ALL NOVEL Chapter 2: The Sorcerer's wrath
Arlen watched in awe as the group of fighters and brawlers tore through the horde of enemies with precision and ferocity. Each swing of their weapons, each devastating strike, brought down another foe in mere seconds. The vanguards stood firm, their shields raised high, protecting the backline hunters who were supporting the front with expertly aimed shots from their bows. It was a sight to behold—a seamless display of teamwork, strength, and understanding of roles. Each hunter knew their place, their strengths, and their weaknesses, and they worked in perfect harmony to turn the tide of battle.
Arlen couldn't tear his eyes away. This was what he had always dreamed of being a part of—a team, a force to protect others, to stand against overwhelming odds and prevail. Watching them now, he felt a pang of longing deep in his chest. This was why he had wanted to be a hunter in the first place.
"To help those I care about... to keep them safe..." he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. But then, his fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. A spark of something new ignited in his heart—not just longing, but determination. "I don't... I don't want to be weak anymore!"
As if responding to his thoughts, a system window popped up before him, glowing faintly with an ominous aura.
[Contempt of the Weak]
Do not stay in the shadows of those who look down on your strength. Prove to them that you are more than they could ever imagine. Prove to them that your ambitions are not wrong!
[Reward: By killing enemies, the system will help you grow by gathering Experience Points (EXP). The weaker the enemies, the lower the amount of EXP; the stronger, the greater the reward.]
Arlen's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white. His heart thundered in his chest as adrenaline surged through him. Without hesitation, he rushed forward, ignoring the startled shouts of the other hunters behind him.
"Arlen! Stay back!" one of them barked.
"You'll only slow us down! Focus on the loot or stay out of the way!" another yelled.
But Arlen didn't care. Their words were meaningless to him now. He had something to prove—not to them, but to himself. He had spent too long cowering, too long being the one everyone looked down on. Not anymore.
The group gathered around the battlefield, their eyes fixed on the scattered remains of the undead. The stench of death filled the air, but their focus shifted to the undead sorcerer, the final foe looming ominously at the far end of the room. Arlen lay unconscious amidst the blood-soaked ground, his body pushed past its limits by his low stats. His presence, as usual, was barely acknowledged by the others, who dismissed him as inconsequential.
The fighters and brawlers tightened their grips on their weapons, readying themselves for the final attack. Their collective resolve surged as they charged forward, the battle cry signaling the beginning of the climactic assault.
---
Arlen, however, was elsewhere.
In the vast void of unconsciousness, his eyes fluttered open weakly. He was greeted by the familiar glow of a system window floating above him.
[Congratulations! You have reached Level 2!]
The notification shone brightly, drawing his dazed gaze. Alongside it, several new windows appeared, displaying his rewards.
As a recognition of his efforts in taking down enemies and proving himself to Kaelion's legacy, he had earned ten stat points to allocate freely.
The second reward, 'Full Recovery,' promised to restore his health completely upon activation. However, the system emphasized that this ability could not stack and would only activate once per level.
Lastly, he saw something unfamiliar—a faint, shimmering object labeled 'Kaelion's Mind Shard.' The system's description explained that crushing this shard would activate the Legacy Resonance, offering him a chance to learn a new skill, technique, or even a fragment of Kaelion's past.
Arlen stared at the windows, his mind still hazy, but the importance of the rewards was not lost on him. He had done it—he had leveled up.
"I'm... growing," he murmured. His resolve hardened, and he quickly allocated his new points:
Strength: 7
Agility: 6
Endurance: 6
Mana: 5
The changes weren't monumental, but they were a step forward. To Arlen, even the smallest improvement mattered. "No matter how long it takes," he whispered to himself, "I will grow. I will survive."
"Activate Full Recovery!"
The system acknowledged his command, and he felt a wave of warmth wash over him. His wounds closed, his energy surged back, and his body regained its strength. As his eyes opened, the first thing he noticed was the pool of blood beneath him.
But it wasn't his.
Slowly, he rose to his feet, the scene around him coming into focus. His breath caught in his throat. Bodies—his raid members—were strewn across the room, lifeless and broken. The laughter, the camaraderie, the strength they had displayed just moments ago... all of it was gone.
"No..." Arlen's voice trembled as he stepped forward, his knees weak. He stared at the gruesome sight, the sheer brutality of it hitting him harder than he thought possible. They had been so strong, so capable—yet here they were, slaughtered like lambs.
