confused than earlier said ¡°Quest log? I just got here.¡± ¡°No shit, you¡¯re still in the summoning square.¡± She sighed heavily. Seeing he still didn¡¯t understand she continued ¡°That maniac must have skipped explaining how the actual tutorial works. Must have left a bad impression. Anyway, we¡¯re all in the same boat so I¡¯ll tell you where to go, every person in this tutorial is supposed to head to that tower,¡± she pointed southward. ¡°Don¡¯t ask me why. No one there really knows yet.¡± ¡°If we¡¯re all supposed to head over there, why are you still hanging around the square?¡± Killian asked. ¡°None. Of. Your. Concern.¡± Emphasizing each word, she turned on her heels and stalked off to the east. ¡®Moody, isn¡¯t she? Killian thought. He shifted to wondering how to access his quest log, and to his surprise, simply thinking about it caused a translucent screen to appear before him. Quest: Dedication¡¯s Cathedral Quest Type: Discovery Difficulty: Low Rewards: +200 XP, 20 Silver Quest Description: Summoned to a new realm, lacking understanding of the world around, seek answers in dedication. Quest Objectives: Go to Dedication¡¯s Cathedral and learn about the specifics of this tutorial. Reading over it, the quest sounded simple enough. All he had to do was go to the tower. He started to walk through the city, he headed straight to the Cathedral. As he walked he noticed a pattern ¡ª as one moved away from the center of the city the houses and buildings shrunk in size. By the time he was in the outskirts, they were little more than shacks. This worried him. People could get crazy when there was no one to monitor them, he could already imagine what would happen if there were more people than there were houses. Spotting a group of people gathered ahead, Killian quickened his pace to see what was happening. Before he could get close, three men blocked his path. ¡°Hi there, we¡¯re trying to streamline this whole quest process,¡± said the oldest looking one. ¡°You see,¡± pointing to the ¡°there are over two million of us, and if we don¡¯t organize, this will take days to finish.¡± Killian glanced up at the sky, gauging the time. Judging it to be around noon, he saw their point. He had no desire to spend hours, trying to complete his quest on his own. ¡°Sure, how can I help?¡± Killian asked. ¡°Thank you. Finally, someone with some common sense.¡± The same man spoke again. ¡°All we just have to know is your core¡¯s rarity.¡± Killian hesitated, questioning if it would be wise to tell them that. Sensing his reluctance, the heavyset man to his left said, ¡°The cathedral is organized by rarity. We¡¯re just making sure you get to the right place.¡± It sounded reasonable on the surface, so Killian decided to play along. He tried accessing his core the same way he had with his quest log, but nothing happened. Running through all of the different possibilities he could think of, he eventually thought ¡®Status¡¯ ¡ª and a new window popped up. ¡®Really is the us at the end that important¡¯ Killian thought. Status If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.Name: Killian Holt Race: Human (G-grade) Level: 0 Titles: N/A Health Points (HP): 96/96 Mana Points (MP): 57/57 Stamina: 67/67 Skills: N/A Fabula Core Myth: Echo of Unheard Futures (Common) Chapters: 0 Innate Skills: N/A Manifestations: N/A Stats Strength: 10 Agility: 7 Endurance: 9 Vitality: 10 Toughness: 10 Perception: 7 Intelligence: 7 Wisdom: 7 Willpower: 6 Free Points: 0 His stats were decent, judging off his physical stats. Not outstanding, but not bad either. The name of his myth intrigued him. Could it be connected to the fire-based one he had rejected earlier? Thinking Killian was stalling, the fat man pressed, ¡° So, the rarity?¡± Killian knew common was, well, common. Deciding it was unremarkable enough not to attract attention, he told the truth. ¡°It¡¯s just common, nothing speci¡ª¡± Before he could finish his words, the silent man to his right punched him hard in the stomach. Doubling over, gasping for breath, he heard laughter. ¡°Good one, Basco. He shouldn¡¯t have wasted our time. Killian struggled to stay upright; the punch much stronger than any he had taken before. Chuckling, the man who struck him, apparently Basco, told the other two to take his clothes. They took their time enjoying humiliating him. They stripped him of his clothes, kicking and punching him for good measure before leaving. Bruised and battered, Killian staggered toward one of the nearby buildings. He collapsed, legs giving way in a dark corner. Rage burning in his chest, he fumed. There had been no reason for them to beat and rob him. He closed his eyes for what seemed like just a moment, opening his eyes the next, to the light of late evening through from the window. ¡®I must have a concussion or something,¡¯ he realized. ¡°You¡¯re awake.¡± Killian¡¯s head snapped toward the voice, his temples throbbing in protest. Jenny stood across the room. She looked¡­ different. Where she normally wore athletic clothing, she now donned a knee-length cornflower blue dress, silver flowers embroidered along the hem. Her brown eyes, still familiar, now held an almost enchanting quality. Her rich blonde hair, was longer than he remembered, framed her face elegantly. She had always been attractive but now¡­ She tossed him a pair of pants, and a ripped shirt, snickering. ¡°Ever the gentleman, I see.¡± She gestured downward. ¡°I know you¡¯re excited to see me, but you might want to get dressed.¡± Embarrassed, Killian rushed to put on the clothes. He noticed she didn¡¯t turn away. ¡°How¡¯d you find me?¡± he asked, once fully dressed. Jenny shrugged. ¡°Oh that, let¡¯s just say it¡¯s a perk of my path.¡± He gestured to her in her entirety. ¡°Is that another perk?¡± She smirked, ¡°Something like that¡± Shaking his head, he moved on, ¡°What¡¯s with the group outside the tower?¡± ¡°Oh, them? That¡¯s simple, they¡¯re some military types who got here first and claimed the place. Same deal with the other three towers.¡± She spoke. ¡°Damn. Ok then can you at least explain this whole tutorial thing to me? I¡¯m flying blind.¡± Jenny¡¯s smile widened; she said ¡°No¡± Killian scowled, anger leaking into his voice as he spoke, ¡°What do you mean, no?¡± She leaned forward in her chair ¡°Another easy question. No, I will not tell you about the tutorial or really any other part of the system. Everyone got different amounts of information. You just got unlucky in that department. No one¡¯s going to hand over what little they do know, it¡¯s their only advantage.¡± Killian was about to yell, before realizing the chair hadn¡¯t been there at the start. Stuck on this Killian momentarily forgot about his anger. His frustration boiled over, pulling him from his thoughts. He was about to go on a rant before Jenny raised her hand cutting him off. ¡°I will, however, help you¡ªbut I want a favor later.¡± Desperate for information, Killian nodded. Good,¡± Jenny said, ¡°From what I gathered, the city gates lock at last light. We leave at dawn.¡± ¡°Why are we leaving and are we coming back?¡± Killian asked. Laughing, her eyes sparkled as she did, she said ¡°Silly, what do you think the best way to grow your myth is. Adventure. Plus, would you want to stay in a city ruled by a bunch of power-hungry people, some of which just beat you up?¡± ¡°Fair point¡± Killian admitted ¡°And to your second question,¡± she stared at Killian a moment before saying ¡°it¡¯s up to you. You¡¯re weak. If you weren¡¯t those guys wouldn¡¯t have bothered you. If after a few days of my help you want to come back, go ahead.¡± ¡°And all you want is a favor, right? Why?¡± Killian questioned. ¡°Beggars can¡¯t be choosers Killian,¡± said Jenny. ¡°I¡¯m not a beggar¡± Killian almost growled. ¡°No? You look like one. But I can see why you are suspicious. We weren¡¯t close before all this, so I¡¯ll ask you to believe me when I say helping you does more for me than it does you.¡± Knowing Killian would ask more and more questions, Jenny raised her hand again, silencing him once more. ¡°That¡¯s enough for tonight, try and get some rest. Don¡¯t worry about all the people outside I¡¯ll protect you and the little soldier too¡± chuckling, she moved her chair to face the door. It took him a second to get her meaning but by the time he did tiredness was pulling at him. He scooted back to his corner now seeing a pillow there. He didn¡¯t question it, just thankful for its appearance. Getting ready to sleep he peaked through the window seeing everyone migrate into buildings as the sun disappeared fully. He could see many with long faces, saddened by the lives they had just left behind. He also saw plenty that were happy preparing for the new opportunities the system would bring. Killian himself was giddy. He wasn¡¯t in the best situation, but at least he found someone he knew. He tried to calm down to fall asleep, after all he had a big day tomorrow. It would be his first real day in his new reality. For a while the night was silent. Killian had just dosed off when the screams started. Startled, he jolted awake, getting a shooting pain in his head as the result. He was getting up to see what was going on when Jenny appeared over him. Still with a smile, she shook her head no, pushing him back down. He was going to get up anyway before he realized there wasn¡¯t anything he could do. The cries of fear and pain, old and young, served as a stark reminder that this wasn¡¯t the civilized world he was used to. The strong took and the weak¡­ the weak had no choice in the matter. And right now he was still weak. His rushing to go help wouldn¡¯t do anything. He tried to use that logic to ease the war going on in his mind. But ultimately it wasn¡¯t logic that caused him not to go, it was his selfishness. He was scared of what he could lose. His life. Losing his life meant that he would lose his second chance at feeling alive. He felt a shamed of himself sure, but he guessed it would fade over time. He had one life. One chance and he was going to make the most out of it. Rolling over, he stuffed his head into his pillow covering his ears trying not to hear the growing intensity of the cries seemingly growing more diverse every second. Eventually the cries blended together. Killian tried to convince himself it was just another sound of the night instead of pleads for help. After some time he managed to gradually slip into the quiet of sleep. Chapter 5: Baby Steps Chapter 5: Baby Steps Killian¡¯s sleep had been much needed. While it hadn¡¯t been the most comfortable, it did wonders for his aches and pains. His head still throbbed, but now the pain was at a more manageable level. The world was still cloaked in darkness, faint traces of light creeping over the horizon, painting the sky with hues of deep blues and dim golds. He stretched, allowing some tiredness to seep from his body. Just as he turned over to his side, a small object smacked into his chest. Killian still weary, blinked in confusion. Glancing down, finding a loaf of bread resting against his ribs. Tracking the trajectory of the loaf to its origin, he found Jenny sitting, nearby, casually tearing into a second loaf. ¡°Where¡¯d you get this?¡± Killian asked, rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes. Jenny smiled, her expression mischievous, revealing nothing. Killian knew he was not going to get an answer. He sighed, accepting her silence as he tore into the bread. It wasn¡¯t great. It was stale but filling, and he wasn¡¯t going to be picky. Between bites he muttered out a ¡°Thanks.¡± They finished eating quickly, wasting no time lounging around before steeping out of the hovel they spent the night in. The city was just starting to wake up, a low hum of movement and voices filling the streets from distance. They head straight to their destination¡ª the city gates. As they approached the gates Killian wasn¡¯t impressed. The exit itself was lacking compared to the towering structures and the labyrinth of streets that made up the city. The gate stood at a modest three meters tall and barely two meters in width. It wasn¡¯t meant for mass travel in and out of the city, rather more suited for restricting movement than allowing free passage. As they got closer, Killian found himself wondering, ¡°Was this built to keep the monsters out, or the people in?