Vergil knelt behind a crumbled stone wall, his eyes locked on the ruined outpost ahead. The orcs were scattered about—brutish and loud, unaware of the shadow watching them from the treeline.
He studied their movements carefully, mentally cataloguing each one like pieces on a game board.
"Four of them... that's quite annoying," Vergil whispered to himself, calm and analytical.
---
1. Orc Brute (Tank)
Name: Unnamed Orc Brute
Level: 19
Title: Towerhide
Lifespan: ~60 Years
Spouses: None
Race: Orc
Class: Juggernaut
Strength: 43
Constitution: 48
Dexterity: 20
Intuition: 10
Magic Power: 0
Mana Capacity: 0
Equipment:
Iron chestplate strapped with leather cords
Massive steel club
Cracked iron greaves
Passive Skills:
Endurance Core (D-)
Stagger Resistance (E+)
Active Skills:
Crushing Blow (E+)
Body Slam (E)
---
2. Orc Berserker (DPS)
Name: Unnamed Orc Berserker
Level: 18
Title: Bloodfang
Lifespan: ~55 Years
Spouses: None
Race: Orc
Class: Berserker
Strength: 45
Constitution: 35
Dexterity: 30
Intuition: 15
Magic Power: 0
Mana Capacity: 0
Equipment:
Twin iron hatchets
Spiked leather pauldron
Blood-stained cloak
Passive Skills:
Bloodlust (E+)
Rage Flow (E)
Active Skills:
Hatchet Tornado (E+)
Blood Frenzy (D-)
Special Constitution: None
---
3. Orc Brawler (Close-Range DPS)
Name: Unnamed Orc Brawler
Level: 17
Title: Bonefist
Lifespan: ~58 Years
Spouses: None
Race: Orc
Class: Brawler
Strength: 39
Constitution: 33
Dexterity: 41
Intuition: 20
Magic Power: 0
Mana Capacity: 0
Equipment:
Bone gauntlets
Leather wraps
Hide vest
Arts: Goran-Thunn fighting style
Passive Skills:
Combat Instinct (E+)
Muscle Tension Control (E)
Active Skills:
Bone-Cracker (E+)
Pummel Flurry (E+)
Vaulting Strike (D-)
---
4. Orc Shaman (Support Caster)
Name: Unnamed Orc Shaman
Level: 20
Title: Spiritcaller
Lifespan: ~70 Years
Spouses: None
Race: Orc
Class: Mystic
Strength: 15
Constitution: 28
Dexterity: 18
Intuition: 7
Magic Power: 42
Mana Capacity: 50
Equipment:
Gnarled bone staff
Totem necklace
Shamanic cloth robes
Passive Skills:
Mana Sense (E+)
Active Skills:
Healing Surge (D)
Spirit Shackles (D-)
Bloodfire Blessing (E+)
Special Constitution:
Totemic Core – While alive, all nearby allies gain +10% Strength and Constitution.
---
Vergil shifted the weight of the sword at his hip, brushing his coat aside as he straightened.
"Take out the shaman first. His buffs will make the rest harder to kill. Berserker's fast but predictable. Brute's sturdy and will act instinctively. Brawler's speed will be a problem… if I let him get too close."
A pause. Then, he smiled faintly.
"But I want to leave the Brawler alive… so I can become his punching bag."
He exhaled slowly, the grin lingering as he stretched his fingers.
"This regeneration core's going to come in handy."
'System, make sure to constantly track the proficiency of my skills from now on.'
[Got it.]
He gripped the hilt of his sword and stepped forward without hesitation, already planning how to get hit—just enough to push Resilient Body to the next rank.
Vergil stepped out from behind the rubble. The quiet rustle of his coat was the only sound before the silence returned.
"Time to hunt," he murmured, as mana surged through his body.
A faint ripple of energy pulsed outward as he activated his first skill:
---
[Mana Affinity: Body Reinforcement – Active]
His muscles tensed, subtly expanding beneath his skin.
Strength +2
Constitution +2
Duration: 60 seconds
---
Without delay, he layered another ability:
---
[Shadow Dash – Active]
A cool shadow laced across his boots. His presence thinned like mist.
Dexterity +4
Step sound reduced to near-zero
Movement speed increased
---
Vergil drew his sword halfway from its sheath—then paused.
"I haven't used this skill I got from the bandit," he said, amused.
He pressed two fingers to the flat of his blade.
---
[Venom Edge – Active]
A sickly green shimmer spread along the steel, coating it in a thin film of paralysis poison.
