Klaus fell faster than he normally should. Wind tore past his ears, tugging at his shirt, the ground rushing up with rude enthusiasm.
Yet he felt indifferently.
He sighed, more bored than alarmed.
"Honestly," he muttered, as if gravity had personally inconvenienced him.
Before his boots could touch dirt, he whispered, "Phantom Jump."
The world snapped.
He reappeared atop a treetop more than a hundred meters away, branches bowing under his sudden weight. A ripple passed through the air as a faint afterimage of him—translucent and smug-looking—lagged behind before dissolving. Klaus crouched instinctively, one hand steadying himself on the bark as leaves scattered.
"Still need to work on my landing," he said quietly. "Let's see what we got here."
A half-beat later, "Echolocation."
A pulse spread outward from him, silent and unseen. In his mind, the forest bloomed into shape—tree trunks rendered in pale outlines, moving creatures marked by soft, pulsing silhouettes. Even with darkness, he could see everything—thirty meters of awareness, clean and precise. A skill that had come from a low-level Hellion Bat.
He vanished again.
Jump. Flicker. Reappear.
Klaus danced across the canopy, teleporting from crown to crown, each movement leaving behind a phantom that faded like a bad memory. He moved easily, casually, as though he'd done this a thousand times—which, inconveniently, he had.
"Two years," he murmured while landing on a thinner branch, testing it with his weight. "And I still hate falling."
Phantom Jump had been his favorite skill to use—convenient, low mana cost. Back when it came from that level 10 phantom rabbit—a twitchy little nightmare that had nearly bitten his throat out—it could barely move him a single meter.
Now at level ten? Two hundred meters of instant relocation. The best thing was that the skills burned mana, not coins. Five gold coins for the skill are far from worth.
"Best investment I ever made," Klaus said, blinking across an entire clearing.
Another pulse of Echolocation. Nothing impressive. Nothing dangerous.
That wasn't the problem.
This hunt wasn't about experience, it about copying skills. With his current level going up now was a cruel joke—oceans of blood for a single level. Even killing another Hevert would've barely nudged him forward.
And this forest? Starving. No beasts or demi-humans above level sixty. Nothing is worth grinding. If he really wants to level up, he needs to hunt deep in the demi-human territory.
After a few more lazy leaps across the canopy, Klaus decided he'd had enough of pretending to be a flying squirrel.
He dropped down, landing with a soft crunch of leaves, and started walking as if this were a casual evening stroll rather than a monster-infested forest. Echolocation pulsed quietly in the back of his mind, feeding him silhouettes and movements.
"Let's see," he murmured, hands in his pockets. "Howling owl… giant ant… dire wolf… hypnotic beetle." He sighed. "I've already audited all of you. Very disappointing skill set."
He's been searching for a new skill for months now, yet none of them piques his interest.
Out of nowhere, something large lunged from his left.
Klaus sidestepped without even breaking stride. The air whooshed past where his head had been a heartbeat ago. A dire wolf skidded across the dirt, claws carving shallow furrows.
Klaus didn't turn. "Shoo," he said mildly. "I'm not recruiting. Your skill set peaked at 'Claw Attack.' I checked. Nothing is worth on you."
The wolf snarled, pacing him from behind, muscles coiled tight. Klaus could feel its intent clearly—fear wrapped around stubborn hunger.
"Look," Klaus added, glancing over his shoulder now, eyes calm, almost bored. "I already know how this ends, and it's embarrassing for one of us."
The wolf chose violence.
It charged again.
This time, Klaus stopped walking. He raised one hand and slapped the wolf mid-leap, not hard—just enough. The impact sent the creature tumbling end over end like a kicked rug. It crashed into a tree, slid down, then staggered back to its feet. It tried to shake the dizziness it feels.
Klaus turned his back and resumed walking. "Good decision would be running."
The wolf stared at his back for a long second, then tucked its tail and bolted into the trees.
Klaus smiled faintly. "Smart dog."
