Sid led me through the town with his usual purposeful stride, his sword hanging at his hip and his hand resting lightly on the hilt. The streets were lively, filled with merchants calling out to passersby, children darting between wagons, and guild members heading to and from contracts. It was a scene I was starting to get used to, but every now and then I’d still catch sight of something strange—a man riding what looked like a giant lizard instead of a horse, a vendor selling glowing flowers that pulsed like a heartbeat, or a bard singing a song about a "talking fish that challenged a knight." This world loved to remind me that it wasn’t Earth.
As we weaved through the streets, Sid started talking, his tone serious but casual, like he was giving a lecture he’d given a hundred times before.
“You’re gaining levels now,” he said, glancing at me. “And, as you’ve seen, you’ve killed a few things higher-level than you. That’s good—it means you’re progressing. But it’s time you understood what you’re up against and how far you’ve still got to go.”
I nodded, already bracing myself for what I suspected would be another dose of reality.
“There are basically three types of opponents you’ll face,” Sid continued. “Creatures, Monsters, and Humanoids. Each one is different, and each one poses its own kind of challenge.”
I frowned. “Okay, I know about creatures and monsters, but... what’s the difference between them? I thought they were basically the same.”
“Not even close,” Sid said with a smirk. “Let me break it down for you. Creatures are born here. They’re the natural wildlife of this world—deer, bears, rabbits, boars, stuff like that. Normally, we only fight them when something’s gone wrong, like when magic is involved. Magic can twist creatures, make them aggressive or dangerous in ways they weren’t meant to be. That’s when we deal with them—or if we’re hunting for food, of course.”
“Okay, so creatures are just normal animals unless something messes with them,” I said.
“Exactly. Then you’ve got Monsters. And this is where things get interesting.”
Sid paused as we passed a group of kids playing with wooden swords, one of them pretending to be a knight while the others mimicked monsters with growls and clawed hands. He smiled faintly at the sight before turning back to me.
“Monsters spawn here. They’re not natural—they come from somewhere else. No one really knows where or why, but they appear in the world, fully formed, with levels assigned by the System. And that’s where things get tricky for you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why me specifically?”
“Because you’re an Outlander,” Sid said bluntly. “And like it or not, people associate Outlanders with monsters. You weren’t born here—you showed up. You have abilities tied to something people don’t understand. You’re closer to them than you are to us.”
“That’s... comforting,” I muttered, crossing my arms.
“It’s not about comfort. It’s about understanding,” Sid said, his voice firm. “Monsters are the most common opponents you’ll fight. They come in all shapes and sizes—big, small, stupid, clever. The good news is, the zone we’re in now is a low-level zone. Most of what we deal with here are creatures, not monsters. And the monsters that do spawn here are weak enough that the local guild branch can handle them without breaking a sweat.”
“Which is why you’re top dog here,” I said with a small grin.
Sid chuckled. “Exactly. I’m high enough level that nothing in this zone poses a threat to me. That gives me authority here—people listen to me because they know I can protect them. But once we head to a place like the central city, that’s going to change.”
“How so?”
“Because the stakes are higher,” Sid said, his expression darkening slightly. “The area outside the city walls is a mid-level zone. Most creatures don’t survive there—monsters wipe them out too quickly. The stuff you’ll find out there ranges around level 50, sometimes higher. The city is warded to keep monsters from spawning inside the walls, but that protection ends the moment you step outside the gate.”
“Warded?” I asked. “Like with magic?”
“Yeah,” Sid said with a shrug. “I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on magic, but I’ll keep it simple for you: warding is resource-intensive. It’s expensive and difficult to maintain, so we can’t ward everything. That’s why only cities and some key villages have it. Everywhere else? You’re on your own.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Sounds like fun.”
Sid smirked. “It gets better. Let’s talk about Humanoids.”
I perked up a little at that. “Humanoids? Like other people?”
“Exactly,” Sid said. “Humanoids are any race that can communicate, organize, and train. That includes humans, elves, dwarves, orcs—basically anything with a brain that uses the System like we do. They’re the hardest opponents you’ll face.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re smart,” Sid said simply. “Monsters are tough, sure, but most of them are dumb, especially at lower levels. They don’t think—they act on instinct. That’s why your skills can make up for the level difference. A level 10 monster might be stronger than you, but if it’s stupid, you can outsmart it.
“But humanoids? They’re just like you. They can communicate, coordinate, train, and specialize. They have skills, weapons, and strategies, and they know how to put their stats to the most use. A humanoid at your level—or even slightly below it—can be way more dangerous than a monster that’s ten levels higher.”
