"All across the world, a single thunderclap tore through the sky.
It didn't matter if you stood in a desert, a city, a jungle, or a classroom — everyone heard it.
And with it came a voice. A strange, cold Robotic voice.
Humans have been identified as the dominant sapient race on Planted Earth.
You have one year to prepare for the Guardian Trials against Planet Vaerriobis, represented by the goblin race.
The Earth System and its subsystems will assist you.
The Universe wishes you good luck.
May your race one day become a Guardian Race."
The message vanished as abruptly as it came.
Silence followed.
Then the world panicked.
Before that panic could turn into chaos, everyone's vision went white. Eyes glazed over as something appeared before each person — a floating screen only they could see.
Status
Race: Human
Stage: Mortal
Class: N/A
Profession: N/A
HP: 100/100
MP: 0/0
Stamina: 70/70
Stats
Strength: 8
Agility: 7
Endurance: 7
Vitality: 10
Toughness: 10
Wisdom: 8
Intelligence: 8
Perception: 11
Willpower: 5
Free Points: 0
Breathing Technique: N/A
Physique: Son of the Forest
Well… goodbye last year of high school, I thought.
There was way too much to process — stats, systems, "physiques," and apparently my perception was unnaturally high.
What did any of this do?
Why did I have a "physique"?
Why "son of the forest"?
One problem at a time.
A flashing button appeared: Class Selection.
I tapped it.
Warrior (Basic Starter Class)
A reliable frontline fighter skilled with weapons and sturdy armor. Warriors rely on direct combat, using strength and durability to protect allies.
Grants: Warrior Breathing Technique (Inferior)
Per Substage Bonus: +1 Agi, +1 End, +1 Vit, +1 Str, +1 Tough, +1 Free Point
Warrior.
Practical, but not what I wanted. Though the mention of breathing techniques caught my attention — apparently, they helped us grow stronger.
The next class appeared.
Archer (Basic Starter Class)
A ranged fighter who relies on precision and agility. Archers strike from afar, staying mobile while supporting allies.
Grants: Archer Breathing Technique (Inferior)
Per Substage Bonus: +2 Per, +1 Agi, +1 End, +1 Str, +1 Free Point
Now that was the one I'd been waiting for.
Still… the breathing technique again. How did it work?
Then the last option appeared.
Caster (Basic Starter Class)
A magic-focused fighter who relies on spells instead of physical attacks.
Grants: Caster Breathing Technique (Inferior)
Per Substage Bonus: +2 Int, +1 Wis, +1 Will, +1 Per, +1 Free Point
That was it.
No overpowered cheat classes.
Nothing special.
Just… choices.
But I already knew mine.
You have chosen the Archer class. Confirm?
Nice that I can back out if I misclick. I thought.
Confirmed.
A spike of pain shot through my skull.
Information flooded in — the structure of mana, the way to breathe it, how to circulate it through the bloodstream, how to exhale pushed impurities out of the body, how each cycle strengthened the flesh.
And then the system chimed.
Skill Gained: Basic Archery (Inferior)
The archer's oldest companion is the bow. Grants basic proficiency with bows and crossbows, and a slight increase to Strength and Agility when using ranged weapons.
Skill Gained: Basic One-Handed Weapons (Inferior)
An archer is rarely a master of close combat, but never helpless. Grants basic proficiency with most one-handed weapons and a small bonus to Strength and Agility when using them.
Skill Gained: Archer's Eye (Common)
Years of training sharpen an archer's gaze. Allows basic tracking and grants a minor increase to the effectiveness of Perception.
A lot to take in.
And honestly? Being told my archery was "inferior" stung a little — but it's not like I could complain to a cosmic administrator and expect to live.
I finally drifted out of my thoughts when I heard arguing nearby.
"Is this the apocalypse or what!?" Tom shouted.
"Guardian Trials? Against goblins? Next year!?" Bill added, pacing frantically.
"Arin!" Bertho called out, waving. "You finally snapped out of it. What did you pick?"
"Archer," I said. "I'm guessing you guys picked the same?"
All three nodded.
"Figures," I said. "We've trained with bows since we were kids."
"I don't know about you," Bertho said, grinning, "but I'm excited."
"Of course you are, you maniac," Tom muttered. "This is your dream come true."
"Well… I'm excited too," Bill admitted. "Our great-grandparents fought in the war. Now it's our turn to make history. Imagine telling this to our kids one day."
A voice behind them cut in.
"Don't forget," my dad said with a half-smile, "not everyone from those wars got to see their children."
"Yes, Dad," I sighed as the others nearly jumped out of their skins. He was far too proud of scaring them like that.
We looked alike — same height, same unremarkable brown hair, same build. Except for the eyes. My father's were a deep brown. Mine, inherited from my mother, were light green — like sunlight through leaves.
The others kept talking, their fear fading into excitement.
But beyond our little yard, the world was in chaos.
And in one year, we'd be fighting for our race