The world returned not as a violent reboot, but as a slow, corrupted file transfer. It was a place of disjointed sensations and fractured light. The first thing I registered was a low, continuous hum, a sound that felt like it was vibrating deep inside my bones. The second was a scent—the clean, medicinal aroma of herbs and the faint, coppery tang of blood. My blood.
My consciousness was a shattered mirror, and in each shard, a single, glowing green word was reflected, burning itself into my memory: [LEVEL UP!]. The phrase repeated, overlapping, creating a cacophony of silent triumph that echoed in the void where my thoughts should have been. It was the only solid thing in a sea of confusion.
I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt like they were sealed with lead. A groan escaped my lips, a rough, dry sound that scraped my throat.
"He's stirring!"
The voice was a soft, melodic whisper, laced with an almost overwhelming sense of relief. It was Lyra. The sound of her voice was an anchor, a fixed point in the swirling chaos of my returning senses.
"Don't try to move, lad," a second voice grumbled, gruff but familiar. Valerius. "You took a psychic lashing that would've scrambled the brains of a lesser man. Or a smarter one who knew better than to play chicken with an Aberration."
I forced my eyes open. The light was dim, filtered. I was in a room I didn't recognize, lying on a soft bed with clean, linen sheets. It wasn't my room at the Gilded Griffin. This room was smaller, and the walls were lined with shelves holding jars and dried herbs. I was in the infirmary attached to Valerius's shop.
Lyra was sitting on a stool by my bedside, her pale green face etched with worry. The little flowering vines woven into her white hair looked slightly wilted. Valerius stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, his usual scowl firmly in place, though his eyes held a flicker of something that might have been concern.
"What… what happened?" I rasped, my voice barely a whisper. My head felt like it was full of cotton and broken glass.
"You won, Alex," Lyra said, a brilliant smile finally breaking through her worry. She reached out and gently placed a cool hand on my forehead. "You saved us. You saved everyone."
The memories came rushing back, a tidal wave of terror and adrenaline. The writhing mass of the Grotesque. The desperate plan. The searing heat of the forge. The weight of the improvised spear. The blinding white light.
"The… the monster?"
"Gone," Valerius confirmed, his tone clipped. "Your… mad contraption worked. When you struck it, the creature… it changed. It solidified." He stroked his beard, his eyes distant. "It took the form of a man. A tall man in the armor of the Capital Guard. It stood there for a second, a look of pure shock on its face, a gaping, burning hole where its heart should be. Then it just… disintegrated. Turned to ash and foul-smelling dust."
I processed this. The Vulnerability Protocol. It had adopted the form of the strongest person it had absorbed—some poor schmuck from the Capital Guard—and in doing so, made its core tangible. My thermo-chemical spear had done its job.
"The town is safe," Lyra continued. "Captain Marcus has the breach secured. The damages are severe, but no one else was hurt after… after you intervened."
I let out a long, shuddering breath, a weight I didn't even realize I was carrying lifting from my chest. It had worked. My insane, long-shot plan based on half-remembered chemistry and video game logic had actually worked.
A wave of exhaustion washed over me, so profound it was dizzying. My body ached in places I didn't know I had. My head throbbed with the ghost of the Grotesque's psychic death-scream. But beneath it all was a deep, resonant hum of power. It was the feeling of all that raw EXP settling into my very being.
I needed to see it. I needed to quantify what had happened.
"Could I… could I have a moment alone?" I asked, my voice still weak.
Lyra and Valerius exchanged a look. "Of course," Lyra said, standing up. "You need to rest. We'll be right outside. Shout if you need anything."
"And don't you dare try to get out of that bed," Valerius added, pointing a stained finger at me. "I used three whole vials of my prime Restoration Draught on you. That's a gold piece and six silvers worth of alchemy keeping you from collapsing into a puddle of goo. The least you can do is lie still and appreciate it."
He grumbled and followed Lyra out, closing the door softly behind him.
The moment I was alone, I closed my eyes.
The world went dark, and the system interface bloomed in my mind. It was different this time. Instead of my usual status screen, a series of notifications were stacked, waiting for my attention like unread emails.
[You have defeated a Corrupted Grotesque (Level 22)!]
[Aberration Slaying Bonus Applied! (x1.5 EXP)]
[Over-Level Kill Bonus Applied! (x2.0 EXP)]
[Intellect-Based Victory Bonus Applied! (x1.2 EXP)]
[Total EXP Gained: 25,000 x 1.5 x 2.0 x 1.2 = 90,000 EXP]
My jaw, even in my mind, went slack. Ninety. Thousand. Experience. Points. The number was so vast, so absurd, it barely seemed real. The bonuses… the system had rewarded me not just for the kill, but for how I killed it—punching far above my weight class and using my intelligence to do it. This world didn't just reward effort; it rewarded clever, efficient effort.