---
[New Quest: Sorcerer's Wrath]
Eliminate the Sorcerer: 0/1
---
The system's notification snapped him out of his shock. His gaze shifted to the undead sorcerer standing amidst the carnage. Its glowing eyes burned with malice, and its skeletal hand clutched a staff crackling with dark energy.
Arlen's grip tightened on the hilt of his dull sword, the weapon barely holding together. He couldn't falter now. Fueled by determination, he rushed toward the sorcerer, ignoring the pangs of fear that gnawed at him.
As he ran, he felt it—the difference. His strides were longer, his steps lighter, his movements more fluid. The stat increases were subtle, but they made a tangible impact.
"Did... did my stats really make this much of a difference?" he thought, marveling at his newfound agility. Spotting a fallen comrade's sword nearby, he snatched it up, discarding his old, battered weapon.
"Activate Flame's Embrace!"
The blade ignited in golden flames, the light illuminating the darkened chamber. The sorcerer turned its head toward him, and for the first time, it acknowledged Arlen as a threat. With a skeletal grin, it raised its staff and fired a blazing bolt of fire in his direction.
The bolt surged forward with incredible speed, but Arlen's improved agility allowed him to dodge just in time. The ground where he had stood exploded, sending shards of rock flying.
He closed the distance, slashing at the sorcerer with all his might. The flaming blade struck true—but instead of cutting through, it bounced off an invisible barrier. A shimmering white force field rippled into view, protecting the sorcerer from harm.
The sorcerer laughed, its voice echoing with mockery. "Ker guawe Shue waratera!" it intoned in a language that twisted the air itself.
But to Arlen, the words transformed, their meaning crystal clear: "You think your sword can cut me?"
The sorcerer raised its staff again, launching another firebolt. Arlen dodged, narrowly avoiding the attack. His mind raced as he observed the situation.
"Flame's Embrace empowers my sword with golden fire, but it can't cut through that shield," he thought, frustration gnawing at him. "The sorcerer's attacks are predictable—firebolts and that shield. But I don't have anything strong enough to break through!"
Another firebolt grazed his shoulder, the heat searing his flesh. He gritted his teeth, diving behind a crumbled pillar for cover. His breathing was ragged, his mind scrambling for a solution.
Then it hit him.
Kaelion's shard.
His gaze dropped to the glowing fragment he had earned. If this shard truly held a piece of Kaelion's knowledge or power, it might be the key to defeating the sorcerer.
With trembling hands, he pulled the shard from his inventory, its light pulsating faintly.
"This is it," he whispered. "This has to work."
Gripping the shard tightly, Arlen prepared to crush it, hoping it would grant him the strength to overcome the seemingly insurmountable foe before him.
His feet pounded against the stone floor as he charged into the fray. The system responded immediately.
[Flame's Embrace Activated]
A searing light erupted along the length of his sword, the glow intensifying until it enveloped the blade completely. The weapon burned with an intense, golden flame, the heat radiating from it like a living force. Arlen's eyes widened, but there was no time to dwell on the beauty or mystery of the power. He raised the sword and brought it down on the nearest zombie.
The blade cut through the decayed flesh like it was nothing, slicing the creature cleanly in half. For the first time, Arlen felt the rush of power coursing through him. He had done it—he had struck down an enemy on his own. But he didn't stop there.
Fueled by this newfound strength, Arlen turned to the next zombie, his flaming sword carving through its torso in one swift motion. Then another. And another. His attacks were unpolished, his lack of formal swordsmanship painfully clear, but it didn't matter. The flames did the work for him, burning through his enemies with a ferocity that matched his own resolve.
"I won't stay in the darkness of the weak anymore!" Arlen shouted, his voice echoing through the chamber. His chest heaved as he fought, his every swing carrying the weight of his ambition. "I will be strong! I WILL BE STRONG!"
He moved like a man possessed, the golden flames consuming every undead that crossed his path. Each kill sent a rush of exhilaration through him, a vindication of his desire to rise above his limitations. He wanted to show them all—every single person who had doubted him, mocked him, dismissed him—that he could be more than they ever imagined.
But the human body has its limits. Arlen's stamina waned with every swing, his breathing growing ragged, his arms heavy. He knew he was pushing himself too hard, that his body would give out soon, but he didn't care. He refused to stop until he could no longer stand.
