Aron sat back against the rough bark of a nearby tree, letting the last of the embers from his fire flicker out. The forest around him was dark, silent except for the faint hiss of dying flames and the occasional creak of settling wood.
He had finished the leg of Akrolen meat, and now only the smell of smoke and iron lingered in the air. He flexed his fingers, tasting the faint metallic tang that clung to his skin, a reminder of the carnage that had unfolded just hours ago.
For a moment, he simply stared at the empty space before him. The battle was over. The forest, once alive with the grotesque roar of hundreds of Akrolens, was now still, almost reverent in its quiet. He had cut down over a thousand of them, and yet the hunt had left him with no euphoria, no thrill beyond the simple, steady satisfaction of survival. It was work, and work alone.
He stood slowly, muscles stretching with the subtle ache of exertion. With a flick of his wrist, he extinguished the fire. No sound, no smoke rising — only the faint glow of his daggers and the lingering scent of cooked meat. He brushed off the ash that clung to his clothes, then looked skyward through the fragmented canopy. Faint glimmers of alien stars pierced the darkness, their strange constellations dancing just out of reach.
Aron lifted his right hand, scratching his chin thoughtfully. Something clicked in his mind.
"System… show me my status," he said, voice calm, steady, carrying the weight of command.
The screen shimmered before him, blue light rippling across the space in front of him. For a moment, the interface glitched, trembled, then settled into perfect clarity.
[ Updated Status ]
[ FOSTERS LUKERS SYSTEM Activated {Exclusive Access} ]
Aron's violet eyes narrowed as he scanned the readout. Numbers, titles, multipliers, all lined up neatly in rows. His pulse didn't quicken; he had grown accustomed to the absurdity of it.
[ Status Updated ]
[ Name: Aron #$#@{Unknown} ]
[ LVL: 45 ] [ EXP: 2,000,000 / 10,000,000 ]
[ Titles: ]
•The Unbroken (Effect 1: Mental strength and will remain unbroken)
(Effect 2: ???)
(Effect 3: ???)
(Effect 4: ???)
• Cosmic $#@#$# – Limited Effect: +10 stats bonus with every kill {To use fully, the Host must become stronger}
[ Stats: ]
STR: 335 → 422 (+87)
AGL: 334 → 421 (+87)
VIT: 203 → 290 (+87)
STM: 184 → 271 (+87)
INT: 144 → 231 (+87)
LCK: 94 → 181 (+87)
Energy: 0 (-1000) {Please store atmospheric energy to improve this stat}
[ Undistributed Stats: 135 → 13,695 (+13,560)
{Title Effect: Each kill → +10 stat points} ]
[ System Shop ] [ SP: 72 → 1,428 (+1,356) {+1 per kill} ]
[ Inventory: Titanium Scolkars, 'Axenol', Deviyon's Attire, Currency: 0 coins, etc. ]
[ Skills: Advanced → Master, proficiency 40–68%, assigned by calculating The Host's usage and techniques ]
[ Level Advancement {Locked until LVL 100 is reached} ]
[ Additional functions unlock after Host's first Level Advancement ]
Aron raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as he scanned each line. 'Master stage in all my skills…' he thought. A faint smirk touched his lips. It had been too easy this time — the system's generosity bordering on ridiculous. He leaned back, letting the screen hover before him, watching as the numbers and multipliers flickered softly.
He lingered on the 'Axenol' Cube for longer than the rest. Memories stirred — the Cube, its hidden power, the secrets that even the system's appraisal couldn't reveal. His pulse didn't quicken; curiosity was steady, tempered by practicality.
"Hah…" he muttered. "I would look into it now, but there are more important things to do than wasting time on this unknown item." He paused, eyes sweeping across the list of skills that had already reached mastery.
"Let me get this correct, Advanced → Master… yes. Then Master → Perfect → Peak → Ultimate right?", he thought aloud, remembering the sequence from the game.
[ Yes Host. However, those are not the only tiers. After Ultimate, higher levels of skills, abilities, and authorities exist. You will learn them as you grow stronger. ]
Aron's eyes widened faintly, but he wasn't shocked. He had seen enough absurdities to temper surprise. He chuckled quietly, the sound low and amused.
"Hmm… this is quite the surprise," he murmured. "The stronger my skills, the stronger I become… I like that."
His gaze flicked back to the system messages. '100 LVL… I need to level 55 more times before I can advance, right?'
