Kenji woke up feeling like a truck had run him over, then reversed. Every muscle in his body protested.
He felt aches he hadn't had since moving the heavy, antique bathtub from the second floor of his new-old house. He groaned, rolling over on his thin mattress.
"This is what Level 87 feels like?" he grumbled to the dusty ceiling. "It feels like Level 1, but with extra pain. My old self was probably tougher."
He sat up, wincing, and the blue system panel flickered to life in his vision.
**[Shadowbane – Level 87 – Dark Knight]** **[HP: 8700/8700]** **[MP: 6500/6500]**
"At least the HP and MP regenerated," he mumbled, a small mercy. He'd drained his MP completely last night, trying to figure out how to not turn his basement into rubble with every swing.
He'd mostly succeeded, meaning he'd only put three more holes in the wall.Progress!
His stomach rumbled, a decidedly unlegendary sound. He needed to eat. And more importantly, he needed answers.
The raw power was exhilarating, but it was like having a nuclear reactor in his chest with no instruction manual.
He couldn't just keep flailing around in his basement. He needed knowledge.
He pulled on a faded t-shirt and jeans, his movements stiff.
The **Shadowfang** greatsword still lay on the concrete, radiating a faint chill.
He gazed at it, then at the **Void Plate armor** folded neatly beside it in his inventory.
"You know," he said to the sword, an odd conversation.
"You look amazing. Truly badass. But if I tried to wear that armor right now, I'd probably just fall over and break a leg. And this sword… it's heavier than I am."
He sighed. "All the stats in the world don't make up for thirty years of being a squishy norm."
His eyes flickered to **[Grima's Journal (Unread)]**.
That's my starting point. The cryptic language was a problem, but maybe there was someone in the city who specialized in ancient game lore, or even just old languages.
It was a long shot, but he had to try.
He grabbed a stale bread roll and a bottle of water, stuffing them into his backpack.
He needed to be discreet.
The last thing he wanted was to be noticed, especially now. The city was a different beast since Aethelgard merged with reality.
Powered individuals, both Game Borns and Awakeners, were everywhere, flaunting their abilities.
As he walked down the dusty street to the main district, the morning sun baked the asphalt. The contrast between his quiet neighbourhood and the busy city centre was clear.
Here, the buildings were shorter, the air thicker with exhaust fumes. As he got closer to the commercial areas, tall buildings of the powerful elite appeared in the skyline.
They glowed with soft energy fields.
A group of teenagers sauntered past him, their laughter echoing.
One of them, a girl with vibrant pink hair, casually tossed a small pebble into the air. It hung in the air, shimmering with energy.
Then, she flicked her wrist, sending it zipping into a far-off trash can with a satisfying clang. Her friends cheered.
Kenji watched them, a sour taste in his mouth.
"Show-offs," he muttered under his breath.
He remembered his school days, the constant humiliation.
They get to play around with their powers like toys, while I'm trying not to accidentally blow up my own house. If only they knew.
A surge of power, cold and potent, flared in his chest, making the hairs on his arms stand up. He immediately suppressed it.
Not yet. Don't be stupid, Kenji.
He needed a library, or maybe an old bookstore.
"I remember there is an antique shop at the edge of the old city." He mumbled.
It was run by a man said to collect rare historical artifacts. It was a long shot, but perhaps he'd have some dusty old Aethelgard guidebooks.
The shop was a labyrinth of shadows and some ancient relics that even Kenji didn't recognize.
Dust motes danced in the lone beam of sunlight piercing the grimy front window.
The shelves creaked from the heavy load of old pottery, rusty tools, and piles of yellowed books.
An old man sat behind a counter full of trinkets. His spectacles rested on the tip of his nose as he studied a faded map.
He looked like he'd been carved out of the shop's own dust.
"Can I help you, young man?" the old man rasped, looking up with surprisingly sharp eyes.
"Uh, yeah," Kenji said, feeling a little awkward.
"I'm looking for… anything related to the old Aethelgard Online game. Especially, uh, language guides or lore books."