Finally, with one last desperate strike, Arlen cut down the last of the skeletal archers. His legs wobbled beneath him, and his sword fell from his trembling hands. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, sweat dripping down his face. Around him, the battlefield had gone quiet. The horde of zombies and skeletons lay in heaps, their lifeless forms smoldering where the golden flames had consumed them.
He looked up, his vision blurred, but he could see it clearly now. The only thing left standing in the room was the undead sorcerer.
Its glowing eyes locked onto him, and for the first time, Arlen felt the weight of its full attention. A chill ran down his spine as the sorcerer raised its staff, dark energy swirling around it. The real battle was about to begin.
Arlen's consciousness shifted, the void around him dissolving into a realm of shimmering light. Before him stood Kaelion, the legendary figure whose legacy now intertwined with his own. The man's presence was commanding, his golden armor glowing faintly, and his piercing eyes seemed to judge every inch of Arlen's being.
"That soon? You really are pathetic," Kaelion said with a sneer, his voice dripping with disdain. He glanced around, his expression unamused as he took in Arlen's predicament.
"An undead sorcerer? With a shield spell and firebolt? How quaint," Kaelion mused, a wry smile tugging at his lips. With a flick of his wrist, a grand throne materialized behind him. He sat down leisurely, resting his chin on his hand, as if observing a game that had grown tiresome.
Before Arlen could respond, he felt himself falling. The sensation was jarring, his stomach lurching as he plummeted. He braced for impact, and when he hit the ground, the world around him shifted.
Something was different.
He glanced down at his hands—they were larger, more muscular. His body felt powerful, stronger than it had ever been. But it wasn't his body. It was someone else's. Jealousy struck him like a dagger as he realized whose form he now inhabited.
Kaelion's.
Suddenly, a scene unfolded before him as if he were watching through Kaelion's eyes. The legendary warrior stood in a desolate, fiery wasteland, the air thick with ash and the sky glowing red. Across the battlefield loomed a massive demon, its four towering horns curving upward like jagged peaks. Its eyes burned with malevolence, and its voice rumbled with a guttural laugh that shook the ground.
Kaelion's voice echoed in Arlen's mind.
"I remember this battle well," he said, his tone filled with nostalgia. "The Demon Overseer Maerhar. A beast of pride and power, wielding Hellfire spells and protected by a cursed barrier. A barrier that could parry any attack, whether magical or physical. Ah, I was hoping for a challenge."
Arlen watched in awe as the demon raised its hand, summoning a ball of pitch-black fire the size of a house. The Hellfire spell hurtled toward Kaelion with terrifying speed. Yet, the young Kaelion didn't flinch.
The flames engulfed him, but he emerged unscathed, his armor glowing as though it absorbed the attack. He charged forward, his sword pulsing with a radiant energy that seemed alive.
"Is this... Flame's Embrace?" Arlen thought, but it was far beyond the version he knew. The power flowing through Kaelion's blade was overwhelming, its golden flames licking at the air with divine fury.
The young Kaelion reached the demon in a blur of movement, his strikes precise and relentless. He forced the demon back with sheer strength and skill, his every move exuding confidence and power.
Then Kaelion stopped, his sword held steady before him. Arlen could feel the buildup of energy as Kaelion began pouring his very essence into the blade. The flames surrounding the weapon grew brighter and hotter until the sword itself radiated like the sun.
"Watch closely," Kaelion's voice echoed. "This was the first time I used one of my most powerful techniques."
Kaelion raised the sword high above his head, gripping it with both hands. The energy around him intensified, the ground cracking beneath his feet from the sheer pressure.
"Divine Piercer!" Kaelion roared, bringing the sword down in a devastating arc.
The demon's cursed barrier shattered like glass under the strike, and the blade plunged into Maerhar's chest. The energy surged through the demon's body, tearing it apart from the inside. A massive explosion followed, a blinding light consuming everything as the demon let out one final, guttural scream.
When the light faded, nothing remained of Maerhar but ash and echoes.
Kaelion turned, his face smug with triumph. "See that?" he said, his voice brimming with pride. "That was my first time using Divine Piercer. It's a magnificent move, isn't it?"
The scene dissolved, and Arlen found himself standing face-to-face with Kaelion once more. His awe quickly faded as he processed what he had just witnessed.
With a raised eyebrow and a dry tone, he asked, "Did you... name all your skills and techniques? Please tell me you didn't."
Kaelion's grin widened, and his voice took on an almost childlike glee. "Oh, I named everything!"
