King awoke to the soft light of morning filtering through his blinds. For the first time in recent memory, he hadn't been jolted awake by nightmares of monsters or the gnawing anxiety of his own fraudulence. Instead, he felt a deep, restorative calm. He stretched, a long, satisfying motion that pulled at the new, solid muscle across his back and shoulders. A faint, pleasant ache reminded him of yesterday's efforts. It was the ache of accomplishment.
After a quick, hot shower, he brushed his teeth, staring at his reflection. The face was the same, but the eyes held a flicker of something new—not confidence, not yet, but a quiet determination that had been entirely absent before.
He dressed in clean, comfortable clothes, made himself a simple breakfast of eggs and rice, and felt a sense of normalcy he cherished. Finally, he grabbed a fresh disposable mask and his trusty baseball cap from the drawer. "Alright," he mumbled, fixing the cap on his head. "No more mistakes. Face stays hidden."
As his hand touched the doorknob, a habitual thought crossed his mind. Might as well check the resources before heading out. He mentally pulled up the system screen.
And stared.
[Total BP: 10,530]
King blinked. He closed the screen and pulled it up again. The number remained, glowing mockingly.
"...What?"
This wasn't right. He'd checked right before leaving Z-City yesterday. It was 9,830. He was sure of it. He'd calculated the 170-point shortfall for the armor. He'd specifically decided to wait.
"How...?" he muttered, his brow furrowed in confusion. He hadn't fought any monsters on the way home. He'd just... taken the train. He'd been tired. He'd been thinking about video games. He'd been...
Oh.
The memory hit him like a lightning bolt. The feeling of the cool window against his head. The quiet hum of the train. The complete and total lack of a mask on his face.
"The train..." he whispered, his eyes widening. "They saw me. They all saw me..."
He remembered the silence now, the heavy feeling in the air he'd been too exhausted to process. He'd thought it was just the usual quiet of a weary evening commute. But it wasn't silence; it was awe. He had been sitting there, covered in the grime and blood of his battles, looking every bit the part of a warrior returning from the abyss, and they had all been watching. Weaving their own legends around his tired posture and torn jacket.
A slow, incredulous laugh bubbled up in his chest. "They... they gave me the points just for sitting there?" The sheer absurdity of it was overwhelming. His very existence, his legend, was a self-fueling engine. He didn't always have to fight; sometimes, he just had to be seen.
He shook his head, a wry smile forming beneath his mask. "Well... who am I to complain about free experience?" It felt like logging into an MMO after a night afk to find your character had been power-leveled by a generous guildmate.
With his goal now effortlessly achieved, he navigated back to the [LEGEND SHOP]. There it was, no longer a distant target but an immediate purchase.
◙ King's Armor (Trainable) - COST: 10,000 BP
"Alright," King said, his voice low with anticipation. "Let's see what you can do." He selected it and confirmed the purchase.
[BP: 10,530 -> 530]
[Ability Acquired: King's Armor (Lv. 1)]
A new sensation flooded him, different from the heat of physical enhancement or the cool download of knowledge. It was a feeling of density, of a potential shell waiting just under his skin. A new, instinctual understanding took root—how to call it forth, how to shape it.
Holding out his right hand, he focused. He envisioned a barrier, a gauntlet of pure will. He pushed that feeling out.
With a soft, almost inaudible hum, a shimmering, translucent gold aura flickered into existence around his right forearm and fist. It was faint, like heat haze, but he could feel it—a solid, resilient layer reinforcing his skin. He made a fist, and the aura solidified slightly, the air crackling with a faint, oppressive pressure.
"It works..." he breathed, mesmerized. He experimentally tapped his enhanced fist against the wall. Instead of the sting of impact, there was a dull, solid thud. The wall was fine, but his knuckles felt nothing. He could also feel a latent power humming within the armored limb; a punch thrown with this would hit with significantly more force.
He let the armor fade, the golden aura dissolving into motes of light. A profound sense of possibility settled over him. This was more than a stat boost. This was a tool. A shield and a weapon in one.
He looked at his remaining paltry 530 BP, then back at his now-unarmed hand. A new, fierce motivation burned within him. The farming today wouldn't just be for points. It would be for practice.
"Time to go to work," King said to his empty apartment, his voice carrying a new, steely edge. He opened the door and stepped out, not just as a man trying to get stronger, but as a hero testing his first real piece of legendary equipment.
-
Z-City's ruins greeted King like a familiar, if unwelcoming, training ground. The morning sun did little to warm the concrete carcasses of buildings, and the wind whistled a lonely tune through shattered windows. But today, the desolation felt different. It wasn't a place of dread; it was a proving ground. His proving ground.
