Chapter 6 – Ten Minutes Later
It had been a week.
Seven days of blood, dirt, cold meals, and constant dying. The monsters didn't stop. They evolved. Grew faster. Hit harder. Bit deeper.
And Alex?
He kept coming back.
He had leveled again and again, each death a lesson carved into his flesh and memory. Pain had become his teacher. His stats told the story:
Name: Alex Elwood
Level: 10
HP: 280
MP: 5
STR: 27
END: 28
INT: 1
WILL: 2
When he finally opened his eyes and pulled the VR helmet off, the first thing he felt was lightness.
Then exhaustion.
Not physical — not really — but existential. His body hadn't moved, but his soul felt like it had marched through hell barefoot.
He glanced at the clock on his desk.
Ten minutes.
Ten.
A week of screams, blood, starvation, and war... and the second hand on his wall clock hadn't even made a full lap twice.
He placed the helmet back into its case with slow, deliberate movements, like it might bite him again if he rushed.
Then, without a word, he crawled into bed.
And slept.
When he woke, it was still early morning.
The light outside hadn't changed much. Maybe an hour had passed.
His body moved on autopilot — shower, brush teeth, towel over shoulder. He cracked three eggs into a pan and started making rice. Bacon followed, then miso soup. The smell woke Alice before his voice did.
She stumbled into the kitchen, hair messy, hoodie halfway on. "Mmm. You're a godsend."
Alex just gave her a tired smile. "Eat before it gets cold."
School passed like a blur.
Teachers talked. Students joked. Life moved forward like nothing had happened.
Only… he'd changed.
Every sound was quieter now. Every movement slower. The hallway felt unreal. Like he was floating just a few inches above the world and everyone else was still walking.
After school, he cooked dinner again.
Alice returned and turned on the TV while he stirred noodles.
A news anchor's voice filled the apartment:
"Today marks Day 2 of the Gen7Tech World Frontier trials. Crowds continue to line up at access centers across the country. However, the backlash continues as many users report disturbing levels of realism inside the simulation."
Cut to an interview.
A young man, pale and shaking, his hair damp with sweat.
"It's not just a game. I got hit in the side — I felt it. The little goblin stabbed me. That thing wasn't a character, man, it was alive. I tapped out immediately."
Next came a woman, seated in what looked like a recovery room.
"I actually got past the first trial, lucky I guess. The little one was fast, but weak. But the second one?" She shook her head. "The bigger goblin had a baton. It cracked me in the skull. I felt it. I just… logged out. I couldn't go back in."
Alex stood silently, watching from behind the kitchen counter.
The world still thought this was a challenge.
An event.
A curiosity.
They didn't know what it meant to die inside it — and still wake up screaming. Over and over again.
He turned the stove off and set the plates on the table.
Dinner was ready.
They ate dinner together as usual.
The television buzzed softly in the background, now playing some shallow variety show filled with laughter that didn't reach either of them.
Alex quietly pushed some rice around his plate, still not hungry.
Across from him, Alice finally broke the silence.
"…You know," she said, voice low, "some of my friends at university tried that game too."
Alex looked up, masking his reaction behind a neutral blink. "Yeah?"
She nodded, poking at her noodles with her chopsticks.
"One of them dropped out of the test after fifteen seconds. Said the moment the goblin lunged at him, he couldn't move. Like his body froze. Couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Had a panic attack right there in the chair."
She didn't look up as she continued.
"Another friend… she lasted longer. Said she tried to fight back. Didn't die, but…" Alice's voice trailed off. "Now she's seeing a psychiatrist. Nightmares. Anxiety. They say it triggered something."
Alex didn't respond right away.
His fingers tightened slightly around his glass.
Alice gave a dry laugh. "And the worst part? They're calling it 'just a game.' Like a test of mental toughness."
She finally looked at him. "Can you believe that?"
He held her gaze for a moment, then quietly said, "Yeah. I can."
Alice frowned, caught off guard by the weight in his voice.
But Alex just picked up another bite of food, his expression unreadable.
The moment passed in silence — the kind that comes when two people are sitting at the same table but living in different worlds.
Just as Alice reached for the remote to shut off the TV, the program suddenly cut to a breaking news alert.
"We interrupt this segment for a live report regarding World Frontier."
The anchor leaned forward, eyes sharp with curiosity.
"Sources confirm that today — on the second official day of Gen7Tech's full-dive trial access — one participant has successfully completed all three phases of the entry test. This marks the first known case of someone publicly acknowledging their success."
A new video clip played.
A young man, early twenties, stood before a crowd of reporters outside a Gen7Tech testing center. He looked pale, sweat still clinging to his forehead — but his posture was proud. In his hands, he held a familiar black case.
"Yeah," the man said, breathless. "I passed. All three. They gave me the device — it's mine now. I'm… honestly still processing it."
Flashbulbs popped. Voices overlapped.
"What was it like inside?"
"How did you survive the third trial?"
"Was the pain really real?"
The man hesitated, then nodded solemnly.
"It was worse than anything I've ever imagined. It didn't feel like a game. It felt like… waking up in a world where nothing forgives you."
He looked directly into the camera.
"But I don't regret it."
