Amanda never fought. She didn’t need to. She just watched—silent, calculating—as I stumbled into one brutal fight after another. Every time I caught my breath, she’d wave me forward, deeper into the swamp, toward things with too many teeth and not enough fear.
The fights got uglier. Smarter predators. Nastier ambushes. But survival carved me sharper, burning away hesitation and replacing fear with instinct. I didn’t just fight to live—I fought to win. And the system rewarded me for it.
Each level-up gave me nine points. Nine. Almost double the demon baseline. Unfair? Absolutely. But fairness didn’t survive out here, and I wasn’t about to question the system’s favor. Not when it kept me breathing.
And when breathing got hard? When claws tore flesh or poison dragged me down? Amanda stepped in. Never during the fight—only after, when the adrenaline wore off and pain crashed down like a collapsing wall. She’d crouch beside me, muttering insults under her breath while her hands worked strange patterns in the air. A soft glow, pale blue and fleeting, would stitch torn skin and soothe bruised muscles.
“Idiot demon,” she’d mutter, voice sharp but hands steady. “If you die, I’m not dragging your corpse.”
I stopped questioning how she could heal. Or why she bothered. It didn’t fit the image of a cutthroat competitor. But the more I watched her—the way she never fought, always observed, always pushed me right to the edge but never over it—the more the suspicion gnawed at the back of my mind.
She wasn’t here to win. Not like the rest of us. Amanda felt like a teacher. Maybe not officially, but close enough. Like someone testing me, guiding me, seeing how far I could be pushed before I broke.
I didn’t ask. Saying it out loud would make it real, and if I was wrong? I’d sound like an idiot. If I was right? Well, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what it meant to be chosen for something like that.
So I kept my mouth shut. I fought. I leveled. And when Amanda told me to move, I moved—because whether she was a teacher, a guide, or just a damn good survivor, one thing was clear.
She knew more than me. And for now, that was enough.
Days blurred together—fights, brief rests, more fights. The swamp’s oppressive heat became background noise, the sting of exhaustion a constant companion.
But when I hit level ten, another skill point blinked in the corner of my vision. Another choice. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I scrolled straight to the demon-specific tree, searching for something to break my reliance on luck and borrowed grace.
Hell’s Reprieve.
The description was brutally honest: Close minor to moderate wounds with demonic energy, leaving flesh pristine and unscarred. Healing process converts pain into focus for the spell's duration.
No gentle warmth. No soothing light. Just raw restoration, powered by agony.
I chose it without second-guessing. Practical. Efficient. And that promise of unblemished flesh? It felt like the system’s cruel joke—offering perfection after years trapped in a body defined by its flaws.
The first test came fast.
A shimmer flickered in the corner of my vision—heat haze, right where the ground dipped into shadow. Instinct had me spinning, Fangpiercer already sliding into my hand.
Too late.
The Hollowshade Stalker burst from the underbrush, a blur of sinew and black fur. I twisted aside, but not fast enough. Claws raked across my thigh, ripping through muscle like paper. My leg buckled. Blood gushed, hot and slick, soaking into my pants in seconds.
The stalker didn’t pause. It circled, low and predatory, sensing weakness.
I forced myself upright, weight shifting to my uninjured leg. Running wasn’t an option. Not like this. It’d hamstring me and drag me down before I hit ten paces.
Fight or die.
Snarling, I feinted left, then lashed out with my tail, sweeping low. The stalker darted back—predictable. I lunged into the space it had occupied, dagger flashing toward its throat.
It twisted, fast as a shadow, but not fast enough.
Fangpiercer bit deep into its side, sliding between ribs with sickening ease. The stalker shrieked, its momentum carrying it past me in a wild, staggering arc. It hit the ground hard, legs scrabbling for purchase.
I didn’t wait. Pain burned in my thigh, every step a white-hot spike through the torn muscle, but I drove forward, weight behind my blade.
The stalker snapped at me—desperate, wild. I caught its jaw with my tail, wrenching its head aside, and plunged the dagger down.
Straight into its skull.
The shriek cut off. Limbs twitched once, twice—then stilled.
