Ethan's first act in the new world was to find a direction. Any direction.
The serene clearing was beautiful in the way a Venus flytrap is beautiful to a fly...alluring, but with the distinct promise of being devoured.
A faint, trampled path led away from the clearing. He followed it.
The path widened, opening into a chaotic, sprawling encampment buzzing with the nervous energy of a thousand fresh anxieties.
It looked like a refugee camp at a fantasy convention.
People in modern clothes - jeans, hoodies, business suits, even a guy in a bright yellow chicken costume who looked thoroughly traumatized - milled about in bewildered herds.
Crude wooden signs had been hastily nailed to the obsidian-barked trees.
Stormreach Waypoint.
Free Water (Don't Ask Where It's From).
Forming Teams - Mages & Healers Needed!
A cacophony of voices washed over him.
"My talent is 'Accurate Spitting'! What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"
"I was in the middle of a root canal! I can still taste the antiseptic!"
"Does anyone have a phone charger? I've got no signal!"
Idiots. Every last one of them.
They were still thinking in terms of the old world.
Ethan pushed through the throng, his eyes scanning for something, anything, useful.
He found it at the edge of the camp: a makeshift smithy, where a mountain of a man was rhythmically hammering a piece of glowing metal.
Ethan approached the forge, the heat a welcome change from the unnerving chill of the unknown.
The blacksmith didn't look up, his hammer falls echoing with a percussive, deafening clang.
"What do you want, Participant?" the blacksmith grunted, his voice like gravel in a blender.
He finally stopped, wiping sweat from his brow with a forearm the size of a ham.
"I need a weapon," Ethan said, keeping his voice level.
The blacksmith let out a short, barking laugh.
"You and every other soft-skinned whelp who's washed up here. Got coin?"
Ethan's pockets were empty, save for his phone (now a useless brick) and a stray stick of gum. "No."
"Then get lost. This ain't a charity."
"The System said we get a starter package," Ethan bluffed, recalling a trope from every game he'd ever played. It was a long shot, but desperation was the new currency.
The blacksmith squinted at him, his gaze surprisingly sharp.
"The System says a lot of things.
Says you're all 'heroes in the making.' I've seen heroes. You lot ain't it."
He sighed, a great gust of air that smelled of coal dust and disappointment.
"Fine. The City Lord wants you newbies armed. Something about improving the survival statistics. Less paperwork for the guards when you get eaten."
He gestured with his thumb to a barrel overflowing with identical, poorly made swords.
They were little more than sharpened iron bars with a strip of leather wrapped around the hilt.
[Crude Iron Sword]
[Rank: Crude]
[Attack: +5]
[Durability: 15/15]
[A shoddy weapon, better than a sharp stick. Marginally.]
Ethan pulled one out. It felt heavy, unbalanced, and pathetic. Still, it was a start. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet," the blacksmith grumbled.
"You don't even know how to look at what you're holding, do you? Clueless."
He tapped his own forehead.
"Focus. Will the System to show you the details."
Ethan had already figured that part out, but he feigned ignorance. "Show me the details?"
As if on cue, the item description popped into his vision.
"There. Now you won't try to stab a Golem with a butter knife," the blacksmith said.
He seemed to take pity on Ethan's feigned helplessness.
"Look, kid. You want to last more than a day, you need to learn the basics.
This is a one-time offer, so listen up." He stared at Ethan intently.
A new notification appeared.
['Griswold the Smith' is offering to teach you the Common Skill: Scrutiny. Do you accept?]
Ethan mentally accepted without hesitation.
A wave of information flooded his mind...not just how to see an item's stats, but how to probe deeper, to sense the potential within things, to analyze a creature's weaknesses.
[You have learned Common (F) Rank Skill: Scrutiny (Lv. 1)]
[Effect: Allows the user to view basic information about targets of Level 10 or lower.]
"There. Now you're slightly less useless," Griswold said, turning back to his forge.
"Get out of here. Go poke a monster. Or get poked. Makes no difference to me."
Ethan gave a mock salute to the blacksmith's broad back and retreated into the crowd, the shoddy sword in one hand.
He found a relatively quiet spot behind a large, pulsating mushroom and brought up his own status screen.
[Name: Ethan Graves]
[Level: 1]
[Class: None]
[Title: None]
[HP: 100/100]
[Attack: 10]
[Defense: 5]
[Talent: Maximum Evolution (SSS)]
[Skills: Scrutiny (Lv. 1)]
[Primal Essence: 100]
His eyes locked onto the last two lines.
He had a choice to make. He could evolve the [Scrutiny] skill.
A better analysis tool could be invaluable later. Or… he could evolve the sword.
Immediate, tangible power. In a world where a Level 1 monster could kill you, information was a luxury. A bigger stick was a necessity.
The choice was obvious.
"System," he whispered, his focus entirely on the crude iron sword in his hand.
P"Use one Primal Essence. Evolve this."
A prompt appeared, shimmering with a faint SSS-rank glow that only he could see.
[You are about to perform a Critical Evolution on 'Crude Iron Sword'. This action is irreversible. Confirm?]
"Confirm."
The world seemed to hold its breath.
A single point of his 100 Primal Essence vanished.
Light, pure and impossibly potent, erupted from his palm.