The feed cut back to the anchor, who adjusted her notes.
"Gen7Tech has yet to release any details about what the third trial entails. More information to follow as the story develops."
Alice scoffed. "One person, out of how many? I guess someone finally got lucky."
Alex didn't answer.
He stared at the screen long after the report ended, his thoughts unreadable.
He wasn't surprised.
But something in him — something quiet and cold — shifted.
The world was watching now.
And it had just taken its first step across the threshold he already bled through.
Later that night, after Alice had gone to bed, Alex sat in his room once more, staring at the black helmet resting quietly in its case.
The news hadn't changed anything for him.
It had just confirmed what he already knew: this wasn't just a game. It was another world — one where pain was real, progress was earned, and survival came down to knowledge and grit.
He slid the helmet over his head.
And returned.
More time passed.
More death.
More monsters.
Alex kept pushing.
Some nights he died a dozen times. Other nights, he carved through forests of beasts like a reaper. He studied their movements, their weaknesses, their territory.
His reflexes sharpened. His breathing steadied under pressure. His hands grew calloused from wielding nothing but makeshift weapons — a long stick reinforced with stone, and a sharpened shard tied on with strips of cloth.
After what felt like two weeks in-game, the system rewarded him:
[LEVEL UP – Level 16]
[30 Free Stat Points Earned]
He sat near the edge of a cliff overlooking a dark valley, the wind rustling through his tattered tunic.
No hesitation this time.
+15 Strength
+15 Endurance
Name: Alex Elwood
Level: 16
HP: 430
MP: 5
STR: 42
END: 43
INT: 1
WILL: 2
Every time he came back stronger, but the world got harsher too. The monsters hit harder. Moved faster. Traveled in packs.
And he still had nothing but scavenged sticks and rocks.
Sitting beside his dim campfire, Alex stared at his makeshift spear — half-broken, dull-edged, bloodstained.
"If I had iron," he muttered, "I could do so much more."
But how?
He didn't know how to forge anything. He had no idea where to look for ore, or how to identify real deposits from worthless stone.
And if this world demanded realism?
Then the answers wouldn't appear in a menu.
They had to be learned.
In the real world.
The next morning, as students filled the school hallway, Alex stood before the double doors of the library, his expression unreadable.
He stepped inside.
And began searching for books on geology, metallurgy, and primitive iron smelting.
If knowledge was power here — then he would tear it out of the earth, one page at a time.
Chapter 7 – Knowledge is Power
The school library was quiet — almost too quiet.
Sunlight slanted through the tall windows in dusty golden rays, and the only sounds were the occasional flutter of pages and the distant hum of the air conditioner. It was the kind of place most students passed by without a second glance.
But today, Alex walked in with purpose.
He headed straight to the non-fiction section, bypassing the usual shelves. He already knew what he needed: information. Not about spells or swords — but iron.
Because no matter how strong he got, a sharpened stick would never be enough.
He crouched down near the earth science shelves and began pulling books one by one: Introduction to Geology, Primitive Metallurgy, Iron Age Technologies, Smelting and Forging in Early Civilizations.
He didn't take notes.
He didn't have to.
Alex had always been different.
He never told anyone — not his sister, not his classmates — but from the time he was a child, he'd had a gift. A talent. If he read something once, he remembered it forever.
Every page. Every line. Every diagram. As if it had been etched into his mind like ink on glass.
Some called it eidetic memory. To Alex, it was just part of him.
And now, for the first time, he was going to use it for war.
He sat down at a corner table and began reading — book after book, page after page. Within the hour, he had committed entire chapters to memory.
Iron Ore — What He Learned:
Types: Hematite (reddish-brown), Magnetite (dark, magnetic).Where to find it: Riverbanks, eroded cliff faces, caves, hills with red or black streaks.How to test it: Scratch against unglazed ceramic or rock; hematite leaves a reddish streak, magnetite is magnetic.Smelting: Requires sustained temperatures between 1,200°C and 1,500°C.Tools needed: Clay furnace or bloomery, charcoal (not wood), and a consistent air supply — via natural draft, bellows, or wind tunnel.Result: A crude lump of iron called a bloom, which can be hammered into tools or weapons.
It was complicated — but not impossible.
Not if he was methodical.
Not if he applied what he now knew.
Hours passed unnoticed.
By the time he stood to leave, the sun outside was fading. Students were heading home. But Alex's mind was ablaze — not with spells or combat, but with process.
With plans.
At home, he placed his hand on the helmet resting quietly on his desk.
"No one's handing out swords in this world," he thought. "If I want one, I'll make it. From fire, stone, and sweat."
And for the first time since he entered World Frontier, Alex wasn't thinking about what to kill next.
He was thinking about what to create.
That night, after his sister had gone to sleep, Alex sat alone in the dim light of his room. The helmet gleamed dully on the desk, silent but waiting.
He placed it over his head — and entered the frontier.
The familiar landscape welcomed him.
Distant cliffs. Pine-covered hills. A jagged horizon under a burning sun.
But Alex wasn't here to hunt.
He was here to build.