¡¯ In spite of his haggard appearance, they had little trouble leaving the city. This was, in large part, thanks to Jenny¡¯s beauty and Killian¡¯s intimidating build. Jenny approached the guards first, putting on an air of fragility she tilted her head slightly, eyes wide with fabricated innocence. She exuded a presence of helplessness; she appeared so innocent that it dissolved any of the guard¡¯s misgivings. At least one of them looked ready to try something more than just talking. Gazes lingering too long on her, Killian stepped closer behind her, their greed quicky fading. Killian didn¡¯t have to say as much as a word¡ª his stance was enough, sleek body well-muscled. He stood close enough to step in should the need arise, his sharp gazes daring them to give him a reason to act. The guards caved letting the two of them through with little more than some mild jeering. Finally, outside the city, Killian surveyed the landscape. What first stood out was a well-worn road stretching westward toward a peculiar mountain range. The peaks glowed faintly, flickering lights dancing along their ridges. Sparks and dust rose in sporadic burst. The sight was somewhat unsettling, yet Killian was intrigued. He made a mental note to go investigate it if he ever had the opportunity to. His thoughts were cut off by the sound of crunching footsteps getting further away. He turned his head just in time to see Jenny walking in the opposite direction. She had already gotten a fair bit away, heading east without a word. Killian jogged to catch up, cursing her under his breath. ¡°Where exactly are we going?¡± he asked once he reached her side. Jenny hummed thoughtfully, not slowing down. ¡°Mmm. East, l suppose. But I¡¯ve never been great at that kind of thing.¡± ¡°You know that¡¯s not what I meant,¡± he said, irritated. ¡°Do we have an actual destination, or are you just wondering randomly?¡± ¡°A bit of both,¡± she admitted lightheartedly. Then, glancing at him with a smirk, she added, ¡°Now hush. Wouldn¡¯t want any scary monsters to pop out of nowhere, would you?¡± Killian sighed, sliding his hand down his face in exasperation. He had the distinct feeling that this was going to be a long journey. Killian huffed, not putting up a fight. He had quickly learned the that trying to get a straight answer out of Jenny was a losing battle. Staying close, he scanned their surroundings as they walked. The world outside the city was eerily peaceful so far. There were no birds, no flies, no anything. It was just the two of them and the trees around them. They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds their footsteps and an occasional gust of wind. The further away they walked from the city the more barren the land became. Dry patches of grass and twisted shrubs poking through the cracked earth became common. The trees that had accompanied the two thus far were now skeletal, standing like forgotten sentinels, their gnarled branches stretching toward the sky. The area felt¡­ desolate. Jenny led them along the barrier between death and life intending on going around the cursed place. Then Jenny, sensing Killian¡¯s growing tension, broke the quiet. ¡°You¡¯ve been staring holes into the ground for the past hour. What¡¯s on your mind?¡± Killian glanced at her, debating whether to respond. ¡°That mountain we passed. The one with the glowing peaks.¡± Jenny¡¯s eyes flicked westward, toward the distant range now barely visible beyond the horizon. ¡°What about it?¡± she said. ¡°You didn¡¯t find it odd?¡± Killian questioned. She shrugged. ¡°Odd things happen all the time.¡± Killian frowned. ¡°It wasn¡¯t natural.¡± ¡°Neither are we,¡± she pointed out, grinning. ¡°Besides, what do you think it was?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he admitted. ¡°But I plan to find out.¡± Jenny hummed in amusement. ¡°Figures. You¡¯re always so serious.¡± Killian ignored her jabbing at him and turned his focus back to the road ahead. The barren terrain soon gave way to a scattering of rocky outcroppings, their jagged shapes casting long shadows under the rising sun. A few birds circled above, their cries distant but sharp against the morning air.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Eventually, they came upon a small creek, its waters trickling softly over smooth stones. The sight was a welcome relief from the otherwise dry and cracked landscape. Without a word, they both sat down by the water¡¯s edge, taking a minute to rest. Jenny squatted, pulling something out of her boot. A knife. Without hesitation, she stood and approached a nearby tree, scanning its branches before selecting the straightest one. With a practiced motion, she hacked it off, the rough sound of wood splitting filling the air. She turned, handing both the knife and the freshly cut branch out toward Killian. He grabbed them. ¡°You need some kind of weapon,¡± she said, dusting off her hands, ¡°And you can¡¯t keep my knife.¡± Killian got the hint, set to work carving a point onto the end of the branch. Scraping the blade along the branch, the process was slow and repetitive, the dry wood stubborn under his less-than-refined technique. His mind started wondering. The carving was dull. Magic, however,... He had played enough games back on Earth to know that magic was supposed to be exciting. He had seen wizards in books, mages in movies, all wielding unimaginable power with a flick of their wrists. The idea of doing something like that himself was thrilling. Setting aside the spear for a moment, he closed his eyes and focused inward. He thought ¡®Magic to me always seemed like blood. It flows, circulates, and moves with every heartbeat. He imagined it coursing through him, a second life force woven into his veins. With each heartbeat, his mana was pumped throughout his body; with each breath, it expanded and contracted, like an invisible muscle responding to his will. But something was missing. He could sense it. It was like standing in front of a locked door without the key. Not giving up, he changed tactics. Instead of keeping his focus internally, he turned it outward. He exhaled deeply, trying to push his mana out of his body. Nothing happened. Killian frowned. An idea popped into his head. Picking up his half finished spear he started the process again. A fallen branch was, by all accounts, dead. It had no roots to draw sustenance, no means to gather energy. But maybe... maybe he could change that. Focusing he breathed in, then out. With each inhale, he pictured his body absorbing energy, and with each exhale, he imagined releasing that energy into the spear. The process felt natural, rhythmic. Then, something changed. A connection. Faint, but undeniably there. Killian¡¯s eyes snapped open in shock, and the sensation vanished like smoke in the wind. He cursed under his breath but quickly refocused. Now that he had an idea of what to do, he fell back into rhythm, breathing deeply, synchronizing his mind and body once more. Again, the connection formed. This time, he held onto it. It was strange. It was almost as if the spear was asking him what to do with the energy. He had flooded it with power, but without direction. Thinking quickly, he channeled his intent into the weapon. He pushed the energy toward the tip, willing the rough wood to sharpen, to grow into something usable. Slowly, but surely, the point of the spear began to shift. It was subtle at first, but over the course of thirty minutes, the wood elongated, reshaping itself into a crude yet unmistakable spearhead. A familiar chime echoed in his mind. [Pretender¡¯s Spear (Common, Poor)] A spear grown from a fallen branch by a dullard. Roughly resembles a rudimentary spear. +1 Agility. Killian stared at the words floating before him. His eyes narrowed at the ¡°Poor¡± rating. He assumed it was the quality of his work. ¡®Is it really that bad?¡¯ he thought. He turned the spear over in his hands. It no longer looked like a dead, the wood was a vibrant green, infused with mana. But the flaw was obvious. The shaft had grown slightly crooked, making it awkward to hold. Frowning, he stood, adjusting his grip and tested a few thrusts against an invisible enemy. Behind him, Jenny snorted. Then she outright laughed. Killian stopped mid-motion, turning to glare at her. ¡°What?¡± Still grinning, she gestured toward him. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t mind me. Please, continue your knightly training, Sir Killian.¡± He rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip again. With slightly less enthusiasm, he resumed testing his movements. Jenny chuckled but said nothing more. At least now, he had a weapon. Even if it was a little pathetic. The sun had climbed higher in the sky, casting harsh light over the barren landscape as Killian and Jenny continued their journey. The creek they had rested by earlier had widened into a deeper stream, cutting through the land like a silver vein. The air carried a damp coolness now, a stark contrast to the dry heat of the morning. Killian, still gripping his newly crafted spear, walked ahead cautiously. Jenny, as usual, seemed unbothered, humming a tune under her breath. That¡¯s when the water stirred. Killian stopped. The gentle ripple of the stream turned erratic, as if something large moved beneath the surface. A second later, another ripple followed. Jenny must have noticed too because she stopped humming. ¡°You see that?¡± Killian nodded. He tightened his grip on the spear, muscles tensing as he peered at water. Then, with a sudden splash, two figures lunged out of the stream. They were humanoid but grotesque. Standing roughly four feet tall with slick, greenish skin. Their limbs were long and gangly, webbed fingers tipped with sharp claws. Their heads were misshapen, embedded in them were beady black eyes and a bowl-shaped indentation on their scalps, filled with the murky water. ¡°Kappas,¡± Jenny stated. Killian barely had time to react before the first one lunged at him, its claws swiping for his throat. He twisted out of the way, the creature¡¯s attack barely missing. The second kappa went for Jenny, but she dodged effortlessly, leaping back with unnatural grace. Killian didn¡¯t have time to marvel at her reflexes. The first kappa was already attacking again. He gritted his teeth and thrusted his spear forward. The sharpened tip struck the creature¡¯s shoulder, sinking in¡ªbut not deep enough. The kappa let out a guttural snarl and yanked itself free, blackish-green blood oozing from the wound. It retaliated immediately, slashing at Killian¡¯s arm. Pain flared as sharp claws tore through his sleeve, raking across his bicep. He grunted but didn¡¯t fall back. Damn, they¡¯re fast. The second kappa, seeing its companion wounded, abandoned Jenny and turned its attention to him. Killian managed just in time to raise his spear before both creatures were on him, swiping, biting, forcing him onto the defensive. He could hear Jenny laughing somewhere behind him, the sound both infruating. "Having fun?" she called. "Shut up and help!" Killian snapped, ducking under another clawed strike. Jenny didn¡¯t answer immediately. He caught a glimpse of her leaning lazily against a tree, watching. "I think you got this," she finally said. Killian cursed under his breath. Sadistic little¡ª One of the kappas lunged low, aiming for his legs. He jump back out of the, but in doing so, he lost his footing. His back hit the dirt hard. The first kappa pounced. Acting on instinct, Killian thrust his spear upward, angling it just right. The sharpened wood punched through the kappa¡¯s chest. The creature let out a wet, strangled croak. Its body twitched violently before slumping forward, lifeless. Killian gritted his teeth and shoved it off him. The second kappa hesitated, its beady eyes flicking between its fallen companion and Killian, who was now struggling back to his feet, blood seeping from the claw marks on his arm. Jenny sighed dramatically. ¡°Fine, I guess I¡¯ll step in.¡± Before the remaining kappa could react, she moved. One second, she was standing by the tree. The next, she was right behind the creature. There was a flash of steel. Jenny¡¯s knife slashed clean across the kappa¡¯s throat. The creature gurgled, clutching at the wound as it staggered forward. A moment later, it collapsed next to its fallen kin. Jenny wiped her blade against her sleeve and turned to Killian. ¡°See? You had that under control.¡± Killian shot her a glare, clutching his bleeding arm. ¡°I hate you.¡± She grinned. ¡°No, you don¡¯t.