Arlen groaned, placing a hand over his face in exasperation. "Of course, you did."
Kaelion laughed heartily, clearly enjoying Arlen's reaction. "Names give power, boy! They inspire fear in your enemies and confidence in your allies. Never underestimate the value of a well-named technique."
Arlen sighed, shaking his head. "Well, if I'm going to survive, I guess I better start naming things too."
Kaelion's eyes sparkled with approval. "Now you're getting it!"
The light around them began to fade, signaling the end of their interaction.
"Remember," Kaelion said, his tone turning serious. "You carry my legacy now. It's your turn to carve a name for yourself. Don't waste this chance."
With that, the world around Arlen shifted once more, returning him to the battlefield and the undead sorcerer waiting to be defeated.
Arlen staggered as the vision of Kaelion's past faded, the echoes of the legendary warrior's triumph still fresh in his mind. He clutched his newly acquired blade, its weight feeling both unfamiliar and empowering. His grip tightened as he assessed the battlefield. The undead sorcerer stood at the center of the chaos, its malevolent grin plastered across its decaying face. Firebolts crackled around it, scorching the stone floor and reducing everything they touched to ash.
"I have to figure this out," Arlen muttered to himself, staring at the glowing sword. He knew what he needed to do—somehow channel the energy into the weapon and execute Kaelion's Divine Piercer. But how? Kaelion had made it look effortless, wielding power as though it were second nature. Arlen was far from that level. Yet, determination burned in his chest. He had to try.
The sorcerer began summoning a new volley of firebolts, its skeletal fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air. Explosions followed as Arlen darted to the side, narrowly avoiding being incinerated. The system's familiar chime interrupted his focus.
[Congratulations! You have learned: Dash!]
"Dash?" Arlen frowned at the notification, puzzled. "So... I've learned how to run fast? Great. That's exactly what I needed," he muttered sarcastically.
As soon as the skill activated, a yellow energy enveloped his body. Without warning, he was propelled forward at blinding speed. His surroundings blurred into streaks of color as he zipped around the room.
"This is incredible!" Arlen thought, marveling at his newfound speed—until he tripped.
His feet tangled beneath him, and his momentum sent him careening off the walls like a human pinball. Each impact left a dent in the stone and a fresh bruise on his body. The sorcerer watched the chaotic display with an amused expression, its fiery eyes tracking Arlen as he ricocheted uncontrollably.
Finally, Arlen managed to stop himself, panting heavily as he regained his footing. His body ached, but he refused to give in to exhaustion.
The sorcerer sneered. "You think you can defeat me with your pathetic tricks? You are nothing more than an insect, scurrying around in the shadow of greatness."
Arlen ignored the taunt, his mind racing as he looked at his blade. Kaelion's words replayed in his head. Flame's Embrace is the key.
He raised the sword, the memory of Kaelion pouring energy into the weapon vivid in his mind. He gritted his teeth and focused.
"Flame's Embrace," he muttered. The blade ignited, golden flames licking along its length.
"Flame's Embrace," he repeated, the glow intensifying.
He kept chanting the name, each repetition deepening his connection with the weapon. His mana surged, something he hadn't expected. The skill didn't normally require mana, but now the blade absorbed it greedily, growing brighter and hotter with each second.
The sorcerer's smug grin faltered as it noticed the change.
Arlen smirked. "Don't get too comfortable. I'm just getting started."
Testing the Limits
He activated Dash again, this time with a clearer purpose. The yellow energy enveloped him once more, and he launched himself toward the sorcerer. Firebolts shot toward him, but his enhanced speed allowed him to weave through the attacks effortlessly.
Arlen struck the shield surrounding the sorcerer, his blade colliding with the barrier in a burst of sparks. He rebounded and struck again, dashing from every angle. The relentless assault created cracks in the shimmering field, tiny fractures that grew with each impact.
The sorcerer hissed, its skeletal hands moving faster as it tried to repair the shield. But Arlen didn't let up. He leaped into the air, spinning as he brought the glowing blade down with all his might.
"Divine Piercer!" he roared, pouring every ounce of his strength and mana into the strike.
The blade connected with the shield, the cracks spiderwebbing out in an instant before the barrier shattered like glass. The energy released from the collision sent shockwaves across the room, forcing both Arlen and the sorcerer backward.
Arlen hit the ground hard, his body skidding to a stop. His vision blurred, and every muscle screamed in protest. He struggled to his feet, using the blade as a crutch.