I mentally dismissed the notification, and the next one appeared. It was the one I had been waiting for, the one that had been echoing in my head.
[LEVEL UP!]
[You are now Level 5!]
[LEVEL UP!]
[You are now Level 6!]
[LEVEL UP!]
[You are now Level 7!]
...
The notifications scrolled past, one after another, a dizzying cascade of progression. Level 8, 9, 10… My mind reeled. It kept going. 11, 12, 13, 14… It finally stopped.
[LEVEL UP!]
[You are now Level 15!]
[Current EXP: 12,500 / 15,000]
Level 15. I had jumped eleven levels in a single instant. I had gone from being weaker than a town guard to being on par with Captain Marcus. The feeling was intoxicating, a rush of power so potent it made my head spin more than my injuries did.
I dismissed the level-up cascade, my heart hammering. The next notification was the payload.
[You have gained 55 Stat Points!]
[You have gained 11 Skill Points!]
Fifty-five stat points. Eleven skill points. It was a king's ransom. It was a character-defining treasure hoard of potential. My mind, now humming with the clarity of my boosted INT stat, immediately went into optimization mode. This was the single most important character-building moment I would likely ever have. I couldn't afford to waste a single point.
Finally, I mentally swiped to the last notification. The loot drop.
[Loot Gained:]
- [Grotesque Prime Core (Legendary)] x 1
- [Shard of Corrupted Memory] x 5
- [Essence of Chaos] x 12
- [2 Gold, 15 Silver, 30 Copper]
Even the monster dropped pocket change. I chuckled weakly at the thought. But my eyes were fixed on the first item. A [Legendary] item. In all my years of gaming, I had only ever seen a handful of legendary drops. They were items that could change the entire game. And now, I had one.
Dismissing the last of the notifications, I finally pulled up my full status screen. I needed to see the new baseline, the new me.
[Alexander 'Alex' Vance]
[Race: Human (Anomalous)]
[Level: 15] (12,500/15,000 EXP)
[Title: The Transmigrator, Hero of Oakwood (New!)]
[Stats]
Strength (STR): 10
Vitality (VIT): 16
Agility (DEX): 17
Intelligence (INT): 20
Wisdom (WIS): 10
Charisma (CHA): 10
Luck (LCK): 10
[Unallocated Stat Points: 55]
[Skills]
- [Transmigrator's Blessing (Unique)]
- [Analysis (Unique) - Lvl 1]
- [Tool Crafting (Common) - Lvl 1]
- [Stealth (Common) - Lvl 1]
- [Alchemy (Common) - Lvl 2]
- [Mana Thread (Basic) - Lvl 1]
[Unallocated Skill Points: 11]
A new title. Hero of Oakwood. It felt heavy. It felt like a responsibility I wasn't sure I was ready for. It probably came with a small buff, maybe to Charisma when dealing with Oakwood residents, but the weight of the title itself was the main effect.
Now, for the main event. Fifty-five stat points. My mind, a finely tuned calculating engine at 20 INT, began running simulations.
My current build was a "glass cannon." High INT and DEX, but pitifully low STR and average everything else. My victory against the Grotesque had proven the viability of this approach. It wasn't my strength that won the day; it was my brain. My first instinct was to dump everything into INT. To become a hyper-intelligent demigod of logic and analysis. An INT of 75? The thought was tempting. I could probably deconstruct the laws of physics just by looking at them hard enough.
But my near-death experience tempered that thought. My body had almost given out just carrying the spear. My 16 VIT was the only reason the psychic backlash hadn't turned my brain into soup. A glass cannon is useless if it shatters before it can fire. I needed balance. Or rather, a more robust specialization.
I decided on a tiered allocation strategy.
First, survivability. I couldn't afford to be a liability on the battlefield. I needed to be able to take a hit and keep thinking.
'Put 14 points into Vitality,' I commanded. The number on my screen jumped. VIT: 30. A deep, profound warmth spread through my body. The aches and pains from the battle seemed to fade into the background. I felt… solid. Grounded. The feeling of fragility that had been my constant companion since arriving in this world lessened significantly. 30 VIT felt like a real milestone.
Next, my primary weapon: my mind. This was non-negotiable. This was my core identity.
