The morning light slipped through the curtains like a blade, slicing across the room and catching the faint glint of steel at Vergil's bedside.
His eyes snapped open.
Not groggy. Not slow. Sharp and alert.
His gaze flicked to the side instinctively—and found Eleanor already gone, her presence only marked by the faint scent of frost-laced lavender and a subtle indent in the sheets where she'd slept. No note. No words.
Typical.
Vergil exhaled quietly and sat up, the cold air brushing against his bare arms. He cracked his neck once, rolled his shoulder, and stood. The ache in his muscles was still there—a dull throb from the Astralyth refinement—but manageable. Controlled. Owned.
His eyes landed on the cloak draped over the nearby chair.
Charcoal-gray tunic, snug dark trousers, reinforced padding—he dressed quickly, pulling on each piece with mechanical precision. He fastened the last strap, adjusted the utility loops along the hem of his forest-gray sleeveless cloak, then slid his arms through and let it drape over his frame. The fabric fluttered briefly as he turned toward the mirror.
He looked like a traveler, a hunter—one who'd seen death and fed it in return.
A quiet breath passed his lips as he slipped on the sturdy black boots, tightened the buckles, and gave one final glance at the room before grabbing his satchel.
No wasted time. No second thoughts.
The door opened with a creak and clicked softly behind him as he stepped out into the cool morning of Vaelmont. Dew clung to the rooftops and wooden railings, and a few townsfolk were beginning to stir. Smoke curled from chimneys. The scent of baked bread and damp earth filled the air.
Vergil walked with calm confidence, his boots striking firm against the dirt path. No hesitation in his stride.
As he approached the guild, the building stood tall and familiar—wooden beams weathered by time, windows glowing with warm firelight, and the faded guild crest hanging above the door like a silent invitation.
Vergil pushed the door open, stepping inside without a word.
He didn't come to talk.
He came to work.
---
Vergil stepped into the guild hall just past morning, his boots clicking softly against the polished stone floor. The air inside was a bit warmer than the breeze outside, tinged with parchment, candle wax, and the faint scent of old leather and steel. Familiar.
His gaze settled on the front desk—Elina was there as always, flipping through a stack of requests, quill in hand, her posture precise and composed. Her ash-brown hair was tied in its usual low braid, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.
He walked up with casual confidence, setting a small pouch on the desk with a light thud.
"Morning, Elina. I've come to collect my payment," he said, sliding out the five glittering Astralyth stones and placing them on the polished surface.
Elina raised a brow, looked at the stones, then at him.
"You've been busy," she said, nodding approvingly. "Five E-rank Astralyth stones... Good job, Vergil. That'll be ten silver."
She counted the coins out quickly and slid them across. Vergil pocketed them without a word. Silver clinked faintly.
'This should hold me over for now… but not for long,' Vergil thought, eyes already scanning the board behind her.
"I'll take another E-rank mission," he added, voice even.
Elina paused, her violet eyes flicking to his. "Already?"
He nodded once. "No point wasting time."
She sighed softly but didn't argue. Instead, she reached beneath the desk and pulled out a stack of freshly posted E-rank requests, spreading them across the counter.
"There are a few options available right now. I'd suggest something with low risk if you're going alone."
Vergil ignored the comment, eyes already scanning the sheets. He picked one up about skeletons in a forgotten cemetery, then another about spider infestations in a mine. He set both aside without a second glance.
'Not what I need... I need high physical threats. I need pressure.'
Then one sheet caught his attention—a mission about golems. Abandoned ruins, strange activity, and golems attacking passing caravans.
His fingers tapped the paper.
'Found you,' he grinned inwardly.
But then a thought hit him. 'Wait… can I even consume golems with Predation?'
[System Message: Hell nah lil bro, your mouths can't eat rocks.]
'Your making it gay'
[No you are)
Vergil's smirk instantly faltered. 'Goddammit. And stop calling me that—I'm not your little bro.'
