The stillness of the wilderness hung heavy in the air, an oppressive silence that seemed to suffocate the world itself.
Blue stood at the edge of the barren expanse, the horizon stretching before him like a vast canvas of uncertainty. His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the distant outline of the land, the horizon almost teasing him with its promise of something beyond the trees.
He reached for the rings on his fingers, the faint hum of power that emanated from them a quiet reminder of the strength he wielded, if only he chose to. But today was not a day for power—today, it was about moving forward.
The wilderness had served its purpose. It had been a refuge, a place to find some semblance of peace after the chaos that had led him here. But there were limits to how much isolation a person could endure before the need to connect, to understand, outweighed the desire for solitude.
And the kingdom to the north—his ring had pointed it out, clear and undeniable—held the answers he sought. It wasn't just about survival anymore. It was about understanding this new world, gaining the knowledge he needed to navigate it. If he wanted to live beyond the trees, beyond the endless, shifting wilderness, he needed to step out of its shadow.
His fingers brushed against the worn fabric of his clothes. The system's voice echoed in his mind, blunt as ever, like the sting of a slap.
"You look homeless. They won't let you enter."
Blue's lips curled into a thin, humorless smile. The system could be frustratingly direct, as if it had no concept of subtlety. But he couldn't deny it—he looked the part. The ragged, worn garments clung to his frame, threads fraying with every movement. He needed to fix that.
"Then I'll fix it," he muttered, the words slipping out almost involuntarily.
His focus sharpened, narrowing down to his clothes. Closing his eyes, he reached within, willing the fabric of his attire to shift. A shimmer of energy rippled through him as his tattered garments seemed to obey his unspoken command.
The fabric twisted, reformed, and tightened. His clothes solidified into something far more refined—black trousers, a crisp white shirt, and a cloak dark as night, lined with silver threads that caught the light in a way that suggested wealth and power.
The material itself glowed faintly, the craftsmanship undeniable. He didn't just look presentable—he looked important. He could feel the shift, the change, like the very air around him had adjusted, bending in response to the new aura he projected.
Satisfied with the transformation, Blue turned his attention to something else—something far more practical.
"System," he called, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity, "What kind of money do they use here?"
There was a brief pause, a silence that stretched longer than necessary. The system's voice broke through, crisp and efficient.
"Currency is divided into five types: Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, and Mythril. The latter is reserved for high-level transactions, typically by royalty."
A soft smirk tugged at the corners of Blue's mouth. Simple enough. Nothing extravagant, but the mention of Mythril piqued his interest. It was rare, valuable. He would need to keep an eye out for that.
Reaching down, Blue picked up a few smooth stones from the ground, the cool weight of them familiar between his fingers. He rolled them over in his hand, focusing as the energy within him hummed in response.
The stones pulsed with a faint glow, a ripple of power that transformed them. They shifted in his grip, reshaping, hardening. Before long, the rocks had turned into gleaming silver and gold coins, their edges sharp and defined, a testament to his control.
He repeated the process until he had enough to fill two small pouches, each one heavy with the weight of currency.
"These should do for now," Blue muttered, slipping the pouches into his inventory with practiced ease. Money was necessary, but it was a tool, nothing more.
His focus shifted. He wasn't just preparing for the kingdom—he was preparing for power. He needed to understand the mechanics of this world, its strength and its structure.
"How does strength work in this world? Are there ranks?" he asked, the question almost rhetorical. He needed to know how this system operated, how it would affect him.
The system's response was immediate, like it had been waiting for the query.
"Adventurers are known as Hunters. They are ranked based on power, each rank divided into ten levels."
A list appeared before his eyes, the words solidifying into something tangible:
F Rank
E Rank
D Rank
C Rank
B Rank (Hunters of this rank or higher are considered significant forces.)
B2 Rank
B3 Rank
A Rank
A2 Rank
A3 Rank
S Rank (S7 is the highest possible level.)
Blue studied the list, his mind calculating, assessing. B Rank or higher was considered powerful. A mid-tier Hunter in this world could hold sway, could command attention.
He felt a small flicker of caution. Even at his level, even with his power, there was a risk in underestimating others. Power was not something to take lightly. He would need to be careful—vigilant.
His eyes lingered on the list, a thought suddenly forming. If strength had ranks, then what of weapons?
"Are weapons ranked the same way?" His voice was a little colder, more focused now.
The system's reply was swift, its tone matter-of-fact.
"Yes. Weapons follow the same ranking system as Hunters. Their strength is directly tied to their wielder's abilities. Weak weapons are crafted by lower-ranked individuals, while top-tier weapons come from the strongest Hunters."
Blue's gaze shifted to the ground, where a stone sat quietly in the dirt. His fingers twitched, and the stone rolled toward him. It was nothing more than a mundane object, a trivial piece of nature's creation. But to Blue, it was potential.
His hand reached out, fingers brushing against the stone. The rock trembled in response, as if it recognized the power that now guided its fate.
Blue's energy coursed through it, forcing it to reshape, twist, and bend to his will. The rock cracked and reformed, its edges sharpening, its surface becoming smooth and flawless. Within moments, it had become a dagger—sleek, deadly, its balance perfect.
But he wasn't done. Not yet.
A flicker of energy surged through his fingers, and with it, the weapon responded. The dagger pulsed, its form glowing as it ascended in rank, reaching A Rank, Level 10. It was a weapon that only he could wield—a masterpiece of craftsmanship and power, honed to his specifications.
Blue flipped the blade in his hand, feeling the weight of it. He slid it into a conjured sheath, hidden beneath his cloak. A weapon of this caliber would attract attention—he would keep it hidden for now, until it was needed.
Preparations complete, Blue allowed himself a moment of stillness. Everything he needed, everything he'd planned for, was in place. Only one thing remained.
He extended his hand, feeling the familiar pull of space itself bending to his will. The air around him shimmered, rippled, and twisted. The world blurred, the world dissolving into nothingness.
When his surroundings solidified once more, he found himself standing on the edge of a sprawling kingdom. The towering walls of the city loomed ahead, their stone surfaces glowing in the last rays of the setting sun, casting long shadows over the land.
A small breath left his lips as his eyes scanned the massive gates, the promise of something new on the other side.
This was it. The first step toward understanding this world, toward taking control of his destiny.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he took a step forward.
This was only the beginning.