I staggered back, panting, blood running hot down my leg. The wound throbbed with each heartbeat, strength already seeping from the limb.
Shit. If I didn’t stop the bleeding, I’d be another corpse rotting in the mud.
My hand flicked up, status screen flashing into existence. Skill menu. Hell’s Reprieve.
Activate.
Pain exploded. Not the dull throb of a healing wound—this was worse. Like someone had shoved red-hot needles into the torn muscle and dragged them through every fiber. My breath hitched, knees nearly buckling as the agony burned through me.
But beneath the pain, clarity bloomed. The exhaustion faded. The ache in my limbs dulled, replaced by sharp, crystalline focus. Every breath felt cleaner. Every sound, clearer. The sluggish beat of my heart steadied, strength surging back with every pulse.
I grit my teeth, riding the wave of torment as the torn flesh knitted together. Not slowly, not gradually—but in a violent rush, like the body had been forced into overdrive. Skin sealed, blood flow halted, and when the pain finally ebbed, I glanced down.
Smooth. Unscarred. As if the injury had never happened.
I flexed my leg, half-expecting stiffness. Nothing. Perfect function. Perfect form.
The stalker's corpse lay beside me, eyes glassy and empty. I wiped the ichor from my dagger, heart still pounding.
The system didn’t just offer survival. It offered correction—but only if you were willing to suffer for it.
I sheathed Fangpiercer and kept moving. Because flawless skin didn’t mean much if you were too dead to enjoy it.
By the time I reached level twelve, Amanda’s instructions had shifted from constant direction to occasional corrections. I didn’t need her pointing out threats anymore—I saw them first. Heat ripples in the air, faint disturbances in the mud, the unnatural stillness that warned of something lurking nearby. I could size up a target in seconds, weighing risk against reward with practiced ease.
Prey no longer dictated the fight. I did. I chose when to engage, when to slip away, and when to strike hard and fast. Survival wasn’t just luck anymore. It was skill—earned, sharpened, and mine.
The swamp air hung thick and heavy, the usual hum of insects dulled to an uneasy silence. That alone put me on edge. Silence here didn’t mean peace—it meant something worse was waiting.
I crept along a narrow ridge of solid ground, Fangpiercer resting light in my hand. Amanda, as always, was a shadow at my back, saying nothing. She’d stopped guiding my every move days ago, only offering the occasional sharp correction when I hesitated.
But now, she was quiet. Too quiet.
The figure standing in the clearing ahead explained why.
Human. Lean, wiry. Dark hair tied back, sharp green eyes gleaming beneath a battered hood. His clothes were reinforced with scavenged leather, patched and worn, but functional. A throwing knife spun lazily between his fingers.
Cloaked Appraisal.
Dalen – Level 14E.
Two levels above me. Not unbeatable. But dangerous.
"Demon, huh?" Dalen called, flipping the knife once before palming it.
I didn’t answer. Talking wasted time.
His smile widened. "Smart. Careful. I like that." He nodded toward the narrow patch of ground between us. "How about we settle this clean? One-on-one. No tricks, no outside help. Winner takes what they want. Fair?"
Fair? Nothing here was fair.
Behind me, Amanda shifted, just enough for me to catch the movement from the corner of my eye. Her voice, sharp as ever, cut through the air. "Take the fight."
That didnt surprise me. She’d been pushing me toward harder targets lately. This? This was exactly her style.
I stepped forward, Fangpiercer held loose but ready. "One-on-one. No tricks."
Dalen’s grin sharpened. "Good choice."
We moved at the same time.
His knife flicked out, a glint of silver cutting through the air.
I twisted, barely ducking the throw. The blade kissed my shoulder, drawing a shallow line of pain as it spun past.
Even before the knife hit the ground behind me, his hand flicked to the air, fingers curling like he was grabbing something invisible.
A blink later, a short sword—chipped, ugly, and wickedly sharp—appeared in his grip, pulled straight from his inventory.
My heart sank. Of course. Inventory.
"Nice dodge," Dalen taunted, advancing with fluid, practiced steps. "Let’s see how long you last."
