The first pale fingers of dawn hadn't even begun to creep over the horizon when my eyes snapped open. The lumpy mattress was still lumpy, the room was still depressingly barren, and I was still five years old. Wonderful. Some things never changed, even after cosmic reincarnation.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the cracked ceiling and listening to the faint, rattling snores of the other orphans echoing through the thin walls. The system's blue screens had faded, but the knowledge of them remained—a warm, comforting presence at the back of my mind like a security blanket made of cheat codes.
Alright, Alexander. Time to get moving.
I swung my tiny legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet touching the cold, splintery floorboards. The sensation was... grounding. Literally. After an eternity in that void, even discomfort felt novel. I wiggled my toes experimentally, feeling the wood grain beneath them. Small victories.
The room I'd been assigned was barely larger than a closet—probably because it had been a closet before Helga decided she could squeeze one more orphan into it. A single window, too grimy to see through properly, let in a sickly gray light. A wooden crate served as my nightstand. My bed was a straw-stuffed mattress on a rusted iron frame that creaked if you so much as thought about moving.
It was, objectively, a dump.
I loved it.
Not because I had low standards—though my current situation suggested otherwise—but because it was mine. My first real space in this new world. My starting zone. Every great adventure began somewhere humble, and "closet in a rundown orphanage" was about as humble as it got.
Now, how to get out of here without waking the human alarm system...
Helga, the matron, slept in a room on the first floor. The other kids were scattered throughout the second floor in various states of neglect. I'd learned from this body's fragmented memories that Helga didn't bother checking on anyone until sunrise, when she'd bang a rusty pot with a ladle to wake everyone up for "breakfast"—which was usually a stale bread roll and water. Sometimes, if she was feeling generous, the water was lukewarm.
I crept toward the door, my small feet making barely a whisper against the wood. The Transparent World flickered at the edge of my perception, and I could dimly sense the slow, sluggish mana signatures of the other children through the walls. Their life forces were like candle flames—small, fragile, entirely unremarkable. Not a single one of them had awakened their mana core yet, which made sense. Most people in this world didn't until their early teens, if ever.
Lucky for me, I'm not most people.
I eased the door open, wincing at the faint creak of the hinges. The hallway beyond was dark and narrow, lined with identical doors on either side. The floorboards here were even worse than in my room—I'd have to step carefully if I didn't want to announce my departure to the entire building.
Step. Pause. Step. Pause.
I moved like a tiny, hyper-focused ninja, using the Transparent World to track Helga's mana signature on the floor below. She was still in her room, her life force a dull, muddy brown—the color of someone who'd long since given up on joy and replaced it with spite. Her circulatory system appeared as faint, ghostly lines in my enhanced vision, her heartbeat a slow, rhythmic pulse.
Creepy. Useful. Moving on.
The back door of the orphanage was my target. According to my inherited memories, it led to a small, overgrown yard where the kids sometimes played—or, more accurately, where they fought over the single rusty swing set while Helga watched from the window with the enthusiasm of a prison warden. Beyond the yard was a rickety wooden fence, and beyond that...
The forest.
The Whistler's Rest orphanage sat on the very edge of Ashber, a border town so insignificant that most maps probably forgot to include it. The forest surrounding the town was technically called the Thornwood, named for the dense, brambly undergrowth that made traversing it a nightmare. But more importantly, it was home to mana beasts. Weak ones, mostly—the kind that even novice adventurers could handle with minimal effort. The real threats were deeper in, past the tree line where the canopy grew so thick that sunlight became a myth.
I wasn't planning on going that far. Not yet, anyway. I just needed enough space to swing a stick without someone asking questions.
The back door's lock was a simple latch, rusted with age and neglect. It took me approximately three seconds to figure out how to undo it, and another two to actually manage it with my embarrassingly weak toddler fingers. The door swung open with a groan that sounded approximately one hundred times louder than it actually was, and I slipped outside into the pre-dawn chill.
The air hit me like a slap. Cold. Damp. Heavy with the scent of pine and wet earth. I'd forgotten what fresh air felt like—or rather, this body had never really appreciated it before. The system had given me Alexander's memories, but they were faded things, like photographs left too long in the sun. The feeling of cold air on my skin, though? That was new. That was mine.
