The people cheered as the battle between the army of demons and the tribe of Harheim came to an end. The once-roaring battlefield, filled with bloodshed and despair, had finally fallen silent.
The air, once thick with the stench of death and burning flesh, now carried the victorious cries of those who had survived. The clash between blades, the deafening roars of monstrous creatures, and the cries of the wounded had all been replaced by a single truth—Harheim had been saved.
The combined forces of the demons and their relentless undead army lay in ruins, their once-unstoppable horde now reduced to lifeless husks and smoldering corpses. Their banners, once raised high with arrogance, were now torn and trampled beneath the boots of those who had fought for their home.
The people of Harheim, warriors and civilians alike, stood together, breathing heavily as they took in the reality of their survival. Victory was theirs.
Yet, among them, whispers began to spread. Questions filled the air like restless embers still flickering from the remnants of battle.
Some believed the impossible feat was accomplished by a single warrior—Ismael, a battle-hardened warrior known for his unmatched swordsmanship.
They had seen him cut down countless enemies, his blade moving like a whirlwind through the chaos, his armor drenched in the blood of demons.
Could he have been the one to turn the tide? Had he truly stood alone against the overwhelming darkness and emerged victorious?
Others speculated that Harheim had secretly possessed a weapon of unimaginable power, one that had been unleashed at the critical moment.
Perhaps a hidden relic, an ancient spell, or an enchanted artifact had been the key to their survival. There were tales of old, legends of lost weapons capable of banishing evil. Could such a thing have been used in their darkest hour?
But the truth—when it was finally revealed—was something none had expected. The enemy had not been felled by Ismael alone. There had been no secret weapon, no lost relic of untold power. Instead, salvation had come in the form of a single human, a lone warrior unlike any they had ever seen before.
A man, standing tall amid the sea of broken bodies, wore a golden crown shimmering with magic. His presence alone radiated power, his stance exuding the confidence of one who had faced death and triumphed.
His armor, though bearing the marks of battle, gleamed with an unnatural brilliance, as if untouched by the filth of war. And when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of authority, commanding the attention of all who heard him.
"I am your savior," he declared. "I am the hero."
The Harengons—fierce warriors of Harheim, a proud people who had fought tooth and claw for survival—found it difficult to believe at first. A single human? One man had turned the tide against an army of nightmares? It was absurd. Impossible.
Yet, how could they deny the evidence before them? The demons lay dead. The undead no longer walked. The battle was over, and they were still alive.
The truth stood undeniable, as undeniable as the crown upon the stranger's head.
Victory itself was proof.
•••••
Keiran, Greon, and Agwil followed Felicia through the grand hallways of the castle, their boots tapping against the polished stone floors.
The walls were lined with intricate tapestries, depicting legendary battles and ancient heroes.
Chandeliers cast a golden glow, illuminating the path ahead. Despite the grandeur, none of them spoke much, merely taking in the sights.
Felicia led them to a corridor where servants stood waiting. The maids and butlers bowed deeply, showing utmost respect. "These will be your rooms," Felicia announced with a graceful gesture. "Please make yourselves comfortable. Lord Segrand, my father, has requested an audience later, and we shall inform you when the time comes."
Keiran gave a simple nod, accepting the arrangement. Greon and Agwil exchanged glances before disappearing into their respective rooms. Keiran entered his and took a brief moment to admire the luxury.
The bed was enormous, covered in pristine white sheets that looked softer than clouds. A finely crafted wooden desk stood in the corner, accompanied by a velvet chair.
The wardrobe gleamed with polish, and the walls bore elegant carvings. He stepped toward the balcony and pulled back the curtains. The setting sun painted the horizon in hues of orange and red, casting a warm glow over the land.
He barely had time to settle before a knock came at the door. It opened slightly, revealing a pair of bunny-eared maids standing hesitantly. They were both stunning, dressed in well-fitted uniforms that accentuated their figures. Their long ears twitched as they hesitated at the doorway.
