The smell of stale sweat, damp fur, and blood left too long in the sun drifted faintly on the breeze. From a conjured velvet lounger atop the ridge, Brent sipped something alcoholic, fizzy, and sweet through a crystal straw. His robes shimmered gold in the wind. He looked—in his mind—magnificent.
Below him, the last kobold limped across the cracked earth, one leg dragging uselessly behind it. The rest had already been dispatched—painstakingly—by Brent's own hand, of course.
It would've gone faster if the nobles hadn't inconveniently run out of mana potions. He hid his scorn behind a lazy smile. Their logistical failures weren't his problem. He was here to ascend, not babysit.
"I have recovered my mana," he said, stretching languidly without looking up from his drink. "Finally."
A knight bowed low beside him. "Your long-awaited moment has arrived, Hero Brent."
Brent stood, brushing invisible dust off his coat. "Of course it has, this world was made for me."
He lifted his staff with theatrical flair, pointing it toward the crippled kobold like a king bestowing mercy.
"Kneel, filth," he thundered, voice swelling with self-importance. "And be grateful to die for a cause greater than you."
"Orbital Bind!"
A shimmering distortion hit the creature like a warhammer from the heavens. It flattened with a wet, final crunch.
[LEVEL UP: You have reached Level 10.]
[GLOBAL HUMAN RANKINGS UNLOCKED]
A glowing message shimmered before him.
Brent laughed. "Took long enough! I expect a bloody feast after this." He turned toward Lord Vellian with a smug grin. "I think I've earned more than a bit of recognition."
Vellian smiled like a man politely greeting a rotting smell.
"Oh," he said, stepping forward, voice like silk over broken glass, "I intend to."
Lord Vellian's gloved hand blurred. The blade flashed once, clean and silent, and Brent stumbled.
The young human gasped—but the sound came out wrong. Wet. Gurgled.
Brent's eyes widened in confusion, blood bubbling between his lips.
He reached toward his mouth, now a mangled ruin. His tongue lay in the grass like a dropped fruit.
"You've spoken quite enough," Vellian said with cold precision. "Let's see how clever you are without your tongue."
Brent dropped to his knees, clutching his mouth, whimpering. Magic began to swell around him, but Vellian waved a hand. A noble behind him snapped her fingers—sigils flared, nullifying Brent's casting instantly.
"Strip him," Vellian ordered.
Attendants moved in—silent, practiced, methodical. Brent struggled, but they were trained, and he was soft. Robes shredded. Jewelry taken. Dignity crushed.
"To think," Vellian said, walking a slow circle around him, "we tolerated your posturing. Your insipid boasts. Your—smell."
He paused to crouch beside the bleeding, sobbing man.
"You offended our senses. Wasted our time. Made us watch your ridiculous parlor tricks for hours."
Brent tried to crawl, blood smearing beneath him. Vellian placed a foot on his back and pressed.
"But your greatest sin, Brent?" He leaned in. "You bored us."
He stood and turned.
"Break him," Vellian said, not looking back. "Slowly. No mercy, no haste. Make sure he lives between sessions. Then send him to the Flesh Markets in Mydran—he might yet be worth something, if properly broken in."
Brent lay trembling, the noble's words sliding over his mind like smoke. It wasn't until the guards lifted him that terror truly bloomed. He gasped, tried to speak, to beg—then choked as the rope cinched tight around his throat. His flailing hands scrabbled at it uselessly as he was dragged off like a broken doll.
"Ahh.. peace at last." Vellian murmured, just as a soft chime echoed in his head.
[GLOBAL HUMAN RANKINGS UNLOCKED]
[Top One Hundred: Highest Level Humans]
[Top One Hundred: Wealthiest Humans]
Vellian turned back to the hovering list. The names near the top were familiar—marked, tracked, and cataloged by his web of informants. But one...
[WEALTH RANK]
[1: Thane Arthur Cook (Level 1)]
"Hm." Baron Vesk muttered. "Level one? Glitched?"
"No," Vellian said, eyes narrowing. "I placed a fortune in a human's inventory—buried him in one of my lower dungeons… he's on the list."
He smiled, sharp and cold.
"It looks like the gamble paid off."