I took a deep breath, letting it fill my tiny lungs. The yard was exactly as depressing as my memories suggested—patchy grass, a swing set that looked like it had been through several wars and lost all of them, and a fence that was more suggestion than barrier. I crossed the yard quickly, my bare feet squelching against the dew-soaked ground, and slipped through a gap in the fence that my body instinctively knew about. Apparently, the previous Alexander had used this route to escape the orphanage's suffocating atmosphere more than once. Smart kid. Shame he didn't have cheat powers to go with his survival instincts.
Actually, wait. Did I absorb his soul, or did I just... overwrite it?
I paused at the edge of the tree line, frowning. That was a philosophical question I was absolutely not equipped to handle at five in the morning with no caffeine in my system. I filed it away under "existential crises for later" and pressed on.
The Thornwood swallowed me whole.
The forest was different up close. Darker. Quieter. The trees grew thick and gnarled, their branches intertwining overhead like the fingers of grasping hands. The ground was carpeted with dead leaves and pine needles, muffling my footsteps. Every now and then, I'd catch a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision—a rabbit, maybe, or something less friendly—but nothing approached me directly.
That was the Curse of Fear at work.
I could feel it now, humming beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. It wasn't an active ability I could turn on or off; it was just... there. A passive aura of "go away" that radiated from my very existence. The forest creatures sensed it. The birds that should have been chirping their morning songs were silent. The small mana beasts I occasionally glimpsed through the Transparent World—faint, flickering signatures of green and blue—scattered the moment I drew near.
One of them, a shaggy, wolf-like creature with moss growing from its back, caught sight of me from about thirty meters away. Its mana signature spiked—fear, I realized, translated through the Transparent World as a rapid, erratic pulsing—and it turned tail and ran so fast it left furrows in the dirt.
"Huh," I muttered, watching it go. "I guess being terrifying has its perks."
The downside, of course, was that I couldn't exactly make friends. Not with animals, not with people. The Curse of Fear ensured that every living creature would instinctively hate and fear me. It was the ultimate anti-social debuff. But for training purposes? For getting some peace and quiet in a monster-infested forest? It was perfect.
I walked for about twenty minutes, following a narrow game trail that wound between the trees. The Transparent World made navigation easy—I could see the mana signatures of larger creatures from a distance and adjust my route accordingly. Not that any of them wanted to stick around once I got close, but it was nice to have the warning.
Eventually, I found what I was looking for: a small clearing, maybe ten meters across, where the trees opened up enough to let in a patch of gray morning light. The ground was relatively flat, covered in soft moss and the occasional exposed root. A fallen log lay at one end, perfect for sitting on. And scattered around the clearing's edge were dozens of fallen branches, ranging from twigs to proper arm-thick limbs.
Perfect. Time to find my weapon.
I spent a few minutes examining the available candidates, applying the same level of scrutiny a master swordsman might give to a legendary blade. This stick was too crooked. This one was too thin—it'd snap the moment I hit something. This one was rotted through. This one...
My hand closed around a branch that was almost exactly the length of a wooden sword. It was straight, solid, and had a natural grip where a smaller branch had once grown. The wood was dark and dense—oak, maybe, or something similar. It wasn't balanced perfectly, but it was close enough.
"You'll do," I said, giving it an experimental swing. The branch cut through the air with a satisfying whoosh. "I shall call you... Stick."
Naming things was clearly not my forte. Moving on.
I moved to the center of the clearing, Stick held loosely in my right hand. The morning light was stronger now, filtering through the canopy in golden shafts that made the moss glow. It was almost... peaceful. Serene. The kind of scene that, in the anime I'd loved in my previous life, would have been accompanied by a soft, melodic soundtrack and a montage of the protagonist training.
Speaking of which—
DING!
A translucent blue screen materialized in front of my face, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
[NEW QUEST: SWORD GOD'S DAILY ROUTINE]
The path of the blade is not walked in leaps and bounds, but in countless, repetitive steps. A true sword god does not simply master the sword—they marry it, breathe it, live it. Complete the following exercises daily to walk the path of the blade.
{Quest Requirements:
*- Perform 1,000 vertical sword slashes [0/1,000]*
*- Perform 1,000 horizontal sword slashes [0/1,000]*
*- Perform 1,000 sword stabs [0/1,000]*
*- Perform 200 connective sword movements linking any two of the above [0/200]*
Quest Rewards:
*- 1x Gacha Ticket*
*- 5x Small Mana Potion (Restores 300 MP each)*
*- 5x Copper Coins*
*- 1x Small Stamina Potion (Restores 10% of Stamina)*
*- 100 EXP*
Time Limit: 24 Hours
Failure Penalty: None. But do you really want to disappoint the sword?}
I stared at the screen for a long moment.
