The sun was just beginning to rise over Ashhaven, casting long golden shadows across the city's jagged skyline. Victor adjusted the straps of his worn school bag and glanced at the time on his basic wristband—a stark contrast to the sleek, custom models favored by the elite students at the Academy. He quickened his pace, weaving through bustling morning crowds, his mind already preoccupied with the challenges that awaited him.
Victor sighed as he approached the towering gates of the Ashhaven Academy. The imposing building loomed like a fortress, its stone walls etched with ancient carvings of portals and Evolvers locked in combat. Here, the city's best and brightest trained to master the arts of battle and exploration, preparing to confront the dangers of the Forsaken World.
For Victor, it was both a privilege and a curse. The elite class he had earned a place in was more about pedigree than skill. Nearly every other student came from a wealthy or noble family, their stats bolstered by expensive gear, training, and even items to enhance stats. Victor, on the other hand, had clawed his way into the program through sheer determination and the occasional stroke of luck.
Inside, the classroom was a mix of luxury and cutting-edge technology. Rows of desks embedded with interactive holograms lined the room, and a large screen displayed the names and stats of each student. Victor's name sat at the bottom of the list, his numbers embarrassingly low compared to his peers.
Victor stared at the screen of his watch, the faint blue glow illuminating the room as he reviewed his stats for the hundredth time:
Strength: 0.8 (Strength is a measure of raw physical power, determining how much weight a person could lift, how hard they could strike, and the overall force they could exert. )
Reflex: 0.95 (Reflex encompasses both movement speed and reaction time. It measured how quickly one could dodge, maneuver, or respond to threats in combat.)
Vitality: 0.7 (The measure of endurance and resilience. It determined how much punishment a body could endure and how quickly it could recover.)
Soul Power: Unavailable (Cannot be measured by watch, besides the use of soul power hasn't been found till now by evolvers or it hasn't been revealed to the masses. By most people soul power is though to influence learning speed and your ability to respond to different situations.)
To the untrained eye, these numbers might seem unremarkable, even low, but for someone of Victor's background—a commoner from the lower districts—they were nothing short of extraordinary. Each stat was a reflection of his physical and mental capabilities, carefully calibrated and displayed by the small, advanced device on his wrist.
The stats weren't just numbers; they defined an individual's potential in the Forsaken World and beyond.
Victor's progress was remarkable, but in the elite class, it wasn't enough. He might have outpaced many of his fellow commoners, but among the rich students, he was still seen as an underdog. To them, someone like Victor with stats below the 1.0 threshold wasn't a threat; he was an anomaly at best, a curiosity at worst.
But Victor saw it differently.
Breaking the 1.0 mark wasn't just a milestone for him—it was his mission. He knew that crossing that threshold would be more than a personal triumph; it would be a statement. A message to the rich kids that someone from a humble background could achieve greatness without privilege or wealth.
He focused especially on Reflex. At 0.95, he was tantalizingly close to the elusive 1.0. If he could push just a little further, his agility would grant him a decisive edge in combat. He imagined the look on their faces when they realized the "commoner" they dismissed could move faster than their eyes could track.
Strength and Vitality, though harder to train, weren't neglected either. While Reflex might make him untouchable, he knew the importance of a well-rounded foundation. A glass cannon wouldn't last long, especially in the Forsaken World.
For Victor, the challenge wasn't just physical—it was psychological. He didn't have the luxury of advanced training regimens or high-tech enhancements. Every point he gained came at the cost of blood, sweat, and time.
And yet, he welcomed the difficulty.
Where others relied on their wealth and connections, Victor relied on himself. Every morning run, every late-night sparring session, every coin spent on gear—it all fed into his unshakable resolve. The 1.0 mark wasn't just a barrier; it was a beacon, calling him forward.
He clenched his fist, the watch's faint glow reflecting in his determined eyes. One day, he would break through, and when he did, it wouldn't just be for himself. It would be a victory for everyone who'd ever been told they weren't enough.
The elites might have their wealth, their enhancements, and their head starts. But Victor had something they couldn't buy: the will to prove them wrong.
The watch on his wrist gave a soft beep, syncing his stats to the Academy's system. He winced as he noticed the smirks on a few nearby faces.
"Still scraping the bottom, huh, Victor?" drawled Gareth, a broad-shouldered boy with the kind of stats that could intimidate most adults. His Strength and vitality alone has surpassed the 1.0 mark, bolstered by combat techniques passed down through generations of his noble family. He was the one who person who would be in the front of an evolver team protecting its members from attacks of creatures,"Maybe you should stick to fetching food and water for the real fighters."
Laughter rippled through the room. Victor forced himself to stay calm, his fists clenched under the desk. "I'd rather be underestimated than overcompensating," he shot back, keeping his voice even.
