When the guards heard what the young man said, they looked at each other and contemplated. One of the guards glanced at the family and nodded. Although they were tasked with carrying out forced recruitment, they had families of their own.
"Let's go!" the guard shouted to John.
John heard the cries and sobs of his family. He looked back one last time, offering them comforting words. Though his time with this family had been short, he felt their love and sincerity.
As he walked toward the carriage, he heard his father weeping bitterly while his mother knelt, crying. Both knew that although John looked taller, he was only 12 years old, not 16 as he claimed.
…
Once seated in the carriage, John saw a mix of people—some very old, some as young as him. When he saw a frail old man, with a long beard, likely 80–90 years old, he almost laughed trying to find ways to lighten his mood. He couldn't help but think the man might not even survive walking ten steps.
Looking at the others, he judged by their clothing that most shared a background similar to his. He also noticed that the majority looked afraid, their faces grim.
He didn't bother speaking to anyone, not in the mood to make friends in such misfortune. Besides, he assumed they were as clueless as he was, just by listening to each other's conversations.
Ignoring their stares, John sat in the corner of the carriage and closed his eyes.
Knowing his system had finished initializing, he called out in his mind, "System!"
The large error text was gone, replaced by a blue interface.
What he saw was brief information:
Name: John
Level: 1 (Exp: 0/10)
Realm: Mortal
Strength: 0.6
Agility: 0.4
Constitution: 0.6
Spirit: 3.1
Seeing the first page, he thought about gaming interfaces from his world. He tried to access more detailed information but couldn't.
"These stats are standard for games. Strength is physical, agility is speed, constitution is stamina…" he mused.
"But what is Spirit?" he wondered.
"I'll figure it out later," he shrugged. "My stats are below average, considering my body is weak. I guess having 1 stat is the average for a person. But Spirit is 3—my highest stat—and I have no idea why or what it does. The system wouldn't also provide any explanation."
Then he focused on Level 1. "I need 10 experience to level up. But how? Do I just beat people up?"
Unable to do anything on the first page, he switched to the "SKILL" tab.
In the Active Skills section, two skills were lit.
The first showed an hourglass in a bubble with an upward-pointing arrow. John hovered his mind over it:
Temporal Acceleration: Accelerates time in a targeted zone. Converts 1 second of your lifespan into 1 day within the area. Increasing the zone area consumes more life force. Cannot be upgraded. (Current life force: 28/65)
John felt a mix of shock and confusion. Accelerating time in a targeted zone was amazing—but two things scared him. First, it consumed a second of his life. Even a single second mattered. Second, his total life force was only 28, meaning he had roughly 15–16 years to live.
He tried to calm himself and checked the second skill:
Temporal Deceleration: Slows time within a targeted zone. Converts 1 day of your lifespan into 1 second within the area. Larger areas cost more. Cannot be upgraded. (Current life force: 28/65)
Anger rose in him.
"Mothertrucker! These skills are trying to kill me!"
Pushing his anger aside, he considered the advantages.
"Better to have them than nothing," he nodded, thinking about the challenges ahead. "These skills might save my life as a trump card. I'd rather lose a year than die instantly."
Next, he checked Passive Skills. Three icons were greyed out:
Forager (34/100)
Mining (24/100)
Gatherer (42/100)
He thought, "I never farmed before, so these must come from Old John. Following game logic, they're not lit because they haven't reached 100 experience points."
After confirming there was nothing else he could do, he tried to open the other main tabs but couldn't.
Closing the interface, he felt a thrill. Magic—something meaningless in his previous life—was now real.
Eager to try it, he glanced at the chatter-box youth beside him. His name was Ben, who had been constantly trying to talk to him the moment he sat next to him. The others also tired of his talking, told him to read the mood but only took few minutes for him again to start talking.
"Should I?"
He shook his head. "No, no, no. I need to calm down. I might cause a commotion."
"Or should I? Just once?"
"NO!"
Smacking his hand to the side.
Finally, John sighed and abandoned the idea. He told himself he'd have time to try it later.
…
A few hours later, the cart stopped repeatedly, picking up more people until it was full. A guard on horseback rode to the coachman.
"You need to hurry the new recruits to Fort Morgan! Don't stop. Time is crucial. Any delay, and you'll face severe punishment from Viscount Jorren."
The coachman nodded without hesitation. The carriage then sped along the dirt road.