The floor was cold and well maintained. It felt pretty good to lay on.
I'd been trying to breathe without swearing for the past two minutes. Mostly failing. Every time I sucked in air, my ribs voted against it. One of them might've seceded entirely.
Hagar was sitting now, casual as ever. No sweat. No strain. Just boredom and booze in equal measure.
He took a long pull from whatever was in his flask, probably motor oil, then looked down at me like I was a broken remote someone left under the couch.
"So," he said, "you know how the golden boys level up, right?"
I made a noise. Possibly a laugh. Possibly a collapsed lung.
He continued anyway. "They get the Golden Path. That's what they call it. Prebuilt templates. Predictable outcomes. No surprises, or at least very few, some Users push it into unique classes, but those are really rare. In general classes are kinda like putting on training wheels and then getting a medal for not falling off."
He swirled the flask absently.
"You pick Warrior, you follow warrior tree, sure it splits and gives you different paths, but they are all mapped. Defender. Blademaster. Weapon Saint if you suck up hard enough. Throw in some subclass slots, maybe unlock a prestige role if your numbers sparkle right. You ever seen a Spellblade? They get mana-tinted weapon effects at level three. It's adorable."
"Sounds... cozy," I rasped.
"It is. That's the point. Golden Path keeps people safe. It works. Predictable stat growth, regular milestones, no room for improvisation, which also means way less room for falling on your face and dying like an idiot. Which in turn gives the System a sustainable energy source and dependable pawns."
"Golden kids hit Level 4 with a support squad, a class-locked skill kit, and a goddamn cheer team."
He nodded at me.
He leaned forward a little.
"But you don't get that. Legacy Paths? We don't start with templates. We start with Roots."
He tapped his chest, just above the badge. "That little bastard inside you, what is it?"
I hesitated.
Because it felt like the kind of thing you don't just hand over, not to strangers. Not to anyone.
But he hadn't tried to sell me a class. Or a speech. Or a goddamn friend code.
Just looked at me like I was a real person.
Fine. He wanted a name? He could choke on it.
Then gave it to him straight.
"Berserkr."
He blinked. Slow. Chewed the word like it tasted off.
"...That a local name?"
"Yeah. Human culture. Old one. Probably means something like 'rage idiot who doesn't die when he's supposed to.'"
Hagar raised one eyebrow, then the other, tusks twitching faintly.
"If the system don't translate it, then that usually means it's a raw Root. Not one of the prepackaged archetypes. The name's yours, not the System's. That's rare."
I shrugged. "I do feel like it fits me, I always had issues with anger."
He leaned back, studying me again, slower this time.
"Not a controlled Root then."
I snorted. "What do you mean?"
"Legacy Roots have types. Not official ones, just patterns. You've got the gentle kinds: discipline, endurance, maybe memory. The kind that reward growth, training, introspection."
He gestured vaguely in the air.
"Then you've got the rough ones. The ones that come with warnings. The ones that don't like to be tamed. Things like entropy, hunger, combustion. They're raw. Violent. Usually need an anchor to even survive the resonance spikes."
He squinted at me.
"Rage? That's up there with decay and blood debt. You don't train a Root like that, you chain it to your spine and hope it doesn't eat your brain before breakfast. Most people with roots like that turn into less than sentient beasts fairly fast"
I didn't have a comeback for that.
I didn't say anything at first.
Just sat there, bleeding, breathing, listening to this tusked bastard tell me I was one step away from going full murder-hobo because my Root was on the naughty list.
Then I laughed. Once. No humor in it.
"So that's it? I'm just another soon-to-be feral fuckup?"
He didn't answer. Just kept watching me like I was a candle he was waiting to burn out.
"Let me guess," I went on. "Couple more fights, I start foaming at the mouth and forget how doors work?"
Still nothing.
"Screw that," I said. "It's not like I signed up for this thing."
I leaned forward. Winced. Didn't stop.
"It hurts. It burns. It eats. But it's mine."
"Better than getting handed some shiny-ass class and a pat on the head for staying in line."
He didn't smile. But he didn't look away either.
Just gave that slow, knowing nod. Like he'd solved me.
"So where'd it start?"
I let the silence sit.
He could wait. He liked hearing himself talk so much, let him stew in it for a second.
But hey, this guy is the first person here that is actually talking to me, and he seems knowledgeable, not getting more info out of him would be stupid.
"Ragebound."
"System didn't like how I was performing. Called it abnormal. Started blocking stat gains after Trial Four."
His brows went up.
"Seriously?"
I nodded once.
"Yeah. Then the Root changed. Renamed itself. Pushed back, I guess."
"System reset my Resonance. Started calling it Berserkr."
That last word landed harder the second time. He didn't even blink this time. Just... smiled.
Like a man watching a train derail in slow motion and knowing the exact number of carriages that were about to flip.
Then, without warning, he laughed.
Not a chuckle.
A full-body, stomach-clutching, tusk-rattling bark of laughter that echoed off the stone walls like someone just told the best worst joke in the universe.
He actually had to wipe his eyes.
"Oh gods. Oh no. No wonder you made it this far."
He slapped the side of the bench. "You got nerfed by the System mid-tutorial and your Root fought back? Kid. You should send it a thank-you card. And maybe a blowjob."
I stared at him.
He just grinned wider.
"I mean it. If the System hadn't blocked your growth, and your Root hadn't been the stubborn bastard it is..."
He trailed off.
I waited.
He took another sip.
Didn't finish the thought.
Then squinted a little, like something had just clicked.
"...Wait. What does your Root actually do? The Berserkr one. You got a name like that, I figure it's not giving you free hugs."
