Chapter 7: The Notebook
Three days.
Three days of grinding, and Lord Grim sat at Level 19 with the experience bar showing ninety-three percent. One more mob clear. One more hour. Then the class advancement window would appear, and I would click Decline, and the Unspecialized path would lock in permanently.
The café hummed around me in its familiar late-night rhythm. Tang Rou had gone home two hours ago—Chen Guo had physically dragged her out the door after catching her nodding off over her keyboard. Soft Mist was Level 18 now, closing the gap with frightening consistency. She'd stopped asking for rematches. Just practiced. Watched. Waited.
She's saving it for when she can win.
I pulled up the PRD's interface and checked the database. Forty-seven player profiles logged. Two hundred and twelve mob patterns catalogued. Frost Forest data partially complete from two scouting runs, but incomplete—I needed at least one more before attempting the record.
[PRD Status: Level 1. Experience: 847/1000. Profiles: 47/50. Analysis functions: Locked.]
The system had been quiet since the calibration completed. No dramatic notifications, no level-up fanfares—just the steady accumulation of data, each piece filed away in the Archive Layer for later interpretation. A notebook, not a weapon. But notebooks had built empires, and right now I needed the infrastructure more than I needed the firepower.
I queued for Frost Forest.
The dungeon finder matched me with four strangers in under two minutes—server population was still dense at 1 AM, the 10th Server's honeymoon period not yet exhausted. A Blade Master, a Launcher, a Cleric, and an Elementalist. None of them had PRD profiles yet, which meant none of them had run dungeons with me before.
Perfect.
"First time?" the Launcher typed.
"Third run," I replied. "I'll lead. Follow my pings."
No objections. The dungeon loaded.
Frost Forest was beautiful in the way that only video game environments could be—crystalline trees catching perpetual moonlight, snow that never melted, ice formations that existed purely for aesthetic appeal. The source material had described it extensively, and my meta-knowledge filled in the details the PRD hadn't captured yet: mob spawn points, patrol routes, the optimal path through the frozen labyrinth that would shave thirty seconds off a standard clear.
I led the party through the first corridor at measured pace. Not optimizing—observing.
[PRD Update: Mob pattern 213 logged. Patrol route variant B confirmed. Spawn timer: 45 seconds.]
The Blade Master was aggressive, pulling ahead of my markers. The Launcher was cautious, always half a step behind optimal positioning. The Cleric was competent but distracted—their healing came late, compensating for poor anticipation with raw throughput. The Elementalist barely spoke, their DPS adequate but unremarkable.
Not a record team. But good enough for scouting.
We cleared the first three corridors in seven minutes flat. Standard pace, nothing special, but the PRD was feasting. Every mob spawn, every terrain shortcut, every moment where the party's positioning cost efficiency—all of it filed away, cross-referenced with my existing meta-knowledge, building the map that would eventually guide a record attempt.
The frozen waterfall checkpoint loaded. I stopped the party with a ping.
"Boss in three corridors. Phase 1 is tank-and-spank. Phase 2, stack left when he raises his arm. Phase 3, burn and pray."
"You've done this before," the Cleric observed.
"I study."
The Ice Golem fell in four minutes and thirty-seven seconds—respectable, forgettable, exactly what I wanted. The PRD logged the kill data: phase transitions, damage windows, the boss's aggro reset timer.
I frowned.
The aggro reset had triggered at twelve seconds, not fourteen. Two seconds shorter than the source material described.
Patch difference? Server variation?
The discrepancy was minor—barely relevant for a casual clear. But for a record attempt, two seconds of mistimed aggro management could cascade into a wipe. I flagged the data in the Archive Layer and filed it for later analysis.
[Frost Forest cleared. Time: 11:43. PRD Update: Boss profile incomplete. Aggro reset timer discrepancy noted.]
I queued again immediately. Two more runs. Two more data sets. Then I'd have enough to plan.
