Chapter 8: A Little More Travel

  The road to Xenor stretched before them, a winding trail bordered by thick forests and jagged cliffs that seemed to rise out of nowhere. The air was crisp with the scent of pine, and the distant cry of wild creatures echoed through the trees. The caravan, led by the goblins, moved at a steady pace. The sounds of creaking carts, grunting beasts, and the soft chatter of his companions filled the air.

  Marcus walked beside Boruk, the orc warrior, as the caravan rumbled on ahead. His thoughts, however, were far from the journey at hand. Ever since their time in the orc camp, the system screen had been lingering at the edge of his mind, calling for his attention.

  It was strange to think about—the detailed breakdown of stats, skills, and unallocated points that represented his growth. Yet, there was a deeper question clawing at him: How much of what I’ve gained is truly my own strength? And how much is... something else?

  Name: Marcus Elder

  Race: Human

  Class: Spell Fist, Unique

  Level: 6

  Experience: 1760/2000

  HP: 160/160

  MP: 16

  KI: 16

  PSY: 16

  Stats:

  Strength: 20

  Agility: 17

  Endurance: 21

  Intelligence: 13

  Wisdom: 11

  Luck: 11

  Abilities

  The Unseen One, Mythic, Hidden: Blocks bearer's stats from intrusive minds

  Marks

  Perma: Universal Magic Affinity, Unique

  Achievements:

  Fighting Pioneer: For creating a unique combat style and forging a new path, you have earned the title of Fighting Pioneer. Stats increased by 10%. Mythic

  Unallocated Points: 12

  "Still thinking about your stats?" Boruk asked, his deep voice cutting through Marcus's thoughts.

  Marcus blinked, sheepishly realizing he'd been staring at the ground. He forced a casual grin. “Yeah, just trying to figure out where to put the points. It feels... important.”

  Boruk smirked, giving Marcus a hearty pat on the back. “A good problem to have, human. You’re stronger than you realize.”

  The comment made Marcus pause. “You think so?”

  Boruk chuckled, gesturing broadly to Marcus. “Of course. You’re like a mountain—solid, unyielding. And that strength isn’t just raw muscle. You’ve been pushing your mana into every move you make, right? That gives you an edge.”

  Marcus nodded, keeping his expression neutral. Good. They still think it’s just mana infusion. He felt a pang of guilt at the deception, but he wasn’t ready to reveal the full extent of his abilities. Not yet.

  Boruk continued, his tone growing more serious. “You don’t realize it yet, but the more you fight, the more that power will grow. It’s tied to everything—your body, your mind, even how you think in a fight. You’ll figure it out eventually. For now, trust in your instincts.”

  Marcus let Boruk’s words sink in. He didn’t fully understand how his three magic types intertwined with his growth, but one thing was clear: his strength wasn’t entirely his own. It was amplified, boosted in ways that others couldn’t see. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  The day passed without incident, though Marcus’s thoughts kept circling back to what Boruk had said. By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, the caravan came to a halt near a small clearing. Just as Marcus started to relax, movement at the edge of the forest caught his eye.

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  A pair of wolves emerged from the underbrush, their glowing eyes locked onto the caravan. Low growls rumbled from their throats as they stalked closer, their sleek bodies tense and ready to pounce.

  Grek, the goblin guide, stepped forward without hesitation. Marcus watched in quiet awe as Grek raised his hands and began speaking in rapid, guttural tones. The wolves hesitated, their ears twitching as they listened to the strange sounds. Slowly, their aggression faded, their growls softening into quiet whines.

  “What’s he doing?” Marcus whispered to Vira, who had been watching beside him.

  “That’s Beast Tongue,” Vira replied, her voice low. “It’s a skill. It lets you communicate with animals on an instinctive level. Grek’s been honing it for years.”

  Marcus frowned, watching as the wolves turned and disappeared into the forest. “So he can actually talk to them?”

  “Not exactly,” Vira explained. “It’s more about understanding. Beast Tongue lets you tap into their instincts, influence their decisions. It’s subtle, but it’s powerful.”

  Marcus nodded slowly, a newfound respect for Grek settling over him. So it’s not just about strength or mana. Skills matter too. It was a humbling realization, one that made him rethink his approach to growth.

  Later that evening, Marcus found himself sitting alone near the campfire, his system screen glowing faintly in his vision. The unallocated points taunted him, a reminder of the choices he had yet to make.

  He sighed, closing his eyes as he tried to focus.

  He called apon his stat screen again...

