The contract had been meticulously detailed, taking hours to negotiate each clause and make concessions. It also shed light on Everon’s nature. The agreement was straightforward: he would locate her anchor, bind it to his soul, and grant her access to his senses as a mere observer. Should he manage to find her a suitable body with reasonable effort, he would transfer her soul into it. In return, all her knowledge would be at his disposal—with certain limitations. She would also teach him about this world, protect his soul, and use her magic to assist him if he found himself in trouble. The arrangement seemed fair enough given the circumstances.
As he placed a drop of blood on the contract, sealing the deal, she smiled brightly, her eyes glinting with excitement.
“Very well! Now that we’ve settled that matter, I daresay you might be curious about how one might go about leveling up. Oh, it’s such a fascinating subject, I assure you! I simply cannot wait to share the finer details with you!” she said, her smile widening with genuine enthusiasm.
Jack exhaled deeply, his exhaustion from the past few days evident in his demeanor. “All one needs to do is take a blank sheet of paper, gently prick one’s finger, and anoint the page with a drop of blood. Then, with poise and intent, recite, 'By the flow of my blood and the strength of my soul, I seek to ascend to the next level. Let my essence resonate with power, and let my growth be realized.' In doing so, your new levels and skills shall be revealed, along with a list of your existing abilities. Regrettably, no descriptions accompany these revelations, but with practice, many of these skills become quite apparent,” she said, smiling at him with a spark of excitement in her eyes.
Jack looked at her skeptically, his tired mind struggling to process the simplicity of it all. “That's it? Nothing else? No need for human sacrifice, eating the corpses of my enemies, or waiting for a little magical box to pop up and give me weird quests to grow from?” As he finished the last one, Everon’s expression shifted from joy to concern, her smile faltering slightly as she began to regret making a deal with him. Jack gave her a weary grin. “Just kidding. Well, here I go.”
He reached out and grabbed a piece of paper, his movements slow and deliberate due to his fatigue. Taking his dagger, he poked his thumb, letting the blood drip onto the page. He recited the verse, “By the flow of my blood and the strength of my soul, I seek to ascend to the next level. Let my essence resonate with power, and let my growth be realized.” As he finished the last sentence, he felt a tug on his hand as the blood began to pull itself out, smearing into words on the paper.
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{CLASS ACQUIRED: WARRIOR LV 3} {SKILLS ACQUIRED:} [IRON WILL], [PRECISION STRIKE], [MULTI-STRIKE] {CLASS ACQUIRED: PACTBINDER LV 1} {SKILLS ACQUIRED:} [ELDRITCH ECHO] NAME: JACK ROGER AGE: 24 GENDER: MALE RACE: HUMAN TITLES: NONE CLASS: WARRIOR LV 3, PACTBINDER 1 SKILLS: IRON WILL, PRECISION STRIKE, MULTI-STRIKE, ELDRITCH ECHO
Jack stared down at the paper in slight shock, his tired mind not fully believing that it actually worked. He lifted the paper, showing it to Everon, who grinned with excitement.
"Isn’t it marvelous? Though, I must admit, one of the system's inherent features is to render the information inscribed upon that paper private and inaccessible to me. Although certain skills or magics could potentially bypass such constraints, I find myself currently devoid of the means to employ them. Might I humbly request your assistance in divulging the contents therein?” Jack nodded, appreciating the system’s tact. It showed a bit of understanding—unlike some novels where anyone could read a person’s screen if they were near them.
“Warrior level 3. I’ve got three skills: Precision Strike, Iron Will, and Multi-Strike, as well as another class, Pactbinder level 1, with the skill Eldritch Echo. Any idea what these do?” he asked, his voice heavy with fatigue. While he could kind of understand what they might do, it was better to get a clear picture—he didn’t want to mistake Iron Will for a skill that literally turned his body to iron. That would be a disaster in any fight.
