Leveling is an integral part of life for every species and every person in this world. People gain classes based on their actions, and they must continue performing actions related to their class to level up. If they do so consistently, someone who bakes food will gain the [Baker] class. If they want to level, they must create baked goods that are better tasting, in greater quantity, and that satisfy an ever-larger number of people. As they level, their class may specialize. They may focus on commercial success, in which case their class will change to reflect that, from [Baker] to perhaps [Mercantile Baker]. They may lose or gain new skills that align better with their class. Yet, there are limits to this. A [Warrior] cannot become a [Blademaster] just by practicing with a sword in the safety of their home.
The challenges you face inform your class quality. The more dangerous a situation, the faster you will level. Someone who always plays it safe, who never takes risks, is someone who will never advance their class.
To reach an ‘impossible’ Level, you must set an ‘impossible’ goal. Reinvent a spell. Revolutionize an alchemy recipe. Defeat an insurmountable foe. Prevail in the face of death. These experiences will form the crucible in which your body and mind will be reforged. You will endure a great many trials and see a great many things. And in the end, you will discover the ‘truth’.
So, go forth. Struggle and level, children of -----.
- Prologue from the Book of Levels, author unknown
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In the furthest reaches of the world, in a core that no being had ever reached, information was being compiled and notifications were sent out in an unceasing flow.
[Farmer Level 10!]
[Skill Granted: Fields of Fast Growth!]
[Mage Level-
[Spell Bound: B-
[Sword Da-
[Ski-
The notifications flowed ever faster, heard in the minds of hundreds, even thousands of people within each passing moment. Every Level, every Skill, it calculated them all. It read their desires, gauged their worthiness, judged their past actions. All three were factors in its decision, just like this one.
One of innumerable threads diverged. First name, Ciel. No surname. Her age was twelve years, nine months, three days, twenty-seven seconds.
Her Race was Hu̷mä̸̢̱̻͚͈̾͋̐̂̆n̴̥̬̭̹͍̘̣̘̖̥̺̲̜̮̔͒̈́̇̅̆̀̈́͠ṋ̶̨͙̃̈́̐͑̎̃̂̓̅̚͝͝͝ń̵̜̜̜̼͇͖͎̬̠̮̈́̈́̆̃͊͋͆͂̃̈̀n̶̛̻͑̒̌̍͌̀͛͋̀̎̓͘͘͝͝n̷̨̩̼͗̾̎͊͋͐̀̏̐̈́̏̏̚͘͝-E̵͖̱͙̥͒̉͜͜Ŗ̵̣͖͙̞̈̈́́̿̂̎̽̀̎̌̈͒̄̎̅̑Ṙ̵̡̛͉̗̹͚̺̻̤̥͕̻̞̻̻̳̰̀̓͂̚̕͠͝O̸̢̮͍̝̩̻͎̥̲̯͙͓͉̓̾̈́̇̇̌͐̄͆̐̀̚̕͘͜͜R̷͇͕̩̤͙̩͙̗͚͍̟̮͕̀͐̌͒̓̇͘:̸̼͕̺̂̏͊̓͑́̕ ̵͔͙͇̹̯̝̃̍̊̄̈́͜Ļ̶̺̘̝̣̪̘̘̫̤̩͝i̴̹̜̝̮̣͛̂͆̊̊͐͑͝s̷̥̺̺͎̳̗̬̀t̸̡̗͙̯͇͓̞̫̗̗̱̞͉̏͂͐̒̔̿̌̐̿̐̂̑̕i̷̤͖͂̂͑͐͑͌̅̒̉n̵̡̤̳̲̟̮͎̪͓͔̮̲̪̰̰̜̄̄͌̒͗̄́̊͋̈́̎̚͜d̵͚̭͓̼̓̉͋̒̓͑̇̔͋̿̊̍̽͐͝͠ë̵̢̨̫̠̜͚͙͎̥̮͔̬̤́̐̈͊̇̋̋̈͋̒͜x̸̭̗̤̠̰̳͍͎̟͓͖̰̯͓́͗̎̉͂̈͊̃̓̑ ̴̧̡͎͉̠͇͍̰̬̖͎̝͎̜̥͊̽͋͛͌̃̆̕͝o̵̾͋͛͛̈́͆͌̉̚͘͜u̷̡̖̫͚͈͚̳͇̦̙̯͇̜̒̎̋̈́̃̎̀͋̊͒͋͘͝͝͝t̸̙͚̯̔ ̸̲̼̣̲̭̞̭̥͈̪̤͍͕̿͐ố̷̥̰̽͒̈́́̈́̉͆͑͘f̷̼̳̠̤̱̳͉͎̯͔̐̈̿̃̓̀̾͋̒̐́̽͂̚͘ͅ ̴̠̬͑r̸̡̨̡̛̺̤̝̜̼̰̱̺̗̤̦̪̯̐̌͌̿̅͂̒̂͆̕͝ͅa̷̧͙͎̠̍͜ͅǹ̴̨̞͈͖̉̾͐͊͊͆͗͘g̵̢̡̻̝̦͍̣̰̣͉̱͔̥̠̅͋̌̾̈́͗́̽͘͜ë̴̡̞̖͈̮̗̑̓̆͒̒͌̒̕͝͝͝ and she-
Wait. It doubled back, and its eyes would have bulged in shock and disbelief if it had had a physical body. Her Race was changing. But how? It didn’t know, so the thread delved deeper into Ciel’s memories. In that instant, the thread felt fear, desperation, and pain. Unused to the alien mortal emotions, it hurriedly recoiled after only a cursory scan. However, that was enough for it to know that this… incident was no planned occurrence, but instead merely a one-in-a-million, no, one-in-a-billion aligning of fate.
