As a battle-hardened gamer and a freshly imported college student from Earth, Duke still couldn't tell if this was real life or a brutally modded VRMMO. So when a glowing text box popped into his mind declaring he'd gained experience points for melting werewolves, he didn't question it—he mentally clicked "Accept Reward" and moved on.
"You used the points of soul power to unlock the third magic circuit. Intelligence +5, Mana +50, Spell Strength: ???"
Classic RPG vibes.
Look, murder and arson have been cheat codes to power since the dawn of civilization. And these gnolls? Basically walking loot bags with a pulse.
Dog-men or not, Duke wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste. With a soul power infusion courtesy of their corpses, he blasted his way from Apprentice First Class to Adept-tier wizard in one go.
Level up, baby.
Just how strong is Adept-tier?
Duke wasn't sure. He still felt like his mana pool was a kiddie bucket compared to the Olympic swimming pools real archmages probably had. Toss out a few Ice Arrows and he was wheezing like a Victorian age orphan.
Still, he liked to fantasize.
He imagined Hogg suddenly slapping his forehead and going, "You have bested my minions! Very well, you are worthy!" Then he'd cackle, hand over 30,000 XP, and let Duke teach him a lesson with a Big Bad Fireball.
Yeah. That didn't happen.
Reality had other plans.
Instead of politely queuing for a boss fight, Hogg said, "Screw your level grind," and charged into the battlefield like a wrecking ball with legs.
"Wait, wait, isn't the boss supposed to show up last?! That's the rules!" Duke cried.
Unscientific!
Too late. The beefy hyena-man had locked on.
BOOM! Like a train made of hate and testosterone, Hogg surged forward. Despite being built like a mountain that bench-pressed other mountains, he moved with terrifying speed.
Duke's eyes widened. Hogg was getting bigger. No, closer. Wait—both!
Time for the classic combo.
Calm Mind + Pyroblast
It had never failed him before. It was practically his signature move. But this time...
"WHAT THE SHIT?!"
Hogg cleaved the fireball in half with his giant axe like he was cutting a pie at a barbecue.
The spell fizzled like wet fireworks.
Then came the boot.
A dinner-plate-sized foot slammed into Duke's chest.
"PUHHHFF!"
Duke was airborne. His body did a sad pirouette before he crash-landed near Makaro like a sack of moldy potatoes in wizard cosplay.
The world went silent.
"No way. Is he... dead?"
"He was our best hope!"
"Someone, quick, healing potion!"
"Dude, his chest is folded in like a broken suitcase. He's toast."
The mercenaries started freaking out. Their brains refused to process the image: the calm, collected, quietly OP wizard getting sent to the shadow realm by a single kick.
Makaro knelt beside Duke, blood on his hands and heartbreak in his eyes.
This man—this goofy, mumbling weirdo with way too many wizard robes—had saved his son. Makaro wasn't about to let his death go unavenged.
He roared to the sky, to the gods, to anyone listening:
"CHARGE! AVENGE DUKE THE HERO!"
"KILL THEM ALL!"
The mercenaries howled. Hogg... laughed. His wide hyena maw curled into something monstrous. Even the jackals around him barked in derision.
Pathetic humans. What could they possibly do now?
Then... Duke vanished.
Makaro blinked. The weight in his arms vanished like a ghost.
"You go."
Duke stood up. Not walked. Not crawled. Stood. Fully. Like some frostbitten revenant with a grudge.
In his hands—ice magic.
Ice Arrow was launched.
Hogg caught it... in the face.
The frost spread across his forearm, locking joints, biting into muscle.
He snarled.
His retaliation was fast and brutal—the axe came screaming through the air.
But Duke—Duke twisted. Not dodged. Twisted. Like a cat being thrown off a balcony, he managed to not die.
Even as the blow sent him flying again, chunks of his arm visibly exploded off, blood misting the air.
The mercenaries watched, open-mouthed.
Duke, their oddball mage, the nerd who mumbled game mechanics in his sleep, was getting brutalized... for them.
He didn't have to fight.
He didn't have to stay.
But here he was. Fighting with everything he had, not for gold, not for glory—for them.
Tears. Real, ugly-man, snot-filled tears.
"DUKE!"
"YOU BASTARDS! WE'LL MAKE YOU PAY!"
"CHAAAAAAARGE!"
Mercenaries went berserk. Shields were dropped, weapons gripped tighter. They lunged at the jackals like mad dogs.
And the jackals, despite having the advantage, broke ranks.
Hogg roared, trying to rally them. The gnolls snarled, regrouped.
But even as the tide turned again, something impossible happened.
Duke... stood up.
Again.
He was barely taller than a sack of grain, his robes were shredded, one arm hung limp... and yet he rose.
A single man.
A broken body.
An unbreakable will.
And for that... the mercenaries wept like children.
It wasn't just a battle now.
It was legend.