The morning sun had barely crested the horizon, casting a soft golden glow over the quiet town. The air was cool, laced with the lingering freshness of dawn. Vergil stirred and slowly opened his eyes.
Warmth pressed lightly against his side.
He turned his head.
Eleanor lay close, her soft, steady breathing the only sound in the room.
"She moved from the other side," he thought, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze.
Carefully, he shifted away, making sure not to wake her. He sat up, ran a hand through his unruly hair, then stood. Without a word or second glance, he pulled on his boots, adjusted his coat, and stepped outside.
His destination was already decided.
The blacksmith.
---
The Blacksmith's Forge
The forge pulsed with heat and sound. Hammer strikes rang out in a steady rhythm, each one sending a spray of sparks across the workshop. The scent of burning coal and hot iron clung to the air, thick and metallic.
Vergil stepped inside. Heat rushed to meet him like a wall.
At the heart of the forge stood Gilbert—a broad-shouldered man with a soot-streaked face and arms honed by years of labor. He hammered away at a glowing piece of metal, movements precise, practiced, and heavy with purpose.
Vergil approached the anvil.
"Gilbert. I need a new weapon."
The blacksmith paused, resting his hammer on the worn anvil. He wiped his brow with a rag and turned.
"What do you need?"
"A sword and a shield."
Gilbert gave a grunt of acknowledgment and disappeared into the back. The clatter of shifting metal and crates followed. A few moments later, he returned and laid both items on the heavy wooden table.
Vergil stepped forward, eyes scanning them.
---
Iron Longsword
Attack: +10
A sturdy, well-worn blade forged from plain iron. Though dulled from years of sharpening, it remains reliable and rust-free. The leather-wrapped hilt is molded by use, offering a firm grip. The crossguard bears the scars of old battles. Heavier than a refined sword, but well-balanced—built for endurance over elegance.
---
Reinforced Wooden Shield
Defense: +4
A round wooden shield with an iron rim. The aged wood bears shallow marks from deflected blows, while the rim shows dents from past strikes. Thick leather straps, worn but sturdy, provide a snug fit. Light enough for agile movement, but strong enough to absorb solid hits.
---
Vergil slid his arm through the shield straps, adjusting them until they felt snug. He gave it a light test, shifting the balance.
Simple. Functional. Dependable.
He sheathed the sword at his waist and adjusted the shield on his arm.
"These will do."
Gilbert smirked, crossing his arms.
"They won't fail you… unless you fail them."
Vergil gave a curt nod and turned to leave.
The sun had risen higher now, bathing the town in golden light.
His weapons were ready.
Time to move forward.
---
"Sword and shield. Parry should synergize well with the shield. Basic Sword Mastery… solid match with the longsword."
He gave the blade a few test swings, measuring its weight and balance. It was no masterwork—but it didn't need to be. It needed to kill.
"I need a mission. And I need real combat… but how do I unlock Arts?"
System.
[Yeah, what's up?]
"How do I unlock Weapon Arts?"
[Hold on, let me explain the difference first so you don't ask me this five more times.]
[1. Weapon Skills – Basic combat techniques like Slash, Thrust, or Parry. These are the fundamentals. Repeating them in battle improves their efficiency and effectiveness over time.]
[2. Weapon Arts – Advanced, refined combinations of multiple skills. These include techniques like Spiral Thrust (a stab infused with rotational force) or Moon Slash (a wide, sweeping arc for reach and impact).]
[Think of Skills as the building blocks. Arts are what you build once you master those blocks.]
Vergil nodded slightly.
"So I sharpen my basics… then the stronger techniques come naturally."
---
[Skills are gained through repetition. Slash, stab, block, parry—the more you do them in combat, the closer they get to becoming defined techniques.]
[Once you refine your Skills enough, Weapon Arts will begin to form. Or—if you're lucky—you might learn them from a combat manual or a warrior who knows what they're doing.]
Vergil smirked.
"So it's fight and evolve. Makes sense. Best targets would be humanoid monsters—better reactions, more tactical combat."
His decision made, he headed for the Adventurer's Guild.
---
The Adventurer's Guild – Orchestrated Death
The Vaeloria Adventurer's Guild buzzed with life. Dozens of voices mixed with the clatter of gear and the occasional burst of laughter. The scent of parchment, sweat, and worn leather created a strangely familiar atmosphere.
Vergil entered, eyes scanning the room until they settled on a familiar figure behind the front desk.
He approached without hesitation.
"Elina."
The auburn-haired receptionist looked up, her emerald eyes softening when she saw him.
"Oh—Vergil," she greeted, using the name on his adventurer tag. "What do you need?"
