A strange sensation coursed through Alaric's body as the rush of battle faded, leaving only the lingering scent of blood in the cold night air. The Shadowfang Blade pulsed in his grip, as if drinking in the essence of his fallen prey. His heartbeat gradually steadied, his breath no longer ragged. Then, the system's notification chimed once more.
[Level Up: Apprentice Assassin – Level 3]
Strength +1
Agility +2
Perception +1
Another screen appeared before him, this one far more detailed than the rest.
[Leveling System Unveiled]
[Unlike others in this world, you possess a hidden tiered leveling system. Each power tier consists of 50 levels. Upon reaching Level 50, you must surpass a breakthrough threshold to ascend to the next tier. This is a secret mechanic only you can perceive.]
[The world at large determines power differently. They classify individuals based on broad ranking categories:]
Low Rank Assassin (Levels 1-12)
Mid Rank Assassin (Levels 13-25)
High Rank Assassin (Levels 26-40)
Top Rank Assassin (Levels 41-50)
[Others will only recognize your strength based on these ranks. Your true progress remains hidden from the world.]
Alaric's eyes narrowed as he absorbed the information. So, while the world saw assassins, knights, and mages as simple ranks of progression, he alone could perceive the intricate levels beneath. This meant that even if he appeared to be a Low Rank Assassin, he had a far clearer measure of his growth than anyone else.
Interesting. This means I can disguise my true strength while quietly growing beyond what anyone expects.
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He had been forced into exile, thrown into the wilds like discarded trash—but now he was something far more dangerous. He was no longer shackled by the same rules as others.
The system wasn't just granting him power; it was giving him the means to outpace the world itself.
His grip on Shadowfang tightened. If he continued growing at this rate, revenge wasn't just possible—it was inevitable.
The adrenaline of battle had begun to fade, replaced by a creeping exhaustion. Alaric's body wasn't yet accustomed to this level of exertion, and the toll was starting to show. His muscles ached, and his mind screamed for rest.
He needed shelter.
The Exiled Lands were not kind to those who wandered aimlessly. The deeper the night stretched, the more the wilderness came alive with threats lurking in the darkness. His fight with the Shadow Wolves had proven that monsters actively hunted the weak. If he collapsed in an exposed area, he would not live to see the morning.
Scanning the forest, he searched for a defensible position. The dense undergrowth provided too many hiding places for predators, while the open fields left him vulnerable to aerial beasts. A cave might have been ideal, but there was no telling what already called it home.
Then his gaze landed on something promising—a massive tree with thick, sturdy branches. It towered over the rest of the forest like an ancient guardian, its gnarled roots stretching wide, its highest limbs obscured in the darkness.
That will do.
With practiced efficiency, Alaric secured his dagger, then leapt upward, using Phantom Step to push off a nearby trunk, propelling himself higher. He scaled the branches swiftly, his new agility making the climb easier than expected. When he reached a thick limb that extended outward like a natural resting platform, he settled in, back against the bark, legs balanced on the branch's width.
Up here, the chances of being ambushed were significantly lower. Most predators wouldn't think to look for prey in the trees, and even if they did, he would have the high ground.
A cold wind rustled the leaves around him as he adjusted his cloak. His mind drifted for a moment, recalling the grandeur of the Draven estate—the warm glow of candlelight in his chambers, the soft silken sheets of his bed, the safety of stone walls keeping the night at bay. Now, his world was nothing but shadows, steel, and the endless hunger for survival.
He clenched his fist.
This is only temporary. One day, I will reclaim what was taken from me.
The night stretched on, his thoughts eventually giving way to exhaustion. As his breathing slowed, the steady rhythm of the wind lulled him into a light, guarded sleep.
Morning arrived with the distant calls of birds and the golden glow of dawn filtering through the trees. Alaric's eyes snapped open instantly. He had trained himself never to sink too deeply into slumber, always maintaining a state of awareness.
A quick glance below confirmed that nothing had disturbed him during the night. Satisfied, he descended from his perch, landing gracefully on the forest floor. His body felt slightly stiff from the awkward sleeping position, but the rest had done its job. He was ready to move.
The next step was clear—find his next sign-in location.
The system had granted him an overwhelming advantage, but he needed more. He wasn't content with merely surviving; he had to grow stronger, faster. Every sign-in would push him closer to that goal.
But where should he go next?
He glanced at the endless stretch of forest around him. No obvious landmarks stood out, no guiding signs to point him toward another powerful reward. His only option was to move forward and trust the system to guide him.
With his destination uncertain, but his purpose unwavering, Alaric set off into the unknown—his dagger at his side, his new path unfolding before him. The Exiled Lands would not break him.
They would forge him.
And soon, the world would tremble at the name Alaric Draven.