I frowned, processing that. “So, basically, monsters are tough but dumb, while humanoids are tough and smart?”
“Exactly. And the higher the level difference, the worse it gets. At a certain point, the gap becomes impossible to overcome. If something’s strong enough, your attacks won’t even scratch it.”
“Wait—what do you mean?”
“I mean there can be such a difference in level that your attacks literally can’t pierce their skin,” Sid said grimly. “Your weapon will bounce off like you’re hitting steel with a wooden stick. That’s the point where no amount of skill can save you.”
I swallowed hard. “So... what am I supposed to do when I run into something like that?”
“Don’t fight it,” Sid said simply. “Run. Hide. Survive. That’s the only advice I can give you.”
We walked the rest of the way in silence, his words weighing heavily on my mind. It was clear now just how far I had to go. I wasn’t just some low-level Outlander trying to get by—I was an anomaly in a world that didn’t fully trust me, up against creatures, monsters, and humanoids that could crush me if I wasn’t careful.
By the time we reached the guardhouse, my goals felt both clearer and farther away. I wasn’t just training to get stronger—I was training to survive in a world that wasn’t built for me. And I was determined not to let it break me.
The guard at the gates waved us through without a word, clearly recognizing Sid by his reputation. As we stepped into the compound, I noticed the shift in the air immediately. It wasn’t just the size of the place, though it was massive—a fortress of gray stone with towering walls and banners displaying the imperial crest, a golden eagle against a black field. It wasn’t even the soldiers milling about, their polished armor glinting in the midday sun.
No, it was the weight of the place. A kind of silent authority that pressed down on you, reminding you that this wasn’t some backwoods guild hall or cozy town guard post. This was something bigger. Something sharper.
A second guard escorted us up a winding staircase to a balcony overlooking a vast training yard. When we stepped out, I froze. Below us were about thirty men, all clad in gleaming, identical armor. They moved in unison, their swords flashing as they slashed, parried, and struck in perfect synchronization.
It was mesmerizing. The way they moved—it was like watching a single organism, each soldier an extension of some unseen will. Every swing, every step, every clash of metal was perfectly timed. They weren’t just trained; they were disciplined on a level I’d never seen before.
Sid stood beside me, arms crossed, his sharp gaze scanning the soldiers below. “This,” he said, his voice low but heavy with meaning, “is the Legion.”
“The Legion?” I echoed, still staring at the men below.
Sid nodded. “The Guilds, the City Guard, the Legion—they all serve different purposes in this world. The Guilds, like us, have different agendas. Some focus on dungeon crawling, others on monster hunting, others on mercenary work. But in the end, the Guilds are private organizations. They take contracts and get paid to do a job. Their loyalty is to whoever’s signing the checks.”
I nodded, following his explanation. That much made sense.
“The City Guard,” Sid continued, “is different. They work directly for the city. For the local duke or lord. They’re responsible for maintaining order—handling threats inside the city, settling disputes, protecting citizens. They’re local, bound to the city they serve.”
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“Okay,” I said slowly. “So what’s the Legion, then?”
Sid smirked faintly, gesturing to the men below. “The Legion doesn’t answer to a city or a duke. They don’t care about Guild contracts or petty local disputes. The Legion works directly for Emperor Titan. Their sole purpose is to protect the Empire itself. If the Slate were to attack from the south, or the Con clans marched down from the north, or some new threat emerged that put the entire Empire at risk—the Legion would be the first line of defense.”
I let that sink in for a moment, my eyes drifting back to the men below. There was something unnervingly calm about them. No yelling, no banter, no wasted movement. Just pure, efficient precision.
“And every single one of them,” Sid added, “is level 100 or higher.”
I blinked, turning to look at him. “What?”
Sid nodded, his expression serious. “No one in this courtyard is under level 100. And keep in mind—this is a low-level zone. These men are just a fraction of the Legion. There are many, many more of them, stationed across the Empire, waiting for orders. And they’re not even the strongest.”
I frowned. “Not the strongest? Who is, then?”
Sid leaned against the railing, staring out at the courtyard. “That would be the Emperor himself. Emperor Titan. No one knows his exact level, but it’s guessed to be somewhere near 280.”
I felt my jaw drop. “Two-hundred and eighty?!”
Sid smirked faintly. “Yep. The highest known human level in the Empire. No one’s seen his actual stats, but a long while back, the Emperor celebrated hitting level 250. He made a big deal about it—threw a festival in the central city that lasted an entire week. Everyone who attended saw his level displayed. Since then, people have guessed he’s been climbing steadily, though no one knows for sure.”
“That’s insane,” I muttered, leaning against the railing. “How does someone even get that strong?”