"That's... three thousand two hundred movements," I said slowly, doing the math in my head. "Three thousand two hundred. Before breakfast. With the body of a five-year-old."
The screen, predictably, did not respond.
"And the failure penalty is just... disappointing a sword? A conceptual sword? The sword doesn't have feelings!"
Still nothing.
"Fine," I grumbled, adjusting my grip on Stick. "Fine. But I want it on record that I'm doing this under protest. This is child labor. I'm pretty sure there are laws."
I took my stance—feet shoulder-width apart, body angled slightly to the side, Stick held in a two-handed grip. Basic Swordsmanship Lv 1 might not have made me a master, but it had dumped enough fundamental knowledge into my brain that I at least knew how to stand properly. The stance felt awkward in this tiny body, my center of gravity different from what my soul expected, but I adjusted quickly.
"Alright, Stick," I muttered. "Let's show this system what we're made of."
I raised the branch above my head.
And I swung.
The first vertical slash was... underwhelming. Stick whistled through the air, and I nearly overbalanced from the momentum. My arms were short, my muscles were practically nonexistent, and my coordination was about what you'd expect from someone who'd been in this body for less than a day.
The second slash was slightly better.
The third was slightly worse.
By the tenth, my arms were already starting to ache.
"This is fine," I panted, bringing Stick down for the eleventh time. "This is character development. Every protagonist needs a training arc."
The Transparent World flickered at the edge of my vision, and I realized I could use it to analyze my own movements. I could see the flow of blood through my arms, the contraction and relaxation of my muscles, the subtle shifts in my balance. It was like having a built-in coach, pointing out every inefficiency in real-time.
My angle is off. I'm putting too much strain on my shoulders and not enough on my core. My grip is too tight—I need to loosen my fingers on the downswing.
I adjusted. The next slash felt smoother. More natural.
Better. Now do that nine hundred and eighty-nine more times.
The clearing echoed with the rhythmic swish-swish-swish of Stick cutting through the air. I fell into a trance of sorts, my mind emptying of everything except the motion. Up, down. Up, down. The movements became mechanical, then fluid, then something approaching graceful.
DING!
[Skill Level Up: Basic Swordsmanship Lv 1 → Lv 2]
I grinned, not breaking my rhythm. "Oh, we are so back."
By the time I hit five hundred vertical slashes, my arms felt like they were filled with molten lead. My shoulders screamed. My back ached. Sweat poured down my face in rivulets, despite the morning chill. My breathing came in harsh, ragged gasps that would have been deeply concerning if anyone had been around to hear them.
But I didn't stop.
The Sword God Incarnate trait was doing its work. Every repetition refined my technique, stripped away inefficiencies, carved the proper movements into my muscle memory. What should have taken months of practice was being compressed into hours. I could feel myself improving with each swing, the movements becoming sharper, cleaner, more precise.
DING!
[Skill Level Up: Basic Swordsmanship Lv 2 → Lv 3]
"Five hundred down," I wheezed, lowering Stick for a moment. "Only... twenty-five hundred more to go. Haha... ha..."
I was going to die. I was going to die in this forest, and Helga would find my body, and she'd probably bill the kingdom for the inconvenience.
But the quest rewards were too good to pass up. A Gacha Ticket? Five mana potions? Experience points? I needed all of it. Every single reward was another step toward getting strong enough to leave this crummy town and start my actual adventure.
Besides, I thought, raising Stick for another slash, the system said there's no failure penalty. It didn't say there's no success reward. And I am not disappointing a conceptual sword today.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
The vertical slashes took me about an hour and a half. By the end, my arms had gone from "molten lead" to "actively on fire" to "strangely numb," which I chose to interpret as progress. Stick had held up admirably, though I'd noticed a few small cracks forming near the grip. I'd need to find a replacement soon, or maybe figure out how to reinforce it with mana.
That's a problem for future Alexander, I decided. Present Alexander has two thousand two hundred more movements to complete.
The horizontal slashes were, somehow, worse. The motion was different—a sweeping cut that started from the side rather than overhead. It used different muscles, demanded different balance, required a different rhythm. My body protested the change, my muscles confused and angry about this new form of torture.
