A month had passed since the endless march began.
The world smelled of rust and smoke — the scent of burning mana, charred soil, and death.
The elven army had thinned, their banners tattered by wind and blood. Yet still they pushed forward, step by step, into the First Border of Paradox — a cursed valley shrouded in black mist.
Even breathing here felt wrong.
Every sound echoed, as though the world itself was whispering.
---
Haru tightened his grip on his sword. The once-smooth wooden blade now bore faint cracks — yet it still pulsed with aura, alive in his hands.
He looked around — elven soldiers, archers, and mages forming ranks beside him.
Faenor stood near the front, shouting orders, his silver bow drawn and glowing with runic light.
The undead came again — this time not mindless husks, but commanded troops.
Knights of bone.
Mages with rotting staves.
Specters that screamed through the fog like banshees.
"Formation Beta! Focus fire on their front line!" Faenor roared.
A volley of enchanted arrows shot forward — streaks of white light that tore through the first wave of undead. Bones shattered, skulls cracked, and the stench of burning decay filled the air.
But then the ground shook.
Something massive was coming.
A towering Ghoul Commander, nearly five meters tall, emerged from the mist — a creature of stitched flesh, wielding a halberd dripping with dark fluid.
Its level flickered in Haru's vision: Level 73.
The elves faltered, but Haru stepped forward.
He muttered under his breath, "So this is the difference…"
A calm breath escaped his lips as his aura ignited crimson, burning through the mist like dawn breaking over night.
FWOOOM!
The Ghoul Commander roared and swung its halberd down — the shockwave cracked the ground open.
But Haru didn't move.
He raised his shield — and the weapon shattered on impact, scattering into dust.
The creature froze, confused — and in that blink, Haru vanished.
BANG!
The next second, its torso exploded open — cleanly cut in half, red aura humming from Haru's sword.
He stood behind the monster, eyes cold, body still glowing faintly with power.
The elves could only watch in silence.
---
The battle raged for days.
Each time the undead pushed, Haru countered.
Each time they broke through the line, he stepped in.
His movements were no longer human — each strike precise, ruthless, divine.
Every blow left a red arc across the black mist, carving through undead hordes like paper.
The elves rallied behind him, chanting his name.
Even Faenor, usually calm, couldn't hide his awe.
"By the roots of the World Tree," he whispered. "That human fights like a god…"
---
A week passed like that.
Sleep was forgotten. Time blurred.
By the time the undead finally retreated into the depths of Paradox territory, Haru stood at the front — his armor cracked, his hands trembling, blood dripping from his fingertips.
He looked up at the night sky — the mist clearing just enough for a single star to shine through.
Level Up.
You have reached Level 72.
But there was no smile. No excitement.
Only silence — and a growing realization.
> "Even at this level," Haru thought, "we're still just surviving."
Because in the distance — past the dead trees and broken ground — he could feel it.
A stronger presence.
Something that made even the dead kneel.
The battlefield was finally silent.
Ash floated through the air like snow.
The cries of the dying had faded into the hum of the wind — and in that rare silence, Haru finally breathed.
He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. The red stains didn't bother him anymore. The warmth of it… felt normal now.
As he stared into the horizon — the border where the black mist met the trees — something in him began to stir.
> Why does it feel so… different?
He opened his system panel, the golden light reflecting in his tired eyes.
Level: 72
Title: Ranker
Job: Gladiator
His stats were far beyond what he had ever dreamed of when he first arrived in this world.
But the strange thing wasn't the number — it was the feeling.
He could sense every vibration in the air.
He could read the faint flicker of mana in the soil.
He could even hear the heartbeat of the soldiers behind him — nervous, uneven, mortal.
---
> "Every species… has its own limit," Haru whispered to himself. "But mine… isn't the same anymore."
Humans were fragile creatures — their bones cracked, their stamina faded, their minds broke.
Even the strongest warrior in the human empire would crumble long before reaching Highest level.
But Haru was still standing.
No… he was thriving.
The system had said it before — "Level 70 marks the Realm of Experts."
The threshold that only heroes and legends ever touched.
But now, as Haru looked around, even that felt meaningless.
The elves — proud, ancient, graceful — couldn't keep up with him anymore.
Faenor, whose level was hidden beyond his comprehension, felt slower.
Even the Princess, whose power could bend steel, no longer intimidated him.
> "Even Faenor's level… I can't read it," Haru muttered. "But even then… I can tell. We're not the same."
He clenched his fist — not out of pride, but confusion.
> "How far can a human really go?"
The air around him pulsed faintly. His aura shimmered for a moment — red and gold, raw and alive.
The world seemed lighter. The pull of gravity weaker.
Every step he took felt… divine.
And for the first time, Haru realized something terrifying —
he was no longer walking among humans.
Not even among elves.
He had crossed into something else entirely.