🎉 CONGRATULATIONS 🎉
You have successfully completed Tutorial Encounter [4/10]!
Would you like to proceed to Tutorial Encounter [5/10]?
→ [YES]
→ [NO]
That damn prompt has been in the corner of my eye for a week now, time to get rid of it.
I hit [YES].
I still had a quarter of a ration bar in my mouth.
Still chewing, actually.
When the screen blinked out, it didn't drop me into fire.
Didn't launch me into a killbox, a meat grinder, or a screaming hall.
Instead?
A room.
Clean. Lit. Polished.
Not polished like ornate, polished like just got wiped down between parties.
Five benches. Five glowing floor tiles arranged in a semicircle.
Only mine was lit. Red beneath my boots.
The others stayed gray. Empty.
Above the only door, text scrolled in that same too-friendly font:
"Please wait for all party members before initiating the scenario."
I waited.
Ten seconds.
Nothing.
Another five.
Still nothing.
I cracked my neck. Rolled my shoulder.
The axe creaked in my grip, solid hickory maybe? Or at least some kind of wood that looked and felt like it, good weight, well-oiled.
That helped. Small comforts.
"Guess I'm the party."
I looked around again, slower this time. Not just scanning, actually seeing.
The benches were standard System issue. Perfectly symmetrical. No tool marks. Just prefab slabs extruded from something too smooth to be real stone.
A wall-mounted interface blinked quietly above each seat. Five in total. Four untouched. One active, mine, obviously.
There were evenbuff stations.
Actual terminals where good little Classed Users could pre-load buffs, sync party formations, maybe even preview encounter data, who knows.
One still displayed a smiling tutorial elf in glimmer armor, locked in a freeze-frame mid-wink like she'd been paused halfway through a PowerPoint.
This one was a pure mascot. Round cheeks, zero judgment.
Still, it made me think of the healer elf lady from when I woke up in the Hub.
Same general style. Same hair. Probably the same loadout.
Probably came with the same 'Divine Backside Package.' Wonder if that's an elf racial trait.
Might try to find the real one again. You know to thank her for the help, it has nothing to do with the Divine Package...
Anyway, enough of that!
To the side, a vertical slot that probably dispensed regen potions or mana vials for those willing to spend a few Merit points. I walked over. Tapped the screen. It chirped.
"User not currently assigned to a Class-linked Path.
Please consult your advisor for Tier-1 privilege unlocks."
Of course.
Even the damn vending machine was classist.
Back in the center, the five glowing floor tiles, or, more accurately, four dead ones and one mine that glowed.
There was space here for formation huddles. Pre-battle pep talks. Motivational speeches and synchronized skill timings.
It was meant to feel like a team's last stop before glory.
They got teams. Clerics. Buffs. I get echoey hallways and a tutorial that wants me to fail. But I need that tag. Without it, I'm a skipped page. A footnote in a god-approved ledger of failure. And fuck that.
Instead, it felt like someone had forgotten to take down the decorations after the funeral.
I gave it another ten seconds.
No one showed.
No gold-plated warriors. No spiky rogues with sarcastic eyebrows. No clerics with glossy lips and hoteyed forgiveness.
Just me.
I sat down on one of the benches. The interface above my station lit up as soon as I leaned back. No chime. No prompt. Just text.
User: EirikLegacy – BERSARKR Tutorial Progress [4/10 Completed] STRENGHT 18 VITALITY 20 DEXTERITY 10 INTELLIGENCE 2 PRESENCE 4 MERIT BALANCE 80
That's a fun function, those stats, I'm pretty proud of them.
Better than I started with. Still not enough.
Two more points in Strength and I'd hit the number Hagar mentioned.
Didn't get there during training. Still kind of annoyed about that.
Still not sure if Hagar's a name... or a species.
He said he'd tell me once I could land a hit…
So. One more reason to keep grinding.
Inventory:
Ration Bricks (x4.5): 1.5x daily intake each. Good calories. Terrible mouthfeel. The merchant said they fill both hunger and thirst. Woodcutter's Axe (Reinforced Grip, Non-Enchanted): Heavy. Reliable. Sharp enough.
Wasn't panic-mode anymore.
I had calories.