Across the room, the sorcerer wasn't faring much better. The blast had left its tattered robes in shreds, and cracks ran along its skeletal frame. Its once fiery eyes flickered weakly, but its malevolent grin remained.
"You... are persistent," the sorcerer rasped, its voice trembling.
Arlen wiped the blood from his mouth, his breathing ragged. "You're not the only one who's stubborn."
The sorcerer raised its hands, summoning what little energy it had left. A dim firebolt began to form, sputtering as the flames refused to cooperate.
Arlen took a step forward, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. But he kept going. Each step brought him closer to the sorcerer, his blade dragging behind him, its flames still burning brightly.
"This ends now," Arlen said, his voice low but resolute.
The sorcerer fired the weakened firebolt, but Arlen batted it aside with a flick of his blade. He raised the sword high, golden flames roaring to life one final time.
"Goodbye," Arlen said, bringing the blade down in a clean, decisive strike.
The sorcerer's head separated from its body, the flames consuming its remains until nothing but ash remained.
The room fell silent, the oppressive atmosphere lifting as the sorcerer's magic faded. Arlen collapsed to his knees, his body completely spent. The sword clattered to the ground beside him, its flames extinguished.
A familiar chime echoed in his ears.
[Congratulations! You have defeated the Sorcerer. Level Up!]
A window appeared before him, listing his rewards.
10 Stat Points
Full Recovery (Activated upon leveling up)
Skill Shard: Lesser Flame Manipulation
Arlen sighed in relief as the Full Recovery took effect, his wounds healing and his energy returning. He glanced at the stat points, already considering where to allocate them.
But more than the rewards, he felt a sense of accomplishment. He had faced overwhelming odds and emerged victorious.
As he stood, the sword in his hand once again began to glow faintly. He looked at it, determination sparking in his eyes.
Arlen stood at the spot where the sorcerer's remains had been reduced to ash, the oppressive silence of the battlefield lingering around him. Among the soot and fragments of bone, a faint glow caught his eye. Crouching down, he found another flowstone, the strange and potent material imbued with energy. Without hesitation, he pocketed it, his thoughts swirling with curiosity and anticipation about its potential uses.
But the adrenaline of the fight had finally worn off, and the physical toll on his body caught up with him. His muscles ached, and exhaustion struck him like a hammer. He tried to steady himself, but his vision blurred, and he fell to the cold, bloodied ground. Darkness enveloped him, pulling him into a deep and dreamless sleep.
---
Entering the Limbo
When Arlen awoke, he was once again in the limbo-like void where time and space seemed to blur. He lay on the invisible ground, the weight of his exhaustion still present, yet a sense of pride swelled in his chest. He was growing stronger, finally breaking free from the chains of weakness that had bound him for so long.
The system window appeared before him, displaying his progress.
[Congratulations! You have reached Level 3.]
The notification came with a prompt to allocate his stat points. He eagerly brought up his current stats and began distributing the points carefully.
Strength: 10
Agility: 9
Endurance: 11
Mana: 5
Arlen frowned as he noted his relatively low mana. "Next time, I need to invest more into mana," he muttered, already planning his future growth.
Then his attention shifted to his newest skill. The system had rewarded him with Lesser Flame Manipulation, and the ability felt distinctly different from Flame's Embrace.
"This… doesn't feel like Kaelion's Flame," Arlen mused, his mind racing with possibilities. "Did I… steal this skill from the sorcerer? But that's impossible! Multiclassing isn't a thing."
Confused, he called out into the void. "Kaelion! What is this?!"
Instead of the warrior's booming presence, the system itself responded.
[Lesser Flame Manipulation has been acquired from the defeated sorcerer's skill set. It has been adapted to integrate with Kaelion's Flame. Future spell synergy may become available as you progress.]
"So, I really did steal it…" Arlen muttered, both amazed and bewildered. He scratched his chin, contemplating what this meant for his abilities. "System, show me the spells I can create with Lesser Flame Manipulation."
The system complied, listing several potential options:
[Possible Spell Creation: 0/3 Slots Available]
Firebolt: Costs 1 mana to cast. Launches a small bolt of fire that creates a minor combustion upon impact.
Create Fire: Generates a steady flame for illumination or ignition.
Blaze: Enhances existing fire, increasing its size and intensity.
Sear: A concentrated flame attack that burns a single target.
