The silence in the service corridor was a heavy, suffocating blanket, punctuated only by the ragged, whimpering breaths of Pike. Zero stood amidst the aftermath of his work, a sculptor surveying his grim creations. The weak grey light from the high window seemed to cling to him, outlining a figure that belonged more to the shadows than the world of the living.
His new `[Callous]` skill was a subtle but profound change. It wasn't like a switch had been flipped; it was more like a filter had been applied over his perception. The moans of the boy on the floor were no longer the sounds of human suffering. They were just… noise. Data points indicating a malfunctioning biological unit. This cold detachment was terrifyingly efficient. It scrubbed away the useless static of empathy, leaving only the clean, sharp signal of tactical reality.
He looted the bodies with a practiced, methodical calm that would have horrified any onlooker. From Gorok's pockets, he retrieved a small coin purse containing a few silver pieces and a handful of copper. A paltry sum, but it was more than he'd had a moment ago. From Pike, he took a small, decently crafted skinning knife. Its edge was sharp, its balance good. A useful tool. He left the wooden training swords; they were clumsy and worthless.
As he worked, his glitched System offered another surprise. A faint, shimmering outline appeared around the coin purse in his hand.
`[Item: Worn Coin Purse. Quality: Common. Contents: 3 Silver, 17 Copper. Trace magical signature detected.]`
He paused, his fingers stilling on the rough leather. *Trace magical signature?* On a common purse? He focused his intent, trying to probe the item with his System. The text flickered.
`[Signature identified: Minor Tracking Rune (Dormant). Scribed by: Marcus Vance. Activation Trigger: User's Command Word.]`
Zero's lips thinned into a hard line. Of course. Marcus wasn't just a bully; he was a paranoid noble. He'd placed tracking runes on his lackeys' possessions to keep tabs on them. A novice-level enchantment, easily overlooked, but a leash all the same. In his first life, Zero would never have noticed it. Now, his System saw the hidden code of the world.
He didn't discard the purse. Instead, an idea began to form, a seed of calculated mischief. He held the purse in his palm, picturing the intricate, spider-like rune, and focused his will on it. He didn't try to destroy it. He tried to *edit* it.
`[Attempting to Interface with External Enchantment... WARNING! Foreign Code Detected.]`
`[Isolating Rune... Decompiling... Command Word: 'Vance's Eye'. Activation State: Dormant.]`
`[Input New Command?]`
A slow, predatory smile touched Zero's lips. He pictured the rune's activation trigger changing. Not to his own command, but to something… broader. More chaotic.
`[New Activation Trigger: Proximity to any active magical aura above C-Rank.]`
`[Compiling... WARNING: Unstable Parameters. Potential for feedback loop...]`
Zero pushed his will, forcing the change.
`[New Parameters Accepted. Rune Corrupted.]`
He tucked the purse into his own pocket. The tracking rune was no longer a leash. It was now a proximity mine. The next time Gorok got close to any reasonably powerful mage—a professor, a high-ranking student, even Marcus himself when he was casting a spell—the rune would flare to life, announcing its presence. It would create confusion, sow discord, and paint Gorok as a spy. A small, petty act of sabotage, but it was a satisfying test of his newfound capabilities.
He gave the corridor one last look. Leaving two crippled students here would raise too many questions, questions he wasn't ready to answer. He needed to clean up his mess. He walked over to Gorok and, with a grunt of effort, hauled the large boy's unconscious form over his shoulder. His base Strength stat of 5 made it a struggle, but years of being a porter had taught him the principles of leverage.
He then limped over to Pike, mimicking a severe injury, and offered a hand. "Can you stand?" he asked, his voice now filled with a convincing note of strained panic. "We need to get to the infirmary. You guys were just jumped. A man in a dark cloak. I tried to help…"
Pike, his mind clouded with agony and fear, was in no state to question the narrative. He just saw a way out. He nodded dumbly, tears and snot streaking his face, and allowed Zero to help him to his feet, his shattered leg dragging uselessly behind him.