The room quieted as their instructor entered—a towering man with scars that spoke of countless battles. "Alright, settle down," he barked, his deep voice cutting through the tension. "Today, we're reviewing combat techniques. For those of you fortunate enough to have family techniques, consider yourself lucky. For the rest, focus on the basics. Talent can be taught; discipline must be earned by effort."
Victor felt the weight of those words. Discipline was the one thing he could rely on. While the privileged brats practiced advanced maneuvers with their polished swords and reinforced gauntlets, he'd spent countless nights perfecting his footwork and hand-to-hand combat. It wasn't flashy, but it was enough to hold his own—barely.
During a break, Victor sat alone near the edge of the training grounds, watching his classmates spar. Their movements were precise, enhanced by techniques and gear he could only dream of affording. Even their stats told a story of privilege: Strengths reaching the 1.0 mark, speeds nearing 1.1, and vitality that made his 0.7-digit score laughable.
His watch buzzed as a notification appeared:
Class Average Stats Update
Strength: 0.95
Reflex: 0.9
Vitality: 0.95
Soul Power: unknown
Victor stared at the numbers, feeling a familiar pang of frustration. The gap wasn't just in numbers; it was in opportunity. He'd heard stories of rich kids using advanced training modules, stat-enhancing potions, and rare artifacts to push their numbers even higher. Meanwhile, he had to rely on his own determination and hard work.
The sound of laughter drew his attention. A group of noble kids had cornered a first-year student, their tone mocking. The boy's watch displayed stats even lower than Victor's—a Reflex of 0.6 and a Vitality of 0.7. He wasn't like Victor whose stats were nearly equal to those who practised combat techniques since childhood, he was just better than most people from common backgrounds.
"You call those stats?" sneered Gareth. "Maybe they should demote you to the commoners class."
Victor glanced at the scene, his expression impassive. It was the same story every day—rich kids flaunting their status and power, using their higher stats as a weapon against anyone they deemed unworthy. He knew better than to get involved. Drawing attention to himself, especially in situations like this, was a risk he couldn't afford.
The boy being mocked kept his head down, his face a mask of forced indifference. Victor's gaze lingered for a moment before he turned away, his focus shifting back to the watch on his wrist. He had his own problems to worry about, and standing up for someone else wouldn't change the way this world worked.
This wasn't his fight. It never had been.
_________
That same evening, Victor found himself wandering the bustling streets of the open Evolver market, a sprawling bazaar known for its array of gear, artifacts, and tools for aspiring and seasoned Evolvers alike. The air was thick with the scent of exotic spices, strange smells, and the chatter of merchants haggling with potential buyers created a feeling that matched the market's vibrant energy.
Stalls of varying sizes lined the streets, some with colorful banners advertising high-end equipment, others with dimly lit displays showcasing worn and outdated gear. Victor's eyes darted from one vendor to another, assessing their wares. He felt like an outsider in a world built for those with far more money than he could ever hope to possess.This was a world built for those with resources and connections—far beyond anything he could dream of affording currently.
To secure a stall here, vendors had to prove their worth as Evolvers and demonstrate ties to a recognized Evolver group, ensuring that whatever they sold held real value. For someone like Victor, even navigating this marketplace felt like intruding on a realm reserved for the powerful.
A stall caught his attention—a sleek display of daggers and swords, their blades gleaming under the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and Victor could tell that even the cheapest blade there was likely beyond his means. He moved past reluctantly, focusing instead on more modest displays.
Another merchant had a rack of beginner armor sets: chest plates, bracers, and leg guards, all made of reinforced leather with steel plating. Though practical, the gear was clearly designed for novices, the kind of equipment you'd only wear until you could afford something better.
As Victor passed yet another stall, a grizzled man behind the counter called out to him. "Looking for gear, kid? Something to keep you breathing out there?"
Victor paused, glancing at the man's inventory. It wasn't flashy, but it was functional. The weapons looked well-used but sturdy, and the armor seemed serviceable despite its worn appearance. "I'm looking for something reliable," Victor replied. "A weapon and some armor."
The merchant leaned back in his chair, studying Victor with a discerning eye. "Most of you young ones come here with big dreams and empty pockets. You got cash, items of similar value or are you hoping for credit?"
Victor pulled out a bundle of neatly folded bills, the remnants of his savings and the cash he'd earned from the Darrow Estate heist. The merchant's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Cash, huh? Not often I see that anymore." He chuckled, scratching his beard. "Most people these days swipe cards or trade artifacts. Cash is...refreshing. Alright, let's see what we can do."
Victor gestured toward the display. "I need a weapon first. Something light and versatile."