[System: You don't have to admit it. We both know.]
He was about to mutter something when another request caught his eye—closer than the ruins. Only an hour's walk away.
Orcs. A group sighted not far from the town, harassing supply wagons and livestock.
Vergil's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. 'Orcs, huh? High strength, tough bodies… they might not be top-tier here, but they'll do. Perfect for pushing my physical stats.'
"I'll take the request involving the orcs," he said, voice calm, slipping the paper forward.
Elina looked up, visibly unsurprised. "I knew you'd pick something like that." She rubbed her temples, exhaling. "Of course, you'd choose the most dangerous one on the list."
Her tone was mildly exasperated, but there was something else behind her violet eyes. A flicker of concern, faint but there.
"Elina," Vergil said simply, tilting his head slightly. "You know I'll be fine."
She ignored that. "Orcs are at the top of E-rank. A small group isn't too bad, but if there's a chieftain or—heaven forbid—a king, the mission easily becomes D-rank. This could be classified as a promotion request."
"Even better," he said without missing a beat, that cold confidence threading his words. "So give it to me."
Elina folded her arms. "You should take a team for this, even if it's you. I know you're strong, but arrogance is how adventurers end up dead."
"I'll go solo," Vergil replied flatly. His voice was still soft, but there was steel beneath it—unshakable resolve.
Elina studied him in silence, her expression unreadable. Her lips pressed into a faint line, then she slid the paper toward him.
[System: You're really gonna solo this? You're insane.]
'If I go with a team, I might accidentally kill someone if they have a good skill...'
[System: …Okay, yeah, fair.]
'And I'd have to split the loot.'
[System: Now that's the kind of logic I can respect.]
Vergil took the request and folded it neatly, slipping it into his coat.
Elina finally spoke again, her voice quieter this time.
"…Just don't die out there."
Vergil gave a slight smirk—rare, genuine. "I'll try not to."
And with that, he turned and walked toward the exit, sunlight pouring through the tall guild windows, a new hunt on the horizon.
Sure, here's the edited version with Vergil acknowledging that his Verdant Regeneration Core will come in handy for his plan:
---
It was a quiet walk to the destination.
…Why am I lying? It wasn't.
> [Hey. You gonna keep ignoring me, lil bro?]
"La-la-la-la," Vergil muttered aloud, deliberately humming like a child, hands tucked behind his head as he strolled down the uneven trail.
[Hello? Seriously?]
"La-la-la-la," he repeated louder, kicking a small rock into the underbrush without missing a beat.
[You know, you're walking into a camp full of club-wielding psychos. This is the part where most people start getting more focused, not dumber.]
"I am focused," Vergil replied, tone flat. "Focused on getting beat up."
[…Come again?]
"I need Resilient Body to reach full E-rank. It's sitting at 95%.I need real damage now."
[So you're gonna take damage on purpose?]
"Controlled damage," Vergil clarified, adjusting the straps on his coat. "Non-lethal. No vital points. Just enough to force my body to adapt."
He cracked his neck and took a long breath through his nose, then exhaled slowly. "The regeneration skill will come in handy."
[Oh yeah, I'm sure the glowing vines will really help when they turn you into soup.]
"They're orcs, not siege engines. And besides—Verdant Regeneration Core is already strong enough to patch most wounds mid-combat. I'll be fine as long as my stamina is their."
The dirt path curved into a shallow gorge flanked by half-buried ruins. Cracked stone pillars rose like jagged teeth from the ground, and moss clung to toppled walls. Debris from a caravan—splintered crates, broken wheels, and bloodied cloth—marked the area with grim silence.
Vergil stopped briefly, eyes narrowing.
[Aha, its a marking]
'No shit then'
"But anways thats good. The more of them, the better. More swings, more pain, more progress."