"I want an E-rank mission. Preferably one involving humanoid monsters with weapons."
Her smile faded slightly.
"You're still F-rank. That kind of mission is a step up."
"I know. I'm requesting it anyway."
She held his gaze for a long moment, then sighed and flipped open the quest ledger.
"All right… if you insist, I'll file this as your advancement request. Complete it, and you'll be eligible for E-rank."
Before Vergil could respond, a mocking chuckle broke through the ambient noise.
"Advancement request? Seriously?"
Vergil turned his head slowly.
A broad-shouldered man with greasy blond hair swaggered over. A cocky grin revealed a missing tooth—probably earned in one of the countless bar fights he lost. His patched leather armor looked like it hadn't seen oil in months, and the stench of sweat clung to him like a second skin.
Darin Kross. Exactly the kind of fool Vergil had been hoping for.
Darin slung an arm over Vergil's shoulder, leaning in.
"Going for E-rank already, rookie? You should stick to chasing slimes. Wouldn't want to see you end up as monster chow."
Vergil didn't react.
He let the arm rest. Let Darin feel smug.
Then:
'Analysis.'
---
Name: Darin Kross
Level: 5
Tier: 0
Title: Novice Warrior
Race: Human
Class: Warrior
Stats:
Strength: 20
Constitution: 17
Dexterity: 14
Intelligence: 10
Wisdom: 10
Magic Power: 5
Mana Capacity: 5
Equipment:
Iron Sword (F+) – Dull and nicked. Dangerous more from neglect than craftsmanship.
Reinforced Leather Armor (F+) – Minor slash resistance.
Hunting Boots (F) – Light, offers a tiny boost to agility.
Passive Skills:
Tough Body (F+) – Slight boost to resilience.
Battle Instincts (F+) – Slightly enhanced combat reflexes.
Active Skills:
Power Strike (F+) – Heavy blow that can stagger weaker foes.
Quick Guard (F) – Emergency parry that reduces damage.
---
Vergil's lips curled into a faint smile.
Perfect.
Darin was arrogant, strong enough to think he was invincible—but weak enough to kill without drawing suspicion.
He spotted two lackeys loitering behind Darin. Typical. Dogs followed their master.
Three birds. One trap.
Vergil slowly removed Darin's arm and met his eyes.
"I don't take advice from F-ranks who've been stuck here for two years."
The grin cracked. A vein pulsed in Darin's temple.
Vergil leaned in slightly, voice low.
"I heard the only reason you're still breathing is because the monsters feel sorry for you."
Darin's face twisted—but Vergil had already turned back to Elina, speaking loudly enough for the guild to hear:
"I'll take the mission at Deadleaf Hollow. The one involving Grave Scavengers."
A hush spread. Darin stiffened.
Elina looked uneasy.
"You sure? That area's isolated."
"I'm sure," Vergil replied smoothly. "Unless the monsters are as pathetic as some of the adventurers here."
A ripple of laughter and gasps moved through the crowd.
Darin clenched his fists, face darkening—but he didn't lash out.
Not here. Not in front of witnesses.
But later? In the Hollow? Away from prying eyes?
He'd come.
He'd bring his little gang.
He'd think it was his trap.
And that's what made it perfect.
Vergil stepped away from the counter, the weight of his sword and shield grounding him.
This wouldn't just be a mission.
It would be a message.
---
Hours Later – Deadleaf Hollow
By the time Vergil reached the crumbling ruins, the sun was already sinking. Twisted trees stretched skeletal limbs across the clearing, and the cawing of carrion birds echoed in the distance.
He could hear them—Darin and his dogs—trailing him from afar. They thought they were subtle.
They weren't.
Vergil set down his pack with an exaggerated fumble, feigning distraction. He could practically feel Darin's smug grin watching from the shadows.
Any moment now...
A twig snapped behind him.
Vergil didn't turn. He smirked, his fingers brushing the hilt of his blade.
Hook baited. Line cast.
Now, all he had to do was wait for the fish to bite.
His heart remained steady.
Tonight, three men would die.
And their skills... would become his.
But should I have a little fun with them first? Vergil mused, eyes gleaming.
He channeled mana through his limbs—not to full capacity, just enough to enhance his body modestly. A single point in each physical stat. Enough to seem competent… not unstoppable.
With a flick of energy, he activated Dash, his Dexterity spiking as he lunged into the fray.
Grave Scavengers swarmed the ruins, snarling beasts drawn to the scent of decay. Vergil danced among them with calculated imperfection. His blade struck shallow wounds, his dodges barely cleared danger, and his footwork bordered on sloppy. He grunted, stumbled, exhaled sharply—all a performance.