Causes mild limb sluggishness on hit
Duration: 45 seconds
---
Vergil's violet eyes narrowed, fixing on the orc shaman, who moved lazily behind the others.
"One cut," he whispered, "and you're done."
Every muscle in his body coiled, perfectly synchronized with his sharpened senses. The four orcs remained unaware of the silent predator in their midst.
And then—Vergil vanished into the shadows.
---
The moment was precise.
In one fluid motion, Vergil blurred forward—his enhanced Dexterity turning him into a ghost between seconds. The orcs barely noticed until it was far too late.
The shaman's lips had just begun to form another chant when Vergil appeared behind him, blade slashing clean and deep across his side. A hiss of green pulsed from the open wound—paralysis already taking effect.
The orc stumbled, struggling to speak.
Vergil didn't let him.
He grabbed the back of the shaman's skull, yanked his head back, and sank his teeth into the thick, green neck.
---
[Ravenous Bite – Active]
Flesh torn.
Veins ruptured.
Blood spilled.
Casting interrupted.
The shaman's eyes bulged wide as he tried to scream—but only gurgled air came out. His limbs twitched violently as Vergil tore free and spat a chunk of flesh onto the dirt.
"Now you're quiet," Vergil muttered, wiping blood from his mouth as the shaman slumped, convulsing in silence.
Vergil stood over the twitching corpse of the shaman, the coppery taste of blood still faint on his tongue.
The three remaining orcs stared at him—frozen in that brief, stunned second before fury could catch up.
He didn't give them the time.
With a tilt of his head and a cold smirk on his bloodstained lips, he whispered just loud enough:
"Come on then... entertain me."
It wasn't just a taunt—it was bait, laced with malice, designed to pull them into chaos.
A heavy beat pulsed in his chest.
[Skill Created: Taunt (F)]
[Taunt (F): Your bloodlust and provocation have manifested into a skill. Slightly increases the chance of drawing enemy aggro and disrupting enemy focus. Targets may experience temporary emotional agitation. Duration: 5 seconds. Cooldown: 30 seconds.]
Vergil blinked once as the message flashed—and then chuckled darkly.
"Heh... didn't expect that."
The orc berserker let out a roar of rage, charging like a maddened boar, veins bulging as the taunt dug deep into its pride. The brawler and brute followed seconds behind, their formation shattered.
Vergil's smirk deepened.
"Good boys."
His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword, still slick with faint venom from Venom Edge, and drew it in one fluid, inverted arc.
His body shifted—legs spread, shoulders angled, blade held low at his side. A stance like a hybrid between an archer's post-release and a swordsman's guard.
Unorthodox. Imperfect. But his instincts guided it, honed from repetition—muscle memory buried deep.
[Bow-Sword Mastery (F)]
[Proficiency increased: 52% → 58%]
'Needs more practice.'
He could feel it tightening—footwork steadier, grip more balanced. Still raw, still far from polished. But it flowed.
The berserker thundered toward him, axe raised high, primal rage in its eyes.
Vergil didn't flinch.
Instead, he leaned in—one foot pivoting sharply as he twisted into the charge, blade whispering through the air—
The berserker came fast, the earth trembling beneath its weight as it brought the greataxe crashing down.
Vergil narrowed his eyes—Mana Affinity still surging through his limbs, muscles coiled.
He waited. A single heartbeat.
Then—
[Quick Parry (F)]
Steel met steel with a violent clang, the shockwave rattling Vergil's arm to the bone. He caught the edge just enough to redirect it—but not without cost.
The axe clipped his left shoulder, tearing into muscle and spraying blood.
[Tough Body (F+)] – Proficiency increased: 95% → 97%
[Resilient Body (E)] – Proficiency increased: 20% → 21%
[Verdant Regeneration Core (C-)] activated
A hiss escaped through his teeth—not in pain, but exhilaration. Already, faint green veins glowed along his arm as the wound began to close, vines blooming briefly before fading.
"Heh… worth it," Vergil muttered, twisting his wrist as the blade sang toward the orc's exposed flank.
---
The berserker staggered slightly from the parry, posture wide open.
Vergil stepped in, swift and brutal.
[Slash (F)]
His sword arced low, slicing across the orc's thigh—blackish blood splattering the ground as poison laced into the wound.
[Venom Edge] – Paralysis effect applied (weak)
The orc grunted, its stance faltering.
"Let's make it worse."
[Thrust (F)]
He twisted his hips and drove the blade forward into the berserker's abdomen, piercing just under the ribs. The steel slid in with vicious precision, and Vergil yanked it free just as quickly.
The paralysis began taking hold—the orc's grip weakening, its leg trembling as it tried to raise the axe again, only to stumble.