His echolocation flickered again—and this time, something unfamiliar wriggled at the very edge of his range.
"Oh?" His eyes lit up.
Phantom Jump.
The forest blinked away.
He reappeared in a small clearing just as several translucent blobs bounced lazily across the grass. Slimes. Low-level. Common. Usually useless.
Klaus tilted his head. "Huh. Haven't harvested you before."
One slime wobbled toward him, undulating with misplaced confidence. Klaus stepped forward and kicked it.
The slime flew, splattering against a tree trunk like dropped jelly—then slowly peeled itself off and reformed.
Klaus froze.
"…You lived?"
Interest replaced boredom instantly. He pulled a dagger from Mindforger, the blade forming cleanly in his grip, and slashed downward. The slime split neatly in two, both halves shuddering before collapsing into harmless puddles.
A notification chimed.
You've killed Level 14 Slime.
Congratulations. You have earned 1,127 experience.
"A drop in an ocean," Klaus muttered.
Another window slid into view.
Initializing Reaver's Graver.
Do you wish to proceed?
Yes / No
Klaus tapped Yes without hesitation.
New text unfolded before him.
A translucent pane of blue light shimmered into existence in front of Klaus's face, hovering at eye level like an overly polite ghost waiting to be acknowledged.
He stared at it.
Then he leaned back slightly, squinted, and read again—just in case his eyes were playing tricks on him.
Corrosive Touch (Lv.1): Dissolves objects on contact.
Mucus Armor (Lv.1): Covers the caster in mucus, negating 30% of physical damage.
Mirror Image (Lv.1): The caster can turn himself into a perfect visual copy of any creature he has seen. The skill lasts for 30 minutes.
Self-Destruction (Lv.1): The caster detonates, creating a low-tier explosion.
Klaus's mouth opened.
Closed.
Then he lifted a finger and jabbed at the last line, as if the system itself might flinch.
"…No," he said flatly.
A pause.
"Absolutely not."
The panel, disappointingly, did not react.
He exhaled through his nose and shifted his focus upward, eyes lingering on the remaining options. Corrosive Touch had potential—real, frightening potential—but it was crude. Useful, yes, but inelegant. Klaus preferred tools that let him leave a situation, not melt through it.
His gaze slid to Mucus Armor.
"Thirty percent," he muttered. "At level one."
That was obscene.
He imagined arrows glancing off harmlessly, sword strikes sliding away at bad angles. A walking disaster for anyone trying to hurt him. Then his imagination helpfully supplied the rest—his body coated head to toe in shimmering slime, dripping with every step.
His face twisted.
"…Disgusting," he admitted.
Then, reluctantly, "Effective."
He hated that those two qualities so often overlapped.
Mirror Image, however—
His expression softened into something sharper.
"A perfect copy," he murmured. "Infiltration. Escape. Psychological warfare." He tilted his head. "And if I get creative… fraud."
That one felt right.
Klaus sighed and rubbed his temples. "This is a hard choice. One that will help me survive a battle, the other one helps me escape." He stared at the list another moment, then smirked faintly. "So I won't make one."
He tapped Mucus Armor.
The pane flickered.
Another prompt appeared.
Finalizing Reaver's Graver.
5 Gold Coins will be deducted.
Yes / No
Klaus winced like someone watching a coin drop into a well.
"There goes the first one," he said mournfully, then pressed Yes.
The sensation hit immediately.
Cold and heavy, like being submerged in thick liquid without actually being wet. His skin prickled. Something settled into him, coiling beneath muscle and bone, waiting to be called upon.
He flexed his fingers experimentally.
"Huh," he said. "That's… uncomfortable in a reassuring way."
The clearing around him had gone quiet. The remaining slimes—translucent, wobbling things that barely counted as threats—had retreated several paces, their gelatinous bodies quivering nervously.
Klaus glanced at them, then smiled pleasantly.
"Well," he said, drawing his blade, "I'm sorry, but I need another volunteer."