[Of... course]
He flexed his fingers, checking his grip on the sword at his hip, and stepped forward into the crumbling stone valley. Shadows moved between the ruins. The low grunt of something heavy echoed through the gorge. Then a growl. Then laughter.
Vergil tilted his head side to side, bones cracking.
"Let's level up the hard way."
---
Vergil knelt behind a crumbled stone wall, his eyes locked on the ruined outpost ahead. The orcs were scattered about, brutish and loud, unaware of the shadow watching them from the treeline.
He studied their movements and presence carefully, mentally cataloguing each one like pieces on a game board.
"Four of them thats quite annyoying" Vergil whispered to himself, calm and analytical.
1. Orc Brute (Tank)
Name: Unnamed Orc Brute
Level: 19
Title: Towerhide
Lifespan: ~60 Years
Spouses: None
Race: Orc
Class: Juggernaut
Strength: 43
Constitution: 48
Dexterity: 20
Intuition- 10
Magic Power: 0
Mana Capacity: 0
Equipment:
Iron chestplate strapped with leather cords
Massive steel club
Cracked iron greaves
Passive Skills:
Endurance Core (D-)
Stagger Resistance (E+)
Active Skills:
Crushing Blow (E+)
Body Slam (E)
2. Orc Berserker (DPS)
Name: Unnamed Orc Berserker
Level: 18
Title: Bloodfang
Lifespan: ~55 Years
Spouses: None
Race: Orc
Class: Berserker
Strength: 45
Constitution: 35
Dexterity: 30
Intuition-15
Magic Power: 0
Mana Capacity: 0
Equipment:
Twin iron hatchets
Spiked leather pauldron
Blood-stained cloak
Passive Skills:
Bloodlust (E+)
Rage Flow (E)
Active Skills:
Hatchet Tornado (E+)
Blood Frenzy (D-)
Special Constitution: None
---
3. Orc Brawler (Close-Range DPS)
Name: Unnamed Orc Brawler
Level: 17
Title: Bonefist
Lifespan: ~58 Years
Spouses: None
Race: Orc
Class: Brawler
Strength: 39
Constitution: 33
Dexterity: 41
Intuition-20
Magic Power: 0
Mana Capacity: 0
Equipment:
Bone gauntlets
Leather wraps
Hide vest
Arts
Goran-Thunn fighting style
Passive Skills:
Combat Instinct (E+)
Muscle Tension Control (E)
Active Skills:
Bone-Cracker (E+)
Pummel Flurry (E+)
Vaulting Strike (D-)
---
4. Orc Shaman (Support Caster)
Name: Unnamed Orc Shaman
Level: 20
Title: Spiritcaller
Lifespan: ~70 Years
Spouses: None
Race: Orc
Class: Mystic
Strength: 15
Constitution: 28
Dexterity: 18
Intuition- 7
Magic Power: 42
Mana Capacity: 50
Equipment:
Gnarled bone staff
Totem necklace
Shamanic cloth robes
Passive Skills:
Mana Sense (E+)
Active Skills:
Healing Surge (D)
Spirit Shackles (D-)
Bloodfire Blessing (E+)
Special Constitution:
Totemic Core – While alive, all nearby allies gain +10% Strength and Constitution.
---
Vergil shifted the weight of the sword at his hip, brushing his coat aside as he straightened.
"Take out the shaman first. His buffs will make the rest harder to kill. Berserker's fast but predictable. Brute's sturdy and will act . Brawler's speed will be a problem if I let him get close unchecked."
"But want to leave the Brawler alive, so I can become his punching bag"
He exhaled slowly, a faint smirk touching his lips.
"This regeneration core's going to come in handy."
'System, make sure to constantly tell me the profiency of my skills from now on'
[Got it]
He gripped the hilt of his sword and stepped forward without hesitation, already planning how to get hit—just enough to push Resilient Body to the next rank.
Vergil stepped out from behind the rubble, the quiet rustle of his coat the only sound before silence fell around him.
