Seven seconds left.
A spear whistles past my cheek, choosing air over flesh by a margin it will not be allowed to enjoy again.
My sword sweeps out in reply, and a skeletal head clatters to the grassy forest floor.
Six seconds.
My boots skim the ground as I step forward, slipping neatly between two sets of grasping hands that close on absolutely nothing.
I pivot on my planted foot, spin once, and two lightly armored zombies fold apart mid-motion, bisected so cleanly they don’t seem to realize they’re dead yet.
Five seconds.
I Dash.
Distance collapses.
The last undead—this one a skeleton knight—swings for my neck, clearly attempting to divorce my head from my body.
Rude.
The blade connects—
—and passes straight through the illusion.
Four seconds.
I tap its shoulder politely, having already stepped behind it with Astral Step.
It tries to turn.
It does not succeed.
My sword takes its head before the movement fully forms.
Silence settles.
I glance over the remains of nearly a dozen undead—some familiar, like the zombies, and some new additions that started appearing after midnight, including the spear-wielding skeleton and armored zombies.
…And the skeleton knight, which is no longer even a horde unit now, having joined the ranks of wandering undead instead.
Still no bows.
Unacceptable.
I sigh internally and sheath my sword.
Then—slowly, elegantly—I plant my hands on my hips and beam up at the obscured sky.
“Told you I could do it in under fifteen seconds.”
A voice answers, deep and heavy, carrying the weight of cosmic resignation.
“Yes, yes. I suppose you win the challenge,” he says. “I owe you one favor.”
My tail swings in peak satisfaction.
Perfect.
Exactly as planned.
Now I can locate a crepe stall the second I enter Asteria.
…Not that I’m going to tell him that yet.
Much better to let him sit with the knowledge that this fox can make him do anything she wants at any time.
Something he appreciates, I’m sure.
With the impromptu challenge concluded, I finally spare a glance for the notifications I’ve been deliberately ignoring.
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You have slain Lesser Zombie (Level 32 | Tier 1) x4.
A slight experience bonus has been awarded for slaying a monster 1 level above you.
You have gained 136 Tutorial Points.
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You have slain Lesser Skeleton (Level 32 | Tier 1) x4.
A slight experience bonus has been awarded for slaying a monster 1 level above you.
You have gained 136 Tutorial Points.
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You have slain Armored Zombie (Level 33 | Tier 1) x3.
A slight experience bonus has been awarded for slaying a monster 2 levels above you.
You have gained 111 Tutorial Points.
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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
You have slain Skeleton Spearman (Level 33 | Tier 1).
A slight experience bonus has been awarded for slaying a monster 2 levels above you.
You have gained 37 Tutorial Points.
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You have slain Skeleton Knight (Level 33 | Tier 1).
A slight experience bonus has been awarded for slaying a monster 2 levels above you.
You have gained 37 Tutorial Points.
Your race has leveled up to level 32.
Your class has leveled up to level 32.
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I nod, satisfied.
Another level.
Very nice.
I pull up my status window.
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Lyn
Health: 420 / 420
Stamina: 4524 / 4900
Race: Starborne Foxkin (Level 32 | Tier 1)
Class: Astral Duelist [Uncommon] (Level 32 | Tier 1)
Aspect: Star
Traits: [Starborn]
Titles:
Stats
Vitality: 42
Strength: 100
Dexterity: 490
Perception: 321 (+5)
Charisma: 10
Free Points: 168
Class Skills (5/8):
[Horizon Slash (Rare)]
[Stellar Finesse (Uncommon)]
[Improved Dash (Uncommon)]
[Astral Step (Uncommon)]
[Starline Thrust (Uncommon)]
General Skills (7/8):
[Inspect (Common)]
[Running (Rare)]
[Evasive Footwork (Uncommon)]
[Astral Manipulation (Epic)]
[Rune Smith (Uncommon)]
[Blazing Star Dance (Rare)]
[Guiding Star Dance (Rare)]
Racial Skills:
Cosmic Perception
Silent Star
Special Skills:
[Universal Translation]
Tutorial Points: 22654
Tutorial Countdown: 47 days, 11 hours, 57 minutes
Skill Selection Available x2
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I stare at my purple skill.
