Darkness.
Not the quiet kind—
the suffocating kind.
Jake was standing in a place with no sky.
The ground beneath his feet was black glass, cracked with red light pulsing like veins. Each step echoed too loudly, as if the world itself was hollow.
Then he heard it.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
He looked down.
Blood.
It was pooling around his shoes, warm, endless—and when he followed it with his eyes, his breath caught in his throat.
Bodies.
His mother lay there first, eyes wide open, staring straight at him. Her mouth moved, trying to speak, but only blood spilled out.
"Jake…"
"Why didn't you come sooner…?"
"No—" he stepped back.
His foot hit something soft.
Lizzy.
Her small body was twisted unnaturally, her neck bent the wrong way. Her eyes were dull, lifeless—but then they blinked.
She smiled.
"Big brother," she said sweetly, her voice echoing wrong, distorted.
"You said you'd protect me."
The world cracked.
The black glass shattered, and Jake began to fall.
As he fell, screens surrounded him—status windows flashing violently.
XP: 0
XP: 0
XP: 0
No matter how fast they scrolled… it never changed.
"You're too weak."
The voice didn't come from one place—it came from everywhere.
—
Jake jolted upright.
"Hah—! Hah—!"
His breath came out ragged and sharp. His entire body was soaked in sweat, sheets clinging to his skin. His heart hammered so violently it felt like it might tear through his ribs.
His room was dark.
Silent.
Safe.
…Yet his hands were shaking.
Jake pressed a palm to his face, trying to steady his breathing.
It was just a dream.
But the weight in his chest refused to fade.
Slowly, he looked down at his hands.
They were still trembling.
"…Tch."
For the first time since entering the Netherlands—
since killing—
since winning—
Jake felt something close to fear.
And that scared him even more.
Jake stood in front of the bathroom mirror, toothbrush moving rhythmically as foam gathered at the corners of his mouth.
His reflection stared back at him—calm eyes, controlled breathing.
Too calm.
He spat into the sink, rinsed his mouth, then rested both hands on the counter.
"…Status."
The air shimmered.
A translucent screen unfolded in front of the mirror.
Name: Jake Anders
Age: 19
Rank: D
Strength: 102
Speed: 67
Stamina: 92
Agility: 68
Intelligence: 47
Power: 71
Health: 140 / 140
Lv: 5
Skills:
• Shadow Forge Lv.7
• Unknown Skill — Dark Overlord
Title: None
XP: 68
Jake's eyes narrowed slightly.
He reached out and tapped the XP value.
The screen shifted.
A new interface slid open beneath it.
Timer:
00 : 00 : 00 : 00
Would you like to buy time in the Dyriad Realm?
Yes/No
Jake exhaled slowly.
"So that's how it works…"
His fingers hovered—but didn't press.
Too risky.
Images flashed through his mind.
The Dyriad Realm.
The suffocating darkness.
The monsters that made goblins look like jokes.
And then—
Wings.
Black, vast, blotting out the sky.
The Dark Archangel.
Jake's jaw tightened.
"No," he muttered. "Not yet."
Almost everything there was stronger than him. One mistake, one bad encounter, and he wouldn't get a second chance.
He dismissed the screen.
The bathroom returned to silence.
—
Ding dong.
Jake blinked.
Ding dong. Ding dong. Ding dong—
The ringing exploded into chaos.
DING DING DING DING DING DING DING—
"Okay, okay—!" Jake snapped, already annoyed.
He stormed to the door and yanked it open.
Standing there—perfect posture, neatly dressed, hair slicked back—was Baldy.
No.
Former Baldy.
He looked… respectable.
"Good morning, Master Jake," he said, bowing deeply. "I hope I'm not intruding."
Jake stared.
"…Oh. Hey, Baldy."
The man's eye twitched.
"Baldy?! I am the great Manifest—!"
Jake's stare sharpened.
The man straightened instantly.
"…You may call me whatever you wish, Master Jake."
Jake shrugged. "Works for me. Come in."
They sat across from each other.
Jake leaned back casually.
"I made you my personal slave because," he said bluntly, "our abilities are kinda similar. I want you to teach me how to forge complex objects."
He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice.
"And I didn't want Dean getting a single dime out of it."
Manifest froze.
"…So you wanted me to train you?"
"Yeah."
A beat.
"THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU MAKE ME YOUR TRAINER?!"
Jake blinked.
"Oh. My bad."
He smiled innocently.
Manifest growled under his breath—then inhaled deeply and forced himself to calm down.
"…Fine. Show me how you create your weapon."
