Step. Step.
The sound of Kell's footsteps echoed softly through the long, narrow corridor, swallowed almost immediately by the darkness ahead. The air was stale, unmoving, carrying a faint mineral scent that reminded him uncomfortably of sealed formations.
At the corridor's end, Kell slowed.
Stone.
Unbroken.
A dead end.
He exhaled through his nose. "Another one," he muttered. "That makes the fourth."
Without frustration, he turned around, imprinting the location into memory before retracing his steps. Mapping the place mentally had become second nature—old habits from navigating secret realms and sealed inheritances resurfacing instinctively.
Time passed.
How much, he couldn't say.
Then—
Grrr.
Kell froze mid-step.
"…Ah."
His hand drifted to his abdomen as a dull, unpleasant sensation twisted inside him. Hunger. Genuine hunger—slow, gnawing, and impossible to ignore.
He let out a dry laugh. "Who would've thought," he mused, rubbing his stomach, "that I'd have to worry about eating again like a mortal."
Immortals did not eat. Energy sustained them. Here, however, energy alone was not enough.
The realization dampened his mood slightly as he continued forward.
Then—
A screech echoed from behind.
Kell stopped.
He turned calmly.
Three green figures had emerged from the darkness, their malformed silhouettes jerking forward as they locked onto him with crude hostility.
"…Again?" Kell frowned faintly.
His eyes sharpened as understanding clicked into place.
"This place must be connected to some kind of high-grade energy vein," he thought. "Otherwise, maintaining constructs like these—continuously—would be impossible."
Even in his former world, such refined constructs required staggering resources. Arrays could automate production, yes—but not without a powerful foundation.
Which raised a more troubling question.
"If that's the case…" His gaze hardened. "What was a mortal doing in a place like this in the first place?"
And then—
He tilted his head slightly, watching the creatures rush him with reckless abandon.
He stepped forward.
Three punches.
No wasted motion. No hesitation.
Each strike landed cleanly.
The creatures burst apart on impact, dissolving instantly into motes of pale white light that rushed into Kell's body.
At some point—he wasn't sure exactly when—this place had stopped being dangerous. His movements were smoother now. Stronger. His body responded more faithfully to his intent, no longer lagging behind his mind.
He rolled his shoulders, feeling the difference.
Strength had climbed to a tolerable level.
Endurance even more so.
After leveling several times, he had invested carefully—two points into Strength, four into Endurance. A practical choice. Survival first. Refinement later.
"Energy lasts longer now," he noted quietly. "And recovery is faster."
With a thought, the familiar translucent panel surfaced before his eyes.
----
[ Status ]
Name: Kell Feldren
Tier: 1 – Mid Level
Level: 7
EXP: 250 / 400
Strength: 6
Agility: 5
Endurance: 10
Magic: 7
Willpower: 10
Free Stat Points: 0
Skills: None
----
Kell studied it for a moment, then dismissed the panel.
"…A strange world," he concluded.
Kell resumed walking.
There was no real choice. If he lingered any longer, thirst and hunger would finish what reincarnation had started.
'Dying like that would be pathetic,' he thought flatly.
----
The passage opened into a wide chamber.
And at the far end—
A massive double door stood embedded in the stone wall.
Kell slowed.
"…Is this the exit?" he murmured.
His clothes were in miserable condition now. What had once been merely worn had become ragged, torn in several places, stained with dried blood and dust. Yet the pockets of his trousers bulged slightly—weighted down by the energy crystals he had collected whenever the creatures left them behind.
He approached the door.
"Well," he said quietly, placing both palms against the cold stone surface, "no harm in trying."
The doors looked ancient. Heavy. The kind that would normally require brute force or a mechanism to open.
Yet the moment his hands touched them—
The doors began to move.
Not slowly.
Not reluctantly.
They opened on their own, soundlessly, as if welcoming him inside.
Kell froze mid-motion.
"…Just what kind of place is this?"
Nothing added up. Everything here was both restrictive and indulgent—dangerous yet forgiving. Growth came easily, wounds vanished effortlessly, enemies respawned endlessly. It was the opposite of his former world, where strength was torn from the heavens through blood, schemes, and near-impossible odds.