The journey to the infirmary was a masterful piece of theater. Zero, supporting a crippled boy and carrying an unconscious one, stumbled out of the corridor and into the now-thinning crowd of students. He was the very picture of a heroic, if overwhelmed, F-Ranker who had tried to intervene and gotten more than he bargained for. Whispers followed them—not of mockery this time, but of shock and a strange, grudging respect.
He delivered the two bullies to the academy healers, spun his fabricated tale of a mysterious attacker who had ambushed them, and then excused himself, citing his own "internal injuries." No one questioned him. He was just the baggage boy, after all. He was background noise, a non-entity.
And that was exactly how he wanted it.
Back in the silence of his dorm room, the adrenaline of the confrontation finally faded, leaving a profound and unnerving calm. He sat on his bed, the few silver coins and the newly acquired knife laid out on the threadbare blanket before him.
The events of the day replayed in his mind. The Awakening. The duel. The fight. The corruption of his skills. He had power. A strange, terrifying, and wonderfully potent power. But it wasn't enough.
His revenge against Leo, Celeste, and Silas wasn't a matter of a simple street fight. They were destined to become the most powerful adventurers of their generation. Leo, the Hero with a divine blessing. Celeste, the Saintess whose healing arts could defy death. Silas, the assassin who could walk through shadows. They would have the backing of nobles, of the kingdom, perhaps even of the gods themselves.
To face them, he needed more than a few corrupted skills and a sharp mind. He needed overwhelming, undeniable power. He needed a foundation so strong that by the time they even realized he was a threat, it would already be too late to stop him.
His eyes fell on the stack of old books on his desk. His gaze lingered on one in particular: *'Myths and Legends of the Fallen Age.'* It was a book his past self, Ashe, had read a dozen times, fascinated by the old stories the world had forgotten. Most considered it a collection of fairy tales.
Zero knew better. He knew that some of those "myths" were real.
He stood up and walked to the desk, his movements filled with a new, electrifying purpose. He picked up the book and flipped through the worn pages, his fingers tracing the faded ink. He wasn't looking for a story. He was looking for a map.
There. Chapter 7: "The Sunken Grove of the Shadow Sprites."
The legend told of a hidden grove in the academy's own training forest, a place where a community of light-hating sprites had been sealed away centuries ago. The tale claimed that a foolish knight had once stumbled upon their queen and, enchanted by her beauty, had left behind a treasured gift before he was slain. Most dismissed it as a cautionary tale about the dangers of the Fae.
Zero knew the truth. He knew the "foolish knight" was Sir Kaelan the Cartographer, a legendary explorer. He knew the "treasured gift" was not a jewel or a token of love, but something far more valuable: the knight's personal journal, a logbook containing the locations of dozens of other hidden dungeons, forgotten ruins, and secret treasure caches across the entire continent.
In his first life, his party had stumbled upon that journal by sheer, dumb luck five years from now. It had been the catalyst for their rise to fame, the key that had unlocked their legendary status.
Now, that key would be his.
The path forward was clear. He wouldn't follow the standard curriculum of the academy. He wouldn't waste his time on pointless sparring matches and theoretical lectures. His education would take place in the dark, forgotten corners of the world. He would use the journal to plunder every secret, claim every artifact, and absorb every unique skill before his enemies even knew they existed.
He would become a ghost, a myth, a silent predator devouring the future they believed was theirs.
He looked down at the book, then at the meager handful of coins on his bed. This was his starting point. A few pieces of silver and a secret. It wasn't much.
But for a man with ten years of future knowledge and a System that broke the rules of reality, it was more than enough. It was everything.
He grabbed his old porter's pack from the corner, the symbol of his former weakness, and began to fill it. The skinning knife. A whetstone. A flint and steel. A waterskin. He was no longer just preparing for class. He was preparing for war. His first destination was set. The Sunken Grove of the Shadow Sprites. The academy could wait. His ascension had just begun.