The Ignorant Soldier
Long ago, during the height of the Demon Wars, as the Hellhounds, Orthos, and Cerberus laid waste to the four continents, a kingdom was reduced to ash. Amid the chaos, a lone scout, a boy of only fourteen, was sent to the front lines. He was young, untrained, and expendable, but desperate times called for desperate measures. With no weapon to his name, he trudged through the desolation of war, his boots crunching over the shattered bones of the fallen. His mission was clear: locate any information of value, anything that could tip the scales in humanity's favor, or die trying.
The boy climbed through the wreckage of what had once been a proud kingdom’s capital. Its castle spire, once a symbol of human resilience, now stood as a broken, crumbling husk. Yet, even in its ruin, it offered the highest vantage point for miles. He scaled its jagged walls with trembling hands, scraping his small frame against the rough stone, until he reached the top.
From the peak, he could see the world laid bare, scarred by the war with demons. His eyes settled on a massive black obelisk in the distance, piercing the horizon like a jagged wound. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, a structure that had been hidden from view at ground level. Its malevolence was palpable, the unmistakable mark of demonic power.
But it wasn’t the obelisk that drew his attention inside the tower. Lying amidst the rubble were three swords, each radiating a sinister presence, their stories etched in blood and steel.
The first sword, a [Rusted Steel Greatsword], was clenched in the bony hand of a knight’s skeleton, its corroded blade dull and worn by time. Even in death, the knight’s grip seemed reluctant to release it. Parallel to it, a [Chipped Steel Greatsword], its jagged edge buried deep in the chest of the corpse, a demon’s hand- its clawed, purple hand still wrapped tightly around the pommel, as though refusing to relinquish it even in death.
Yet, the boy’s gaze lingered on the third weapon. Mounted on a broken rack, it gleamed with a strange allure, an [Ornate Steel Longsword]. Its orange blade shimmered faintly in the dim light, and its golden crossguard was engraved with spirals resembling starbloom petals, a flower said to symbolize hope.
The boy’s heart raced. He imagined the sword in his hands, imagined himself wielding a blade worthy of a hero. Clambering over the knight’s skeletal remains, he used the corpse as a makeshift stepstool, his small fingers wrapping tightly around the ornate hilt. With a grunt, he dislodged the blade from the rack.
For a moment, triumph filled him. He marveled at the craftsmanship, at the golden grandeur of the weapon. But then, doubt crept into his mind. Something about the blade felt wrong. The boy hesitated, tightening his grip, and focused all his energy to activate his Skill: [Appraise].
[ Ritual Sword of House Marast ]
{ Common }
20/20 Durability
+10 Damage
“A blade used in Knighting and Official Ceremonies. Loose pommel.”
His face fell. “A ceremonial sword,” he muttered bitterly. With a sigh, he tossed the blade aside.
The knight's corpse, weakened by time, crumbled under the boy's weight. He yelped as he fell to the floor. His foot became caught on the ornate sword, and before he could regain his balance, he slipped and fell through the crumbling stone floor.
As he fell, the three swords tumbled after him. Two struck true, piercing his body as he landed in the dirt below. Pain shot through him, his vision swimming as blood pooled around him. Yet the boy, stubborn and ignorant of the danger, focused all his remaining strength on activating [Appraise] one last time.
The first blade sticking from his chest was massive and jagged, its blackened steel hidden by the blood-caked rust glinting menacingly.
[ Ancient Knight’s Greatsword
{ Epic }
12/100 Durability
+120 Damage
+20 Strength
“Ser William, hand to the king, last known location; Lich subjugation request.”
The second blade lodged deep in his abdomen, radiated a raw and savage energy.
[ Battle-Worn, Seriug
{ Unique Rare }
89/120 Durability
+200 Damage
+50 Strength
+10 Dexterity
Grants the skill [Berserk LV 1]
“Left hand of Dalahin, The Barbarian King’s, Dual Swords.”
The boy blinked through the haze of pain, a cynical laugh bubbling in his throat. He didn’t even feel the agony anymore, just a hollow, disbelieving joy. “I was going to die anyway,” he whispered, his voice a hoarse rasp. “But at least now I’ll die holding something worthwhile.”
As the light began to fade from his eyes, he grinned through the blood staining his teeth, clutching the hilts of the swords that had claimed his life. His ignorance remained Even in death, but so did his stubborn hope. “
Sebas wandered along the familiar forest pathway, his gaze fixed on his mediocre blade as he repeatedly attempted to activate [Lowest-Rank Swordsmanship]. He observed the wisps of blue tendrils shooting from the tip of his dagger, hoping to extend the reach of his weapon. The shape his skill conjured was much longer than the standard length of his dagger, leaving him uneasy about its weight and concerned he might drop it while swinging.
