I set out in the direction only a few others had chosen—none of the other watchers. From the wall, it had looked like they were heading toward a swamp. The landscape shifted as I moved, dust giving way to damp earth, the air thickening with moisture. Trees loomed in the distance, their skeletal branches twisting like grasping hands. Everything about the place screamed stay away.
Perfect.
Fewer competitors meant less risk, and a higher chance of finding something valuable. I wasn’t here to play it safe. I was here to win.
The dry ground soon turned to mush, each step sucking at my boots. Pools of stagnant water shimmered under the pale light, their surfaces broken by sluggish ripples. Something moved beneath one—a sinuous shape, slow and patient, like it knew I was coming.
I stayed light on my feet, skirting the edges of the marsh, scanning for paths that wouldn’t drag me into knee-deep sludge. Every step was deliberate. Every breath measured. The Colosseum behind me was silent now, its towering walls fading into the horizon like the memory of a bad dream. Nothing but buzzing insects and the faint, rhythmic croaking of something far larger than a frog filled the air.
That’s when I saw it. Not a teacher—something that sank reality deep into my core.
A corpse, half-sunk into the mud, arms outstretched as if reaching for salvation.
One of the few participants I’d seen heading this way. Dead already.
I forced myself to look, to etch the image into my mind. This is what happens when you’re not prepared. This is the life I live now.
I stepped around the corpse, boots squelching in the mud, eyes darting to every twisted tree and shadowed pool. This wasn’t just a swamp—it was a hunting ground.
And I was the prey.
The first sign was the ripple. Not in the water, but in the air—like heat haze, warping the space just beyond the corpse. I froze, instincts screaming. A shimmer shifted, solidifying into something vaguely humanoid but wrong. Its limbs were too long, its joints bent the wrong way, and where a face should have been, there was only a gaping hole, like the maw of a lamprey.
It moved.
Fast.
I barely dodged as a clawed hand swiped through the space where my throat had been. Mud sprayed as I stumbled back, heart pounding. No weapon, no armor—just my wits and the environment.
Think, damn it. This isn’t a game.
The creature lunged again, silent but relentless. I ducked under its outstretched arms and kicked at its knee, hoping the joint bent normally. It didn’t. My foot met bone like steel, jarring me down to one knee.
Pain flared, but adrenaline drowned it out. I rolled sideways as the thing’s claw gouged deep furrows into the mud where I’d been kneeling. It wasn’t just attacking—it was herding me, pushing me toward the deeper pools.
It wants me in the water.
No chance. My tail lashed out, instinctively sweeping across the ground behind me. It struck something solid—a body. The corpse from earlier, half-sunk in the muck. My tail coiled around the dead man’s belt, the muscles tightening with surprising precision. Something cold, hard, and distinctly metallic pressed against the underside of my tail.
A weapon.
The creature screeched and charged again, but I didn’t retreat. I pivoted, tail snapping forward, flicking the object into my waiting hand. My fingers closed around a dagger—rusted, chipped, but solid. The leather grip, soaked and half-rotted, squished beneath my grasp, but the blade itself gleamed with stubborn resilience.
The creature hesitated. It knew.
"Yeah," I muttered, breathless. "Not so bold now, are you?"
It shrieked—a high-pitched, keening wail that made my vision blur. It rushed forward, claws slicing through the air. I sidestepped, tail whipping low to sweep its legs.
The thing stumbled, balance thrown off just enough. I surged forward, dagger leading the way.
The blade punched into its chest, right where a heart should’ve been. The impact jarred my arm, but the dagger bit deep, and for a moment, the thing froze. Shock? Pain? Who knew if it could feel either.
But it was enough.
I twisted the blade, driving it upward. The creature spasmed, limbs flailing wildly. One claw caught my shoulder, ripping through cloth and skin like paper. Fire bloomed along my nerves, but I gritted my teeth and shoved harder.
The dagger sank to the hilt. The shrieking stopped.
The thing collapsed, pulling me down with it, half-crushed into the mud. I rolled clear, gasping, blood hot and sticky down my arm. My tail, trembling from exertion, curled protectively around my waist.
For a long moment, I just lay there, chest heaving, the damp earth cool against my back. Above, skeletal branches framed a sky that suddenly felt too vast.
The corpse, the dagger, the creature—all reminders. This wasn’t a trial anymore. It was life or death, every moment, every step.
I stood, wiping the dagger clean on my pant leg. The wound on my shoulder throbbed, but the bleeding had slowed. I’d survive. This time.
Survival isn’t just about strength. It’s about knowing when to fight, when to run, and when to kill.
I glanced once more at the corpse, the final lesson it had to offer. The creature lay sprawled in the muck, its lamprey-like maw slack, claws twitching in the last spasms of death. Dark ichor oozed from the hole in its chest—a wound carved by desperation, not skill.
