In your final moments, you seem to glimpse a hazy glow of the world. Your life flashes before your eyes. Only the first sixteen years seem to hold any meaning.
As a transmigrator, was this really it? Were you only destined to live for sixteen years?
You can't help but wonder. If that bastard Hayden hadn't stolen your spot in the South Zone 2 Cleaning Department, would you still be breathing?
The sound of the two-headed wolf gnawing on your bones fills your ears. You have no choice but to reluctantly embrace death. The end.]
Bertram's hands shake violently as he finishes reading the life simulation. A cold sweat breaks out across his back.
Today is June 12th. According to the sim, he dies on July 3rd. That's in three weeks.
A raw, clawing sense of urgency floods his veins.
The entire simulation shows one clear turning point: his application to the South Zone 2 Cleaning Department. The safe spot that should have been his gets snatched by some guy named Hayden.
That single act of corruption shoves him into the meat grinder, the Dawn Army.
The Dawn Army is not a regular posting. They're a forward assault force.
They don't guard walls, they leave the city to raid areas thick with extradimensional beings. It's a death sentence, far more dangerous than any standard assignment zone.
Bertram's eyes snap to the assignment form in his hand. His three original choices are useless now.
Failing to get any of them means automatic conscription into the Dawn Army.
No. Anywhere but there.
His jaw tightens. He crosses out his previous selections with a savage stroke of his pen. He chooses three new areas, sharp.
The Defense Force of East Zone 12.
The Sweepers of South Zone 13.
The Scouts of North Zone 5.
These roles still involve contact with otherworldly creatures, but the survival rates are leagues higher than the Dawn Army's hellscape.
The moment his pen leaves the paper, the metallic bronze disk in his vision shudders. It begins to spin again, and a new surge of information rams into his mind.
[Reshape Destiny Detected.]
[You have altered your original application choices, causing a significant shift in your destiny trajectory. This meets the requirements for destiny reshaping.]
[In your original fate, your life experiences, combat awareness, and insights into martial arts will now merge with your current self. This is the basic reward for reshaping destiny.]
[Additionally, based on the difficulty of the destiny shift, the host can receive random rewards.]
[Easy Difficulty: One reward.]
[Hard Difficulty: Two rewards.]
[Hell Difficulty: Three rewards.]
[This shift is rated: Easy.]
[Drawing one random reward now…]
[Reward Acquired: F-level Ability Activation Crystal.]
[Usage: Randomly unlocks one F-level supernatural ability talent for the host.]
[This simulation cycle ends.]
[Next simulation available in: 24 hours.]
A torrent of knowledge and sensation floods Bertram's consciousness.
First, the merge. He feels the ghost-memory of military drills, the sharpened edge of combat awareness earned in Dawn Army training.
Most crucially, he fully possesses the bone-deep, visceral insight from his life-and-death breakthrough to F-rank in that ruined house.
His muscles twitch with phantom memory. His understanding of Qi circulation is now complete.
Though his body's cultivation hasn't caught up yet, his mind has mastered the path. With the right nutrients and training, he can sprint to F-level martial arts in no time.
Then, his focus shifts.
Materializing in his palm with a faint glow is a small, crystalline object, the F-level Ability Activation Crystal. It hums with a latent, chaotic energy.
A fierce surge of triumph burns in Bertram's chest.
No matter how he looks at it, boosting his cultivation is a win. Especially now.
His new applications are all for combat departments, no more safe, boring desk jobs. Raw power is the only currency that matters out there.
Only by getting stronger can he stack the odds in his favor.
Even if he avoids the Dawn Army, the annual death rate in the other front-line zones still clocks in at over 30%. It's a gamble with shitty odds.
Bertram's fingers close around the object in his palm, a transparent crystal that just blinked into existence. This is it. The key to a new ability.
Abilities are rare. A solid one can boost a man's survival rate more than martial arts alone.
Why is survival all he thinks about? Because this world is a meat grinder. Staying alive isn't a given; it's a victory.
He focuses.
The F-level ability crystal dissolves into a stream of cool energy, sinking into his skin. No one around him notices a thing.
Then an explosion in his mind.
A hazy, brilliant sensation unfolds behind his eyes.
He can feel it... a bundle of silver-white threads, thin and tough as steel wire, coiling in the space behind his forehead.
A notification burns in his vision: F-level Ability [Silver Threads] Activated.
Silver Threads: Can project up to three resilient, silver energy threads to assist in combat.
Curiosity burns through him. He can't resist testing it. Focusing, he extends a thread from his index finger.
A thin, gleaming strand of silver light shoots out. It grows, extending through the air… one foot, two feet… then it stops at three feet. A sharp strain pulses in his temples.
That's the limit.
What the hell? Only three feet?
What good is three feet of string in a fight?
Then it hits him.
The ability's potential is F-level, but his personal power level hasn't caught up. He's still Unranked. The thread's length and strength are gated by his own cultivation.
Training an ability from scratch could take months, years even. But Bertram grins, a hard, sharp grin. He remembers.
The flood of insight from the simulation, the breakthrough experience. If it works for martial arts, why not for this?
"Bertram. Time to hand in your form."
Mr. Javion's voice cuts through his thoughts. The teacher's hand comes down on his shoulder, firm and final.
Bertram passes the paper over. Javion scans it, his eyebrows lifting slightly.
"Not bad choices," he says, and there's a flicker of approval in his tired eyes.
Bertram didn't list any non-combat posts. A lot of kids think they've got insider info on the safe spots. They don't.
Choosing those overhyped slots usually means getting rejected and dumped straight into the Dawn Army grinder.
And the Dawn Army chews up anyone who isn't a monster.
Around the classroom, prayers are muttered under breath. "Please, just let me get in…"
According to the simulation, the results drop in six days.
Bertram's path is set now. He's thrown his lot in with the combat units. No point second-guessing.
The only priority left: reach F-level strength before they ship him out.
After class, Bertram corners Mr. Javion. "Teacher. I need to buy some extra-dimensional creature blood and flesh. To boost my martial arts."
Before graduation, you can get this stuff through the school system. After? You're on your own in the open market, a place where a green rookie like him would get ripped off blind.
Mr. Javion studies him. A spark of genuine respect lights in the older man's gaze. This is the right attitude, he thinks.
This is how you face the end of your safety.
"Let me recommend a shop," Javion says, his voice lower. "The owner's decent. Won't sell you fakes or watered-down junk. Prices are fair."
He feels a real pang for these kids. No city residency. This goodbye might be the last. Most of them will be dead or broken within the year.