Sid shrugged. “Decades of fighting, training, leveling up. You’re looking at a lifetime of work—and more. The Emperor’s been around a long time, Sigvard. Some say he’s been alive far longer than a normal human should be. Whether it’s because of the System, some magic, or something else entirely, no one really knows. But one thing’s certain: you don’t reach that level without being a force of nature.”
I tried to wrap my head around the number. Level 280. I was sitting at 7. It felt like staring up at the top of a mountain that disappeared into the clouds.
“And just so you understand how dangerous this world can get,” Sid added, his tone dropping slightly, “the highest-level monster ever recorded was level 300.”
That got my attention. “Level 300?”
“Yeah,” Sid said grimly. “It was a long time ago, before the Emperor’s reign. A monster—some kind of massive wyrm—spawned near what’s now the central city. Took an army to bring it down. Hundreds of soldiers, dozens of mages, Guild adventurers… most of them died. But they managed to kill it. Barely.”
“And nothing’s spawned higher than that since?”
“Not that we know of,” Sid said. “But the System is unpredictable. Monsters spawn where they want, when they want. If another level 300 ever shows up… well, let’s just say I hope I’m not the one sent to fight it.”
I stared back down at the soldiers below, suddenly feeling very small. Level 100 men swinging their swords with perfect precision, a level 280 Emperor watching over them, and a level 300 monster lurking somewhere in the history books.
Sid clapped me on the shoulder, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Don’t get discouraged, kid. Everyone starts at the bottom. You’ll get there—if you survive long enough.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. “That’s inspiring.”
He chuckled, heading toward the stairs. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before you start trying to challenge one of them to a duel.”
I followed him, my thoughts still lingering on the massive gap between me and the people around me. Level 100. Level 280. Level 300.
I had a long, long way to go.
As we walked back to the inn, Sid kept talking, his voice calm but firm, like he was drilling the lesson into my head. I could tell this wasn’t just casual advice—it was something he wanted me to take seriously.
“You’ve got a lot of potential, Sigvard,” he said, glancing at me as we wove through the crowded streets. “But potential doesn’t mean much if you don’t live long enough to use it. You’ve got a choice to make now—how fast do you want to climb? You want to take risks and level quickly, or do you want to play it safe and take your time?”
I looked at him, frowning. “What kind of risks are we talking about here?”
“The kind that can kill you,” he said bluntly. “Fighting monsters or creatures above your level. Sure, the higher the level gap, the more experience you’ll get if you win. But if you bite off more than you can chew, you won’t get a second chance. This world doesn’t hand out free resurrections.”
I stayed quiet, turning his words over in my head. He was right—fighting those bandits had been the riskiest thing I’d done since coming to this world, and I’d barely survived. It wasn’t hard to imagine how much worse it could get if I went up against something ten or twenty levels higher than me.
Sid seemed to sense my unease because he added, “Look, there’s no rush. Time isn’t working against you here. Humans in this world live a hell of a lot longer than the ones in yours.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
He smirked faintly. “On Earth, what’s the average lifespan? Seventy, eighty years?”
“Yeah, about that.”
“Well, here, the average human—one who doesn’t get themselves killed—can live nearly three hundred years.”
I stopped walking for a moment, staring at him. “Three hundred? Are you serious?”
Sid nodded, still moving ahead of me. “The System does more than track your stats and skills. Once you start leveling, your body starts to change. Your stats don’t just make you stronger or faster—they also slow down aging, keep you healthier, and extend your lifespan. If you make it past level 100, your stats can push that even further.”
I hurried to catch up, still wrapping my head around what he’d just said. “So, what, I could live to be four hundred?”
“Maybe even longer,” he said, shrugging. “Titan’s the best example of that. The man’s 567 years old.”
I stumbled slightly, nearly tripping over a loose cobblestone. “Five hundred and sixty-seven?”
Sid laughed, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Yeah. No one knows his exact level, but he celebrated hitting 250 decades ago, and people guess he’s somewhere close to 280 now. At his level, his stats are so high they’ve practically frozen his aging. No one knows how long he’ll live, but if anyone’s going to break records, it’s him.”
I shook my head, trying to process it all. Back on Earth, life always felt like a race against the clock. There was never enough time to do everything you wanted, and the fear of getting older always loomed over you. But here? Time wasn’t the same. If I played my cards right, I could have centuries to figure everything out.
But even as I thought that, a familiar unease crept in. Just because I could live for centuries didn’t mean I had the luxury of waiting around. The corruption inside me was a wild card, and I had no idea what it would do if I stayed stagnant for too long. Sid seemed confident that the portal’s closure had stopped the corruption from spreading to the rest of the world, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still a threat to me.