I didn’t answer. Words didn’t win fights. Instead I moved. Fast. Pain flared in my shoulder, but I didn’t have the luxury of feeling it. Dalen had reach now, and I couldn’t let him press that advantage.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
I darted right, circling to keep my footing solid while his sword tracked me. His stance was good—balanced, aggressive, like someone who’d done this before. Not a brawler. A duelist.
Damn.
Dalen didn’t wait. He closed the distance in two swift strides, sword slashing in a brutal arc aimed for my ribs. I twisted, tail whipping out to sweep his legs while I sidestepped the blade.
He jumped, clearing the strike with practiced ease. But that jump cost him stability. His foot landed half a beat late, his weight slightly off-center.
There.
I surged forward, Fangpiercer flashing in my hand, aiming for the gap his imbalance created. He saw it—of course he did—but instead of retreating, he grinned and leaned into the blow.
Idiot, I thought, until I realized why.
The moment my blade touched leather, his free hand flicked up. Not a punch. A grab.
Inventory flash. Another knife.
I barely jerked my head aside as the fresh blade whistled past my ear. A feint. He’d baited me into overcommitting.
I stumbled, but not enough to fall. Not enough to die.
His smile faltered as my tail lashed out again—not low, but high, snapping toward his wrist. He tried to twist away, but the movement was sluggish, momentum already spent. The tip of my tail caught his forearm, coiling tight for half a heartbeat—long enough.
I yanked hard.
Dalen cursed, stumbling forward, off balance and exposed. I didn’t waste the opening. Fangpiercer drove into his side, slipping past cracked leather and into flesh.
He grunted, eyes wide, disbelief flickering across his face.
“Cheap trick,” he rasped, staggering back. Blood welled around the dagger, but he didn’t fall. His fingers twitched toward the air again—another weapon, another pull from the endless convenience of inventory.
Not this time.
I lunged, tail snapping around his ankle while my free hand lashed out, slapping his arm aside before he could complete the gesture. He stumbled, and I was already moving, slamming into him with my full weight.
We hit the ground hard, mud spraying in all directions. His sword flew from his hand, landing somewhere in the brush. He thrashed, trying to roll me off, but my knee dug into his chest, pinning him in place.
Fangpiercer hovered above his throat, steady despite the burn in my muscles.
His eyes met mine. Defiant. Angry. But underneath that? Fear.
He’d lost. He knew it. No tricks left. No inventory save. Just cold reality staring down at him with a demon’s face.
"Fair fight," I growled, voice rough with exhaustion. "Fair win."
Dalen’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t beg. Didn’t plead. Just closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.
I didn’t make him wait long.
Ding!
You have slain Level 14E Human.
You have leveled up. 5 Attribute Points available.
BONUS ACHIEVEMENTS:
* Dominance Display: Defeated a higher-level opponent in single combat. (+3 Points)
* Efficient Execution: Minimal damage sustained while securing victory. (+2 Points)
* Adaptive Combat: Used environment and abilities effectively. (+2 Points)
* Outmatched but Unyielding: Victory against an opponent two levels higher. (+3 Points)
* Second Participant Kill: Confirmed second participant kill. (+2 Points)
Total Attribute Points Gained: 17 Points
I stared at the total gain. Seventeen points. My breath caught. That wasn’t just a level-up—it was a windfall. My highest gain before was thirteen, and even that had felt absurd. This? This was something else entirely.
My mouth almost dropped. Not from exhaustion or relief, but pure disbelief. Monsters had never given me this kind of return. Dalen hadn’t just been another fight—he’d been a participant. A competitor. And the system had rewarded me like I’d taken down a raid boss.
Seventeen points. Enough to reshape everything. To push strengths higher, patch weaknesses, or double down on what already worked.
The dagger in my hand felt heavier, not from fatigue but from the weight of potential. This wasn’t just survival anymore. This was growth—real, undeniable, system-validated growth. I’d won, and the system had taken notice.
Then the air shifted. Cold. Still.
A shadow peeled away from Dalen’s lifeless body, stretching upward until it formed the vague outline of a figure—horned, broad-shouldered, distinctly demonic. Grey and lifeless, like smoke carved into shape.