The merchant nodded, reaching under the counter and pulling out a small dagger. The blade was simple, its edge keen and slightly curved for precision. The handle was wrapped in worn leather, offering a firm grip. "This here's a solid choice. Good balance, sharp enough to cut through light armor, and small enough to hide if you need to. Forty-five thousand credits."
Victor took the dagger, testing its weight and grip. It felt natural in his hand, almost an extension of his arm. "What about armor?"
The merchant pointed to a rack of beginner sets. "This is the best I've got in your price range. Reinforced leather chest plate, bracers, and leg guards. Doesn't cover your head, but it'll protect your vitals. Twenty-five thousand."
Victor frowned, doing the math in his head. Buying both the dagger and the armor would leave him with only twenty thousand—a precariously low amount for someone with no steady income. But he couldn't afford to skimp on gear if he wanted to survive long enough to earn more.
"I'll take them," he said, pulling out the cash. Victor didn't dare to haggle with the merchant, as you never know they could be easily angered and kill him in a fit of anger.
The merchant's grin widened as Victor counted the bills. "You're not messing around, are you? Most folks your age don't carry this kind of money, let alone spend it all at once."
Victor shrugged, sliding the remaining bills back into his satchel. "Let's just say I'm investing in my future."
The merchant wrapped the dagger in cloth and handed over the armor piece by piece. "You're brave, I'll give you that. But bravery only gets you so far. Keep your head down, and don't bite off more than you can chew."
Victor nodded, gathering his purchases. The weight of the gear was a authentic reminder of how much he'd given up. Seventy thousand credits were gone, leaving him with just enough to scrape by on food and rent at the orphanage. But it wasn't regret he felt—it was determination.
He left the market, his mind buzzing with the possibilities his new gear could unlock. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he had taken a real step forward.
Later that night, Victor sat cross-legged on the floor of his small apartment, surrounded by his new gear. The dagger lay on the table in front of him, its blade catching the dim light of the room. Beside it, the armor rested in a neat pile, its surface scuffed but sturdy.
Victor picked up the dagger, turning it over in his hands. He tested its weight again, marveling at how perfectly it seemed to balance. It wasn't the kind of weapon that would win many duels or slay monsters with one slash, but it was enough for someone like him—someone who relied on speed, precision, and strategy over brute force.
Sliding the dagger into its sheath, he turned his attention to the armor. The chest plate felt heavy as he strapped it on, the leather stiff and unyielding against his movements. The bracers and leg guards were no better, their fit awkward and uncomfortable. But he couldn't afford to complain. This gear, as basic as it was, was the first real step toward his goal.
He stood in front of the cracked mirror on the wall, adjusting the straps and flexing his arms. The armor didn't look impressive, but it made him feel different—stronger, more prepared. He could almost see himself stepping into the Forsaken World, standing shoulder to shoulder with the Evolvers he admired from afar.
Victor sat back down, pulling out his watch. The device flickered to life, displaying his stats:
Strength: 0.8
Reflex: 0.95
Vitality: 0.7
Soul Power: unavailable
He frowned, knowing that the numbers wouldn't magically improve just because he had better gear. He needed to train harder, push himself further. Every point mattered, and every advantage he could gain would bring him closer to his goal.
His thoughts drifted to the rich kids at the Academy, their smirks and condescension a constant reminder of the gap between them. But Victor didn't feel anger—he felt resolve. They had everything handed to them, but he had something they didn't: hunger. A deep, unrelenting drive to prove himself.
He glanced at the small pile of cash he had left, enough to cover a few months of food and rent at the orphanage. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep him going till he reached the age to become an evolver. And that was all he needed. For those who dared to adventure in the Forsaken World, both dangers and opportunities would be found within arm's reach
As he lay back on his thin mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling, his mind raced with plans. He thought of the market, the Academy, and the Evolvers who stepped through the city's portal every day. The Forsaken World was waiting, and with it, untold dangers and treasures.
Victor tightened his grip on the dagger beside him, the fire in his chest burning brighter than ever.
One day, he thought, closing his eyes. One day, I'll stand among them. Not as a shadow, but as someone to be admired, as someone they'll have to respect.
The weight of his new gear and the emptiness of his wallet didn't feel like burdens—they felt like the foundation of something greater. Victor fell asleep, his dreams filled with the promise of a future he was determined to claim.
Unbeknownst to him, however, the Darrow family had already set a bounty on the thief who had stolen their precious necklace. To them, it wasn't just a piece of jewelry—it was an artifact, far more valuable than any amount of money could ever replace. They wouldn't stop until it was back in their hands.
But Victor, in the quiet of his sleep, had no idea that his actions had already started to set a much larger chain of events into action.