He sliced through the air for practice, striving to keep the skill steady. Imaginary targets filled his mind, but his strikes missed by an embarrassing margin, prompting him to scold himself. He tried not to blame the dagger; after all, it was the only tool he had for the first floor of the dungeon. He would use it to harvest the horns of the beasts inside and defend himself when necessary, opting for a more measured approach instead of fighting like a wild animal.
He ran his thumb along his teeth, sharper than any human’s, as he reflected on his ability. It felt feeble, unnervingly so. Its only advantage lay associating with his thirty-two razor-sharp daggers in his maw, making it easy to wield. However, since his last use of it, an unsettling compulsion seemed to pull him toward employing it again, as if it were a curse.
Regrettably for the “skill’s wishes,” he had no intention of spending his evenings hunting for clean clothes every time blood splattered. His pride wouldn’t allow him to let this chaotic ability take control.
He approached the counter beside the massive iron door that loomed against the wooded bluff, his attention locked onto the shimmering aura surrounding his blade. He was so focused he failed to notice the young guild worker standing with "Sir" Elimir.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the one-handed wonder, the infamous rabbit slayer,” Elimir sneered playfully.
“Go to Hell, Sir Elimir.”
“You cut me deep, especially after all I’ve done for you?” Elimir retorted, pretending to clutch his heart dramatically.
Finally, Sebas pulled his gaze away from the weapon and turned to face Elimir, an annoyed frown etched on his face. He shot a glance at the female worker beside Elimir and lifted his copper plate for her to sign him in, all while sizing up Elimir's smug expression.
“Well? Didn’t I tell you she was the prettiest thing to come out of the Church of Mercy’s hags?”
“Oh, so that’s why you’re looking so pleased with yourself,” Sebas replied, giving Elimir the finger with his injured hand, carefully pulling back the bandage to reveal the ghastly scar left by the healing potion. “Cut the smirk, I didn’t go.”
“Oh, come on, you… fuckin’ hardass, Sebas…” Elimir said as he examined the injury.
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“Just be careful, you little wiseass... do you need a hand with that door?”
Sebas ignored the man's comment as he tried to lift the heavy steel slab independently. Elimir, seeing his struggle, stepped in unasked and helped him, watching as Sebas slipped into the dimly lit tunnel, where the sconces flickered to life one after another.
Once Sebas had disappeared from earshot, his assistant turned to Elimir and asked, “Sir Elimir, who was that boy? You seemed rather friendly with him, even if he was quite rude.”
“Hmm? Oh, that’s- ah, you’re not looking for his name; you’ve already noted it down,” Elimir replied, shaking his head as he tried to gather his thoughts. “That little brat just started adventuring yesterday and came back with a gnarly scar that’s bound to itch like crazy later.”
“I see… but where’s his party?”
“Well…” Elimir thought momentarily, “Based on the intel I’ve gathered, it seems he’s flying solo, which likely means he struggles more with making friends than keeping them. You could always ask him directly about his party situation, lass.” He flashed a sly smile.
“Sir Elimir, please take this seriously! You saw those injuries; there's no way it’s safe for him to go in there alone!” she exclaimed, sitting up from her chair only to be gently pushed back down by Elimir’s hands.
“You know, you might have a point… There are bloodthirsty rabbits lurking in there!” Elimir scratched his head for a moment before continuing, “Oh, wait, they’re horned rabbits. I reckon that little guy could survive a stab or two, though…” He crossed his arms, deep in thought. “Still, there might be something off in his head.”
“I’m serious, Sir Elimir!”
“So am I… I really want to know what’s going on in that head of his.”
The young guild worker shook her head in disbelief, her iron plate swaying gently as it caught the light.
In the tall grass of the dungeon, Sebas’ bright red hair stood out starkly against the yellow-brown blades. He crouched low, concentrating on the back of a horned rabbit as he held his dagger in a reverse grip. The rabbit perked up at the sound of the ground shifting beneath Sebas, its ears flicking nervously. Just as the rabbit tensed its legs, it sprang aside, narrowly avoiding the dagger that lodged itself into the earth.
For a brief moment, Sebas and the rabbit locked eyes before the creature’s legs glowed with a dull red light, propelling it forward with newfound speed. Sebas struggled to keep pace, swinging his dagger wildly as the grass rustled around him, slicing through clusters with each sweep of his glowing blade. Frustration bubbled within him as he watched the rabbit escape into the open. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself and keep his breakfast down as he paused to gather his thoughts.