I hesitated.
Not because I didn't know.
Because this felt like a trap.
First guy to treat me like a person since I got here, and now he's asking about the one thing even I don't fully understand.
Or maybe he was the kind of bastard who'd sell me to someone that drinks Legacy blood like morning coffee.
I sighed. Didn't really have a choice, did I?
Talk to the drunk tusker… or go swap Pinterest tips with the golden boys.
"Not exactly clear," I admitted. "It kicks in when I'm pissed off and bleeding. Patches me up."
Hagar's eyebrow twitched. "Patches how?"
"Keeps me on my feet. Long as I don't mind feeling like reheated scraps."
That got him. He barked a laugh, shook his head. "Ugly. Inefficient. Godsdamn perfect."
I tried a shrug. One shoulder flinched, the other filed a formal protest.
And Hagar? He actually looked delighted.
"Now that's a Root. The kind the System hates with a passion."
He stood again, rolled his neck, and stretched his arms like he was getting ready for a morning jog.
"Well then. That's enough talk."
He stepped forward, smiling like someone about to break a rule just to prove it still worked.
"You're upright again. That means it's time for Round Two."
Then, far too cheerful:
"Now that I know you can take a punch, I'll up my power from 0.5% to a full 1%."
Hagar didn't say "ready."
He just moved.
No stance. No warning. Just a slow step forward and then,
The floor blurred.
He closed the distance like physics had blinked. I threw up a guard out of habit, and the next thing I knew my shoulder was somewhere it hadn't been a second ago.
The hit wasn't flashy. It wasn't even fast.
A clean pivot, a flick of his wrist, and I was off balance, off rhythm, off everything. He didn't follow up. Didn't need to. He just kept circling. Casual. Like this was exercise.
"Loosen your spine," he said. "You move like a stacked shelf."
I growled something impolite.
He didn't mind.
Another step. Another opening. He didn't go for my head or throat, no, that wasn't the point. He slammed a fist into my ribs, same spot from earlier, like he had a vendetta against one specific bone.
I choked. Stumbled back.
He didn't press.
Just watched.
It flared, not just pain. Not just fire. It was that feeling again.
Like when they said I didn't count.
Like when I watched that little squirrel runt get bullied and nobody cared, my mom just told me not to interfere.
I spat blood and swung.
Too wide. Too slow. He didn't even dodge, just tilted his chin and let my fist carve air. Then he slapped the back of my head like he was teaching a toddler to keep their elbows in.
"Better," he said. "Still stupid."
My vision swam.
Everything hurt.
Something coiled.
It wasn't heat. Not exactly. Not like before.
It was pressure.
A grip tightening inside me. A pulse at the base of my skull. I felt the sting of the blow still throbbing through my side, but instead of fading, it focused.
The pain didn't go away.
It settled.
System flicker.
[ROOT TRAIT: BERSERKSÚLUR – ACTIVE]
I exhaled through my teeth.
Didn't say anything.
Didn't need to.
I straightened, slower than I wanted, steadier than I should've been. I recognized the weight of Battlelust, but this flowed differently. Quieter. Meaner. Less optimized?
Hagar's eyes narrowed, just slightly.
"...Ah," he said.
He stepped in again, same angle, same relaxed posture, but this time the blow had weight. Not enough to break anything, but enough to make my knees think about filing for divorce.
I didn't fall.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't even blink.
Just... breathed.
He circled. The next hit came faster, a backhand across the shoulder that would've put a normal fighter on the ground. I staggered, blinked stars, tasted blood.
Straightened.
Breathed.
The third strike was a rising palm to the chest. Full contact. It cracked something that might've been cartilage. I felt my ribs buckle, and then unbuckle. Pressure redirected. Pain rerouted.
I stood up straighter.
And Hagar stopped moving.For the first time, his head tilted, not mocking, not amused. Just curious.
His nostrils flared.
Then his eyes narrowed.
"...You're radiating," he muttered.
He took a step back for the first time.
Hagar didn't say anything.
Didn't smirk. Didn't posture.
Just stopped.
He let out a long breath, stepped back, and rolled his shoulders like he was done rearranging furniture.
"That's enough," he said.
I blinked. Took a shaky step forward.
"What? Why?"
I let my guard drop, confused, and that's when the Trait let go.
All at once, my muscles went soft. Legs folded. Breath stuttered. Every joint turned to slush.
I collapsed.
Hard.
Not because I was injured, but because everything inside me had just handed in its resignation. Like my body had been running on borrowed fuel, and the Root finally called in the debt.
I wasn't bleeding.
My ribs didn't feel cracked anymore.
Even the bruises were fading, the angry swell behind my left eye was already easing like someone was erasing it.
Funny.
I was in better shape now than before the fight.
I just couldn't stand.
Couldn't blink.
Couldn't think.
Black.
[LEGACY OBSERVATION: Hagar's Thoughts, this happens after Eirik collapsed]
That's not normal. No aura should show this early. Not even in Legacy Users. You need resonance saturation. Intent. At least thirty percent, minimum.
And yet... here it is. Thin. Crude. But real.
This kid's standing in front of me like someone forgot to tell him he's supposed to be dead. And he's not even angry anymore. Just burning slow.
What the hell happened to him in the tutorial?
No class. No template. No scaffolding. Just this Root and raw spite holding his meat together like a sinking ship patched with nails and dreams.
Godsdamn. Poor bastard's been through hell.
But he made it through. That counts for something.
Maybe he won't last. Maybe he stalls at the threshold like the rest. But he's here. And he's still standing.
That's enough for me. Legacies gotta stick together.
I'll give him what I can.