He made his way to a rocky ridge he had scouted before — an area filled with aggressive lizard-like monsters that spat flame and scorched the ground beneath their feet. Nasty things. Fast. Tough. But he had studied their behavior over multiple deaths, and he knew one thing:
When they die, they burn.
After killing one the week prior, he'd seen it collapse into a heap of bubbling flesh and exposed bone. The corpse didn't dissolve like other monsters. It smoldered — hot enough to ignite dry grass and warp nearby stones.
Now he saw it with new eyes.
A natural furnace.
He fought one carefully — baiting it near stone outcrops, circling, dodging the flame breath. The battle was brutal. He took a hit to the arm, barely surviving with 8 HP. But he won.
And when it fell, it burned.
The corpse sizzled. The earth around it glowed orange. He knelt beside it cautiously, heat rising like a wave against his face.
He held out a small rock — testing.
It cracked in his fingers, then began to blacken. The heat was real.
It could work.
Alex backed away, breathing heavily, sweat soaking through his tunic.
"If I can find iron ore," he muttered, eyes narrowed, "I can melt it with this."
He looked at the smoking body, steam rising into the sky like incense.
This world has no system menus. No crafting benches. No shortcuts.
If he wanted iron, he'd need to dig, carry, heat, and hammer it himself.
Just like the books described.
The corpse smoldered like a forge waiting for its first ingot.
Now all that's left... is to find the ore.
He was thinking about stone.
He had no sword. No armor. No magic.
But he had something infinitely more dangerous.
Knowledge.
He moved through the wilderness with purpose, hugging hillsides and checking the base of rocky cliffs. The books he'd read had burned their contents into his brain, and now those pages came alive as he hunted for signs of iron ore.
"Iron forms in bands. Dark red streaks are hematite. Black stones with magnetic pull — magnetite. Look for riverbeds, ravines, exposed stone faces, cliffs where the soil's worn thin."
Hours passed.
He checked streambeds. Dug through loose sediment with a jagged rock. Scratched at cliff walls. Most of it was just stone. Cold, dull, useless.
But then, near the base of a crumbling ridge, he found something.
A cluster of heavy rocks — darker than the others. He knelt, broke one open with a sharp stone, and stared.
The inside glittered with deep crimson streaks.
He dragged the edge across a flat slab — it left a rust-red mark.
Hematite.
Alex exhaled, heart thudding.
He had found iron ore.
He didn't shout. Didn't celebrate.
He simply pulled off his outer shirt, bundled the rocks inside, and tied the corners into a crude satchel. It was heavy — not crushing, but real.
This… this is progress.
He spent the next few hours gathering more — enough to make it worth the smelt.
By sundown, he had two full bundles of ore slung over his shoulders. His hands were scraped raw. His arms ached.
But when he looked at the load…
He smiled.
As the stars emerged, he returned to the ridge where he'd fought the flame-lizard beast the night before. Another of its kind had wandered nearby — smaller, but just as dangerous.
Alex killed it with a thrown spear and a boulder trap he'd rigged from earlier.
Its corpse smoldered on the ridge, releasing waves of intense heat.
He approached cautiously, setting the iron-laden stones near the flaming body.
The heat curled the air.
He stepped back and watched.
The stones began to darken. Glow. Then bubble, ever so faintly — as impurities broke apart in the heat.
Not perfect. But it was happening.
The ore was reacting.
It was the first step.
He sat nearby, legs aching, fingers blistered, watching the firelight dance on ore that could one day become a sword.
He wasn't a blacksmith yet.
But he was something far more dangerous than he'd been yesterday.
A learner.
A builder.
A man who came to kill…
And stayed to forge.
He didn't wait to rest.
Not tonight.
He had forged the sword — now he had to know what it could do.
Alex walked from the clearing into the trees, his iron blade in hand. The weight was solid, grounding. The edge wasn't razor-sharp, but it bit into wood with each swing. The recoil. The force. It felt real.
More real than any digital weapon he'd ever used in his old life.
And now it was time to test it properly.
A heavy, tusked beast came barreling from the underbrush, low to the ground and snarling. Alex didn't dodge.
He stepped into the charge, raised the sword high, and slammed it down across the boar's skull.
CRACK.
The beast's momentum stopped cold.
Blood sprayed.
It collapsed mid-charge.
Alex stood over it, chest rising and falling, not from fear — but exhilaration.
They came at dusk — humanoid creatures with grey skin, long limbs, and jagged claws. Four of them, snarling in a frenzy.
Alex didn't run.
He moved between them like water. His endurance kept his footwork steady. His strength gave every blow weight — crushing bones, cleaving arms, kicking through ribcages.
They bled like men.
They screamed like animals.
And when the last one dropped, twitching and split open, Alex barely had a scratch.
He wiped his blade against the grass.
Level: 16
HP: 430
STR: 42
END: 43
He wasn't just surviving anymore.
He was thriving.
With these stats — this strength, this reflex, this control — he could crush any special forces operative back on Earth. No real-world soldier could match him now. Not without the game's system, not without stats.
He didn't just feel strong.
He felt like something beyond human.
And this was only Level 16.
He looked down at the sword — jagged, imperfect, his.
And he smiled.
Chapter 9 – Forged from Silence
Two months.
That's how long it had been Since he started forging his first sword, naked beneath a tree, armed with nothing but fear and instinct.
