The glowing panel hovered before Shaheer like a silent judge.
Level: 22. HP: 20%. Unassigned Stat Points: 66.
He slumped into his chair, chest still heaving. For all his talent, for all his confidence, Hasan's blade had nearly erased him in a single strike.
Careless, he thought bitterly. That cut should have ended me.
His fingers brushed his neck. Smooth. Untouched. No scar, no bruise. Just the phantom sting of that glowing red line — the mark that had appeared when Hasan's sword sliced across his throat. Then it vanished, leaving nothing behind except a brutal drop in his HP bar.
That was his wound system. No bleeding flesh. No broken bones. Just numbers. A cruel ledger of life and death.
He forced his breathing steady.
[Skill activated: Green Snake Breathing Technique]
[Healing buff applied: 5% of Max HP restored per cycle]
An emerald glow wrapped around his body, serpents of light slithering across his skin. The ache dulled, his lungs eased. His HP crawled upward. 25%. 30%. 40%. 60%. 80%… until the bar pulsed full at 100%.
Shaheer let the glow fade, rolling his shoulders. Strength had returned, but the memory of Hasan's blade lingered sharp as ever.
His gaze flicked back to the panel.
Unassigned Stat Points: 66.
[Unassigned Stat Points are rewards gained through leveling. They can be freely allocated to any stat.]
He stilled. So every level… I can shape myself however I want.
No sect. No bloodline. No restrictions. Just freedom.
He tapped one point into Vitality.
At once, his chest expanded more easily. The air felt richer. His heartbeat steadied. The HP bar ticked upward faster, the glow thickening.
VIT increases HP. HP regen is % of max HP. So the more I raise VIT, the faster I heal.
Another point confirmed it. His lips curled into a grin. Genius didn't need teachers. Patterns revealed themselves.
But then he stopped. Sixty-four points still untouched. A mountain of hidden power.
Not yet. Not until I need them most.
The panel dimmed as he drew back his hand.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
Javeria darted into him the moment he stepped inside, clinging to his arm. "Brother! You're late again. What do you even do out there?"
Shaheer softened, patting her head. "Studying."
"You don't look like you've been studying. You look like… like you fought monsters in your dreams." She squinted, peering at him with playful suspicion.
His smile didn't waver. "Dreams are monsters. Now, go to bed before you become one."
She pouted, sticking out her tongue before skipping away.
His mother lingered longer. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, scanned his face. "You've changed."
Shaheer held her gaze, lips curling faintly. "Everyone changes, mother."
Her expression hardened. "Your father thought strength would protect him. It only destroyed him. Don't follow his path."
For a heartbeat, silence pressed between them. Then the smirk returned, lighter than air. "I'm nothing like him."
She said nothing more, but her silence weighed heavier than words.
In his room, darkness pressed close, lit only by the faint panel glow. Shaheer sat cross-legged, palms resting on his knees. No notebook. No scribbles. Just him, his breath, and the swirling storm within.
Mana and Qi. Two currents of energy, pulsing, colliding, resisting.
He inhaled slowly, pulling threads of Qi into his core, shaping it the way the Green Snake manual had taught him. A steady stream, smooth, disciplined.
But then he disrupted it — flooding Mana into the same pathway.
The energies clashed instantly, sparks of pain stabbing through his veins. His HP dipped — 100%… 95%… 90% — as his vision blurred.
He gritted his teeth, refusing to stop. Balance them. Force them to coexist.
For a heartbeat, he saw it — Mana coating Qi like a sheath, amplifying its pressure. His muscles trembled, veins burning, but the power surged raw and untamed.
Then it collapsed. The flow shattered. His body jolted as if struck by lightning.
[HP -10%]
His head snapped back, sweat dripping down his temples.
He exhaled harshly, chest rising and falling. So that's the edge. Qi is stable, Mana is volatile. Together, they're chaos. But chaos I can control… if I master the ratios.
He stared at his hands, veins faintly glowing. His body wasn't like others. Normal fighters bled. He didn't. He lost numbers. He gained numbers. Was he still even human?
The thought lingered for a moment. Then he shook it away. Human or not, strength is all that matters.
Morning light spilled across his desk. The school uniform lay neatly folded.
He looked at it. A symbol of routine. Of wasted hours. Of pretending to be ordinary.
He turned away. Power didn't wait for classrooms.
By the time the city stirred, Shaheer was already walking the quiet road to the Green Snakes' domain.
Ali Afridi sat in the courtyard, a steaming cup of tea warming his weathered hands. His eyes snapped open before the first sip touched his lips.
The boy was here again.
Shaheer strode forward, sharper, harder than before. His presence pressed against the air like heat before a storm.
Afridi raised an eyebrow. "Back so soon? You were barely here yesterday. Did my words already slip through your ears?"
Shaheer stopped before him, eyes steady. "No. I understood you. I need power — and I need it now."
Afridi chuckled. "Impatient brat. Power devours those who rush."
"I don't care." Shaheer's voice rang sharp. "I fought someone... Hasan Imam, last night. Stronger than anything I've faced. If I hesitated for even a second, I'd be dead."
Afridi's amusement vanished. "And yet you stand."
Shaheer raised a hand to his throat. "Not the way you think. His blade cut clean across here. No wound. No blood. Just a red line… and my HP dropped."
Afridi's cup stilled. His fingers tightened around the porcelain.
"…A red line," he murmured. His eyes sharpened, heavy with recognition. The Arena.
"Too soon," Afridi whispered under his breath.
Shaheer leaned forward, voice like steel. "What's too soon?"
Afridi studied him with a gaze that cut deeper than any blade. "Tell me, boy. When Hasan's strike landed… did you feel pain?"
Shaheer hesitated. He remembered the pressure, the burn, the phantom sensation. But not true pain. Nothing that lingered.
"…No," he admitted.
Afridi exhaled slowly, his face grim. "Then you are further gone than I thought."
"What does that mean?" Shaheer snapped. "Don't hide it from me, old man. I don't need protection. I need strength. Tell me what you know!"
The courtyard froze. Shaheer's fire clashed with Afridi's restraint, two wills colliding like steel on steel.
At last, Afridi lowered his cup, voice grave.
"You're not ready, boy. But the world won't wait."
The silence that followed felt heavier than a blade to the throat.