He turned to the nobles still gathered, all watching with faint, sadistic interest.
"Find this Thane. He–stole–something of mine."
A beat.
"And we can't let a thief go free…"
"…can we?"
The laughter was slow. Low. Hungry.
Somewhere far below Brent finally screamed, as the first lash cracked across his back.
***
Jeff lounged in a faded lawn chair that had started to sag like everything else in his life. The air was warm, thick with the scent of wilted grass and garbage that had stopped getting picked up a week ago. He wore mesh shorts, a stained T-shirt, and a deep frown as he polished off the last scoop of half-melted mint chocolate chip ice cream.
The towering, shimmering, eye sore of a wall across the street loomed like something out of a sci-fi movie. He'd walked around a bit yesterday. Kicked a trash can. Hurt his foot. Cursed, and wall watched on his lawn chair. No one had come over. No one had opened a secret door. Just… nothing.
He licked the spoon and sighed. "What the heck is even happening…"
His stomach growled in protest at the end of his dairy heaven. He'd been pounding icecream since the freezer had given out yesterday—no more power. He wasn't a fan of melted ice cream. The world had ended, taking frozen dessert with it. Thanks.
Movement caught the corner of his eye.
He squinted.
A girl—no, a woman—came running around the corner, blonde ponytail bouncing, eyes wide. She wore an unzipped gray athletic jacket, a black sports bra, and leggings to match. Her clothes were dusty and scuffed. What might have once been white running shoes were now brown, caked thoroughly in mud.
Jeff's brain locked.
She was gorgeous. Tall. Lean. Sharp cheekbones. Legs that didn't end. Chest… ahem he better not think of that. He tried not to stare. Really he did, and failed epicly.
"Hey," he said, his voice cracking slightly.
Cool. Real smooth, Jeff.
Mara stopped a few feet away, chest heaving. She saw the teenager, saw the spoon in his hand, the melted carton at his side, the ridiculous gobsmacked expression. Her eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second—and then softened slightly. She clocked him in one glance.
Highschooler. Lanky. Awkward. Probably harmless.
Definitely checking out her chest.
Good. That might actually work in her favor.
"Hey," she said back, voice controlled, not even breathing hard "Is this your house?"
He blinked. "Uh, yeah. I mean it's my parents', not mine. I live here."
She tilted her head. "What's your name?"
"Jeff. Jeff Cook."
A ding resounded through the air.
Jeff had heard dings several times lately. He was tempted to ask the woman if she heard it too, but didn't want her to think he was some kind of crazy.
"Global ranking system, huh…" the woman muttered, eyes flicking through the air.
Jeff thought it looked like she was reading something. She kept moving her lips, her gaze was shifting back and forth while looking at nothing. He decided that if she was going to space out and say weird stuff, maybe it was okay to ask.
"Hey, uhh… What is that dinging noise? I mean—do you hear it too? I keep hearing this dinging noise…" Jeff trailed off lamely.
She blinked in surprise.
"Did you not do the tutorial?" Her tone was incredulous.
Now that he thought about it, yeah—he did remember something about a tutorial. But he was a little preoccupied with, you know… space ripping open and what not.
"No… I uhh, kinda, sorta, maybe, didn't," he muttered.
Mara blinked in surprise, debating whether to help in exchange for some food and supplies. Her gaze drifted back to the rankings, contemplating whether or not to help this kid.
Her eyes scanning the top notification again:
[GLOBAL HUMAN RANKINGS UNLOCKED]
[WEALTH RANKINGS]
[1: Thane Arthur Cook (Level 1)]
Her breath caught.
Jeff's last name was Cook.
No… it's an incredibly common last name, but—
She studied Jeff again. Her instincts had always served her well. A decision settled behind her eyes.
He was awkward, yes. Obviously a teenager. But the last name... and the cluelessness… and the potential to be related to the number one on the wealth ladder?
Maybe it's a coincidence. But if there's even a chance…
She needed to be careful.
If this kid was related to Thane Arthur Cook, and Thane was rich enough to top the global rankings at level one…
Maybe a noble had taken him in. Or maybe he had access to something better. Either way, if Jeff was the younger brother of the wealthiest person on the ladder—he wasn't useless.