Arlen skimmed the list, his lips curling into a small smile. "This isn't much, but it's a start. At least I have something to work with."
As he glanced at the Full Recovery option, he considered activating it but decided against it. "I'm just tired. No need to waste something so valuable," he reasoned.
Still, he couldn't sit idle. His desire to grow stronger was a constant itch, a fire in his chest that refused to be extinguished. "System, is there a way I can train here? Outside of raids, I mean. I need to improve my swordsmanship and learn how to use my magic properly."
[Yes. You may use this space to practice your abilities. Time spent here will not affect the outside world. Furthermore, your daily life will include personalized quests aimed at fostering your growth.]
Arlen's surroundings began to shift. The dark, featureless void transformed into a training ground filled with practice dummies and targets. A wooden training sword materialized in his hand, and he immediately began his drills.
Every time he made a mistake, the system punished him with feedback—sometimes a minor jolt of pain or a sudden burst of wind to knock him off balance. The intense feedback forced him to refine his movements, each strike becoming sharper and more deliberate.
Unbeknownst to Arlen, the events of the dungeon raid were causing ripples in the world outside. Of the fourteen people who had entered, only four had survived. The higher-ups in the hunter organization dispatched a rescue team when no one returned, discovering the carnage left behind.
The survivors were quickly identified:
Arlen Gruz: An E-rank hunter who previously served as a carriage driver.
Fuler Pukal: A D-rank marksman.
Juh Ien: A D-rank vanguard.
Merika Loma: A C-rank fighter who had been second-in-command under the late Ovid Drom.
The rescue team found Arlen unconscious, his body battered and drenched in sweat. Unlike the others, who were transported to a hospital and placed under the care of skilled healers, Arlen was treated with standard care due to his low rank.
As Arlen lay in his hospital bed, the nurses attending him noticed something strange. No matter what they did, he continued to sweat profusely. His body temperature was abnormally high, yet he showed no signs of fever or infection.
"Is he burning up from internal mana overuse?" one nurse speculated.
"Possibly," another replied, checking his vitals. "But his condition isn't worsening. It's almost like… his body is adjusting to something."
While the nurses debated the anomaly, Arlen's consciousness stirred. Though his body remained motionless, his mind was active. He was still in the training void, relentlessly refining his techniques and experimenting with his newly acquired magic.
In the training space, Arlen faced off against a new dummy designed to mimic an actual combatant. The wooden sword clashed against the animated dummy's strikes, each encounter testing his reflexes and stamina.
"Come on," Arlen grunted, sweat dripping down his brow. He spun away from a strike and countered with a sharp thrust, the training sword striking true.
Satisfied with his progress, he turned his focus to magic. Raising his hand, he summoned the energy of Lesser Flame Manipulation. A small flicker of fire appeared in his palm, flickering weakly.
"Firebolt," he said, casting the spell. The flame shot forward, colliding with a target and causing a minor explosion.
He frowned. "The power's decent, but it's not enough. I need to amplify it."
Back in the hospital, Arlen's body began to stabilize. His excessive sweating ceased, replaced by a faint warmth radiating from his skin. One of the nurses noticed and called for the attending physician.
"He's stabilizing," she reported.
The doctor nodded, observing Arlen with a mixture of curiosity and relief. "Whatever's happening inside him, it seems to be working in his favor. Keep monitoring him closely."
As Arlen continued his training, he felt a shift within himself. His movements were more fluid, his strikes more precise. The fire magic he wielded was growing stronger, more attuned to his will.
He wasn't just surviving anymore. He was thriving, evolving into someone capable of standing among the ranks of true hunters.
"This is only the beginning," Arlen said, gripping his sword tightly. He looked toward the horizon of the void, his determination burning as brightly as the flames he commanded.
It had been several days since Arlen was brought to the hospital. The nurses had started noticing subtle changes in him. His frame seemed broader, his muscles a little more defined, and he appeared to have shed some weight. They chalked it up to him being a hunter, his body adapting and recovering faster than the average person.
Finally, after nearly a week, Arlen's eyes fluttered open. The sterile white ceiling of the hospital room greeted him.
"Wh… Hm?" he mumbled groggily. Disoriented, he sat up and instinctively swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Without much thought, he stood up, wobbling slightly but determined to figure out where he was. He walked out of the room, his curiosity leading him through the quiet hallways until he bumped into one of the nurses.