But the Sword God Incarnate trait didn't care about my comfort. It analyzed, adjusted, refined. My first hundred horizontal slashes were clumsy, awkward things that would have made any self-respecting swordsman weep. My second hundred were passable. By the third hundred, I was starting to understand the flow of the movement, the way the power transferred from my hips through my shoulders and into the blade.
DING!
[Skill Level Up: Basic Swordsmanship Lv 3 → Lv 4]
DING!
[Skill Level Up: Basic Transparent World Lv 1 → Lv 2]
I paused mid-swing, blinking at the notification. "Transparent World leveled up? Just from using it during training?"
Apparently so. It made sense, in retrospect—the skill was all about perception and analysis, and I'd been using it constantly to refine my movements. The world around me seemed sharper now, more detailed. I could see the individual droplets of sweat flying off my arms with each swing. I could track the subtle sway of the tree branches in a breeze I hadn't even noticed before. I could count the heartbeats of a small mana beast—some kind of rodent—hiding in a bush about fifty meters away.
Neat. Terrifying, but neat.
The horizontal slashes took another hour and a half. By the time I finished, the sun had fully risen, and the forest had come alive around me. Birds chirped cautiously in the distance, keeping well away from my curse's radius. The air had warmed slightly, though it was still cool enough that my breath misted faintly with each exhale.
I took a short break, collapsing onto the fallen log and letting Stick drop beside me. My arms trembled uncontrollably. My hands were blistered, even though the Sword God Incarnate trait had apparently helped me develop calluses at an accelerated rate. My legs ached from maintaining the same stance for hours.
"I regret everything," I announced to the empty clearing. "I regret the void. I regret the reincarnation. I regret ever thinking this was a good idea."
The forest, predictably, did not respond.
"But those gacha pulls, though..."
I hauled myself back to my feet.
The sword stabs were a different kind of torture. Instead of the broad, sweeping motions of the slashes, stabs required precision and control. Thrust forward, retract, thrust again. The movement seemed simple, but doing it a thousand times was an exercise in masochism I hadn't fully appreciated until about number three hundred.
My shoulder felt like it was going to pop out of its socket. My wrist throbbed with every thrust. My fingers had gone past numb and into a strange, tingling state that I was pretty sure wasn't medically advisable.
But I kept going.
Stab. Retract. Stab. Retract.
The Transparent World showed me the inefficiencies in my form—the slight wobble in my wrist, the minute hesitation before each thrust, the tension in my shoulders that was bleeding power. I corrected. I improved.
Stab. Retract. Stab. Retract.
DING!
[Skill Level Up: Basic Swordsmanship Lv 4 → Lv 5]
By the time I hit one thousand stabs, I was moving on pure, spiteful determination. My arms had transcended pain and entered some kind of zen state of suffering. I was one with the agony. The agony was me.
Two hundred connective movements left, I thought, staring at the quest progress with the thousand-yard stare of a war veteran. Two hundred. That's nothing. That's a warm-up. I can do this in my sleep.
I could not do this in my sleep.
The connective movements were, as the name suggested, combinations of the three basic motions I'd just spent the last several hours drilling into my soul. A vertical slash flowing into a horizontal slash. A stab transitioning into an upward cut. A horizontal slash followed by a diagonal step and a thrust.
Each combination required me to chain the movements seamlessly, without pausing or breaking form. It was like learning to dance, except the dance partner was a wooden stick and the music was the screaming of my muscles.
The first fifty were disasters. My transitions were jerky, my footwork sloppy, my timing completely off. Stick nearly flew out of my grip twice. I tripped over an exposed root once and face-planted into the moss, which at least was soft.
The second fifty were... less disastrous. Still not good, but approaching something that might charitably be called "competent."
By the final hundred, something clicked.
It was like my body finally understood what my soul already knew. The movements flowed into each other naturally, almost instinctively. Vertical slash, pivot, horizontal slash—a figure-eight pattern that felt as natural as breathing. Stab, step back, upward slash—a defensive retreat that transitioned into an offensive strike. My feet moved without conscious thought, positioning themselves automatically for each transition.
DING!
[Skill Level Up: Basic Swordsmanship Lv 5 → Lv 6]
DING!
[Skill Level Up: Basic Transparent World Lv 2 → Lv 3]
DING!
[QUEST COMPLETE: SWORD GOD'S DAILY ROUTINE]
Congratulations! You have completed all requirements for today's training. The sword is not disappointed. In fact, the sword is mildly impressed. Keep it up, and you might actually become something worth watching.