That version of him was gone.
Now, he moved through the forest like a shadow — fast, precise, relentless. Not even the wind made a sound when he passed.
Name: Alex Elwood
Level: 37
HP: 430
MP: 5
STR: 72
AGI: 45
END: 73
INT: 1
WILL: 2
Somewhere along the way, the system had given him a quiet notice:
[New Stat Unlocked: Agility]
[AGI affects movement speed, reaction time, and physical fluidity.]
He didn't cheer when it appeared. He just nodded once and returned to work.
Because everything in this world demanded motion — dodging, striking, forging, surviving — and now, he moved like a man who had finally caught up to his own ambition.
He didn't just kill monsters anymore.
He studied them.
He dissected them. Took apart their bone structures. Examined the tension in their limbs and the weight of their weapons. When a beast's tusk broke his sword two weeks ago, he didn't panic.
He dragged the pieces back to his forge — a circular pit lined with scorched stone and filled with the ash of dozens of dead flame-lizards — and began to rebuild.
The sword he reforged was better than the last.
Not just repaired — refined. He had learned how to add carbon-rich materials to his iron, carefully folding in the black remnants of charcoal from beast-furnace corpses. It hardened the blade. Gave it bite.
He didn't have blueprints.
Only books from memory and pain from trial.
But now, when he swung, the blade sang.
In his downtime — if it could be called that — he taught himself sewing.
He had no magical armor. No quests to reward him with enchanted plates. So he learned to make his own gear.
He tanned beast hide into leather.
He stitched fabric with sinew and bone.
He forged steel knee guards, arm guards, and small, flexible plates that he slid between layers of hardened cloth.
He even crafted inner gloves, cut precisely to fit beneath the plates, using fur and scrap linen. The stitching was clean. Functional. Protective.
He no longer wore rags or makeshift wraps.
He wore armor he had forged with fire and sewn with blood.
No one had taught him how to do any of this.
No tutorial. No NPC trainer.
Just a burning need to survive — and the memory of every book he'd ever read.
Now, when monsters came, they died fast. He dodged their strikes before they finished winding up. He countered with such force that bones snapped mid-scream. He didn't rely on combos or skills.
Every action was instinct.
Every death sharpened the edge.
One night, after a brutal skirmish with a spined lion-beast, Alex sat by his fire sharpening the blade that had nearly cracked on the creature's jaw. His gloves were torn. His shoulder bruised. But his breath was steady.
The sword gleamed faintly under the moonlight.
Not bad for a broken boy with a stick and a rock.
He wasn't a knight.
He wasn't a hero.
But in this world?
He was becoming something far more dangerous.
A man who had nothing to begin with —
And had built everything with his bare hands.
The sun had just begun to rise in World Frontier when Alex stood at the edge of a ridgeline, watching the valley below flicker with distant campfires and beast movements.
Two months.
Two entire months.
He had built a sword from stone and will. Crafted armor from hides and iron. Fought monsters more savage than nightmares, and walked away from battles that would have killed the man he used to be.
But now…
It was time to return.
He found a shaded grove near his forge camp, placed the sword gently beside the dying fire, and lay down against a patch of moss.
[Log Out Confirmed]
He opened his eyes in the dim glow of his room.
The faint hum of his ceiling fan greeted him. The clock on his desk read:
10:57 PM.
He checked again.
Two months in-game.
Only 1 hour and 26 minutes had passed in the real world.
He blinked slowly.
His body wasn't sore, but his mind was exhausted — heavy with memory and muscle that didn't exist in this world. He reached up, removed the helmet, and placed it quietly in its case like a sacred relic.
Then, without a word, he climbed into bed, pulled the blanket over his chest, and let the weight of silence take him.
There were no dreams.
Only the scent of ash, iron, and the distant echo of monsters dying by his hand.
Chapter 10 – The Foundation of Power
The morning after he logged out, Alex returned to routine like nothing had changed.
He made breakfast — rice, grilled pork, and pickled vegetables — just the way Alice liked. She stumbled in half-asleep, offered a tired "thank you," and dug in while scrolling on her phone. They spoke little. Neither of them had ever been much for morning conversation.
He packed his bag and left for school, blending into the tide of uniformed students like a shadow among shadows.
No one knew he'd spent two in-game months living as a warrior-smith in a world that didn't forgive mistakes.
No one knew his hands remembered how to hammer iron better than write math notes.
And no one knew that every moment in this world — the real world — now felt like a pause between battles.
After school, he returned home, tied his apron on, and made dinner again. Curry tonight — mild for Alice, spicy for himself. She praised the flavor. He barely tasted it.
His mind was already elsewhere.
And for once, he didn't reach for the VR helmet.
Instead, he opened his laptop.
He needed answers — not about monsters or materials, but about structure. Stability. Engineering. Real-world knowledge that could translate into something usable in World Frontier.
He started with simple keywords:
How to build a primitive furnace
Clay forge design
Ancient smelting techniques
How to ventilate smoke naturally
Basic structural design for stone shelters
The results came flooding in.
Diagrams. YouTube videos. Academic papers. Survival forums. He absorbed it all.