[Venom Edge] – Paralysis spreading
Vergil stepped back, breathing steady, crimson dripping from his blade.
"Not so tough when your muscles don't move, huh?"
[Bow-Sword Mastery (F+)] – Proficiency increased: 67% → 72%
The berserker didn't fall easily.
Even with poison crawling through its veins, it roared and swung the greataxe again, forcing Vergil to duck low and sidestep to the right. The wind from the swing howled past his ear.
"Persistent bastard," Vergil muttered, sliding into position.
[Slash (F)]
He lashed out with a swift horizontal strike across the orc's chest—shallow enough to provoke, but deep enough for poison to root. The orc staggered, snarling through tusked teeth.
[Thrust (F)]
Vergil lunged with a sharp stab toward its side, but the orc twisted, taking the blade in the shoulder instead of the ribs. Black blood sprayed as toxin sank deeper.
[Venom Edge] – Paralysis effect applied (weak)
Target's movement slightly impaired
Still, the berserker came crashing down with another overhead strike. Vergil rolled aside, boots skidding through dirt. He cursed under his breath.
"Damn thing's built like a boulder."
It lunged again, slower now—but still fast enough. Vergil raised his blade and caught the blow clumsily with the flat.
[Quick Parry (F)]
The force rattled his bones. His shoulder throbbed as the axe scraped down his sword and clipped his side, drawing more blood.
[Resilient Body (E)] – Proficiency increased: 21% → 25%
[Tough Body (F+)] – Proficiency increased: 97% → 99%
Vergil gritted his teeth and pivoted, keeping distance.
The berserker's leg finally buckled. It dropped to one knee, breathing hard, lips twitching from the spreading paralysis.
Vergil stepped in once more.
>[Slash (F)] – Proficiency increased: 35% → 40%
[Thrust (F)] – Proficiency increased: 27% → 35%
[Bow-Sword Mastery (F+)] – Proficiency increased: 72% → 75%
His blade flashed twice—cutting the hamstring, then driving deep through the berserker's collarbone.
The orc let out one final breath—and collapsed face-first into the dirt.
Vergil stood over it, blood running down his side, panting.
"That took longer than expected."
He exhaled through clenched teeth, blood dripping steadily from the gash along his ribs. But he didn't reach for a potion.
[Verdant Regeneration Core (C-)] – Passive Regeneration Activated
Green veins pulsed faintly along his skin as the edges of the wound began stitching themselves together. A soft, almost invisible shimmer of leaf-like energy glowed for a moment before fading.
Just as he caught his breath, the orc brawler lunged forward with thunderous steps, fists clenched like boulders.
Vergil's eyes didn't flinch.
"No," he said, voice calm, cold. "It's not your turn yet."
Before the brawler could reach him—
[Shadow Dash (F+)]
Vergil vanished into a flicker of dark momentum, his form blurring as he zipped to the side—straight toward the brute still recovering from the initial taunt. The sound of his steps was erased by the silent veil of the dash.
The brute barely turned in time to see Vergil reappear, blade raised.
"Let's see if you can handle this," Vergil muttered, eyes narrowing.
The brute stumbled, his breathing ragged, wounds layering his thick hide. Every slash Vergil had dealt was precise—deliberate. He wasn't just attacking; he was dismantling him piece by piece.
The orc let out a guttural roar, swinging one final, heavy blow, trying to crush Vergil like a fly.
Vergil narrowed his eyes.
"I gave you enough chances."
With a pivot of his heel and a breath drawn through clenched teeth, he stepped inward—past the arc of the blow—and drove his sword deep into the brute's side, right between the ribs.
[Skill: Thrust – Proficiency increased to 45%]
The brute's eyes widened, but Vergil wasn't done. Twisting the blade, he brought his foot up and kicked the orc's knee in, forcing the towering creature down to one leg.
"Should've protected your team better."
One final, clean slash across the neck ended it. The brute gurgled as blood poured from his throat, and his hulking frame collapsed like a toppled pillar.
[Slash – Proficiency increased to 36%]
[Bow-Sword Mastery – Proficiency increased to 75%]
Vergil yanked his blade free with a flick, blood spraying to the side.
He turned, eyes already on the brawler.
"Now then… it's your turn."
The brawler cracked his knuckles, face twisting with fury as he stepped forward.
Vergil exhaled slowly, his breath misting in the cool air as he lowered his stance.
He drove his sword into the ground beside him, letting it stand upright like a grave marker.
Then, without hesitation, he extended his hand toward the fallen brute.
"Authority of Predation."