A staged struggle.
And the bait was irresistible.
"Ha! Look at the newbie struggling," one of Darin's lackeys jeered from the shadows.
"Told you he'd bite off more than he could chew," Darin chuckled, cracking his knuckles.
Vergil let another scavenger lunge at him, barely parrying in time, his strained breath just audible enough.
Darin grinned. "Let's kill him."
They stepped into the ruins, drawn by their arrogance. Blades drawn. Predators circling their prey.
But they weren't predators.
They were prey.
The first Grave Scavenger lunged at Darin, snarling. Darin sidestepped easily, slamming his sword into its side—only for the creature to twist unnaturally and rake its claws across his arm.
"Damn—these things are fast!" one of the men cursed.
"They're just bottom-feeders," Darin growled. "Stay close. Wipe them out—"
He never finished.
A Wailing Howl tore through the ruins, high-pitched and unnatural, disorienting the group just for a moment.
And in that moment—Vergil struck.
Dash.
He was behind one of them before they registered movement.
Savage Claw.
This time, it wasn't a Grave Scavenger using it.
It was Vergil.
His fingers tore through the man's back, enhanced strength slicing through cloth, flesh, and bone with terrifying ease. Blood sprayed the cracked stone floor.
A scream echoed.
Vergil withdrew his hand, letting the man crumple with a wet gurgle.
Darin whirled around. "What the—?"
Vergil smiled as the stolen skill flowed through him—raw, crude, but adaptable. Already, he was refining it beyond what the beasts could manage.
"Darin," he said, voice calm. "You walked into the wrong graveyard."
The scavengers surged forward, drawn by the scent of fresh blood. Darin's group, dazed and unready, found themselves caught.
Between monsters.
And one of them… was Vergil.
Darin's eyes widened in shock as one of his allies collapsed, twitching in a spreading pool of blood.
"What the fuck did you just do?!" he snarled.
Vergil tilted his head. "I killed him."
The remaining two lackeys faltered, their swagger collapsing into dread.
This wasn't a misstep.
This was a trap.
Vergil moved.
Dash.
He was on them in an instant.
His sword carved across the throat of the closest man—once, twice, three times. Precise cuts, not wasteful. The man staggered, clutching his ruined neck as blood poured through his fingers.
Darin roared and lunged, his blade cleaving down.
Vergil sidestepped, letting a Grave Scavenger intercept the strike.
Then he moved behind him—silent as death.
He leaned in and whispered as he thrust his blade between Darin's ribs.
"You were right, Darin. I really should've taken it easy."
Darin choked, collapsing to his knees, blood spilling from his lips.
The final lackey tried to run—but a scavenger's claws yanked him to the ground, where his screams were quickly smothered by gnashing teeth.
Vergil crouched beside Darin, studying him like a curious scholar observing the final moments of a dying experiment. He placed a bloodstained hand on the man's throat, feeling the flickering heartbeat fade.
"It's alright. You were a fun toy," Vergil whispered.
Then he activated his Authority of Predation.
[User has gained 2 Strength and 2 Constitution]
Skills Acquired:
Passive
– Tough Body (F+)
– Battle Instincts (F+)
Active
– Power Strike (F+)
– Quick Guard (F)
A warm rush surged through him as the new skills settled into place. Efficient. Satisfying.
Darin's corpse crumbled, black mouths gnawing it into nothing, leaving only his equipment behind.
Vergil stood slowly, his gaze lingering on the skeletal remains of the fallen. The Grave Scavengers paid him no mind now. They were busy feasting on what was left of Darin's group.
Vergil cleaned his blade.
Tonight had been productive.
But not enough.
He still wanted more.
His hand hovered over a shallow cut across his abdomen. Blood trickled down—on purpose.
A calculated wound.
The scent stirred the scavengers again. They hissed, hungry.
Vergil grinned, lifting his shield.
"No analysis. No shortcuts. I won't learn anything by playing it safe."
This time… he would fight on instinct.
One scavenger lunged, dagger flashing toward his throat.
Quick Guard.
The shield absorbed the strike with a jarring clang. The moment the beast staggered—
Slash.
Vergil's sword ripped through its throat. It collapsed, twitching.
No time.
Two more came, one with claws, one with a blade.
The clawed one struck first, swiping for his ribs.
Vergil twisted, letting the blow graze past.
Thrust.
His sword pierced its heart. Clean. Efficient.
The final scavenger raised its blade in a brutal overhead chop.
Vergil barely reacted in time.
Quick Guard. Again. Bones rattled. The pressure was increasing.