Jake lifted a hand.
Shadow gathered instantly, weaving together with surgical precision.
A katana formed—sleek, sharp, perfect.
Manifest's eyes widened.
"How did you do that?"
Jake tilted his head. "I imagined it. Exactly how I've seen it on TV."
"…That's it"
"That's actually all there is to it," he admitted. "Study an object deeply—every detail, every structure. With practice, you can recreate it."
Silence.
Jake looked unimpressed.
"That's… way simpler than I thought."
"I know," Manifest sighed. "And that's why most people fail."
Jake snapped his fingers.
"I've got exactly what you need to study."
—
Scene Cut — Library
This wasn't a normal library.
White light flowed from the ceiling.
Drones hovered silently.
Helper robots glided between rows.
Jake paused.
"This is a public library," he said flatly. "You talk like you own it."
Manifest scratched his head awkwardly.
"…Yeah. About that."
Jake stared.
"…That's ironic."
Manifest quickly gathered several books and placed them onto a sleek table.
The covers dissolved into light.
Holographic pages projected upward, flipping smoothly through data, diagrams, blueprints.
Jake's eyes sharpened.
Materials.
Structures.
Internal mechanisms.
He sat down.
And studied.
With his Intelligence stat, information flowed effortlessly into his mind. Patterns clicked. Concepts stacked neatly. Complex objects no longer felt distant—just… unfinished.
Jake leaned back slightly.
Shadow curled around his fingers.
"…So this is how I get stronger."
Three hours later.
The study table was no longer visible.
It was buried.
A shadow-forged table, a matching chair, a crude generator, and—most notably—a life-sized statue of Jake himself stood scattered around him like evidence from a mad experiment.
Jake sat on the floor, back against a shelf, breathing slowly.
"…So that's the limit."
He glanced at his hands. Shadows still clung to his fingers, obedient, calm.
"Machines," he muttered. "I can forge every single component… every detail… but they don't work."
The generator beside him hummed softly—then died.
"Unusable relics," Jake concluded flatly. "They look real. They feel real. But there's no function."
He frowned.
"Baldy can turn his body into a machine and make it function… but I can't replicate that fully."
Jake's gaze shifted to the statue.
"But anything non-mechanical? Perfect."
He stood, walking around it.
Furniture. Weapons. Statues.
Those came effortlessly.
"Buildings are a no-go too," he continued internally. "Too big."
His temples throbbed faintly as if responding to the thought.
"If I try to hold something massive for too long, the strain hits my head directly. Severe headache… maybe madness… or death."
He clicked his tongue.
"…What a pain."
A translucent notification blinked briefly in his peripheral vision.
Shadow Forge — Level Up!
Lv. 10
Jake blinked.
"Oh."
He flexed his fingers again.
The shadows responded instantly—cleaner, sharper, more refined.
"Durability's up. Accuracy too," he noted. "The gap between what I imagine and what I create is almost gone."
He exhaled slowly.
"…I'm beat."
Jake stretched, joints popping, then yawned.
"With the tournament starting in a few days, I can't afford to overdo it."
He turned to leave.
Then stopped.
A poster on the far wall had caught his eye.
Fantasy Section.
At the center of it was an illustration—
A goblin.
Not the cartoonish kind.
Lean. Sharp-eyed. Cruel.
Jake's expression hardened.
"…That looks familiar."
He walked over.
Rows upon rows of books filled the section.
Mythical Beasts.
Dark Creatures.
Fantasy Monsters.
Jake's eyes moved quickly.
Names jumped out at him.
Creatures he had seen.
Creatures he had fought.
Creatures he had survived.
"…So the Dyriad Realm isn't unique," he murmured. "Or at least… it's connected."
Without hesitation, he gathered several books into his arms.
"If I'm going back there," he thought, "I won't do it blind."
Jake checked them out calmly.
And left.
Jake reached home just as the sun dipped behind the buildings, staining the sky a dull orange.
The moment he opened the door—
"WELCOME BACK, BOOKWORM."
Dean's voice slammed into him like a surprise attack.
Jake barely flinched. "I was gone for three hours."
"And somehow," Dean continued, leaning against the couch with a grin, "you came back carrying enough fantasy books to start a cult."
Miranda peeked over the back of the sofa, an apron still tied around her waist. "Ohhh? More books? Are they cute ones with elves?"
Jake calmly walked past them, dropped the stack of books on the table with a thud, and began removing his shoes.
"They're reference material," he said flatly.
Dean picked one up immediately.