'Put 20 points into Intelligence.' INT: 40. The effect was instantaneous and staggering. It wasn't just that my thoughts got faster. The very structure of my consciousness seemed to expand. It was like upgrading from a standard monitor to a wrap-around, 8K display. I could hold more complex thoughts simultaneously, run multiple lines of reasoning in parallel. The system interface itself seemed sharper, more responsive. The world, even with my eyes closed, felt richer, teeming with data I hadn't been able to perceive before.
With 34 points spent, I had 21 remaining. I could boost my DEX for better evasion and fine motor control, which was tempting for alchemy and magic casting. Or I could finally address my pathetic Strength. Having 10 STR when I was Level 15 was just embarrassing. It limited the gear I could use, my carrying capacity, my ability to perform basic physical tasks.
I decided to compromise. I needed to remain agile, but I also needed to stop being a complete weakling.
'Put 10 points into Dexterity.' DEX: 27. A feeling of lightness and perfect balance settled over me. I felt like I could probably walk a tightrope without even thinking about it.
'Put 10 points into Strength.' STR: 20. It wasn't a huge jump, but the difference was immediate. A current of energy flowed through my muscles. I felt a wiry strength that wasn't there before. I wouldn't be winning any strongman competitions, but I could probably carry a heavy backpack without collapsing now.
That left one point. Where to put it? Wisdom? Charisma? Luck? They were all still at a paltry 10. Wisdom was tied to mana regeneration and resisting mental effects. Charisma was social interaction. Luck was… well, luck. It was the great unknown. In many games, it was a dump stat. In others, it was the most broken stat in the game, affecting everything from crit chance to loot drops.
My victory was a combination of intellect and a massive dose of luck. The 50% chance on the spear. Finding the Alkali Stones. Meeting Lyra. My entire existence here was a statistical anomaly. Leaning into that felt right.
'Put 1 point into Luck.' LCK: 11. I didn't feel anything change. But I had a feeling that single point might be more important than I knew.
I looked at my new stat block.
STR: 20, VIT: 30, DEX: 27, INT: 40, WIS: 10, CHA: 10, LCK: 11.
This was a build I could be proud of. I was a true INT-based specialist, but I wasn't a liability anymore. I was a "reinforced glass cannon."
Now for the skill points. Eleven of them. This was where the real fun began. I could upgrade my existing skills or unlock new ones. My [Analysis] skill was already unique, I wasn't sure if it could even be leveled with common skill points. I tried. 'Spend a skill point on Analysis.'
[Error: [Analysis (Unique)] cannot be upgraded with standard Skill Points.]
I figured as much. Unique skills likely had their own, special progression paths. Same for [Transmigrator's Blessing].
That left my other skills. [Alchemy] was a definite priority. It was my job, my passion, and a primary source of my income and utility.
'Spend 3 skill points on Alchemy.'
[Alchemy (Common) has leveled up to Lvl 5!]
[New Sub-Skill Unlocked: Recipe Creation]
[New Sub-Skill Unlocked: Potion Synthesis]
Two new sub-skills! My mind was flooded with new knowledge. [Recipe Creation] was an active skill that allowed me to use my INT and Alchemy level to try and formulate new recipes from scratch, analyzing the properties of ingredients to predict their interactions. [Potion Synthesis] was a passive buff that allowed me to create multiple doses of a known potion at once, saving time and resources. This was a massive quality-of-life improvement.
Next, my fledgling magic. [Mana Thread] was the absolute basic. I needed to build on that foundation.
'Spend 3 skill points on Mana Thread.'
[Mana Thread (Basic) has leveled up to Lvl 4!]
[Your mana control has improved. You can now manifest and control up to three mana threads simultaneously.]
[Prerequisite Met! New Skill available: Mana Weaving]
Perfect. This was the next step.
'Spend 1 skill point to learn Mana Weaving.'
[You have learned Mana Weaving (Uncommon) - Lvl 1]
[Description: The art of weaving multiple mana threads together to create simple, stable magical constructs. This is the foundational skill for all structured magic, including Runic Scribing and Spell Formulae. Your INT and DEX will determine the complexity and stability of your weaves.]
This was it. This was the skill that would let me move from just perceiving magic to actually building it. My mind was already buzzing with the possibilities.
I had four skill points left. I could pump them into my other skills, like [Stealth] or [Tool Crafting]. Or I could see what other new skills were available now that my level and stats were so much higher. I focused on the skill menu, and a new list appeared, much longer than before. It had dozens of options, from [Swordsmanship (Common)] to [Shield Mastery (Common)] to [Rhetoric (Uncommon)]. But one new skill, listed under the "Academic" tree, caught my eye. It felt like it was made for me.