"Time to hunt," he muttered, flexing his fingers as mana surged through his body.
A faint ripple of energy pulsed outward as he activated his first skill.
[Mana Affinity: Body Reinforcement – Active]
His muscles tensed, then expanded subtly beneath his skin. His Strength and Constitution each increased by 2 points, and a slight pressure pulsed around him like a tightened coil.
Without delay, he layered it with another ability.
[Shadow Dash – Active]
A cool shadow laced across his feet. His Dexterity spiked by 4, and each step he took became unnaturally quiet, as if the wind itself refused to betray him.
Vergil drew his sword halfway from its sheath—and then paused.
"I haven't used this skill I got from the bandit," he said, almost amused.
He pressed two fingers to the flat of his blade.
[Venom Edge – Active]
A sickly green shimmer spread along the metal, coating it in a thin sheen of paralysis poison. It wasn't strong enough to drop an orc instantly—but it would make their movements sluggish if they were cut.
Vergil's violet eyes narrowed, watching the shaman moving lazily behind the others.
"One cut," he whispered, "and you're done."
Every muscle coiled, perfectly in sync with his sharpened senses. The four orcs were still unaware of the silent predator among them.
And then—Vergil vanished into the shadows.
---
The moment was precise.
In one fluid motion, Vergil vanished, his enhanced Dexterity turning him into a blur. The orcs barely noticed until it was far too late.
The shaman's lips had just begun to shape another chant when Vergil appeared behind him, blade slashing clean and deep across his side. A hiss of green pulsed from the wound—paralysis poison already working.
The orc shaman stumbled, mouth open, struggling to cast.
Vergil didn't let him.
He grabbed the back of the orc's head, yanked it back, and sank his teeth into the thick green neck.
Ravenous Bite activated.
Flesh tore. Veins snapped. Blood spilled.
The shaman's eyes bulged wide as he tried to scream—but nothing came. Only gurgled air and twitching limbs as Vergil spat a chunk of throat-flesh onto the dirt.
"Now you're quiet," he muttered, wiping his mouth as the shaman slumped, convulsing in silence.
Vergil stood over the twitching corpse of the shaman, the coppery taste of blood still faint on his tongue.
The three remaining orcs stared at him, frozen in that brief, stunned second before fury could catch up.
He didn't give them time.
With a tilt of his head, a cold smirk on his bloodstained lips, he whispered just loud enough:
"Come on then... Entertain me."
It wasn't just a taunt—it was bait, laced with malice, designed to pull them into chaos.
A heavy beat pulsed in his chest.
[Skill Created: Taunt (F)]
[Taunt (F): Your bloodlust and provocation have manifested into a skill. Slightly increases the chance of drawing enemy aggro and disrupting enemy focus. Targets may experience temporary emotional agitation. Duration: 5 seconds. Cooldown: 30 seconds.]
Vergil blinked once as the message flashed—and then chuckled darkly.
"Heh... didn't expect that."
The orc berserker let out a roar of rage, charging forward like a maddened boar, veins bulging as the taunt dug deep into its pride. The brawler and mage followed seconds behind, their formation shattered.
Vergil's smirk deepened.
"Good boys."
Vergil's fingers brushed the hilt of his sword, slick with faint venom from Venom Edge, and drew it in one fluid, inverted arc.
His body shifted—legs spread, shoulders angled, blade held low at his side like a hybrid between an archer's post-release stance and a swordsman's guard.
Unorthodox. Imperfect. But his instincts guided it, honed from repetition, from muscle memory buried deep.
[Bow-Sword Mastery (F)]
[Proficiency increased: 52% → 58%]
'Needs more practise'
He could feel it tightening—his footwork steadier, grip more balanced. Still raw, still far from polished. But it flowed.
The orc berserker thundered toward him, axe raised high, primal rage in its eyes.
Vergil didn't flinch.
