Klaus fell faster than it 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 new skill for months now, yet none of them peak 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 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.
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
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 and creates 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.”
He didn’t give them time to vote.
One slash—clean, efficient—and the slime burst apart with a wet splat.
Klaus repeated the process and acquired Mirror Image.
He straightened, breathing out slowly.
When he looked up, the clearing was empty.
The remaining slimes had fled into the forest, wobbling as fast as their amorphous bodies would allow.
Klaus stared after them for a second.
Then sighed.
“…There goes my monthly due,” he muttered. “Ten gold coins in one night.” He shook his head. “Hope you’re worth it.”
He opened his status.
Basic Skills (Free Skill Points +22)
Trap Master (Lv.10) >>
Phantom Jump (Lv.10) >>
Echolocation (Lv.10) >>
Primal Roar (Lv.5 +) >>
Exhausting Hunger (Lv.5 +) >>
Mucus Armor (Lv.1 +) >>
Mirror Image (Lv.1 +) >>
Unique Skill
Reaver Graver – Permanently copy one basic skill of choice from a defeated foe.
The level of the basic skill copied scales with the caster’s intelligence.
Cost: 50 Mana, 5 Gold
Passive Skill
Mindforger – Manifest any weapon based on the user’s perception and understanding.
Weapon form, stability, and effectiveness scale with mental clarity and combat experience.
Ultimate Skill
Power of Gold (Ultimate) –
Convert gold directly into raw power.
For every 1 Gold coin spent, all attributes increase by +1.
Effect last for 30 minutes.
Gold consumed cannot be recovered.
Klaus tapped the + beside Mucus Armor.
The numbers shifted.
Lv.2.
Physical Damage Negation: 35%.
His eyebrows rose.
“Five percent per level,” he murmured. “So it’s an ascending skill.”
That explained a lot.
He didn’t stop there.
Point after point flowed in until the skill reached level ten. The description settled.
Mucus Armor (Lv.10 +):
Negates 75% of physical damage.
Klaus let out a low whistle.
“Not bad,” he said approvingly. “Not bad at all.”
He moved on to Mirror Image.
Four points first—carefully.
The description rewrote itself.
Mirror Image (Lv.5 +)<<
The caster can turn into a perfect visual copy, voice and posture of any creature the caster have seen.
The caster may deactivate and reactivate the skill.
Duration: 300 minutes.
His eyes widened.
“…Jackpot.”
That wasn’t ascending. That was something better.
“A transcending skill,” he said, grinning.
He didn’t hesitate.
By the time he reached level ten, his grin had gone slack.
Mirror Image (Lv.10 +)<<
The caster can turn into a perfect visual copy, voice, posture, and masteries of any creature the caster have seen.
The caster may deactivate and reactivate the skill.
Duration: 24 hours.
Klaus stared.
Mastery. A normal person needed years, decades and even a lifetime to learn a single mastery. But this skill—All he needed was to see them to gain what they trained.
“…This is cheating,” he breathed.
He activated the skill immediately.
Without thinking, he pictured Maddy.
The world rippled.
His body reshaped itself smoothly, effortlessly. When it settled, Klaus—no, Maddy—stood in the clearing. Not the dress from earlier, but her usual mission attire: black cotton bodysuit, leather jacket, low-heeled boots hiding wickedly long needles. Daggers rested comfortably at his hips.
He glanced down, staring at the massive bulge in his chest. Temptation wanted him to touch it.
Paused.
“…Focus,” he told himself firmly, slapping his own wrist away. “Training.”
He inhaled slowly
The world shifted again—not visually, but internally. A shadow training as they called it.
Posture adjusted on its own. His feet spread a fraction wider. Knees loosened. Shoulders relaxed while remaining coiled. His breathing changed, slower and quieter, settling into a rhythm he hadn’t consciously chosen.
He reached for the daggers.
The moment his fingers closed around the hilts, something clicked.
Knowledge surged—not like memories being recalled, but like instincts snapping into place. Angles. Reach. Weight distribution. The subtle difference between a killing thrust and a disabling cut. His wrists rotated automatically, blades flashing in a smooth, controlled arc.
Klaus blinked.
“…Oh.”
He stepped forward.
The first strike came out too hard.
The blade sliced cleanly through the air—whff—overextended by a hair. His body corrected instantly, hips twisting, elbow tightening, the follow-up strike snapping back with precise economy.
He frowned.
“That would’ve gotten me stabbed,” he said aloud.
The next sequence flowed better.
Step. Pivot. Slash. Reverse grip. Low cut. Withdraw.
Shff—shhk—tap.
His boots whispered against the grass. The daggers moved like extensions of his arms, not tools but answers to imagined threats. When he visualized an opponent, his body responded before his thoughts finished forming.
A goblin lunging left—
He sidestepped without thinking, blade snapping up to sever an imaginary wrist, the other dagger sliding toward a throat that wasn’t there.
An armored soldier—
He shifted angles, abandoned the neck entirely, and drove for gaps that only experience would know existed.
Klaus stopped abruptly.
His heart wasn’t racing.
His breathing wasn’t strained.
“…This is ridiculous,” he said, half awed, half unsettled.
He resumed anyway.
Faster this time.
He sprinted, then cut—rolling forward, daggers flashing in a spinning pattern that left no opening. He practiced throwing motions without releasing the blades, measuring distance by instinct alone. When he jumped, his landing was silent, knees bending just enough to absorb impact without sound.
At one point, he deliberately made a mistake.
He overcommitted on a thrust.
Before he could even register it, his body corrected—torso twisting sharply, blade retracting, his other hand snapping up as if deflecting a counterstrike that existed only in his imagination.
Klaus froze.
“…That wasn’t me,” he whispered.
That was Maddy.
Her habits. Her experience. Her scars, translated into motion.
He swallowed, then laughed softly.
“Gods,” he said, shaking his head. “If she knew I was borrowing this, she’d stab me just on principle.”
The training continued.
Sweat beaded on his skin—not from exhaustion, but from repetition. He practiced until the motions stopped feeling borrowed and started feeling understood. Even knowing the mastery would fade in a day, he absorbed everything he could—timing, rhythm, awareness.
By the time he stopped, an hour had passed without him noticing.
Klaus stood in the clearing, chest rising slowly, daggers resting loosely in his hands.
Klaus deactivated the skill and breathed out, calm and sharp all at once.
He smiled, “Time to head back home. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
