The world returned in a rush—sound, heat, chaos.
Aarav gasped, stumbling backward as his knees buckled. He gripped the window ledge, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He was back in his apartment. The faint glow of the Akashic realm faded from his eyes, replaced with the blood-curdling screams outside.
His breath caught as a new translucent screen snapped open before him:
[ Name: Aarav ] [ Level: 1 ]
[ Class: Swordsman (F) ] [ Energy: Death Energy ]
[ HP: 120/120 ] [ DE: 40/40 ]
[ Strength: 10 ]
[ Agility: 9 ]
[ Endurance: 11 ]
[ Intelligence: 6 ]
[ Vitality: 10 ]
[ Death Affinity: 15 ] [ Unassigned Points: 5 ]
[ EXP: 0 / 100 ]
— Skills —
• Slash I (Active, Class Skill, Grade: F)
• Swordsmanship (Passive, Class Skill, Grade: F) – Proficiency: 1%
• Soul Mark (Passive, Trait Skill)
• Pact of Death (Passive, Trait Skill)
• Soul Extraction (Active, Trait Skill) – Locked
"What the hell…" he whispered. "This isn't the class I chose."
He stared at the word 'Swordsman' as if glaring hard enough would turn it back to 'Mage.' But it didn't. The trait was right—Death Energy—but the class had been overridden. That interference... that smile.
A flicker of light beside the screen drew his eye to a new window.
[ Inventory Unlocked ] → Rusted Iron Sword (F-grade)
The moment he willed it, the sword materialized into his hand. He gripped it tightly, testing its weight. Dull, barely balanced—but a weapon nonetheless.
Then the world outside roared again. A scream. Then another.
He rushed to the window, and what he saw nearly made his stomach churn.
Goblins. Green, leathery-skinned fiends no taller than his waist. Savagery in their tiny faces, swinging crude blades as they chased down screaming people in the streets. A few corpses already lay in pools of red.
His grip tightened around the sword. But his hands trembled.
He backed away from the window, heart hammering in his chest.
"I can't do this," he muttered, breath shaking. "I'm not ready. I'm not—"
He leaned against the wall, trying to calm his mind, but panic was setting in fast. Monsters were real. They were outside his apartment. And he was supposed to fight them?
What if I die the moment I step outside? What if I'm not strong enough?
He looked again at the status screen.
Just Level 1. Just a rusted sword. A few skills. That's it.
The system hadn't made him strong. It had just... given him a head start. A tiny, terrifying head start.
"Why a swordsman? Why change my class?" he muttered. "Was it really interference? Or… was I forced onto this path?"
He shook his head. It wasn't the time. The screams outside reminded him—people were dying.
Then, he noticed something new.
Across the street, on a rooftop, a girl with a glowing bow loosed an arrow that exploded into light on impact. A man with dual swords cut down a goblin in mid-leap. And behind them, a younger boy—no older than sixteen—shouted incantations as fire surged from his palms.
Aarav blinked in disbelief, his breath catching.
"Others... were chosen too."
Relief stirred, mingled with a strange sense of awe. So it wasn't just him. He wasn't cursed or singled out. He wasn't alone in this madness.
A small, bitter laugh escaped him. "Of course... I'm not the only one they threw into this chaos."
Suddenly—
CRASH!
His apartment door exploded inward.
Three goblins spilled into the room, snarling, blades raised.
"No—!"
Without thinking, Aarav turned and vaulted through the open window into the small courtyard below. He hit the ground and rolled, ignoring the sting in his elbow.
The goblins followed, screeching.
He raised the rusted sword.
One came at him—fast. Instinct moved his body before his mind caught up. The blade swung.
SLASH!
It connected. The goblin's body dropped, twitching.
A popup appeared:
[ Enemy Defeated: Goblin Scout ] [ EXP Gained: 20 ]
His breath was ragged. Blood on the blade. Blood on his hands.
His first kill.
The next goblin lunged. Aarav sidestepped, parried clumsily, then rammed the blade into its chest. Another popup.
[ EXP Gained: 20 ]
One more.
It snarled, blade whistling toward his ribs. He barely dodged in time—felt the tip graze his side. Pain flared.
He roared, swinging wildly.
The sword cut through its neck. The goblin collapsed.
[ EXP Gained: 20 ] [ Total EXP: 60 / 100 ]
Aarav fell back, panting.
Three dead goblins.
He'd survived.
But his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
The fear was still there. Heavy. Real.
But so was the will to live.
He glanced at the corpses. Three faint wisps of grey hovered over them—soul fragments.
He remembered the Soul Mark skill. "They'll disappear in an hour…"
But Soul Extraction was still locked.
"I need to level up. Survive. And then…" He clenched the sword tighter. "First, I need to figure out what's happening to the world... then—"
His eyes flicked back to the interface, a half-exhausted sigh slipping through clenched teeth. "Of course I'll find whoever stole my necromancer build too. "
He stood straighter, blade still dripping.
The invasion wasn't over.
But neither was he.
Across the street, the group of fighters—bow, blades, magic—were still struggling, still protecting. Not experts. Not overpowered.
But trying.
Aarav stared at them for a long second, eyes narrowing.
He clenched the sword in his grip—knuckles pale.
And he took a step forward.
To be Continued....