Thanks to his eidetic memory, every diagram was burned into his brain.
Every cross-section of a blast furnace. Every airflow simulation. Every angled stone wall, charcoal layer, bellows design, chimney outlet.
He learned how Roman smelters built domes from clay and brick to trap heat. How primitive blacksmiths aligned furnaces with the wind to feed oxygen naturally. How fire pits could be insulated with crushed rock and straw to retain heat longer.
He didn't just memorize.
He understood.
"If I line the base with heat-reflective stone and create a chimney upwind, I can draft heat naturally."
"If I build a frame from bone or iron spikes, I can reinforce walls without needing mortar."
He spent the rest of the evening designing mental blueprints — not for a simple forge, but a fully functional smithy base. A place to live, create, repair, and retreat when the world tried to kill him.
By the time the clock struck midnight, Alex hadn't touched the game.
But he was more prepared than ever to change it.
He looked at the helmet waiting on his desk.
Tomorrow, he would log in.
Not as prey.
Not even as a warrior.
But as a builder.
A man who would carve fire into the bones of the earth — and call it home.
The next day, Alex logged in.
The world greeted him as it always did — with wind, silence, and a sky too large to be artificial. But something had changed.
He had changed.
He didn't waste time.
He walked to the clearing where he'd been smelting iron with monster corpses — the makeshift furnace pit, scorched and scattered with bones. This time, he didn't just improvise.
He built.
The First Week – Foundation and Fire
Alex gathered clay from rivers, dried it, mixed it with ash, and shaped bricks by hand. He layered them around a central pit, shaping the interior with curvature based on Roman dome structures he'd memorized.
He dug trenches to control airflow and angled the inlet to match the direction of prevailing winds. With stone baffles and ventilation slots, he created a natural draft furnace capable of sustaining high temperatures without any monster corpses.
The base was round, reinforced with dense rock, and fed by charcoal he created himself from slow-burning wood buried in pits.
By the end of the week, his first furnace was complete.
It wasn't beautiful — but it was his.
And it burned hot enough to melt iron without magic or monsters.
The Second Week – Shelter and Storage
Using bone, rawhide, reinforced timber, and iron pegs, Alex built a roofed forge hut.
The frame was curved to direct rainwater off the sides. The walls were layered with hide and bark, covered in dried clay for insulation. He created an adjustable vent near the top to let smoke rise while retaining heat.
He dug shallow storage pits beneath the floorboards to protect ore and charcoal from moisture.
He even created a water catchment system using leaves and hollowed branches to feed a small barrel just outside the entrance.
The forge wasn't a camp anymore.
It was a base.
The Third Week – Blades and Balance
Now that his smelting process was stable, Alex focused on refining iron into steel.
He added carbon incrementally using bone ash and charcoal, folding and hammering heated ingots again and again until the metal gained flexibility and bite.
His earliest swords were uneven. Too brittle. Too heavy.
But that changed.
Using lessons from modern metallurgy and traditional smithing, he learned to taper blades, distribute weight, and harden edges through oil tempering using beast fat.
He didn't just make swords.
He made katanas — curved, single-edged weapons with a precise balance and devastating sharpness.
Each one took days of forging, reheating, and correcting.
But in the end, they cut through monsters like the wind.
The Fourth Week – Armor and Artistry
Alex turned his attention to protection.
Gone were the clumsy hides and crooked stitches of his early days. He now crafted layered armor — leather softened, shaped, and hardened through boiling, then fitted with steel plating at key joints: knees, forearms, shins, chest.
He used his sewing knowledge to craft inner gloves, padded vests, and mobility-linked joints that let him move freely while being protected from full-force strikes.
Every stitch was precise. Every seam reinforced.
The armor was sleek, effective, and designed with purpose.
No more rattling plates or asymmetrical straps.
He no longer looked like a survivor.
He looked like a warrior-smith who had earned every piece of what he wore.
One Month Later
The forge glowed like a heartbeat in the night — a dome of fire and smoke nestled beneath the stars. Sparks rose with the wind. The sound of steel on steel echoed across the valley like war drums.
Alex stood before the anvil, sweat rolling down his neck, the latest katana cooling in a trough beside him. His armor — polished, weathered, and battle-scarred — fit like a second skin.
He wasn't just strong anymore.
He was prepared.
No menu had taught him this.
No NPC had handed him a blueprint.
He had built it all with books, memory, blood, and will.
And now…
He was ready for what came next.
Chapter 11 – Alone at the Top
Two more months had passed in World Frontier.
Alex had spent every moment hunting, refining, and perfecting. There were no breaks. No hesitation. Just the rhythmic pattern of combat, movement, and creation.
And in that time, something shifted.
This forest — the one that once killed him without effort — could no longer touch him.
Name: Alex Elwood
Level: 62
HP: 1100
MP: 5
STR: 110
AGI: 95
END: 110
INT: 1
WILL: 2
No matter what emerged from the trees — wolves, trolls, aberrant beasts — he cut them down. Their fangs, claws, speed, and fury meant nothing now.
Alex had long since passed the point of prey.
He had become the apex.
When he finally logged out, it wasn't from fatigue.
It was just time.
[Log Out Confirmed]
The darkness lifted.