Everon laughed lightly, shaking her head, her eyes sparkling with eagerness. "Oh, while it is most customary to discover the nature of one's skills through personal experience, I completely understand why someone in your unique situation might seek immediate clarification! It is indeed impressive that the system has granted you three levels in the Warrior class with your first ritual. Typically, it is recommended to perform this ritual once daily, or as frequently as possible, even if you doubt any immediate changes. The highest level I have ever observed achieved in a single ritual was six levels, including a capstone level. However, this was accomplished by an individual who had endured nearly a month of isolation on Akaris. Such extraordinary circumstances are rare, but they do underscore the potential benefits of persistent effort." She smiled warmly at Jack, clearly enjoying the discussion.
Jack realized that Everon had a habit of trailing off into tangents, especially when she was excited. She had done the same thing over and over again during their negotiations. He gave a light cough, trying to bring her back to the topic. “So, about my skills?” he asked, interrupting her enthusiastic explanation about the best type of paper to use for the rituals.
Everon looked at him as if he had just kicked her cat, huffing before continuing. "Yes, yes, I digress. Your progress in the Warrior class is indeed commendable, and it has certainly granted you some fundamental skills. Precision Strike, as the name suggests, allows you to target a specific spot on an enemy and strike with pinpoint accuracy. The Multi-Strike skill enables you to perform multiple rapid strikes in quick succession, effectively increasing your output of attacks. It is important to note that this ability is not magical; rather, it enhances your physical speed to achieve these rapid strikes. Additionally, Iron Will is a skill that fortifies your mental strength. While it is a basic skill, it is likely the reason you are able to maintain such calm and composure under pressure." She waved off his interruption, her tone slightly more serious now. "Yes, I am aware of your military training. But consider this: what training could truly aid someone in a situation like this? Hmm… none that I can think of, unless you already have knowledge of this world. Certain skills have a way of affecting individuals even before the ritual takes place."
Jack thought about this for a moment. It made sense, given everything that had happened and the things he had seen. He couldn’t just attribute it to his training. Hell, even if he had been in a special forces unit with their training, maybe, but he was a cavalry scout, not shitting on his MOS, but they didn’t get the same anti-interrogation techniques as the rangers do. Nodding his head in understanding, he waved her on, signaling her to continue.
"So, Iron Will enables one to resist most dark, cryptic, and mentally challenging experiences, providing a level-headed advantage. It’s not a cure-all, but it certainly gives you an edge in such situations. As for your other class, Pactbinder, it stems from our recent deal. Your skill, Eldritch Echo, allows you to summon a small fraction of my aura, which you can use to illuminate, enhance, or even intimidate your foes. With my aura, if you were to begin casting rituals, it would also strengthen them." Everon yawned, her form starting to look a bit translucent.
"Our time is running short, but I’ll bring you some gear tomorrow morning that I collected from a human ages ago for you to use. Until then, good night!" she said, standing up abruptly and fading away with a cheerful wave.
Jack stared in disbelief at how quickly she left, but then again, she did seem to rush through the conversation, almost as if she was getting winded. He stood up, letting the frivolous thoughts brew in the back of his mind. Moving over to the couch, he lay down, yawning deeply. Whatever happened tomorrow, he would need his rest tonight.
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Have you ever experienced such an irritating day that made no sense, and you thought it was just a dream? Well, I hope this is one of those, Jack thought as he groggily pulled himself off the uncomfortable couch. It felt like sleeping on a sponge that sucked you in and gave no support. Stretching his aching back, he caught a whiff of bacon. As he turned around, he saw a feast on the table. A sigh of relief escaped him; he had no idea what this table was, but if it kept producing food like this, he might just take it with him.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Walking over to the table, Jack sat down and began eating—bacon, eggs, strange thin pancakes, apples, and juice. It was everything he needed for a long day of work. The food was good, better than anything he’d had in a long time, but even as he ate, a sense of unease gnawed at him. Something about all this was too perfect, too easy.
It didn’t take long for Everon to appear. She looked better than she had the night before, still wearing the same witchy outfit, but her face seemed more solid, more present. She waved her hand toward another table off to the side, where an assortment of gear suddenly appeared.