'Spend 2 skill points to learn Runic Scribing.'
[You have learned Runic Scribing (Uncommon) - Lvl 1]
[Prerequisites: INT 30+, Mana Weaving Lvl 1]
[Description: The practice of inscribing runes—condensed magical formulae—onto physical objects to grant them magical properties. The effectiveness of the enchantment depends on the quality of the rune, the materials used, and the caster's Scribing level.]
Enchanting. This was the practical application of everything I was good at. It combined the material science of alchemy and tool crafting with the programming logic of mana weaving. I could create my own magic items.
I had two points left. I decided to invest them in a way that would support my new focus.
'Spend 2 skill points on Tool Crafting.'
[Tool Crafting (Common) has leveled up to Lvl 3!]
[You can now work with more advanced materials, including soft metals like copper and tin, and can create more complex tools with a higher degree of precision.]
This would allow me to make the very items I planned to enchant. It was a perfect synergy.
I let out a long, satisfied sigh, my mind buzzing with the sheer potential I now held. I dismissed the status screen, the familiar darkness of the room returning as I opened my eyes. I felt like a completely different person. The world looked the same, but my perception of it had fundamentally, irrevocably changed.
I carefully, experimentally, swung my legs out of the bed. My body felt light, strong, and responsive. The aches were gone, replaced by a thrumming energy. Valerius's expensive potion had probably helped, but this feeling of vitality was all thanks to my new stats. I stood up, feeling no dizziness, no weakness. I was better than fine. I was remade.
I walked over to a small basin of water in the corner and looked at my reflection. I was still me—the same dark hair, the same average face. But my eyes… my eyes were different. They seemed sharper, more intense, glowing with an inner light that hadn't been there before. It was the look of someone with an INT of 40.
My old life, the life of Alex the data-entry clerk, felt like a story I'd read about someone else. A distant, faded memory. This was me now. Alex the Level 15 Alchemist-Enchanter.
I redressed in the clean clothes someone had left for me—a simple tunic and trousers. They felt different on my new body, fitting better across the shoulders, looser at the waist. I was leaner, but stronger.
Then I remembered the loot. The system notifications were one thing, but the physical items were another. I looked around the room and saw my scorched leather satchel on a nearby chair. I opened it. Inside, nestled amongst my potion vials, were the items from the Grotesque.
The [Essence of Chaos] were swirling, marble-sized orbs of purple and black energy, contained in a membrane that felt like solidified smoke. [Analysis] told me they were highly volatile magical reagents used in curses and corruption-based alchemy. Dangerous, but valuable.
The [Shards of Corrupted Memory] were jagged pieces of black, obsidian-like crystal. When I focused [Analysis] on one, a jumble of horrifying images and sounds flooded my mind—a piece of the Grotesque's stolen memories. It was the face of a screaming woman, the feeling of falling, the taste of salt and fear. I dropped it instantly, my heart pounding. These were toxic. I would have to find a way to purify them, or dispose of them safely.
Finally, at the bottom of the bag, was the main prize. The [Grotesque Prime Core].
It was the size of a human heart, a pulsating, crystalline object of deepest purple. It hummed with a palpable power that made the air around it vibrate. It was beautiful and deeply unsettling. I reached for it, and the moment my fingers touched its surface, a new wave of information, more detailed than a standard analysis, poured into my mind.
[Groteseque Prime Core]
[Rarity: Legendary]
[Type: Alchemical Reagent / Power Source / Sentient Artifact]
[Description: The heart of a Corrupted Grotesque. It is a nexus of chaotic, adaptive energy. It contains the stolen life-force and genetic blueprints of every creature the Grotesque ever absorbed. The Core is semi-sentient and possesses a primal, consuming hunger. It will attempt to corrupt any living being that attunes to it.]
[Properties:]
- [Biomantic Catalyst]: Can be used in esoteric alchemy to create elixirs of transformation or chimerical life forms. Success is not guaranteed. Failure may result in… unforeseen consequences.
- [Adaptive Power Source]: Can be integrated into a magical device or construct to provide a self-regenerating, adaptive power supply. The device may develop its own intelligence and agenda over time.
- [Attunement]: A living being can attempt to attune to the Core, absorbing its power to gain regenerative abilities and the potential for shapeshifting. Requires a [Legendary] level of willpower to resist being consumed and transformed into a new Grotesque. Your current WIS (10) makes this a particularly suicidal course of action.]