My grip tightened on Fangpiercer as the figure’s hollow eyes fixed on me. It spoke, voice like gravel dragged across glass.
“You who has slain my pupil has gained the honor of being taught by me.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with something deeper than mere sound. Not a threat. A promise.
The shadowed demon stood tall, arms folded behind its back, like a king surveying a potential heir. Its form shimmered with faint red veins of energy, pulsing to a rhythm I could almost feel in my chest.
“You seek strength,” it continued, voice low and deliberate. “Knowledge. Power beyond mere survival. My pupil was but a fledgling. You proved his weakness. In doing so, you proved your worth.”
The shadow took a step forward, and the ground under Dalen’s corpse darkened, like the earth itself recoiled from the presence. My breath caught as the demon’s gaze swept over me—not with malice, but with the cold scrutiny of someone evaluating an investment.
“Come,” it said, extending one clawed hand. “Accept my tutelage. I will shape you into more than prey that claws its way to survival. I will make you predator, sovereign, unstoppable.”
The demon’s hand hovered inches from mine, veins of red light pulsing along its smoke-like form. The warmth radiating from its outstretched palm was intoxicating—like standing on the edge of a furnace, the heat promising power instead of pain.
Seventeen points. My mind flashed to the system notifications, the obscene rewards for victory. The rush of leveling up. The way the world bent to those who played the game ruthlessly. The system didn’t reward restraint. It celebrated dominance, efficiency, survival at all costs.
Wasn’t that what I’d done? Fought smarter. Killed cleaner. Turned pain into strength and hesitation into leverage. Every fight had taught me the same brutal lesson: hesitation killed. Ruthlessness paid. And now, standing here, the system’s logic seemed perfectly clear.
You won. Take the prize. Take the path.
My foot shifted forward, almost involuntarily. This was the shortcut. No more fumbling through trial and error, no more scraping by on grit and luck. A real teacher, tailored to my new form, offering the edge every participant dreamed of.
And why not? I’d earned it. I’d killed his pupil. Claimed victory. The system itself had crowned me worthy with seventeen damn points. Why should I walk away now, when every law of this world screamed for me to press the advantage?
Two more steps and this fight—the entire swamp—would be nothing more than a footnote in my rise.
Then I saw Amanda.
Half-hidden behind the jagged trunk of a gnarled tree, arms hanging loose at her sides. Her face, usually sharp with biting commentary or tired amusement, was blank. Not angry. Not betrayed.
Just… resigned.
The kind of look someone wore when they’d seen the same scene play out one too many times.
And that hit harder than any blow I’d taken in the swamp.
Because Amanda had never looked resigned. Frustrated? Sure. Amused? Constantly. But this? This was the expression of someone watching the inevitable unfold—someone who expected disappointment.
Why would she expect that?
Because the demon’s offer was inevitable. It was the smart move. The optimized path. The thing every participant should want. The thing the system expected me to want.
The same system that had rewarded me for killing. For pushing forward, for grinding down threats and standing taller afterward.
But Amanda never cared about the system’s expectations. She didn’t praise my efficiency. She corrected my flaws. Showed me how to fight without getting killed, how to survive without relying solely on the stats the system kept throwing at me like breadcrumbs.
And if she thought this was a mistake?
My foot stopped mid-step.
I stared at the demon’s hand, light still flickering across my skin, and the weight of realization hit me like a gut punch.
It’s not offering strength. It’s offering a leash. The same leash it had tied around Dalen’s throat before sending him to die in a fight he wasn’t ready for.
I’d already killed the last student this thing trained. Why the hell would I volunteer to be the next?
I stepped back, slow and deliberate. The light faded from my skin, and the air cooled as the distance grew between us.
The demon’s expression didn’t change, but the warmth bled from the moment like heat from a dying fire.
“You refuse?” it asked, voice flat, almost curious.
I glanced at Amanda. Her eyes met mine, the resignation softening into something else. Relief. Barely there, but unmistakable.
I smiled—small, sharp, sure.
“Why would I choose a teacher whose last student already lost?” My voice was steady, despite the thudding in my chest. “I’ve already got a teacher. And she hasn’t let me down yet.”
