A cheerful hum drifted across the clearing as Larry got to work, as if they were on a weekend retreat instead of inside a lethal trial realm. He rolled a dead tree trunk toward the lake, grunting once before giving it a final kick. The stump toppled neatly onto its side. Larry dusted his hands, sat down, and claimed it like a throne carved by nature itself.

  For him, this was peace.

  Silas let his gaze sweep the perimeter. Arthur paced near the tree line, sword loose but ready, eyes scanning the shadows between trunks. Vigilant. Tim chose a rock slightly apart from the group—close enough to rejoin them if trouble came, far enough to avoid being first in line when it did. Calculated distance. Predictable.

  And then there was Jen.

  “Silas,” she whispered urgently, sidling closer. “This thing keeps following me.”

  He glanced at the skeleton standing obediently at her side, purple flames flickering in its hollow eyes.

  “It’s your summon,” he said. “Who did you expect it to follow? Larry?”

  Jen shuddered. “Can you make it go away? I don’t like it. I’ve had goosebumps ever since it started walking next to me.”

  “Jen,” Silas said patiently, “it’s yours. You command it.”

  She blinked. “How?”

  He stared at her. “How would I know?”

  “But you told me to get it!”

  “Yes,” he replied evenly. “And now you need to learn how to use it.”

  The emotional beat shifted again—from fear to responsibility.

  “But Si,” Jen whimpered, her voice cracking in that familiar way that always tugged at him when she was overwhelmed and expecting him to fix it. “I can’t even look at its eye sockets—how am I supposed to—”

  “Jen, just fuck off,” Silas said.

  Tears welled in her eyes and she turned away, the skeleton following with a soft clack of bones.

  Guilt pricked him, but exhaustion outweighed it; he’d cleaned up her messes too many times. He exhaled heavily and promised himself he’d apologize later. Sitting on the boulder, he opened his status window, seeking something—anything—to focus on.

  Name: Silas Kingsley

  Title: —

  Level: 3

  Class: Black Mage

  Species: Human {Z-tier}

  Health Points: 80/80

  Mana Points: 189/280

  Strength: 5

  Vitality: 8

  Defense: 1

  Agility: 6

  Dexterity: 5

  Perception: 10

  Wisdom: 8

  Intelligence: 28(+6)

  Charisma: 4

  Points: 0

  Silas stared at the lopsided measure of his power, a fixation on a single parameter. Dangerous, almost reckless—like a ship sailing with only one working compass. If anyone understood the gamble he was making, they would shake their heads and call him foolish. Even he himself was starting to realize the same thing.

  But he was stubborn. He really believed he could handle the consequences and who wouldn’t want to wield incredible power?

  At the same time, the logical part of his mind tried to reason with him to be more flexible for the sake of survival.

  But…

  No, I can still do it, Silas thought.

  He opened his skill window. The list of spells unfurled before him, gray and silent, many entries locked away like distant ports on a map he couldn’t yet reach. He made a mental note to try preserved skill points for future spells that who knows how many skill points needed to unlock it.

  Silas closed the window. For the moment, the path was clear: rely on Fireball for range and Electric Jolt for close quarter combat and sharpen his usage of those two spells.

  He scanned the surroundings, searching for purpose, and found none.

  Then an idea struck him.

  With deliberate motion, he raised his hand and cast Electric Jolt—not at an enemy, but at himself.

  Electricity rippled through him, a tingling surge crawling along his skin despite the protective hum of Mana Armor.

  [Mana Armor: 70/140]

  One Jolt. Half his Mana Armor vanished in a flash.

  Silas exhaled slowly, watching the shimmering barrier flicker like a cracked windshield under strain. The damage output was impressive—no, devastating. A weapon that could shear through his own defenses would carve through enemies like dry timber.

  And that’s when the idea took root.

  What if he used it on himself? Not as punishment. As training.

  The air shimmered.

  [Electric Jolt has leveled up to Lv. 2]

  Silas grinned. He’d gambled—and won. So he pushed it. Mana Armor flared around him again, translucent and humming. He summoned Electric Jolt without hesitation and drove the lightning into his own chest.

  The shield didn’t just weaken this time. It shattered. The glimmering shell splintered outward in shards of blue-white light, dissolving like shattered ice in sunlight. And then the current reached him.

  The tingling turned violent.

  His muscles seized. Breath caught in his lungs as if a fist had closed around them. His vision narrowed to a pinpoint. He felt the unmistakable drop in his health—felt it in the hollow thud of his pulse.

  Silas staggered back, dragging in air.

  Idiot.

  He’d forgotten one simple fact: if the spell grew stronger, so did the backlash. He had assumed the upgraded Jolt would stop at the Armor.

  It hadn’t.

  Now he understood exactly what happened when Mana Armor failed. Pain was a very persuasive teacher. He steadied himself, thoughts snapping back into alignment.

  New plan.

  Mana Armor surged into place once more. Silas adjusted the flow of mana through his fingers, throttling it down—remembering the careful output he’d used when he tasered that unfortunate bureaucrat back at Town Hall.