Sebas looked down at his stained dagger, wiping it clean on his pantleg as he watched the rabbit hop away into the distance, clicking his tongue in frustration when it vanished from sight. With his gaze fixed on the weapon in hand, he settled cross-legged on the ground to examine the dagger more closely.
[Iron Dagger
[???]
He concentrated a bit more intently as if reaching out to the universe for clarity about what lay before him.
[Accessing Permissions…]
He waited patiently, despite not wanting to.
[Insuficent authority, Permission is denied. The Skill: [Identify] has been locked.]
He rubbed the strain out of his eyes and placed it back down into the sheathe at his waist, although it didn’t fit.
Sebas lay back comfortably on the grass, feeling it cushion beneath him as he reflected on the skills he had acquired from his training during his childhood; everyone is equally rewarded for their efforts before awakening, and normally, they all face three main challenges that present distinct paths to mastering these abilities.
The first hurdle is Aptitude, often referred to as the “ability” to learn. Every person possesses a “God Window,” which contains Skills, Traits, Stats, and many other hidden characteristics within the mysterious concept of “Status.” This includes the hard limit of what one’s soul can handle without overexerting the body, leading to stress or mental fatigue.
One's "Aptitude limit" so his master called it can usually be identified through the God Window. As individuals reach milestones, the "Player" advances in rank, which supposedly enhances the strength of their soul and provides insights about their Aptitudes. For example, if someone lives their life as an Assassin or Burglar but finds a skill book for [Fireball], they would likely learn it if they have the appropriate affinity. However, this could negatively affect their soul's development in stealth-based abilities, ultimately leading it to become tainted by the flashy, overt skill.
The second challenge to gaining a skill is said to be summed up in three simple words: "Drive," "Passion," and "Effort." This “key to overcoming” this hurdle is a fairly uncommon misconception, and only through "Repetition” will one learn properly. Not everyone is fortunate enough to find a magical book that grants them incredible powers, like shooting giant meteors or regrowing limbs like a lizard. Usually, if you want to stop experiencing pain, you have to go through some discomfort first. For example, if you want to become immune to fire, you have to get close to it.
People who practice magic often think they need to love what they're doing to succeed. However, this belief can be tricky because magic itself can be quite complex. Some individuals are naturally gifted or learn quickly, often due to their family backgrounds, giving them an advantage, and letting them gain the smug prideful confidence to shit in their golden spoon and gloat about it. Meanwhile, others must work harder and face more challenges to achieve the same skills.
Lastly, is Luck, supposedly a lady of fickle nature who picks out favorites, heroes, sages, some hermits, etc. Everyone gets a minimum of two, and a maximum of five skills and traits upon awakening, of which there are multiple possible “types”, with mutation awakenings being an exception of the two to five skill and traits rule. Only birth, blood, or circumstance determines one’s true ability upon awakening.
None of them know hardship, nothing about the lives they live compares to my hardships, their lives are pathetic daydreams compared to mine. I know hardship! I am hard!
Wait a minute-
Sebas was lost in thought when he was startled by a rustle in the grass and the sound of a twig snapping. Suddenly, he locked eyes with two large, bright pink eyes that were staring him down. His eyes widened in surprise as he froze, taking in the sight of two horns that curled back into the brush like a mohawk. The creature snorted steam from its nose and pawed at the dirt, all while maintaining eye contact with him.
Slowly, Sebas reached his arm behind him, out of the creature's line of sight, and pressed his weight down with his arm. He flinched when a twig snapped behind him, causing the rabbit’s head to turn to the side and scrutinize him. To his dismay, he witnessed the rabbit scream at him, saliva flying from its mouth in small strands. He watched as the two horns on its head began to charge with a glowing white light, and he sighed in annoyance as he slung his head back.
The bi-horned rabbit lunged at Sebas, its powerful legs propelling it forward with feral intent. Sebas reacted in an instant, driving his knee into the creature’s neck mid-charge. The rabbit let out a strangled squeal, its body twisting in the air before flopping heavily onto its back. Sebas scuttled backward, keeping low as he regained his footing, his movements desperate and sharp.
Springing off the ground, he tightened his grip on the dagger in his right hand, while his left, wrapped in thick, makeshift bandages, remained outstretched as a makeshift shield. The rabbit recovered swiftly, snarling as it charged again, horns aimed to skewer. Sebas met the attack head-on, twisting his body at the last moment. The creature’s horn grazed his outstretched palm, slicing through the bandages, but Sebas managed to redirect its momentum, forcing its head to veer away from his body.
He flexed his injured hand, testing its movement. Blood seeped from beneath the bandages, a thin crimson line trailing down his fingers. The wound was shallow, hardly worth a second thought. His focus snapped back to the rabbit, which turned on him once more, eyes wild and unrelenting as it prepared for another maddened charge. Sebas focused, holding his dagger in an outward position, ready to meet his pursuer.