He twisted, slashed upward, and cleaved its throat nearly in half.
The corpse dropped. Silence returned.
Vergil exhaled, rolling his shoulder. He was faster now. Stronger. His body remembered.
And still—they came.
More scavengers shrieked from the shadows, drawn by blood.
Vergil welcomed them.
He tightened his grip.
Let them come.
-----
The twisted bodies of Grave Scavengers littered the ground, sprawled in dark, coagulated pools of blood.
Vergil stood among them, his breath steady despite the exhaustion creeping into his limbs. He had been fighting for what felt like hours.
And in that time, he had learned.
At first, he relied on wild slashes—broad, heavy swings that wasted energy and left him open. He noticed how his blade would sometimes glance off bone or fail to cut deep enough when the angle was off.
So, he adjusted.
A proper slash wasn't just about force. It was about control. Flow.
He began following through, letting the momentum guide his blade along the body's weakest points—the neck, the joints, the tendons.
His grip had changed too. No longer rigid, it was firm yet flexible, his wrist agile enough to redirect the blade mid-swing.
[Skill Acquired: Slash (F)]
Vergil exhaled, fingers tightening around the sword's hilt. It felt more natural now. Still foreign—but familiar enough that he knew he was improving. He rolled his shoulders, scanning the scattered corpses.
"What are these monsters' stats, anyway?" he muttered, glancing at the fading remains.
---
Grave Scavengers – E-Rank Humanoid Monsters
Description:
Grave Scavengers are malnourished humanoids with elongated limbs, hunched postures, and gray, leathery skin stretched over emaciated frames. Hollow eyes glow faintly in the dark, and bony fingers end in clawed tips—perfect for digging through dirt and flesh. They infest ruins, battlefields, and graveyards, feeding on the dead… and sometimes the living.
They wield rusted weapons scavenged from corpses, making them primitive but deadly in groups.
Stats (Average)
Strength: 14
Constitution: 15
Dexterity: 17
Intuition: 8
Magic Power: 4
Mana Capacity: 4
---
Passive Skills
Carrion Sense (F+): Detects the scent of rotting flesh or dying creatures within 50 meters.
Burial Adaptation (F): Can rapidly dig through dirt and rubble, allowing underground ambushes.
Pack Mentality (F+): Becomes more aggressive and coordinated when fighting in groups.
Corpse Parasite (E-): Absorbs death energy from corpses to survive without eating.
Active Skills
Savage Claw (F+): A frenzied swipe that can tear through flesh and light armor. May cause bleeding.
Dagger Rush (E-): Rapid slashes with a rusted dagger. More dangerous in groups.
Frenzied Hunger (E): Consuming flesh boosts Strength and Dexterity for 30 seconds.
Burial Ambush (E-): Burrows and launches a surprise attack from underground.
Wailing Howl (F+): Emits a distorted screech, briefly disorienting enemies.
Death's Taint (E-): Weapons cause minor infections if wounds are left untreated.
Vergil smirked. "Weak—but in numbers, I can see why they'd be a problem for low-rank adventurers."
To him, they were nothing more than fodder.
Before worrying about refining technique, he needed strength. And he had a shortcut to power.
He raised his hand. From the void, shadowy mouths opened—black and bottomless.
"Authority of Predation."
The spectral maws lunged forward, devouring the corpses. Flesh, bone, and soul were consumed in seconds. A dark energy coiled around Vergil, spiraling into him.
A cascade of notifications appeared.
[You have gained +2 Strength and +2 Dexterity.]
[You have acquired 10 new skills.]
[You have 1 notification pending.]
---
"Ten skills? Not bad," he muttered. "Let's see what else..."
[You have leveled up twice.]
Vergil chuckled, running a hand through his hair.
"Not bad at all. Most of my physical stats are in the 20s now… I can clear E-rank missions like it's nothing."
His gaze drifted to a small pile of loot nearby. Over fifteen E-rank Astralyth Crystals—a solid haul. There was also Darrin's corpse, one of the adventurers who had gotten in his way. He'd had around 30 silver on him.
"Shame his teammates got eaten before I could loot them. Or eat them."
Unfortunate. But not worth dwelling on.
For now, recovery came first.
Vergil sat on a nearby stone and pulled out a dry hunk of bread from his pouch. It was hard and tasteless, but it would suffice.
He took a slow bite, staring up at the moon's pale glow.
"I'll rest for a bit. Then I'll train some more."
Silence settled around him. The whispering wind, the faint shuffle of unseen creatures, the ever-present stench of decay—all part of the ruin's lullaby.