Instead, he leaned in—one foot pivoting sharply as he twisted into the orc's charge, blade whispering through the air—
The berserker came in fast, earth trembling beneath its weight as it roared and brought the greataxe crashing down.
Vergil narrowed his eyes—Mana Affinity still surging through his limbs, muscles tense.
He waited. A single heartbeat.
Then—
[Quick Parry (F)]
Steel met steel with a violent clang, the shockwave rattling Vergil's arm down to the bone. He'd caught the edge just enough to redirect it—but not without cost.
The axe clipped his left shoulder, tearing into muscle and spraying blood.
[Tough body(F+)] – Proficiency increased: 95% →97 %
[Resilent body(E)]- Proficiency increased
20%→21%
[Verdant Regeneration Core (C-)] activated
A hiss escaped his teeth, not in pain—but in exhilaration. Already, faint green veins began to glow along his arm, the wound starting to close, vines briefly blooming before fading.
"Heh… worth it," Vergil muttered under his breath, twisting his wrist as the blade sang back toward the orc's exposed flank.
---
The berserker staggered slightly from the parry, its posture wide open.
Vergil stepped in, swift and brutal.
[Slash (F)]
His sword arced low, slicing across the orc's thigh—blackish blood splattering the ground as the poison laced into the wound.
[Venom Edge] – Paralysis effect applied (weak)
The orc grunted, its stance faltering.
"Let's make it worse."
[Thrust (F)]
Vergil twisted his hips and drove the blade forward into the berserker's abdomen, piercing just under the ribs. The blade slid in with vicious precision, and Vergil yanked it free just as quickly.
The paralysis began taking hold—the berserker's grip weakening, its leg trembling as it tried to lift the greataxe again, only to stumble.
[Venom Edge] – Paralysis spreading
Vergil took a step back, breathing steady, crimson dripping from his blade. "Not so tough when your muscles don't move, huh?"
[Bow-Sword Mastery (F+)] – Proficiency increased: 67% → 72%
The berserker didn't fall easily.
Even with the poison crawling through its veins, it roared and swung its greataxe again, forcing Vergil to duck low and sidestep to the right. The wind from the swing howled past his ear.
"Persistent bastard," Vergil muttered, sliding into position.
[Slash (F)]
He lashed out with a swift horizontal strike across the orc's chest—just shallow enough to provoke, but deep enough for the poison to take root. The orc staggered but kept moving, snarling through tusked teeth.
[Thrust (F)]
Vergil lunged with a sharp stab toward its side, but the orc twisted, taking it in the shoulder instead of the ribs. Blackish blood sprayed as the toxin sank deeper.
[Venom Edge] – Paralysis effect applied (weak)
Target's movement slightly impaired
Still, the berserker came crashing down with another overhead strike. Vergil rolled aside, his boots skidding through the dirt. He cursed under his breath.
"Damn thing's built like a boulder."
It lunged again, slower this time—but still fast enough. Vergil raised his blade and caught the blow clumsily with the flat side.
[Quick Parry (F)]
The force rattled his bones. His shoulder throbbed as the greataxe scraped down his sword and clipped his side, drawing blood.
[Resilient Body (E)] – Proficiency increased: 21% → 25%
[Tough body
Vergil gritted his teeth and pivoted again, keeping his distance.
The berserker's leg finally buckled. It dropped to one knee, breathing hard, lips twitching from the growing paralysis.
Vergil stepped in once more.
[Slash (F)] – Proficiency increased: 35% → 40%
[Thrust (F)] – Proficiency increased: 27% → 35%
[Bow-Sword Mastery (F+)] – Proficiency increased: 72% → 75%
His blade flashed twice—cutting the hamstring, then driving through the berserker's collarbone.
The orc let out one last breath and collapsed face-first into the dirt.
Vergil stood over it, blood running down his side, panting.
"That took longer than expected."
Vergil exhaled through clenched teeth, blood dripping steadily from the gash along his side. But he didn't reach for a potion.