{Quest Rewards:
*- 1x Gacha Ticket*
*- 5x Small Mana Potion (Restores 300 MP each)*
*- 5x Copper Coins*
*- 1x Small Stamina Potion (Restores 10% of Stamina)*
*- 100 EXP*}
{Rewards have been added to your Inventory.}
I collapsed.
Stick clattered to the ground beside me as I sprawled out on the moss, staring up at the canopy with the hollow, shell-shocked expression of someone who had just been through a war. My chest heaved. My limbs felt like overcooked noodles. Every muscle in my body was screaming a chorus of betrayal and anguish.
"I did it," I croaked. "I actually did it. Three thousand two hundred movements. In four hours. I'm either a prodigy or an idiot. Possibly both."
DING!
[LEVEL UP!]
You are now Level 1!
*- All stats increased by 5*
*- 10 Status Points awarded*
DING!
[Due to intense physical exertion, the following stats have increased:]
*- Strength +2*
*- Stamina +2*
*- Vitality +2*
*- Constitution +3*
I blinked at the cascade of notifications, too exhausted to even feel properly excited. "Oh. Wow. That's... that's actually really good."
The stat increases from the training were a pleasant surprise—I hadn't expected to gain permanent stat boosts just from working out, though it made sense in retrospect. This was a world that ran on RPG logic, after all. Grinding was supposed to pay off.
And the level-up! I was finally Level 1, which meant I was technically no longer the weakest possible version of myself. The all-stats boost was huge—five points in every category was nothing to sneeze at, especially when combined with the training gains.
Let's see... that puts my Strength at 17, Stamina at 29, Vitality at 23, Constitution at 25... Not bad. Not bad at all. My physical stats are almost double the average adult human now.
For a five-year-old, that was frankly ridiculous. If I kept this up, I'd be bench-pressing horses by the time I hit puberty.
I let myself lie there for a few more minutes, recovering my breath and waiting for the trembling in my limbs to subside. The Small Stamina Potion was tempting—I could feel its presence in my Inventory, a reassuring weight at the back of my mind—but I decided to save it. Ten percent stamina restoration wasn't huge, and I had a feeling I'd need it more in the future than I did right now.
Speaking of Inventory...
I mentally pulled up the system interface and navigated to the Inventory tab. The items I'd received were arranged in neat little slots, each one represented by a small icon.
*- Gacha Ticket x1: A shimmering golden ticket that practically radiates potential. Use it to pull from the Gacha System and receive a random item, skill, or template .*
*- Small Mana Potion x5: A glass vial filled with glowing blue liquid. Restores 300 MP upon consumption. Tastes vaguely of blueberries, according to the label. (The label is lying. It tastes like regret and magic.)*
*- Copper Coins x5: Standard currency of the Kingdom of Sapin. Each coin is worth roughly enough to buy a loaf of bread or a cheap meal.*
*- Small Stamina Potion x1: A glass vial filled with a swirling green liquid. Restores 10% of maximum Stamina upon consumption. Warning: May cause a brief sensation of tingling.*
Five copper coins. That was... not nothing, but not exactly a fortune either. I did some quick mental math. If I completed this quest every day—and I fully intended to—that was five copper a day, every day. Thirty-five copper a week. About one hundred and forty copper a month.
How much do I need to leave the orphanage?
I thought about it. I'd need traveling supplies—food, water, maybe a real weapon at some point. I'd need money for inns or at least a bedroll for camping. I'd need...
Actually, I had no idea what things cost in this world. The original Alexander's memories were frustratingly vague on economic matters—orphans didn't exactly have spending money, after all. But I knew that a copper coin could buy a basic meal, and a silver coin (worth one hundred copper, if I remembered correctly) could get you a night at a decent inn.
If I saved every copper from this quest, I could probably afford to leave the orphanage in about three months. Maybe sooner if I found other ways to earn money.
Three months, I thought, staring up at the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. Three months of daily training, daily quest rewards, daily stat gains. By then, I'll probably be strong enough to handle myself on the road. And I'll have enough money to actually get somewhere.
It wasn't a bad timeline, all things considered. Three months in a crappy orphanage was nothing compared to the lifespan I now possessed. I could be patient. I could be smart about this.
Plus, three months gives me time to figure out this whole Gacha System thing. Who knows what kind of insane powers I might pull in that time?