"MYTHICAL CREATURES AND THEIR EVOLUTIONARY PATHS – VOL. 3"
Dean burst out laughing.
"HAHAHAHA—oh my god, look at this!" He flipped it open dramatically.
"'Goblin reproductive hierarchy'—JAKE. You're nineteen. NINETEEN."
Miranda tilted her head. "Isn't that… educational?"
Dean wiped a fake tear from his eye. "My son survives underground death matches, enslaves grown men, and still comes home to read bedtime stories about goblins."
Jake paused.
"…I literally fought goblins."
Dean froze for half a second.
Then laughed louder. "SURE YOU DID."
Jake gave him a long, flat stare. "You're annoying."
"Ohhh, look at him," Dean teased, pointing. "Moody teen phase and fantasy obsession. What's next? You telling me dragons are real?"
Jake walked toward the hallway. "Good night."
Dean watched him go, still smiling—
But the moment Jake disappeared into his room, the smile slowly faded.
Dean glanced at the books again.
At the specific titles.
At the annotations Jake had already marked.
And for just a moment…
Dean frowned.
"…He's not reading these like a kid."
Jake's Room – Later That Night
Jake shut the door behind him, leaned against it for a second, and exhaled.
The noise of the house faded.
Silence returned.
He stacked the books neatly on his desk and sat down, his expression sharpening—not excitement, not joy.
Preparation.
"Fantasy section…" he muttered. "What a joke."
He opened the first book.
GOBLINS – ORIGIN & VARIANTS
Threat Level: Low to Medium
Intelligence: Very Low (Basic problem solving)
Growth Potential: High (When bonded or evolved)
Jake's eyes narrowed.
"So it's true…"
According to the text:
Goblins were originally mana parasites, creatures that fed on residual magic left behind by higher beings.
Their intelligence evolved only when exposed to:
Large mana sources
Hierarchical leadership
Or external influence
Jake remembered green cracks.
The loyalty.
The evolution.
"…So Dark Overlord doesn't just tame," he whispered. "It restructures."
The book continued:
Goblin Chiefs are rare mutations.
Goblin Kings are theoretically impossible—
Jake closed the book slowly.
"…Unless someone edits the system."
UNDEAD KNIGHTS
Threat Level: Medium–High
Core Attribute: Persistence
Undead Knights were once elite warriors who died with unresolved obsessions.
Not rage.
Not revenge.
Obsession.
They retain combat instincts.
They feel no fear.
They do not tire.
Destroying the body is useless unless the core anchor is broken.
Jake's fingers tightened slightly.
"…That's dangerous."
One paragraph caught his attention:
Some records suggest Undead Knights can resist mind domination, but will submit to absolute hierarchy-based systems.
Jake didn't like that.
OGRES
Threat Level: High
Strength Scaling: Extreme
Ogres grow stronger the longer they fight.
Pain stimulates muscle density.
Low intelligence, but terrifying endurance.
Jake imagined fighting one.
"Bad matchup," he decided. "Brute force alone won't work."
He underlined a sentence:
Ogres are vulnerable to precision damage and internal disruption.
DRAGONS
Jake hesitated before opening this one.
The illustrations alone radiated pressure.
Threat Level: Catastrophic
Classification: Apex Magical Lifeform
Dragons are not beasts.
They are living disasters.
Their scales adapt to damage types.
Their breath weapons evolve with age.
Jake swallowed.
"One of these would erase me."
Then he noticed something unsettling:
Ancient records imply dragons recognize and react to authority systems beyond conventional magic.
Authority.
Hierarchy.
Jake closed the book.
"…So even they might notice me."
DEMONS
Demons were not born.
They were constructed.
Formed from corrupted souls or contracts.
Power depends on naming and binding conditions.
Highly intelligent.
Highly deceptive.
Jake smirked faintly.
"At least I'd know where I stand with them."
MAGES
Jake skimmed faster here.
Magic efficiency depends on intelligence and control.
Emotion instability causes misfires.
Advanced mages suppress emotions for better output.
Jake paused.
"…So it's not just me."
That didn't comfort him.
Jake leaned back in his chair, surrounded by open books.
Monsters.
Systems.
Hierarchy.
Authority.
Everything he'd seen in the Dyriad Realm…
…was here.
Just disguised as fiction.
His reflection in the dark window stared back at him—calm, sharp, distant.
"I'm not reading fantasy," he whispered.
"I'm studying the battlefield."
Somewhere down the hall, Dean stood silently outside the door for a brief moment—
Listening.
Suspicious.
Then he walked away, jaw tight.