[Verdant Regeneration Core (C-)] – Passive Regeneration Activated
Green veins pulsed faintly along his skin as the edges of the wound began stitching themselves together. A soft, almost invisible shimmer of leaf-like energy glowed for a moment before fading.
Just as he caught his breath, the orc brawler lunged forward with thunderous steps, fists clenched like boulders.
Vergil's eyes didn't flinch.
"No," he said, voice calm, cold. "It's not your turn yet."
Before the brawler could reach him—
[Shadow Dash (F+)]
Vergil vanished into a flicker of dark momentum, his form blurring as he zipped to the side—straight toward the brute still recovering from the initial taunt. The sound of his steps was erased by the silent veil of the dash.
The brute barely turned in time to see Vergil reappear, blade raised.
"Let's see if you can handle this," Vergil muttered, eyes narrowing as he prepared to strike.
The brute stumbled, his breathing ragged, wounds layering his thick hide. Every slash Vergil had dealt was precise—deliberate. He wasn't just attacking; he was dismantling him piece by piece.
The orc let out a guttural roar, swinging one final, heavy blow, trying to crush Vergil like a fly.
Vergil narrowed his eyes.
"I gave you enough chances."
With a pivot of his heel and a breath drawn through clenched teeth, he stepped inward—past the arc of the blow—and drove his sword deep into the brute's side, right between the ribs.
[Skill: Thrust – Proficiency increased to 45%]
The brute's eyes widened, but Vergil wasn't done. Twisting the blade, he brought his foot up and kicked the orc's knee in, forcing the towering creature down to one leg.
"Should've protected your team better."
One final, clean slash across the neck ended it. The brute gurgled as blood poured from his throat, and his hulking frame collapsed like a toppled pillar.
[Slash – Proficiency increased to 36%]
[Bow-Sword Mastery – Proficiency increased to 75%]
Vergil yanked his blade free with a flick, blood spraying to the side.
He turned, eyes already on the brawler.
"Now then… it's your turn."
The brawler cracked his knuckles, face twisting with fury as he stepped forward.
Vergil exhaled slowly, his breath misting in the cool air as he lowered his stance.
He drove his sword into the ground beside him, letting it stand upright like a grave marker.
Then, without hesitation, he extended his hand toward the fallen brute.
"Authority of Predation."
From behind him, the shadows twisted violently, contorting and peeling open. Jagged black mouths burst forth from the ground like a plague of writhing leeches, slavering with hunger. They surged onto the corpse, tearing into it with a frenzy that was both brutal and eerily methodical.
Flesh was stripped away. Organs devoured. Blood drank.
When the madness faded, only the orc's cracked armor and bleached skeleton remained, scattered in a mess of bone and warped steel.
And at the center of it—gleaming faintly—was a solitary crystal.
Vergil stepped forward, retrieving it with a quiet breath. A wave of raw energy surged into him, dense and heavy.
[User has gained 5 Strength and 6Constitution points ]
[Skills Acquired: bodySlam (E), crushing blow (E-), Brutal Guard (E), Endurance Core (D-) and stagger resistance (E+)
His muscles tensed, his arms feeling heavier, as if filled with molten metal. The brute's power hadn't just been copied—it had become part of him.
He glanced down at his hands.
"...I've never fought with just these before." His knuckles clenched tightly. "But maybe it's time I try."
The last orc—the brawler—was already stomping forward, rage flaring in his eyes.
Vergil slowly raised his fists. His stance awful, horrendous even, he was a mockery.
"Let's make this interesting."
His voice dropped, sharp and mocking:
"Where were you when I killed your shaman?"
"When your berserker screamed like a pig?"
"And the brute—he didn't even last a second round."
A crooked grin spread across his face.
"You're the sub dealer, aren't you?"
"Then tell me—where the hell were you when I tore your team apart?"