And then there was the city. Sid made it clear I wasn’t ready for that yet.
“You’re going to need to hit at least level 50 before we can make the trip to the central city,” he’d said earlier, his voice firm. “Anything less, and you’ll just be a liability. The creatures and monsters outside the city gates will be way above your pay grade, and if you somehow survive that, you’ll still have to deal with the people inside. The city’s not a low-level zone, Sigvard. If you’re not strong enough, you won’t last a day there.”
“Fifty,” I’d repeated, the number sounding impossibly high. I was level 7. The idea of grinding my way up to 50 seemed like it would take forever.
Sid must’ve caught the look on my face because he’d smirked. “Relax. It’s not as bad as it sounds. If you play it safe and stick to contracts at your level, it might take a decade or two. But if you’re willing to take some risks, fight things a few levels higher than you, you could get there in a couple of years. Maybe even faster, if you’re lucky.”
I hadn’t liked the sound of that. “A couple of years? Just to get to 50?”
He’d shrugged. “That’s the grind, kid. Everyone starts at the bottom. It’s not a sprint—it’s a marathon. Take the time to train, sharpen your skills, and grow at your own pace. If you try to rush it, you’ll just end up dead.”
But the thought of waiting years to reach level 50 felt impossible. The corruption inside me wasn’t going to wait. Every time I summoned a shadow weapon or pushed into Shadowform, I could feel it—like something just under the surface, waiting for a moment of weakness.
We reached the inn, and as we stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the place wrapped around me. Mason waved from behind the counter, his usual cheerful smile in place, and the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the air.
I didn’t say much to Sid as I headed upstairs to my room. My thoughts were too tangled, my mind buzzing with everything he’d said.
Once I was alone, I pulled up my status screen and stared at it for a long time. Level 7. A long way from 50. An even longer way from anything close to what Sid or Titan had achieved. But I couldn’t think about that now.
Sid was right—I needed to be smart about this. Rushing into dangerous fights wouldn’t get me anywhere but dead. But at the same time, I couldn’t afford to take it slow. The corruption was still in me, and every day I felt its weight just a little more.
I didn’t have centuries. I barely felt like I had years.
If I was going to survive, if I was going to make it to the central city and find the answers I needed, I had to grow stronger. Faster. Smarter.
For now, that meant grinding contracts, training harder, and pushing myself further every day. Because even if time wasn’t my enemy in this world, the Darkness inside me definitely was.
As I laid back on the small, slightly too-firm bed in my room at the inn, the fatigue from the day finally began to take hold. My muscles ached from training, my mind churned with everything Sid had told me, and the faint creak of the wooden building around me somehow felt comforting. I stared at the ceiling, tracing the faint cracks in the wood, my thoughts wandering.
For the first time since I’d woken up in that prison cell, I thought about home.
I hadn’t let myself think about it before—maybe because it felt too far away, too unreal, like some half-forgotten dream. But now, as sleep crept closer, the memories started to come back. The routines, the faces, the life I’d left behind. Back there, I was Mark. Just Mark.
Mark didn’t really do anything. Sure, I went to work, paid my bills, and got by. But that was it—just getting by. I never put a lot of effort into, well, anything.
In school, I wasn’t in sports or clubs. Not because I couldn’t do them—I just didn’t see the point. Why go the extra mile when the bare minimum got you through? Sure, I passed my classes and graduated, but that same lack of ambition followed me into adulthood.
In that world, IT was my job. I was decent at it, but I wasn’t passionate. It was just a paycheck. I did what I needed to do and no more. And when it came to relationships—marriage, parenting—I was the same way. I did what was expected, but I didn’t put my heart into it. I wasn’t terrible, but I wasn’t great either. Just… there. Mark was a lazy shit. I could admit that now. But now I wasn’t Mark anymore.
Here, in this world, I was Sigvard. The name felt strange at first, foreign on my tongue, but now it felt like something I could own. Something I could build into something better. Sigvard didn’t have to make the same mistakes Mark did.
Here, I had a chance to be more. To push myself. To fight for something bigger than just “getting by.” I could already feel it—this world demanded effort, grit, determination. And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid to give it.
I wouldn’t waste this chance. I wouldn’t let this world turn me into the same useless guy I’d been back home. Because here, I didn’t have a job to coast through or a life I was just surviving. Here, I had a reason to get better—a reason to fight. As my eyes drifted shut, the weight of the day pulling me toward sleep, one thought lingered in my mind: Mark was gone. Sigvard was here. And Sigvard wasn’t going to settle for “good enough.” Not anymore.