The logistics warehouse was a cavernous space that smelled of ozone, dried monster blood, and dust. Towering shelves were crammed with crates of dungeon loot: shimmering pelts, crystalline ore, and jars of preserved organs that pulsed with residual mana. My assignment was simple, mind-numbing, and perfect: sort, catalog, and clean. It was the kind of work reserved for the hopeless, the ones who would never see a dungeon from the inside.
It was also, I quickly realized, a paradise.
My first day on the job, I picked up a cracked, discarded Drake's scale to toss it into a scrap bin.
DING!
[Item Analysis Complete: Scaled Drake Hide Fragment.]
[Passive Skill Blueprint Detected: Drake's Vitality (B-Rank).]
[Replication requires sustained physical contact and ambient mana absorption. Initiating... 0.01%...]
The progress was infinitesimally slow, a thousand times slower than copying a skill from a person. But it was happening. I was leaching the very essence of the monster's durability from a dead piece of its skin. The potential was staggering. I wasn't just a collector of techniques; I was an archivist of biological and mystical evolution.
I made a show of being a diligent, if clumsy, worker. I'd fumble with crates, take overly long on simple tasks, and often have to ask the bored C-Rank supervisor for clarification. But all the while, my hands were constantly touching, holding, and "cleaning" the most promising artifacts.
A shard of a Basilisk's fang granted me the blueprint for [Petrifying Gaze (A-Rank)], its progression bar crawling forward at a glacial pace. A vial of condensed Phoenix Ash, which I "accidentally" got on my hands while cleaning a shelf, gave me [Ember of Rebirth (S-Rank)], its replication a mere 0.001%. These were legendary powers, and I was acquiring them by doing janitorial work.
The real challenge came during the daily "conditioning" sessions in the training yard. Lieutenant Valeriana's methods were brutal. While the other recruits sparred and practiced their active skills, my training was purely physical and mental torture. She had me running obstacle courses designed for those with D-Rank agility, carrying weights meant for C-Rank strength. It was impossible. I failed, publicly and painfully, every single time.
But with each failure, my newly evolved [Analytical Combat Sight (D-Rank)] worked overtime. I began to see the courses not as obstacles, but as sequences of data. I memorized the exact pressure points on the climbing wall that offered the best grip. I calculated the optimal angle to throw my inadequate body over a high bar. My physical stats were still F-Rank, but my efficiency within those limitations was increasing exponentially.
One afternoon, Valeriana introduced a new exercise. "Mana Sensitivity Drills," she barked, holding up a small, opaque orb. "This device emits a random, low-level mana pulse. You will close your eyes and point to its location within three seconds of the pulse. Fail, and you get a light shock. This trains your instinctual reaction to mana fluctuations—a vital skill for surviving ambushes."
The C and D-Rank recruits struggled, getting zapped half the time. Their Mana Sense skills were active; they had to consciously reach out. When it was my turn, I expected utter failure. My [Mana Affinity (F-Rank)] was a joke.
I closed my eyes. The world went dark. A faint pulse emanated from my left.
DING!
[Mana Sense (A-Rank) - Passive Perception Active.]
My perception didn't just "sense" the pulse. My mind's eye saw it. A perfect, three-dimensional ripple in the fabric of the air, its epicenter glowing like a beacon. It wasn't something I detected; it was something I knew, as instinctively as knowing where my own hand was.
I pointed instantly, my finger unwavering.
"Correct," Valeriana said, a note of surprise in her voice.
The next pulse came faster, from behind me. I pointed again without hesitation. "Correct."
Again and again, through a rapid-fire sequence of pulses, I pointed unerringly. The "light shock" never came. I was processing the mana data not as a spell, but as a fundamental truth of my environment, courtesy of the passive, A-Rank perception I had stolen.
When I opened my eyes, the recruits were staring. Valeriana's flinty gaze was dissecting me.
"How are you doing that, Grey?" she asked, her voice dangerously quiet. "Your file says F-Rank Mana Affinity. This is B-Rank performance, at least."
This was the moment. The suspense was a wire pulled taut. I had to sell this perfectly. I let a confused, almost frightened look cross my face.
"I... I don't know, Lieutenant. I just... feel it. After the breach, sometimes I just... know things. It's like a gut feeling." I leaned into the "anomaly" narrative she herself had created.
She stared at me for a long, silent moment, her eyes searching for a lie. I kept my mental walls fortified, projecting only confusion and a flicker of fear.
"Anomaly confirmed," she finally said, turning away. "Your 'gut feeling' is a quantifiable, if erratic, sensory ability. We'll develop it. Dismissed."
I had done it. I had publicly displayed a sliver of my power and successfully framed it as a strange, passive quirk of my being. The phantom was slowly being cataloged as a useful, if bizarre, asset.
That night, back in the sparse barracks, I checked my progress. The replication of [Cellular Empathy (A-Rank)] from the healer was at 0.5%. The [Drake's Vitality (B-Rank)] was at 0.1%. But the numbers weren't what mattered. It was the sudden, unexpected notification that made my breath catch.
[Passive Progression Milestone Reached!]
[Fist of the Boulder (C-Rank) has reached 100% Progression.]
[Skill is no longer Dormant.]
[Evolution Path Unlocked!]
[Select Evolution:]
- [Mountain's Crushing Fist (B-Rank): Focuses on overwhelming, single-impact force.]
- [Avalanche Rush (B-Rank): Focuses on rapid, successive strikes that build in power.]
My heart hammered. This was it. The first of my skills had finished its passive incubation. I could evolve it. But more importantly, I could now use it. A C-Rank skill, fully matured, wouldn't cause the catastrophic backlash of an A-Rank, but it would still be a massive leap from my F-Rank physique.
I didn't select an evolution. Not yet. I needed to be somewhere safe, controlled. But the knowledge was power. The first tool in my vast arsenal was now sharpened and ready.
As I lay in my bunk, a new sound joined the quiet chorus of replication chimes in my mind. It was a low, steady, rhythmic thump... thump... thump. I focused on it, and a new line of text appeared.
[Cellular Empathy (A-Rank) Replication: 0.5%]
[Biological Trait Detected: Kael's C-Rank Metabolic Efficiency.]
[Passively integrating trait... 0.01%...]
It wasn't just skills. My body, my very biology, was beginning its long, slow road to lordhood. The forge of my power was no longer just my mind, but every cell in my body. And they were all working, unseen, in the silence.