[Taunt (F)-Proficiency has increased to 10%]
A pulse of oppressive energy rolled from Vergil—an invitation. No, a command.
The orc brawler bellowed in rage, charging forward with wild fury.
Vergil's grin widened.
"Come on then. Let's see what these hands can really do."
"Ready for round two?"
Vergil lunged forward, fists clenched, body coiled with raw power. His stats were higher, his strength undeniable—but the moment he threw his first punch, he realized something.
He had no damn clue what he was doing.
His fist swung wide—too wide. The orc barely had to move to avoid it. His follow-up jab was even worse, his footing all wrong, his weight unbalanced. Instead of delivering a clean strike, he almost toppled forward.
The brawler, seeing his awkward movements, sneered.
WHAM!
A heavy fist crashed into Vergil's ribs, sending a shockwave of pain through his body.
He gritted his teeth, staggering back. "Tch... that actually hurt."
The orc wasn't about to let up. Another fist came hurtling toward him. Vergil barely got his arms up to block, but even then, the sheer force sent him sliding back, his bones rattling from the impact.
[Resilient Body (E): 25% → 27%]
[Tough body (F+): 97% → 98%]
Vergil tried again. A straight punch. A hook. Even a clumsy uppercut. Each attack was met with a dodge or a counter.
BAM!
A blow struck his shoulder.
CRACK!
Another slammed into his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs.
The orc was a brawler—this was his domain. His movements were fluid, practiced, brutal. He could read every single one of Vergil's attacks before they even fully formed.
Vergil's body was strong, but his skill was nonexistent. It was like watching a beast trying to mimic a martial artist.
Another hit crashed into his jaw, snapping his head to the side. His vision flickered.
[Tough Body (F+) → Tough Body (E-)]
[Resilient Body (E): 27% → 30%]
Vergil stumbled, wiping blood from his mouth. He exhaled, muscles burning, body aching.
The orc grinned, rolling his shoulders as if to say, Is that all?
Vergil breathed heavily, feeling the energy surging through him, the slight shift in his body. His endurance was adapting. His toughness was evolving.
He cracked his neck, licking the blood off his lips.
"Man…" He muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Fists suck, but I'll need to get used to them. So I better do it now"
The brawler roared and charged again.
Vergil grinned, despite the pain, his regeneration ability kicked in.
"But let's see how much I can take before I get the hang of it."
The fight was far from over.
For the next hour, it was hell—a brutal, grinding struggle that blurred the line between training and punishment.
The orc brawler didn't let up, and Vergil didn't ask him to.
Fists met flesh, bone cracked against hardened muscle, and the forest echoed with the heavy sounds of impact, grunts, and flesh being slammed into the earth. Over and over again, Vergil was thrown, knocked down, kicked, struck, and hurled like a ragdoll—but every time, he got up.
Not because he was a genius. He wasn't.
Vergil's body was strong, his regeneration reliable, but his technique was trash—raw, sloppy, unrefined. Each punch he threw had no finesse, no flow. His footwork was clumsy, his stances inconsistent. He didn't pivot right. He dropped his guard too often. He overcommitted with every strike.
The orc capitalized on every single mistake with brutal efficiency.
[Resilient Body (E)Proficiency: 28% → 35%]
[Tough Body (E-) Proficiency: 8% → 19%]
His body bruised and battered, bones fractured only to heal again, skin coated in dried and fresh blood. The Verdant Regeneration Core worked constantly, veins glowing faintly green, vines briefly spiraling over reopened wounds—his stamina still holding, but he could feel the slow pull, the steady drain like a ticking clock under his ribs.
Still, Vergil didn't stop. He couldn't. He didn't want to.
"I'm not a prodigy," he muttered under his breath, ducking a blow and taking another to the ribs.
"Not a genius… not gifted..."
"Do you not want to win?" a voice echoed, he couldnt remember who it was but is sounded familiar until it spoke once more
He spat blood and stumbled back, using a tree to hold himself upright.