  He cast Electric Jolt again.

  Electricity coursed over him—but this time it didn’t explode. It bit. The Mana Armor trembled but held longer. The feedback was sharper, yet manageable. His Mana Armor dipped—but not catastrophically.

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  [Mana Armor: 130/140]

  He hadn’t expected it to work. But it did. Silas stood very still, replaying the moment in his mind. When he cast Jolt this time, he hadn’t focused on power. He hadn’t forced mana through clenched teeth or driven it forward like artillery fire.

  Instead, he pictured restraint. He imagined the electricity as a fading spark. A weak current. A dying battery. And that was exactly what he produced.

  All this time, he had treated spells like lines of code—fixed scripts with fixed outputs. Incantation in, damage out. Clean. Predictable. Mechanical.

  But magic wasn’t a machine. It was imagination given teeth. The stronger the image, the stronger the result.

  Silas felt a slow grin spread across his face. The battlefield inside his head had just changed shape. If mental imagery could bend output, then power wasn’t capped by numbers alone—it was sculpted.

  “Yes!”

  Larry’s shout cracked through his thoughts.

  Silas turned.

  Larry was on his feet, rod raised like a victorious standard. A sizable fish thrashed in his grip, silver scales flashing in the sun.

  “Guys! I caught one!”

  Arthur and Jen rushed over, laughter breaking the quiet tension of the afternoon. Even Tim glanced up from where he sat, though he didn’t rise.

  Larry lifted the fish higher, grinning like a man who’d just harpooned a sea monster.

  Silas offered two exaggerated thumbs-up and a crooked smile.

  Then the grin drained from Larry’s face.

  Just like that.

  His eyes unfocused, locking onto something no one else could see. The fish sagged in his grip as he stared into empty air.

  Silas knew that look. A window. Something new.

  “Silas!” Larry called.

  Silas suppressed a sigh. He’d been comfortable where he stood. But curiosity outweighed laziness, and he pushed himself upright.

  By the time he reached them, Arthur and Jen were still marveling at the fish, oblivious. Larry, however, wasn’t looking at his catch anymore.

  “This new window says that as a reward for catching a fish, my HP’s been raised by twenty,” Larry said.

  Silas’ eyes widened. He stepped forward and grabbed Larry by the shoulders hard enough to make the fish flop in protest.

  “Wait. Are you sure?” Silas asked. “Open your status. Now.”

  Larry blinked, startled, but complied. His gaze shifted to the invisible pane only he could see. A few seconds passed.

  Then he nodded slowly.

  “It’s true. My HP went up. It was fifty before. Now it’s seventy. And there’s… yeah, there’s a bracket next to it. Plus twenty.”

  His mind moved fast, numbers snapping into place like tumblers in a vault. One point in Vitality granted ten health. Intelligence gave ten mana. He had already confirmed that much from his own status window.

  Which meant—

  Larry hadn’t just gained health. He’d gained the equivalent of two full attribute points. For catching a fish.

  Silas felt the ground tilt slightly beneath his understanding of the world.

  “Check your Vitality,” he said. “Did it increase?”

  Larry squinted at the window again. “It says five.” He hesitated. “I… think that’s what it was before? I didn’t really memorize that part. Just the HP and MP.”

  “Any brackets next to Vitality?” Silas asked.

  But when Silas asked if there was any additional bracket beside the vitality points, Larry shook his head and it was enough for Silas to know that catching a fish didn’t raise a vitality point only health points. Then it made him wonder what else did a vitality attribute do beside the health points?

  Silas forced himself to shelve the question. Then informed Larry to update him again after catching a fish.

  Arthur, meanwhile, looked as though someone had handed him the secrets of the universe. “Fishing gives bonus stats?” he muttered. “In every game I’ve played, it’s just resource for food and a boring side activity.”

  Not anymore.

  Silas left them to their excitement and returned to his boulder, lowering himself onto it.

  He fell deep in thought as he wondered about Larry’s fisherman class. One fish. Twenty health. His mind did the math automatically. Ten fish would mean two hundred health. Two hundred. That wasn’t a bonus—that was a walking fortress in the making.

  “That’s broken,” he murmured under his breath.

  No system this elaborate would allow infinite stacking without a ceiling. There had to be diminishing returns. A cap. A hidden condition. Otherwise, a fisherman could outlast a frontline warrior without ever lifting a blade.

  Unless…

  Unless it was intentional.

  Production classes had to balance combat classes somehow. A black mage could obliterate enemies in seconds—but a fisherman might become unkillable through patience and persistence.

  Silas exhaled sharply and shook his head. Speculation was a luxury. Action was currency. Rather than worrying about Larry’s path, he focused on his own. Mana gathered at his fingertips as he resumed training— Electric Jolt, then Mana Armor, over and over, refining output, tightening control. Each cast was deliberate. He learning through practice.

  While the spells cycled, another thought crept in.

  Attributes.

