Joon-woo slipped through a narrow alley, the stench of monster blood and fear lingering in the city air. Behind him, distant screams and crashing metal told of battles unfolding without end. Each corner promised new threats. He pressed on, shoulders tense, determined to find the old park where healing herbs would soon sprout under twisted new rules. He needed those herbs or seeds—anything that could grant an edge. With a Rare Growth-Type Class, every advantage might unlock new paths of power.
He emerged onto a larger avenue, carefully peering around a gutted delivery truck. Cars were jammed in a crooked line, doors flung open. He saw no human corpses yet, just abandoned vehicles and scattered belongings. A strange hush fell here. The System's sudden arrival had shaken everyone; many hid indoors, praying monsters wouldn't sniff them out.
Movement on his left drew his eye—a hunched silhouette perched atop a lamppost, its outline wrong for any bird. He slowed, heart thudding. The creature was small and bony, with membranous wings and a twisted beak. An imp variant, perhaps. It tilted its head, orange eyes gleaming down at him. He gripped his sword, silently cursing. He'd hoped to avoid unnecessary fights, but if it attacked, he'd make quick work of it.
The imp-creature shrieked, then dove, wings rattling. He stepped back, lifting the Lesser Blade of Dawn. Its hissing dive aimed for his face. He waited until it almost touched him, then jerked aside with a pivot, swinging upward in a clean arc. Quick Slash flared through his arm, making the blade sing. The imp's momentum was its downfall—he felt the steel bite through thin chest and bone, and the creature dropped, dead before it hit the pavement.
He exhaled slowly, flicking imaginary gore off the blade. One more kill. Would these minor skirmishes matter? They kept him sharp, at least. He knelt by the dead imp, noting its crude claws and ragged wings. No drops appeared. The System might not grant loot this early or for such weak foes. Rising, he continued toward the park, only a few blocks away.
Around the next corner, he found signs of struggle: a toppled street vendor's cart, smashed fruit and broken wooden planks. Blood—human and monster—spattered the ground. Two figures crouched over a dead goblin, panting. Both looked young, barely out of their teens. They wore normal clothes but clutched improvised weapons—one had a rusty pipe, the other a kitchen cleaver. They glanced up, startled to see him.
Joon-woo raised a hand slowly, non-threatening. He noted they both wore wide, frightened eyes. Probably just awakened and had no idea how to fight well.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
They nodded stiffly, words failing them. The one with the cleaver managed, "Monsters came out of nowhere. We—" She gulped. "We got one. Barely."
He nodded, sympathetic but focused. "If you have a Class now, check your Skills. Stay together, find shelter. There's likely more monsters ahead."
They thanked him with trembling voices. He could linger, teach them a trick or two, but time pressed. He offered them a short demonstration instead—just a basic stance shift. "Hold your weapon stable. Brace with your lead foot." He showed a brief posture, a single fluid motion. "Don't panic, strike when they commit."
They watched, absorbing his calm poise. He turned and left, their whispered gratitude following him. It cost him moments, but maybe having more survivors around later would serve some purpose. Allies or at least non-hostile faces might help.
Three blocks on, he reached the park entrance—a wrought-iron gate partially bent. Inside, overgrown shrubs rustled, and the sound of trickling water from a central fountain persisted despite the chaos. Before the apocalypse, this park was ordinary. After, the soil near an old statue in the east corner supposedly sprouted rare herbs with mild healing properties. He knew these herbs would be contested soon. Better to claim them first.
He stepped inside, sword raised. The park felt eerie: benches overturned, a bicycle abandoned mid-path. A small Rift shimmered by a flowerbed. No monsters visible immediately, but he learned to be cautious. Monsters often lurked behind foliage now.
As he inched forward, he noticed footprints—cloven tracks in the dirt. Something with hooves had passed through. He followed the trail, hugging close to a hedge line. The statue he wanted stood near the rear of the park, a stone figure of a robed scholar holding an old tome. That's where the herbs would appear, possibly after the first night cycle of the apocalypse.