Ding!
You have slain level 2 Hollowshade Stalker.
You have leveled up.
I blinked, processing the words floating in my vision. Hollowshade Stalker. So that’s what nearly killed me. It looked like something dredged from nightmares—sleek black fur matted with swamp water, eyes like burning coals now dimmed in death.
I swallowed hard. If this was level two, what the hell did level ten look like?
The notification lingered for a moment longer before fading, leaving behind an icon in the corner of my vision. Unspent points. Power waiting to be claimed.
But the power didn’t hit me immediately. No sudden rush of strength, no clearing of the mind. Just the cold reality of choice. I’d have to allocate those points myself.
Later. When I wasn’t standing ankle-deep in muck, bleeding, and half-expecting another one of these things to lunge from the shadows.
I knelt beside the corpse, grimacing as I pushed it aside with my tail. Something glinted beneath its body, half-buried in the mud—a blade, longer than the one I’d scavenged earlier. Serrated edge, worn leather grip, faintly humming with potential.
New Item: Fangpiercer (Uncommon).
I turned the dagger over in my hand. Not perfect, but better than what I had. The weight felt right, the balance solid. I tucked it into my belt and straightened, ignoring the dull ache in my shoulder.
The swamp stretched ahead, murky and quiet. No rustling, no movement. For now, at least.
I flexed my fingers, tail curling behind me, and glanced at the lingering icon in the corner of my vision.
Points to spend!
The excitement cut through my exhaustion like a rush of adrenaline. I didn’t want to sit directly on top of the slain monster—its ichor still seeped into the mud—so I moved a bit away until I found a half-rotted log. It wasn't exactly a throne, but after nearly getting gutted, it might as well have been a feathered couch.
Dropping onto the log with a relieved sigh, I pulled up my status window, eager to allocate my hard-earned rewards.
You have slain Level 2 Hollowshade Stalker.
You have leveled up. 5 Attribute Points available.
Bonus Achievements:
Efficient Kill: Minimal damage sustained. (+1 Point)
Resourceful Combat: Environmental advantage used. (+1 Point)
Seven points. Seven beautiful, life-saving points. I hadn't expected the system to reward creativity and efficiency, but I'd take it.
The ache in my shoulder was a blunt reminder of how close that fight had been. My speed had barely saved me. My strength had felt lacking. And endurance? The fact that I was panting like a dog said it all.
I split the points where they’d count most: one each into strength, agility, and dexterity—enough to hit harder, move faster, and strike true. The other four went into endurance, because it didn’t matter how hard I hit if I couldn’t take a hit back.
The numbers shifted with a soft chime, and my final status flickered into place:
Name: Kale Orrmons
Race: Demon
Level: 2E
* Strength: 7
* Agility: 7
* Endurance: 10
* Dexterity: 7
* Intelligence: 8
* Wisdom: 11
* Charisma: 12
* Willpower: 8
* Mana Control: 7
* Perception: 5
Skill Points Remaining: 1
Wait. I had a skill point.
My breath caught. I hadn’t even considered skills, but of course they’d be part of this. I clicked the glowing prompt, and a new window expanded into view.
The list was… massive.
It wasn’t just a handful of options. There were pages of them, sprawling categories that seemed to scroll endlessly. General skills for survival—Tracking, Stealth, Weapon Proficiency, First Aid. Combat skills like Piercing Strike, Riposte, and Unyielding Guard. Magic-based abilities—Minor Flame, Mana Shield, Life Sense. And those were just the obvious ones.
What really caught my eye, though, were the race-specific skills. Demonic Presence, Tail Mastery, Blood Pact—abilities tailored to the strengths of my new form.
One skill immediately stood out: Death's Aura. The name alone screamed power, and I couldn’t resist tapping it. But instead of a confirmation, a message flickered across my vision:
You are not strong enough for this skill. Must be Level 1A or above.
I frowned. Level 1A? That didn’t match the E2 next to my status. Was that just a fancy way of saying I was still a beginner?
As I scrolled further, a pattern emerged. Every ability had a tier requirement—1E, 3D, 5C—alongside their level prerequisites. This wasn’t just about gaining levels; there was a hierarchy here, one no one had bothered to explain.
So, "E" must be my tier… the bottom rung. It made sense, in a frustratingly game-like way. If E was the start, then D, C, and so on were the path upward. The system probably assumed I'd figure it out eventually.
And if I need to hit 1A for this skill… I glanced at my level. E2. A long road stretched ahead.
I poured over the skill list, eyes darting from one tempting option to the next. There were countless abilities I wanted to unlock—skills that promised power, resilience, or finesse. But something held me back. Instinct, maybe. A gut feeling that skill points would be scarce, and each choice would shape my survival.
