The border fortress of Aurelion was not a fort. It was a glorified slaughterhouse with stone walls.
For three weeks, Julius marched in the mud, wearing a dented iron breastplate that chafed his collarbone and carrying a standard-issue shortsword that felt entirely un-aerodynamic. He didn't complain. While the other drafted "Common" students wept, cursed the King, or collapsed from exhaustion, Julius kept his mouth shut and his eyes open.
He was observing the system.
Every night in the damp barracks, while the auxiliary soldiers snored, Julius sat cross-legged on his straw cot, staring at his floating Status Board. His stats hadn't budged, but his understanding of the world's physics had.
Magic in this world is bound by linguistic constructs, Julius analyzed, his fingers tapping against his knee. The native mages think they have to recite a four-line poem to manifest a fireball. Why? Because the system reacts to intent, and their intent is rigid. But science back home proves that heat is just molecular kinetic energy.
He held out his palm. He didn't chant the words written in the cheap imperial manual for Friction [LV 1]. Instead, he focused entirely on the concept of microscopic particles rubbing together at hyper-speed.
Bzzt.
A microscopic spark of pure, concentrated heat snapped into existence directly above his thumb.
Mana Manipulation [LV 1] → Mana Manipulation [LV 2]
New Variant Discovered: Chantless Conceptual Trigger
Julius smirked in the dark.
Step one is complete. I can cast without talking. Now, I just need the right chaotic event to break my lease with the Imperial Army.
The event arrived at dawn on the twenty-fourth day.
The war horns of the Beast-Kin Rebellion echoed through the foggy valley. From the treeline, a horde of seven-foot-tall Ursine warriors—half-bear, half-human elite shock troops—charged the vanguard line.
"Hold the line!" the aristocratic Imperial Commander screamed from the safety of his armored horse in the rear. "Sacrifice your bodies for the Empire!"
"He means die so he gets a promotion," Julius muttered to himself, drawing his shortsword.
The clash was instantaneous and bloody. Julius stayed in the second rank, letting the burly career soldiers in front of him take the initial impact. An Ursine warrior smashed through the front line, its massive iron mace swinging downward to crush the skull of an infantryman next to Julius.
The world seemed to slow down for Julius. His five hundred light novels of simulated combat experience kicked into high gear.
Don't block a mace with a shortsword. You aren't an S-Tier Holy Knight, your wrists will snap.
Instead of parrying, Julius stepped inside the guard of the giant beast. He didn't swing his sword. He placed his left palm directly against the leather armor covering the beast's chest and triggered his optimized skill.
Friction [LV 2]—Maximum Output.
Instead of creating a flame, Julius focused the friction directly onto the leather straps holding the beast's heavy shoulder guards together. The leather instantaneous superheated, charred, and snapped. The heavy iron plate dropped, exposing the beast's soft under-neck.
With a clean, clinical thrust, Julius drove his standard shortsword forward. Basic Sword Mastery [LV 1] guided his hand just enough to find the artery.
The massive beast gasped, collapsing into the mud.
Target Defeated: Ursine Vanguard (LV 14)Experience Gained.
Level Up: Julius Grey (LV 1 → LV 3)Basic Sword Mastery → LV 2
A sudden surge of warm vitality rushed through Julius's veins. His muscles tightened, his vision sharpened. The dopamine hit of a real level-up is better than any video game, he thought, a dangerous thrill running through him.
But he didn't get greedy. He looked up. The vanguard line was completely collapsing. Hundreds of imperial conscripts were being slaughtered. The Commander on the horse was already turning his steed around to retreat toward the main fortress.
Perfect. This is my exit.
Julius scanned the chaotic battlefield until he spotted a massive crater caused by an earlier explosion of elven fire-magic. The dirt inside was loose, charred, and surrounded by several unidentifiable, mangled imperial corpses.
Julius ran toward the crater. He quickly unbuckled his dented imperial breastplate and tossed it into the mud beside a burning wagon. He took his standard-issue shortsword, smeared it with the blood of the Ursine warrior he had just killed, and drove the blade deeply into the dirt right next to the armor.
He then grabbed a handful of black ash and mud, smearing it across his school uniform pants to blend into the scenery.
"Julius Grey," he whispered, looking back at the fleeing imperial cavalry. "Cause of death: vaporized by enemy magic fire. Body unrecoverable."
He dove into the thick brush of the surrounding woods, moving away from both the fortress and the rebel army. He ran for an hour, utilizing his newly increased Agility stat, until the sounds of screaming and clashing iron completely faded into the mountain wind.
Two days later, Julius arrived at the lawless crossroads town of Rin. It was a gray, foggy settlement filled with mercenaries, smugglers, and hunters who didn't care about royal decrees or imperial drafts.
He had 10 Aurelion gold coins stolen from a dead scout's pouch, his school bag, and a procelain white mask he found floating on a river.
If he didn't want to be seen or traced by scouts from the castle then he would have to hide his identity.
His first stop was a secondhand textile shop run by an old, blind weaver who didn't ask questions. Julius spent two golden coins on a custom piece of fabric: a heavy, deep-midnight trench-cloak with a high, stiff collar that could completely obscure his neck and lower jaw.
Standing before a dirty, cracked mirror in the back of the shop, Julius put on his new fabric.
The dark cloak fell perfectly around his shoulders, absorbing the dim light of the shop. He reached into his bag and pulled out the smooth, porcelain-white mask. He slipped the strap over his messy black hair.
The transformation was absolute. Julius Grey, the average high school student and disposable vanguard fodder, was gone.
In his place stood a stark, unsettling silhouette. The pristine white mask offered a cold, expressionless glare to the world, while the dark cloak hid his stance, his weapons, and his breathing.
Julius lifted his right hand, channeling a thin, focused stream of blue mana across his bare knuckles.
"No more main-character privileges for you, Damien," Julius whispered behind the porcelain mask. "I'm in the wild now. Time to start the real build."