Chương 4: The Reckoning

Ivan woke to silence. The room had the sterile silence of a place where someone had recently decided whether he lived or died. He sat up slowly on the cot, bewildered. His head throbbed like someone had taken a chisel to his skull, and his insides felt scooped out. The rest of him seemed too light around the bones. Am I dead? Is this some kind of afterlife waiting room? He looked down at his hands. They shook, but they were still his. Still ink-stained at the fingertips despite everything.

The black residue was permanent now, etched into the creases of his skin like a tattoo he never asked for. Hah, still here... Still me. The room held white walls, a single cot, and another door with no handle on his side. It was where they put people who might be dangerous or might be corpses soon. Ivan wasn't sure which category he fell into. The last thing he remembered was golden letters slamming into his forehead. Pain that went beyond physical, like his soul was being rewritten line by line. Then darkness.

What happened to the scroll? Did I finish it? Did I fail? He couldn't remember. The last few hours were a blur of geometry and madness. Ivan pulled up his Status screen, heart pounding.

"Status."

▣▣▣▣▣ Name: Ivan Marcellion Class: Inscriber of Principles - Level 1 Race: Human (F) - Level 1 Tier: 01 [HP: 410/410] [MP: 440/440] ▣▣▣ Strength: G+ Vitality: F+ Agility: G+ Endurance: F Dexterity: C+ Intelligence: E+ (^) Wisdom: E+ (^) Perception: E- Willpower: D (^) Charisma: F- ▣▣▣ Titles [He Who Sees The Source] ▣▣▣ Race Skills [Mana Sense] - Level 33 [Steady Hand] - Level 42 ▣▣▣ Class Skills [Principle Interference] (MAX) [Architecture of Mana] - Level 1 [Deep Etching] - Level 52 [Inscription] - Level 38 ▣▣▣▣▣ Ivan stared at the screen.

Level 1. So the warnings had been literal. An ordinary Class change replaced the old Class and started the new one at Level 1. Race progression had nothing to do with it. This was a strange incident. The System seemed to have tried to construct something with no predecessor, somehow lacked enough energy to finish its own reward, and burned every accumulated Class and Race Level he had to finish the job. Both numbers sat at the bottom now.

At Level 1, a stiff breeze could kill a person if he got careless, and even city guards treated such a low-level criminal as an annoyance instead of a threat. Something is wrong though. His stomach dropped. I should be weak and fragile like a newborn in the System's eyes. And yet… His eyes flicked to the Letter Grades. C+ Dexterity. E+ Intelligence. E+ Wisdom. D Willpower. Wait. He checked again, heart racing. The stats were… the same. Some were even better than before. His Intelligence had jumped from E to E+.

His Wisdom too. Even his Willpower had improved. Now that he thought about it, he was still Human (F) and not Human (Null) despite being Level 1. Didn't that mean… The System didn't take my stats. It only consumed my levels. A slow grin spread across his face. His hands stopped shaking. This is insane. I'm Level 1 with Level 30 attributes. I know how fast someone levels from 1 to 10… Days. Maybe a week if you're lazy about it.

From 1 to 25 took me ten years because I was grinding scrolls in a basement like a human printer, earning experience one copied spell at a time. But with these stats? With this Class? Even without the Class, he'd leveled up to Level 31 right before he was brought here. Regardless. Since he was starting from the very bottom where growth was faster, he could hit Level 50 in months. Maybe faster. The implications hit him at once, and the dread in his chest eased a little. Leveling was exponential at the start.

The System rewarded low-level players with massive experience gains to get them up to speed. A Level 1 killing a Level 5 monster earned ten times the experience a Level 25 would get for the same kill. But the problem was that Level 1 players were weak. Their stats were garbage. They couldn't survive the fights that gave good experience. Ivan didn't have that problem. I have C+ Dexterity. That's what a Level 40 Rogue has. My Intelligence is higher than most Level 20 Mages. This isn't a curse.

This is a cheat code wrapped in a tragedy. He could still be celebrating too early. The System wasn't some analog machine he could fool; it might remember his real level and deny him the low-level gains. He'd have to test that. For now, the new Class demanded his attention. Inscriber of Principles. And beneath it, one strange new skill. [Principle Interference]. The name [Principle Interference] sounded powerful. So did the Title [He Who Sees The Source], though neither name told him much.

