The cursed winds howled through the skeletal trees of the wasteland as Andrew moved deeper into the forsaken zone. Now armed with the knowledge of his SS+ class and his first affinity, he walked with both purpose and caution. Every step he took on the ashen ground could be a trap—or worse, a beast's lair.
He had begun to sense them.
Spirits. Presences lingering at the edges of his vision. Some watched silently. Others whispered as he passed. These were not ghosts in the traditional sense, but echoes—shadows of souls who, like him, had been cast out by the priestess and left to rot in this forgotten place.
One of them approached him.
A figure stumbled from the edge of a broken tree, her body bruised and torn. She couldn't have been older than eighteen, her robes shredded, her eyes vacant. Her name hovered above her head in faint ethereal script:
**[Elira – Class: Healer (D-Rank) – Deceased]**
Andrew stepped closer. Her body flickered, like a glitch in reality, yet the spectral energy she emanated pulsed with desperation.
"You too…" she whispered, "thrown away…"
Before he could speak, her body dissolved into motes of blue light and surged into Andrew's chest. He gasped. Another notification appeared:
**[Skill Acquired: Minor Heal (Passive Regeneration +5%)]**
"Even in death… they can still be part of something," Andrew murmured. "I'll carry them forward."
A sudden scream snapped his focus. From the trees emerged two twisted beasts—grotesque, half-wolf, half-shadow creatures with glowing red eyes. Their limbs were distorted, spiked and muscular, clearly evolved to rip and tear.
Andrew sprang back.
He opened his status screen and activated the copied protection from the old mage. A faint blue shimmer appeared on his skin—**Mage's Last Will**. The beasts charged.
He dove to the side, rolled behind a crumbled altar, and activated his new strategic view—he could now analyze enemy movements in pulses of time, like reading probability.
The beasts split. One flanked, the other charged.
Andrew picked up a jagged piece of obsidian. As the first lunged, he ducked low and stabbed upward through its throat. It shrieked and collapsed in black mist.
The second tackled him.
He slammed into a stone column and nearly passed out. The beast roared inches from his face.
"Activate: Arcane Flame."
A burst of fire erupted from his palm, engulfing the creature's head in blue flame. It screeched and flailed, running blindly until it crashed into a tree and turned to smoke.
Andrew slumped to the ground, panting. "I need… better weapons."
He wasn't given long to rest. A whistle echoed from the distance.
Bandits.
A group of five appeared from a ridge, weapons drawn, armor rusted but functional.
"Well, well," the leader sneered. "A fresh one. Didn't expect to see any live ones walking around here."
Andrew stood, hiding his exhaustion. "You'll regret coming here."
"We regret nothing," said another. "Just your gold and that fancy glow you've got."
They charged.
Andrew dodged the first blade, parried with his obsidian shard, then activated a new power he hadn't tested yet—**Tactical Echo**.
The battlefield slowed in his mind. He saw paths, predictions, weaknesses. He weaved between strikes, grabbed one attacker's wrist, and flipped him into another.
Then he channeled **Arcane Flame** through the ground—setting a trap. The moment the bandits crossed the line, fire exploded upward.
Only two remained.
The leader swung a broadsword. Andrew blocked with his arm—**Mage's Last Will** activated again, shattering the blade upon contact.
He struck the man in the throat.
One left.
She tried to run.
Andrew threw the obsidian like a dagger—piercing her shoulder. She screamed and fell.
Panting, he walked toward her. Her name hovered: **[Lia – Class: Rogue – Alive]**
"Please," she begged, "don't kill me…"
"I won't," Andrew said coldly. "But I will take what I need."
He placed a hand on her arm. A pulse of light surged through them.
**[Skill Copied: Shadow Step – Temporary Dash + Cloak (10 sec)]**
He turned and left her alive, crying and confused.
By nightfall, Andrew reached a ruined camp. The campfire was long dead, but a few tattered journals remained. He pieced together names—others who had been sent here. Others like him. Some had gone mad. Some died fighting. Some… had just faded.
He wasn't going to fade.
Sitting by the cold pit, he stared up at the two moons. His hands trembled not with fear, but with anticipation.
He had new tools. New power. A new goal.
But most of all, he had resolve.
"I'll find you," he whispered to the priestess's memory. "And I'll show you what your discarded tool has become."
The night deepened. Monsters howled in the distance.
And Andrew smiled.