Some skills, while flashy, seemed impractical for my current situation. Like—
Tail Mastery (Demon-Specific): Improves control, strength, and dexterity of your tail, allowing it to grapple, trip, or even wield light weapons.
I almost laughed. I could already use my tail to trip opponents. Hell, I’d done it instinctively during the last fight. With practice, I was confident I could teach myself to grapple or even wield a weapon with it. Why waste a point on something I could develop naturally?
No, I needed something that offered an edge now—something that could tip the scales in my favor the next time a Hollowshade Stalker, or worse, crossed my path.
As I sat there, scrolling through my options, I felt a sharp prick on my neck. I swatted at it instinctively, expecting nothing more than a bothersome insect. But when my fingers brushed the spot, I found something worse.
A stinger.
It twitched once, then burrowed deeper into my skin before I could grab it—sinking in until it vanished completely.
My breath hitched. That wasn’t just worrisome. That was bad.
I stood up, heart pounding, eyes sweeping the swamp. Something had gotten the drop on me. Me. The one who prided himself on staying cautious, staying smart. How the hell had I missed an ambush while obsessing over skill choices?
Then I saw it.
A toad. No, the toad—the size of a hog, squatting in the muck like it owned the place. Warts covered its slimy green-brown skin, blending perfectly with the murky surroundings. Its bulbous eyes fixed on me, unblinking.
And it smiled.
Smiled.
“I’ve been waiting for you to drop your guard, you know.” Its voice rasped out in a deep, wet croak, like stones grinding together under water.
I froze. My mind scrambled for an explanation. Some creatures mimicked speech, right? Like parrots or certain magical familiars? But this… this was conversation. Intentional. Directed.
The toad chuckled—a horrible, rumbling sound. “Sat right here, just past the swamp’s edge, watching fools wander in. You’ve already met one of them, I’m sure. Unfortunate soul.” It flicked its tongue lazily toward the half-sunken corpse I'd passed earlier. “Didn’t even scream long.”
The grin widened, stretching its rubbery face in a mockery of amusement. “But you? You were focused. Thoughtful. Careful. Almost didn’t give me an opening. Almost.”
I clenched my fists, anger rising to meet confusion. “Wait. You’re a participant too? Why not try to team up first instead of hunting us down like animals?”
The toad snorted, mucus bubbling at the edge of its nostrils. “Team up? You really don’t get it, do you? There’s no trust here. No alliances worth more than the first stab in the back. The strong don’t team up. They feed.” It shifted forward, muscles tensing beneath its slimy hide. “So I chose a form perfect for this world. Small enough to hide. Harmless enough to be ignored. Deadly enough to finish fights before they start.”
Its throat puffed out, throat sacs glistening like oil-slicked leather. “And the rewards? Oh, they’re worth it. Leveling off the slow and stupid? There’s nothing sweeter.”
Something was wrong. The way it grinned—too wide, too eager. Like it wasn’t just gloating. It was waiting.
Why?
The answer hit me like a punch to the gut. A tremor coursed through my body—small, almost unnoticeable, but enough to make my knees buckle for a moment. My vision blurred at the edges. Breath caught short. The stinger.
Shit.
The poison was kicking in.
The tremor in my limbs grew worse, spreading from my neck down my spine. My breath quickened, sharp and ragged, like my lungs had forgotten how to work. Whatever that stinger had pumped into me—it was strong. Too strong.
The toad watched, smug and patient, its grin stretching wider as I stumbled back a step.
"Feeling it now, aren't you?" it croaked, voice thick with satisfaction. "My venom’s quick. Not enough to kill—not yet. Just enough to slow you down. Make you sloppy. Make the end easy."
My tail flicked behind me, instinctively trying to balance my weakening frame. Screw that. I wasn't about to die to a swamp frog with an ego problem.
I surged forward, dagger in hand, slashing with everything I had left. It should have been an easy hit. The damn thing was huge—like trying to miss a boulder sitting in the mud.
But the toad was gone before my blade even reached the space it had occupied.
Not leaping. Not hopping.
Sliding.
Its entire body rippled, legs tucking tight as it glided across the swamp like a shadow cast by moonlight. It didn’t just dodge—it danced, slipping through the muck without so much as a splash.
Agility. It must’ve dumped nearly all its points into it. Smart bastard.
I spun, tracking its movement, and slashed again. Another miss. Then another. Each attack left me more unbalanced, more drained. The poison chewed through my muscles like fire, eating away my strength while the toad darted around me, never closing in, never striking back.
It didn’t need to. Time was its weapon.
“You can’t win like this,” it croaked, almost pitying. Almost. “I don’t fight fair. I fight smart. Should’ve picked something faster than that pretty little body of yours, demon.”
The word demon hissed like an insult, like it had already written my obituary. I tried to move, but my legs buckled. My vision swam. The damn thing was wearing me down faster than I’d thought possible.