I pulled my hand back as if I'd been burned. This thing wasn't just a reagent; it was a devil's bargain in crystalline form. It offered immense power at the cost of one's very soul. Using it in any capacity would be like juggling with nitroglycerin. But the potential… an adaptive power source? Elixirs of transformation? The possibilities were staggering. For now, though, this was going straight to the bottom of my bag, wrapped in the thickest cloth I could find.
Taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart, I opened the door and stepped out of the infirmary.
Valerius and Lyra were in the main shop, speaking in low, hushed tones. They looked up as I entered, their eyes widening in surprise.
"Alex! You should be resting!" Lyra exclaimed, rushing to my side.
"I feel fine," I said, and it was the truth. "Better than fine, actually."
Valerius eyed me up and down, his gaze sharp and analytical. He wasn't looking at me like a person; he was assessing me like one of his ingredients. "The boy's not lying," he grunted. "Your mana signature… it's… brighter. Denser. What happened in there?"
"I… leveled up," I said simply. It was the easiest way to explain it. "The fight pushed me over a threshold."
Lyra's eyes shone with understanding. "Of course. A life-or-death battle against a powerful foe is a potent catalyst for growth. I've read about it. Some warriors call it a 'breakthrough'."
"Hmph. 'Breakthrough'," Valerius scoffed. "Sounds like an excuse for reckless behavior. Still, the results are undeniable." He gave me a sharp, appraising look. "You look less like a stray dog and more like someone who might actually survive another year." For Valerius, this was high praise.
Before we could talk more, the bell above the shop door jingled, and Captain Marcus stepped inside. He had removed his dented helmet, revealing a weary face, but his eyes were clear and full of a profound gratitude. He was flanked by two of his guards.
He walked straight to me. "Alex," he said, his voice deep and formal. He placed a mailed fist over his heart and gave a short, respectful bow. "On behalf of the town of Oakwood, and on behalf of the Guard, I thank you. You saved us all. There are no words to truly express our debt to you."
I felt my face flush. My 10 CHA was not equipped for this level of praise. "I… I just did what anyone would have done," I stammered.
"No," Marcus said, his gaze unwavering. "Anyone else would have run. Or died. I've been a guard on this frontier for twenty years. I've fought Orc-kin, Goblins, and even a rogue Manticore once. I have never seen anything like that… thing. And I have never seen a display of such quick thinking and raw courage."
He gestured to one of his guards, who stepped forward holding a heavy leather pouch. "The town council has authorized a reward. It is a pittance compared to what you have done, but it is what we can afford." He handed the pouch to me. It was heavy, clinking with the sound of a lot of coins. "Twenty gold pieces. And you have been granted the title 'Friend of the Watch'. You will always have the full support of the Oakwood Guard."
Twenty gold. It was a fortune. It was more money than I had ever imagined holding. Combined with the monster's drop, I was… wealthy. The thought was bizarre.
"Furthermore," Marcus continued, his expression turning grim. "I came to ask for your help. We're investigating the origin of the creature. This was no random attack."
"What do you mean?" I asked, my full attention now captured.
"Grotesques are native to the Cursed Isles, halfway across the world. They don't just wander into a backwater town in the middle of the continent," he explained. "This one was brought here. Deliberately. We found this near the breach, shielded by a cloaking spell."
He held up an object wrapped in cloth. He carefully unwrapped it, revealing a shard of obsidian, almost identical to the ones in my bag, but this one was carved with a symbol: a single, unblinking eye, weeping a black tear.
As soon as I saw the symbol, a new piece of information slotted into my brain, a gift from my enhanced INT or my [Transmigrator's Blessing]. It wasn't a system notification; it was an innate understanding, a piece of lore I shouldn't have known.
"The Cult of the Ashen Veil," I heard myself say, the name feeling alien on my tongue.
Marcus's eyes widened. "How do you know that name?"
"I… I don't know," I said, confused by my own knowledge. "I just… do. They are a nihilistic cult. They worship the Void, the entropy that exists between worlds. They believe that life is a flaw, a corruption of the perfect silence of non-existence. They see creatures like the Grotesque not as monsters, but as sacred instruments of 'unmaking'."
My explanation hung in the air, chilling the room. Lyra looked at me with awe and a little fear. Valerius stroked his beard, his eyes narrowed in thought.