"Hey... can I ask where I am? And how did I get here?" he asked, his voice raspy with confusion.
The nurse turned to him and smiled warmly. "Oh, you're awake! You were brought here after the raid. You were treated for your wounds, along with three others who survived."
Arlen blinked, processing her words. "I see... so there are more people who survived. I'm glad," he said with a faint smile of relief. His mind wandered briefly to the raid, but he shook the dark thoughts away.
"Would you be upset if I asked the doctor to discharge me? I've got something important to take care of," he added, looking past her as if searching for answers.
Before the nurse could respond, a familiar translucent window popped up in front of him.
[Daily Quest: Will of the Weak Ones]
Your body does not meet the requirements to fully utilize the skills you gained in limbo. Complete the following exercises to meet the necessary criteria:
0/45 minutes of jumping jacks
0/10 km run
0/100 push-ups
0/100 squats
0/100 sit-ups
0/1-hour plank
Arlen's jaw nearly hit the floor as he read the list. "No way…" he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "There's no way I can finish this brutal workout! I'm built like a twig or a mozzarella stick! There's no way I could finish this in a single day!"
Despite his protests, a sinking feeling settled in his chest. He knew the system wasn't one to make idle threats. Gritting his teeth, he asked the question he dreaded.
"If I don't… what happens?"
[Failure Consequences: If you do not fulfill your daily quota… you will die.]
A chill ran down Arlen's spine. Goosebumps rose on his arms as he swallowed hard. "Wha—WHAT?! I just started living, and now I'm supposed to die if I don't complete this impossible workout? Every single day?!"
He stumbled back a step, feeling the weight of his predicament crush him. But even as panic tried to claw its way into his mind, he clenched his fists and steadied himself.
"No. No way. I'm not dying now. I just got stronger. I'll figure this out."
With a determined glare, Arlen immediately started running through the hospital's hallways. His legs screamed in protest after just a few laps, his lungs burned, and sweat poured down his face. But he refused to give up.
The minutes stretched on as Arlen pushed himself to his limits. He had never trained like this before, and it showed. His weak, underdeveloped muscles protested every movement.
"Jumping jacks… for 45 minutes… Are they serious?" he panted, his breath coming in short gasps as he forced his body to keep moving.
When he finally finished, his legs felt like jelly, but the quest window updated, marking his progress. A small sense of satisfaction crept in as he moved on to the next exercise.
"Push-ups. Let's do this."
Arlen dropped to the ground and began the grueling task of completing 100 push-ups. His arms trembled after just 20, and by 50, his body was shaking uncontrollably. He collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily.
"I can't… I can't do this," he muttered, but the memory of the system's threat loomed over him.
"You will die."
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself back up and kept going.
As Arlen struggled through the exercises, the nurses and other patients couldn't help but notice the commotion. He was running laps around the hospital, dripping with sweat and gasping for air. His arms flailed during his jumping jacks, and his form during the plank was anything but stable.
"What is he doing?" one nurse whispered, her brow furrowed in concern.
"Isn't he the guy who was in a coma for a week?" another replied, watching as Arlen groaned in pain but refused to stop.
"He's a hunter. They're used to this kind of punishment," a third nurse said, though her tone held a hint of doubt.
Despite their skepticism, none of them interfered. Hunters were a breed apart, and their methods were often incomprehensible to ordinary people
After what felt like an eternity, Arlen moved on to the final challenge: a one-hour plank. He dropped into position, his core already screaming from the sit-ups and squats.
"Okay… this can't be that bad," he muttered, trying to convince himself.
Ten minutes in, his arms were shaking violently, and sweat dripped into his eyes. Every second felt like a lifetime.
"This is insane," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Who even does this?!" The system remained silent, offering no comfort or encouragement.
Arlen's body ached, his muscles groaning in protest as he forced himself to get out of bed. The system window floated in his vision, the Daily Quest staring back at him like a cruel master.
[Daily Quest: Will of the Weak Ones]
Your body doesn't meet the requirements for the skills you gained in limbo. Please complete the following exercises to maintain synchronization:
45 minutes of jumping jacks: 0/45 min
10 km run: 0/10 km
100 push-ups: 0/100
100 squats: 0/100
100 sit-ups: 0/100
1-hour plank: 0/1 hr
Failure to complete will result in termination.
Arlen rubbed his eyes, groaning. "Great, another day of hell."