The familiar ceiling of his room greeted him. He blinked up at the whirring fan blades and pulled the VR helmet from his head with practiced ease.
The clock on his desk read:
2:10 AM.
He had lived through three brutal months — and only two hours and ten minutes had passed in reality.
He exhaled, slow and quiet.
Then stood, walked to bed, and went to sleep.
No thoughts. No dreams. Just the silence of a world too slow to catch him.
The next morning came like any other.
He made breakfast — tamagoyaki, grilled mackerel, miso soup — and Alice wandered into the kitchen just as he placed the food down. She offered him a lazy thumbs-up and muttered, "You're spoiling me."
He didn't respond. Just poured tea and sat down.
After school, he returned, washed the rice, cut the vegetables, and prepared another meal. His body moved on autopilot — every motion clean and efficient.
His mind?
Still in World Frontier.
That evening, they sat in front of the TV, dinner between them, as the familiar news jingle played.
"We now bring you another report on World Frontier, the fully immersive VR game developed by Gen7Tech. Today marks the fifth day since the official launch."
Alice looked up. "Still going strong?"
Alex didn't answer.
The anchor continued:
"Though millions worldwide have attempted to clear the trial for access, fewer than twenty people have successfully obtained the VR helmet. Gen7Tech representatives maintain that access is based on individual performance — and cannot be purchased, shared, or bypassed."
Footage cut to a young man seated in a studio, a towel around his neck, eyes haunted.
"I passed," he said, voice thin. "I got the VR helmet. And I wish I hadn't."
More clips followed. Players who had recently cleared the trial. All of them echoing the same message.
"There's no tutorial. No guidance. Just a panel with your stats. No skills. No help. Nothing."
"You spawn with nothing. Like a caveman. I had to stab things with sticks and rocks. It's hell."
"I didn't even make it to Level 10. I lasted barely a day in-game. Everything tries to kill you."
"I'm done. I'm giving the VR helmet to my cousin. Let him try surviving that nightmare."
Back to the anchor:
"Some speculate that the VR helmets may be specifically designed for individuals who meet certain psychological thresholds during the trial phase. Gen7Tech has declined to comment on the nature of the screening process."
Alice raised an eyebrow. "Caveman RPG. Sounds fun."
Alex's expression didn't change.
He simply ate in silence.
Because while the world was still struggling to reach Level 5…
He was already at Level 62.
And in a forest where everyone else feared the darkness…
He had become the thing monsters feared.
Chapter 12 – Two Days Alone
Saturday morning came with gentle light and no alarms.
For once, there was no rush. No schoolbag slung over his shoulder. No lectures. No bells. Just the quiet hum of the rice cooker and the smell of grilled fish filling the small apartment.
Alex stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, flipping slices of tamagoyaki in a well-used pan. Miso soup simmered beside it, and the kettle had already begun to cool. He worked methodically, like he always did — calm, focused, unshaken.
He didn't say much.
He didn't have to.
Alice entered the room just as he set the plates down. Her hair was still slightly damp from the shower, her hoodie thrown loosely over a tee. Her travel bag sat by the door, packed and ready.
She blinked at the table. "You made breakfast?"
Alex gave her a flat look. "You expected to leave without eating?"
She smiled faintly, slipping into her seat. "You're too good to me."
"Don't forget it," he said dryly, pouring tea into her cup.
She dug in, and for a moment the only sound was quiet chewing and the faint clink of chopsticks. Then she looked up.
"You know I'll miss this, right? I'm going to be eating stale snacks and vending machine coffee for two days."
"You'll survive."
She gave him a look. "You sure about that?"
He didn't answer — just arched an eyebrow and sipped his tea.
Then she stood, brushing off invisible crumbs, and picked up her bag.
As she passed behind him, she paused — then leaned down and kissed his cheek.
"I'll miss your cooking," she said quickly, face flushing red. Before Alex could respond, she was already at the door, pulling on her shoes.
He watched her leave without a word.
Even after the door clicked shut, he sat there, quiet.
Because even after all these years, there were still moments — small, uncertain moments — when that line between family and something else felt thinner than it should.
Alex had never been Alice's biological brother.
He had been adopted into the Elwood family when he was just a child — a quiet boy with sharp eyes and a memory that never let go of anything. Her parents had taken him in, raised him like their own, and Alice… had always treated him like a sibling.
Until little moments like this made him wonder if she still did.
On the Bus
The university bus rumbled softly as it pulled away from campus, the early morning sun streaming through the windows.
Alice sat near the back, hoodie drawn halfway up, her cheek pressed to the glass. Her travel bag rested at her feet, but her mind was far elsewhere.
Three of her friends had crowded into the seats around her, buzzing with weekend energy and curiosity.
"So," one said, grinning, "spill it."
Alice blinked. "What?"
"You've been smiling all morning. Who is he?"
Alice's cheeks turned a faint shade of red. "It's not like that."
"Oh my god," said another. "You so like someone."
A third leaned over with a teasing grin. "Wait… is it your little brother?"
Alice's face went crimson. "Wh–no! What?!"
"Come on, come on," the first chimed in. "He's not even your real brother, right? You said your parents adopted him, didn't you?"