"Your knowledge continues to be as surprising as your methods, Alex," Marcus said, his voice low. "You are correct. We have had dealings with this cult before, on the northern borders. They are saboteurs and assassins, working to destabilize the kingdoms. To think they have a presence this far south… and that they are capable of smuggling an Aberration into a walled town…"
He looked at me, his eyes pleading. "Your unique perspective… your analytical mind… it allowed you to see a weakness no one else could. I want to hire you, Alex. As a consultant for the Watch. Help us find this cult. Help us root them out before they can strike again."
The offer was a crossroads. I could take my money, my new power, and leave. Head to the capital with Lyra, study, become a powerful mage or alchemist in my own right. Or I could stay here, in this small town that had become my home, and fight a shadowy war against a death cult.
My old self, Alex the gamer, would have seen this as the start of a new questline. But this was real. Real people could die. I could die.
But then I thought of the faces on the Grotesque. I thought of the guard it had absorbed. This wasn't a game. It was a responsibility. My unique abilities gave me a unique power to protect this place. To ignore that felt… wrong.
"I'll help," I said, my voice firm. "What's the first step?"
Marcus looked relieved. "The first step is examining the remains. The creature's ash, the dissolved wall, the tracks. We need to find out how they got it in, and where they are hiding. We could use your analytical skills."
The next few days were a blur of activity that defined my new reality. I was no longer just Alex the apprentice. I was Alex, Hero of Oakwood and Special Consultant to the Town Watch.
My mornings were spent with Marcus and his guards, investigating the scene of the attack. My 40 INT, combined with my [Analysis] skill, allowed me to see things they had missed. I found faint traces of a cloaking spell woven with strands of shadow magic, suggesting the cult had a skilled Shadow-Weaver among them. I analyzed the ichor from the dissolved wall, and through my [Alchemy] skill, I identified its components, realizing it was a biological acid, not a magical one, meaning the Grotesque had to be physically present to create it. It couldn't have been summoned inside.
This led to the horrifying conclusion that the cultists had smuggled the creature in while it was small, perhaps in a dormant, larval state, and had been "feeding" it somewhere within the town's vicinity, growing it into the monster it became. The hunt was no longer for an external enemy; it was for a cancer within the town itself.
My afternoons were spent in the workshop with Valerius. Our relationship had shifted. I was no longer just an apprentice; I was a partner. We worked on analyzing the [Essence of Chaos] and the [Shard of Corrupted Memory]. Valerius, with his decades of experience, knew the rituals to handle such tainted materials safely, while I, with my high-level [Analysis], could deconstruct their properties on a fundamental level. We discovered that the memory shards could be purified using a solution of concentrated salt and holy water, turning them into [Pure Memory Crystals]—rare and valuable components for scrying spells and enchanting items with knowledge-based properties. It was a difficult, dangerous process, but we managed to purify one as a proof of concept.
My evenings were for Lyra and my own training. My newfound fame meant that when I walked into the Gilded Griffin, a hush would fall over the room, followed by whispers and nods of respect. Elara would never let me pay for a drink, and miners would offer to buy me ale. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but I slowly got used to it.
Lyra was an incredible tutor. Now that I had the [Mana Weaving] skill, she began teaching me the actual theory of spellcasting. We started with the basics, just like she had with her [Glow] spell.
"A spell is a story you tell to mana," she explained one evening, her hands weaving a small, intricate cat's cradle of glowing light. "It has a beginning (the invocation), a middle (the energy conversion), and an end (the desired effect). A rune is a condensed version of that story, a single word that contains a whole paragraph of intent."
Under her guidance, I practiced. My control over my mana threads grew stronger. I learned to weave them into simple patterns: a stable loop for a continuous effect, a sharp, linear construct for a projectile, a flat, layered weave for a shield. My 40 INT allowed me to grasp the complex geometries instantly, and my 27 DEX gave me the fine control to execute them. I was a prodigy, learning in a single night what took most students months to grasp.
I used my new [Runic Scribing] skill. My first project was a simple one. I took one of the quartz crystals I had found in the forest and, using a specially prepared alchemical ink and a sharpened copper needle, I attempted to inscribe the rune for 'Light' onto its surface. My first attempt failed, the rune flaring and fading. My second attempt was unstable. But on the third try, guided by Lyra's advice and my own analysis of my previous failures, I succeeded.
I channeled a tiny bit of mana into the crystal, and the rune flared with a soft, steady white light.
[Glowing Quartz Crystal]
[Rarity: Common]
[Enchantment: Lesser Illumination (Rune: Lux)]
[Description: A simple quartz crystal enchanted with a basic light-producing rune. When supplied with a small amount of mana, it will glow with the brightness of a candle. Your first successful enchantment.]
