Chapter 6
The Ladder of Power
As my body struggled through the slow, unforgiving process of mana absorption, my mind sought refuge elsewhere.
Knowledge became my sanctuary.
Books became my second battlefield.
While my legs remained useless and my body refused to obey my will, my thoughts roamed freely—hungry, relentless, unwilling to remain weak. Sister Jean noticed it before I did.
Whenever my breathing grew ragged from exhaustion, whenever sweat soaked through the bedding and my limbs trembled on the edge of collapse, she would silently place another book within my reach.
She never asked if I was tired.
She knew the answer.
Among the many records she gathered for me, none unsettled me more than those detailing enhancement—the true path of human enhancement in this world. Until then, strength had been an abstract idea. Something vast and overwhelming, like a distant mountain range I could not yet see clearly.
But as I read, that abstraction sharpened.
Strength was not chaos.
It was structure.
It was a ladder.
And every rung was soaked in blood, sacrifice, and ambition.
Human enhancement began with the Mana Heart.
Unlike monsters, whose power was forged through instinct and flesh, humans pursued strength deliberately. By gathering mana from the environment and circulating it throughout the body, a enhancer could temper bones, organs, and muscles—gradually pushing the human form beyond its natural limits.
At higher stages, a single enhanced human could possess strength rivaling dozens of ordinary people.
But the records were brutally honest.
No matter how talented one was, the human body had a ceiling.
Push too far, and it would break.
To surpass that limit, one had to gamble their life.
The solution humanity had discovered was known as Ritual Enhancement—a dangerous process refined over generations. Even with modern methods, the chance of survival hovered around seventy percent.
High enough to tempt.
Low enough to terrify.
Only by enduring this ritual could one truly step onto the path of power.
Only then could one become Tier 1.
I closed my eyes, imagining it.
Seventy percent.
That meant nearly one in three died.
And yet… people lined up for the chance.
Because in this world, weakness was a death sentence far crueler than risk.
Tier 1 – Totem Warrior
Tier 1 cultivators were known as Totem Warriors.
The title alone made my chest tighten.
At this level, a human possessed physical strength equivalent to lifting three hundred kilograms. They were no longer civilians, no longer fragile beings clinging to safety behind walls. They became hunters—soldiers of survival—the backbone of every small tribe.
Each tier was further divided into nine stars, representing the degree of enhancement achieved.
One to three stars marked minor accomplishment, often visible as a faint, unstable hue when mana surged through the body.
Four to six stars signified great accomplishment, marked by a solid, stable glow—proof of discipline and proper refinement.
Seven to nine stars represented perfect accomplishment, indicated by a deep, dark hue that radiated power. These were elites among elites.
Reaching nine stars was not merely difficult.
It was but gruesome.
The ritual itself varied slightly from tribe to tribe, but the core steps remained unchanged.
First came purification.
The candidate was submerged in a pool saturated with mana, carefully aligned to match their natural affinity—fire, water, wood, metal, wind, or rarer elements passed down through bloodlines. Mana invaded every pore, tearing through impurities, reshaping the body from within.
It was said the pain was indescribable.
That many screamed until their throats bled.
That some begged for death.
Then came the most critical step.
The Totem Contract.
By forming a spiritual bond with the tribe's totem, the warrior gained access to power beyond individual limits. Techniques manifested—abilities that felt disturbingly familiar.
Too familiar.
Wind Slash.
Fire Arrow.
Stone Guard.
They read like skills lifted straight from a game back on Earth.
My fingers trembled as I turned the page.
This was no fantasy.
This was the foundation of survival.
The deeper I read, the heavier my thoughts became.
Totems were not gods.
They were once monsters.
At some point in their evolution, these creatures had reached a crossroads. They could continue strengthening their physical bodies, pursuing raw, instinct-driven power—or they could abandon flesh entirely.
Those who chose the latter evolved into spiritual beings.
Totems.
The advantages were undeniable.
Freed from the limits of flesh, a totem no longer needed to endure centuries of brutal physical evolution. Instead, by forming contracts with humans, it could grow through shared advancement—feeding on collective progress rather than individual struggle.
The difference was staggering.
A physical monster required nearly five hundred years to reach Tier 4.
A spiritual totem could reach comparable growth in just one hundred years—provided it was bonded to thousands of humans.
Efficiency born of sacrifice.
But the cost…
Being a totem meant eternal confinement.
Bound to an altar.
Stripped of physical sensation.
No movement.
No indulgence.
No companionship beyond distant spiritual echoes.
An existence of endless stillness.
For some monsters, that fate was worse than death.
The records stated that many chose annihilation rather than accept such an eternity.
I swallowed hard.
Power without freedom.
Immortality without life.
And yet, for human tribes, totems were priceless beyond measure.
They were pillars of survival.
One passage, in particular, seized my attention.
Totems were not merely sources of power.
They were repositories of knowledge.
When a contracted warrior created, refined, or mastered a new technique, that knowledge was etched into the totem itself. From there, it became accessible to every other warrior bound to it.
The implications were terrifying.
If one person spent ten years perfecting a technique, others could learn it in five.
If a genius broke through a limitation, ordinary people could follow without sharing the same talent.
Progress multiplied.
Power compounded.
It was the ultimate equalizer.
A perfect cycle.
A symbiotic relationship bound by shared fate.
I exhaled slowly, my heart pounding.
No wonder tribes guarded their totems with their lives.
Beyond Tier 1, the records grew colder.
More clinical.
Each advancement represented not just growth—but domination.
Tier 2 – Totem Captain
Possessing a minimum physical strength of one thousand kilograms—one full ton.
These were leaders of hunter squads, battlefield commanders whose presence alone could turn the tide of combat.
As I read, a familiar image surfaced in my mind.
Sister Jean.
Her unshakable confidence.
Her effortless authority.
For the first time, I truly understood why no one questioned her commands.
Tier 3 – Totem Commander
Three tons of power.
At this level, strength alone bent the atmosphere. These individuals often became elders or leaders of small tribes. Their words carried absolute authority—backed by power no one could challenge lightly.
They no longer fought merely with muscle.
They fought with presence.
Tier 4 – Totem General
Seven and a half tons of power.
Living weapons.
Their strength rivaled the force of an elephant back on Earth. For small tribes, a Totem General was the final line of defense—the last wall between survival and annihilation.
Tier 5 – Totem Lord
Sixteen and a half tons of power.
At this level, a single strike could alter terrain.
Comparable to a conventional bomb from the modern world, their presence alone could reshape battlefields.
The records ended there.
But I closed the book slowly, my thoughts burning.
If there was Tier One through Five…
Then there had to be Tier Six.
And beyond.
Perhaps this place simply lacked the knowledge.
Or perhaps those realms were so distant they had faded into legend.
I clenched my fists.
If there is nothing beyond this ladder—
Then I will carve the next rank myself.
If strength is the only path—
Then I will climb it with my own hands.
As the dim light of the room flickered, I stared at the wooden ceiling above my bed.
If my family is somewhere in this world…
If the distance between us is truly that vast…
Then only by climbing this impossible ladder—
One rank at a time—
Could I ever hope to reach them.
And for the first time since awakening in this world...
I did not feel fear.
I felt resolve.