Chương 29: Adversary

Emotion attempts to surface. It fails. The response is automatic—clean, efficient—like closing an unnecessary tab. Anger, irritation, the reflexive urge to react are compressed, deprioritized, and discarded without resistance. They are not useful. Not now. It's not possible. The conclusion forms immediately. Someone cannot be this far ahead of me under the same constraints. Which means the constraints are not the same. I am missing a variable. I entered a dungeon earlier.

That alone represents a significant deviation from the expected curve—higher monster density, accelerated point gain, compressed progression. On top of that, I have been moving near maximum efficiency since last night. Continuous combat. Minimal downtime. One rest period, optimized for recovery rather than comfort. Under those conditions, my total should be near the upper bound of what is achievable in this phase of the Tutorial. It is not. So the discrepancy must come from outside my approach. Player killing?

Unlikely. While theoretically possible, the observed point disparity is inconsistent with user elimination serving as the primary source. High-value targets would become progressively rarer, reducing point acquisition efficiency. Furthermore, the required target acquisition rate is impractical. Prioritizing users over monsters would also significantly hinder level progression, reducing long-term gains. The hypothesis is unsound. There is another answer. A solution presents itself immediately. Higher-level monsters.

That is the only remaining vector capable of producing this gap. Which implies several things at once. They have the raw stats to survive against targets above the baseline Tutorial curve. They have the mobility to reach those targets before I could. And they have done so consistently enough to outpace a build that is already operating far beyond standard parameters— including my extreme Dexterity investment. Group combat? Also unlikely. Points are divided among all party members.

Any advantage gained from parallel combat is immediately diluted by split rewards, coordination overhead, and shared risk. Worse, a group can only move as fast as its slowest member. Traversal efficiency collapses the moment even one participant becomes a bottleneck. That alone makes sustained outpacing improbable. System exploits or bugs? I have not observed any. That does not mean they do not exist—but the System has shown consistent behavior so far. No obvious loopholes.

No instability large enough to account for this scale of divergence. The possibility remains. It is not sufficient. Large dungeon? Also unlikely. Dungeon density provides accelerated point gain, but not indefinitely. No respawns. Still—like exploits—it cannot be fully dismissed. Which means neither explanation can be relied upon. Luck? Irrelevant. Luck is a singular variable. It does not produce consistency. A point total this high implies repetition, optimization, and sustained access—not chance.

That leaves one conclusion. There is more going on. I move on. Speed. Specifically—mobility. Could their Dexterity be higher than mine? Possible. But statistically improbable. Dexterity is my most aggressive and consistent investment. Even a superior distribution would not produce a gap of this magnitude through raw movement speed alone—not without catastrophic trade-offs elsewhere. And even then, the math does not work. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road.

If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Because killing speed is not the limiting factor. Traversal is. Target acquisition is. The time between engagements matters more than the engagement itself. Reducing downtime yields greater returns than marginal increases in damage or attack frequency. That is where the discrepancy must originate. My gaze lifts, impassive, and studies the forest around me—not the enemies, not the terrain immediately ahead, but the structure of the environment itself. Dense undergrowth.

Uneven ground. Limited sightlines. Every meter of progress is throttled by friction—branches, roots, foliage, elevation changes. Top speed is functionally capped. Movement is forced into predictable channels. Anyone who can bypass this— Would gain an overwhelming advantage. Aspects? Possible. The existence of plant-based Aspects is highly probable. The Wood Aspect is already confirmed, which implies adjacent domains—nature, growth, manipulation.

Skills capable of temporarily parting foliage, compressing vegetation, or reducing traversal resistance could exist. Such abilities would improve movement efficiency. They would not eliminate the bottleneck. I have not observed any evidence of large-scale destructive path clearing. No burned corridors. No shattered undergrowth. No straight-line devastation cutting through the forest. That does not mean it hasn't occurred elsewhere.

But carving a path through terrain carries costs—time, stamina, attention—and leaves persistent markers. Repeated use would be noticeable. Aspect-based traversal assistance is a factor. It is not a sufficient explanation. Because it does not account for both conditions simultaneously. High enough stats to engage higher-level monsters. Traversal faster than mine. Which narrows the field further. Race. The race selection at the beginning of the Tutorial is the first major divergence point.

It occurs before classes, before skill specialization, before optimization paths stabilize. My own evolution is proof enough. The statistical variance between races is extreme. My racial bonuses exceed anything my class has provided so far. In some areas, they potentially exceed entire tiers of normal progression. Which means a race alone—without exploits, without grouping—can redefine capability. Especially movement capability. Traversal. I lift my gaze. Not forward. Up. To the canopy overhead. Flight.

A solo user with a powerful race—one that includes wings or sustained aerial mobility. Such a user would not interact with terrain the same way I do. They would not be slowed by undergrowth, roots, elevation changes, or sightline obstruction. They would not be forced into paths. They would simply… move. Directly. Efficiently. They would bypass the fourth zone entirely. Assuming zone size scaling remains consistent with earlier areas, I could cross this zone in approximately four hours at top speed.