Like, real ones. Not raw, mutated, emotionally unstable squirrel meat.
I had a weapon.
Not a goblin's last bad idea, a real axe. Heavy. Sharp. Mine.
Eighteen Strength. Twenty Vitality.
I could feel it, in how the axe settled in my grip, in how my body moved like it remembered what it was built for.
Solid. Stable. Ready.
I stood again. Stretched. The axe rolled easily across my shoulders now, no drag, no twitch. Just movement.
Might as well look around some more.
The far end of the room was framed by another one of those glowing archways, sterile white, pulsing softly like a loading screen that couldn't take a hint.
Above it, a message hovered:
[TEAM FORMATION INCOMPLETE]
One or more party members have not arrived. Beginning this encounter early may result in failure conditions.
Would you like to begin Challenge Encounter [Level 1]?
→ YES
→ NO
Right.
Designed for five. Flagged for teamwork. Coordination. Formation synergy.
All of which had apparently RSVP'd never.
I stepped closer. The prompt pulsed like it was trying to be helpful.
A second line blinked up underneath:
Note: Early initiation is not recommended without a full, class-linked formation.
Forced entry in: 1 Day 23 Hours 12 Minutes.
Huh.
So the System wasn't in a rush.
It was giving me time.
I didn't expect that.
I glanced back at the benches. Then at the glowing tile under my boots.
Then at the axe in my hands.
I had food. I had space. I had time.
"Alright then," I muttered.
"Let's do this the hard way. My way."
They built this room to make heroes. I'm here to prove a bastard like me deserves the same stage.
"Fucking Hagar."
I said it loud. Just to hear it bounce off the walls.
"Stupid tusked bastard. Could've just said 'Good job, don't die out there.' But no. Had to give me a number."
Twenty Strength.
That's what he said. That was the line. That one should reach before working on your root.
Eighteen wasn't enough. Not according to him. Not for what's coming.
And now the idea was stuck. Lodged in the back of my skull like a nail made of pride.
I kicked the bench nearest to me.
"Two more points," I muttered.
I could feel my back already aching at the idea of trying to force them the hard way.
No System pop-up. No Root panic-spike. No dramatic mid-fight glow-up.
Just sweat. And pain. And whatever passes for dignity when you're face-down on tile doing pushups until you scream.
"Next time I see you," I muttered, "I'm socking you right in the mouth, Hagar. Just full-arm swing. No warmup."
I paused.
"Not out of hate. Just love. Violent love..."
I stared down at my hands. Rolled my shoulders. Everything still worked. It felt amazing really.
Still had food. Time. Room.
And now a mission.
Because the System, in all its glowing generosity, had decided to give me two whole days of nothing.
No countdown screams. No sudden explosions. I hope, at least. You can never be sure.
The dumb bastard gave me time.
And that was a mistake.
I cracked my neck. Breathed in.
No pain, no gain.
To quote the sacred texts of Saint Coleman, patron of pounds, "Lightweight, baby!"
The first hour wasn't too bad.
Just reps. Just motion. Just getting the blood up.
Push-ups, sit-ups, squats. Bench dips on stone benches that had the warmth and give of a gravestone.
After that?
Things got weird.
I started doing incline pushups off the wall.
Then decline pushups with my feet on the bench.
Then handstand pushups against the wall until I collapsed and nearly broke my own neck. Guess I need more DEX.
I tried to deadlift the bench. Didn't budge. The System probably bolted it down just to piss me off. Perfect for isometric training. I'm sure I heard some fitness gurus say that's how you build power!
The first set went fine. The second hurt. The third turned into a full-body shake-and-pray operation.
I screamed. Once. Loud.
The System chirped at me.
[User activity does not match any registered team-building protocol.]
This orientation room is intended for group coordination, strategic planning, and morale enhancement.
Please refrain from trying to damage cooperative assets.
I gave it the finger and started doing jumping squats until my vision blurred.
After that came crawling laps.
Bear crawl. Reverse crawl. Side-to-side crab shuffles.
Anything to get the muscles burning. Anything to chase that shaking edge, the one that meant it was working.
I took a break.
Ate the rest of the bar I'd started. Chewed it like it owed me a level. Four left.
Then I got back up.