Then I stare at it a little longer.
Beautiful.
As it should be.
Ah. Right.
Other changes.
Strength finally cracked into triple digits. Hooray.
My pool of free points is starting to reach levels that could reasonably be described as concerning, but every monster I’ve encountered so far is still operating well below my stat line—even without spending them—so there’s no urgency yet.
Optimization can wait.
Tutorial points have taken another massive jump since I last checked, courtesy of the forest thinning out and making hunting significantly more efficient.
Naturally, I killed anything unlucky enough to wander into my detection range.
Approximately four hours have passed since midnight—right around the point when the undead abruptly transitioned from a complete non-issue into the threat equivalent of a very angry chihuahua.
Which is to say: still not dangerous.
Just… louder.
…For me, at least.
Most other people probably wouldn’t agree.
But they aren’t here.
So their opinions do not count.
I also don’t have a lot of faith that there will be many survivors besides me by the time this Tutorial wraps up.
Point totals are going to get ridiculous, and there is absolutely no timeline where the dragon and I don’t try to kill each other.
That leaves me as the most likely final participant.
Unlucky.
The universe must really want everyone else dead if it decided to put them in the same Tutorial block as me and a dragon.
My condolences.
Also—
No new skill selection at level thirty.
Tragic.
I was hoping to hoard them until I had a respectable pile and then spend them all at once like a responsible person with a general lack of impulse control.
Unfortunately, it seems they’re rarer than I initially assumed.
A shame.
I tilt my head.
Then I tilt it a little more.
…Do I even need class skills?
They’re helpful, sure. Some of them are even kind of neat. A little esoteric. Very fancy. Gold-star material.
But for damage?
Couldn’t I just… make my own?
My thermal grenade exists. The flashbang exists. Both of them came into being through nothing but spite, curiosity, and aggressive manipulation of the universe’s laws.
So why am I outsourcing my violence?
I pause.
Oh.
Oh no.
I might have just discovered something important.
...
My ears twitch.
I look to the side.
A cookie materializes on a nearby branch.
I stare at it.
The cookie stares back.
We come to a mutual understanding.
I pick it up and take a bite.
Tasty.
Ten out of ten.
I continue walking.
If I remove damage-type class skills from the equation entirely, then all I need to do is stack passives—mobility, efficiency, survivability—and let my own creations handle the killing.
The ultimate close-range fighter.
No rigid effects. No politely asking the System for permission before committing acts of extreme violence.
My ears snap upright, barely containing their excitement.
Yes.
This.
This is the plan.
…Eventually.
Nothing in this forest currently deserves that level of personal attention, so I’ll save it for later.
Probably during a fight where everything has gone horribly wrong and I am forced to genius my way out of a deeply inconvenient situation.
Because of course it would happen then.
If there is one force in the universe more powerful than my gentle smile, it is the inescapable gravitational pull of common clichés.
Well.
That, and the IRS.
Taxes are a universal constant across all realities.
I am completely certain of this.
I continue walking—only for the outer edge of my gravity sense to ping as it brushes against a sudden density change in the environment.
Interesting.
My effective range is sitting at roughly fifty meters now, courtesy of my steadily escalating Perception, which means I get advance notice when the forest decides to stop pretending it’s organic.
Sure enough, the trees ahead thin out abruptly.
Not gradually.
Not naturally.
Just—line.
A perfectly straight transition, as if someone dragged a slider labeled FOREST DENSITY from “Oppressive Nightmare” to “Mildly Acceptable” and called it a day.
Because of course they did.
Why bother easing into it when you can ignore every known principle of forest growth and ecology instead?
