The air was cool, filled with the scent of loam and old wood, but Reivo barely noticed. His eyes were fixed ahead, yet his mind lingered behind—on the words Alarik had just spoken.
The System didn't care for comfort. It didn't offer kindness. It gave you what you needed.
And what Reivo had been given… was something steeped in shadows.
Alarik's voice broke the stillness again, quiet but firm. "Now let's talk about leveling. You've seen the 'plus' beside your level, haven't you?"
Reivo gave a slight nod. "Yeah. Level one, with a plus."
"That means the System recognizes that you've met the requirements to ascend, but you haven't claimed the advancement yet." Alarik glanced sideways at him. "It doesn't level you up automatically. You have to redeem it. Think of it like a reward waiting to be picked up."
Reivo furrowed his brow. "Why?"
Alarik shrugged slightly. "Some believe it's a test. Others think it's just how the System keeps control—makes you conscious of your growth. Either way, it's your decision to claim power. Some choose to wait. Stack up levels. Use the element of surprise."
Reivo considered that. He'd probably met more than the minimum. After the dungeon breach, the number of creatures he'd killed—especially with Verhen's help—had gone well past what he assumed would be necessary for level two.
"How do you even know when you've met the requirements?" he asked.
Alarik's lips twitched upward in a hint of a smile. "Simple. Focus on your level in the status window. Not just glance at it—focus. The System responds to intent."
Reivo narrowed his eyes and stared again at the glowing pane before him. The faint shimmer of the interface responded as if sensing his will.
He focused on his level: Level: 1+
The text flickered, then split open with a faint ripple.
---
> Level Progression
Current Level: 1+
Requirement Met for Level 2: Kill 20 creatures alone – Complete
Requirement Met for Level 3: Kill a Dungeon boss of at least rank 1(1/1), bind a summon to yourself – Complete
Requirement for Level 4: Kill a rank 2 dungeon boss(1/1), kill 60 creatures alone(60/22), kill 60 creatures with a summon(60/42) – Incomplete
Eligible Level Ups: 2
---
Reivo's breath caught slightly in his throat. Two levels. Already.
He hadn't even realized it while it was happening.
Alarik glanced at him knowingly. "The System tracks everything. Not just what you kill, but how you kill it. Who's with you. What you risked. If you used a summon, if you bled. Sometimes it even tracks what you felt."
Reivo looked at him, startled. "You mean emotion?"
"Yeah." Alarik's tone was dry. "Rage. Despair. Resolve. I've seen people ascend after surviving a hopeless fight—because they held the line even when they were about to die. I've seen others slaughter a dozen beasts and get nothing. Because the System didn't care. It wasn't a test of muscle. It was a test of soul."
His thumb tightened around the reins.
"Focus again," Alarik instructed. "This time, will the System to grant the level. Say it if it helps. Think it if you're used to silence."
Reivo took a deep breath. Then, inwardly, with calm and quiet certainty, he gave the command:
Level up.
The response was immediate. A pulse of energy shivered through his body—not outward, not visible, but internal, like a chord being struck deep in his bones. The forest didn't change. The soldiers around them didn't notice. But Reivo did.
His awareness expanded. Muscles he hadn't trained felt tighter, more responsive. The way he sat in the saddle felt more natural. His heartbeat slowed, yet his senses sharpened. The world came into clearer focus.
---
> Level Up: 1 → 3
You have advanced to Level 3.
Stat growth applied.
Contract stability improved.
The Nightmare stirs.
---
"The Nightmare stirs?" Reivo murmured aloud.
Alarik raised an eyebrow. "Huh. What do you mean?"
Reivo didn't explain. He wasn't even sure he could—not yet.
More importantly, he could feel Verhen reacting. The Bleeding Herald stirred within the dark place in his soul where their bond connected. A rumbling murmur, like a distant heartbeat underwater, echoed in the back of his mind.
The contract between them had grown stronger. More stable. The summon would be easier to call now—faster, maybe even more powerful.
Alarik turned his attention forward again. "As we said earlier, each time you level, the System grants more than just strength. Skills, stats, passive traits—sometimes even evolutions. The early levels are like climbing steps. Later… it's more like climbing a mountain."
"What about stats?" Reivo asked, still absorbing the subtle changes in his body. "Do they increase automatically?"
"Depends on your class," Alarik replied. "Some get flat gains every level. Others can allocate stat points. Some rare classes grow based on experience instead of math—flexible, but unpredictable."
"And mine?"
Alarik gestured vaguely. "Summoners usually get a split growth. Mana, willpower, sometimes agility. You'll know it when you feel it. You already do, don't you?"
Reivo nodded. "Yes. My body feels lighter... but more than that, my thoughts are faster, and my senses sharper."
His body felt… cleaner, more honed. Not vastly changed—but enough. A knife that had just been sharpened, not replaced.
"I think so. Awakened of the magic type usually get increases to mind and mana. Warrior types, on the other hand, gain strength and stamina," Alarik added.
Then he said, "Good. For now, that's enough. We'll cover the other topics another time."
Reivo nodded. He was already processing the information, mentally sorting it like battlefield positions—practical, precise.
The trail ahead bent around a crag of moss-covered stone, the canopy above thinning slightly. The sound of tired hoofbeats and creaking saddles drifted through the stillness. Alarik cast a glance toward the sky—then to the men behind.
He pulled gently on the reins and raised a closed fist.
"Break time!" he called out, his voice steady but carrying authority. "Thirty minutes. Dismount, drink, and check your gear. Stay alert—we're still in the wild zone."
The column slowed. Riders began dismounting, easing their mounts near trees and unpacking water flasks or ration packs. Some dropped into a crouch with practiced ease; others rolled their shoulders, muttering curses about saddles and bad terrain.
Alarik dismounted and tied his horse to a leaning birch, then turned back toward Reivo.
"Get off, clear your head," he said. "You'll need it in the hours ahead. Reflection sharpens instinct."
Reivo said nothing. He slid from his saddle, landing softly, silently. Then stood there, eyes scanning the trees—not for enemies.
For direction. For the next step.
For purpose.
And perhaps, far beneath that stillness, for something close to vengeance.