¡± He groaned, looking down at the two dead kappas. The fight had been sloppy. He had been too slow, too reckless. But still... He had killed one. Wounded and exhausted as he was, that small victory made him stand a little taller. Jenny, noticing the look on his face, clapped him on the back¡ªright where his wound was. Killian winced. ¡°Damn it, Jenny!¡± She just laughed. ¡°Come on, Sir Knight. Let¡¯s patch you up before you bleed out.¡± With a grumble, Killian followed her. This journey was going to kill him. Chapter 6: Fun Times Chapter 6: Fun Times They cleaned Killian¡¯s wounds the best they could. Using the canteen Jenny had to flush out the gashes before ripping his already torn shirt to make bandages for them. They decided to move away from the water before making camp for the night. As they walked the high from the fight wore off leaving Killian as tired as he¡¯d ever been previously. At least until he remembered he got a notification when he killed the kappa. [Kappa Lvl: 1 Slain] 92 EXP Gained. Myth Developing¡­ [Kappa Lvl: 1 Slain] 34 EXP Gained. Myth Developing¡­ Level-Up. Plus 5 free points. He was very happy. It looked like he also got credit for the one Jenny killed, though at a reduced rate. Before he could dive into his status and assign his points, Jenny flicked him on the forehead. ¡°Ouch¡± ¡°Stop doing stupid stuff and I wouldn¡¯t need to hit you¡±, she said puffing her chest out. Killian chose to ignore her and place his stats. He¡¯d need strength if he was going to survive, he had seen that today. Now the only question was what to put his points into. His eyes, distant looking at his status didn¡¯t see Jenny coming in again, this time flicking him on the nose. ¡°Quit it!¡±, he yelled. ¡°Do you want me to die?¡± Jenny scrunched up her face as if she hadn¡¯t made up her mind. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so,¡± she said, shaking her head from side to side. ¡°If I did, I¡¯d let you keep being an idiot.¡± Killian opened his mouth to retort, but she cut him off. ¡°Tell me, what do you think the difference between a common and an uncommon core is?¡± Killian was about to answer when she spoke first¡ªagain. ¡°I know you were going to say something dumb, so let¡¯s just skip over it,¡± she said with a smirk. ¡°The obvious part is that an uncommon core is stronger. But you probably noticed you didn¡¯t get any assigned stats¡ªjust free ones.¡± Now that she mentioned it, he had seen that. He hadn¡¯t known you could get assigned stats. Jenny continued, folding her arms. ¡°The reason for that is simple. Your myth sucks.¡± Killian scowled. ¡°What the hell is that supposed to mean?¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°It means there¡¯s nothing your myth does better than you already can. So, it can¡¯t offer you any help. The solution is obvious, make it better. If you dump your points into random stats now, you¡¯re just making things harder on yourself in the long run.¡± Killian¡¯s anger flared. She was treating him like a child, like some idiot who didn¡¯t know what he was doing. ¡°None of that matters if I die first!¡± he snapped. His voice echoing through the trees. ¡°You almost let me die!¡± Jenny¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°No, I didn¡¯t,¡± she said evenly. ¡°You almost got yourself killed. I saved you. Not just today, but back in town too.¡± She took a step closer, staring him down. ¡°Be grateful that I¡¯m even trying to help you. Do you really think you could¡¯ve made it this far without me?¡± Killian clenched his fists. ¡°There weren¡¯t that many monsters¡ª¡± Jenny cut him off with a sharp laugh. ¡°Oh, really?¡± She flicked her fingers, and suddenly, a transparent screen appeared in front of him. She had shared her kill notifications. Killian¡¯s eyes widened. The list was long, twenty kills, at least. Every single one of them above level 5. That was four levels higher than the kappas. ¡°When¡­ when did you even¡ª?¡± Jenny smirked. ¡°Don¡¯t look so surprised. Do you really think those two kappas were the only things in the water? That the half hour you spent making that spear was just leisure time? That every single time you yelled today, nothing heard you?¡± Almost as if answering her, a sound echoed through the forest¡ªlow, dry, and skittering. Killian¡¯s heart pounded. He turned toward the noise, but Jenny was already walking away. She didn¡¯t even look back. ¡°You got this,¡± she called over her shoulder. ¡°Prove me wrong.¡± Killian gritted his teeth. ¡®Damn her¡¯.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. The skittering grew louder. Thousands of legs clawing at the earth, moving closer. Then he saw it. A centipede the size of a pony barreled toward him, its segmented body undulating as it rushed forward. Its mandibles clicked hungrily, its black eyes gleaming with intelligence. Killian tightened his grip on his spear. Fine. He¡¯d do this on his own. He¡¯d prove he didn¡¯t need her. Killian moved moments before the monstrous centipede lunged. Its mandibles snapped shut inches from his chest as he dove to the side, rolling over the dirt and scrambling to his feet. The creature¡¯s many legs tore through the ground, moving disturbingly fast for something so large. Killian gripped his makeshift spear tightly, sweat beading on his forehead. With no hesitation, he took a deep breath, planting his feet as the centipede twisted to face him again, its long body coiling slightly before another lunge. This time, Killian was ready. He sidestepped, slamming the spear forward, aiming for one of its many black eyes. But the centipede was fast¡ªunnaturally so. Its body jerked mid-lunge, and instead of piercing its eye, the spear barely scraped its chitinous shell. The impact sent a painful vibration up Killian¡¯s arms. Before he could pull back, the creature whipped its body around, slamming him with its full force. Killian flew backward, crashing against a tree with a grunt. Pain exploded through his ribs, and for a moment, his vision blurred. ¡®Shit¡­ that hurt.¡¯ The centipede didn¡¯t give him time to recover. It scuttled forward, mandibles clicking excitedly as it lunged again. Killian forced himself to roll to the side at the last second. The centipede¡¯s mandibles slammed into the tree behind him, biting deep into the bark. It was stuck. This was his chance. Ignoring the pain in his ribs, Killian stabbed his spear forward, this time aiming for the softer flesh beneath its head. The sharpened tip punctured the creature¡¯s exoskeleton, and it let out a horrific screech, black ichor spilling from the wound. But the victory was short-lived. With a sickening crack, the centipede ripped its mandibles free from the tree and whipped its body around again. Killian tried to dodge, but he was too slow. The thick, armored body slammed into him. He hit the ground hard, the air rushing from his lungs. His vision blurred again, and his arms felt numb. His spear slipped from his grip. The centipede loomed over him, its wounded head dripping with thick, black blood. Its mandibles opened wide, ready to tear into him¡ª SHINK! A flash of silver. The centipede jerked violently. Its screech turned into a wet gurgle as its head detached from its body, rolling to the ground with a sickening thud. The massive corpse twitched for a few moments before collapsing completely, its countless legs curling inward. Killian gasped for air, trying to push himself up. His vision spun. A familiar face appeared above him, smirking. Jenny crouched down, twirling her knife between her fingers. ¡°You know, for someone who insisted he didn¡¯t need help, you sure were about to become bug food.¡± Killian groaned. ¡°Shut up¡­¡± She poked his forehead. ¡°You gonna thank me?¡± Killian glared at her. ¡°You let me almost die again.¡± Jenny grinned. ¡°Nah. I was just giving you a learning opportunity.¡± Killian grumbled a string of curses under his breath, but Jenny just laughed, offering him a hand. He hesitated, then took it, letting her pull him up. His ribs ached, and his whole body felt like he¡¯d been hit by a boulder, but he was still standing. Jenny clapped him on the back and Killian winced. ¡°Good effort, Sir Knight. Maybe next time, you won¡¯t need me to bail you out.¡± Killian sighed. ¡°Next time?¡± Jenny smiled mischievously. ¡°Oh yeah. There¡¯s always a next time.¡± Killian groaned. ¡°So what now¡± ¡°You listen to me or,¡± drumming on leg ¡°die because you didn¡¯t.¡± It wasn¡¯t much of a choice. Killian could see that he wasn¡¯t prepared to do things on his own. Making up his mind he nodded. ¡°Good, now I ban you from even thinking of your status until you¡¯re ready to evolve.¡± ¡°Evolve?¡± Killian asked, puzzled. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a conversation for another time.¡± She said her smile growing. By the time they finished setting up camp, night had fully settled over the forest. The fire crackled softly, casting long shadows across the trees as the two sat in silence, eating their share of roasted centipede meat. It tasted as bad as it smelled, rubbery and bitter, but neither of them complained. Food was food after all. When the matter of keeping watch came up, Jenny let out a sharp laugh. ¡°You? Watching the camp? You can barely watch yourself.¡± Killian scowled. ¡°I can keep watch just fine.¡± Jenny smirked. ¡°Sure. But I¡¯d rather not wake up to you being dragged away by something nasty. Get some sleep, Sir Knight. I¡¯ll handle it.¡± Killian grumbled but didn¡¯t argue. His body still ached from the fight, and exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. He laid back, staring up at the night sky, but sleep didn¡¯t come easy. One thought gnawed at his mind. ¡®Why is she so strong?¡¯ The next morning, Jenny wasted no time. At dawn, she kicked Killian awake and tossed him a knife. ¡°Make another spear,¡± she ordered. Killian groaned but did as he was told. After his first spear, he had at least some understanding of how to shape the weapon, but Jenny wasn¡¯t satisfied with just one. ¡°Again,¡± she said. And again. And again. By noon, Killian had crafted more than a dozen spears, each one slightly better than the last. He was getting a feel for the process¡ªhow to let his mana flow naturally, how to guide the wood¡¯s growth rather than force it. The time it took to craft a usable weapon had shortened to just under ten minutes. His final spear of the day was his best yet. A sleek, black weapon, well balanced, and sharper than anything he¡¯d made before. [Hunting Spear (Common, Normal)] A spear fit for any hunter. Crafted from a branch of black walnut by a decent crafter. +2 Agility, +1 Strength Jenny inspected it, twirling it in her hands before nodding in approval. ¡°Not bad. You¡¯re getting there.¡± Killian smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. ¡°Damn right.¡± Jenny handed the spear back and stretched. ¡°Now let¡¯s go hunting.¡± Killian¡¯s smirk faded. ¡°Wait, what?¡± Jenny was already walking. ¡°You need practice. Real practice.¡± That practice turned out to be two weeks of hell. Every day was a new fight for survival. Jenny had no interest in sparring or structured lessons¡ªshe simply threw him into dangerous situations and expected him to survive. Giant spiders, mutated wolves, more kappas¡ªKillian faced them all, each time barely escaping with his life. Jenny rarely stepped in. She only intervened when it was clear he was about to die, usually at the last second, and always with a smirk. ¡°Getting better,¡± she¡¯d say, as he nursed fresh wounds. By the end of the second week, Killian was stronger. His movements had improved, his reflexes sharpened, and his use of mana had become more natural. He wasn¡¯t just surviving anymore¡ªhe was fighting back. One night, as they sat by the fire, Killian finally broke the silence. ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± Jenny looked at him over the flames. ¡°Doing what?¡± ¡°Training me,¡± he said. ¡°You could¡¯ve just left me behind.¡± Jenny was quiet for a moment. Then she shrugged. ¡°Dunno. Maybe I just like watching you struggle.¡± Killian rolled his eyes. ¡°Of course.