Theus stood in a long, winding line of student Players, stretching down a street encased within a vast, transparent dome. Sunlight pierced through the dome's reinforced panels, illuminating the urban landscape. Licensed Players, easily identifiable by their confident stances and the subtle aura of power that clung to them, dotted the perimeter. They weren't there to interfere, merely to observe, like seasoned veterans watching new recruits.
Some onlookers were even monsters, or perhaps just very large, unusual individuals, their presence a stark reminder of the new world order. All eyes, human and otherwise, were drawn to the massive screen suspended above a nearby building.
The screen displayed a live feed from inside a gate. It was a verdant plain, deceptively peaceful, populated by small, skittering goblins, gelatinous slimes, and surprisingly, even rabbits. This was a PBA student-rated G-rank gate, located discreetly within an alleyway, supervised by a handful of Player Bureau Association agents.
"Next!" an agent's voice boomed, pulling Theus from his observation.
Theus stepped forward, his heart thrumming a nervous rhythm against his ribs. He handed over a necklace ID, a small, metallic tag that glowed faintly as the agent scanned it. "Proceed," the agent instructed.
The portal shimmered, a distortion in the air, like heat rising off asphalt. Theus braced himself, stepping through.
The transition was instantaneous. The stale city air vanished, replaced by the raw, fresh scent of fertile plains. The sky above was a vast, open canvas of blue, unlike the confined dome he'd just left.
Before him stretched a sprawling encampment of tents, and hundreds of other students, clad in black training suits, already familiarizing themselves with their class-aligned weapons and equipment. There were those wielding dual swords, others hefting greatswords that seemed too large for their frames, and some struggling with huge tower shields. Energy pistols gleamed, bows were strung, and a few ambitious students even rode horseback, lances held awkwardly.
A voice, amplified by a megaphone, cut through the low hum of activity. "Attention, everyone! Review your System profile—stat and class information for your class weapons and equipment! And assign your available stat points; consider them carefully!"
Theus, like everyone else, instinctively reached for the air before him, a translucent blue interface shimmering into existence. He tapped the 'Profile' icon.
Username: Theus Rocco Age: 19 Class: [Primal Tyrant] Class Grade: Unique Race: Human Level: 1 Title(s): None Realm: Material Plane Combat Type: Unarmed True Damage Specialist
Available Stat Points: 5
⚔️ BASE ATTRIBUTES: (F-Rank)
STR: 15
AGI (DEX): 10
VIT (CON): 10
PER: 8
INT: 5
MAG: 0
TOTAL: 48
🧬 CLASS TRAITS (PASSIVES):
Unarmored Combatant ⚔️
→ Cannot wear any armor. Gains natural evasion and momentum scaling over time.
Weapon Nullification ✊
→ Cannot wield any weapon. All damage is unarmed true damage.
True Damage ☠️
→ Every hit bypasses all resistances—and all damage received also becomes true damage.
Iron Will 🧠
→ Minor Constitution and Spirit boost. Slight resistance to fear/mind-control effects.
💥 STARTER SKILLS:
🔸 Focused Jab [Active]
Description: A fast, disciplined strike that pierces through enemy defense.
Effect: Low-cost, true damage with a small chance to interrupt or stagger.
Cooldown: 6 sec
Cost: Medium stamina drain
Duration: Bonus fades after initial hits.
🔸 Chivalrous Engagement [Passive]
Description: Must initiate battle without stealth, all opening attacks hit harder.
Effect: +10% bonus true damage for the first 3 strikes in combat.
Duration: Bonus fades after initial hits.
Theus's eyes widened, scanning the text. He hadn't had a moment to check his stats since awakening; it had been a blur of running to the Player Bureau Association branch and then being ushered here.
Just the traits alone were absurd. His class was basically an 'unga bunga' class: no armor, no weapon, just pure fist. And to add to that, every hit he struck would be true damage. A unique class, yes, but with an F-rank stat total. He was a walking contradiction, a glass cannon that couldn't even wear glass.