This place felt… curated.
He stepped through.
Darkness swallowed him.
Then—
Thunk.
The doors closed behind him.
Instantly, something awakened.
One by one, torches along the walls ignited, flames spiraling to life in a perfect circular sequence. Warm light flooded the chamber, revealing its full shape.
Kell's eyes narrowed.
At the center stood a tall green-skinned humanoid—roughly the height of a man, but broader, heavier, radiating an oppressive presence unlike the others. It wore a crude robe rather than rags, and in its clawed hand rested a crooked staff etched with faint, unfamiliar patterns.
Around it—
Minions.
Dozens of them.
The taller figure screeched sharply, the sound sharper and more deliberate than the others. At once, the smaller creatures surged forward.
"So that's how it is," Kell thought calmly. "Defeat the core to leave."
He recognized the structure instantly. Guardian-based mechanisms. Kill the overseer, the formation collapses. He had bypassed countless such setups before—but this one troubled him.
"I can't see any runes… no formations… no arrays at all."
And yet the mechanism functioned flawlessly.
"This is either beyond my current perception," he concluded, "or this world follows laws I don't yet understand."
Either way—
He moved.
Kell sprinted forward, meeting the oncoming tide head-on. His punches landed cleanly, bodies shattering into light one after another. It was no longer a fight—just efficient extermination.
Then—
A sudden wave of heat surged behind him.
Kell's instincts screamed.
He twisted aside—
Too late.
BOOM.
An explosion detonated where he had stood moments earlier. The shockwave caught him mid-movement, flinging his body across the chamber. He crashed into the stone floor, sliding several meters before coming to a stop in an undignified heap.
Pain exploded through his shoulder.
Kell groaned, rolling onto his side.
The smaller creatures had vanished—some dissolving into light, others leaving behind scattered crystals. Yet something was wrong.
No experience flowed into him.
No familiar instinctive notification.
"…So kills caused by that thing don't count," Kell muttered as he pushed himself up.
His gaze lifted.
The tall green figure still stood in the center, staff faintly glowing.
Kell's expression hardened.
"That attack," he said quietly, rolling his injured shoulder, "would've killed me if it landed directly."
He cracked his neck once, grounding himself.
"This one isn't a construct meant for attrition," he realized. "It's an executioner."
And executioners couldn't be allowed time.
Kell leaned forward, muscles coiling.
"No more clearing minions first."
His eyes locked onto the robed figure.
"I kill you first," he said, voice flat and resolute, "or you kill me."
Then he sprinted forward—this time not with curiosity, but with intent.
He hadn't even taken half a step forward when a sharp screech cut through the chamber.
At the sound, the smaller green creatures surged again—pouring out from the shadows, swarming him from every direction like a living tide.
"Tch."
Kell tried to force his way through, but this time he didn't rush blindly.
He watched.
And then he saw it.
The tall green figure lifted its staff.
Motes of light—flickering, unstable, yet unmistakably fire-aspected—gathered in the air before the staff's tip. Those motes didn't disperse randomly. They aligned, snapping into place as glowing runes formed one by one, hovering in midair.
"…Runes?" Kell's eyes narrowed.
The runes rotated, arranging themselves into a perfectly symmetrical circular diagram. At its center, energy condensed rapidly, compressed tighter and tighter until the air itself began to warp.
Then—
The circular formation folded inward, collapsing into a single point.
And the staff thrust forward.
The condensed mass shot toward Kell like a blazing projectile.
This time, he was ready.
Kell immediately sprinted backward. The fireball slammed into the stone where he had stood just moments before.
BOOM.
Flames and force erupted outward, vaporizing several of the charging minions in the blast.
"…Interesting," Kell muttered, eyes sharp rather than alarmed. "What kind of mystical technique is this?"
The minions attacked again, but he barely paid them any mind now. His focus had shifted completely.
Instead of charging the robed figure like he had planned—
He began to observe.
He ran, dodged, struck down approaching creatures with quick, efficient movements—kicks instead of punches now—while deliberately forcing the tall figure to cast the technique again.