“Ah, I see you’re likin’ the food—lovely! You’ll need the strength, you will. Here’s the gear I’ve picked out for you,” Everon said with a gentle smile. “I’ve chosen what I reckon’ll suit you just right, but if there’s somethin’ in particular you’re after, I’d be more than happy to see what I can do."
Swallowing down his food, Jack didn’t stuff himself full—just enough to satisfy his hunger. He knew better than to fight on a full stomach; it would only slow him down and make him sick. But the anticipation was building inside him, a mixture of anxiety and determination. Standing up, he walked over to the gear laid out before him, his heart pounding harder with each step.
The first thing Jack noticed was the gleam of the spear. It was about six feet in length, with a standard spearhead, but it looked far sturdier than his own weapon. The craftsmanship was evident in its flawless finish and balance, and as he lifted it, he felt a surge of confidence—this was a weapon that could keep him alive. Next, his eyes were drawn to the armor—a set consisting of a cuirass, greaves, and gauntlets. The armor had a silvery-blue hue, shimmering faintly in the light, giving it an almost ethereal quality. Beneath the armor was a set of leather underarmor, soft to the touch yet clearly durable, adding a layer of security that made his skin prickle.
A small bracer caught his attention, designed to fit over his left-hand gauntlet. It had a circular plate in the center, which, upon closer inspection, expanded rapidly into a full-sized shield in less than a second. The transformation was smooth, and the shield felt solid and reliable, ready to deflect whatever threats awaited him. The speed and efficiency of its deployment sent a thrill through him—this wasn’t just gear, it was a lifeline.
Alongside the armor and bracer was a short sword. Though simple in design, its plain steel blade was expertly forged, and the crossguard was subtly engraved with intricate patterns. The sword’s weight and balance in Jack's hand hinted at superior craftsmanship, marking it as more than just an ordinary weapon—it was clearly designed for both precision and reliability in battle. Jack’s grip tightened around the hilt, the anticipation building. This was a weapon for a true warrior, and it was his.
Nearby, a dagger rested in a quick-release sheath, its design reminiscent of a trench knife—compact, efficient, and deadly. The dagger’s blade was slightly curved, optimized for close combat, and its hilt was wrapped in leather for a secure grip. The sheath was crafted to allow for rapid access, making it the perfect backup weapon in tight situations. Jack’s pulse quickened; this dagger was meant for survival, and he would need every edge he could get.
There was also a pouch specially designed to be attached at the waist, containing a set of potions. The pouch was made of thick, reinforced leather, ensuring that the potions were secure yet easily accessible. The glass vials within were carefully sealed, their contents swirling with a faint, emerald glow—a promise of quick recovery in dire moments. The thought of relying on these in a critical moment sent a shiver down his spine.
A pair of sturdy leather boots was included as well, deceptively simple in appearance. Upon closer inspection, Jack discovered a hidden blade cleverly concealed in the toe section of each boot. The blades were spring-loaded, designed to snap out in a heartbeat, offering an unexpected advantage in close quarters. The thought of having such a hidden weapon made his excitement rise even further, but also a bit of fear—what kind of situation would require such a weapon?
Finally, there was a bag of rations—a compact, well-organized satchel filled with dried meats, hardtack, and a small container of water. The bag was lightweight yet packed with enough sustenance to keep him going for days, reflecting a careful consideration of both practicality and necessity. Jack could feel the weight of the adventure ahead pressing down on him, but he was ready—or at least, he hoped he was.
After strapping on all the gear and securing everything in place, Jack felt like a true adventurer from the stories, but there was no mistaking the gravity of what lay ahead. Everon smiled at him and gestured to the door in the back, the doorway to whatever awaited him beyond. Gripping the spear tightly, Jack grunted and marched toward it, his heart thumping with a mixture of fear and excitement. He was ready—or so he told himself. Whatever came next, he had no choice but to face it.