His senses, heightened by his recent ordeals, scanned the area, the system's map overlay guiding him. He wasn't just hiding and waiting for luck anymore. He was hunting. The 530 BP in his reserve was a paltry sum, a constant reminder that he needed to get back to work.
"It's not just about the points now," he murmured to himself, his voice a low rumble beneath the mask. "It's about the practice. I need to get used to this... to all of this."
His opportunity came sooner than expected. A scuttling sound from a debris-filled alley caught his attention. Peering in, he saw it: a Wolf-level threat that looked like a grotesque, oversized armadillo, its shell covered in jagged, rocky spikes. It was gnawing on a rusted beam, its back to him.
Perfect. A durable, close-range fighter. Exactly what he needed to test the limits of his new tool.
He didn't hesitate. He stepped into the mouth of the alley, and with a focused thought, he ignited the King Engine.
THUMP.
The sound echoed off the narrow walls, deep and commanding. The Armadillo-monster flinched, dropping the beam with a clatter and spinning around. Its beady eyes locked onto him, wide with instinctual fear.
[Wolf-level Threat: Spikeback Roller - Status: Terrified]
[BP Generated: +180]
But King was already moving. He charged, his new Agility making the distance vanish in seconds. As he ran, he focused on his right arm. That familiar feeling of dense potential surged, and with a soft hum, the shimmering, translucent gold aura of King's Armor encased his fist and forearm.
The monster, seeing the charging titan with a glowing fist and a heart pounding like a war drum, did the only thing it could. It curled into a tight, spiked ball, its natural defense becoming its weapon, and launched itself directly at him.
This was the moment. The old King would have dive-rolled out of the way in a panic. The new King planted his feet, recalled his Combat Instincts on generating power from the ground up, and met the rolling ball of spikes with a single, straight punch.
He put everything he had into it. His enhanced Strength, his body weight, and the concentrated will of the King's Armor.
The impact was not a dull thud. It was a violent, percussive CRACK! that ripped through the alley's silence.
A shockwave of force traveled up King's arm, but the golden aura absorbed it, leaving only a solid, satisfying jolt. The Armadillo-monster didn't just stop; it uncurled from the force, its spiked shell shattered into a dozen pieces like a porcelain plate hit by a sledgehammer. It was sent flying backward, a limp mass of flesh, to slam against the far wall with a sickening wet sound before dissolving into nothing.
[Wolf-level Threat: Spikeback Roller - Status: DEFEATED]
[Bonus BP for Overwhelming Force: +400]
[Total BP: 1,110]
Silence returned, broken only by the fading echo of the crack and the steady, powerful rhythm of the King Engine.
King stood there, his armored fist still extended, staring at the empty space where the monster had been. He slowly lowered his arm, letting the golden aura fade. He looked at his knuckles. Unscathed. Not a bruise, not a scratch.
He had done more than just kill a monster. He had obliterated it.
"...Whoa," he breathed, the word barely audible. The efficiency was staggering. The fear and the finishing blow, all in one fluid motion, had netted him 580 BP. At this rate...
A new notification, different from the BP gain, flashed in his vision.
[Combat Assessment Updated.]
[Threat Level: Wolf-level Human (Active - King's Armor Engaged)]
[Note: User's combat capability demonstrates a significant conditional spike. Base physical form remains at Peak Human conditioning.]
He read the message twice. Wolf-level Human. When using the armor, the system itself acknowledged he had crossed a threshold. He was no longer just a lucky man in a fight. He had a state, a mode that could be measured on the same scale as the monsters he fought.
A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, one of pure, unadulterated triumph. "This... this is just the beginning," he whispered, clenching and unclenching his fist, still feeling the phantom hum of power. "If Level 1 can do this... what about covering my whole body? What about when my Aura gets stronger?"
The grind wasn't just a means to an end anymore. It was a path he could now see. Every monster was experience points. Every fight was a chance to train this new ability, to make the golden armor brighter, harder, and more encompassing.
He looked down the ruined street, at the other faint red blips on his map. The fear was still there, a background constant, but it was now utterly dwarfed by a new, hungry anticipation.
"Im ready" King said after taking a deep breath, his voice steady and sure as he watched his BP tick up once more from passive gains. "Let's see how many we can get before lunch." He cracked his neck, the King Engine giving a low, purposeful growl as he strode deeper into the ruins, a golden fist waiting to be called forth once more.