Amanda’s smirk widened, arms crossing as she leaned against the tree, like she hadn’t been worried for even a second.
The demon’s gaze narrowed. “Foolish. The path you walk will break you.”
I shrugged, flipping Fangpiercer in my hand, the weight of the weapon grounding me. “Maybe. But I’d rather walk it with someone who doesn’t vanish the moment their student falls.”
For the first time, the shadow seemed truly displeased. The pulsing veins darkened, fading to black, and the form flickered, edges fraying like smoke in the wind.
“Opportunity knocked,” the demon rasped, voice brittle with disdain. “You chose stubbornness. When you fall, remember this moment. Remember what you threw away.”
The ground beneath it cracked, light spilling up from the fissures like molten lava. With a final withering glance, the demon stepped backward into the rupture, vanishing without sound or fanfare. The light died, and the clearing fell silent once more.
Only the body of Dalen remained, cooling in the dirt.
Ding!
A system notification blinked into existence, the frame edged in crimson instead of the usual neutral blue.
Path of the Bound Rejected.
Advanced mentorship opportunity declined.
+1 Skill Point Earned.
System Judgment: Independent growth path maintained. Future offers may adjust based on user disposition.
The words hung in the air longer than usual, the crimson glow fading slower, like the system itself was reluctant to let the moment pass. Not a missed opportunity—no, a choice. A line drawn, clear and undeniable.
For the first time since arriving here, it felt like the system wasn’t just reacting to my actions. It was watching. Judging. Adapting.
The ground where the demon had stood was already cool, as though it had never been there. Only the shallow scars in the earth remained, like echoes of a path I’d refused to walk.
Amanda pushed off the tree, sauntering over with an exaggerated yawn. “Well, that was dramatic,” she drawled, looking me up and down. “You almost took the bait, though. Would’ve been a shame to lose my idiot demon to some washed-up shadow tutor.”
I snorted, adrenaline finally crashing down. My legs wobbled, exhaustion clawing its way back now that the threat had passed. “Yeah, well. You didn’t look too broken up about it.”
She shrugged, eyes glinting. “Because I figured you’d make the right call. Eventually.”
I blinked. “You trusted me that much?”
Amanda grinned. “Nope. I just knew you’re too damn proud to follow someone whose student you already stomped.”
That… was fair.
I chuckled, shaking my head as I leaned down to wipe Fangpiercer clean on Dalen’s cloak. “Guess I really am an idiot demon, huh?”
Her smile softened, just for a heartbeat. “Yeah. But you’re my idiot demon. Now let’s move. That fight probably drew attention, and I’m not wasting a good level-up babysitting your corpse.”
I didn’t argue. I just followed.
Because I’d already made my choice. And I wasn’t looking back.
Well, I did look back. At the corpse.
“I’ll be right back,” I muttered, already scrambling toward Dalen’s fallen form. The shortsword lay half-buried in the mud, its chipped edge glinting dully in the fading light. I scooped it up without hesitation, the weight solid and reassuring in my grip.
Rummaging through his belongings felt wrong—but hesitation had no place here. The system didn’t reward sentiment. I found a few useful trinkets—a pouch of polished stones, a strange silver pendant etched with runes, and a tightly rolled scrap of parchment. No time to inspect them now. They vanished into my inventory with a thought.
Amanda waited, arms crossed, watching me with that unreadable expression she always wore when I did something stupid but survived anyway.
“Done scavenging?” she asked dryly.
“Done surviving,” I shot back, falling in step beside her.
We moved through the swamp in silence, the weight of the encounter still clinging to the air. Every step away from the corpse felt like shedding skin—leaving behind not just a body, but the version of myself that would’ve jumped at the demon’s offer without thinking.
I had a teacher. Whether Amanda saw herself that way or not didn’t matter. She’d shaped me more than any spectral demon could.
By the time we found a safe clearing, night had fully claimed the sky. I dropped into a crouch, pulling up my status screen. Level 13. Seventeen points to spend. Seventeen.
It was time to stop spreading them thin. Time to dedicate myself to a path. One that didn’t just survive—but dominated.