"And he's seventeen now, almost eighteen. Tall, kind of cute, cooks like a husband—"
"Stop," Alice muttered, covering her face with both hands.
Her friends burst into laughter, but eventually eased off, shifting topics after a few more nudges.
Alice didn't say anything after that.
She just stared out the window, lips pressed in a thin line, her hands still warm where they touched her cheeks.
Chapter 14 – The Thought That Sparked
Alex stood in the heart of his forge, smoke curling above the iron chimney, glowing embers breathing in the stone hearth like a living thing. The heat was intense, but familiar. So was the rhythm of metal — the hammer, the hiss, the grind.
His latest project lay cooling beside the anvil: a steel-barreled, single-shot breech-loading rifle. Primitive by modern standards. A revolution in World Frontier.
It had taken weeks of experimentation.
A dozen failures.
Three small explosions.
And a long list of parts he'd rebuilt from scratch: hardened springs, threaded screw-lock mechanisms, internal firing pin compression.
He leaned back, eyes narrowed.
It worked.
Everything he imagined — drawn from real-world study, forged with in-game labor — was beginning to take shape.
And yet…
Something tugged at him.
Not the steel. Not the rifle. Not even the monsters roaming beyond the treeline.
It was something in the status panel.
Something he had read long ago, and promptly dismissed.
Now it lingered in his mind like an echo.
Intelligence (INT): Increases magic power, mana, and the speed of mental calculations.
1 INT = +5 MP.
Increases the speed of mental calculations.
That was the phrase.
That was what had started it.
Alex sat on a crate beside the forge, fingers laced together, staring at his own stats. They hadn't changed much since his last level gain — he had continued pumping points into Strength, Endurance, and more recently Agility. All of it had served him well.
He was powerful.
Fast.
Durable.
But for the first time… he wondered if he had stalled.
He had relied entirely on his real-world mind to design machines and solve problems.
But what if this world could make that mind faster?
Sharper?
If 1 INT point increases mental calculation speed… then what happens at 10? 20? 100?
Could he hold a moving blueprint in his head?
Run mental simulations of combustion timing, fluid flow, or magical formulae?
Could he learn to cast magic without losing his grip on engineering?
He had never even tried.
In part, it was because his starting mana was too low to matter.
He had never put points into INT because it had no benefit to swords or steel.
But now he was building machines that bordered on modern. Systems that required math far more complicated than "swing harder."
What if I'm limiting myself?
Magic in this world wasn't an ability you acquired — it was something you understood, memorized, simulated in your head like advanced physics or quantum math.
If Intelligence accelerated calculation, then maybe it was the key to both engineering and magic.
Alex stood and walked to his makeshift study corner.
There, he kept old notes — charcoal sketches of gear systems, flintlock mechanisms, airflow maps, even diagrams of explosive force equations.
He stared at one page he had drawn over a month ago: a multi-barrel rotating ignition system with a pressure-sealed chamber and magnetic damping.
He understood it — barely. But it had taken him days to get it right.
Now he imagined… what if he had 20 INT?
Would it take hours instead of days?
Would he see the machine working in his head the moment he sketched it?
Would he be able to simulate magical forces and physics side by side?
The thought alone made his heart race.
He opened his status panel again.
INT: 1
So low it was almost laughable.
And yet… it had never felt more important.
Not for brute force.
Not for surviving.
But for creating.
Maybe the next revolution wasn't steel or fire.
Maybe it was thought.
Alex strapped on his armor with practiced efficiency.
The familiar weight of the plates, the smooth fit of the inner gloves, the katana sliding into its back scabbard — all of it routine, muscle memory, automatic.
But today wasn't about routine.
It was a test.
He wasn't done building. Not yet. But before diving into the next round of technical design, he needed to confirm something.
He needed to know what Intelligence felt like.
And to raise it, he needed to level up.
He left the forge base behind, moving swiftly through the wilds of World Frontier. The monsters here were no longer a threat. Packs of feral hounds, jungle creepers, tusked chargers — they fell swiftly beneath his strikes, limbs severed with the hiss of sharpened steel and the precision of months of mastery.
But he didn't linger.
No unnecessary fights.
No dragging out kills.
He had one purpose.
Within two in-game days — roughly ten minutes in real time — he'd gained a level.
[Level Up – Level 63]
[5 Free Stat Points Earned]
He opened the stat panel.
His eyes went straight to INT.
Current: 1
New Allocation: +5
[INT: 6]
The moment he confirmed the changes, something shifted.
It wasn't visual.
It wasn't dramatic.
But it was there — like a silent surge beneath the surface of his thoughts.
As he walked back to his forge, he noticed it.
Subtle at first.
The way he anticipated terrain changes faster. The way he mentally estimated wind vectors while crossing an open ridge. The way he calculated the swing arc of his blade, its velocity, and its estimated impact depth — without consciously trying.
He paused outside his lab.
Picked up a bone-carved caliper from his workbench.
Measured the internal diameter of his breech chamber.
Normally, he would've had to mentally check each step, double-check the unit conversion, cross-reference his memory of the chemistry ratios for black powder casing tolerances.
This time?
He saw it instantly.
The weight.