Theus stared at the "Available Stat Points: 5" line. Naked and weaponless. If he was going to be a glass cannon, he might as well be a hard-hitting glass cannon. He assigned all five points to Strength. His STR stat flickered: [ STR 15 → 20 ]. He felt a subtle surge, a faint hum of power in his muscles. It was a small difference, almost imperceptible, but it was his.
"Theus Rocco!" a sharp voice cut through his thoughts.
He raised his hand. An agent outside the tent gestured for him to enter. Theus followed, a knot of worry tightening in his stomach. Would the association truly require everyone to wear armor? Inside, a strict-looking woman sat behind a desk, her gaze sharp, while a few burly agents handled training weapons and armor.
"Theus Rocco," the desk woman called, her voice flat.
"Yes," Theus replied, stepping forward.
"What class type do you possess?" she asked, her pen poised over a form.
Theus hesitated. "Uhhhh… a brawler, a fist-fighting brawler."
Her brow furrowed slightly. "And your assigned gauntlet or equipment?"
"Uhhh… none?" Theus offered, feeling a flush creep up his neck.
The woman's eyes narrowed, pinning him. "Please be serious, Mr. Rocco. You might die in there. Every Player is issued standard protective gear. If you do not take this seriously, I will be forced to automatically fail your assessment."
Theus's worry spiked, but a stubborn defiance flared. "I have a class trait," he justified, his voice firming, "that states I cannot wear any sort of protection and cannot wield a weapon. But I have true damage."
The woman's frustration was palpable. She clearly thought he was pranking her. She pointed to a tall, burly agent on the opposite side of the tent, a man whose arms looked like tree trunks. "Very well, Mr. Rocco. If you can so much as land a successful hit on our B-rank Tank here, I will consider this 'prank' passed. If your 'true damage' is as 'true' as you claim. But if you are fabricating this, I will mark you as failed on all evaluation lists."
Theus felt a surge of anger, overriding his worry. He cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp in the hushed tent. "Okay," he said, a dangerous glint in his eye. "I will show it to you."
The tall agent, a smirk playing on his lips, massaged his stomach. "Heya, rookie," he drawled, his voice thick with condescension. "Just letting you know, I've got a Protection class buff active, and I'm wearing Epic rank underarmour. Wouldn't want you to break your fists, eh?" He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound.
Theus, now thoroughly enraged, stepped forward. "Okay, then," he retorted, his voice low and laced with sarcasm, "let me show you my 'Untrue Damage.'" He shot a pointed glance at the desk woman.
A translucent window popped up in his vision, visible only to him:
[ Chivalrous Engagement [Passive] Conditions Met ]
A grin, sharp and predatory, split Theus's face. "Taste this," he growled, and his fist, a blur of motion, shot forward.
His strike seemed to phase through the layers of the agent's protective gear, bypassing the visible armor and the unseen buff. There was no thud, no clang of metal on metal. Instead, Theus's knuckles sunk into the agent's gut as if the Epic-rank underarmour and Protection buff simply weren't there. The agent's smirk vanished instantly, replaced by a look of utter shock. His eyes bulged, watering, and a choked gasp escaped him as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. He wasn't just winded; the impact seemed to have bypassed all his defenses, hitting him on a fundamental level.
The suddenness and sheer, unmitigated impact sent a ripple of stunned silence through the tent. The other agents, who had been casually observing, froze. One dropped the training sword he was inspecting.
"What the hell was that?!" he blurted out, his jaw slack. Another's eyes were wide. "Did you see that? It just... went through!"
The desk woman, who had been watching with a skeptical frown, now stared, her mouth slightly agape, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her pen clattered to the desk. "Impossible," she whispered, shaking her head slowly. "What the hell just happened?!" It would seem that the true damage was, indeed, terrifyingly true.