Vikram glanced around the camp and found everyone wound tight. Of course they were. Tomorrow was the day they would stand before the eyes of the outside world and prove their existence. He had a gnawing feeling things would not unfold the way he wanted.
He leaned back, took a drag, and let his eyes fall shut. The smoke carried a rare sense of calm, a brief peace after the thrashing he had taken from Kayala and Brunus. Lately their training had become nothing short of merciless. Every day was heavier than the last, as though the two of them were determined to hammer his body into something unbreakable before his Second Walk.
He didn't complain. If anything, he welcomed it. His self-forged arts had no foundation except the battles he fought. Each clash, each style he encountered, sharpened the techniques he had carved out of nothing. Without constant pressure, they would remain half-formed.
Still, he knew his limits. He was no prodigy, not the sort of genius who could casually invent three entirely new arts in the span of a month. The truth was simpler. The Game had given him wings. Within its framework, anything it allowed him to learn, he learned at blistering speed. That didn't make him divine. It made him careful. It made him humble.
But arrogance had its place too.
He felt the stares long before he opened his eyes. Jealousy. Curiosity. Envy. Resentment. He didn't know why half of it was aimed at him, and he didn't bother to find out. He carried their gazes the way a man carried the buzzing of flies, annoying, but beneath notice.
So he closed his eyes once more and sank into the Game.
The first rule he had uncovered was simple. If anything in the real world approached him with intent, the Game shut down immediately. His awareness snapped back, no matter what he was doing inside.
This time, he entered as the [Barbarian]. The body surged with brutal strength, and he tore through every foe until the boss fell before him.
[You have felled Ravann, the Village Head.]
[You have acquired 1,500 Souls.]
[You have received {Blood Revenant}]
[You have received {Blood Resentment}]
[You have received {Blood Heart of Asura}]
The rewards, too, had their own logic. What one class earned, another did not. The [Barbarian] had been given the {Blood Heart of Asura}. When he ran the same battle as the [Mage], he had received the {Blood Soul of Asura} instead.
He shifted to Akkinus's sanctuary. The strange, white chamber was a space unlike any other, half refuge, half mystery. Akkinus was there, bent over some work Vikram couldn't begin to decipher. Vikram gave him a nod; Akkinus, as always, returned it with casual familiarity.
Inside the sanctuary, he had discovered another truth. Only here could he summon his other classes. With a thought, the [Knight] and [Mage] bodies appeared. The sensation was peculiar, like his soul had fractured into three equal shards. But none of them felt diminished. Each was whole. Each was him.
He was no god, of that much he was certain. He filed the feeling away with the rest of the unanswered questions that dogged his path.
The [Knight] and [Mage] raised their hands in greeting to Akkinus. The old figure glanced up, smiled faintly, and waved back. He always remembered them. More than that, he seemed to know these three bodies were one. Yet when Vikram pressed for answers, the man reverted to scripted evasions, speaking in circles like any other NPC.
Another small thing that he learned was that anything that entered the Sanctuary would not disintegrate. For example, if the corpses of enemies are left out, they would turn into ash after some time, but inside the Sanctuary, the corpses remained as that forever.
At least he had never seen the corpse turn into ash.
Akkinus was selling more than just goods. What he truly offered was knowledge.
His sanctuary was lined with shelves of Scriptures, each one a doorway into a Path of power. Barbarian strength, Knightly honor, Magecraft woven into the fabric of reality, every scroll carried theories on advancement, battle-tested notes, and personal musings of a man who had walked far down multiple roads. For Vikram, it was a treasure trove.
And he knew exactly where he wanted to begin.
The Barbarian Scripture he had chosen was called the Beast Blood Tattoo Scripture. Its method was brutal and primal, just as the Path demanded.
According to its teachings, the practitioner had to acquire the Blood Essence of a beast, brew it together with a precise medicinal bath inside a Cauldron, and then step into that seething mixture. Once immersed, the initiate had to chant an incantation while letting the Blood Essence crawl into their marrow and soul. Completion of the process would leave a mark, an indelible tattoo of the creature etched onto the skin, proof of union.
Vikram wasted no time. He brought the matter to Akkinus, who, surprisingly, agreed without protest.
Akk retrieved his personal Cauldron, a vessel weathered and scarred from countless experiments, and handed it over as though it were nothing more than a pot. He even provided rare herbs for the bath, collected over years of wandering.
"Are you ready?" Akk's voice carried a weight Vikram hadn't expected.
Vikram nodded. He had already set his respawn point here; even if he died in the process, he would return. But more than that, his unique {Trait} would persist no matter how many bodies he shed. That gave him courage.
Akk's gaze wavered. His tone grew hesitant. "You're sure you want Asura's Blood Essence as your first Tattoo? That energy is… volatile. Almost impossible to suppress. And the corruption that comes with it…"
Vikram let out a small, tired smile. "Do I have a choice?"
He didn't. And in truth, he didn't want one. The Asura's essence was dangerous, yes, but it resonated too deeply with the Barbarian Path to ignore. Its infamous ability, Bleed, alone could change the tide of countless battles.
The bath was prepared. The herbs boiled into a steaming concoction, the Blood Essence mingling with the liquid in restless waves. When the time came, Vikram stepped into the Cauldron. Heat bit into his skin instantly, but the true danger was deeper. As Akk poured the Asura's Blood Essence, Vikram began to chant.
The liquid stirred. The essence shuddered.
And the world bled away.
Suddenly, Vikram was no longer in the Sanctuary. He stood in a realm painted in crimson, desolate plains stretched endlessly, rivers of blood cut across the land, and the very air throbbed with a killing intent that sought to drown him.
From that horizon, a shape emerged.
The Asura.
It strode forward like fury given form. Four eyes burned with hatred, four arms bulged with muscle, each limb inscribed with runes that pulsed like beating hearts. The sight of it was enough to crush lesser wills.
Vikram tensed, expecting another Boss battle. But when he turned his head, he froze.
On his left stood the Knight, arms folded, his expression caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. On his right, the Mage stood smirking, as if amused by everything.
They're… here?
Though faint and ethereal, their presence was undeniable. And somehow, in that moment, the towering Asura in front of him didn't seem so large.
A small smile came to the ferocious face of the [Barbarian]...
'You're not so intimidating after all.'