The toad dipped out of sight, slipping behind a cluster of skeletal trees. I froze, breath held, heart thudding against my ribs. Think, Kale. Think.
I didn’t have time to win this fight clean. I needed an edge—now.
Desperate, I yanked open my skill screen, fingers trembling as I scrolled past useless passives and flashy abilities I couldn't afford. My vision blurred, icons swimming together, until one stood out.
Demon-Specific Skill Unlocked: Searing Vigor
Channel pain into raw strength and speed. While active, poison and exhaustion are suppressed. The more pain you endure, the stronger and faster you become. Backlash scales with duration and intensity.
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Cost: 10 Mana per second.
The description was clear: borrow power now, suffer for it later.
Perfect.
The toad's slimy form flickered into view again, circling like a predator waiting for the final stumble. Its grin widened.
I grinned back and slammed the skill into activation.
Searing Vigor: Active.
Heat exploded through my veins, igniting every nerve ending. The poison’s fog lifted in an instant, but the ache in my shoulder, the deep throb of strained muscles, the raw burn of scraped skin—none of it faded. It sharpened. Amplified. Like someone had twisted the dial on my suffering to the max.
But so did everything else.
My vision snapped into focus, colors too vivid, edges too crisp. My heart pounded like a war drum, each beat pushing pure strength into my limbs. The world didn’t slow down—I sped up.
And the pain? It didn’t just fuel me. It defined me. Every ounce of agony translated into raw, undeniable power. The throb in my shoulder made my grip steadier. The ache in my legs made my steps faster. The burning sting across my ribs? It made my strikes hit harder, sharper, unstoppable.
The toad froze, eyes bulging as it realized the prey it had been toying with was suddenly a predator.
“Your turn, asshole,” I growled, flipping the knife into a reverse grip.
It slid backward, faster than any normal creature should have been able to move. But I was faster now. Each step hammered the ground, mud exploding beneath my boots. My tail lashed out first, striking low and forcing the toad to leap sideways. It barely avoided the trip, landing awkwardly—and that split-second stumble was all I needed.
I lunged, pain screaming through my shoulder, and drove the dagger down.
The blade bit deep into rubbery flesh, slicing across its side as it twisted to escape. It shrieked, legs kicking out in a frantic attempt to retreat. I didn’t let it.
My body burned, each pulse of agony another surge of strength. Another burst of speed. The toad slipped left—I was already there, slashing upward, carving a shallow gash along its throat. It staggered, eyes wild, mouth opening to croak some desperate plea or insult.
Too late.
I slammed the knife down, both hands gripping the hilt. The blade punched through its skull, straight between those bulbous eyes.
The light in them flickered. Then died.
For a moment, I stood there, chest heaving, heart hammering, pain flooding every corner of my being. Strength burned in my veins, wild and unyielding, but it was built on borrowed time.
Then the skill flickered.
Searing Vigor: Deactivated.
And the backlash hit.
My legs buckled. Fire raced through my nerves, every suppressed ache and injury rushing back tenfold. My breath hitched, sharp and ragged, as the world tilted sideways. I caught myself on one knee, trembling, vision dimming at the edges.
But I was alive.
And the toad? It wasn’t smiling anymore.
I was.
The backlash tore through me like fire laced with ice, muscles spasming, nerves screaming in protest. But underneath the sharp edge of agony was something else—familiarity. The weight of exhaustion, the dull throb of overworked limbs, the hollow ache that settled deep in my bones.
It felt like home.
Not comforting, not pleasant. But known. A reality I’d lived in for years, one that hadn’t broken me then and sure as hell wouldn’t break me now. Pain wasn’t a punishment—it was proof. Proof I’d survived. Proof I was still standing.
I wiped the dagger clean on my pant leg, ignoring the sting of movement, and stood slowly. My body protested every inch, but I didn’t falter.
The toad lay still, its grotesque grin forever frozen in bitter irony. It had played its hand, banking on poison and patience, on the inevitability of my collapse. But inevitability only mattered if the victim believed in it.
I didn’t. Not anymore.
I smiled, teeth bared, sharp and defiant. Is that all you’ve got?
Because this pain? I could bear it. I’d always borne it.
And now, it made me stronger.
Ding!
You have slain Level 4 Venomback Ambusher.
You have leveled up. 5 Attribute Points available.
Bonus Achievements:
* Poisoned but Unbroken: Withstood lethal toxin without succumbing. (+1 Point)
* Turning the Tide: Used enemy momentum against them. (+1 Point)
* Reversal of Fortune: Killed an enemy while under a debilitating status. (+1 Point)
8 more points!
The notification blinked in the corner of my vision, bright and tempting. Without hesitation, I dumped every point into Endurance, pushing it up to 18. If Searing Vigor was going to be my lifeline, I’d damn well make sure I could withstand its backlash.
