After the conversation beneath the tree, the adventurers gradually returned to their duties. The atmosphere around the camp became more industrious as urgency replaced reflection. Only Sister Lisa remained behind with a few of Boris's companions, standing watch over the wounded and maintaining the camp's heart.
Ken watched quietly from his makeshift bed.
Lisa was moving through the tents, gently pressing her glowing hands onto wounds, whispering incantations under her breath. Her magic was faint but consistent—just enough to stabilize the injured. What stood out to Ken, though, was the simple fact that she was the only one using it.
Not one other person in the group used spells. No glowing lights. No chants. No symbols.
"Is a magician a rare job here?" Ken thought, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Or maybe... it's just hard to learn?"
He filed the question away, silently observing how every bandage, every herb, and every meal relied almost entirely on physical labor. The lack of magical support told him more than words ever could. If Lisa was the only spellcaster in a camp this large, then either the skill was scarce or the system to learn it wasn't open to everyone.
Amid the bustle, Ken overheard enough from passing conversations to confirm something else unsettling: this wasn't his home village. After the attack, they had relocated what few survivors they could to a neighboring settlement. Everything familiar—his home, the roads, the trees, his father's training posts—was now behind him in ruins.
Even the air felt different here.
Ken sank back into the coarse fabric of his bed, pulling the ragged blanket over his legs. His fingers, still trembling from fatigue and trauma, curled slowly into a fist. He needed to think.
That was when he learned something else that quietly shifted the way he saw his situation: he was 17 in this world.
Despite his appearance—slim, teenage in height—by local standards, he was already considered an adult. Old enough to be responsible for himself. Old enough to be cast adrift.
The realization came with a dull thud of anxiety in his chest.
No orphanage would accept him. No guardian would be assigned. No patron would feed him just because he was alone. The little safety net his old life might have offered no longer existed. All that awaited him after recovery was an empty road—and a question he had no answer to.
"I'll need money. I'll need work. But without an awakening... even that's a gamble."
The so-called "Awakening Ceremony"—a ritual where one could discover their class and talent—required expensive materials, particularly an awakening stone. Without one, his path would be limited to menial labor at best.
Ken exhaled, long and slow, staring at his bandaged hands. There was no strength in them. No magic. Just scars and fatigue.
"Haaah... What should I even do after all this?" he murmured aloud, more to himself than anyone else.
A soft shadow passed by.
"What are you thinking, kid?" Sister Lisa asked gently. She had just finished helping a wounded villager and was walking past when she caught the distant look in Ken's eyes. There was a knowing in her voice—not pity, but something softer. Compassion, perhaps.
Ken hesitated, then offered a faint, bitter smile. "...Nothing."
But something tugged at him. He glanced at her, then decided to ask, "Say, Sister Lisa… is there any way an orphan like me can get an awakening stone?"
Lisa stopped mid-step, slightly surprised by the question.
It wasn't the question of a lost child. It was the question of someone already thinking ahead—someone already planning.
She turned fully toward him, her expression thoughtful. "Well… it's not easy. Those stones are expensive for a reason. Most kids get them through family or a guild sponsor. But... there are options."
Ken's eyes focused on her, listening intently.
"You can try passing the entrance trials some adventurer guilds offer. They give out awakenings for free if they think you have talent. It's dangerous, though. Not all who take the test make it."
"What if someone has a... unique trait?" Ken asked.
Lisa nodded. "Then it depends on who notices. If someone sees promise in you—magic ability, rare instincts, anything—they might back you. Pay for your awakening. But you'd owe them. Most of the time, it means joining their guild. Serving under them for a while."
She knelt beside him, meeting his gaze.
"I'm surprised you're thinking about this already. That's... a good thing."
Ken looked down again, swallowing the heaviness in his throat. "I don't think I have time to waste."
Lisa gave him a slow nod. She didn't say it aloud, but her expression said what she wouldn't: You're right.
In this world, time and talent meant survival.
And Ken had to start from zero.
After Lisa left, Ken remained sprawled on his makeshift bed, his eyes fixed on the open patch of sky framed by the tent's torn flap. Gray clouds drifted lazily above, heavy with the scent of rain and dust. The wind whispered quietly through the cloth, carrying with it the distant clang of armor, murmurs of healers, and the groans of the wounded.
Stillness clung to him, but his mind was far from calm.
Ken's thoughts wandered through the fragments of this strange world. Though the people treated it as mundane, to his eyes—to the soul inside him that had drowned in another world—everything was still deeply alien.
Their food was simple, almost survival-level: boiled roots, dry bread, and tasteless soup. No spices, no real fire cooking. Just warmth and calories.
Their buildings were crude and primitive—basic wooden shacks, animal hide tents, and stone hearths. Most walls lacked even proper insulation, and streets were just hardened dirt, washed unevenly by the rains.
Yet what struck him most wasn't the lack of luxury.
It was the system.
The structure.
He had overheard how the nearby city functioned: ruled by noble houses, each in charge of one of the four gates—North, East, South, and West—like feudal lords with their own jurisdictions. They were supported by the central Kingdom, and linked to bureaucratic agencies handling adventurers, law enforcement, taxation... and even slavery.
Ken's jaw clenched slightly at the thought.
He remembered the man in white—the gold-trimmed healer who had barked orders like a merchant rather than a savior. Beside him stood a girl with furred ears, eyes downcast, adorned in a simple collar and a silken robe far too clean for the filth around her. From Lisa, he'd learned that those like her were purchased from an official group: Dominion, a legally sanctioned organization dealing in slaves.
