The Shadowspire loomed against the horizon, its black spires reaching into the night sky like the talons of a great beast. Carved into the base of a jagged mountain, the dark elf enclave stood silent and imposing, its silhouette a dark contrast against the moonlit landscape.
Slaves moved in silence, their heads bowed and eyes fixed on the ground, as if even the act of looking up might invite punishment. They came from various races: orcs, beastkin, and even elves that bore a lighter complexion, all broken and stripped of their pride.
The dark elves moved with cold authority, their steps precise and eyes calculating. Dressed in dark robes adorned with runes, they exuded an air of superiority, as if the world existed to serve them. Slaves who moved too slowly were beaten in public, and those who spoke out of turn had their tongues removed or lips sewn shut.
At the heart of the city stood a towering fortress, its entrance flanked by statues of chained figures—faces twisted in anguish, a silent warning to any slave who might consider rebellion.
Inside, the High Lord Seryth lounged upon his dark throne, draped in luxurious robes that shimmered with threads of silver. His pale face was sharply sculpted, framed by long silver hair that cascaded down his shoulders. His eyes, gleaming with a cold, calculating light, studied every person who dared approach, never softening, never warming.
The chamber around him was opulent, adorned with intricate carvings and precious gemstones set into the walls, their light flickering in the dim glow of the room. The air itself seemed heavy, almost suffocating with the weight of his presence.
Thalorien, a dark elf with a bow strapped to his back, trembled as he knelt. Behind him stood a human girl in chains, guarded by elven warriors.
“My third son… dead?” The High Lord’s voice was filled with disbelief and barely controlled rage. His eyes flared, flickering with a dangerous glint. “Killed by a mere fresh Tutorial Initiate?”
Thalorien took a deep breath, his heart pounding. "Y-yes, my lord! It was a race I am not familiar with—perhaps new to the System. A ‘human.’” He pointed at the girl, his voice unsteady.
The High Lord’s eyes shifted toward the girl, his contempt palpable.
Human - Level 1
He leaned forward, his expression unreadable—until the air around him pulsed. A wave of mana flared from his body, distorting the very space around his throne. Thalorien flinched, his knees nearly buckling.
“You mean to tell me this frail creature, devoid of mana, killed my son?” The High Lord’s voice thundered, his rage pressing down on the room like a storm.
“N-no… My lord, we found three Tutorial Initiates in total. It was one of the males who murdered your son.”
“And Deratus?” the High Lord snapped, impatience lacing his words.
“Deratus fell in battle, my lord.”
Silence stretched between them. The High Lord’s gaze bore into Thalorien, so heavy it felt like the air itself was crushing him.
A fresh Tutorial Initiate had killed both his son and his son’s bodyguard? Impossible. Deratus had been on the cusp of earning his first class—he should have been more than capable of handling mere newcomers.
The oppressive weight in the room lingered for a few moments longer before the High Lord finally eased his grip, though his eyes remained sharp.
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Fingers drumming against the armrest of his throne, he murmured, “Strange. It has been many years since the System chose our world for a Tutorial… and never for a first-stage.” His gaze darkened. “Where were they found?”
“Umbravale forest, my lord. They are likely still there.”
A silence fell. His expression shifted—just for a moment.
“Umbravale?” His voice was quieter now, but charged with something else. “For a first-stage Tutorial?”
His fingers tightened on the throne’s armrest. Mana pulsed again, and the torches in the chamber flickered wildly in response. Then, as suddenly as it had flared, his power stilled. He exhaled slowly.
“Ranger Captain Rendial.”
A warrior stepped forward, kneeling without hesitation. “My lord.”
“I cannot enter Umbravale personally… You will lead the Dusk Sentinels and capture these Initiates. Move quickly—capture them before the first stage ends and the System transfers them away, but beware…” His tone developed a sharp note of warning. “There are forces in that forest even I would not wish to provoke.”
“It will be done, my lord.” Rendial bowed his head, his tone steady and unwavering.
“Take this runt with you,” the High Lord spat, his eyes narrowing in contempt. “He will serve as your guide.”
—--
John
“Breathe deeply. Feel the energy flowing into your body—that’s mana. Follow it, see where it goes.”
John’s voice rasped over the campfire’s crackle, rough but edged with patience. Somewhere beyond the trees, a low roar rumbled—too far to matter yet.
Smoke curled up, thick with the scent of charred roots they’d scavenged from the elves. Fortunately, Justin was a quick learner.
“I—I got a notification! Basic Energy Circulation!” Justin shouted, jumping to his feet, his food tumbling to the ground.
John nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. The kid’s excitement was almost infectious. Although they had just met, he had decided that he liked the kid. He would prefer it if he survived.
“Nice job,” he said, nodding. “Keep practicing—move it around, feel what it does.”
With that, John sat back down, already muttering to himself, eyes narrowing as he called up his own Status. Nine points to spend.
Focus was changing him—twenty-one now, and he could feel it: the way his mind snapped to every rustle in the dark, the precision powering his Flash Draw. It was like sharpening a blade in his skull. But his body? Lagging, bruised, and creaking from too many close calls.
As he glanced at his other stats, doubt crept in. Was he neglecting something important by prioritizing Focus? He had no mentor to guide him, no way of knowing if his choices were right. All he could do was trust his instincts.
He put three points into Agility. A lightness crept into his limbs, subtle but real—speed was life out here; he was learning that the hard way.
Then after some thought, he invested two points into Constitution. He wanted to see how useful it would be. Fighting for his life was taxing, and he needed to make sure his body wouldn’t give up on him.
The last four? Focus. Always Focus. He closed his eyes, sinking into it. The fire’s crackle sharpened in his ears, John’s breathing steadied into a rhythm, and a faint hum of mana thrummed in his veins, alive and electric. His mind felt like a coiled spring, ready to snap loose with power. Yeah, this was right.
Status
Name: John Silver
Race: Human
Class: N/A
Level: 11
Strength: 6
Agility: 14
Constitution: 6
Focus: 25
Instinct: 15
Perception: 8
Unused stat points: 0
His Status faded as he dismissed the screen. Justin was still at it, grinning like an idiot as he played with his new skill. John almost envied that raw excitement.
Then the ground trembled—just once, faint but deep, a ripple under his boots. His hand slid to the gladius at his waist, grip tightening. Something was coming.