¡± But deep down, he knew there was more to it than that. And he was going to find out. Chapter 7: Its Only Natural Chapter 7: It''s Only Natural Noah had always been good at adapting. He''d always be the quickest to pick up a sport or social situations. That¡¯s why, when the system¡¯s envoy appeared before him, explaining the rules of this so-called ¡°integration,¡± he paid just enough attention to get by. He nodded at the right times, responded when necessary, and skimmed through the options with ease. Unlike so many others, who were overwhelmed by panic and flooded with questions, he approached the entire thing with a level of calm that bordered on casual. The selection process had been simple. He had been given a choice of Fabula Cores, each representing a foundation upon which his myth would be built. While others hesitated, agonizing over their choices and aproaching the desicion from every direction, Noah instinctively knew which to take. He picked the strongest-sounding one¡ªsomething about wind, speed, and unparalleled movement. He barely glanced at the description before confirming. It just felt right. The moment he made his selection, a rush of energy filled him, a sensation unlike anything he had ever known. His muscles felt lighter andhis reflexes sharper. A grin stretched across his face. " He''d thought this would be fun. Then, in the blink of an eye, the world shifted. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the sterile white room with the envoy. Instead, he found himself standing in a vast, open square at the heart of a city that gleamed with an unnatural brightness. Towering white structures surrounded him, and in the distance, four massive towers stood at the cardinal points, each one radiating an aura of authority. Most people wouldn¡¯t arrive for at least another hour. He could tell. He had gotten here early, before the crowds. Noah stretched, rolling his shoulders as he took in his surroundings. Looking around he said, "Guess I got a head start." He didn¡¯t question it. The Southern Tower caught his eye immediately. It stood taller than the rest, its stained-glass windows reflecting the sunlight in a way that made the entire structure shimmer with an almost hypnotic glow. The moment he laid eyes on it, a strange pull settled in his chest¡ªsubtle, like a whisper at the back of his mind, nudging him toward it. It felt¡­ right, so he didn¡¯t hesitate. After all only the best for the best right? The instant he approached, the grand doors swung open on their own. The gesture felt deliberate, as if the tower itself was inviting him inside. The interior was breathtaking. The walls were lined with intricate carvings, golden inlays twisting through the marble like veins of light. Chandeliers hovered overhead, suspended by unseen forces, their soft glow illuminating the spacious hall. Waiting for him were several armed figures, their expressions calm, their movements deliberate. They welcomed him not with scrutiny or suspicion, but with the warmth of someone greeting an old friend. "You made the right choice coming here so quickly," one of them said, smiling. Noah didn¡¯t need to be convinced. He always made the right choice. They led him deeper inside, past endless corridors, past doorways leading to places he could only imagine. Eventually, they arrived at a vast banquet hall. And that¡¯s when Noah realized¡ªthis was not like the experience others would have. The room was filled with food. Tables stretched as far as the eye could see, overflowing with roasted meats, fresh fruits, and golden goblets brimming with fragrant drinks. The scent alone was intoxicating. "Sit," one of the robed figures gestured. "Eat. Drink. You must be hungry after your arrival." Noah sat without hesitation, taking a plate and digging in. The food was beyond anything he had ever tasted. It was rich, spiced perfectly. As he ate, they spoke. "You are among the fortunate few," they explained. "The Southern Tower grants its chosen ones access to the System Terminal, something the others do not have."Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Noah barely registered what that meant, but he nodded along anyway. "We have privileges others can only dream of. Food, equipment, training¡ªeverything we need at our fingertips." Noah took another bite of meat, savoring it''s flavor. This was just how things were supposed to be. The next two weeks passed in a blur. Noah barely needed to lift a finger to secure everything he could want. The Southern Tower provided everything. Weapons, armor, training manuals¡ªhe never had to fight for scraps like the others outside its walls. He trained, of course. It was expected. But it wasn¡¯t difficult. The tower had mechanized instructors, guiding him through techniques with precision. But Noah found himself coasting. Movements came naturally. Reflexes responded before his mind could process commands. He didn¡¯t need to struggle the way others did. It was almost too easy. He sparred when required, dodging strikes with effortless grace, landing blows without much thought. His instructors praised his form, his natural agility, the way he seemed to predict movements before they even happened. Noah smirked. Of course they did. He knew he was talented. It wasn¡¯t arrogance¡ªit was just fact. Why exhaust himself when his natural gifts carried him forward? Outside the tower, he could see the other participants struggling. The weak scrounged for food. The desperate fought for gear. The unlucky died. But he never worried. He had food every night. A warm bed. A plan. This was how it was meant to be. He never once considered that others might not have the same luxuries. Never questioned why the tower provided so much. Never wondered what price came with such generosity. Because as far as he was concerned¡ª This was normal. This was fair. This was his place. And he was exactly where he belonged. Noah¡¯s days in the Southern Tower followed a routine, one that felt more like a reward than training. Each morning, he woke in a private chamber, far removed from the chaos of the common initiates. His room was well-furnished, far better than the cramped shelters he had seen scattered across the city. The bed was soft, the air warm, the ceiling embedded with glowing runes that mimicked the morning sun. His schedule was simple. After a morning meal¡ªalways a lavish spread¡ªhe attended training sessions. The instructors, clad in robes embroidered with golden sigils, guided him through techniques meant to refine his skills. Yet Noah never struggled like the others. His movements were fluid, his reflexes already honed, his mind naturally attuned to combat. He progressed faster than his peers, skipping the tedious early lessons. Instead of learning to fight with crude weapons and basic footwork, he was handed advanced techniques, exclusive knowledge that others would take months to reach. "Your potential is extraordinary," one of his instructors told him. "It would be a waste to slow your progress." Noah agreed. The Southern Tower had a way of making things easy for him. When he needed gear, it was provided. When he required knowledge, scrolls and books were given freely. When he wanted to test his limits, he was granted access to controlled sparring matches against opponents carefully chosen to challenge him¡ªbut never overwhelm him. He was told this was normal. That this was how all initiates trained. That everyone had access to these resources. And he believed it. He never questioned why the common initiates outside the tower seemed to be fighting for scraps. Why so many of them huddled together in the slums of the city, their bodies bruised, their expressions hardened. To him, they simply weren¡¯t trying hard enough. If they wanted food, they should have found a way to get it. If they wanted better weapons, they should have proved themselves worthy. He had done exactly that. Hadn¡¯t he? Hadn¡¯t he shown potential? Hadn¡¯t the tower chosen him? So, when he walked through the city on occasion, catching glimpses of struggling initiates, he felt no pity. He had earned his position. Hadn¡¯t he? As more time passed, Noah rarely pushed himself. Why should he? His talent carried him forward. Each day, he skimmed through training sessions, practicing techniques just enough to keep up appearances. He could tell that some of his instructors wanted more from him¡ªpushing him to train harder, to refine his skills with greater discipline. But he didn¡¯t see the point. He had no real challenges. No threats. Everything was coming easily. And if something ever did challenge him? Well, he was sure he¡¯d rise to the occasion. It wasn¡¯t arrogance. It was just fact. One evening, Noah sat at the grand dining table, surrounded by other promising initiates. The feast before them was luxurious as always¡ªtender meats, exotic fruits, golden goblets filled with wine that never seemed to run dry. The warmth of the Southern Tower made the cold of the city beyond its walls feel like another world. The robed figures overseeing them spoke in hushed, measured tones. They never ordered. They never commanded. Instead, they simply suggested. "You should not concern yourself with the struggles of those outside the tower," one of them said, pouring him another glass. "They have their path, as you have yours." Noah nodded. "You are among the fortunate," another added. "And fortune favors those who do not squander their gifts." Noah took a slow sip of his drink, letting the words settle. It made sense. He had earned this. Hadn¡¯t he? He leaned back in his chair, watching the flickering candlelight dance across the table. His fingers drummed against the polished wood. For a fleeting moment, something nagged at him¡ªsome distant part of himself that wondered if this was too easy. But the warmth of the room, the luxury, the certainty of his position drowned out the doubt before it could take root. Instead, he smiled. Tomorrow would be just like today. And that suited him just fine Chapter 8: Mini Boss Chapter 8: Mini Boss Killian lunged forward, his rapier piercing the Mossmane Zebra¡¯s side again and again. Each wound erupted into a burst of flowers, the creature¡¯s regeneration knitting flesh together with vines and petals. But with every strike, its healing slowed. Finally, a welcomed notification flashed before his eyes. [Mossmane Zebra ¨C Lvl 9 Slain] Killian panting looked down at his newest creation. [Rosewood Rapier (Common, Well Crafted)] A rapier whose beauty matches its deadliness. Crafted by a talented woodworker who found grace in simplicity. +7 Agility, +2 Endurance. While he hadn¡¯t managed to create something better than common yet he¡¯d had jumped two levels in the quality department. Jenny had made him craft and practice with different weapons over the past two weeks, drilling into him that strength wasn¡¯t just about stats¡ªit was about skill. And despite the bruises and exhaustion, he had come to enjoy the grind. Jenny, leaning lazily against a tree, gave him an appraising look. ¡°Your footwork¡¯s improving. Still sucks, but hey, at least you don¡¯t look like a newborn deer anymore.¡± She smirked before nodding to herself. ¡°Yeah. I think you¡¯re ready.¡± Killian wiped sweat from his brow. ¡°Ready for what?¡± ¡°For a boss fight. Well a mini-boss.¡± A rush of excitement filled him¡ªthen just as quickly, cold reality settled in. He knew what she meant. He was fighting it alone. He frowned. ¡°What kind of boss fight?¡± Jenny¡¯s smirk grew. ¡°The kind with loot.¡± The gained his attention. ¡°Alright, now I¡¯m interested.¡± Then, narrowing his eyes, he asked, ¡°Wait. You already know what it is? And how do you even know where to find it?¡± She simply wagged a finger at him. ¡°Ah, ah. No spoilers.¡± Without another word, she led him down a familiar path, one they had traveled countless times. The towering cliffs loomed on one side, a massive lake stretching out on the other. Normally, they turned right, toward the river and the lush land surrounding it. Today, they turned left. Killian¡¯s unease grew as they approached the base of the cliffs, where a thick mist churned like a living thing, swallowing the ground ahead. A deep silence hung in the air. ¡°Jenny, where exactly are we¡ª¡± ¡°Good luck!¡± she called out cheerfully. Before he could react, she shoved him hard. Killian barely had time to curse before he tumbled backward, swallowed whole by the mist. Killian hit the ground hard, his breath ripping from his lungs as he rolled across the rocky terrain. Pain jolted up his side, but he forced himself to his feet, rapier clutched tight in his grip. Thick mist swirled around him, suffocating and cold. He could barely see beyond a few feet, the dense fog twisting unnaturally as if alive. Then he heard it. A low, guttural growl. Deep and reverberating. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Killian¡¯s heart pounded. He turned in slow circles, trying to pierce the unnatural fog with his eyes. The ground beneath him was uneven, damp from the mist. He forced himself to stay calm, scanning for any movement, any shift in the swirling gray. Another sound. This time, the crunch of gravel beneath heavy footsteps. Something was watching him. A shape flickered in the mist, just at the edge of his vision¡ªhulking, massive. It disappeared before he could get a good look. His grip on the rapier tightened. Then silence. The stillness stretched, tension coiling in his chest like a drawn bowstring. He held his breath. Then the world exploded. A massive form burst from the mist, moving faster than anything that size had any right to. A blur of silver fur and burning gold eyes¡ªthe Mistfang Alpha. [Mistfang Alpha ¨C Lvl ???] Killian barely dodged in time, the beast¡¯s claws whistling past his face. A wave of force followed, sending pebbles flying as it carved deep gashes into the earth where he had stood a second ago. Killian staggered back, his pulse a drumbeat in his ears. The Mistfang landed lightly, its massive form shifting as if half-melded with the mist. Its fur was the fog¡ªtendrils of mist curling off its body, shifting and warping as it moved. It vanished again, melting into the haze. Killian cursed under his breath. It wasn¡¯t just fast¡ªit could phase in and out of the mist at will. His eyes darted side to side, scanning, but the fog was too thick. He could barely tell what was real and what wasn¡¯t. Then, a whisper of movement behind him. Instinct took over. He spun, parrying just in time. Claws met steel in a screech of metal, the force behind the blow nearly wrenching his weapon from his grip. Killian skidded back, his boots scraping against the rocky ground. It was playing with him. Another growl, this time from his left. He pivoted too slowly. A flash of silver, then pain ripped across his side as the Mistfang raked its claws through his leather armor. His health bar plummeted by a third. Killian gritted his teeth against the burning pain. He had to focus. He couldn¡¯t react to where the creature was ¡ªhe had to predict where it would be. He closed his eyes, listening. There were sound of shifting mist, the subtle crunch of gravel. The air itself felt like it was moving unnaturally. There! Instead of dodging, he surged forward into the attack. The Mistfang materialized mid-lunge, expecting to catch him off guard¡ªonly to meet the tip of Killian¡¯s rapier. A burst of black mist sprayed from the wound. The beast howled, stumbling back.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Killian didn¡¯t let up. He pressed forward, slashing again and again, each strike cutting through its shifting form. The Mistfang flickered, glitching in and out of existence, struggling to keep its form. For the first time¡ªit looked mortal. It snarled, then dissolved entirely into the mist. Killian froze. The battlefield went eerily still. Where is it? He turned slowly, sweat dripping down his back. He couldn¡¯t hear anything. Couldn¡¯t see anything. His fingers twitched around his rapier. Then, a shiver ran down his spine. A shadow loomed above him. He barely threw himself aside in time. The Mistfang came crashing down from above, its claws digging deep into the ground, sending rock and debris flying. Killian hit the ground hard, gasping as pain lanced through his bruised ribs. He coughed, struggling to push himself up. Too slow. The beast was already on him, golden eyes burning with hunger. It lunged, fangs bared. Killian did the only thing he could. He dropped his rapier. And caught the Mistfang¡¯s jaws with his bare hands. The force of it nearly shattered his arms. The creature¡¯s fangs were inches from his throat, its breath hot and rancid against his face. He could feel his muscles straining, his strength draining fast. He couldn¡¯t hold it off much longer. ¡®Think, Killian!¡¯ His gaze darted to his side¡ªhis rapier, lying just out of reach. With a roar of effort, he twisted, letting the creature¡¯s weight carry it forward. The moment it stumbled, he lunged for his weapon, fingers closing around the hilt. And drove it straight through the Mistfang¡¯s skull. The beast let out a piercing howl, its body convulsing violently. Then, slowly, the Mistfang began to unravel, its form dissolving into pure mist. Silence. Killian collapsed to his knees, his breath ragged. His entire body ached, his health bar barely a sliver. But he had done it. A notification flashed before his eyes. [Mistfang Alpha Lvl:19 Slain!] And another. [Congratulations! You have obtained: Miststep Cloak (Rare)] Before Killian could even catch his breath, the mist around him stirred. Then came the howls. Not just one, but dozens. Low, guttural, and filled with rage. The victory in his chest faded as glowing gold eyes began to ignite in the mist, surrounding him like a sea of embers in the dark. Shadows twisted, forming shapes¡ªmore Mistfangs. Each one stepped forward with slow, deliberate movements, their claws flexing, their growls rolling through the air like an oncoming storm. Their leader had fallen, and now, they wanted revenge. Killian¡¯s pulse hammered. He staggered to his feet, gripping his rapier, though his limbs trembled with exhaustion. His health bar was still low. His breath was still ragged. He couldn¡¯t take all of them¡ªnot like this. Think. There¡¯s a way out. There has to be¡ª Then the mist shifted again. Something else was forming. Not an animal. A figure. The mist coiled and twisted, swirling into the shape of a humanoid form¡ªtall, imposing, and utterly inhuman. A deep, unnatural chill settled over the battlefield as it fully materialized. Killian felt his body lock up, every instinct screaming at him to run. A pair of piercing silver eyes gleamed from the fog-woven face. Then, in a voice that slithered through the air like smoke, the figure spoke. "I see you killed my pet." The Mistfangs didn¡¯t move. They only watched. Waiting. Killian tightened his grip on his weapon, but a cold sweat ran down his spine. This wasn¡¯t just another monster. This¡­ this was something far worse. And it was looking directly at him. Killian swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his stance firm. The figure before him stood motionless, silver eyes glowing like twin moons in the swirling fog. He wasn¡¯t sure if that made things better or worse. ¡°You look tense.¡± The voice was smooth, almost amused. It came from everywhere at once, as if the mist itself whispered to him. ¡°Did you think the Mistfang Alpha was the true threat?¡± Killian¡¯s grip on his rapier tightened. ¡°I don¡¯t know what the hell you are, but I¡¯m not dying here.¡± The mist-woven figure chuckled¡ªa sound like dry leaves rustling in the wind. ¡°Oh, you misunderstand.¡± It moved, gliding toward him without disturbing the ground, the mist shifting unnaturally with each step. ¡°I have no intention of killing you. Not yet, at least.¡± It stopped just a few paces away, close enough that Killian could make out the faint outlines of armor beneath the fog¡ªintricate plates of silver and black, shifting like smoke with each movement. A sword rested at its hip, its hilt wrapped in something that looked eerily like living tendrils. Killian forced himself to breathe evenly. If this thing wanted to attack, it would¡¯ve done so already. ¡°What do you want?¡± The being tilted its head. ¡°To see if you¡¯re worth my time.¡± Then it struck. The mist lurched forward like a living force, wrapping around Killian¡¯s limbs as if trying to pull him under. He barely had time to react, twisting and slicing with his rapier. The blade cut through the fog, but it didn¡¯t disperse, it simply reformed, tendrils snaking back toward him like grasping fingers. Killian jumped back, but the instant his foot touched the ground the figure was already there. A bladed arm shot toward him, faster than anything he had fought before. He barely managed to parry, the impact rattling his bones. The force sent him sliding back, his boots skidding across the damp earth. Killian didn¡¯t hesitate. He lunged forward, aiming for the figure¡¯s core, but his blade passed straight through. The mist swirled where the strike landed, reforming effortlessly. A sharp laugh. ¡°Predictable.¡± Before Killian could react, something slammed into his stomach. A crushing force, like a steel gauntlet, sent him sprawling. He hit the ground hard, rolling through the dirt before skidding to a stop. His chest burned. His vision blurred. He barely dodged the next attack. Instinct screamed at him to move, and he rolled just as a blade plunged into the spot he had just occupied. The mist-wielder didn¡¯t even seem rushed¡ªit was toying with him. Killian gritted his teeth, rising shakily to his feet. His health was dangerously low. The Mistfangs still hadn¡¯t moved. They were waiting for the outcome. Killian exhaled slowly. He wouldn¡¯t win by fighting this thing like a normal enemy. It wasn¡¯t normal. He needed a plan. And he needed one fast. Killian¡¯s breathing was ragged, his vision sharp despite the mist pressing in around him. The figure¡ªno, the thing¡ªbefore him exuded a presence that made the air itself feel heavy. The Mistfangs still watched in eerie silence, their glowing eyes reflecting hunger, vengeance. His muscles screamed from the previous blows, but he tightened his grip on his Rosewood Rapier, knuckles turning white. There was no room for weakness. Not now. The figure took another step forward, mist curling from its form like living tendrils. "You''re still standing. Good." Killian spat blood to the side. ¡°You talk too much.¡± Then he moved. He lunged, a flicker of motion, his rapier thrusting straight for the figure¡¯s core. The mist parted around his blade, swirling unnaturally¡ªbut Killian anticipated it this time. The instant the sword passed through, he twisted his wrist, changing the angle and slashing sideways. If he couldn¡¯t stab this thing, maybe he could disrupt it. A shockwave rippled through the mist-form. The figure staggered¡ªnot much, but enough. Enough to prove it wasn¡¯t untouchable. Killian grinned. "Not so invincible after all, huh?" The mist-wielder¡¯s glowing eyes narrowed. The world twisted. Mist exploded outward, blinding him completely. His instincts screamed, and he barely managed to throw himself backward as something ripped through the space where his throat had been. Too fast. The next attack came from behind. A sharp force slammed into his back, sending him sprawling forward. He rolled with the impact, barely dodging a follow-up slash that carved through the ground. He had no time to breathe. Another strike. He ducked. The air hissed as the mist-wielder¡¯s sword sliced past his ear. He spun, rapier flashing¡ªbut his opponent was already gone. A whisper from the fog. ¡°You learn quickly.¡± Then pain. A line of burning cold traced across his arm as the mist-wielder¡¯s blade connected. Killian hissed, jumping back, pressing a hand to the wound. It was deep. Blood dripped onto the damp ground, staining the mist beneath his feet. The enemy was toying with him. Testing him. Killian¡¯s mind raced. If attacking directly wouldn¡¯t work, he needed to think. The Mistfangs weren¡¯t moving. Why? They were hunters, predators, and yet they waited. That meant something. And then it clicked. This wasn¡¯t just a test. It was a trial. Killian steadied his breathing, forcing himself into a defensive stance. His body screamed for him to run, to dodge, but he fought the instinct down. If he was right¡­ The mist-wielder lunged. Killian didn¡¯t move. The sword arced toward him, cutting through the air like a reaper¡¯s scythe¡ªbut he didn¡¯t react. The blade stopped. A fraction of an inch from his throat, frozen in place. The figure¡¯s glowing eyes locked onto him, expression unreadable. Then¡ªslowly¡ªit pulled the blade back. Silence stretched between them. The Mistfangs remained still, watching. A slow chuckle escaped the mist-wielder¡¯s lips. ¡°Clever.¡± The fog around them shifted, retreating just slightly. The pressure in the air eased. "You recognize the rules of the wild." The voice was softer now, almost... approving. "Only a fool fights without understanding their place in the hunt." Killian let out a breath he hadn¡¯t realized he was holding. He had gambled¡ªand won. The Mistfangs weren¡¯t attacking because he had already passed the real test. Killing the Alpha had earned him the right to be here. The fight wasn¡¯t about survival. It was about proving himself. The mist-wielder gave a final nod, then turned. The fog swirled around its form, dissolving into nothingness. ¡°Survive, little hunter. The real hunt has yet to begin.