The pain lingered for nearly an hour—a slow, grinding ache that settled deep in my bones. I used the time wisely, stripping the toad for anything useful (spoiler: nothing but slime and regret), resting, and eating part of my rations the system gave me.
When the backlash finally faded, I stretched, rolled my shoulders, and grinned. Leveling was addicting. The rush of strength, the clarity it brought… It was like flipping a switch and realizing you’d been living in the dark.
I wanted more.
The swamp greeted me with its usual charm—muck sucking at my boots, the air thick and humid, every breath laced with the stench of decay. I moved carefully, senses sharp, scanning for movement and heat signatures. If the Hollowshade Stalker was anything to go by, most threats here relied on ambush. I didn’t plan on being caught off guard again.
It didn’t take long.
A faint shimmer in the air, like the heat haze above asphalt, flickered near a half-rotten log. Classic. Another Hollowshade Stalker. I crept closer, silent and deliberate, knife in hand.
It didn’t even notice me until my blade punctured its side.
The thing shrieked, twisting to strike, but I was already behind it. A quick, brutal slice to the throat ended the fight before it really began. It collapsed into the mud, twitching once before going still. No level up.
I scowled. Level 1. Barely worth the effort.
The next few hours blurred into a routine. Stalkers—always near corpses, always heralded by that telltale ripple of heat. They were predators of fear, relying on panic to drive their prey into fatal mistakes. But once you knew their tricks, they were practically target dummies. Dodge the lunge, sweep the legs, knife to the throat. Rinse. Repeat.
I must’ve killed half a dozen before the next notification popped up.
Ding!
You have slain Level 2 Hollowshade Stalker.
Progress toward next level: 92%.
So they did count toward leveling—just slowly. Fine. If grinding was the cost of survival, I’d pay it.
It seemed the system favored risk. Higher-level kills gave more experience, while weaker prey offered diminishing returns. Made sense. Otherwise, veterans could camp low-level spawns and farm XP forever.
The sky had begun to darken, shadows stretching long across the swamp. I blinked away the grit in my eyes. Fatigue was creeping in—slow, insidious, the kind that didn’t just weigh on muscles but dulled the mind. Staying on high alert, scanning every ripple and twitch for threats, drained more energy than fighting itself.
I needed shelter. Somewhere defensible.
I’d made it this far in one day, pushed harder than I thought possible. I’d be damned if I reset all that progress by stumbling back to the Colosseum like some failure.
That being said, I didn’t want to spend the night in a swamp.
With night falling fast, I angled toward what I hoped was the edge of this murky hell. Stalkers still lingered at the fringes of my vision, but I avoided them now, slipping past instead of engaging. I’d grind levels tomorrow. Tonight, greed would get me killed—especially with exhaustion setting in like lead in my limbs.
Each step grew heavier. My boots sank deeper into the muck, and the cool air did little to cut through the bone-deep fatigue gnawing at me. Eventually, reality won. I wasn’t making it out of the swamp before nightfall.
Admitting defeat didn’t sit well, but stubbornness wouldn’t keep me alive. I needed shelter. Somewhere defensible.
That’s when I spotted it—a cluster of trees, gnarled and tightly packed together. Bushes wrapped around the base like nature’s barbed wire, thorny enough to dissuade anything that didn’t have claws or determination.
It would have to do.
I slipped into the underbrush, dagger in hand, and hacked away at the densest parts until I carved out enough space to stretch out. It wasn’t perfect, but the walls of greenery gave me cover, and the trees at my back meant nothing could sneak up from behind.
Satisfied I’d done what I could, I sank down, tail curling around me for warmth. My eyes shut the moment my head touched the damp earth.
"Hey! Idiot demon! Wake up!"
The voice yanked me from sleep like a slap. Sharp, feminine, pissed.
I blinked, mind sluggish, body aching from the cold ground. A figure stood at the edge of my makeshift camp—human, young, breathing hard, holding… a stick?
"Grgmsh," I grunted, words slurring.
The stick snapped across my shoulder.
That woke me up.
I was on my feet in an instant, dagger flashing into my hand. My tail snapped behind me, balancing my stance as adrenaline drowned the last traces of sleep.
The girl dropped the broken stick, hands shooting up in surrender. "Whoa! Easy, idiot demon. I just saved your ass."
It took a moment for her words to sink through the fog in my head. Saved me? From what?
"Explain." My voice came out rough, low, like gravel ground together. The dagger didn’t waver.
She stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “You… don’t see the bodies around you?”
I blinked, still half-dazed. “Bodies?”
“Yeah. You hacked into one like you had a personal vendetta.”
My gaze dropped, following the point of her trembling finger. The breath caught in my throat.