It didn't flare outwards; it imploded, wrapping around the sword like a cocoon of liquid starlight.
The pitted, dull iron began to flow and reform.
The leather-wrapped hilt smoothed into a perfectly molded, dark gray grip.
The blade elongated slightly, its edge honing to a razor-sharp, wicked silver that seemed to drink the light of the twin suns.
A faint, sickly green aura pulsed from the metal.
The entire transformation took less than three seconds.
When the light faded, he was holding a completely different weapon.
[Critical Evolution Successful!]
['Crude Iron Sword' has evolved into 'Evolved Iron Sword +1']
[Rank: Iron -> Steel]
[Attack: +30 (Previously +5)]
[Durability: 100/100]
[New Special Effect (Critical Evolution): Corrosive Wound - Attacks have a 50% chance to inflict a corrosive poison on the target, dealing 5 damage per second for 5 seconds.]
Ethan's jaw tightened.
From +5 Attack to +30. His base attack was 10.
This sword made him a killing machine right out of the gate.
And the corrosive effect… a potential extra 25 damage was a death sentence for anything low-level.
A sudden commotion from the edge of the camp snapped him out of his reverie.
A small crowd had gathered, shouts of excitement and fear mingling.
"Look at him go! That's Marcus Lee!"
"He said his talent is Heroic-rank!
Something called [Kinetic Force Fists]!"
"He's going to take on that bug!"
Ethan pushed his way to the front, his new sword held discreetly at his side.
He saw the man, Marcus Lee, posturing near the treeline.
He was a broad-shouldered guy with a cocky grin, his fists glowing with a faint blue energy.
His target was a creature the size of a golden retriever, a Glimmer-Winged Pincerbug.
It had iridescent, dragonfly-like wings and two massive, serrated mandibles that clicked together ominously.
Using [Scrutiny], Ethan got its stats.
[Glimmer-Winged Pincerbug]
[Level: 1]
[Rank: Iron]
[HP: 120/120]
[Attack: 20]
[Defense: 8]
[A common pest. Its wings can flash brightly, disorienting prey before it strikes.]
"Watch this, everyone!" Marcus boomed, cracking his knuckles.
"This is how a real prodigy handles business!
Time to get my first Primal Essence!"
He charged forward, feet pounding the earth.
BOOM!
The ground shuddered slightly as he launched himself, his fist a blur of blue light.
BOOM!
The punch connected with the bug's carapace with a sickening crack.
A visible shockwave of force exploded outwards, kicking up dust and grass.
The bug screeched, a high-pitched, grating sound that made everyone flinch.
Marcus's punch had clearly done damage - the bug's HP dropped by a third.
"See? Nothing to it!" Marcus laughed, turning to flash a grin at the cheering crowd.
It was the last mistake he ever made.
In that split second of arrogance, the Pincerbug's wings flared with a blinding flash of light.
Marcus cried out, stumbling back, hands flying to his eyes. "Agh! Can't see!"
The bug moved with terrifying speed.
It didn't fly: it lunged.
A blur of iridescent wings and chitin, it closed the distance in an instant. The crowd's cheers turned to screams of horror.
CRUNCH.
The sound was wet and final.
One of the bug's massive pincers slammed through Marcus's chest, lifting him off the ground.
The Heroic-rank talent, the blue energy, the cocky grin - all of it vanished.
He was just a man, impaled on a monster's mandible, blood pouring from his mouth. He gurgled once, then went limp.
The Pincerbug screeched in victory, shaking his corpse off its pincer like a piece of trash before skittering back into the woods.
Silence. The crowd was frozen, their faces a mask of pale, dawning terror. The game was over. This was real.
Ethan felt a cold dread mix with the exhilaration from his new sword.
He had an SSS-rank talent. Marcus had a B-rank.
And he was dead in under ten seconds.
The gap between them was immense, but the lesson was universal: this world did not tolerate mistakes.
A woman standing near him, her face pale but her eyes sharp and assessing, turned to him.
She was beautiful in a fierce, practical way, with dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and a determined set to her jaw.
"We need to team up," she said, her voice low and urgent.
"My name is Samantha Croft.
My sister and I are here.
Alone, we're just waiting to get picked off like him."
Her gaze flickered to Ethan's sword, her eyes widening slightly at its obvious quality.
"You have a good weapon. We have support talents. We can watch each other's backs.
Split the loot, split the EXP. It's the only logical way to survive."
Ethan looked at her, then at the spot where Marcus Lee's body had fallen. She was right.
For 99% of the people here, teaming up was the only play. But he wasn't in the 99%.
He had 100 Primal Essence.
He had Maximum Evolution.
He had a weapon that could kill that Pincerbug in two, maybe three hits.
Sharing EXP right now would be like a billionaire splitting the cost of a coffee. It was inefficient.
"No, thank you," he said, his tone flat and final.
Samantha looked taken aback.
"Are you crazy? Did you not just see what happened?"
"I saw a loudmouth get himself killed," Ethan replied, his eyes cold. "I'm not a loudmouth."
He turned away from her shocked expression, from the terrified crowd, from the flimsy security of the waypoint.
He hefted his evolved sword, the weight of it feeling solid and reassuring in his grip.
The path to power was a solitary one. And his was just beginning.
He walked toward the treeline, toward the Gloomwood, leaving the herd behind.