The orc charged again, unrelenting.
And Vergil grinned, eyes gleaming with stubborn, psychotic joy.
"So ill learn from you, so keep trying to break me."
He raised his fists again—wobbly, bruised, and bloody.
"One punch at a time."
The dance of fists continued, chaotic and cruel.
And slowly—so slowly—Vergil's movements began to shift. Not perfect. Not graceful. But something was clicking. Something was forming.
Through the pain, he carved progress.
The next clash was brutal.
The orc brawler's fist crashed into Vergil's jaw, sending him staggering to the side, his feet barely catching him. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, and his right eye was starting to swell shut.
But something changed.
As the brawler lunged again, Vergil didn't just react—he moved.
His body tilted just enough. His heel twisted inward. His shoulder sank instead of bracing.
The blow grazed past him.
Vergil's left arm lashed out—not a wild swing, not brute force, but a redirected counter. He twisted his torso, letting the orc's weight slide past, then drove a hammering elbow into the brawler's exposed ribs.
Crack.
The orc grunted and staggered back.
Vergil blinked, stunned. His body felt… lighter. Sharper. Focused.
And then the system whispered into his ear.
---
[You have created a new Martial Art.]
Art: The Lowest Form, The Highest Peak
[F Growth]
A practical, instinct-driven form of unarmed combat born not from talent, but from survival. Rooted in pure adaptability, this martial path focuses on reading the enemy's rhythm, sensing momentum shifts, and striking at their most vulnerable angles. There are no formal stances, no refined movements—only raw motion honed through countless beatings, failures, and repetition.
This art was not created by a prodigy, but by one who had nothing. Its foundation lies in mimicry—learning by enduring, copying the opponent's style mid-battle, and turning their strengths against them. It is the lowest form, mocked and discarded by orthodox schools… yet with each battle, it evolves. And through relentless adaptation, it climbs—step by step—until it reaches the highest peak of martial mastery.
Proficiency: 1%
---
Vergil slowly straightened up, sweat glistening on his skin, bruises covering his body.
His lips curved into a slow, bloody grin.
"Finally..." he muttered. "Now we're speaking the same language."
The orc brawler roared and charged again, furious.
And this time, Vergil didn't just brace for the hit—he stepped in.
Their fists met mid-air.
The real fight was just beginning.
Vergil's foot slid back, shoulder lowered, arms raised—but this time, there was intention behind every movement.
No longer flailing, no longer trying to mimic the brawler's brutal swings—his stance now had a grounded core. His knees bent just enough to spring, his hips angled to rotate power through his strikes, his hands open slightly, ready to grab, redirect, or strike. It was still rough, still raw—but there was clarity. Purpose.
He could feel the weight shift through his legs, the momentum stored in his spine. Not perfect, not polished—but real.
The brawler charged again, snarling with animal fury, but Vergil met him head-on, pivoting around the punch, his fist slamming into the orc's ribs again.
Crack.
"You're slower when you're mad," Vergil muttered under his breath, his violet eyes flickering with a manic glint.
Another fist grazed his cheek. Another blow pounded into his side. He staggered, spit blood—but he didn't stop smiling.
He wiped his lip with the back of his hand. "You hit like a mountain. But now… I'm learning how to climb."
He bounced slightly on his feet, stance low and coiled.
This was different.
Every blow he took now taught him something—about balance, spacing, momentum. About pain and reaction. His hands moved smoother. His torso twisted with the strikes instead of absorbing them head-on. His eyes followed the orc's shoulders, not its fists.
Vergil chuckled to himself as the two circled each other again.
"I've never liked using my fists" he chuckled
Boom. A brutal hook grazed his ribs, but he rolled with it.
"But this…" He grinned wide, his teeth bloodied. "This is fun."
"To think, this is what i love!"
For the first time, Vergil wasn't just fighting
The boy was enjoying himself for the first time in life