The bushes I’d cleared? They weren’t bushes at all. They were corpses. Piles of them. Critters, swamp things, even a Hollowshade Stalker, its throat half-slit and leaking black ichor. And I—
I was covered in blood.
My arms, my chest, even my tail, all slick with gore. It clung to me like swamp muck, sticky and reeking of iron. I looked down and found the mess I’d last cut into—something—though it was hard to tell what. The meat was shredded, unrecognizable, like I’d gone at it with mindless fury.
Revulsion rolled through me. I staggered back, nearly tripping over another carcass.
The girl crossed her arms, brows drawn tight. “I’ve been watching this spot for hours. That tree—” she nodded to the gnarled trunk at my back, its bark glistening like wet leather in the moonlight—“it lures things in. Animals, beasts… people. Puts them to sleep. Then it feeds while they’re out cold.”
A cold sweat prickled at the back of my neck. The tree loomed above me, branches stretching like skeletal fingers. Even now, its bark pulsed faintly, almost like breathing.
“Damn,” I muttered, throat dry. “I thought I was cutting bushes. Trying to make a safe place to sleep.”
Her lips twitched into something between a smirk and a grimace. “Yeah, well. You made it ‘safe’ alright.”
I stared at the carnage around me. Shame burned in my chest, but beneath it, something colder settled in. This world didn’t just kill you. It tricked you, made you complicit in your own survival.
“Why did you save me? Don’t get me wrong—I appreciate it, but I am your competition.”
She smiled, but her eyes held a shadow, like she was staring past me at something long gone. “Call it a hunch. You seemed like a decent guy, demon thing aside. And yeah, everything about you screams ‘don’t trust,’ but I’ve always trusted my gut more than my head. And my gut said you were worth saving.”
She barked a laugh, shaking her head. “Even if you are an idiot demon.”
I couldn’t help but grin, extending my hand. “Nice to meet my savior. Name’s Kale.”
She glanced at my hand and wrinkled her nose. “Amanda. And no offense, Kale, but I’m not shaking your gore-soaked hand.”
I thumbed back towards the tree, “how can you resist the call? Even now that I know about it, I still feel drawn to lay down.”
Grinning she said “that is because I am not an idiot.” With that she started to walk away.
I strode after her, and we walked in companionable silence, the swamp’s usual cacophony dulled by exhaustion. The sky had deepened to charcoal, and the cold weight of night settled across my shoulders like a damp cloak. Neither of us spoke, but there was an understanding in the quiet—survival didn’t need conversation.
We stumbled upon a cave nestled between twisted trees and slick rocks, its mouth yawning dark and uninviting. Amanda stopped first, tilting her head as if listening for danger. When nothing but the distant croak of swamp life answered, she nodded toward the entrance.
“Let’s rest here. I’ll take first watch. You look about ready to drop dead, and I’d rather not drag your corpse out come morning.”
Too tired to argue, I grunted my agreement and ducked inside. The cave smelled faintly of damp earth and old moss, but it was dry and defensible—good enough. I collapsed onto the cool ground, muscles screaming in protest.
“Wake me if anything happens,” I mumbled, already half-asleep.
“Yeah, yeah. Sleep tight, idiot demon.”
And this time, I did. No nightmares, no half-conscious thrashing. Just blissful, uninterrupted sleep until the sun’s pale light filtered through the cave entrance.
When I sat up, stretching stiff limbs, the first thing I noticed was the silence. The second was Amanda’s absence.
Her footprints were clear in the dirt floor, leading out into the swamp. Fresh, too—at least, fresh to my untrained eye. She must’ve kept watch the entire night, then left quietly just before I woke. No note, no farewell. Just footprints fading into the wilderness.
I lingered a moment, brushing sleep from my eyes and silently thanking my strange stroke of luck. Not everyone would spare a competitor. Fewer still would stand guard without asking for something in return.
“Good luck, Amanda,” I muttered, watching her footprints fade into the underbrush as I turned the other way.
Walking in the cool morning air, I flicked my hand and summoned my inventory. The translucent grid blinked into existence, neatly compartmentalized. I tapped the rations icon, and a dense, protein-packed bar materialized in my hand. Efficient. Convenient.
But as I chewed, something nagged at me. I flicked the inventory open again. The ration count hadn’t dropped.
I paused mid-step, narrowing my eyes. Infinite rations?
The system must’ve done this intentionally. It wanted us focused on training, not wasting time hunting or gathering. Made sense. A soft chuckle escaped me. “Well, thanks for the handout, I guess.” Not that I trusted the system’s generosity. There was always a catch somewhere.
I dismissed the screen and kept moving, boots squelching in the damp earth. I hadn’t gone far when I spotted it.
My first prey.
It lay stretched across a sun-bleached log like it owned the world—a crocodilian beast, twice the length of a grown man, scales glistening like polished obsidian. Jagged ridges lined its back, each spike dulled and chipped, like a weapon well-used.
