[SSS-Tier: Essence Reap]
[Allows the user to harvest the "existential essence" of anything they have defeated, faced, or claimed, whether it be living creatures, legendary artifacts, ancient constructs, magical phenomena, or even abstract concepts. The essence gained may take the form of raw energy, attributes, memories, special effects, or natural laws that shaped the target]
Eryon's heartbeat went wild. Not with dread, but with a rush so intoxicating it almost broke his composure.
SSS-tier.
Essence Reap.
A power not just rare, but perched at the very peak of possibility. This wasn't some trivial ability to copy a skill or steal an enemy's strength. No, it was sovereignty over essence itself.
Strength, memory, even abstract concepts like courage or hatred, all of it could be consumed, claimed, and reforged into his own arsenal. Everything, no matter how intangible, was a resource waiting to be reaped.
Eryon exhaled slowly, forcing the corners of his lips not to curl upward. His chest was a storm ready to break, but storms drew eyes, and eyes drew danger. He ducked his head, feigning interest in the damp earth at his feet.
Now was not the time to shine.
Around him, the clearing erupted with noise. Cheers, laughter, curses, and gasps collided in a chaotic carnival. People shouted their new talents like lottery winners, parading their luck as though this was a festival and not the opening act of survival.
"I got D-Tier! Weapon Mastery, bro! I can use all weapons, hahaha!"
"Mine's E-tier, double physical strength! Not bad!"
"Sharp Fists, E-class. Pretty okay."
"HAHAHA! Fire Control! D-Tier! I'm basically a firebender now, bitches!"
"...I got F-tier. Homecook. Cooking? This world is insane!"
"F-tier here too... Sprinting. Just running fast. For escaping? Fuck off!"
Talents. In the span of one minute, they had become the new currency, the new bloodline, the new nobility. An algorithm no one understood had rearranged the hierarchy of humanity, and people were drunk on their own good, or bad fortune.
But beneath the spectacle, Eryon's eyes narrowed. It wasn't joy he saw. It was carelessness. Recklessness. People showing off powers in front of a thousand strangers. People forgetting that wherever humans gathered, predators followed.
He knew better. The tallest head was always the first one cut.
Predators don't waste time clawing at the weak. They strike at the strong, tearing them down before their fangs fully sharpen. And predators weren't always beasts—they could wear human faces, with smiles too warm to be trusted.
Just then, a tap on his shoulder.
Eryon's body stiffened. His instincts screamed, and he spun around, ready for a threat.
Instead, he found a young man. His age, perhaps a year younger. Clean face. Neatly kept hair. A disarmingly calm smile. Hands raised, palms open, showing no weapons.
"Whoa, chill. I'm not a threat, man," the stranger said easily. "Just saying hi. Thought maybe we could watch each other's backs."
Eryon's gaze lingered on him, dissecting posture, tone, microexpressions. Only after a moment did he reply, flat as stone:
"...You're too calm for someone who just got thrown into a foreign world."
The man chuckled. "Heh, maybe. But if this is a game world... I'm not trying to be the character who dies in episode one."
"And usually, the overly friendly one dies in episode two," Eryon returned coldly.
The stranger burst out laughing, unoffended. "Touché. Name's Vallen. Vallen Marek."
"Eryon."
"Hm. Cool name. Alright, Eryon. We both know people here will split into two groups: those who panic, and those trying to profit off the chaos. Which one do we wanna be?"
Eryon arched a brow. "We? Are you asking me to form an alliance?"
"More like... feel things out first," said Vallen. "But if we click, why not?"
"And you think I'd agree?"
"Hey, that weird system said there'd be monsters. No harm in having someone to watch your back."
"I prefer being alone."
Vallen sighed, but didn't press. "Fair enough. Won't push it. Btw, what's your talent?"
For the briefest second, Eryon hesitated. Then his answer came smoothly: "E-tier. Physical Enhancement."
Vallen nodded in understanding. "E-tier, huh. Pretty common one. At least you won't be outcast."
He raised his right hand and clenched. "I got D-tier myself. Iron Fist."
Before Eryon's eyes, Vallen's skin rippled into polished metal, gleaming silver in the firelight.
It was real. All of it. Twenty-five years of mundane human life erased in an instant. Fantasy had torn itself free of stories and stepped into reality.
Vallen grinned, satisfied with the display. "All right, see you around, Eryon."
He walked off, already radiating the charisma that would draw others in like moths to a flame.
Eryon watched his back, silent. Men like Vallen, friendly, confident, magnetic, would gather flocks without even trying.
But that wasn't the path Eryon chose.
He turned, weaving through the throng. Around him, the boasting continued. A D-tier fire user was already holding court, flames dancing in his palm, girls fawning at his side.
Then the sky shimmered. Another hologram blinked into existence.
[1000 individuals in Village 1134 have awakened their talents. Congratulations!]
The text dissolved, leaving behind groans and curses. Especially from the F-tiers, who spat their frustration into the night air.
But that, too, was human nature. Fortune never feels fair to those it abandons. Satisfaction has always been the privilege of the favored.
Curiosity tugged at Eryon. He flicked open the public chat interface. The feed scrolled endlessly, messages flashing by:
[...damn, someone just awakened an SS-tier skill. What was his name again?]
[Victor, they said. Magnetic Manipulation. Dude's basically Magneto. Is he gonna form the X-Men or what?]
[Fuck, how can someone be that lucky? I also saw someone with an S-tier. Solar Flame. And me? Fucking E-tier!]
[I wonder if this system's karma-based? Like, sinners get bad talents? And vice versa?]
[System said it's purely random]
[But still…]
Names were already circulating. Victor the Magnet Manipulator. The wielder of Solar Flame. Others, too. Legends in the making.
But none of them knew. None could even imagine. Somewhere in the crowd stood an unremarkable man named Eryon Cain, quiet, expressionless, who had drawn an SSS-tier.
And he intended to keep it that way.
The air rippled again. Another announcement.
[BEGINNER TRIAL STARTING SOON! CHOOSE THE WEAPON YOU DESIRE]
Five options unfurled before every pair of eyes:
[Sword] [Dagger] [Spear] [Hammer] [Bow]
The crowd exploded in fresh chaos. Shouts. Debates. Scrambling hands.
Eryon thought fast. He had never trained with a sword. Daggers were too close, too messy. Hammers demanded brute force. Bows, distance—but limited.
What he needed was balance. Reach for survival. Precision for killing blows. A weapon he could pair with his hidden talent, his ability to strip essence from prey.
His gaze locked. [Spear]
He tapped.
Golden light cascaded down like judgment, coalescing into steel. A spear two meters long slammed into the earth, blade gleaming sharp and merciless.
He wrapped his fingers around it. Cold. Solid. Real.
Around him, most clutched swords or daggers. Few had chosen as he had. Fewer still understood the path they had set for themselves.
Then the final blow fell.
[WITHIN 7 DAYS, REACH LEVEL 10. THOSE WHO FAIL WILL BE TERMINATED AUTOMATICALLY]
The clearing froze. Breath caught. Silence hung heavier than the night.
[YOU CAN GAIN LEVELS BY KILLING MONSTERS, BEASTS, OR MAGICAL ENTITIES TO OBTAIN XP AND ITEM DROPS]
[YOU MAY NOW LEAVE THE BEGINNER VILLAGE. RETURN ANYTIME YOU WISH]
[GOOD LUCK]
And with those words, the firelight no longer felt safe. The village no longer felt sheltering.
The real game, the cruel game, had begun.