Priests, assistants, servants—many of them came from there.
Most of them were demi-human. Most of them were women.
And many, Ken realized with a sick twist in his gut, probably had no say in their fate.
Lisa hadn't said as much, but her eyes had. The way her words stumbled. The way she looked away.
"In a novel, this would be a dark, juicy twist." Ken thought bitterly. "But here… this is real. I could end up like that. I'm just another body in the dirt if I mess up."
The fear crept in.
The hunger.
The helplessness.
He felt it all.
His hands, still trembling from weakness, curled slightly as he reached upward—toward the open sky, past the clouds, past the weight on his chest.
"Haaah... If only I had a system or something," he muttered to himself, the words half a joke, half a prayer. "Status."
A sarcastic smile tugged at his lips.
And then—suddenly, impossibly—
[Ding.]
A soft chime rang in his ears—not out loud, but inside his mind, clear and unmistakable. In front of his eyes, something shimmered into existence. A blue-tinted translucent panel blinked to life like a faint projection, radiating faint energy.
[STATUS SCREEN]
Name: Ken
Species: Human
Level: N/A
Profession: N/A
Talent: Grind
Age: 17 years, 10 months
STR: 1.2 (Weakened)
AGI: 1.0 (Weakened)
VIT: 1.4 (Weakened)
INT: 1.2
SPI: 0.8
Skills: N/A
"...Eh?" Ken blinked.
For a few seconds, he simply stared.
Then he sat up—too fast. His vision swam.
"This... this is real?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the faint rustling of tents. No one else seemed to notice. The panel hovered gently, waiting.
Awe bloomed across his face like a sunrise pushing through clouds. His heart thudded wildly.
'This is reality,' he realized, almost giddy.
He touched the panel out of instinct. It responded faintly—no resistance, like touching warm light.
Then, slowly, a grin tugged at his lips. Not joy. Not confidence.
Relief.
"Shit..." he muttered under his breath, half-laughing. "I have a cheat too."
But the excitement soon turned to confusion as he scanned the details.
"Grind? What kind of talent is that? That's it? Just... Grind?"
He narrowed his eyes.
"Seriously? What does this even mean—am I a walking metaphor? Do they think this is a video game?"
His complaints came freely now, laced with sarcasm. But even as he grumbled, he couldn't hide the quiet thrill vibrating through his body.
In just a few days, the camp began to shift.
Most of the adventurers were out on patrols or recon missions, combing through the remnants of nearby villages and scouting potential monster nests. Only a few stayed behind—healers, guards, and a handful of support personnel.
Lisa remained at the camp.
And Ken, finally able to stand on his own feet, decided to stay by her side.
At first, it was just to help with small things—holding tools, fetching water, organizing the dried herbs used for wound treatment. But quickly, his usefulness grew. He began to carry patients from one side of the camp to another. He cleaned the eating areas. He even managed the firewood once, though his arms had trembled for an hour after.
Lisa didn't say much, but the gratitude in her eyes was enough.
She let him linger nearby, and in between tasks, Ken took the opportunity to ask questions—about magic, about this world, about things he didn't yet understand. She never gave him everything, but she answered enough to feed his curiosity.
In a world with no internet, no books he could read, no tutorials—asking was everything.
And Ken asked a lot.
What surprised him most was how quickly the others began to take notice.
"He's that helpful one," some murmured. "Kid works harder than most grown men."
They began offering him bits of bread, a share of meat, even a spare cloak for the colder nights. He didn't beg for it. He didn't expect it. But the kindness came—and Ken received it with genuine thanks and a bowed head.
He was earning his place, one favor at a time.
And Boris?
Boris noticed too.
"Kid's got an old man's heart in a young man's body," the burly adventurer said to his companions one evening, nodding as he watched Ken sweep ash from a firepit. "Takes everything seriously. Doesn't complain."
But what no one could see—what even Ken hadn't fully understood until then—was that his body was changing.
Every day, he worked until his muscles burned.
And yet, the next morning, he could lift more.
Walk farther.
Breathe easier.
Heal faster.
That was when it hit him.
Grind.
That single, unimpressive-sounding talent might be the most terrifying power of all—because it didn't give him shortcuts.
It rewarded effort.
No matter how small the task—if he pushed through pain, if he gave his all—his body responded.
It evolved.
Quietly. Consistently.
That night, while brushing dust from his clothes under the tree near the fire, he made a decision.
He walked up to Boris, who was sharpening a broad hunting blade, and asked plainly:
"Can you teach me how to fight?"
Boris glanced up, blinking once. Then twice.
"You?"
Ken nodded. "I know I'm not strong enough yet. But I want to learn. Sword, spear, anything you'll let me hold. Even just the basics."
The campfire cast flickering shadows across Boris's face as he looked the boy over, then grunted.
"Hmph. You're not wrong—your grip's still weak. Posture's shit. You don't even know how to stand right."
Ken didn't respond, just kept looking at him.
"But..." Boris narrowed his eyes, then gave a slight smirk. "I've seen how you work. And if what I'm thinkin' is right... then yeah. I'll show you a thing or two."
Ken's shoulders eased in silent relief.
"But don't expect me to go easy. You'll puke your guts out more than once."
"That's fine."
"And you're gonna hurt in places you didn't know could hurt."
Ken smiled faintly.
"That's fine too."
Because deep down, he had a theory now: if Grind truly worked the way he suspected, then everything—the cleaning, the lifting, the fighting, even the pain—it would all count.
All he had to do was keep going.
And little by little...
He would become something more.