What does any of this even do? His finger hovered over the Class description, about to click. The door slammed open just then. Hana burst in, two enforcers at her back. Her dark hair had been tied back any way it would hold, and her elegant robes were rumpled. She looked straight at him.

"You're awake. Thank the gods." The enforcers didn't share her relief. The scarred one watched Ivan without blinking. The younger one kept his hand on his sword. Ivan knew what they'd been told. They were to bring him in alive if convenient. The scarred one spoke first.

"On your feet, Scribe. City Lord wants to see you. Now." Ivan needed time.

"I just woke up. Can I at least–""Now." Hana stepped closer as they hauled him upright. Her hand brushed his arm, and she leaned in. Her voice dropped to a whisper only he could hear.

"Don't say more than you have to. The City Lord is angry." Ivan nodded. Despite resting for however long, his legs felt like jelly beneath him, but he forced himself to stand. Of course he's angry. A Mythic relic his Patron God had an eye on turned to ash while I was working on it… will I even survive to check my Class? They dragged him through the Spire's hallways. The marble floors gleamed under enchanted lights.

Portraits of Gods sworn to the Blackglass Serpent watched from the walls, their painted eyes following him as he passed. Each had followers. Priests handed out little one-touch buffs before raids, while paladins swore oaths for a sliver of "divine favor." Most were given only temporary blessings, really. Enchanted bandaids that made you swing straighter or flinch slower for an hour. Not the same thing as the deep Blessings that Champions bragged about, but enough that people lined up to kiss the right ring.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Servants in crisp uniforms hurried past without meeting his eyes. Whispers trailed him down the hall.

"I heard that's the criminal? Poor dude..."

"Poor? Nah, that's a waste of air." Ivan kept his eyes forward. His mind raced. Victor had expected a copy. Instead, Ivan had corrected the spell while watching the original collapse into ash, and felt the finished letters disappear into him. Again he wondered, why had the source vanished at all? Copying a spell shouldn't consume the original, that had never happened before. He'd worked on fresh vellum, and the parchment inside the case should have remained untouched.

The System had reacted the instant the copy was complete, though. Maybe it had removed the relic…? Code from a previous Universe might be allowed to sit there while nobody understood it, then become a problem the moment someone did. Or perhaps the System simply didn't want anyone else looking at that part of it. Then… what happened if the System decided Ivan had seen too much? Could it remove a person as easily as a piece of parchment? He was still here, so apparently not. Or not yet. Victor knew about the ash.

He did not know about the letters. As far as Victor knew, Ivan had failed and destroyed the relic. Let him keep believing that. The throne room doors loomed ahead, massive slabs of enchanted wood carved with scenes of battle. Two guards in full plate armor pushed them open. The room beyond was packed.

Every important figure in Sky Reach stood in attendance. Ministers in silk robes embroidered with House sigils stood beside generals in warded armor. Merchants who'd paid fortunes to be seen in the City Lord's court crowded the floor. Even a few high-level adventurers waited near the back, wearing gear worth more than Ivan's entire life. Victor Hargraves sat at the center of it all on the Crimson Throne. Anger hadn't made him any less handsome.

Race Evolutions improved appearance along with everything else, and Victor had climbed through so many that the result looked almost artificial. The red-haired mage Ivan had seen before stood beside him. Her sharp features were familiar; so were the coal-dark eyes fixed on Ivan. Sparks moved between her fingers as she traced idle patterns in the air. The Beastkin woman and the armored knight did the same. Nobody seemed pleased by Ivan's presence. Everyone turned to look at him.

Ivan recognized enough Class sigils and enchanted gear to know that anyone in the room could kill him without standing. At Level 1, he was the only person there who could be called nobody. Victor leaned forward on his throne.

"Ivan Marcellion. Do you know what you cost me?" Ivan opened his mouth. Despite his plan, his throat felt dry.

"My lord, I–""A Corrupted Mythic Scroll." Victor spoke quietly. The court had gone still, so he didn't need to raise his voice.

"A relic from a lost Universe! A piece of history worth more than this entire planet even." He stood. The room went silent.

"Gone and turned to ash. Along with whatever pathetic attempt you made to copy it." So Victor had been watching after all. Ivan only hoped the man's Perception hadn't followed him every second.