But it was the aura that caught my attention. Not visible, but tangible—like the air thickened around it, pressing against my skin, making each breath feel heavier. This thing wasn’t just a predator. It was territory incarnate, radiating an unspoken promise: Challenge me, and die.
One yellow eye cracked open, slit-pupiled and lazy, as if it had already dismissed me as beneath notice.
The king of the swamp, huh?
I grinned, summoning my dagger into my hand with a thought. “Let’s see who’s really king around here.”
“Please don’t make me hit you with a stick again, idiot demon.”
I spun, heart leaping into my throat. Amanda crouched beside me like she’d materialized from thin air, arms resting casually on her knees.
"Ha—ho—How did you get there?" I barely stuttered out, dagger half-raised in shock.
“I was keeping watch, like I said I would. Then I watched you walk off like a dumbass.” She jabbed me in the ribs with a stick—because of course she had a stick. “Only to find you trying to challenge a level 21 Blackthorn Gator.”
I blinked. “A what?”
She glared at me, arms crossing tightly. Despite being more than a head shorter, she somehow made me feel like a child caught raiding the cookie jar. “Are you trying to die, idiot demon?”
“Wait—you can see its level?” I asked, surprise doubling down.
“Well, duh. I can see yours too, which is honestly depressing. What did you do after waking up here? Sit around and mope about your new reality?”
That last bit stung, mostly because it was delivered with the casual disdain of someone scolding a toddler for eating dirt.
“I didn’t mope!” I protested, voice pitching higher than I’d like. “In fact, I was ecstatic to get a new body. To leave my old crippled one behind.”
Her expression shifted like I’d slapped her. The teasing faded, replaced by sharp, calculating focus. “Hold up. Did you just say you got a new body? You weren’t a demon before?”
“Uh, yeah. Before the system, I was a crippled human. Pain was my only constant companion.” I shrugged, like it didn’t matter. Like it hadn’t defined every damn moment of my life.
Her eyes widened for a heartbeat, disbelief flickering across her face before she masked it with a scoff. “Huh. Didn’t think the system did charity cases.”
“Gee, thanks,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.
Her lips curled into a crooked smile. “Don’t get all sensitive, idiot demon. Just means you’ve got more to prove. I’m not betting on someone who lucked into a second chance unless they show they can actually use it.”
That… was fair, actually. Harsh, but fair.
I glanced back at the Blackthorn Gator, its armored hide glinting under the rising sun. It hadn’t moved, still basking like royalty. Level 21. Way out of my league. Amanda must’ve seen that immediately, while I’d been ready to charge in blind.
“Alright, fine,” I sighed, dismissing the dagger back into my inventory. “I’ll let the ‘king’ keep his throne.”
Her grin widened. “Good choice. I was two seconds away from tripping you into its mouth just to teach you a lesson.”
I snorted, shaking my head. “I hate how believable that sounds.”
“Smart of you.” She stood, brushing dirt off her pants. “Come on. If you’re serious about surviving, I’ll show you how to find prey that won’t chew your face off before breakfast.”
Without waiting for my answer, she started walking, boots squelching softly in the damp earth. I hesitated only a moment before following.
Because like it or not, the idiot demon could definitely use some lessons.
“How do you know all of this, anyway?” I asked, a small, irrational hope flickering to life. Could she be a teacher?
Amanda snorted, shaking her head like I’d asked if the sky was green. “I’m more surprised you don’t know this. Everyone back at the Colosseum was at least level 10. We all had a proper tutorial before getting dropped here.”
I frowned. “I did get a tutorial. Character creation, stat allocation, some combat training with a swordmaster. But no one explained anything about the world, the tiers, or how levels worked.”
Her step faltered—so brief I might’ve missed it if I wasn’t already watching her closely. She recovered quickly, glancing at me like I’d just told her I’d skipped the first chapter of a survival guide.
“Wait, that’s all you got? No world overview? No system prompts walking you through the basics?” She whistled low. “Damn. Either you pissed off the system, or you got the budget tutorial package.”
I scowled. “I didn’t exactly get a choice in the matter. I bled on a letter and woke up in the middle of all this.”
That made her pause. Just for a heartbeat. Then her grin returned, easy and cocky. “Well, that explains why you’re flailing around like a blind bat. Guess you’ll have to learn the hard way. Lucky for you, I’m feeling charitable.”
There was something in her tone—mocking, sure, but with an undercurrent of… something else. Like she was amused by more than just my ignorance. Like she was laughing at a joke I wasn’t in on.
I didn’t press. Not yet. Because teacher or not, Amanda clearly knew more than she was letting on—and for now, I needed that knowledge more than I needed answers.