His body still buzzed from the stat gains, muscles thrumming with subtle, new strength. He flexed his fingers—his grip more precise, responsive. Not a huge difference, but in battle, even a sliver of advantage mattered.
After a few quiet minutes, he stood, brushing crumbs from his clothes.
"Time to get back to it."
---
[A Few Hours Later…]
The last Grave Scavenger let out a distorted screech as Vergil's blade pierced its chest. It twitched violently before falling limp, its glowing eyes flickering out like dying embers.
He exhaled, shaking the grime from his sword. The creatures had grown easier to handle as he adapted to their attack patterns. They relied on surprise and group tactics, but individually, they were weak.
Vergil crouched, placing a hand over the fresh pile of corpses.
"Authority of Predation."
Abyssal mouths emerged once more, ravenously devouring the remains. Flesh, bones, and lingering energy—all consumed, vanishing into the void.
Notifications flashed in his vision.
[User has gained 1 Dexterity point]
[User has learned a new skill from continuous practice: Parry (F)]
[User has gained the skills Ravenous Bite and Keen Smell]
Vergil's lips curled into a small smirk.
"Finally. This should make close combat much smoother."
[Parry (F)] — A defensive technique allowing the user to deflect an incoming melee attack with precise timing, momentarily staggering the attacker if executed correctly.
A basic skill, but one that could be honed with mastery. Since Vergil fought often with a blade, Parry would prove invaluable. Combat flow had always come naturally, but now—with sharper reflexes and a timing-based skill—his style would become even more lethal.
He rolled his shoulders, feeling the ache of exertion in his muscles. His gaze fell on the shimmering cluster of Astralyth Crystals he'd gathered—twenty-five in total—far more than enough to complete his advancement quest.
The rest only had Voracious Fang, unfortunately, Vergil sighed.
"That should be plenty," he murmured, sheathing his sword. "I'll give ten to the guild and use the rest to improve my mana circle… maybe reinforce my mana heart while I'm at it."
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he walked, boots crunching against the gravel road leading back to the village.
"The average stats of E-minus monsters hover around twenty. E-rank should range from twenty-five to thirty. Shouldn't be too bad, especially now."
He flexed his fingers again, noting the increased precision and strength in every movement. His growth had been steady—but the gap between E and D rank was said to be significant. He had no plans to slow down.
The night was still young, a pale sliver of moon beginning to rise—but for now, he'd hunted enough.
Turning on his heel, Vergil began back toward the village, the soft wind brushing past his cloak.
I should check on Eleanor's progress, he thought. If she's ready, I can bring her along next time. The more experience she gains now, the faster she'll grow.
---
Meanwhile…
At the edge of the village, where streets faded into forest shadow and silence reigned, a pale green light pulsed behind the windows of a lone cottage. Inside, the air was cool, still, heavy with magical residue. Books lined the shelves; scrolls and crystal fragments cluttered the workspace—everything meticulously organized.
Eleanor stood at the center of the room, her expression unreadable as she wove a mana sigil into the air with precise, practiced movements. Her long hair was tied back, her blue eyes sharp and cold. The ward she formed pulsed with raw, nature-aligned energy—refined, stable, efficient.
Across from her, seated in an old armchair wrapped in blankets, Elvira watched silently, her gaze unreadable.
The spell finalized, the ward hovered midair like a floating glyph of power. Eleanor held it there, maintaining its form effortlessly.
"Stability, duration, and flow—all within acceptable parameters," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Elvira finally spoke, voice low:
"You've surpassed what most beginners take a year to learn. You don't waste movement or words."
Eleanor didn't respond with thanks. She simply dispelled the ward and turned to adjust the next set of runes.
"Efficiency is survival," she replied coolly. "I won't be a liability when the time comes."
Elvira leaned forward slightly.
"You speak as though it's a certainty."
Eleanor's gaze flicked toward her.
"It is. He'll come back stronger. And when he does, he'll go deeper into danger. I intend to follow. I need him to see me as valuable."
There was no warmth in her tone—only cold conviction. No admiration, no sentiment—just calculated determination.
"Vergil is strong, but reckless. Power without restraint draws enemies. If he continues alone, he'll taste defeat. He needs balance. That's what I'll be."
Elvira was silent for a moment. Then, with a thin smile:
"Your learning."
Eleanor looked back at the spellwork before her.
"Change is necessary."
Outside, the wind whispered through branches, brushing against window panes like a warning.
Inside, Eleanor resumed her casting—unflinching, methodical, cold. No hesitation. No doubt.
She wouldn't be left behind.
She wouldn't be weak.
And next time, she wouldn't just watch Vergil fight—she'd fight beside him. On her terms.