[Quality: Sub-par (Inefficient mana-to-lumen conversion)]
It was crude. It was inefficient. But it was a magic item that I had made with my own two hands. The feeling was even more profound than creating a potion. I had bent the laws of this world, however slightly, and imbued a mundane object with a piece of my will.
My life had bifurcated. I was a detective, an alchemist, and a budding enchanter. The work was exhausting but exhilarating.
The investigation into the cult, however, was yielding few results. They were phantoms, leaving no trace. The town grew tense, the initial relief replaced by a quiet paranoia. Neighbor eyed neighbor, wondering who could be a member of a death cult.
The break came from an unexpected source: Xy'ktil, the Gryllid parts trader. I had gone to his stall to purchase some rare ingredients for Valerius, and for the first time, the insectoid merchant treated me with something approaching respect.
"The Hero of Oakwood," he chittered, his antennae twitching. "I hear you hunt for the shadow-crawlers now. A noble, if unprofitable, venture."
"We're looking for anything unusual," I said, deciding to take a long shot. "Any strange purchases, anyone buying odd combinations of things. Anything out of the ordinary."
Xy'ktil tilted his head. "My business is discretion. A customer's privacy is sacred."
"A Grotesque nearly destroyed your stall, your business, and your life," I countered. "Discretion doesn't pay the bills if you're a puddle of goo."
His multifaceted eyes seemed to calculate for a moment. "Your logic is… sound," he conceded. "There has been one irregularity. For the past month, a man has been purchasing large quantities of offal and spoiled meat. The lowest quality scraps. He paid well, in silver, and asked no questions. I assumed he was a breeder of carrion-eaters or some such."
"Did you get a name? A description?" I asked, my heart starting to beat faster.
"He was unremarkable," Xy'ktil said. "A human male, of average height and build. Dressed in simple traveler's clothes. But he smelled… wrong. Not of dirt or sweat. He smelled of dust. The dust of a long-closed tomb. And of bitter herbs. I recognized the scent. It was Nightshade."
Nightshade. A key ingredient in many dark rituals and poisons. And he was buying spoiled meat… to feed something. To feed a growing Grotesque. This was our man.
"When was the last time you saw him?" I asked.
"Three days ago. He said he would be back today, around sundown, for his final purchase," Xy'ktil chittered. "He was most insistent."
This was it. Our chance to catch one of them.
I immediately went to Captain Marcus. We formulated a plan. A trap. We would stake out the marketplace, with guards hidden on the rooftops and in the alleyways. I would be the one to confront him, wearing a cloak to hide my identity. My unique skills made me the perfect person to identify and track him if he tried to flee.
As the twin suns began to set, casting long, eerie shadows across the cobblestones, the marketplace began to empty. The air grew cold and tense. I stood near Xy'ktil's stall, my hand resting on the hilt of my steel dagger, my senses on high alert.
Then, I saw him. A man matching Xy'ktil's description, walking through the square. He was utterly, completely average. The kind of person you would forget moments after seeing them. But the Gryllid was right. [Analysis] confirmed it.
[Fenris, the Acolyte]
[Level: 10]
[Race: Human (Cursed)]
[Title: Acolyte of the Ashen Veil]
[Description: A low-ranking member of the Cult of the Ashen Veil. He is a zealot, utterly devoted to the cause of 'unmaking'. The 'Cursed' nature of his race is due to a ritual that has thinned the veil between his soul and the Void, granting him minor shadow magic at the cost of his life force. He is here to acquire a final component for a new ritual.]
And there it was. The 'Cursed' racial tag. These weren't just fanatics; they were altering their very being for their cause.
He approached the stall, his eyes never meeting Xy'ktil's. "I am here for my package," he said, his voice flat and emotionless.
"Of course," Xy'ktil rasped, pushing a heavy, stinking sack across the counter.
This was the signal. I stepped out from the shadows, blocking the man's path. "Fenris," I said, my voice low and steady. "You have some questions to answer."
The acolyte's head snapped up. His eyes, for a split second, showed surprise, then settled into a cold, dead calm. "I don't know who you are, but you have made a grave mistake."
"The mistake was bringing an Aberration to Oakwood," I retorted.
In a blur of motion, he kicked the sack of offal at me and spun, throwing something to the ground. A small, glass orb shattered on the cobblestones, releasing a thick, black smoke that instantly obscured the area.
A smoke bomb. Classic.
"He's running! West alley!" I shouted to the hidden guards.