And did it all again.
Push until my arms gave out.
Crawl until my spine screamed.
Move until my joints felt unthreaded, like someone had unscrewed me from the inside and forgot where the bolts went.
Sweat hit the floor like rain. I couldn't see anymore. My breath felt like sandpaper in a bagpipe.
My body kept stuttering, like it wasn't sure if this was a workout or an assassination attempt.
The bench cut into my palms. The wall took skin.
I slipped. Slammed my ribs. Didn't stop.
The axe sat where I'd left it. Watching. Waiting. Like it knew it would only work for someone who earned the grip, or at least that's what I told myself to get some motivation back.
Hands shook. Legs gave.
My stomach heaved nothing, I'd burned through everything that could be vomited an hour ago.
Now it was just bile and rage and prayers I didn't believe in.
[RESONANCE EVENT]
[STR +1]
Your muscles remember pain. Your bones agree.
You are harder now.
I felt a flicker of flame and my bones humming.
I didn't have the energy to react.
Just blinked through the salt-sting and tried to stay upright.
One more.
Just one.
And maybe then, I'd be ready to break something besides myself.
I could barely move.
One arm wasn't working right anymore, it trembled when I looked at it.
My breathing sounded like I was gargling gravel.
There was blood on the floor. Might've been mine.
I mean it definitely was, but I'm not admitting it.
It was someone else. Some idiot who tried doing jumping handstands and broke their nose.
Not me. Nope.
Still had one point left to go.
I pressed my forehead against the wall.
Cold. Flat. No judgment. Just the perfect surface to suffer against.
Then I dropped into another squat hold. Axe above my head. Arms extended. Spine straight.
Muscles screaming. Ankles cracking.
Every second lasted an hour.
This was the rep.
This one was for me.
Something inside me pulled.
Not a muscle. Not a tendon. Something deeper.
Like something old and sleeping felt me twitch, and twitched back.
I felt it in my ribs. In the Root.
A hum behind my teeth. A pressure at the base of my skull.
The air bent for a second.
Like heat. But colder.
[STR +1]
Pain accepted. Shape reinforced.
User has reached a recognized combat threshold.
[WARNING: ROOT ACTIVITY DETECTED]
Symbolic resonance approaching saturation.
Source: Will-driven overload.
Your will stirs the Root. Your frame strains to follow.
[ROOT RESONANCE: BERSARKR – NORSE LINE: 3 → 4%]
✦ RESONANCE EVENT DETECTED ✦
User has initiated connection with Root: [BERSARKR – Norse Line]
Response classified as: Symbolic Synchronization
Resulting Adaptation: Minor physiological reinforcement
Body has been nurtured by mythic resonance.
+2 Strength
I fell sideways.
Not collapsed, folded. Like a book someone slammed shut.
The axe hit the floor next to me. I didn't hear it.
Too busy tasting iron and dust.
And then...
Of course...
He showed up.
[UNSANCTIONED ROOT INTERFERENCE – DIRECT COMMENTARY]
Origin: R_T_T_S_K_R
"Gods below, you're still at it?"
"Watching you crawl toward basic physical competence is like watching a blind rat hump a locked pantry... Usually something I enjoy, but it does get old."
"Still… all that sweat and screaming? Ol' Shagpile's probably licking his chops."
I didn't flip him off. Didn't scream. That would take energy.
Just grinned.
That damned thing, he was using the System like a glorified megaphone.
Wearing its skin to heckle me.
Hilarious, in a way. Terrifying, in a worse one.
Hagar had looked rattled when I told him something was talking to me.
And now it was doing it like it was easy.
Hijacking System prompts like it owned the place.
Foulmouthed little fucker.
But he was growing on me.
Like mold.
Still...
He said Tylen was better...
He'd better be ready for a sucker punch if I ever find him.
But that was for another day.
No more time for mythical and System-hacking pottymouths.
I was bleeding, shaking, on the floor, but grinning.
Because I'd done it.
And when I stood up, the world would feel it.
This time, it wasn't for them.
Wasn't for surviving.
Wasn't even for Hagar.
I'd finally done something just for myself.
And if the world didn't notice when I stood back up.
I'd fucking make it.
I think I passed out.