Annoying.
On the bright side, that means I’m close to the end of Zone Four.
It takes me all of two seconds to clear the remaining underbrush before I step into the final stretch.
I slow.
Then look around.
Most of the ground foliage is gone now—no more tangled roots or hostile vines—just a thick bed of moss and grass, with the occasional bush huddled respectfully at the base of truly enormous trees.
I blink.
The constant harassment from branches, leaves, and frankly villainous vines reaching for my hair like claws fueled by pure malice made it difficult to appreciate the scale earlier.
These things are huge.
Even Earth’s most impressive redwoods would look like small children standing next to these behemoths.
My tail gives an appreciative flick.
Eight out of ten.
Nothing says fantasy quite like a tree that could reasonably be classified in the same height bracket as a modern skyscraper.
…Damn it.
Now my expectations for the final zone are rising.
It had better not disappoint me.
Speaking of—
I scan upward, looking for the lowest branch within reach.
I spot one almost immediately.
I walk over and crane my neck.
Hm.
About twenty meters up.
Not possible.
…Yet.
Fortunately, the bark is uneven—knots, ridges, and natural indents breaking up the surface.
Perfect footholds.
Especially for a fox with nearly five hundred Dexterity and a long-standing disrespect for physics.
I lower my personal gravity field, pushing it steadily until I hit the familiar fifty-percent ceiling.
Then I take a running start—
—and jump.
My feet land soundlessly on the first foothold.
I push off.
Catch an indent.
Push again.
Then a knot.
Then another.
I climb smoothly, efficiently, and with the quiet confidence of someone who has entirely too many physical stats for what is, at its core, tree climbing.
Within a heartbeat, I’m standing on the branch twenty meters above the forest floor.
Naturally, I immediately look for the next closest branch.
Hop.
Then another.
Then another.
Then several more.
Then… many more.
It takes nearly a full minute of uninterrupted gremlin parkour to reach the upper canopy—a living monument to fantasy worlds’ complete and total disregard for the square-cube law.
My tail sways, thoroughly pleased.
Excellent.
Verticality unlocked.
I peer out into the distance and spot the fog wall instantly.
Not that it’s difficult to miss.
It stretches across every gap beyond the forest like an aggressively uninspired reminder that the zone remains locked.
For now.
That’s fine.
I’ve nearly doubled my Dexterity since the last time I indulged in the simple joys of bouncing through treetops like a fox-themed missile, and I have absolutely no intention of touching the ground anytime soon.
My posture lowers. Muscles coil.
My legs vibrate with barely contained enthusiasm for physics-defying nonsense.
My eyes flick rapidly from branch to branch—mapping routes, checking angles, judging load-bearing capacity—
—and noting at least three trees that look exactly the same.
My tail flicks in profound irritation.
Then wood cracks and splinters—silently, thanks to Silent Star—and I launch myself from the first branch, rocketing toward the next in a blur of motion.
Well.
A blur of motion to everyone else.
Relative time, I’m discovering, appears to be a function of Dexterity and Perception. And since I have both in deeply irresponsible quantities, the world obligingly slows down around me.
To me, it just feels like I’m making absurdly long jumps at a perfectly reasonable pace while everything else politely waits its turn.
Stats really are weird.
I tilt my head as I go, already planning the next seven jumps, three completely unnecessary twirls, and at least two locations that look ideal for a front flip.
Which makes me wonder—
Does Intelligence actually make you smarter?
Or Wisdom, for that matter.
Can people just dump a bunch of free points into the magic stats and wake up as timeless sages with inexplicably good advice?
…Hm.
I’ll need to consult a library once the Tutorial is over.
Since I don’t actually have either of those stats anymore.
Not that I ever needed them.
No amount of System-infused intellect could possibly allow someone to rival my genius.
I attempt a smug hair flick mid-air.
It fails.
Again.
Unacceptable.