"There's nothing here."
I gazed at the peculiar rock, the very spot where the protagonist's temporary weapon should have been.
While he was fated to wield an extraordinary divine weapon later, this interim weapon could have been a game changer for me.
After all, he was already absurdly overpowered.
"It should have been here. The academy hasn't even started yet."
The absence felt deliberate, almost mocking.
I had explored several potential weapon sites well in advance, avoiding dangerous areas, intent on securing whatever I could before the story unfolded. In countless playthroughs, their locations had always been fixed, 100% guaranteed.
But, now, every promising lead had turned into nothing but disappointment.
"Is it truly fate?"
Perhaps it was.
The possibility lingered, bitter but plausible.
Maybe these items were bound by time, unreachable until the exact moment foreordained by the game. But that didn't make it any less infuriating. Days remained before the Aurelian Academy of Eminence opened, and I was left with nothing.
"I'm screwed."
Outshine the Monsters is a novel-based game, a world overflowing with the monstrosities of the Golden Era of Prodigies. Yet, it was also a time of chaos—an age of unfathomable catastrophe where the monsters of the Old Epochs emerged once again.
A story where heroines were far from fragile damsels in distress.
A game defined by consequences.
And now, I had been transmigrated into its world as Atticus.
Just an extra. No blessings, no innate arts, no intrinsic abilities, no special bloodline.
My mana rank? Abysmal—so low it was barely worth acknowledging.
In the game, you could design a custom character with an Apex Constitution, crafted solely to compete with the prodigies. Yes, merely to compete, because their talents were nothing short of outright absurdity.
I refused.
I refused this fate.
I refused to be insignificant.
I will become strong.
Stronger than anyone.
Strong enough to outshine all of them.
"There's only one thing I can do."
I've always enjoyed reading the background of stories, especially when they're interesting.
So, naturally, I visited the game's main page and indulged in its lore by reading the novel.
The present era was the Fourth Epoch, an age of advanced mana technology—mana trains, transportation arrays, encore airships, intricate rune systems, and cutting-edge magical weaponry.
According to the lore, during the First Epoch, Ancient Humans neither absorbed nor perceived mana.
They endured and fought against Primordial Monsters, relying on sheer resilience and unyielding determination. Their existence a brutal cycle: fight, endure, adapt—repeating endlessly, solely for the sake of survival.
To combat these monstrous foes, they harnessed primal essence.
Primal essence itself is no ordinary energy. It is a highly refined force, unparalleled in its purity.
In the Second Epoch, Aurors and Sentinels emerged, each wielding mana in unique ways. Aurors channeled it for powerful spellcasting, while Sentinels used it to strengthen their bodies and craft devastating auras.
The lore emphasized a fact: the monsters of the Second Epoch were insignificant in comparison to the monstrosities of the First Epoch.
Thankfully, the most dangerous creatures had been driven to extinction by Ancient Humans.
Yet, how those Ancient Humans disappeared remained a mystery, shrouded in vagueness.
Within this world, the only information available pertains to the denouement of the Third Epoch.
There is no record of the Second or First Epochs, leaving their history either erased or shrouded in secrecy.
The concept of primal essence in this world is considered little more than a fairy tale.
Now.
The risk before me was immense.
I had to purge every trace of mana from my body and destroy my core.
My hope?
That the primal essence would answer my call, granting me the power to forge a new core.
But if nothing answered, I would die.
It was a desperate gamble—the only path left to me.
It sounded like madness, even to my own ears.
But for me, it was the only way forward.
I made my way deeper into the cave, its hollow silence wrapping around me like a shroud.
This was a place I had scouted long ago, a hidden refuge safe from monsters and the hazardous wilds, the mana here was faint, almost nonexistent—a perfect environment for what I was about to attempt.
Just to be certain, I activated an anti-mana array, its faint hum pushing away even the last traces of interference.
I seated myself in a lotus position, inhaling deeply.
Remain of stillness.
My focus sharpened as I honed in on the mana within my body.
It was erratic—sluggish, purposeless, and unresponsive. My mana core was equally dismal, a pessimistic force that subtly corrupted both my body and mind with its toxic influence.
'Detestable mana, I thought they were all fairies.'
I abruptly burned through my mana with brutal force, ripping apart the fragile circuits within.
It felt as if my very essence was unraveling—fiery claws raking through my insides. When I destroyed my mana core, a wave of excruciating pain erupted, so intense it felt like my body was being torn apart from within.
Unconsciousness threatened as my vision blurred and I staggered under the unbearable strain.
Still, I endured. And endured, teeth clenched and muscles quivering, I clung to my resolve, refusing to yield to the searing agony that wracked my body like an unending storm of molten blades.
My deteriorating mana core, already unstable, began to fracture under the relentless force of my own assault.
Clenching my teeth against the agony, I drove the final blow, shattering it completely, the pain was a torrent, an all-consuming force threatening to tear me apart, yet I held myself together.
I focused as much as I could.
I reached out, not with words, but with pure intent.
My presence became an invitation, a beacon.
There was a faint stir.
They were hiding, yet watching, a primal essence flickering at the edge of perception.
I could sense them clearly.
They were small, almost infinitesimal, yet undeniably curious.
Slowly, they drifted toward me, drawn like moths to a flame.
As they entered my sea of consciousness, their presence was palpable.
I could feel them probing—searching—not aimlessly, but with a purpose that felt instinctual.
Their presence reached into the depths of me, sweeping through the fragile threads of my will, as though hunting for something intangible yet vital—a spark, a foundation.
They lingered for a time, deliberate, assessing.
In a moment marked by silent consensus, I sensed their agreement.
Slowly, deliberately, they began to coalesce, forming the raw bedrock of my very core.
I wove them together like a creator shaping existence itself.
Each thread of essence was fragile, intricate, requiring precision beyond comprehension.
The mere act of weaving overwhelmed my mind, flooding it with chaotic visions and fragments of noise, a deafening cacophony that rang in my ears like symphonies unraveling all at once.
Yet I pressed on. I had to.
What I was creating was no ordinary circle.
It was an island—a foundation laden with the prime elements of existence.
It was an audacious undertaking, born not only from desperation but also inspired by the maladaptive daydreams and an accumulation of ideas gleaned from countless magic and cultivation narratives I had encountered.
My thoughts began to fade, flickering like dying embers, but I clung to that last sliver of focus.
"Foolish human."
The voice broke through the storm in my mind, its tone laden with both mockery and curiosity. A shadowed figure in the shape of a man glided past me, its form fluid and blankness.
Before I could react, it slipped behind me, leaning close.
"You are fortunate," it whispered, its tone softer now, yet laced with an unsettling intensity. "Fortunate that I was the one to find you first. But fortune alone cannot account for such audacity."
Its words coiled around me like frost-tipped vines, tightening.
"To dare the forging of a new foundation... bold, indeed. Bold, like the Last Hero of the Second Epoch, who carved their own path amidst an age when the world quaked and bled."
Its shadowy arms extended, cold and intangible, yet somehow solid as they enveloped mine, they steadied me, guiding my faltering hands with a precision I could never achieve alone.
The ringing in my ears began to subside, replaced with stillness.
"Focus," it whispered.
And so, I did.
With the shadow's guidance, I turned my complete attention to the weaving, pouring everything into the intricate creation of my core.
There was nothing else—only the essence, only the threads, only the unfathomable act of creation itself.
Then, everything went blank.