Wesley leaned against the wall, his chest heaving like a furnace bellows. His eyes stared blankly at the mop still upright in his trembling hand.
Just moments ago, he was a spear-wielding celestial general cutting through armies of dust and grime. And now, he was a sweaty mess, his body soaked, his breath shallow, his back screaming.
His knees buckled slightly as he stumbled back a step and sat down on the floor with a heavy thud.
"…Fuck," he whispered, the curse dragged out like an exhale of his soul. "I'm so… tired."
His muscles weren't burning from some grand ascension or cosmic enlightenment—they were just overworked.
This wasn't the exhaustion of leveling up or surviving a magical trial; it was just plain, human fatigue.
No dramatic background music. No glowing runes. Just sweat, cramps, and the sharp sting of pushing his fragile body too far.
"I thought—damn it—I thought I was supposed to be stronger now…"
But then—DING!
[Tier IV Rewards Received]
His eyes snapped open, just in time to see 11 bronze coins materialize in a shimmering golden light—only to be dropped directly onto his face.
Thunk-thunk-clink-thunk.
"Argh! Fuck!" he yelped, clutching his nose. "Why?! Why the face?! Is the system some kind of sadist?!"
He groaned and rolled to his side, breathing through his mouth, trying not to laugh or cry. Or both.
As the coins scattered around him, a translucent window popped into view.
[Fire Resistance EXP: +46]
Level Up! Fire Resistance: Level 1 → Level 2
Experience Remaining: 36/20.
Level Up! Fire Resistance: Level 2 → Level 3
Experience Remaining: 6/40.
Wesley stared.
Then blinked.
Then stared again.
"…H-holy shit," he muttered, his breath hitching. "I got… two levels just like that?"
He sat up straighter, ignoring the aching soreness in his limbs.
For a whole year—no, more—he had worked in this place, sweeping halls, wiping magical residue from failed spell-casting classes, scrubbing scorch marks off marble, enduring stray fireballs, flame remnants, and more than one magical explosion gone wrong. No one had ever taught him magical protection. He was just a janitor.
A powerless janitor in a magical academy.
And now, for the first time in his miserable year-long tenure…
He had fire resistance.
His eyes watered—not from smoke or pain, but from something else. From memory.
"Thank you… whatever gods you are," he said shakily, tilting his head back. "Thank you, System… I mean it."
His voice trembled with barely restrained emotion as the memories came pouring out like lava from a fissure.
"I remember the first time," he murmured, voice soft, "when that student failed her combustion spell and I got hit with a flame the size of a frying pan. My shirt caught fire. No one helped. They just laughed. I went home that day with a burn blister across my shoulder blade."
He took a deep breath.
"There was this one time… I was cleaning the alchemy lab. One of the students left behind a mana-charged vial. It exploded. Scorched my hands. Couldn't even sleep that night from the pain. The headmaster just told me to be more careful."
Another breath. Shakier now.
"And don't get me started on the dragon-breath misfire. I was just mopping the damn training hall. That overgrown lizard of a first-year sneezed, and poof, there went my eyebrows for a month. Smelled like roast pork. They gave me a salve that had expired."
He wiped his eyes with the edge of his sleeve.
"I was just some powerless nobody to them. An NPC. A background extra in their story. But now…"
He clenched his fists and stared at the system screen still hovering before him.
"Now I've got fire resistance. Now those flames won't sting the same. They won't burn the same. I won't have to fear them like I used to. Even just a little… it's enough. It's… something."
He laughed—bitter, soft, but real.
"Level 3 fire resistance… look at me now, huh?"
Before he could wallow further, the system chimed again.
[Slash Experience Mastery +] Slash Skill Level 1 → 3 (MAX)
Congratulations! The host has mastered the Simple Slash Skill.
Wesley blinked, stunned.
"Wait, maxed? Already? I haven't even used it properly yet!"
But then, he remembered the mop swing earlier.
That was it, wasn't it? The strike had counted.
Even just once was enough, thanks to the absurd bonus from the Tier IV mission. He stared at the mop beside him, now glowing faintly with residual mana from earlier.
"I can… slash now. Like, really slash. Not just swing wildly like an idiot."
A grin tugged at his lips, wild and proud.
He didn't understand all the mechanics—what exactly it meant to "master" a basic combat skill. But he remembered the countless webnovels and light novels he devoured back on Earth.
When someone maxed out a skill, even a simple one, it often meant they could use it beyond its intended design—improvise, improvise, and even surpass the limitations others expected. And perhaps, more importantly...
He could now hurt someone stronger than him. Not fatally, sure. But three clean slashes, maybe enough to stun. To escape. To fight back.
That was all he needed.
"Finally," he muttered. "I'm not just some punching bag anymore."
As if answering his thoughts, the final window popped into view.
[Mana of Knighthood: +]
Mana Level 1 → 3
Suddenly, Wesley sat bolt upright.
The fatigue he had been drowning in evaporated in an instant, like mist under sunlight. His bones no longer creaked. His lungs no longer burned.
The trembling in his arms was gone. His heart pounded—not from exhaustion but from power, from raw mana coursing through his limbs.
His entire body felt lighter.
Stronger.
Empowered.
He clenched his fists and felt the surge of invisible energy around them, his mana responding to his will like it had always belonged to him.
"What the fuck," he said, laughing. "This is real. This is really happening."
In a burst of instinct, he snatched up his mop, the humble, ragged thing that had served him faithfully through a hundred humiliations. But now, with his body brimming with mana, the mop glowed softly—wisps of blue light curling along its shaft.
And with a single step forward, Wesley swung it through the air.
CRACK—BOOM!
The air rippled. A shockwave exploded forward. Dust lifted from the floor. His slash had cut the air itself.
His eyes went wide in awe, mouth parting in childlike wonder.
"I… I did it. That's the slash skill."
He lowered the mop slowly, reverently.
"I can fight now," he whispered. "I can really fight."
He turned to the nearest wall, placing a steady hand against it to center himself.
The sensation of mana rushing through his body was exhilarating—but also dizzying.
It was like adrenaline on overdrive, a high too pure to maintain for long. His breathing slowed. He nodded to himself.
But then, with all the grace of a puppet having its strings cut, he collapsed straight onto the floor.
Thud.
"Ow…"
His body refused to move. His arms, which moments ago felt invincible, were now heavy like iron bars. His legs sprawled out awkwardly. He twitched once, then groaned.
"What… is it this time?" he murmured, eyes fluttering halfway closed.