I plunged into the smoke, my eyes stinging. But I didn't need my eyes. I could feel his mana signature, a cold, empty void, moving away from me. I activated [Stealth] and sprinted after him.
The chase led us through the twisting back alleys of Oakwood. He was fast, his movements unnaturally silent, a benefit of his shadow magic. But my 27 DEX was faster. I was gaining on him.
He darted into an abandoned warehouse near the town wall. I followed, my dagger drawn. The warehouse was dark and smelled of dust and decay. The only light came from the slivers of moonlight filtering through the grimy windows.
I heard a floorboard creak above me. He was in the rafters. I flattened myself against a stack of crates, my eyes scanning the darkness.
"You are persistent," his disembodied voice echoed through the warehouse. "But you are alone. The Watch cannot help you here."
"I'm not alone," I whispered, and I began to weave.
My hands moved in the darkness, my fingers dancing as I pulled on my mana threads. Lyra's lessons, my 40 INT, my [Mana Weaving] skill—it all came together. I wasn't weaving a spell. I was weaving a trap. I spun three threads of mana, weaving them into a simple, three-point net, and anchored the ends to the walls and floor around the area where I sensed him. It was an ethereal tripwire.
"Your courage is meaningless before the coming silence," he monologued, a classic villain mistake. He dropped from the rafters, intending to ambush me from behind.
His foot passed through one of my invisible mana threads.
The moment the connection was broken, my trap sprung. It didn't do any damage. It just sent a single, sharp pulse of mana back to me, a notification telling me his exact location.
I spun, not needing to see, and threw my dagger. It flew through the darkness, guided by my senses and a little bit of my 11 Luck.
There was a satisfying thunk, followed by a cry of pain.
I heard him stumble, and then a new sound. A low, guttural chanting. The air in the warehouse grew cold, and the shadows seemed to deepen, coalescing around him. He was casting a spell.
I didn't wait to see what it was. I charged forward, my hand outstretched. I pulled on my mana again, but this time, I didn't weave a complex shape. I just formed a single, solid thread and supercharged it, creating a blunt instrument of pure force. A [Mana Bolt], the simplest and most direct application of the skill.
It struck him in the chest, and his chant was cut off with a grunt. The spell dissipated. He staggered back, clutching his shoulder where my dagger was embedded, and his chest where the mana bolt had struck.
He looked at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. "A battle-mage… but your signature… it's all wrong."
The doors of the warehouse burst open, and Captain Marcus and his guards flooded in, torches held high. Fenris was surrounded, his escape route cut off.
He looked at the guards, then at me. A slow, cold smile spread across his face. "You have not won," he hissed. "You have only delayed the inevitable silence."
He bit down hard. There was a faint crack. A black foam appeared at his lips, and he collapsed to the floor, his body convulsing once before lying still.
A suicide tooth. Cyanide, or this world's equivalent. He had taken his own life rather than be captured.
I stood there, panting, the adrenaline slowly fading. We had stopped him. We had found the cult. But we hadn't gotten any answers.
Marcus knelt by the body. "Search him," he commanded.
The guards found little. A few coins. A cruel-looking knife. And a small, tightly-rolled piece of parchment concealed in the heel of his boot.
Marcus carefully unrolled it. It was a letter, written in a cramped, spidery hand.
"It's coded," he said with a frown.
"Let me see," I said, stepping forward. I looked at the page. It was a jumble of seemingly random symbols and runes. It would take a master cryptographer weeks to decipher.
But I had [Analysis] and 40 INT.
I focused on the parchment. It wasn't just text. It was a layered magical construct. The ink was infused with a confusion spell to deter scrying. But my skills cut through it. The system in my head began to cross-reference the symbols, identify the patterns, and run decryption algorithms at a speed that would make a supercomputer blush.
After a long minute of intense concentration, the code broke. The meaning of the letter bloomed in my mind.
It was a set of orders. Fenris's task was to secure a final component—a large quantity of blood—for a new ritual. A ritual to be performed in their hidden sanctuary. A ritual to 'awaken the sleeping echo'.
And the letter gave the location of that sanctuary.
It wasn't a building or a cave. It was the old, abandoned crypts beneath the town's original graveyard, just outside the southern wall. A place no one had entered in a hundred years.
"I know where they are," I said, my voice grim. "And I know what they're planning next."
We had won the battle. But the war for Oakwood was just beginning. And I, Alex Vance, the anomalous glitch in this world's system, was standing right at the heart of it. The path forward was dark and dangerous, but for the first time in either of my lives, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.