¡± Then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the Mistfangs melted into the mist. Killian was alone. His rapier trembled slightly in his grip as he exhaled, adrenaline still pounding through his veins. His body ached, his wounds burned, but he was alive. And something told him this wouldn¡¯t be the last time he encountered the Master of the Mist. Chapter 9: Divine Intervention Chapter 9: Divine Intervention Verdalon lounged within the floating gardens of the Sixth Universe, his presence causing entire ecosystems to bloom and flourish with every breath. This place, his domain, was a symphony of nature¡¯s endless cycle¡ªa world of boundless verdant spires, colossal trees reaching into the cosmic abyss, and rivers of liquid starlight weaving through rolling meadows of bioluminescent flora. The gentle song of life itself coursed through the place a mirror of Veldalon himself. In the distance, a massive celestial behemoth slumbered beneath the roots of the Elderwood Titan, an ancient tree whose canopy stretched far beyond the visible sky. Planets and moons hung suspended within its twisting branches like fruit, each teeming with its own form of life. Verdalon relished the silence, the gentle hum of existence as flowers unfurled and creatures roamed freely beneath his watchful gaze. His realm was one of nurturing and balance, a sanctuary of steady, inexorable growth. Then, there was a tremor. A single pulse of cold, absolute force rippled through the very fabric of his domain, shattering the stillness like a knife through silk. Leaves curled in on themselves, vines recoiled, and the rivers of starlight dimmed. It carried an authority that could not be ignored. Verdalon¡¯s expression tightened. Even without seeing the sender, he knew who it was. It was a summons. A demand. Amara was calling. The leader of The Everbound Pantheon, she was one of the first and most powerful gods inexistence. The name alone sent an instinctive shiver through his divine essence. He knew better than to refuse. Few did. With a resigned sigh, Verdalon reached out, tapping into the ever-growing network of life that pulsed throughout his domain. The branches of the Elderwood Titan twisted, forming a spiraling gateway woven from pure astral greenery. With a single step, he vanished. Verdalon emerged into a place beyond time, beyond space, beyond comprehension. The Chamber of Eternity was not a singular realm but a paradox, a shifting plane that was at once a throne room, an endless void, and a universe unto itself. Reality here was malleable, folding and unfolding in kaleidoscopic patterns, infinite and ever-changing. It was neither warm nor cold, neither bright nor dark. It simply was. At the center of it all sat Amara. Her throne was a construct of raw celestial essence, an unfathomable thing of light, shadow, and power woven into a seat of absolute authority. It pulsed like a dying star, shifting between pristine divinity and the void of the unknowable. And she was far more terrifying than the throne. Amara¡¯s form flickered ¨Csometimes ethereal, sometimes tangible, always overwhelming. She was not bound to a single shape or state of being, nor did she need to be. She was simply power. Inevitability. Verdalon inhaled slowly, centering himself before speaking. ¡°You summoned me.¡± Her gaze landed on him, and the weight of it nearly drove him to his knees. He refused to falter, though the very air around him warped beneath her presence. ¡°There are quite an unusual number of talents in the new universe,¡± Amara stated without preamble, her tone deceptively light. A simple statement, but Verdalon knew better. This was the opening move in a game of words. He did not respond immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch before offering a measured reply. ¡°So, I¡¯ve heard.¡± A ghost of a smile curled at the corner of her lips. She was enjoying this. ¡°I have already found my chosen,¡± she continued, idly toying with the strands of fate that curled around her fingers like golden threads. Verdalon raised an eyebrow. ¡°So, you¡¯ve already crowned a king of the new generation?¡± Her smile deepened. Mocking. Knowing. ¡°He needed no crowning.¡± Verdalon frowned. There was something in the way she said it that made Verdalon uneasy. He heard certainty in her words. She had not named a king¡ªshe had acknowledged one. As though it had never been in question. The Chamber pulsed, the very foundation of reality shifting as Amara rose from her throne. She took a step forward, and the cosmos bent around her. ¡°I¡¯ve asked you here for that very reason.¡± She extended a hand, and reality itself peeled open, revealing a vast, swirling tapestry of fate. One thread, golden and humming with potential, stood out among the countless others. Verdalon¡¯s breath caught. He recognized it. [Tutorial E3A27192] His heart sank. ¡°I believe it¡¯s the only trial you¡¯ve been deemed worthy enough to sponsor,¡± Amara said, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather. ¡°The other two have already taken my suggestions¡ªto bless a large number, even those unfit. Even your fellow god from the Ethereal Genesis has confirmed that this opinion is completely your own.¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Her gaze darkened slightly, growing more pointed. Verdalon inhaled slowly, controlling the rise of irritation in his chest. ¡°You¡¯ve already had great influence in the tutorial. I see no reason to prolong their suffering.¡± The universe trembled. The air thickened. And then, a crushing, inescapable force bore down upon him. Amara¡¯s domain. The cosmic gardens, the Elderwood Titan, the lifeblood of his entire realm wither in an instant. She was not exerting her full strength. She did not need to. Verdalon staggered but did not fall. He would not kneel. Amara tilted her head, her expression unreadable. ¡°It is not up to you to see my vision.¡± He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth against the overwhelming weight of her power. ¡°I am a god of growth. This will only cause death.¡± Amara exhaled in amusement. ¡°You are barely a god.¡± The words cut deeper than any blade. ¡°Forever stuck on the first step of divinity.¡± She took another step forward, and the air between them cracked. ¡°I am not giving you a choice.¡± Verdalon¡¯s hands trembled at his sides. He had never felt so small. Her voice softened, but the danger remained. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind a war if your higher-ups even cared.¡± And they wouldn¡¯t. She let him stew in the silence before finally delivering the final blow. ¡°A hero needs a villain,¡± she murmured. ¡°And this will forge diamonds. Those who succumb under the pressure and heat of greatness would die when the greater universe opens up anyway.¡± Verdalon closed his eyes. He knew what this meant. What it demanded of him. A choice that was not a choice at all. And he had lost. Amara turned away, already dismissing him. ¡°Return to your gardens, little god. Your trial awaits.¡± And with that, she was gone, leaving him alone in the vast, ever-shifting void. Verdalon inhaled sharply, casting his gaze back toward the golden thread of fate still shimmering before him. So many lives. So many souls. He was a god of growth. But today, he had only witnessed destruction. Verdalon stood upon the highest branch of the Elderwood Titan, his domain stretching endlessly below him. The sky above was a soft, shifting hue of green and gold, the air thick with the scent of blooming life. Rivers of light coursed through the land, pulsing with the slow heartbeat of nature itself. Every leaf, every blade of grass hummed with his presence, an extension of his will. But something was wrong. The golden glow of his rivers had dulled. The trees, once standing proud, had begun to wither at the edges, curling inward like dying embers. The very breath of the land was stifled. Verdalon narrowed his eyes. Amara¡¯s influence had already begun to take root. A sigh, laced with amusement, drifted through the air. ¡°Brooding doesn¡¯t suit you.¡± Verdalon didn¡¯t turn. He had already felt Grail¡¯s presence long before he spoke. The wonderer had a way of making himself known without effort. Grail emerged from the mist-like shadows between the branches, dressed in a dark high-collared coat, golden trim lining its edges. His silver eyes gleamed, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. He moved with the grace of someone who had never once doubted his steps. ¡°You were summoned,¡± Grail mused, stepping beside Verdalon. ¡°And now you bear the weight of a decision you were never meant to make.¡± Verdalon¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°Amara has already dictated what must be done.¡± Grail tilted his head. ¡°Has she?¡± Verdalon turned, his patience thinning. ¡°She decreed that the trial must proceed violently. That suffering will shape them. That a hero will rise¡ªbut only if enough are crushed beneath their ascent.¡± Grail let out a low chuckle. ¡°And yet, you doubt.¡± Verdalon exhaled sharply. ¡°Of course I doubt. Growth is not about suffering for the sake of suffering. It is about becoming.¡± Grail studied him, then shook his head. ¡°Always the idealist.¡± Before Verdalon could retort, the very air around them shifted. A breeze, gentle yet weighted with something eternal, brushed through the leaves. The sky darkened to a deep violet as the fabric of time and existence bent to welcome another. From the fading dusk, Elandria, Goddess of Cycles, stepped forward. Her form shimmered as though she existed in every phase of existence at once. Her long hair, shifting between silver and deep auburn, cascaded down her shoulders, carrying the hues of seasons changing. The hem of her robes trailed along the great branch, leaving behind blossoming flowers that quickly wilted into dust, only to bloom again. She regarded both gods with a serene smile. ¡°Debating the nature of fate?¡± she asked, her voice layered, as though spoken from many points in time at once. Verdalon turned fully to face her. ¡°You knew this was coming.¡± Elandria¡¯s smile did not waver. ¡°I have seen it before.¡± Grail sighed dramatically. ¡°Of course you have.¡± She glanced at him with knowing amusement before shifting her focus back to Verdalon. ¡°And yet, despite knowing what must come, you resist.¡± Verdalon¡¯s gaze hardened. ¡°Because I refuse to be a mere piece on Amara¡¯s board.¡± Elandria moved past him, reaching out toward one of the withering vines curling along the Elderwood Titan¡¯s bark. With the lightest touch, she withered it further until it turned to dust. Then, in the silence that followed, new tendrils of green sprouted from the very same place. ¡°Cycles do not stop, Verdant One,¡± she said gently. ¡°But they can be guided.¡± Verdalon exhaled, watching as the fresh leaves unfurled. ¡°And what cycle is this? One of war? Of unnecessary death?¡± Elandria tilted her head. ¡°Perhaps. Or perhaps it is a cycle of awakening.¡± Grail crossed his arms, smirking. ¡°You ask what kind of cycle this is, Verdalon? It is the same as it always is. Those who rise, rise. Those who fall, fall. The only question is who writes the final story.¡± Verdalon clenched his fists. ¡°I will not let Amara turn this into a slaughterhouse.¡± Grail raised an eyebrow. ¡°Then don¡¯t.¡± Verdalon frowned. ¡°It is not that simple.¡± Grail leaned against the tree, smirking. ¡°It is exactly that simple. She may have swayed the beginnings of your tutorial but its ultimately yours, Lon. You cannot stop it, but you can shape it. Amara wants Villains forged in blood, but who says that blood must be senseless? Who says the villains can¡¯t be your heroes. The difference between a hero and a villain is a matter of prospective after all. Why not forge something greater¡± Verdalon hesitated. Elandria stepped closer, pressing a single fingertip to his chest. A pulse of warmth spread outward, filling him with a deep, unshakable sense of continuity. ¡°You are a god of growth,¡± she said softly. ¡°Not war. Not conquest. Growth. You do not break. You nurture. And yet, even you must know¡ªtrue growth does not come without hardship. Without endings. Without loss.¡± Verdalon inhaled slowly. He did not want to admit that she was right. But he knew she was. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the trial before him settle onto his shoulders. Elandria¡¯s voice was softer now, her presence like the shifting of tides. ¡°Amara will not stop. The trial is set. But if you wish to change its course, then do what you do best. Sow your own seeds. Nurture the ones who can defy her expectations. You may not be able to halt the cycle, but you can decide what grows within it.¡± Verdalon opened his eyes. The weight had not lessened, but there was clarity now. A path. Not defiance. Not war. But guidance. He turned to Elandria, bowing his head slightly. ¡°Thank you.¡± She smiled, stepping back into the shifting glow of the cosmos. Grail chuckled, shaking his head before following her. ¡°Try not to lose yourself in sentimentality, Lon.¡± With that, the two departed, vanishing into the great tapestry of existence. Their conversation continued, a quiet exchange between those who had seen countless cycles unfold. ¡°Do you think he will manage it?¡± Elandria asked as they walked through the void between realms. Grail smirked. ¡°He has no choice but to try.¡± Elandria chuckled softly. ¡°Perhaps, in this cycle, something new will bloom.¡± Grail glanced at her. ¡°Or perhaps it will wither before it has a chance.¡± Their voices faded, leaving only the whisper of falling leaves in their wake. Chapter 10: Loot Chapter 10: Loot As the mist around him shifted, parting like a curtain, Killian found himself facing a narrow, winding path leading deeper into the canyon. The walls loomed high on either side, jagged and ancient, their surfaces worn smooth by time and unseen forces. At the end of the path, a crack in the canyon wall caught his attention. It was narrow, but just wide enough for him to slip through. A faint, pulsing glow flickered from within. His feelings of curiosity gnawed at him. Carefully, he peered inside. Within the crevice, nestled atop a weathered stone podium, rested a single rock. It was unremarkable at first glance, it was dull, smooth, and about the size of his palm. And yet, there was something wrong about how it sat there, as though reality itself bent ever so slightly around it. His breath slowed. Killian reached forward, fingers brushing against the cool surface. The moment he grasped it, the world tilted. A sharp, invisible force rushed through him, like a great current with no pain¡ªonly weightlessness. His vision blurred, darkness swallowing his senses in an instant. Then¡ªnothing. Killian woke up flat on his back, staring up at the sky. His limbs felt heavy, his mind fogged. Above him, a familiar face came into view. Jenny. She peered down at him, arms resting on her knees, swinging her legs idly from where she sat, perched on a ledge above him like a cat observing a struggling mouse. A mischievous smile tugged at her lips. "Rise and shine, rock collector," she teased, nudging his shoulder with the toe of her boot. Killian groaned. His head throbbed, his memory still piecing itself back together. He felt wrong, strangely taxed by the active. He sat up slowly, the rock still clenched in his hand. It felt... different. Jenny tilted her head. ¡°So? What did you find?¡± Killian looked down, opening his hand. The moment his fingers unfurled, the rock crumbled into fine dust, slipping through his grasp like sand in the wind. He stared at his empty palm, a flicker of frustration rising in his chest. This was his prize. Dust. Jenny let out a dramatic sigh from her perch above him. ¡°Boo. You suck at getting cool stuff.¡± Killian shot her a glare. ¡°Whatever.¡± Jenny smirked, unfazed. ¡°Anyway, you might want to look at your weapon.¡± Killian frowned. His hand instinctively tightened around his rapier. Something felt different. He raised the blade, and the moment he did¡ªhe saw it. The edge gleamed sharper, the once simple wooden hilt now bore intricate carvings, like vines twisting in an unseen breeze. And as he turned it in his grip, faint traces of dark mist curled off the blade, fading into the air. A notification flashed before his eyes. [Rosewood Rapier ¡ú Wraithwood Rapier (Uncommon, Well Crafted)] A rapier whose beauty matches it¡¯s deadliness. Having been tempered by the touch of the unseen. Its edge carries whispers of what was lost.+10 Agility +5 Endurance Effect: Phantom Cut ¨C Attacks leave behind a delayed afterimage strike (5% chance). Killian¡¯s eyes widened. Jenny grinned. ¡°Now that¡¯s more like it. Time to take things up a notch then.¡± Killian groaned, still flexing his sore fingers. ¡°What do you mean? I just had the toughest fight I¡¯ve ever had. Can I get a minute, please?¡± Jenny hopped down from her perch, landing lightly beside him. She gave him a quick once-over, unimpressed. ¡°Nope,¡± she said cheerfully. Killian let his head fall back with a dramatic sigh. ¡°You¡¯re evil.¡± Jenny smirked. ¡°You¡¯re slow.¡± Before Killian could argue, she lunged.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Her fist shot toward his stomach as quick and precise as all her movements were. Instinct kicked in, and he barely twisted aside in time, the wind from her strike brushing against his ribs. His eyes widened. ¡°What the hell, Jenny!?¡± She was already stepping forward, no hesitation. ¡°Lesson one¡ªyou don¡¯t get to relax just because you survived.¡± Killian cursed under his breath, raising his rapier. If she wanted a fight, she was about to get one. Killian''s blade cut through empty air. Strike after strike missed. Jenny dodged effortlessly, shifting just enough to let his attacks pass by a hair¡¯s width before moving, making sure he saw just how close he was, but never close enough. She smirked. ¡°This is what I¡¯m talking about. How are you supposed to protect yourself if you can¡¯t even touch a defenseless girl?¡± Killian gritted his teeth, adjusting his stance. ¡°You¡¯re not defenseless.¡± Jenny winked. ¡°Exactly.¡± Before he could respond, she raised a hand and a ball of flame ignited just inches from his face. Killian staggered back, barely stopping himself from stepping straight into the flames path. His heart pounded. ¡°Since when do you have a fireball skill!?¡± Jenny twirled the flame between her fingers before casually snuffing it out. ¡°No skill. Just some effort.¡± Killian blinked. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You can do everything a skill does with practice.¡± She crossed her arms. ¡°I got a tip in the introduction about it. Most people don¡¯t bother because skills are easier.¡± She saw the flicker of curiosity cross Killian¡¯s face and sighed. ¡°And before you get distracted¡ªyes, you have a Skill Selection option. But don¡¯t open it yet.¡± Killian frowned. ¡°Why not?¡± Jenny tapped her temple. ¡°Because once you look, you¡¯ll limit yourself.¡± Killian raised an eyebrow. ¡°That makes no sense.¡± Jenny rolled her eyes. ¡°Think about it. You open up the system, see a list of skills, and suddenly, that¡¯s all you think you can do. You stop experimenting. You stop trying to figure things out on your own.¡± Killian hesitated. That... actually made some sense. He glanced at his interface, and sure enough¡ª[Skill Selection Available] blinked at the corner of his vision. He stared at it, debating if he should take her advice. Jenny smirked. ¡°See? Tempting, isn¡¯t it?¡± Killian exhaled. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll wait.¡± Jenny clapped her hands together. ¡°Good choice. Now. Let¡¯s train.¡± Killian sighed. ¡°I hate you.¡± Jenny grinned. ¡°No, you don¡¯t.¡± As the pair made their way through the winding canyon, an eerie silence surrounded them. No beasts stirred, no distant roars echoed through the cliffs. It was as if the land itself was holding its breath. Killian barely noticed. His mind was racing, turning over possibilities. Magic. Skills. Training. There was so much he could do¡ªbut where should he start? He glanced at Jenny. ¡°So, are you actually going to teach me anything, or are you just going to keep dodging my questions?¡± Jenny shot him a side glance, smirking. ¡°I¡¯ll help after you figure out your own direction.¡± Killian scowled. ¡°You can¡¯t give me one suggestion?¡± She shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s your path, not mine. If I tell you what to learn, you¡¯ll just follow orders. Where¡¯s the fun in that?¡± Killian muttered something under his breath but fell silent. She had a point, as annoying as it was. His thoughts drifted back to his fight in the mist. He had been hunted. Outmaneuvered. Struck from angles he couldn¡¯t predict. That Mistfang had moved like a ghost, slipping between forms, blending with its surroundings. That kind of freedom, that ability to move unseen was exciting. He decided that¡¯s what he wanted. His grip tightened around his rapier. He would learn to disappear. He exhaled, focusing on the fight. The mist had been more than just fog it had been an extension of the creature itself. It had bent to its will, allowing it to strike unseen. Could he do the same? Jenny must have noticed the change in his expression because she raised an eyebrow. ¡°You figured something out?¡± Killian nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡± Jenny grinned. ¡°Good. Now show me.¡± Killian already had what he thought was a good level of mana control by practicing making weapons. He had no idea how to go about creating mists, so he went over the fight over and over again focusing on how the mist felt to him. It took an hour of sitting cross-legged in the canyon, turning the memory over in his head, before he finally stopped overthinking. He decided to just give it a shot. First, he released his mana into the air aiming to pull the water particles together indivually. It didn¡¯t take long for him to realize it wasn¡¯t working. The effort drained him too fast, his mana dispersing before it could form anything useful. The process was too inefficient. His stats had improved through his efforts over the past months, but he wasn¡¯t at a level where he could manipulate the environment that precisely. So, he tried something different. Instead of forcing the moisture to gather, he created a ring of mana around himself at waist level. It rotated slowly, but steady. Forming a subtle pull. It was not forcing, but attracting. Like a net catching drifting embers, his mana worked like a funnel, drawing water in instead of commanding it. Killian watched carefully.For a moment, nothing happened. Then¡ªa shimmer. A faint silver-gray haze began to gather around him, the moisture in the air responding, bending toward his influence. His pulse quickened. It was working. Jenny watched, arms crossed, a grin creeping onto her face. ¡°Took you long enough,¡± she teased. ¡°The next time you run into that misty fellow, you better be better than him.¡± Killian barely had time to smirk before a crackle of energy split the air. A small bolt of lightning streaked from Jenny¡¯s fingertips, arcing straight into the mist swirling around him. The result was instant. The moisture conducted the shock perfectly, sending a sharp jolt coursing through Killian¡¯s body. His muscles locked, and for a split second, his vision flashed white. Then¡ªhe collapsed. Sputtering, he pushed himself up, blinking rapidly as static danced across his skin. The mist had amplified the shock, making it far worse than a normal strike. Jenny, still smiling, perched on a nearby rock, kicking her feet idly. ¡°See?¡± she said cheerfully. ¡°That¡¯s called learning.¡± Killian groaned, rubbing his arms. ¡°You could¡¯ve warned me!¡± Jenny shrugged. ¡°And miss that reaction? Nah.¡± Killian took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering tingle of electricity. His mist was an advantage, but clearly, it had weaknesses too. Jenny smirked. ¡°Now. What are you gonna do about it?¡± Killian clenched his fists. He¡¯d figure it out. Blood Gorge Noah finally had a break in his routine. For weeks, he had been refining his combat skills, solidifying his influence, and ensuring he stood above the rest. Now, he had been assigned to co-lead a mission¡ªone that, at first, he found insulting. Tracking down rogue parties wandering the tutorial? Hunting stragglers? It was beneath him. He was meant for greater things, not chasing after cowards too weak to stay in the fold. He had protested immediately. But then, the offer changed. ¡°If your performance is good enough,¡± they had told him, ¡°you¡¯ll be one of the first in the tutorial to be blessed.