---
The morning melted away in a rhythm of controlled violence and steady progress. King moved through the ruins of Z-City like a ghost, his system map a constant guide. He was no longer just reacting; he was executing.
A giant, acidic slug oozed from a sewer grate. King didn't charge. He circled, letting the King Engine's pressure disorient it, before darting in and delivering a single, King's Armor-enhanced punch to its core, avoiding the corrosive slime entirely.
[Wolf-level Threat: Corrosive Slug - DEFEATED]
[BP Generated: +620]
[Total BP: 1,730]
"Efficient," King muttered, shaking a few drops of harmless slime from his glowing fist. He was learning. Brute force wasn't always the answer; it was about application.
Next, a pack of three canine-like monsters with crystalline fur surrounded him. The old King would have frozen. The new King took a deep breath, activated his aura, and watched them hesitate. He focused his King's Armor on his legs for a moment, kicking off the ground with explosive force to break their encirclement, then picked them off one by one with sharp, armored jabs.
[Wolf-level Threat: Pack of Crystalline Jackals - DEFEATED]
[BP Generated: +1,150]
[Total BP: 2,880]
A slow, steady confidence was replacing his initial awe. This wasn't the flailing panic of his first fights. It was methodical. He was using his tools—the fear, the armor, his newfound agility—in concert. He wasn't a martial arts master, but he was becoming... competent. The system's constant feedback, the growing BP tally, was a progress bar for his own transformation.
After another hour, his BP had climbed to a respectable 4,210. The initial thrill was settling into a satisfying rhythm. He was scanning a collapsed office building for more signals when he heard it.
Not a growl, or a screech, or the mindless gnawing of a feral beast.
It was a voice. A low, chittering, self-satisfied monologue.
"...yes, yes, this will do nicely. So much refuse, so many broken things. Perfect raw material. They never look in the right places, no they don't. Too busy with the big, noisy ones. Fools. True art is in the details, the subtlety..."
King froze, his blood running cold. all the monsters he encountered didn't talk. They roared. They hissed. They were feral, but this one was talking, thinking.
Hesitantly, heart hammering against his ribs, he peered around the corner of a shattered wall.
In the center of a debris-strewn courtyard stood a monster. It was a Tiger-level threat, according to the system's immediate, pulsing red alert. It was humanoid, but built from a horrifying patchwork of cracked porcelain, splintered wood, and rusted metal, like a grotesque doll assembled from landfill scraps. It was tall and unnervingly thin, with long, jointed limbs that ended in sharp, needle-like fingers. It didn't look overwhelmingly powerful in a brute strength sense, but it radiated a chilling, calculated malice.
It was currently arranging pieces of broken glass into a strange, spiral pattern on the ground, humming to itself.
"A little more to the left... no, no, the refraction is wrong there. Patience, Stitcher. Genius cannot be rushed."
[Tiger-level Threat: The Porcelain Stitcher - Status: Calculating]
[Note: Target displays high cognitive function and strategic intelligence. Caution advised. Threat reassessment: High.]
King's breath caught in his throat. Intelligent. This changed everything. His primary weapon, intimidation, was useless against something that could think. A feral monster could be scared. A thinking one could plan, feint, and see through a bluff.
The Stitcher suddenly stopped its work, its head—a featureless, cracked ceramic ball—tilting. It hadn't looked at King, but it had sensed him.
"Ah... a guest?" its voice was a dry rasp, like stones grinding together. "How... fortuitous. I was just considering the need for a... dynamic component for my latest piece. Something with... life."
It slowly turned its blank face towards King's hiding spot. A sharp, spider-like crack split across where a mouth would be, forming a grotesque smile.
"Don't be shy, little hero. Come out. Let's discuss... aesthetics."
King remained frozen, his mind racing. This wasn't another Wolf-level to be farmed. This was a predator of a completely different kind. The King Engine roared within his chest, but for the first time that day, it was a sound of pure, unadulterated fear. He had stumbled into the lair of something far more dangerous than he had ever faced, and his usual tactics were now worthless.
The Porcelain Stitcher didn't lunge so much as it flowed. One moment it was standing across the courtyard, the next it was a blur of cracked white and rusted metal, its needle-like fingers aimed directly at King's throat. The speed was terrifying, a league beyond the plodding Wolf-level threats.
"Gah!" King yelped, his body moving on pure, fear-fueled instinct. He crossed his arms over his face, and with a mental scream, he pushed his will outward. The golden aura of King's Armor flared to life around his forearms just as the monster's claws struck.
