The city's sirens were a physical force, a wailing that clawed at the edges of sanity. The air itself seemed to vibrate with panic and raw, unleashed mana from the distant breach. From my bedroom window, I could see it: a sickly, pulsating purple tear in the sky above the Scarlet Wastes, like a wound in the fabric of the world. It was far away, but the malevolent energy it emitted was a cold shiver down my spine.
DING! DING! DING!
My mind was a symphony of chimes. The crisis had triggered a mass mobilization of Hunters, and from all over the city, powerful Auras were flaring to life, moving towards the conflict. My [Replicated Skills] list was exploding.
[Skill Detected: Lightning Dash (A-Rank)] - Replicating... Complete.]
[Skill Detected: Phoenix's Embrace (S-Rank)] - Replicating... Complete.]
[Skill Detected: Spatial Slash (A-Rank)] - Replicating... Complete.]
An S-Rank skill! I'd just copied an S-Rank healing skill from some legendary medic heading to the front lines! The power it represented was immense, even in its dormant state. And yet, I stood there, paralyzed. A god in the making, trapped in a glass cage of his own making.
"Aunt Maria!" I yelled, rushing out of my room. She was already securing the heavy metal shutters over the main window, her hands trembling.
"Leon, get the emergency kit from the closet! Hurry!" Her voice was tight with a fear I knew all too well. It was the same fear she'd had when they brought the news about my parents.
I moved on autopilot, my body performing the mundane tasks while my mind warred with itself. The logical part screamed at me to stay put. I was an F-Rank. My place was here, hiding, surviving. Revealing my power now would paint a target on my back bigger than the S-Rank breach itself. The guilds, the government—they would dissect me, study me, turn me into a weapon without a will.
But another part, a part that was growing louder with every new S-Rank skill that flooded my system, roared in defiance. This was what power was for! Not for hiding, not for personal gain, but for this! To stand between the world and the abyss. A lord protects his people.
The memory of Elara's face, filled with determined courage as she must have headed to the muster point, flashed in my mind. She was an A-Rank. She would be on the front lines, risking her life with [Frost Weaving] while I had a library of S-Rank skills gathering digital dust.
"My only problem is choosing which of my skills to use." The arrogant thought I'd had earlier now tasted like ash.
I finished helping my aunt barricade the door. "I... I need to check on the sector's emergency generator. Old Man Hemmit might need help," I lied, the words feeling foreign on my tongue.
Aunt Maria's eyes widened in horror. "Leon, no! It's too dangerous! The streets will be chaotic!"
"I'll be careful. I'll be back before you know it." I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile, but it felt more like a grimace. I had to go. I had to see. I had to be there.
Slipping out a back alley entrance, I was immediately swallowed by the chaos. The streets were a river of panicked civilians flowing inward, against which a trickle of determined Hunters in gleaming armor fought their way toward the outer walls. The air was thick with shouted orders, crying children, and the ever-present, ominous hum of the distant breach.
I moved against the tide, a single, insignificant fish swimming upstream. My hood was pulled up, shadowing my face. I wasn't heading to the generator. I was heading towards the sound of the sirens, towards the Scarlet Wastes.
As I ran, I focused inward, not on the growing list of skills, but on the ones I already had. I pulled up the data on the first skill I'd ever copied.
[Fist of the Boulder (C-Rank)] - Dormant. Passive Progression: 17%. Evolution Path: Locked.]
Seventeen percent. It had grown significantly just in the last hour. Was it the heightened ambient mana from the breach? Or was it the stress, the combat-readiness of my body accelerating the process? I didn't know, but it was a lifeline.
Then, I saw it. A live news feed was being projected onto the side of a tall building, a beacon of information in the panic. The image showed the front line. Massive, chitinous horrors—Arachne Dreadweavers—were pouring from the breach, their mandibles snapping and spraying acid. Hunters were locked in brutal combat. Fire and ice spells lit up the battlefield, but the monster tide seemed endless.
And then the camera focused on a familiar flash of silver hair. Elara.
She was magnificent and terrifying to behold. A glacier of her own making, she stood her ground, weaving walls of ice to block acid sprays and launching spears of frost that impaled the lesser spider-like creatures. But she was being overwhelmed. A Dreadweaver twice her size scuttled around her flank, its barbed leg poised to strike. Her A-Rank guards were busy with their own fights. She was isolated.
My blood ran cold. Time seemed to slow. The sounds of the city faded into a dull roar. Every instinct, every calculated reason for hiding, shattered into a million pieces.
No.
The thought was not loud, but it was absolute. It was a command from the deepest part of my being, from the nascent lord who refused to let fear rule him.
I didn't know how to activate my skills. But I didn't need to. The system had shown it could react to my will, to my intent. As I watched that barbed leg descend towards Elara, my entire being focused into a single, desperate, screaming command.
STOP IT!
I didn't choose a skill. I chose an outcome. I poured every ounce of my will, my fear, my burgeoning power into that single thought.
[Urgent Directive Received!]
[Analyzing Desired Outcome: Interdiction of Lethal Threat.]
[Scanning Dormant Skill Library...]
[Optimal Skill Selected: Spatial Slash (A-Rank)]
[WARNING! Skill is Dormant. Mana Conduit Incompatible. Forcing Partial Manifestation...]
Agony. White-hot, searing agony erupted behind my eyes. It felt like my skull was splitting in two. My vision swam, and I stumbled, collapsing to one knee in the alley. It was as if a torrential river was trying to force its way through a straw—my F-Rank mana channels.
But on the projected screen, something happened.
Just before the Dreadweaver's leg could pierce Elara, a thin, almost invisible black line appeared in the air in front of it. There was no sound, no flash of light. The line simply existed for a fraction of a second, and the monster's leg, along with a section of its carapace, slid clean off its body as if severed by a blade sharper than reality itself.
The Dreadweaver shrieked, an unearthly sound of pain and confusion. Elara, sensing the reprieve, didn't hesitate. She spun, her eyes wide with shock, and unleashed a point-blank [Frost Nova] that froze the wounded horror solid before shattering it into a million pieces.
She stood there, panting, scanning the battlefield for her savior. The camera panned, looking for the powerful Spatial Mage who had intervened. They found no one.
Back in the alley, I vomited onto the cobblestones, my body trembling uncontrollably. A system message blinked, red and alarming.
[Mana Backlash Sustained!]
[All Skill Progression Halted for 1 Hour.]
[User Condition: Critical Mana Depletion.]
I had done it. I had saved her. From miles away, with a skill I couldn't actively use, I had changed the course of a battle. But the cost was immense. I felt hollowed out, weaker than I had ever felt, truly living up to my F-Rank designation.
But as I lay there in the filth of the alley, a slow, triumphant smile touched my lips. The secret was still safe. No one knew. I had taken my first true step on the road to lordhood not with a triumphant shout, but with a silent, desperate act from the shadows.
The game had changed. I was no longer just a collector. I was a phantom in the system, a ghost on the battlefield. And I had just proven that even a fool, with the right tools, could sway the fate of kings and queens.