He was a ticket.
"I'm Mara, and for a bit of food I'll teach you" she said suddenly. "What do you say Jeff?"
Before Mara could finish talking Jeff was already nodding enthusiastically.
***
Thane's flail was caked in mud. He looked down, expecting to be filthy himself.
He chuckled.
Not a speck of dirt clung to him.
A small mound of mud sat at his feet, like it had abandoned a sinking ship. Say what you would about the armor—maybe it was an overzealous esthetician waging war on body hair—but it wasn't all bad.
Thane congratulated himself on his success. He continued adjusting his flail's mass—up, down, slower, faster—wanting it to become second nature. He might have struggled to do the same with his own body, but his methodical testing had produced great results.
"Wait… why don't I just do the same thing to myself?"
He mentally facepalmed.
"Wow. Such a basic insight, and I just—just whiffed it."
He consoled himself with the idea that probably everyone else got this kind of stuff handed out like candy. Tutorials. Mentors. Guides. He'd started from scratch.
Just as he prepared to test his new revelation—adjusting his mass while standing still—a chime echoed through the air.
This should be interesting. Maybe I broke the world record for high jump earlier.
GLOBAL SYSTEM MESSAGE: global human rankings unlocked
The rankings will display the top one hundred highest level and wealthiest humans. Awards await those who strive for the top.
Thane opened the level rankings first. The moment he saw the top name, a sulfurous curse escaped his lips.
1: Brent Levi Mason (Level 10)
He knew something was off. Experience had to work differently than he'd assumed. It hadn't even been two full days since the transfer, and someone had already hit level 10?
He skimmed down the list. After the first twenty or so—levels six through nine—there was a steep drop-off. The rest averaged around level three.
I wonder if someone was power-leveling a few of those top people.
It made sense. He couldn't imagine what kind of person could slaughter their way to level ten so quickly.
Not particularly excited, Thane swapped to the wealth rankings. What did he have—some jerky, a crappy knife, a few biscuits? No gold. Nothing valuable from Earth, assuming that stuff even counted.
His eye twitched when he saw the top name.
His name.
1: Thane Arthur Cook (Level 1)
There had to be a mistake.
He yanked open his inventory, half-expecting to find a leprechaun squatting inside it, hoarding gold.
"I totally forgot about those gauntlets…" he muttered.
They must be worth a whole lot more than I thought.
System: Congratulations, sir, on being the wealthiest human. It is my pleasure to inform you there are significant rewards for being at the top spot. Due to some unforeseen events, the rewards have been tailored to you personally.
Several soft dings echoed in his ears as new messages rolled in.
Title Awarded: (Epic) The One on Top (+10 Luck)
For being at the top of the wealth rankings, a hidden stat—Luck—has been unlocked. In addition, you receive an extra 5 Luck. If Luck was already unlocked, the bonus is doubled.
Title Awarded: (Legendary) Bounty the Bounteous (Grants the ability to change your appearance once every 200 days.)
Every noble. Every guildmaster. Every criminal organization. And many more have placed a wide range of bounties on your head. From tiny payments for the slightest hint of information… to your head being served on a gold-inlaid silver platter. That last one actually requires the platter.
They don't have a picture of you yet, but it's only a matter of time.
You have been granted the ability to change your appearance every 200 days. Note: Large changes require more energy. Current pool: 100/100. Spend wisely.
System Hint: Your Luck stat is showing, sir. The unique combination of circumstances you've found yourself in has triggered a more generous hint than usual. To change your appearance, you must be able to see yourself. Currently, you cannot view your full appearance. Your armor can change color. Including… no color at all.
Thane closed the notification—and staggered back.
A full-length mirror had appeared in front of him, completely unprompted. His reflection stared back, clad in a matte-black second skin that clung to every line of his body.
The last line of the hint hovered at the top of the mirror, along with a glowing: 100/100
"No color at all?"
The implication smacked him upside the head like a billy club. With a whisper of trepidation, he willed the armor's color to disappear around his head completely.
"Holy crap… I can see my whole head!"
His momentary joy cracked like an egg.
Specifically, the egg that was his bald head.