The tolerance error.
The temperature coefficient.
Everything clicked faster.
Alex set the tool down and stared at the forge fire, watching the heat shimmer against the steel walls.
So that's what it does.
Intelligence didn't just affect magic.
It turned his mind into a living processor.
Not stronger.
Just faster.
He could hold more numbers in parallel. Track more variables. Simulate more design paths in his head before even lifting a tool.
It wasn't just helpful.
It was a breakthrough.
He sat down at his drafting table and looked at the half-finished sketch of a pressure-sealed rotating chamber.
With more INT… I could map internal stress patterns.
Calculate recoil dampening.
Simulate heat dispersion across barrels under continuous fire.
It had nothing to do with mana.
It had everything to do with invention.
Alex exhaled slowly, a sharp grin forming at the edge of his lips.
He knew now what his next evolution would be.
He would keep hunting. Keep fighting. Keep leveling.
But from now on?
His free stat points would go into Intelligence.
Because the real frontier wasn't made of monsters.
It was built in thought.
And he was about to outthink the world.
Chapter 15 – The Supermind Forge
Nine months.
That's how long it had been since Alex made the decision — to leave brute strength behind and invest in the one thing no monster, no sword, no natural force could match:
Pure, accelerated intellect.
Name: Alex Elwood
Level: 105
HP: 1100
MP: 30
STR: 110
AGI: 95
END: 110
INT: 216
WILL: 2
He still hunted. Still fought. Still wandered into the dens of beasts and left them in pieces. But with every level gained, he poured every stat point into one attribute — Intelligence.
Not because he wanted to cast spells.
But because he wanted to build the future.
The change was slow at first — like fog lifting from the surface of a mirror. Then it became blinding.
By the time his Intelligence reached 100, he could simulate mechanical systems in his mind with real-time accuracy. By 150, he could mentally rotate blueprints in 3D space, identify structural stress points, and redesign barrel rifling patterns on the fly.
Now, at 216 INT, Alex didn't "think" the way humans did.
He calculated.
Every object in his forge had dimensions, weight, density, tension values — and he knew them all instinctively. Every new design he considered was processed in parallel, eliminating impossible geometries or thermal breakdowns in milliseconds.
His brain had become a living CAD engine fused with a chemical reaction database, a physics simulation core, and a continuous stress-testing algorithm.
He was no longer a blacksmith.
He was something else entirely.
The forge had changed with him.
It was no longer a crude stone furnace tucked into a hillside.
Now it was a multi-tiered research complex, constructed from reinforced stone, steel, and pressure-sealed glass. Pneumatic lifts moved metal between floors. A waterwheel-powered lathe hummed quietly to the side, connected to a system of belts and gears that ran along the ceiling like veins.
There were workstations for chemical analysis, cartridge casting, gas pressure testing, and recoil reduction studies. A hydraulic press — designed entirely from memory — allowed him to shape metal to micron precision.
What had once been a campfire and an anvil… was now a laboratory of war.
And in that lab, a rifle rested on the central table.
Clean.
Deadly.
Efficient.
It was the culmination of everything Alex had learned: a breech-loading, bolt-action long rifle with a five-round internal magazine, iron sights, and a rifled barrel capable of accurate fire beyond 300 meters.
He had tested it against wolves, ogres, trolls, even armored beasts with chitin hide — all of them died before they ever reached him.
He had created death at range.
And now he was building something worse.
He turned to the far workbench, where a new blueprint sat beneath the lamplight.
The paper was crowded with schematics — spiraling cams, tension coils, recoil buffers, magazine feed angles, heat venting ducts.
It was a puzzle. Complex. Intricate.
And beautiful.
An automatic firearm.
Something no creature in this world had ever seen. Something the system itself hadn't accounted for.
He ran simulations in his head: bolt timing, gas cycling, magazine compression strength, barrel heating curves, failure scenarios.
None of it was guesswork anymore.
With 216 INT, he could process over a hundred calculations per second without losing track.
He didn't hope it would work.
He knew it would.
All that remained was the construction.
By sunrise, the prototype frame was complete.
He'd forged the internal rails from hardened carbon steel, polished smooth by a gear-powered abrasive wheel. The recoil spring assembly had been precisely coiled using a tension-regulated press. The barrel — thicker, vented — had been engraved with heat-dissipation grooves to prevent warping.
He inserted the bolt. Snapped the components together.
Slid in the test magazine.
Click.
The weapon settled into his hands with a weight that felt both new and inevitable.
This wasn't magic.
This was evolution.
Alex stepped outside into the clearing. Morning mist hung low over the earth, birds calling from distant trees.
He raised the rifle.
A hulking brute — half-boar, half-troll — lumbered from the forest edge, covered in scars and leather armor.
Perfect target.
Alex exhaled.
Pulled the trigger.
BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.
Five shots in less than two seconds. Each one clean. Each one tearing through hide, muscle, and bone.
The beast didn't even have time to roar before it hit the ground.
Dead.
Still.
Alex lowered the weapon.
For the first time in months, he smiled.
This world thought it could hold him in the dirt.
Thought it could trap him in stone and fire.
But now?
He carried thunder in his hands.
And soon… the age of machines would begin.