¡± That caught his attention. Noah¡¯s ambition burned brighter than any petty pride. If leading this mission meant ascending to the next level before the rest, then he would do more than track down the rogues. He would crush them. Noah led his unit out of the city gates, the weight of expectation settling onto his shoulders. The massive stone walls loomed behind them, a reminder of the order and control he intended to uphold. Outside, however, was a different world. It was untamed, unpredictable, and filled with those too weak or too foolish to survive within the system. Noah stood at the edge of the encampment, his arms crossed as he surveyed the group assigned to him. A mix of fighters, trackers, and magic users, some competent, most disposable. His co-leader, Ronan, was already barking orders, rallying the squad into formation. Unlike Noah, Ronan actually cared about working with others. Noah found it tedious, he wasn¡¯t here to build camaraderie. He was here to prove himself. The target was a group of rogues¡ªtutorial participants who had refused to follow the structure set by the central factions. Some were deserters, others were criminals, all of them were obstacles to order. Noah exhaled slowly. ¡®How had they even lasted this long?¡¯ ¡°Movement, north ridge!¡± one of the scouts called out. Noah¡¯s eyes snapped toward the canyon path ahead. A flicker of motion¡ªtoo fast for the wind, too deliberate to be an animal. They had found them. Ronan signaled for a cautious advance, but Noah was already stepping forward. ¡°We¡¯re not waiting,¡± he said coldly. ¡°We strike now.¡± Ronan shot him a glare. ¡°And walk into an ambush? Use your head, Noah. We¡ª¡± Noah moved. Before Ronan could finish, Noah surged ahead, boots striking against the uneven rock as he closed the distance. If the rogues wanted to play hide and seek, they¡¯d learn firsthand¡ªhiding was pointless if your hunter didn¡¯t care about the risk. And Noah? Noah didn¡¯t care. Noah sprinted up the uneven slope, his breath steady, his pulse quickening¡ªnot with exertion, but with anticipation. The rogues were close. Too close. If they had any real sense, they would have scattered the moment they caught wind of a hunting party. But they hadn¡¯t. Which meant they were either stupid or desperate. He¡¯d enjoy breaking them either way. Behind him, the unit scrambled to keep up. Ronan cursed under his breath but followed, motioning for the others to spread out and cover the flanks. Always playing it safe. Noah smirked. Coward. Ahead, the canyon narrowed, the rocky path squeezing into a tight funnel between jagged cliffs. A perfect place for an ambush. Good. Let them try. A figure darted between the rocks up ahead, a blur of motion disappearing behind a crumbling outcrop. Noah adjusted his approach, eyes locking onto the movement. A sharp whistle cut through the air¡ªthen arrows rained down. Noah twisted, his reflexes honed from endless hours of training. Two arrows sailed past, one grazing his shoulder before embedding itself in the ground. Someone screamed behind him¡ªa soldier falling as an arrow pierced his throat. The rogues were fighting back. Noah¡¯s smirk widened. Good. ¡°Cover fire!¡± Ronan bellowed from behind, raising his shield. The archers in their unit loosed a volley in response, forcing the hidden enemies to retreat behind their cover. Noah didn¡¯t stop. He surged forward. He reached the outcrop where he¡¯d seen movement and vaulted over the rock¡ªlanding face to face with one of the rogues. The man barely had time to react before Noah¡¯s blade slashed across his chest. A choked gasp. Blood sprayed against the canyon wall. The rogue crumpled. Noah turned, already looking for his next target. The fight had begun. Noah barely registered the dying man at his feet. His focus was already ahead, scanning for the next target.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The canyon exploded with motion. Rogues emerged from behind boulders and outcroppings, a scattered band of survivors turned fighters. They weren¡¯t trained soldiers, but they fought like cornered animals¡ªwild, desperate, and dangerous. Good. That made it fun. Another rogue rushed him, a woman wielding a pair of short axes. She moved fast, her weapons a blur of steel as she swung for his ribs. Noah leaned back, narrowly dodging the first strike, then caught her wrist mid-swing. He yanked her forward, slamming the hilt of his sword into her stomach. She gasped, doubling over. Too slow. His blade flashed¡ªa clean cut across her throat. She crumpled. A shadow shifted to his left¡ªanother rogue! Noah barely had time to react before a knife stabbed toward his side. A shield bashed into the rogue¡¯s arm at the last second, sending the blade off course. Noah turned, spotting Ronan beside him, grim-faced and covered in dust. ¡°Stop running off like an idiot!¡± Ronan snapped, blocking another strike with his shield. ¡°This isn¡¯t a game!¡± Noah just laughed. He kicked the disarmed rogue onto the ground, stabbing downward without looking. ¡°It is to me.¡± Ronan scowled but had no time to argue¡ªthree more rogues were rushing in. Noah didn¡¯t wait. He stepped forward, blade flashing. Steel clashed. The fight had only just begun. The canyon echoed with the clash of steel and the cries of the dying. Dust and blood mixed in the air, the once-still landscape now a battleground. Noah thrived in the chaos. A rogue swung a rusted longsword at him¡ªwild, uncontrolled. Noah stepped into the attack instead of away, ducking just enough to let the blade whistle past his ear. Before the man could recover, Noah drove his knee into his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs with a harsh gasp. Sloppy. His sword punched through the man¡¯s ribs, the impact vibrating up his arm. The rogue choked, blood spilling from his lips as Noah ripped the blade free, already turning toward his next opponent. He caught a glimpse of Ronan a few feet away, shield raised, sword deflecting an axe blow. Unlike Noah, Ronan fought with discipline, every move measured, every strike calculated for survival. Efficient. But slow. Noah moved like a predator, darting between enemies, cutting them down before they could react. One rogue tried to run. Noah exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. ¡®Not happening.¡¯ He kicked off the ground, closing the distance in seconds. The rogue barely made it three steps before Noah¡¯s sword buried itself in his back. A scream. A struggle. Then nothing. Noah yanked the blade free and let the body drop. There was no place for cowards. ¡°Damn it, Noah!¡± Ronan¡¯s voice cut through the fight, angry and sharp. ¡°At least pretend you¡¯re part of a team!¡± Noah turned, wiping blood from his sword with a smirk. ¡°I am. I¡¯m just the only one winning.¡± Ronan¡¯s glare could have burned through stone, but he didn¡¯t have time to argue¡ªmore rogues were charging in, their numbers thinning but still desperate. Noah rolled his shoulders, grinning. Let them come. The canyon reeked of blood and dust. Bodies littered the ground, some twitching, most still. The battle had turned from a chaotic skirmish into something far more one-sided. Noah loved it. His breath came steady, even as sweat clung to his skin. Around him, the few remaining rogues fought wildly, lashing out, their desperation making them reckless. It wouldn¡¯t save them. A rogue with a broken spear lunged at him. Too slowly. Noah sidestepped, grabbing the man¡¯s wrist and twisting. There was a sickening pop. Then a scream. Before the rogue could react further, Noah slammed his sword into his chest and kicked him off the blade. Another one down. His eyes flicked across the battlefield, scanning for his next target. The fight was almost over. But something felt¡­ off. A low, ragged breath came from behind him. A survivor. Noah turned, sword raised, expecting a final, pathetic attack. What he saw made him pause. A young man¡ªno older than seventeen¡ªwas crawling backward, one hand clutching a wound in his side. His face was smeared with blood, his eyes wide with pure terror. Noah stared down at him. The boy wasn¡¯t even trying to fight anymore. He was just trying to live. Something twisted in Noah¡¯s gut. Not guilt. Never guilt. Just¡­ boredom. He flicked the blood from his sword and took a step forward. The boy flinched. ¡°P-please¡ª¡± Noah sighed. ¡°Should¡¯ve run faster.¡± He plunged the blade forward. But before he could strike¡ª Ronan¡¯s shield slammed into his shoulder, knocking him back. Noah staggered, blinking in shock as the sword strike missed, skidding across the dirt instead of finding flesh. The boy gasped, scrabbling away as Ronan planted himself between them, sword raised. ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡± Ronan¡¯s voice was low, dangerous. Noah straightened, rolling his shoulder. The hit wasn¡¯t hard, but the audacity of it made his blood boil. ¡°Move,¡± he said, voice eerily calm. Ronan didn¡¯t. Noah¡¯s smirk vanished. The battlefield had gone silent. The last few survivors had either been cut down or fled. The other soldiers¡ªhis soldiers¡ªwatched with unreadable expressions. Ronan¡¯s grip on his sword tightened. ¡°We¡¯re here to hunt traitors. Not to butcher children.¡± Noah tilted his head. ¡°He was part of the rogues, wasn¡¯t he?¡± Ronan¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°He surrendered.¡± Noah scoffed. ¡°And? We let him go, he¡¯ll just try to kill us later.¡± Ronan¡¯s glare didn¡¯t waver. ¡°There¡¯s a difference between putting down an enemy and slaughtering the helpless.¡± Noah took a slow step forward. ¡°Are you lecturing me, Ronan?¡± Ronan didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°If I have to.¡± A tense silence stretched between them. The watching soldiers shifted uncomfortably. This wasn¡¯t just an argument anymore. This was a line being drawn. Noah¡¯s fingers twitched over his sword hilt. For the first time since the fight began, his heart pounded for a different reason. If Ronan was challenging him now, then there were only two ways this could end. One of them would have to back down. Or one of them wouldn¡¯t leave this canyon alive. Noah''s gaze never wavered from Ronan. The battlefield was quiet now, save for the soft groans of the dying and the rustling of the wind through the jagged canyon walls. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as if the very air was holding its breath. The young rogue¡ªwho had once been a threat, now a quivering wreck¡ªcrawled backward, eyes wide with terror. He didn¡¯t matter. What mattered was the man standing between Noah and the world he intended to reshape. Ronan¡¯s sword gleamed in the fading light, his stance firm, unwavering. "This ends here, Noah. No more bloodshed. Not like this." Noah''s lip curled into a smile, but there was no humor in it. ¡°You think you can stop me?¡± His voice was low, but the threat was unmistakable. Ronan met his gaze with a steely resolve. "I don¡¯t want to stop you. I want you to see that this¡ªthis isn¡¯t what we¡¯re supposed to be." Noah¡¯s smirk faltered. ¡°And what exactly are we supposed to be, Ronan? Heroes? Saints?¡± He laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "We¡¯re warriors. There¡¯s nothing but the kill. There¡¯s nothing but power.¡± ¡°Is that all you see?¡± Ronan¡¯s voice was steady, but there was a hint of sorrow in it, like he was watching a man walk toward a cliff and couldn¡¯t stop him. Noah stepped forward, his eyes cold, but his voice barely above a whisper. "I see the truth. You¡¯re just too weak to accept it." Ronan¡¯s eyes softened. ¡°You¡¯re wrong.¡± A long moment passed. Noah¡¯s hand tightened around his sword hilt, his knuckles white. He had fought for everything he had, clawed his way to this moment. He wasn¡¯t about to let anyone¡ªleast of all Ronan¡ªtake that from him. But something inside him was tugging, pulling him toward a decision he couldn¡¯t fully understand. Ronan took a step forward, but Noah didn¡¯t move. And then suddenlyNoah exhaled sharply, lowering his blade. ¡°This isn¡¯t over, Ronan.¡± Ronan watched him, his stance still resolute but now cautious. He didn''t lower his sword. Not yet. Noah turned toward the rogue, who was still shaking on the ground. His eyes, cold as stone, met the boy¡¯s desperate gaze one last time. ¡°You¡¯re lucky,¡± Noah muttered under his breath. ¡°Next time¡­ there won¡¯t be anyone to save you.¡± He turned away and began to walk toward the unit, each step a reminder of the path he had chosen. It was the path of blood, of ambition, of a hunger that would never be satisfied. Ronan watched him go, his sword still raised, but the weight of the decision heavy on his shoulders. Noah wasn¡¯t done. The canyon was silent again, but for how long?