I stood over the broken cocoon.
The wind stirred the grass around me, but I didn't move. My hand tightened slowly, drawing magic without effort. It rose from my core, cold and sharp, waiting for direction. This was no longer the hesitant pull of raw magicules I once struggled to control. It responded to thought. It listened.
I focused it into my hand.
The air shimmered. Threads of light spun together, coalescing into shape, drawn inward by will and strength. A shaft of glowing steel formed, followed by a long, gleaming edge. It didn't materialize like a summoned weapon. It formed through resistance, forged by focus.
The spear pulsed in my grip.
Its weight matched my body, not by metal, but by intent. I could feel the mana coursing through it, moulded into balance and density. I hadn't shaped it with tools. I had shaped it with myself.
Weaponsmith, the first true ability of the Spellblade.
Magic and strength fused into steel.
I took a step forward and threw it.
There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. The magic flared behind the cast as the spear tore through the air. It struck the far hillside, then detonated.
Stone shattered. Trees splintered. Earth ruptured upward in a violent bloom. A dull roar followed, shaking leaves loose from the canopy above. Where the hill had stood, only a smoking trench remained.
The System didn't respond with numbers. It didn't need to. I knew what I had just done.
Overchannel. That was what happened when I poured every drop of magic into a weapon and gave it form. The damage matched what a named B-rank monster could do, maybe more if I refined it. My arms ached faintly from the throw, but it was worth it. I had crossed another threshold.
Behind me, the earth still sizzled.
I called the spear back, and the energy returned to my body. That was the difference. I didn't just cast. I forged. I owned it.
Far away, beyond the forest, something stirred.
It moved from the mountains, past the crags and streams, pausing only to sniff the air. Its nose twitched, then flared. The scent lingered faintly, but it was there. Evolution. Magic left behind like the aftertaste of blood. Thick. Potent.
The Wolf snarled, slow and low.
It stepped forward, moving in silence, its eyes fixed in the direction of the old forest trail. It didn't move fast. It didn't need to. This scent was fresh, and the prey was young.
It would follow.
I pulled my spear to my side and set my sights forward. I had no tribe. No allies. No name. But I remembered the path. If I could find the cave where Veldora was sealed, I could reach him. If I could earn his favour, like Rimuru had in the future, I could receive a name.
That was how evolution worked. That was how true power started.
The world hadn't noticed me yet. But it would. I wouldn't wait for Rimuru's story to begin and be left behind in the shadows.
I would walk toward it.
And if I met him one day, it would be as more than a wandering goblin.