Rounding a curve of hedges, he froze. A hulking creature with bull-like horns and a muscular torso crouched by the statue, sniffing at the ground. A Lesser Horned Brute, he guessed from memory. Tougher than goblins and imps, stronger than the boar. Its thick hide and powerful limbs made it a serious threat. If he wanted the herb spot safe and secured for future harvesting, he had to deal with it now.
He sized it up: probably higher Vitality and Strength than previous foes. He'd need to use both Skills and careful footwork to win. The Brute pawed the ground, snorting. He stepped onto the grass to approach silently, but it sensed him anyway. Its head snapped up, red eyes locking onto him.
No turning back. He advanced slowly, blade at the ready. The creature roared—a deep, rumbling sound—and charged, horns lowered. He braced, recalling his Parry technique would help deflect a direct assault. Wait until the last second. The Brute thundered closer, earth trembling under its weight. He inhaled, timed his move.
At the final heartbeat, he sidestepped left and triggered Parry, raising his sword at an angle. Sparks flew as horn scraped steel, momentum redirected. The Skill softened the blow, letting him maintain balance and not be bowled over. The Brute stumbled past, off-balance.
Capitalizing, he whipped the blade around in a low slash at its hind leg. The Lesser Blade of Dawn bit deep, drawing blackish blood. The Brute bellowed, swinging a massive forearm in a backhand attempt to swat him aside. He ducked beneath the swing, heart pounding. One hit from that arm could end badly. He needed to weaken it further before a direct clash.
He danced around the statue's base, forcing the Brute to circle awkwardly. With Basic Sword Mastery, he kept his stance fluid. He feinted a forward lunge—just enough to make the beast jerk defensively—then cut swiftly at its flank with Quick Slash. The enhanced speed let him carve a bright line of pain into the Brute's side. It howled again, thrashing, trying to land a hit. He retreated, blade held steady, breathing hard.
The creature limped now, fury in its eyes. Still dangerous. It lunged again, slower this time, sweeping a clawed hand at chest level. He hopped back, narrowly missing the strike. The wind from its claws brushed his shirt. Close call. He couldn't prolong this fight forever—he must deal a finishing blow.
The Brute lowered its horns again, panting. Blood trickled from multiple wounds. Good. Wear it down. He feinted left, then dashed right, circling behind. The beast tried to turn, but its injured leg betrayed it. Joon-woo seized the moment, rushing in. He aimed the Lesser Blade of Dawn at the base of the creature's neck, where hide looked thinner.
With a grunt, he thrust forward. Steel met flesh. The Brute screamed, twisting to shake him off, but he pressed in, twisting the blade, feeling sickened by the smell and heat but steeled by necessity. The creature's thrashing weakened. It fell to its knees, then collapsed fully, breath rattling into silence.
He stepped back, pulling the blade free. He panted, arms burning with exertion. That was a real fight. The Brute was no trivial enemy. He felt proud—and wary. Stronger foes would come soon. He must grow even more.
A soft chime in his mind caught his attention:
[Class: Swordsman (Rare - Growth Type) – Battle Data Recorded.
Minor Performance Milestone Reached.
Potential Evolution Conditions Unlocked (Not Yet Met).
Keep Fighting, Keep Improving.]
So the System acknowledged his efforts. This Growth Type Class responded to worthy opponents. No immediate reward now, but he'd triggered some hidden condition. Good. He cleaned the blade on a patch of grass and scanned the area. No other monsters approached for the moment.
He knelt near the statue. The soil around it looked normal now, but he knew it would soon produce special herbs—maybe by tomorrow or the next day. He had staked his claim by clearing out the area, ensuring no monsters lingered. When the chaos settled slightly, he'd return and harvest what he needed, ahead of anyone else.
He rose, checking the sky. Strange lights danced overhead, and distant roars echoed across the city. This was only the first day. Many would die, many would rise to fame, and the rules of the old world were gone. He had made a strong start—secured a solid weapon, proven his combat prowess, influenced at least one Rift's loot, and discovered hints of future growth. The path forward would be bloody and uncertain, but he held the sword firmly, mind clear.
Time to move on. He had a city of opportunities to explore and more secrets to claim before others adapted. With each fight, each step, he grew closer to true power. He set off, blade low but ready, eyes scanning for his next challenge.