The noise of The Rusty Anchor—the clinking of heavy mugs, the roar of the hearth, the loud boasts of drunken mercenaries—faded into a dull hum.
My entire focus was locked onto the glowing golden panel floating in front of my face. It wasn't a standard character sheet. It looked like an advanced developer console, complete with command lines blinking at the bottom of the screen.
[Host Identity Confirmed.] [Class: The Architect (Mythic)] [Level: 3] [EXP: 50/400]
[Base Stats:]
Strength: 4 (Severe Warning: Below Average. Host struggles to lift heavy objects.)
Agility: 6 (Warning: Below Average. Host cannot outrun most predators.)
Endurance: 5 (Warning: Fragile. High risk of physical trauma.)
Intelligence: 45 (Anomaly Detected. Vastly exceeds Level 3 parameters.)
Mana (Processing Power): 100/100
I stared at the numbers. Strength 4? Endurance 5? I knew I wasn't an athlete in my past life, but seeing the System officially classify me as "Fragile" felt like a personal insult. A stiff breeze could probably take out a chunk of my HP.
But that Intelligence stat... that was the outlier. It was absurdly high for a beginner.
I scrolled down to the most important section: my skills. In any game, your class defined your survival. If I was stuck with the physical stats of a wet paper towel, my abilities had better make up for it.
[Active/Passive Skills:]
[Source Code Vision (Lv. 1) - Passive]
Description: Allows the Host to view the underlying structural data and logic variables of entities, objects, and environments.
Cost: None.
[Inspect Element (Lv. 1) - Active]
Description: By touching an inorganic object, the Host can read its creation history, material composition, and hidden properties.
Cost: 5 Mana.
[Hotfix (Lv. 1) - Active]
Description: The Host can temporarily alter the physical properties or state of a non-living object by rewriting its local variables. Changes last for 60 seconds.
Cost: 25 Mana.
Limitation: Target object must not exceed 5 kilograms.
My breath hitched.
Hotfix. I read the description three times to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. I couldn't shoot fireballs or summon meteors like a traditional mage. I couldn't swing a sword. But Hotfix meant I could literally hack the physical world. I could change the rules.
"Oi. You ordering, or just staring at the wall?"
The gruff voice shattered my concentration. The golden UI instantly dissolved. I blinked, my eyes adjusting back to the dim, smoky light of the tavern.
Standing on the other side of my small, sticky table was a barmaid. She looked like she had seen her fair share of bar fights—a sturdy woman with muscular arms, a stained apron, and an expression that said she had exactly zero patience for loiterers.
"Sorry," I rasped, my throat still burning from the sprint through the Vales. "I need water. And whatever food is cheapest."
She wiped the table with a rag that looked dirtier than the wood itself. "Water's free if you buy a meal. A bowl of root stew and a heel of bread is three copper. Ale is two. Pay upfront."
I mentally opened my Inventory. The UI popped up in my peripheral vision. I willed three copper coins into my hand and placed them on the table.
She swept the coins into her apron without a second glance. "Stew's coming. Don't bleed on the chairs, wanderer. We just cleaned them."
As she walked away, I let out a long exhale, slumping forward onto the table. My Stamina bar was slowly inching up from 5% to 8%. I was safe, I had food coming, and I had a Mythic-tier class that essentially turned me into a reality-bending hacker.
For the first time since waking up in that muddy trench, I felt a tiny, dangerous spark of hope.
I pulled the Rusted Iron Dagger from my Inventory and set it on the table, keeping it hidden under my hands. It was a piece of junk. Damage: 3-5.
But what if I used Hotfix on it? Could I rewrite its variable from "Rusted" to "Sharpened"? Could I temporarily change its weight?
Before I could test my theory, the tavern doors slammed open with a deafening CRASH.
The ambient chatter of the room died instantly. Even the bard playing a lute in the corner stopped mid-strum.
I looked up. Standing in the doorway was a man clad in gleaming, silver plate armor that looked entirely out of place in this grimy frontier town. But it wasn't the armor that drew everyone's attention.
It was the massive, severed head of a Dire Bloodhound he dragged behind him, leaving a thick trail of black blood on the floorboards. It was twice the size of the one I had encountered.
The man kicked the beast's head toward the center of the room. He locked eyes with the terrified tavern keeper behind the bar.
"The Vales are compromised," the armored man announced, his voice echoing in the dead silent room. "The System Nodes in the forest have been corrupted. A horde is marching on Silverpeak, and they will be here by dawn."
My spark of hope instantly died.
I looked at my pathetic Stamina bar, then at the massive monster head bleeding on the floor.
Dawn. That gave me less than six hours to figure out how to stop an army with a rusted dagger and a basic understanding of coding.