From behind him, the shadows twisted violently, contorting and peeling open. Jagged black mouths burst forth from the ground like a plague of writhing leeches, slavering with hunger. They surged onto the corpse, tearing into it with a frenzy that was both brutal and eerily methodical.
Flesh was stripped away. Organs devoured. Blood drank.
When the madness faded, only the orc's cracked armor and bleached skeleton remained, scattered in a mess of bone and warped steel.
And at the center of it—gleaming faintly—was a solitary crystal.
Vergil stepped forward, retrieving it with a quiet breath. A wave of raw energy surged into him, dense and heavy.
[User has gained 5 Strength and 6 Constitution points]
[Skills Acquired: Body Slam (E), Crushing Blow (E-), Brutal Guard (E), Endurance Core (D-), and Stagger Resistance (E+)]
His muscles tensed, his arms feeling heavier, as if filled with molten metal. The brute's power hadn't just been copied—it had become part of him.
He glanced down at his hands.
"...I've never fought with just these before." His knuckles clenched tightly. "But maybe it's time I try."
The last orc—the brawler—was already stomping forward, rage flaring in his eyes.
Vergil slowly raised his fists. His stance—awful, horrendous even—was a mockery.
"Let's make this interesting."
His voice dropped, sharp and mocking:
"Where were you when I killed your shaman?"
"When your berserker screamed like a pig?"
"And the brute—he didn't even last a second round."
A crooked grin spread across his face.
"You're the sub-dealer, aren't you?"
"Then tell me—where the hell were you when I tore your team apart?"
[Taunt (F) – Proficiency increased to 10%]
A pulse of oppressive energy rolled from Vergil—an invitation. No, a command.
The orc brawler bellowed in rage, charging forward with wild fury.
Vergil's grin widened.
"Come on then. Let's see what these hands can really do."
Vergil lunged forward, fists clenched, body coiled with raw power. His stats were higher, his strength undeniable—but the moment he threw his first punch, he realized something.
He had no damn clue what he was doing.
His fist swung wide—too wide. The orc barely had to move to avoid it. His follow-up jab was even worse, his footing all wrong, his weight unbalanced. Instead of delivering a clean strike, he almost toppled forward.
The brawler, seeing his awkward movements, sneered.
WHAM!
A heavy fist crashed into Vergil's ribs, sending a shockwave of pain through his body.
He gritted his teeth, staggering back. "Tch… that actually hurt."
The orc wasn't about to let up. Another fist came hurtling toward him. Vergil barely got his arms up to block, but even then, the sheer force sent him sliding back, his bones rattling from the impact.
[Resilient Body (E): 25% → 27%]
Vergil tried again. A straight punch. A hook. Even a clumsy uppercut. Each attack was met with a dodge or a counter.
BAM!
A blow struck his shoulder.
CRACK!
Another slammed into his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs.
The orc was a brawler—this was his domain. His movements were fluid, practiced, brutal. He could read every one of Vergil's attacks before they even fully formed.
Vergil's body was strong, but his skill was nonexistent. It was like watching a beast try to mimic a martial artist.
Another hit crashed into his jaw, snapping his head to the side. His vision flickered.
[Tough Body (F+) → Tough Body (E-)]
[Resilient Body (E): 27% → 30%]
Vergil stumbled, wiping blood from his mouth. He exhaled, muscles burning, body aching.
The orc grinned, rolling his shoulders as if to say, Is that all?
Vergil breathed heavily, feeling the energy surging through him—the slight shift in his body. His endurance was adapting. His toughness was evolving.
He cracked his neck, licking the blood off his lips.
"Man…" he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Fists suck, but I'll need to get used to them. So I better do it now."
The brawler roared and charged again.
Vergil grinned despite the pain, his regeneration ability kicking in.
"But let's see how much I can take before I get the hang of it."
The fight was far from over.
For the next hour, it was hell—a brutal, grinding struggle that blurred the line between training and punishment.
The orc brawler didn't let up, and Vergil didn't ask him to.
Fists met flesh, bone cracked against hardened muscle, and the forest echoed with the heavy sounds of impact, grunts, and flesh being slammed into the earth. Over and over again, Vergil was thrown, knocked down, kicked, struck, and hurled like a ragdoll—but every time, he got up.
Not because he was a genius. He wasn't.
Vergil's body was strong, his regeneration reliable, but his technique was trash—raw, sloppy, unrefined. Each punch he threw had no finesse, no flow. His footwork was clumsy, his stances inconsistent. He didn't pivot right. He dropped his guard too often. He overcommitted with every strike.