He swung at the leaping rodent, and his dagger clashed with the glowing horn in front of him, producing a ringing clang. Light blue and white sparks exploded as their skills clashed. Although the fat rabbit posed no real threat, it was likely a higher-level creature, given its size and the fact that his skill hadn’t deactivated the rabbit’s own.
Sebas’ momentary distraction cost him. He watched as the rabbit launched his dagger backward and upward with its hand while it jumped to the left and slammed its head into the side of his torso. His fist met the rabbit head-on at a swift speed, resulting in a pained grunt from both of them.
Sebas crouched low, his knife glinting in the dim light as he slashed at the rabbit’s foot. The blade grazed the back of its left front leg, leaving a shallow cut, and with a swift flourish, he severed one of its toes. The rabbit let out a guttural squeal and shoved forward with its head, creating distance between itself and Sebas.
Pain flared beneath Sebas’ jaw as the metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils. He twirled the knife deftly in his hand, adjusting his grip so the blade faced backward. His other hand extended outward, palm open, ready to counter the creature’s next move.
The rabbit’s eyes burned with wild rage as it charged again, a blur of fur and horns. Sebas lunged to intercept it, aiming for the back of its head with his knife, but his timing faltered. The creature’s skull collided with his stomach, its sharp horns stabbing into his torso with brutal force. Sebas gasped, the air knocked from his lungs, as the sickening crunch of bone echoed in his ears, one of his ribs had shattered under the impact.
Sebas tumbled backward with the rabbit, his dagger ripping downward into the back of the creature’s head with a sickening, wet squelch. He groaned as he moved, struggling not to scream from the pain radiating through his broken ribs and the oppressive weight of the beast pinning him down. Gritting his teeth, he reached with his left hand into the satchel at his waist and pulled out a small vial of green liquid.
[Notice: Kill Confirmed, Level 3 Bi-Horned Rabbit]
[Experience Points have been Gained]
With a quick yank, he removed the cork with a satisfying "pop." His trembling hands hastily poured the potion over his face, and he let out a gurgling scream as the potion drowned him and fiery pain erupted through his body. The wounds and broken bones burned with the excruciating intensity of the potion’s healing properties. Between gasps, he muttered curses under his breath, damning the “Pope, Shmope” who had created these tormenting yet life-saving concoctions.
Breathing unsteadily, Sebas pushed the still-twitching, blood-soaked corpse off his lap. He pried the dagger from his cramped fingers, letting it fall to the ground. Then, gripping the grass behind him, he focused on steadying his ragged breaths, his chest rising and falling as he fought through the lingering agony.
Sebas shook his head and swiped the bloody dagger from the ground. Quickly, he hoisted the rabbit onto his lap, tempted to hit it and scold it for its inconvenient existence, especially for ruining his already dilapidated pants. He looked the creature over, now taking his time to inspect it as he flourished the dagger in his hand. He began cutting into the rabbit's stomach, unsafely slicing toward himself as he focused on removing its skin. He made a circular cut around its neck and along each limb, before yanking on its back and ripping off most of its leather-like hide.
His slightly labored breathing steadied as he looked down at the skinless corpse in his lap. His attention shifted to the two massive horns on its head. Gripping the smaller one, he started sawing into it with his bloody dagger. After exposing the hollow within, he snapped off the smaller horn and placed it in his mouth to hold it while he sawed into the second, larger horn and successfully managed to break off that one as well.
Sebas sighed and leaned back, gripping the horns in his left hand while the fur sat on his shoulder. He stared calmly ahead as he recuperated his stamina before being reminded of the hefty rodent still weighing down his crossed legs. With a grunt, he kicked it off, watching as it landed on the ground. He began counting as it sat there, waiting for something to happen.
He counted to twenty-three before a blue blaze erupted from the ground, devouring the meaty corpse in front of him. The flames didn’t scorch the grass as they consumed bones, meat, sinew, magic core, and all. He chuckled at the prospect of a magic core dropping from such a lowly beast.
Oh, dungeon… you’d eat me if you had the chance, wouldn’t you? he mentally mused, not expecting a response as he prodded the corpse with his dagger.
He flinched as the flames leaped onto his body, burning away the blood-soaked remnants of his clothes, weapon, and hands. The flames rapidly decayed, and he inspected his body for burns but only found two holes in his shirt where two exclamation-shaped scars remained.
With a grunt, Sebas sat up, wrapped the fur into a small roll, and stowed the horns within it. Not caring that they didn’t fit, he shoved the bundle into his satchel. Then, he sprawled into the grass in a gesture of triumph.
Optimal Number of horns