Before the metaphorical yolk of despair hit the floor, a frying pan made of pure hope caught it.
"If I can change my appearance… that includes my hair too, right?"
He blinked.
Twice.
A message scrawled across the top of the mirror.
Error: Attempt at reconstructing hair failed.
Resolving: Please wait…
Thane watched his own face darken through every visible shade of red. Veins bulged in his temples. His right eye twitched like it was attempting Morse code.
Just before he reached an impressively unhealthy shade of purple, the message updated.
Resolved: Illusionary hair anchored. Continue with the appearance modification process.
His hair was back.
He reached up with trembling fingers.
Nothing.
His face returned to a normal color… but the twitch remained.
I guess I'll take it. I mean, now I have guaranteed good-looking hair until I die. Bright side, Thane. Bright side.
He gave himself a once-over in the mirror. His eyes drifted to the number at the corner: [30/100]
Seventy out of a hundred for hair?
Sold.
Hair and eyes? Untouched. Questionable decision? Definitely. But vanity won this round.
Thane got to work.
He began sculpting his face like a digital Michelangelo. His jawline narrowed and firmed into a chiseled edge that looked carved from stone. The subtle crook in his nose straightened with a quiet pop, like it had always meant to sit that way. His five o'clock shadow filled in, thick and even, giving him the kind of rugged charm that said I lift heavy things and open jars on the first try. He reduced the width of his chin, smoothing it into balance with the rest of his face. His skin cleared, every blemish and pore vanishing like they'd been erased by a divine airbrush. The faint softness around his torso melted away, the remnants of comfort food and late-night snacks banished with the stroke of a thought.
When he was done, the mirror shimmered.
And he smiled.
Thane hadn't ever considered himself vain—but dang, did he look good. He turned his head side to side, catching different angles in the mirror. That jawline could cut glass. The stubble? Immaculate. For a moment, he forgot about bounties, survival, or the mysterious system pulling the strings. He looked like someone who had his life together. Someone who got eight hours of sleep, drank water, and never texted their ex.
"This has to be one of the best titles ever," he muttered, still admiring the illusion in front of him.
Then he paused.
"Wow. These good looks went to my head really fast."
He blinked at his own reflection, half-amused and half-disturbed. Was this what it was like to be hot? Was this the true power of handsomeness? Almost a magic of its own.
Speaking of magic... or something close to it.
"Ten luck," Thane said slowly. "Holy crap."
He dragged his eyes away from the mirror and pulled up his stats.
Age: 27
Level: 1
EXP: -819.75%
Health: 100%
Stamina: 100%
Stats: Base (Actual)
STR: 11 - (14.3)
DEX: 8 - (10.4)
END: 8 - (10.4)
CHA: 0 - (0)
LUC: 18 - (23.4)
Free points: 0
Skills:
Flail mastery - novice (47%) → apprentice
Identify - novice (43%) → apprentice
Unique combat - novice (38%) → apprentice
Cockroach - available
Magic subtypes:
Physical momentum
Thane skimmed the stat screen, eyes instantly drawn to the glowing green number beside Luck.
"Twenty-three point four," he whispered, grinning. "That's gotta be illegal."
He scrolled down, spotting a pleasant surprise—Flail Mastery and Unique Combat had both ticked up more than he expected. Progress. Real, tangible progress. He allowed himself a small victorious nod, already mentally drafting the "flail wizard" nickname he'd bestow upon himself once his combat style hit mainstream popularity.
Just as he moved to close the screen, his eyes caught on a number lurking at the top.
EXP: -819.75%
"…Huh?"
He stared at it, blinking. That couldn't be right. He leaned in closer, squinting, like the font might shift into something more reasonable if he just applied enough focus.
"Nope," he muttered. "Still horrifying."
The urge to open the EXP log itched at him. He could see exactly what happened. Pinpoint the moment where optimism was murdered and buried in a shallow grave.
"Nope. Not doing it. Not today. You can't take this from me."
He stood tall, shut the screen with a satisfying flick, and turned away like a man leaving behind a toxic relationship.
Almost made it, too.
System Hint: Time flies when you're sculpting your jawline. Unfortunately, so does your quest deadline. Less than four hours remain sir.