In practice, I cannot. Terrain friction alone multiplies that time—forced detours, reduced acceleration, constant micro-corrections. Aerial traversal ignores all of it. This fulfills both conditions. It emerges as the most likely variable. A powerful, flight-capable race bypassed the entire fourth zone and began hunting higher-level monsters in the final zone, accumulating points at a rate unreachable through ground-based traversal. The explanation is sufficient.

I retrieve a snapshot of my own memories, sorting through every user I have personally observed since the Tutorial began. One figure stands out. The draconic man I saw on the first day, just before I left the clearing. Wings were clearly visible. A dragon-aligned race accounts for the stat disparity, the mobility advantage, and the sustained rate of progression. My mouth curves into a small grin. My tail gives an expectant swish.

"Gotcha." A dragon. Of course it is. If anything can skip over an entire section of forest the way a mukbang YouTuber skips the vegetable aisle at a supermarket, it would be a dragon. My grin widens. I'm not giving up first place. And I'm certainly not giving up on the final boss. Judging by his rate of progress, neither is he. My ears are fully perked now. My tail swings with barely restrained energy, no longer bothering to hide its enthusiasm. By the end of the Tutorial, I will be a dragonslayer.

This is not a prediction. It is a fact. Defeat is not a concept I accommodate. Silently—another hairline fracture spreads through the seed. I tilt my head a little. Whatever this seed is, it's certainly making me work for it. It's also… mildly concerning how little reaction I have to the fact that there is a literal seed inside me, and that it is actively cracking in a way most people would reasonably describe as ominous. I should probably be alarmed. Instead, it just… feels safe. Like it won't harm me.

An extremely strange certainty—one I would very much prefer came with an instruction manual. The soft voice of Older Sister drifts in, interrupting my spiral.

"Welcome back to the world of the living dear." Ah. My ears dip a fraction in embarrassed acknowledgment.

"Sorry," I say.

"I was thinking about something." I can practically feel her wave a hand, indulgent and unconcerned.

"It's quite alright," she replies gently.

"You were doing your genius thing." A pause. Then, thoughtfully,"Although… you truly do look unsettling when you do that." I hesitate. Just a little.

"Is it that bad?" She doesn't get the chance to answer.

"Oh my god, yes." A new voice cuts in—bright, effortless, and terminally online in a way that somehow transcends dimensions.

"Like, it's super uncanny when you do that, you know? All the vibes just—poof." She makes an enthusiastic sound of emphasis.

"Gone. Zero emotion. Zero sparkle. For real, I fully shivered. You should totally use that for intimidation sometime." Hm. I never really thought about it that way. I already knew people tend to panic when the person they're talking to is suddenly replaced by a monster. The reaction is… familiar. What I hadn't considered was using it on purpose. I let the idea settle. Test it. Turn it over from a few angles. Viable. Very viable. Terrifying a random adventurer goes straight onto the bucket list. Obviously.

That sounds downright hilarious. The scenario assembles itself in my head almost instantly. A beautiful girl walks into an adventurer's guild. Some third-rate ruffian with absolutely no sense of self-preservation decides this is his moment—only to be rewarded with a face full of killing intent. A cliché as old as time. Assuming, of course, you ignore the silent removal of the usual black-haired isekai protagonist that traditionally accompanies such scenes. Not bad. Not bad at all.

So many things to look forward to once I escape this vaguely helpful Tutorial and re-enter civilization. I pause. Then, right there beneath the stars, I make another solemn vow. If the items in the Tutorial shop turn out to be bad— I will personally track down whoever designed it, before politely asking them to fuck off and let me do it properly instead. My tail flicks, satisfied. That seems fair. Fifty days of my time had better be worth it. For everyone's sake.

Now that the System has been properly warned, there will absolutely be at least one item I approve of. I can feel it. The universe has been informed. I attempt to flick my hair back with practiced hauteur. My ponytail refuses to cooperate. Again. Unacceptable. There had better be a way to deal with my increasingly inconvenient hair length as well. Actually— I tilt my head upward.

"Hey, Terminally Online Star," I call.

"Is there a way to deal with my hair length on Asteria? Spoilers are fine." She responds with an exaggerated huff.

"Like, first of all, rude. Second of all, why are you asking me?" I shrug.

"You seem like the type who would know." She mutters something under her breath, clearly offended on a spiritual level, before answering anyway.

"Yes. But I'm not telling you how, since you're being a little brat." I smirk. That's all I needed to hear. Two pieces of good news in a single interaction. I can deal with my hair. And I have discovered a star who is highly teasable. The future looks bright. My tail gives an expectant swish as I return to carving a path through the dense forest. After all, I have a particularly scaly dance partner waiting for me in the final zone. …What a strange feeling. Being able to look forward to the future.