The rest of the day blurred into a cycle of tracking, fighting, and recovering. Amanda led me through different areas of the swamp, pushing me into encounters with monsters that tested my limits. Most were weaker than me—hollowshade stalkers, venombacks, and swamp critters I didn’t bother naming. But not all.
One fight stood out. A young Blackthorn Gator, only level 5. Just a baby, Amanda had teased.
It nearly killed me.
The thing moved like greased lightning, all muscle and snapping jaws. It had me pinned, dagger knocked from my hand, mud in my mouth, and panic clawing at my throat. Searing Vigor saved me—barely. I activated it mid-roll, the backlash be damned, and drove Fangpiercer into the soft gap under its jaw. The gator thrashed once, twice—then stilled.
I collapsed beside the carcass, chest heaving, every nerve screaming in protest. Amanda just stood there, arms crossed, watching me suffer like it was a damn lesson. Which, knowing her, it probably was.
By nightfall, I'd clawed my way to level 8. My stats reflected the grind:
Name: Kale Orrmons
Race: Demon
Level: 8E
* Strength: 12
* Agility: 12
* Endurance: 30
* Dexterity: 12
* Intelligence: 12
* Wisdom: 11
* Charisma: 12
* Willpower: 8
* Mana Control: 12
* Perception: 10
Skill Points Remaining: 0
When I reached level five, the system rewarded me with another skill point, this time it was limited to general skills only. I hesitated, scrolling through options, but Amanda didn’t.
“Put it into Cloaked Appraisal,” she urged, her tone firm. “It’ll let you see levels without broadcasting your own. Trust me, walking around with your rank on display is like painting a target on your back.”
It made sense. Knowledge was power here, and discretion? That was survival. I didn’t argue.
I’d spread the points across my attributes, still unsure which direction to commit to. But endurance? That was non-negotiable. It was my safety net, my edge, and the only thing standing between me and an early grave.
The gator kill alone gave me a whopping 13 points—more than any other fight by far. Most of my level-ups earned around seven total, with the base five and two from achievements. Seemed like the system had a soft cap, rewarding efficiency and creativity more than brute grinding.
When I mentioned that to Amanda, she froze mid-step. Blinked. Then screamed.
“You get bonus points?!”
Her voice cracked, echoing through the swamp. I flinched, glancing around for nearby threats, but Amanda didn’t care. She stormed up to me, grabbing my shoulders like she wanted to shake the answers out of my skull.
“Hold up,” she hissed, eyes wide. “You’re saying you get seven points per level? Not five? Five’s the demon baseline!”
I blinked. “Wait, what? Demons only get five?”
“Of course they do, you idiot!” Amanda threw her hands up. “Every race has a different base. Humans get six. Elves get four, but their stats scale faster. Orcs get eight, but their mental stats lag behind. The system balances it based on racial potential.”
I staggered back a step, her words hitting harder than the gator’s tail. “So… demons are supposed to get five points per level. But I’ve been getting seven. Sometimes more, if I fight smart.”
Amanda’s expression twisted, equal parts disbelief and frustration. “That’s insane. Bonuses aren’t supposed to be permanent. You get extra points for insane feats—first kills, flawless victories, surviving long odds. But consistently? That’s not a bonus—that’s a damn system endorsement.”
Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, like she was trying to find the right insult to hurl at the universe. Finally, she jabbed a finger at my chest.
“You’re a damn outlier. The system isn’t just boosting you—it’s betting on you.”
I swallowed hard. The weight of her words settled deep in my chest. Special treatment wasn’t a blessing. It was a target painted on my back.
“Why?” I muttered. “Why would the system care?”
Amanda snorted, stepping back and crossing her arms. “Care? It doesn’t ‘care.’ It calculates. If you’re getting more points, it’s because it expects you to burn through them fast. High risk, high reward. Maybe it sees potential. Maybe it’s setting you up for the mother of all falls.”
Her gaze softened, just a fraction. “Or maybe, Idiot Demon, you’re the first one dumb enough to push past the baseline and not die trying.”
The thought chilled me. Extra points weren’t a gift—they were a challenge. A dare. The system wasn’t handing me power out of kindness. It was raising the stakes.
Amanda sighed, rubbing her temples. “Look, don’t let it get to your head. Bonus points or not, you’re still one bad fight away from being swamp food. So either you get stronger, faster, smarter—or you’ll be the system’s shortest-lived golden boy.”
I clenched my fists, tail curling behind me in agitation. Special treatment. Higher expectations. More pain. It figured.
But pain? Pain was familiar. Pain was something I could bear.
I met Amanda’s gaze, determination hardening my voice. “Then I guess I’ll just have to live long enough to prove the system right.”
She stared for a moment, then snorted. “Cocky bastard. Fine. Let’s see if you’re worth the investment.”
She turned, waving me to follow. “Come on, golden boy. Let’s put those extra points to work.”