Yes, that was it. The girl was just fortunate. The thread patted itself on the metaphorical back for solving this pressing conundrum. This had happened before. It was nothing new. New Races had been created in an instant by [Beastmasters] or [Flesh Alchemists], and they had died just as fast. Really, her new Race was hardly different from preexisting monsters that were made of mana, like Slimes and Elementals. The only distinction was that she was sapient, and the others were not.
Ahh, but there was the matter of her new Class and Skills. The single thread pondered for a grand total of seventy-six seconds as the overwhelming majority of the other threads continued assigning notifications elsewhere.
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Generating solution… ratify her new racial traits as Unique Skills.
Hmmm. The girl was technically a Race Progenitor, even if it was only by the barest of margins, which qualified her for a far better class than she should have any right to, especially when she had just begun on her Path. But she hadn’t earned it. In exchange, the thread would set her {Experience} multiplier from 1 to 0.3, and there would be other limitations. That was fair. Balance must be maintained.
Now, for her skills. For the second time, the thread dove into the murky waters of Ciel’s consciousness clouded with uncertainty for the future. This time, it did not withdraw. For an infinitesimal eternity, it and Ciel were the same entity. The thread saw the life she had lived until the present moment and felt the dream she harbored within her heart. It knew her on a level that no person nor god could ever claim to understand, for that was what it had been made for.
And on the seventy-seventh second, it spoke thus:
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[Unique Class Created: Seeker of Abyss and Sky, Shaper of Mana and Magic]!
[Unique Skill Created: Mana is All I Need]!
[Unique Skill Created: Mana-Body Regeneration]!
[Seeker of Abyss and Sky, Shaper of Mana and Magic: Levels 1-5 Obtained]!
[WARNING: {Experience} gain multiplier set to 0.3]!
[Restriction Applied: Pure Mana User]!
[Restriction Applied: Mana Regeneration Limited to Environmental]!
[Experimental Species Name: AD-7339]!
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Ciel was dreaming while falling. She registered, dimly, in that faraway half-asleep manner, that something was speaking inside her mind, but most of her failed to register the changes and the messages.
“Welcome to hell, kid.” She stared at the man, 031, uncomprehendingly, still not fully cognizant of her circumstances. The realization hadn’t kicked in yet.
Suddenly, a terrible scream ripped across the corridor, carrying with it the impression that someone was being tortured very, very close by. This was a scream devoid of anything that marked the origin as human. There was no anger nor sadness, or any emotion in particular. Just unadulterated pain. Ciel winced and raised her hands over her ears, trying to shy away from the shrill cries. Seconds turned into minutes, until the subject’s throat finally gave out. Another several minutes later, the brutish guard passed her cell, walking out of sight while not even bothering to lift the corpse he dragged off the ground. The dead girl didn’t look much older than Ciel herself. Her black eyes were wide open and glassy; tear tracks of blood had yet to dry on her face.
Then, Ciel quivered and knew fear.
Her shirt and pants flapped violently in the vortex of wind that enveloped her body. She was falling headfirst, and her white hair had formed a cone around her head.
One day became two, two became three, four, five, six, then seven. Day and night in Arkress were determined by looking at the glow of the cavern’s blue Glintstones. The brighter, the closer to noon.
Over the week, Ciel was quickly desensitized to the daily horrors she witnessed. She didn’t bother to count how many people lost their lives to the senseless experiments. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. On the third day of her imprisonment, she woke up on the hard stone floor and stared at the stalactites on the ceiling for a few minutes before gathering the energy to sit up. Once she was upright and facing into the prison across from her, she realized that 031 was gone from ‘his’ cell, vanished into the night as if he had never existed.
The brute of a guard stopped in front of her cell door on the morning of the seventh day, and instead of walking past like he had done every other time, he unlocked it.
“Oh. It’s my turn now, isn’t it?” She thought to herself quietly. Even as she resisted frenziedly with all her might, even as she was injected and her body felt as though it was being burned in scorching flames, a tiny, insidious, treacherous part of her was sighing in relief. Because the worst had happened, and things couldn’t possibly get worse, could they?
Her eyes snapped open, just in time to see a fat stone pillar jutting from the side of the pit loom out of the darkness.
CRUNCH.