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Everon’s smile faded the moment Jack’s back disappeared beyond the closing door. As the latch clicked shut, her cheerful facade crumbled, replaced by a grimace that twisted her delicate features into something far less inviting. The air around her thickened as her aura seeped into the room, a biting darkness tainted with the faintest scent of blood. She had learned long ago that the bubbly noblewoman act was a useful tool, a mask that lowered the defenses of even the most guarded individuals. But here, in her own domain, there was no need for such pretenses.
Scowling, Everon moved like a shadow, her form dissipating into a dark mist that flowed out of the chamber and reappeared in her true realm. The space was a twisted parody of a throne room—her seat of power was a grotesque, black throne forged from obsidian that seemed to writhe and flow as though it had been molten just moments ago. To her left lay a mound of skulls, trophies from her countless conquests, and to her right, a cauldron bubbled ominously beside shelves lined with ancient, forbidden tomes. The atmosphere was thick, oppressive, the very air warped with dark energy. Treasures were strewn about haphazardly, like a dragon’s hoard, though in truth, the comparison was more accurate than one might dare to assume.
Everon’s eyes fell upon one of the three most prized skulls she had collected during her time among the living. Each one held a story of power, betrayal, and death—a testament to her unyielding will. With a low hiss, she settled into her throne, the cold obsidian conforming to her form as if welcoming her back. She summoned the Web of Fate before her, a vast, intricate network of threads that pulsed and crackled with dark energy. This web was no mere chart of destinies—it was a chaotic convergence of billions of threads, all tangled and knotted, leading to an uncertain and terrifying future. The sight was overwhelming, and Everon could barely trace the connections through the thick mass of entanglements.
Among the countless threads, she saw them clearly—pale red threads, the lifelines of ordinary mortals, trembling with fear; blood-gold threads, shining with the potential for great power and ambition; and inky black threads, throbbing with malice and evil. There were other threads, too, faded and barely visible, representing lives on the brink of extinction or choices that would lead to ruin. The sheer magnitude of it all sent a shiver through Everon’s spine. The era that was dawning, whatever it might be, would dwarf even the era of legends into which she had been born.
She narrowed her eyes, trying to make sense of the web, but the more she stared, the more the threads seemed to twist and coil, defying any attempt at understanding. Jack was not the only one who had come from his world; over a hundred threads from his realm had somehow become enmeshed in this chaotic tangle. This was not mere coincidence—it was a harbinger of change, an upheaval that would shake the foundations of every world.
But what disturbed her most were the faint, almost imperceptible tears forming in the veil between realms. These breaches had been sealed off eons ago, long before her birth, and despite her countless efforts to tear them open, they had remained unyielding. Until now.
The sight of those tiny, fragile rips filled her with a rare, cold dread. She had no knowledge of what horrors might exist beyond them, nor what might crawl through if they were to widen. The arrival of these mortals was a sign of an impending transformation—one she had not foreseen, and one that could spell disaster or unimaginable power.
Sighing deeply, Everon realized that anchoring herself to this mortal might have been a more prudent decision than she initially thought. Time was running out for her as well, and this binding was her last, desperate gamble.
With a resigned sigh, she reached out to a nearby pile of treasure, retrieving a dark orb that pulsed with malevolent energy. She murmured a spell, her voice low and sinister: “𐎽𐎧𐎮𐎼 𐎬𐎤 𐎩𐎠𐎢𐎪.” An image of Jack flickered to life within the orb, showing him preparing for what lay ahead. Everon conjured a small bag of crisped potato slices, munching on them absently as she watched the scene unfold. She estimated it would take Jack no more than two days to complete the task she had set before him. Perhaps he might level up once or twice, depending on his tactics, but she had little doubt he could cut his way through the mobs with some difficulty. He was smarter than most of the low-ranked adventurers she had encountered in her time.
Her only true concern was the boss at the end—the Skeleton Chimera. A wicked grin spread across her lips as she imagined the battle to come. Jack might be in for a surprise, and Everon couldn’t wait to see how he would handle the cursed warrior that awaited him.