What… did I just unlock?

  I’ve… achieved the impossible?

  The words echoed in my mind, heavy with meaning.

  Throughout all my years playing the game, I had never encountered a prompt like this. Impossible achievement? What did that even mean? Was it literal? A figure of speech? Or was it truly something that was never meant to happen?

  My eyes locked onto the golden-trimmed system window floating before me. Its borders shimmered faintly, unlike any standard prompt I had seen before—not just rare, but singular.

  A hidden milestone, buried so deep within the system, it felt like no one was ever meant to reach it.

  Sure, I had never once seen a character who could enter and leave a dungeon at will—but was that alone enough to warrant this?

  Then again… yes.

  I knew the rules of this world. Once a dungeon closed, it was sealed for a month. No re-entry. And to my knowledge, there were no items that allowed reentry once you left. Dungeon entry were time-locked, and tightly enforced.

  So for someone, to blink out and back within minutes?

  Yeah. That broke the system's rules.

  And the system… had rewarded me for it.

  Curiosity burning through my chest, I refocused on the prompt. And my heart skipped a beat.

  I stared, frozen.

  +5% to everything—physical and mental. Permanent.

  A passive, stacking increase across the board.

  I had never in all my time playing the game, seen a title reward that granted a percentage-based increase to stats.

  Every achievement until now had been granted flat bonuses. I still remembered the one I got for killing those adventurers—just a single point added to my physical stat. That was the norm.

  But this? This was different. Monumental.

  No wonder the prompt had been so extravagant. The system knew how significant this was. A five percent increase across all stats wasn’t just powerful—it was scalable. The higher I climbed, the more it would grow. Right now, the boost was modest—but in the long run, it was the kind of passive bonus that could make all the difference.

  I opened my stat panel, eyes immediately locking onto the two main values. Before the reward, I had thirty-three in Mental and sixteen in Physical. Now...

  Plus one to each. And this was just the beginning.

  As I kept growing, these gains would scale with me. What looked like a single-point boost now could someday become five, ten... maybe more.

  Lila’s voice cut through the silence, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “You’ve been weirdly quiet,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  I blinked and glanced at her, still a bit dazed from the system message. “Ah—sorry. It’s nothing. Just... something unexpected,” I said with a quick shrug. “Anyway, looks like the first experiment was a success.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Her brow arched. “First?”

  “Mmhm,” I nodded. “Time for the second.”

  She tilted her head, clearly puzzled. “Wait, second experiment? What do you mean?”

  I gave her a small grin. “I’m going back outside. But this time… we’re going to see if I can bring you and the slimes with me.”

  Lila’s eyes widened. “Then, you’re testing if the skill works like the Dungeon’s portal?”

  “Exactly,” I replied. “Shared Vision of Blinking is already incredibly useful—and let’s be honest, pretty overpowered for its level. But if I can carry others with me during the blink? Then it stops being just useful and starts being outright broken. I mean, dungeon traversal, party transportation? That kind of flexibility changes everything.”

  She frowned slightly. “But… if you do that, doesn’t it mean you’ll be stuck outside for the rest of the day? You said the cost is high, and you’ve already used it twice.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I’ve used twenty two mana so far—two activations at eleven mana each. If I use it again to test group blinking, that’s another eleven gone. I’ll be empty. No mana left to return until I’ve fully recovered.”

  “Which takes a day’s rest…” she murmured, arms crossing again. “So you’re really doing it?”

  “That’s right,” I confirmed. “But don’t worry—I’m not planning to waste the time.”

  “ I’ve gathered enough materials from this floor to put something together—something that should significantly boost my progression.”

  Lila looked at me for a moment, then exhaled through her nose with a smirk. “You never stop thinking three steps ahead, huh?”

  “I have too.”

  I turned to the slimes that had been faithfully carrying the collection of beholder eyes and pointed to the ground beside me.

  “Drop them here,” I said.

  They obeyed immediately, gently setting the preserved eyes down with care. I crouched, gathering each one and placing them neatly into my pouch. The last I left out—the large, central eye of the beholder. I wanted that one close. Holding it in my hand, I could still feel a faint residue of its presence, like it hadn’t quite stopped glaring at the world.

  With that done, I turned to Lila.

  “Alright, climb on,” I said, patting my shoulder.

  She hesitated for only a second before giving a small shrug and hopping up, carefully resting her weight on my shoulder.

  Then I pointed to one of the slimes. “You too.”

  With a soft squelch, it hopped up and latched onto my other shoulder like a jiggly scarf.

  I looked at the rest of the slimes. “You stay here.”

  They quivered, understanding the order.

  Truth was, I couldn’t gamble on Lila’s safety. There was always a chance this wouldn’t work—that I would blink away alone, leaving her stuck here by herself. So I left the rest behind. If that happened, they would protect her.

  I stood straight again, feeling the weight of the moment settle in my chest.

  “So…” I said, casting a glance at Lila. “Shall we give it one last try?”

  She nodded.

  That was all I needed.

  With her confirmation, I activated the skill once more—but this time, I didn’t aim for a slime hidden in the forest. No. My target was one stationed somewhere even more secure—my home. That old, worn-down shack tucked deep in slums, where I had stationed a slime to guard and oversee the supplies gathered by my scavengers.

  And in the blink of an eye, I was no longer in the dungeon.

  I stood on the creaky wooden floor of my shack, the dim light of the afternoon sun slipping through the cracks.

  I turned my head, breath still catching up with the leap—and there she was.

  Lila stood beside me, eyes wide, blinking in stunned silence before suddenly lighting up.

  “I-It worked! It actually worked!” she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with pure excitement.

  I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face. “Yeah,” I breathed, still amazed myself. “Just like the Dungeon’s portal mechanic.”

  That meant only one thing—this skill wasn’t just powerful. It was game-changing.

  Things were about to get very interesting.

  Lila hopped down from my shoulder, landing lightly on her feet, and the slime followed, slipping down and giving a little happy wiggle as it hit the floor.

  “Your new ability is so good,” Lila said, spinning once in place. “I wish I had something like that.”

  I chuckled and reached out to gently pat her head. “Your time will come. For now, let’s focus on what’s next.”

  Her grin faded slightly, curiosity replacing it. “You keep saying ‘that item’... but you haven’t actually told me what it is.”

  I turned toward my pouch, its weight heavy with materials, the beholder’s large eye still resting in my grip.

  With a smile, I finally answered her. “We’re going to see a rune crafter.”

  I looked back at her, eyes gleaming with quiet anticipation.

  “To have a rune created for us.”