"Lord Keiran," one of them spoke softly, eyes filled with curiosity. "Would you like anything?"
The other seemed eager to ask something as well, her tail subtly moving behind her. They had heard of his feats, and now, seeing him up close, their admiration only grew. It wasn't often that warriors of his caliber passed through the castle.
But when Keiran turned to face them, his expression remained unreadable. His piercing eyes carried no warmth, only a cold, calculating sharpness.
His aura, despite his silence, exuded an unapproachable dominance. The excitement in the maids' eyes faded slightly. They suddenly felt as though they were in the presence of something beyond their understanding.
After a brief pause, the first maid lowered her gaze. "Forgive us for disturbing you," she said quickly, bowing. "Please rest well, Lord Keiran."
With that, they stepped back and quietly closed the door behind them.
Keiran barely paid them any mind. He sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath. It was finally time to allocate his stat points. He pulled up his status screen mentally, watching as the translucent interface appeared before him.
Available Stat Points: 120
He focused. First, Constitution. He added 20 points, feeling his body grow sturdier. A subtle warmth spread through his muscles, reinforcing his endurance.
Next, Dexterity. Another 20 points. His fingers twitched slightly, his movements feeling more precise, his reflexes sharpening.
Agility came next. 20 points again. His body felt lighter, as though the air around him no longer carried the same resistance.
He then turned to Intelligence. He allocated 30 points. A rush of clarity swept through his mind. His thoughts became faster, calculations sharper. He could sense an immediate improvement in his ability to process information.
Finally, Strength. Another 30 points. His muscles tensed for a moment before relaxing, filled with newfound power. The weight of his own body felt insignificant, as if he could crush steel with his bare hands.
Keiran examined his available skills, scanning through the extensive list displayed before him.
[COMMON: (261).]
[UNCOMMON: Elastic Fluid Body, Eternal Blaze, King of the Wilds, Infernal Arcana, Divine Grace, Titan Knuckle, Unyielding Resolve, Spectral Shroud, Feral Ambush, (23).]
Despite participating in a massive war and absorbing numerous fallen abilities, the number of skills he could acquire remained surprisingly limited. It wasn't just a slow process—there was a hard cap. A restriction that bound him, no matter how many enemies he defeated.
At first, the realization seemed like a flaw in the system, a bottleneck that would eventually leave him stagnant, unable to grow further. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized the truth. He had been using the system wrong this entire time.
Bequeathal had given him complete control over how he grew. It wasn't about mindlessly accumulating skills; it was about shaping them, refining them, and making the best use of what he had. He had been too focused on what he could take instead of what he could create.
He needed to take a different approach.
Without hesitation, Keiran activated Arcane Creation. Runes materialized around him, shifting and pulsing with raw energy, waiting for direction.
He concentrated, visualizing the exact skill he wanted. A perfect ability, something that would surpass his current limitations. He guided the floating runes, weaving them into a structure that would embody his vision.
[Failed to create a skill due to unavoidable restrictions.]
As expected, creating something highly specific proved incredibly difficult.
Keiran adjusted the parameters, trying a different approach. He tweaked the structure, refined the concept, and stabilized the runic flow.
[Failed to create a skill due to unavoidable restrictions.]
The system rejected it again. This wasn't just about difficulty—something was actively stopping him. It wasn't a matter of power or complexity. The system refused to allow a skill that bypassed a certain law.
A deeper restriction. One built into the very foundation of the system itself.
Still, he refused to give up. He kept pushing, altering the shape of the runes, testing different configurations, expanding the boundaries as far as he could.
[Failed to create a skill due to unavoidable restrictions.]
It was futile to pursue perfection. The system wouldn't allow it.
In the end, he settled for what was possible. If he couldn't create the exact skill he envisioned, he would forge the closest thing to it. He would work within the restrictions, bending the rules instead of breaking them.
[Congratulations! You have created an uncommon skill.]