[ Yes Host. That is correct. ]
A satisfied smile curved his lips. Advancement, trials, evolution — all steps on a path that was his alone to walk. He had no illusions. He had survived, leveled, and mastered. The rest would follow naturally.
"I have come a long way but....I still can't even think of beating that Final Boss. Tch...I need to get as much strong as I can before I climb to the highest floor..." Aron said as he remembered the bitter end he met after climbing the 100th floor of this very Tower.
Aron began walking again, leaving the extinguished fire and the small rock behind. His boots pressed lightly on the blood-soaked soil, the echo of his steps swallowed by the quiet of the forest. He lifted his right hand to scratch his chin again, pondering the numbers and multipliers that floated before him.
He walked steadily toward the Gate of Sagastan, the path familiar despite its alien surroundings. He was on a mission — a single, unshakable purpose guiding every step: Karlath. Every movement, every plan, every thought in the back of his mind circled around that name.
The wind whispered faintly through the twisted branches, carrying a subtle reminder of the Akrolen's lingering presence, but he didn't flinch. He had faced death — hundreds of times — and had emerged stronger, more precise, more unyielding. The forest had been a trial, but his eyes now fixed on the far horizon, the true hunt awaited.
A faint hum followed him — the System, alive with energy, tracking his every step, mapping the residual traces of battle, recording every thought, every kill, every gain. It was a silent companion, unflinching, and infinitely patient.
Aron glanced at the floating screen again, lingering on the 'Axenol'. His mind traced possibilities, strategies, contingencies, but he dismissed most of them. 'Not now…' he thought. 'Focus on the immediate. Karlath first.'
His hand flexed unconsciously around the hilt of one of the Titanium Scolkars. The other hovered at his side. The faint runes pulsed with residual energy, almost in rhythm with his heartbeat. He tested a motion — a flick, a twist, the motion precise, flawless, refined from thousands of repetitions. Each movement carried the promise of lethality.
The forest began to thin. The red mist from the Akrolen battle was gone, leaving behind a landscape that was stark, quiet, and eerily calm. Rocks, twisted trees, scorched earth — remnants of carnage now frozen in silence. The ground itself seemed to breathe slowly, waiting, as if aware of his presence.
Aron's thoughts drifted faintly, minimal but present: memories of the orphanage, lessons learned in solitude, the discipline that had shaped him. Cooking, surviving, planning — all minor exercises compared to the trials that awaited. Yet even those small skills carried weight now, reinforcing habits of patience, precision, and care.
He flexed his fingers again, feeling the subtle tingle of stored energy in his body. Atmospheric energy, untapped, waiting to be absorbed — a quiet reserve that would strengthen his stats further. He made a mental note to utilize it, though not now. Timing was everything.
The Gate of Sagastan loomed ahead, a faint distortion in the air. The space shimmered, bending light and gravity subtly. He slowed slightly, surveying the threshold, the faint hum of interdimensional energy brushing against his awareness. He could feel the presence of higher-floor beings beyond it, their influence like ripples in water.
Aron's lips curved faintly. "Karlath…" he murmured. "Soon, very soon."
A soft, almost imperceptible vibration ran through his body — the System updating in real-time, tracking, calculating, adjusting. Numbers scrolled, stats flickered, multipliers stabilized. He didn't react. This was routine. This was preparation. He was ready.
He stepped forward through the last few paces before the gate. The distortion shimmered more violently, the air dense with raw energy. His body moved fluidly, silently, as if flowing through resistance. The environment bent slightly around him, responding to his presence, to the aura of someone who had mastered survival, combat, and power.
And yet, despite every system readout, every skill at Master level, every enhancement he had absorbed, he remained calm. Focused. Patient. Unbroken.
He glanced at the status display one last time before crossing the threshold. The EXP bar slowly ticked upward — two million out of ten million — a reminder that he still had fifty-five levels to advance before he could ascend further. But he didn't rush. The journey was measured, deliberate, as were all things Aron.
The Gate of Sagastan shimmered ahead. Beyond it, the hunt continued. Karlath waited. And Aron's violet eyes burned softly in the night, reflecting the faint pulse of the System, the lingering echoes of a thousand kills, and the promise of a path forged through fire, blood, and unbroken will.
For now, he walked. The fire behind him had vanished, the forest lay silent, and the system waited patiently.
Aron's thoughts remained minimal, focused: Karlath. Mission. Survival. Mastery.
Every step was measured. Every breath was deliberate. Every heartbeat echoed purpose.
He was ready.
And nothing — no being, no system, no force in this warped world — would slow him.
_ _ _
To be continued....
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