SHRIEEK—CRACK!
The sound was a horrific scrape of metal on hardened energy, followed by the distinct crack of porcelain. King was thrown backward, skidding on the rubble, his arms screaming in protest even through the armor. The Stitcher recoiled, shaking its hand. One of its needle-fingers had snapped off at the tip.
[Tiger-level Threat: The Porcelain Stitcher - Status: Amused/Agitated]
[BP Generated: +300]
"Oh? What's this?" the Stitcher rasped, examining its broken digit without concern. "A little golden shell? How... gaudy. True art is found in fragility, in the beauty of breaking. Your defense is so... blunt."
It lunged again, a series of feints and jabs. King scrambled backward, his Combat Instincts screaming at him to dodge, parry, move! He was purely on the defensive, the golden armor flaring sporadically to block strikes that came from impossible angles. A claw grazed his side, slicing through his jacket and drawing a line of fire across his ribs.
He's too fast! King's mind raced, panic threatening to short-circuit his thoughts. I can't just tank hits. I can't scare him. What do I do?!
"Running away? How predictable," the Stitcher taunted, its voice a mocking singsong. It leaped onto a collapsed beam, looking down on him like a sculptor judging a flawed piece of clay. "Your fear is so... loud. It drowns out that pretty little heartbeat of yours. Let me help you be quiet."
The monster's cockiness was its only flaw. It saw him as prey, an interesting toy to break, not a threat. King's gamer mind, honed on a thousand boss fights, latched onto that.
Cocky enemies have patterns. They have attack animations they love to repeat. They leave openings after big taunts.
This wasn't a mindless beast. It was a boss. And every boss has a mechanic.
"Alright," King whispered to himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "No more running." He stopped his retreat and stood his ground, letting the King Engine pound a steady, threatening rhythm. He focused, not on covering his whole body, but on pooling the King's Armor into his right fist, making it glow brighter, denser than ever before.
The Stitcher's featureless head tilted. "A final stand? How tragically heroic." It launched itself from the beam, a spinning, clawed cyclone aimed to shred him to pieces.
This was it. King didn't try to block. He waited, his muscles coiled, his eyes locked on the center of the spinning mass. He remembered the Binary Brawler. He remembered the Armadillo. He remembered the fundamental principle of his new instincts: Plant your feet. Pivot. Channel the force.
As the monster was about to hit him, King dropped his weight, falling backward onto the ground. The Stitcher shrieked in surprise, flying over him. But King wasn't done. As it passed, he kicked upward with all his enhanced strength, using his legs to slam the monster off its trajectory and send it crashing into the ground right in front of him.
[Tiger-level Threat: The Porcelain Stitcher - Status: Stunned/Enraged]
[BP Generated: +500]
"Wha—?! You insect!" it screeched, scrambling to get up.
But King was already moving. He surged forward, his golden fist pulled back. "NOW!" he roared, the sound raw and desperate.
He put everything he had into the punch. His strength, his weight, his fear, and his burgeoning will to survive. The King's Armor around his fist flared like a miniature sun.
The punch connected with the Stitcher's chest just as it was rising.
BOOOOM!
The impact wasn't a crack this time; it was a deep, concussive blast. A web of fractures exploded across the monster's porcelain torso. It was lifted off its feet and slammed back into the earth with enough force to crater the concrete.
It lay there, stunned, its body critically damaged.
King didn't give it a moment to recover. Fear, adrenaline, and the desperate need to ensure this thing would never get up again took over. He fell upon it, his right fist a relentless, golden hammer.
"HRRAAAGH!"
CRUNCH! A blow to the fractured chest.
SHATTER! A punch that pulverized its featureless head into shards.
CRACK! A final, brutal strike that shattered its core into dust.
[Tiger-level Threat: The Porcelain Stitcher - Status: DEFEATED]
[Bonus BP for Overcoming Intelligent Foe: +2,000]
[Total BP: 7,010]
Silence.
King stood over the dissolving pile of porcelain and rust, his chest heaving, his golden fist slowly fading. The King Engine was a deafening thunder in his ears. He looked at his hands—one bruised and bleeding from the initial graze, the other unharmed, having delivered the killing blows.
He had done it. He had fought an intelligent, faster, stronger opponent and won. Not through luck, but through adaptation. Through using his fear as fuel instead of letting it paralyze him.
A slow, shaky breath escaped him. He wasn't just farming anymore. He was leveling up in the most real sense possible.
"I-i did it," he panted, wiping sweat and blood from his brow. A small but determined light slowly appearing in his eyes.