[Null Seal (Active): When used on the corpse or lingering essence of a foe slain by the user, all of the target's Uncommon or lower rarity skills will have their names permanently altered. However, these skills become unusable, as if erased from existence. This effect only applies to enemies personally killed by the user and must be activated within one hour of their death. This skill cannot be used on monsters. Mana Cost 5.]
Keiran nodded in satisfaction at the result.
Now, he removed the inherent limit that had once restrained him, allowing him to absorb a far greater number of skills through Divine Inheritance. Before, there had been a cap—an invisible ceiling that dictated how much he could absorb.
This new skill would accelerate his growth speed beyond what should have been possible. He could already feel the difference, the rapid expansion of his capabilities surging through him. The once slow and incremental gains would now compound exponentially.
But Keiran was not done. This was merely the foundation. Without wasting another second, he activated Sacred Elevation. A familiar, powerful force coursed through his being as the process began.
Instantly, he upgraded 21 Common skills to Uncommon. Each transformation carried an unmistakable shift in quality.
In total, he had used 231 skills in the process, refining them into their superior versions.
[You leveled up.]
[You have received 12 Stat points.]
Keiran nodded as he read the result, his expression calm and unreadable. His mind processed the information quickly, weighing its significance before deciding his next course of action.
Just as he was about to continue, a sudden knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. The sound was firm yet hesitant, as if the person on the other side was unsure whether they should be disturbing him.
Keiran turned toward the door, his movements steady and controlled. With a single step, he reached for the handle and pulled the door open.
On the other side stood a maid, her uniform pristine and well-kept. The moment her eyes met his, she gasped, her breath catching in her throat. Her ears twitched slightly, and her cheeks took on a deep shade of red.
She quickly averted her gaze, fumbling with her hands as she spoke. "L-Lord Segrand asks to call you and your subordinates to the throne room, Lord Keiran," she managed, her voice wavering between formality and nervous excitement.
Keiran remained impassive. His gaze held no visible emotion, his posture unwavering. Without any unnecessary words, he simply gave her a curt nod. "Thank you," he said, his tone as steady as ever.
As he stepped past the maid, the doors to the other chambers in the hallway creaked open. Greon and Agwil emerged, their expressions composed. Without hesitation, they bowed deeply toward Keiran, acknowledging his presence with the respect expected of them.
Keiran gave them a brief nod in return before turning on his heel, striding forward with purpose. Greon and Agwil followed immediately.
Behind them, the Harengon maids gathered, their eyes shimmering with admiration. Their gazes lingered on Keiran, watching his every step with a mix of awe and fascination.
One of them, unable to contain her thoughts, whispered in a breathless voice, "A real-life hero."
•••••
NAME: Keiran Graywood
CLASS: Hero
SUBCLASS: Skillmancer
LEVEL: 133
HP: 4,240
MP: 6,352
SP: 6,352
[STATS]
CONSTITUTION: 265
INTELLIGENCE: 397
STRENGTH: 397
DEXTERITY: 265
AGILITY: 265
AVAILABLE STAT POINTS: 12
[SKILLS]
DIVINE BLESSINGS: Divine Inheritance, Sacred Elevation, Arcane Creation, Blessing of Bequeathal.
COMMON: (10).
UNCOMMON: Elastic Fluid Body, Eternal Blaze, King of the Wilds, Infernal Arcana, Divine Grace, Titan Knuckle, Unyielding Resolve, Spectral Shroud, Feral Ambush, Null Seal, (44).
RARE: Colossal Frenzy, Titan's Resilience, Abyssal Execution, Sovereign of the Unseen, Howling Tempest, Windborne Regeneration, Eclipse Shatter, Umbral Sovereignty, Solarfang Overdrive, Crown of the Dawn, Arcane Nexus, Pyroclastic Roar, Magma Core, Sovereign's Edict, Eternal Legion, Death's Bargain.
SUPER RARE: Cataclysmic Eruption, Volcanic Soul.
•••••