"Answer me." The command carried a strange harmonic. Ivan's answer came before he could stop it.

"My lord, I was… I tried to stabilize the runes first. The corruption was too unstable." His tongue was betraying him under whatever Skill Victor had used.

"The geometry was wrong and the mana flow was creating feedback loops. I thought if I could correct the structure–""I don't care what you thought." Victor cut off the compulsion more effectively than Ivan could have.

"I care about results. And you delivered nothing."

"I…"

"Since I don't expect you to understand the cosmic value of it, allow me to put it into monetary value instead." He gestured to one of the ministers, a thin man with spectacles and a permanent scowl.

"What was the scroll valued at, Harmon?" The minister bowed.

"We managed to buy it for eight billion mana stones, my lord." Eight billion. That was more money than he'd see in ten lifetimes. More than his entire district was worth. Victor's eyes locked onto his.

"You cost me eight billion mana stones. You wasted my time. And now..." Ivan didn't know how, but he felt it. Victor had just activated [Inspect]. A notification flared in Ivan's vision. [External Inspection Detected.] [Source: Victor Hargraves - Level 293] The System had shown him Victor's level. That alone was strange; most people who tried [Inspect] on someone that far above them got nothing except a cough and a failed Skill. But that wasn't the end. [Allow Inspection? Y/N] [Advanced Option: Edit Displayed Information] Huh, what the fuck? If I refuse, he'll know I'm hiding something. A Level 1 nobody shouldn't have the ability to block a Level 293 Inspection unless they have a very specific skill or item. If I allow it fully, he sees the new Class. Inscriber of Principles. Unique. He'll want to know how I got it. He'll want to dissect me to figure it out. His eyes flicked to the new skill. [Principle Interference]. So this is what it does? It lets me interfere with System Skills?

Ivan focused on the skill. Understanding arrived without words. [Principle Interference] let him see the "source code" of System functions targeting him. And more importantly, it let him edit what those functions revealed. Ivan selected Yes (Edit). The skill activated. Options appeared like a menu only he could see. He chose carefully, hiding the new Class name and replacing it with the old one. Everything else stayed the same.

The whole exchange took less than a second, and Ivan couldn't have explained a moment of it. Victor's eyes glowed faintly as the Inspection completed. The information appeared in the air above Ivan's head, visible to everyone in the room. Name: Ivan Marcellion Class: Arcane Scribe - Level 1 Race: Human (G) - Level 1 The rest was grayed out. Stats hidden by default System privacy settings. Victor's expression darkened.

"Arcane Scribe, Level 1. Human, Level 1" He said it slowly, like tasting something bitter.

"You lost everything." The court murmured. Some laughed. Others looked away, embarrassed for him. The red-haired mage smirked.

"To be fair, from Level 31 to Level 1. It's not really that big of a loss." That pissed Ivan off. His ten years of work, that wasn't a big loss…?! Of course he kept his expression in check, but he didn't like that woman. What was her name again? Mercy, or something. What an ironic name. One of the generals, a grizzled man with a scar across his face, shook his head.

"A waste of potential. If he'd just copied the scroll like he was told–""But he didn't," Victor cut him off. He stepped down from the throne. Each click of his boots brought the pressure of his aura closer.

"You cost me a priceless artifact, Scribe. You wasted my time and you wasted my resources. And now you stand before me as a Level 1 nothing." His hand moved to the sword at his side.

"I should kill you for this." Ivan's legs shook. His Level 1 Endurance couldn't handle the sheer weight of Victor's presence. The man's aura pressed down like a mountain, crushing the air from his lungs. But Ivan kept his eyes up. If I'm going to die, I'm not dying on my knees.

"Look at you trying to act brave," Victor raised his hand. The air around Ivan's throat tightened. He gasped and his hands flew to his neck, clawing at nothing. Telekinesis. Victor wasn't even touching him but just willing the air itself to crush his windpipe. Ivan's feet lifted off the ground. The invisible grip squeezed harder and cut off his air completely. Can't breathe. Black spots crept into his vision. His lungs burned. His heart hammered against his ribs. Finally he'd received some good luck in this world.

The System was waiting for him. And yet, was this how he was going to die? Strangled by an invisible hand in front of a room full of people who don't give a damn? Victor's voice was cold, distant.