  The thought of training those other attributes came to mind as he had a couple of ideas he wanted to try in case it was possible. Considering he was going all-out in distributing the five points to intelligence, he needed to find alternative for his other attributes as he knew well a normal human physique wasn’t going to cut it in this trial realm.

  “Silas!”

  Larry’s voice carried across the lakeshore.

  He didn’t even need to ask.

  “Another fish,” Larry called out. “And yeah—another twenty HP.”

  Confirmed. Silas nodded once, slow and thoughtful. A second data point. Same result.

  He would be lying if he said it didn’t sting. Some classes harvested bonuses like fruit from a low branch. Meanwhile, he was electrocuting himself in controlled bursts just to inch forward.

  If fishing granted vitality-adjacent rewards for a fisherman—

  What did the world reward a black mage for?

  Silas kept training. Over and over, he cast Electric Jolt, shaping it not with force—but with vision. The image in his mind sharpened until it felt tangible. A battery icon. Red. Blinking. One percent. He released the spell.

  The surge barely flickered. His Mana Armor dimmed—two points gone. No more.

  [Electric Jolt has leveled up to Lv. 3]

  Silas allowed himself a thin smile.

  And then—

  A scream tore through the lakeside.

  It wasn’t the startled cry of surprise. It was terror. Everyone turned. Jen was on the ground.

  A fel rat—mangy, sinewy, eyes burning with feral hunger—was on top of her, jaws snapping inches from her face. Her skeleton reacted instantly, kicking the creature off. Bone met flesh with a sharp crack.

  But the trees were alive.

  More fel rats poured from the tree line, leaping, clawing, shrieking. The skeleton punched and kicked with mechanical precision, but there were too many. It made a decision—throwing itself over Jen’s prone body, shielding her as teeth and claws rained down.

  “Silas!” Arthur’s voice broke with panic.

  Silas turned.

  Arthur was sprinting along the shoreline, a swarm of fel rats snapping at his heels.

  And Tim—unexpected, steady Tim—stood firm beside Larry, dagger drawn, guarding the fisherman as if the world depended on it.

  “Fight, damn it!” Tim roared.

  That’s when it clicked. The quest.Guard Larry while he catches ten fish. This wasn’t random. This was the test.

  Silas’s lips curved into something almost eager.

  From the trees to his left, a cluster of fel rats broke into a sprint—straight at him. He didn’t retreat. His lips began to move, foreign words slipped through as the wand aimed at the incoming rats.

  Fifty-five seconds. A fireball roared into existence at the end of his twig wand—bright, furious, unstable—and he hurled it straight into the densest knot of fel rats that were coming at him.

  Impact.

  The explosion wasn’t massive—but it was enough.

  One rat vanished in a blossom of flame. Burning fur ignited the dry grass beneath them. Fire leapt hungrily from body to body. Several fel rats erupted into screeching chaos, rolling, writhing, spreading the blaze to their own kind.

  For a moment, the pressure eased. A good hit. A damn good one.

  But Silas already knew the truth—

  There wouldn’t be time for a second fireball. Not with a fifty-five-second cast.

  He didn’t hesitate. Switching spells. Mana snapped into a tighter configuration. Words rapidly came out of his mouth. Four seconds.

  Electric cracked through the air.

  He charged. Mana flared at his fingertips as he summoned a new image—battery icon, blazing green, one hundred percent. Full charge.

  “Electric Jolt!”

  Lightning detonated outward. The lead rat convulsed midair, fur igniting as it hit the ground in a smoking heap.

  No hesitation.

  Silas pivoted and ran, chanting again as he moved. A rat lunged from the side—he twisted, feeling claws graze the Mana Armor over his sleeve by a hair’s breadth.

  Another impact. Weight slammed into his back. Hot breath at his neck. Teeth scraped against Mana Armor with a metallic shriek.

  Three seconds.

  It felt like an eternity. But he managed to do it even faster, shaving off another one second.

  He triggered Electric Jolt.

  The rat on his back spasmed and flew off in a charred arc. But more were already on him.

  He looked down—half a dozen fel rats gnawed at his legs, their bodies piling against him. His Mana Armor bar dropped visibly, chunks shearing away under relentless assault.

  He kicked, stomped, swung his fists. Not enough. The weight multiplied. Another body hit his shoulders. Then another. His footing vanished.

  He crashed face-first into the dirt.

  Shit, Silas thought.

  His vision flicked to the corner of his sight, his Mana Armor bar was reaching zero fast.

  He fired another Electric Jolt blindly, frying something off his side. Swung his fist again. Bought three more seconds. For him to cast once more.

  Then again.

  And again.

  But the tide didn’t break.

  It swallowed.

  They were everywhere—claws digging, teeth scraping, screeching in frenzied chorus.

  Then he heard it.

  The sound of shattering glass.

  Mana Armor hit zero.

  The barrier dissolved in a cascade of light. And the teeth found flesh. Pain exploded through him—white, blinding, absolute.

  Silas screamed.

  “Argh!!!”