He stumbled to his tiny kitchen and gulped down a glass of water before stepping outside. His legs still felt like jelly from yesterday, but he knew stopping wasn't an option.
"I can't die. Not now. Not after surviving that raid.
Arlen began with the 10-kilometer run, his breath coming in short gasps as he pushed himself to keep moving. His feet pounded the pavement, the sound echoing in the early morning air.
By the time he finished, his shirt was drenched in sweat, and his legs felt like lead. But he didn't stop. He moved straight into jumping jacks, his arms and legs flailing in rhythm as he counted under his breath.
"Forty-two… forty-three…" His voice wavered. "Damn it, I'm only halfway!"
He powered through, collapsing to the ground when the timer finally hit 45 minutes.
"Push-ups next," he muttered, grimacing as he dropped to the floor. His arms trembled as he completed the first set of ten, then twenty. By the time he reached fifty, he was gasping for air.
People passing by gave him curious looks. Some even whispered to each other, amused or concerned about the sight of a man torturing himself in public.
"Is he a Hunter?" one person asked.
"He looks like one of those survivors from the recent raid,
The final challenge of the day was the plank—a grueling test of endurance. Arlen clenched his fists as he lowered himself into position, his body quivering almost immediately.
The timer ticked down slowly. After just five minutes, sweat dripped from his forehead onto the ground below.
"I can do this," he whispered, his arms shaking. "Just… fifty-five minutes to go."
The seconds felt like hours, and he couldn't help but curse the system for its unrelenting demands. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to stop, but he bit down hard, refusing to give in.
When the timer finally hit zero, Arlen collapsed onto the floor, panting.
[Daily Quest Completed!]
Congratulations! You've survived another Day.
That night, as Arlen sat in his tiny apartment, the corrupted flowstone pulsed faintly in his hand. The system window appeared again, offering him choices for how to use it:
[Flowstone Analysis: A fragment of corrupted energy. Potential applications include:]
1. Enhancing weaponry
2. Unlocking new skills
3. Purifying for a mana boost
Arlen stared at the options, his mind racing. "If I purify it, I can increase my mana, which I'll definitely need for magic. But enhancing my weapon could give me the edge I need in battle…"
After a moment's thought, he made his decision.
"Enhance my weapon," he said firmly.
The system responded immediately.
[Enhancing weapon with corrupted flowstone…]
[Warning: Weapon compatibility required.]
Arlen pulled out his sword, the same blade that had carried him through the raid. Though it was battered and chipped, it still bore traces of Flame's Embrace. He placed the flowstone against the blade, and the system chimed.
[Compatibility confirmed. Beginning enhancement…]
The flowstone dissolved into a shimmering light, which seeped into the sword. The weapon pulsed with energy, its blade glowing faintly with a dark, fiery hue.
[Weapon enhanced: Corrupted Flame's Embrace. The blade now carries corrupted energy, increasing its damage and unlocking new effects.
The next morning, Arlen woke to a new notification.
[Weekly Quest: Path of Strength]
Your journey has just begun. To survive as a hunter, you must push beyond your limits. Complete the following weekly goals:
Run 50 kilometers: 10/50 km
Perform 1,000 push-ups: 100/1,000
Complete 1,000 squats: 100/1,000
Survive one D-rank raid: 0/1
Arlen groaned. "The daily quests are bad enough… now I have weekly quests, too?"
He stretched, his muscles sore from the previous day's training. But he couldn't afford to waste time.
As he stepped outside, he gripped his newly enhanced sword tightly. He could feel the power coursing through it—a reminder of what he was fighting for.
"I'll survive this," he said to himself, determination lighting his eyes. "I'll become stronger, no matter what it takes."
Days passed in a blur of relentless training. Each morning, Arlen completed his grueling daily quest, his body pushed to its absolute limit. The exercises became slightly easier with time, but the system wasn't kind—it adjusted the difficulty as he grew stronger.
By the end of the week, Arlen had completed the majority of his weekly quest goals. His body was leaner, his movements faster and more precise. He could feel the change in himself—a newfound strength that had once seemed impossible.
But the final challenge loomed ahead: a D-rank raid.
As he prepared to leave for the raid, Arlen glanced at the corrupted blade by his side. It was no longer just a weapon—it was a symbol of his determination.
"This is only the beginning," he muttered, gripping the hilt tightly.
The raid gate shimmered before him, a portal to the unknown. With a deep breath, he stepped through, ready to face whatever lay ahead.