The second run was faster—I pushed the routing closer to optimal, testing shortcuts the first party hadn't been equipped to handle. The PRD climbed toward Level 2, each data point bringing it closer to the threshold where resource tracking would unlock.
The third run hit the mark.
[PRD Level Up: 1 → 2]
[New Function: Resource Management Tracking. Mana usage, potion timing, and cooldown patterns now logged for observed players.]
I felt the upgrade settle into place—a subtle expansion of awareness, like putting on glasses after years of squinting. The party members' resource bars gained new layers of information: mana consumption rates, potion usage patterns, the rhythm of their cooldown management. Data I would have noticed manually, but now captured automatically.
Still a notebook. But a better notebook.
The third Ice Golem died at 11:28. The aggro reset triggered at twelve seconds again—confirmation that the discrepancy was consistent, not random. I saved the corrected timer in the Archive Layer and closed the dungeon interface.
3:17 AM. Lord Grim's experience bar showed ninety-seven percent. One small grinding session away from Level 20.
I leaned back from the keyboard and reached for the instant noodles Chen Guo had left on my desk hours ago. The broth was cold, the noodles congealed into a single mass that required more chewing than any food should demand.
I ate it anyway.
When was the last time I thought about—
The question surfaced unbidden, and I pushed it down before it could fully form. Steven Grant. Cancer diagnosis. Morphine drip. The laptop playing familiar animation as consciousness faded.
Two days.
Two days since I'd thought about any of it. Two days of grinding and data collection and Tang Rou's competitive fire and Chen Guo's instant noodles. Two days of living someone else's life so completely that I'd almost forgotten it wasn't mine.
The photo in my pocket—Ye Xiu and Su Muqiu at a different internet café, a different lifetime—pressed against my thigh. I hadn't looked at it since that first night. Hadn't called the number saved in Ye Xiu's phone.
Su Mucheng is still waiting.
The man she's waiting for doesn't exist anymore.
I finished the noodles and opened Lord Grim's experience bar. Ninety-seven percent. A few more mobs. A few more minutes.
Then Frost Forest. Then the record. Then—
Then what?
The question had no answer. I closed the PRD interface and started moving toward the nearest grinding zone.
Lord Grim dinged Level 20 at 4:02 AM.
The class advancement window appeared immediately—a translucent prompt offering the choice that defined every Glory character's identity. Blade Master, Battle Mage, Launcher, Witch, Assassin. Twenty-four paths, each one locking in a specific set of skills and equipment restrictions.
Or one path that locked in nothing.
[Class Advancement Available]
[Choose your specialization or select "Decline" to remain Unspecialized.]
[Warning: Unspecialized characters cannot advance past Level 20 without special equipment. This choice is permanent.]
I clicked Decline.
[Class: Unspecialized (Confirmed)]
[Level Cap: 20 (Equipment-dependent)]
[Skill Access: All class skill trees unlocked. Execution limited by equipped weapon form.]
The notification faded, leaving Lord Grim exactly where he'd been—Level 20, basic gear, unremarkable in every way except the class designation that would eventually make him legendary.
In the source material, this was the moment everything started.
Ye Xiu had made the same choice, knowing exactly what it meant.
I'm making it too—but I know the ending he achieved, and I'm not sure I can reach it.
The PRD's database sat open in my peripheral vision, three runs of Frost Forest data compressed into a route that accounted for every mob, every shortcut, every second of optimization I could squeeze from imperfect hands.
The aggro timer discrepancy glowed faintly in the flagged data section. Two seconds. A crack in the meta-knowledge I'd brought from another world.
The first crack.
How many more are waiting?
I saved the route as a mental bookmark and closed the interface. The record attempt would wait until tomorrow—I needed sleep, and the Desync got worse when I was tired.
But as I logged out and pushed back from the keyboard, the PRD's database lingered in my thoughts. Forty-seven profiles. Two hundred and twelve mob patterns. One boss with an aggro timer that didn't match my memories.
The notebook is filling up.
The question is whether I'll be able to read it fast enough.
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