"You reek of bad luck, Marcellion. Did you know that?" Ivan couldn't answer. Couldn't even gasp.

"I've been falling in the rankings lately. I, the Champion of Earth, now ranked 4th on the planetary leaderboards. I thought it was just the competition getting fiercer. But now I wonder..." He tilted his head, studying Ivan like a bug under glass.

"Maybe it's because I've allowed cursed individuals like you to linger in my city. Luck is real, after all. The System proves it and there are Classes built around it. Perks that manipulate probability itself." The grip tightened. Ivan's vision swam.

"And you, Marcellion, reek of misfortune."

"My lord, wait." Hana's voice cut through the haze. The grip loosened just enough. Ivan dropped to the floor, gasping. His throat burned. He coughed, sucking in air like a drowning man. Hana stepped forward, measuring every word.

"Killing him serves no purpose." Victor turned to her. His hand stayed raised, ready to crush Ivan's throat again.

"He destroyed a Mythic relic."

"Let's be logical here, he didn't do it intentionally. The scroll was unstable. Even your Sponsor acknowledged the risk when you first acquired it. You knew the risk when you hired him." Victor's eyes narrowed.

"My Sponsor expected results. Not excuses."

"Then send him away, my lord." Hana's tone stayed respectful, but there was steel in it.

"Let him bring his bad luck to someone else's city." Victor studied her without lowering his hand.

"This is unusual of you. You're very eager to save him, Enchantress. Why?" Hana didn't flinch.

"Because killing a Level 1 scribe gains you nothing and gives your rivals another story to tell. They already say you lost the top rank because you waste your time on women. Do you want them adding that Victor Hargraves executes helpless Level 1s whenever he loses his temper?" She gestured to the court.

"Exile him. Everyone here still sees that failure has a price, and no one gets to call you a butcher for it." Ivan suspected the jab about women had done more work than the argument. Victor's fingers drummed against the armrest. Finally, he sighed.

"Fine." He lowered his hand.

"Guards. Throw him out." Ivan struggled to his feet, his throat still burning.

"Wait! My belongings! I have things at my apartment, at the guild–" Victor's gaze pinned him in place.

"You have nothing. You are nothing. Our Enchantress's judgment is the only reason you leave alive. Be grateful." The enforcers grabbed his arms. Ivan tried to pull away, his voice cracking.

"My books! My mother's keepsakes–" They didn't listen. They dragged him toward the door, his boots scraping against the marble. Ivan craned his neck, looking back at the throne room one last time. Hana stood in the crowd. Their eyes met once. Thank you. Then the doors slammed shut.

The enforcers dragged Ivan through the streets of Sky Reach. Shopkeepers in the Market District stopped to stare. So did adventurers outside the guild halls and children playing in the alleys. Whispers followed, but this time Ivan ignored them. Ivan kept his eyes forward. His throat still ached from where Victor had crushed it. His wrists hurt from the enforcers' grip. This is better than dying. But damn… Ten years in this city, copying scrolls and barely scraping by, and this is how they throw me out.

The humiliation sat worse than the pain in his throat. They reached the East Gate. The massive wooden doors stood open, guarded by two knights in full plate. They didn't even glance at Ivan as the enforcers shoved him through.

"Lucky bastard." The scarred one grabbed his collar, pulling him close. His breath smelled like stale beer.

"You're banned from Sky Reach. If you return, you'll be killed on sight. Understood?" Ivan nodded, his throat too raw to speak. The enforcer shoved him forward. Ivan stumbled. His knees hit the dirt road outside the city walls. Dust kicked up around him, and he coughed, tasting blood. He looked back. The floating Central Spire glowed above the city in the afternoon sun. Somewhere at its heart sat the Crimson Throne. Ten years. I gave them ten years of my life. And they threw me out like garbage.

His hands clenched into fists. Dirt pressed into his palms. Victor Hargraves. Brock. The guild. All of them had found room to press down on someone already trying to survive. Anger came easiest. Under it lay ten years of work, his books, and his mother's keepsakes, all of it behind that gate. Ivan stood, brushed the dust from his pants, and turned his back on Sky Reach. The road wound into dense forest where monsters spawned and adventurers died. It could kill him before nightfall. Ivan took it anyway.

No one beyond the gate owned him. He would return one day. For now, he walked. Behind him, Sky Reach grew smaller with every step.