The thought made me grin despite my exhaustion. I'd always had terrible luck with gacha games in my previous life—the kind of luck that resulted in ten pulls of nothing but duplicates and disappointment. But with a Luck stat of one thousand?
The gacha was going to be glorious.
I hauled myself upright with a groan that belonged to someone five times my age. My muscles protested every movement, but the rest had done me some good. I could actually feel my Stamina regenerating, slowly but steadily, and the sharpest edges of my exhaustion had dulled to a manageable ache.
Stick lay on the ground beside me, looking somewhat worse for wear. The cracks near the grip had spread, and the tip was starting to splinter. Another day or two of training, and I'd need a replacement.
I should probably find a more durable training weapon at some point. Maybe I can save up for a proper wooden sword in town? Or... hmm. I wonder if I can reinforce a branch with mana somehow.
I filed that thought away for later experimentation and bent down to retrieve Stick. The motion made my back twinge, but it was bearable. Barely.
"Alright," I said, addressing the clearing. "That was day one. Only... several hundred more days until I'm actually strong. No pressure."
I stretched my arms above my head, wincing at the symphony of cracks and pops from my shoulders. Despite the exhaustion, despite the pain, despite the sheer absurdity of a five-year-old spending four hours swinging a stick in the woods...
I felt good.
Not just physically—though the stat gains were definitely helping—but mentally. Spiritually. There was something deeply satisfying about the training, something that resonated with the Sword God Incarnate trait buried in my soul. The feeling of the blade—even a crude wooden one—in my hands. The rhythm of the movements. The slow, steady progression of skill.
I'd never been particularly athletic in my previous life. I'd been a consumer of stories, not a participant in them. But here, now, with the system's power flowing through me and a literal cheat trait for swordsmanship...
I was having fun.
Who knew? Turns out swinging a stick around in the woods is actually pretty great when you can feel yourself improving with every swing. Take that, past me. You were missing out.
I made my way back through the forest, retracing my steps along the game trail. The Transparent World made navigation effortless—I could see the faint traces of mana I'd left behind, a shimmering trail only visible to my enhanced perception. The forest creatures continued to give me a wide berth, their mana signatures flaring and fleeing the moment they sensed my approach.
The journey back to the orphanage was uneventful. I slipped through the gap in the fence, crossed the depressing yard, and eased the back door open as quietly as I could. The sounds of the household were louder now—Helga's harsh voice barking orders, the clatter of dishes, the shuffling footsteps of the other orphans going about their morning routines.
I crept back to my closet-room and closed the door behind me, leaning against it with a sigh of relief. No one had noticed my absence. No one had come looking. As far as anyone knew, I'd been in my room the whole time.
Perfect. Rinse and repeat tomorrow.
I flopped onto my lumpy mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling with a satisfied smile. My body was exhausted. My muscles ached in ways I hadn't known were possible. My hands were blistered and callused.
But I was Level 1. I had a Gacha Ticket waiting in my Inventory. I had a plan. And for the first time since waking up in this world—maybe for the first time in either of my lives—I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Not bad for a day's work, I thought, closing my eyes. Not bad at all.
STATUS SCREEN
{Name: Alexander (LEX)
Race: Dragon-Human Deity Hybrid
Lifespan: 5 / 2,000
Level: 1
Class: None
MP: 10,000 / 10,000
HP: 10,000 / 10,000
Elemental Affinities: Wind, Fire
Trait(s): Curse of Fear, Slowed Mana Regeneration, Reincarnated, True Demon Slayer Mark, Sword God Incarnate
Core Stage: Black
Stats:
Perception: 75 (+5)
Strength: 17 (+5 from level, +2 from training)
Constitution: 25 (+5 from level, +3 from training)
Agility: 18 (+5)
Resistance: 12 (+5)
Charisma: 22 (+5)
Vitality: 23 (+5 from level, +2 from training)
Stamina: 29 (+5 from level, +2 from training)
Luck: 1005 (+5)
{Status Points: 110}
Skills:
Basic Mana Manipulation Lv 1
Basic Mana Perception Lv 1
Basic Swordsmanship Lv 6
Basic Transparent World Lv 3
Special Skill(s):
Reincarnation Technique (From Orsted) (MAX)
Inventory:
Gacha Ticket x1
Small Mana Potion x5
Copper Coins x5
Small Stamina Potion x1
{Store: Locked - Requires Level 25 & a Class}