And again.
With each casting, Kell saw more.
The runes were simple.
Too simple.
They weren't bound by complex arrays or layered formations. They didn't rely on refined control or intricate will-binding like the techniques he knew.
They were driven by something else.
"…Intent," Kell realized.
Raw, emotional intent.
The creature's fire wasn't shaped by discipline—it was born from a crude, violent urge. Rage translated directly into flame.
"That's why it works," he thought. "This world allows intent alone to manifest phenomena."
That was absurd.
And yet—
Kell could feel the energy.
It wasn't spiritual energy as he knew it, but it was still energy. And more importantly—
He could interact with it.
Just a slight push.
Carefully, while still moving, Kell reached inward and let the unfamiliar energy flow. He mirrored what he had seen—forming runes in the air with fire intent.
The difference was immediate.
His intent was calm. Refined. Clear.
The runes formed more slowly—but they were stable. Clean.
"…Good," Kell murmured.
He continued fighting using only his legs, dispatching minions without breaking focus as the circular diagram began to take shape in front of his outstretched hand.
Next step—
Control.
He applied it instinctively, forcing the energy into symmetry. The diagram stabilized, denser now, brighter—but still smaller than the one his opponent produced.
Then came the final part.
"…Intent again?"
Kell frowned slightly.
That was strange.
The entire technique relied on intent alone—no layered will, no enforced control at the end. Crude, yet effective.
Still, he adjusted.
He layered his will and control behind the intent, not replacing it—guiding it.
"Release."
The fireball left his hand.
At the same instant, the tall green figure fired another of its own.
The two collided midair.
BOOM.
The explosion shook the chamber, shockwaves rippling outward as heat washed over the stone walls.
At the same time, notifications flooded Kell's mind—most of them meaningless, registering the deaths of minions.
But one made him stop.
[ You have learned Fire Ball(Common) – F Spell without using a Spell Book ]
[ +500 EXP Gained ]
[ Level Up ]
[ Spell stat is now available in Status ]
[ Congratulations! You have gained the [Direct Comprehender](Rare) Title ]
[ +10 Spell EXP Gained ]
[ +1 Title Bonus Spell EXP ]
Kell stood still amid the fading flames.
"…So that's how it is," he said quietly.
Kell finally understood why that tall green thing—clearly incapable of true reasoning—could still unleash such a structured, mystical technique.
The answer wasn't the creature.
It was the heavenly law.
This world's law did not merely grant surreal experience points that strengthened the body through slaughter, nor it stop at allowing individuals to choose their own growth through stat allocation, severing fate from talent.
It went further.
Much further.
It actively assisted comprehension.
The spell—Fire Ball, as it was now labeled—was not something the creature truly understood. It didn't calculate rune alignment. It didn't refine control or bind will. It only provided two things:
Intent.
And mana.
The rest—formation, stability, execution—was handled by the law itself.
"So that's it…" Kell murmured.
"That's why even something this simple-minded can cast magic," Kell realized. "as if the law itself was correcting mistakes"
The implication was staggering.
In his former world, techniques were sacred. Comprehension demanded decades—sometimes centuries—of practice, guidance, and near-fatal enlightenment. Even geniuses failed more often than they succeeded.
Here?
The law lowered the threshold.
It didn't just allow growth.
It accelerated it.
Kell exhaled slowly, his expression darkening.
"…This is beyond kindness."
Helping someone gain strength was one thing. Allowing flexible growth was another. But actively assisting in spell comprehension and execution?
That wasn't benevolence.
That was intervention.
"Alright," Kell said quietly, eyes narrowing. "Now I'm certain."
Something about this world was deeply wrong.
"No heavenly law is this generous without a reason," he continued. "And if there's no visible price…"
His gaze shifted back to the robed green figure, staff still glowing faintly.
"…then the cost is simply hidden."
For the first time since reincarnating, Kell didn't feel curiosity alone.
He felt wariness.
Because a heaven that handed out power so freely was either nurturing champions—
Or raising sacrifices.
----
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