The orc capitalized on every single mistake with brutal efficiency.
[Resilient Body (E): 28% → 35%]
[Tough Body (E-): 8% → 19%]
His body bruised and battered, bones fractured only to heal again, skin coated in dried and fresh blood. The Verdant Regeneration Core worked constantly, veins glowing faintly green, vines briefly spiraling over reopened wounds—his stamina still holding, but he could feel the slow pull, the steady drain like a ticking clock under his ribs.
Still, Vergil didn't stop. He couldn't. He didn't want to.
"I'm not a prodigy," he muttered under his breath, ducking a blow and taking another to the ribs.
"Not a genius… not gifted…"
"Do you not want to win?" a voice echoed—it sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.
He spat blood and stumbled back, using a tree to hold himself upright.
The orc charged again, unrelenting.
And Vergil grinned, eyes gleaming with stubborn, psychotic joy.
"So I'll learn from you. So keep trying to break me."
He raised his fists again—wobbly, bruised, and bloody.
"One punch at a time."
The dance of fists continued, chaotic and cruel.
And slowly—so slowly—Vergil's movements began to shift. Not perfect. Not graceful. But something was clicking. Something was forming.
Through the pain, he carved progress.
The next clash was brutal.
The orc brawler's fist crashed into Vergil's jaw, sending him staggering to the side, his feet barely catching him. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, and his right eye was starting to swell shut.
But something changed.
As the brawler lunged again, Vergil didn't just react—he moved.
His body tilted just enough. His heel twisted inward. His shoulder sank instead of bracing.
The blow grazed past him.
Vergil's left arm lashed out—not a wild swing, not brute force, but a redirected counter. He twisted his torso, letting the orc's weight slide past, then drove a hammering elbow into the brawler's exposed ribs.
Crack.
The orc grunted and staggered back.
Vergil blinked, stunned. His body felt… lighter. Sharper. Focused.
And then the system whispered into his ear.
---
[You have created a new Martial Art.]
Art: The Lowest Form, The Highest Peak
[F Growth]
A practical, instinct-driven form of unarmed combat born not from talent, but from survival. Rooted in pure adaptability, this martial path focuses on reading the enemy's rhythm, sensing momentum shifts, and striking at their most vulnerable angles. There are no formal stances, no refined movements—only raw motion honed through countless beatings, failures, and repetition.
This art was not created by a prodigy, but by one who had nothing. Its foundation lies in mimicry—learning by enduring, copying the opponent's style mid-battle, and turning their strengths against them. It is the lowest form, mocked and discarded by orthodox schools… yet with each battle, it evolves. And through relentless adaptation, it climbs—step by step—until it reaches the highest peak of martial mastery.
Proficiency: 1%
---
Vergil slowly straightened up, sweat glistening on his skin, bruises covering his body.
His lips curved into a slow, bloody grin.
"Finally…" he muttered. "Now we're speaking the same language."
The orc brawler roared and charged again, furious.
And this time, Vergil didn't just brace for the hit—he stepped in.
Their fists met mid-air.
The real fight was just beginning.
Vergil's foot slid back, shoulder lowered, arms raised—but this time, there was intention behind every movement.
No longer flailing. No longer mimicking the brawler's brutal swings.
His stance now had a grounded core. His knees bent just enough to spring, his hips angled to rotate power through his strikes, his hands open slightly—ready to grab, redirect, or strike. It was still rough, still raw—but there was clarity. Purpose.
He could feel the weight shift through his legs, the momentum stored in his spine. Not perfect, not polished—but real.
The brawler charged again, snarling with animal fury—but Vergil met him head-on, pivoting around the punch, his fist slamming into the orc's ribs again.
Crack.
"You're slower when you're mad," Vergil muttered, his violet eyes flickering with a manic glint.
Another fist grazed his cheek. Another pounded into his side. He staggered, spit blood—but he didn't stop smiling.
He wiped his lip with the back of his hand. "You hit like a mountain. But now… I'm learning how to climb."
He bounced slightly on his feet, stance low and coiled.
This was different.
Every blow he took now taught him something—about balance, spacing, momentum. About pain and reaction. His hands moved smoother. His torso twisted with the strikes instead of absorbing them head-on. His eyes followed the orc's shoulders, not its fists.
Vergil chuckled to himself as the two circled each other again.
"I've never liked using my fists," he said with a laugh.
Boom. A brutal hook grazed his ribs, but he rolled with it.
"But this…" He grinned wide, his teeth bloodied. "This is fun."
For the first time, Vergil wasn't just fighting.
The boy was enjoying himself.
For the first time in years.