  Marcus frowned at the unallocated points. They had been sitting untouched since his last level-up, a growing weight on his mind. Unlike the orcs or beastfolk, who seemed to grow stronger through sheer determination or experience, his strength was measured in cold, clinical numbers that fed directly into his abilities. But what was he?

  Ki enhanced his physical body: strength, speed, stamina. Psycha sharpened his mind: perception, intuition, focus. Mana, of course, allowed him to channel elemental magic. Each had its role, its purpose, yet together they created something far more complex. His strength wasn't simply a product of his muscle or training—it was the interplay of all three energies.

  The realization brought more questions than answers. If this world measured power in such precise ways, what did that mean for someone like him? Someone... from another world?

  A shadow passed over him, drawing him back to reality. Vira stood nearby, her arms crossed and a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

  "Thinking too hard again?" she asked, her voice breaking through his thoughts.

  Marcus blinked, his system screen vanishing from his sight. "Just... trying to make sense of it all. The system, the stats... how it all fits together."

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face. "You’ve been quiet since the orc camp. Something on your mind?"

  Marcus forced a casual shrug. "Nothing major. Just trying to figure out how to balance mana into my fighting style." He emphasized mana deliberately, keeping his other energies out of the conversation.

  For a moment, her gaze lingered on him, as though she could see through the half-truth. But then she sat down beside him, her smirk softening into something more genuine.

  "Mana’s tricky," she admitted, reaching out to pluck a twig from the ground. "It’s not just about channeling it. You have to let it become part of you—like an extension of your body. Here." She tossed the twig into the air, and with a flick of her fingers, it ignited, burning to ash before hitting the ground.

  Marcus watched her demonstration, a mix of awe and unease stirring within him. He felt the temptation to explain the truth—that his abilities weren’t limited to mana—but the weight of his secret held him back. For now, it was better to let her believe what everyone else did.

  "Alright," he said finally, "show me what I’m doing wrong."

  She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You? Asking for help? I thought you were too stubborn for that."

  "Maybe," he replied with a grin, "but even I can admit when I’m out of my depth."

  The lesson stretched long into the night, firelight casting flickering shadows across the trees as Vira guided Marcus through the fundamentals of mana control. She was surprisingly patient—her usually sharp tone softened, her explanations crisp and precise. Under her watchful eye, Marcus managed to stabilize the flow of mana through his body. It left him sweating and drained, but it held.

  "You're not half bad," Vira said as they wrapped up, leaning back against a tree. "With some practice, you might even keep up with me someday."

  Marcus chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

  "No, but seriously," Vira added with a smirk. She snapped through a fluid hand sign, conjuring four elemental orbs—fire, ice, void, and light. They hovered in the air as she casually juggled them. "It’s all downhill from here for you, spellsword."

  She tossed the orbs high and continued, voice smooth. "Spellblades don’t have the mana depth of mages or warlocks. But what you lack in power, you make up for in cast speed. You don’t need long sigils or chants—just will and understanding. Know how fire feels? Know what it wants? Then you can summon it. Sure, the spell won’t hit as hard as a true caster’s, and it’ll drain you faster, but a quick fireball to the face? That can end a fight before it starts."

  She caught the orbs as they fell, dispelling each with a flick of her fingers before offering a small, exaggerated bow.

  Marcus clapped, grinning like a kid watching a stage magician. "Thanks for the lesson. And the trick. Got any more?"

  Vira straightened, already walking away. "Nah. Enough of that. I'm not your jester."

  The two fell into an easy silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire. For the first time, Marcus felt a sense of ease in her presence, the guarded walls between them starting to crumble.

  "Can I ask you something?" he said after a moment.

  "Depends on the question," she replied, her tone teasing.

  "Do you ever feel... out of place? Like you’re fighting to belong somewhere?"

  Her expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable passing over her face. "Sometimes," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "But I’ve learned to stop thinking about it too much. In the end, you just have to keep moving forward."

  Marcus nodded, her words resonating with him. He thought of his old life, the monotony and isolation that had defined it. In this world, he had no family, no past—only the future he carved out for himself.

  "Thanks," he said softly.

  Vira glanced at him, her smirk returning. "For what?"

  "For not making me feel like a complete idiot."

  She laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Don’t get used to it."

  The night wore on, and one by one, the group settled into their tents. Marcus lay on his bedroll, staring up at the canvas above him. His body was exhausted, but his mind buzzed with the lessons he’d learned.

  Tomorrow would bring new challenges, and the road ahead was fraught with danger. But for now, he allowed himself a moment of peace, the faint embers of the campfire lulling him to sleep.