The old man's eyebrows shot up.
"Aethelgard? That's a rarity these days. Most people are only interested in power-boosting artifacts, not ancient history."
He stroked his thin beard. "I might have a few things in the back. Come with me."
He took Kenji further into the shop, past narrow aisles full of old junk.
As they walked by a shelf full of old, tarnished metal items, Kenji felt his Shadow Brand pulse softly in his palm. He felt a slight tingle, a barely perceptible shift in the air.
He glanced at the objects, a collection of what looked like rusted ceremonial daggers and small, dark figurines.
They held a faint, almost imperceptible aura of… something. He pushed the sensation down.
Focus, Kenji.
The old man finally stopped before a towering bookshelf crammed with volumes. He pulled out a thick, leather-bound tome.
"This is a first-edition player's guide," he said, blowing dust off the cover.
"Came across it years ago. No one wanted it. Too much text, not enough flashy pictures."
Kenji took the book. It was heavy, and the pages were brittle, but it was packed with diagrams, maps, and detailed lore.
More importantly, it had a section dedicated to the languages of Aethelgard. He found a small dictionary for Aethelgard's common tongues.
It included a section on "Ancient Elvish," which seemed to match what Grima's journal was written in.
"This is perfect," Kenji said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "How much?"
The old man squinted at him.
"You really want to learn about the old days, eh? Not many like you. Tell you what. Ten thousand credits."
Kenji winced. It was nearly half his remaining savings, but he knew it was worth it. This was his instruction manual.
"Deal!"
As he paid, a sudden commotion erupted outside. A high-pitched shriek, followed by shouts. Kenji instinctively tensed.
The old man sighed. "Probably those street gangs again. Always causing trouble."
Kenji felt a strong tremor through the ground. A heavy thump followed by the roar of something large. He rushed to the front window.
A strange, boar-like beast with tough scales charged down the street. People ran in fear, scattering everywhere. It wasn't a Game Born using powers; this was something else.
A _creature_. It clearly came from the game world. But unlike the friendly pets some players have, this one was wild, untamed, and dangerous.
People with low-level powers were trying to stop it, firing weak energy bolts or attempting to trip it, but it shrugged them off easily.
One man, an Awakener with minor earth manipulation, tried to raise a stone barrier, but the creature shattered it with a single charge. The man cried out, his arm twisted at an unnatural angle.
Kenji's breath hitched. He felt the familiar surge of power, the Shadow Brand on his palm almost burning.
I can help them. I have the power.
His hands instinctively clenched, almost reaching for the spectral weight of Shadowfang.
But then he remembered his basement, the chaotic bursts of power, the inability to control even a simple skill.
He remembered the feeling of utter panic when he'd nearly torn his house down.
No. Not like this. Not here.
He wasn't ready. He'd make things worse. He'd expose himself as a dangerous, untrained anomaly.
He kept himself hidden. His jaw was tight, and his heart pounded with fear and frustration. He saw two uniformed Enforcers.
They were both skilled Game Borns with wind and fire powers. They cornered the creature.
They subdued it with a precise barrage of spells. The crowd cheered, relieved.
Kenji felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He could have ended it faster. He knew he could have. But he couldn't risk it. Not yet.
He clutched the old Aethelgard guide tighter, a fierce resolve settling in his chest. Knowledge.
That's what I need. Before I try to be a hero, I need to know how to not accidentally flatten a city block.
He left the antique shop, the weight of the book a tangible reminder of his new quest.
The city buzzed with the lives of the powerful and the powerless.
He walked back towards his house, the setting sun painting the sky in fiery oranges and deep purples.
When he finally stepped back into the relative safety of his basement, he looked at the hole in his wall, then at the sleeping greatsword.
He flipped open the language guide, a plan forming in his mind.
"Alright, Shadowbane," he murmured to himself.
"Let's learn who you were. And then… We'll figure out who ...I am going to be." He looked at the vast, intimidating list of skills in his system.