Sato sat there in the dim, half-collapsed tent, the cold seeping through the hides and into his bones. He stared at his half-regrown arm, then at the empty socket where his eye used to be, and slowly the pieces began to fall into place.
He was somewhere else.
Somewhere far from home.
Maybe this place was called Tervezon. Maybe that was the name of the world, the system, or something else entirely. It didn't matter. What mattered was that this world was dangerous.
The serpent. The wild people in hides. The cold that killed as surely as any blade.
None of it was safe.
He had to get back.
He had to find a way home.
To his father. To Tedo.
"I have to get back," he whispered to himself, voice hoarse and cracked.
"Somehow… I have to get back."
He looked down at his regenerating arm again. The flesh had crawled forward another inch or two while he sat, raw and pink, ending in a rounded nub where fingers should have been.
He let out a weak, bitter laugh.
"Look at me," he muttered. "Like some superhero. Arm gets torn off, and it just… grows back. Like it's nothing."
The laugh died in his throat.
He lifted his right hand and pressed it gently against the scarred socket of his left eye.
Nothing.
No regeneration.
No warmth.
Just the dull, constant ache and the sticky feel of dried blood.
"Why not you?" he whispered. "Why just the arm?"
No answer came.
He exhaled shakily and tried to summon the blue panel again. He waved his hand in the air, mimicking what he'd seen in those phone games.
"Status."
Nothing.
"Screen."
Nothing.
"Menu."
Nothing.
"Blue window."
Nothing.
Frustration bubbled up.
"Damn it," he growled. "Why won't it show up?"
He thought for a moment, eyes narrowing.
Then he tried something different.
"Status window."
The air in front of him shimmered.
Blue light bloomed once more, the translucent panel unfolding like cracked glass in the dim tent.
[Status Window]
Name: Sato
Age: 15
Level: 10
Class: None
Title: First Hunter of Tervezon
HP: 92 / 280 (Recovering)
MP: 0 / 0
Strength: 7
Agility: 4
Endurance: 5
Vitality: 9
Intelligence: 8
Willpower: 10
Luck: ???
Charisma: 4
Mana: 0
[Passive Skills]
Regeneration Lv.1
Cold Resistance Lv.1
[Available Stat Points: 40]
[Available Skill Points: 5]
Sato stared at the numbers.
Forty points.
Forty chances to change something—anything—about the nightmare he was living in.
He had no idea where to start.
Sato sat motionless for a long moment, the blue status window glowing faintly in the dying light of the tent.
No voices from outside. No footsteps crunching through the snow.
Everyone's dead, he thought. The serpent made sure of that. Right?
The camp was silent. The wind howled, but nothing human stirred.
He was alone.
Finally.
He leaned back against the collapsed hide wall, mind racing.
If I put these points in now… will I really get stronger? Like in those games?
He glanced at his stats again. Forty points. A fortune he couldn't even comprehend.
What do I even need right now? I don't know. Maybe… balance them out. Make everything even. Just to survive.
He focused on the panel, willing the points to move.
+3 Strength
+6 Agility
+5 Endurance
+1 Vitality
+2 Intelligence
+6 Charisma
Total Points Spent: 23
Remaining Stat Points: 17
A rush hit him like cold water dumped over his head—then warmth spreading through every muscle, every bone.
His body changed.
He felt it immediately.
Muscles tightened, coiling with new power. His half-regrown arm flexed experimentally, the raw flesh responding faster, stronger. His breathing steadied, the constant ache in his chest fading to a dull throb. The world sharpened around the edges of his vision—sounds clearer, movements smoother.
He stood up.
His legs didn't wobble. They felt light. Springy. Like he could dodge anything thrown at him. Run for miles.
Sato stared at the status window, the blue glow reflecting in his single eye. He lingered on one line in particular.
Mana: 0
What even is this? he thought. It's empty. Like… nothing.
He tilted his head. In those phone games the rich kids played, mana was the blue bar—magic, spells, energy for big attacks.
But his was zero.
Maybe I don't have magic, he reasoned. Or maybe I need something to unlock it.
Still… zero felt wrong. Empty. Useless.
At least make it something. Five points. That's not much, right?
He focused on the panel and mentally pushed.
+5 Mana
A strange sensation rippled through him instantly.
It started in his chest—warm, liquid, like blood flowing faster, hotter, more alive. He could feel it: a faint current moving under his skin, through his veins, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Not painful. Not uncomfortable. Just… there. Present. Like a second heartbeat he'd never noticed before.
The status updated.
Mana: 5
Sato exhaled slowly.
So that's what it is, he thought. Blood-like energy. Or… life force? Something like that.
He felt a little more complete. A little less hollow.
Now he looked at the remaining 12 points.
His main stats were almost even now—most hovering around 10. Balanced. Stronger than before. But not specialized.
If I spread them out again, I stay versatile. But maybe… focus on the important ones. The ones that keep me alive.
He chewed his lip.
Strength for hitting harder.
Agility for dodging and moving fast.
Endurance for lasting longer.
Vitality for not dying.
Intelligence… maybe for figuring things out.
Willpower for pushing through pain.
He didn't know what the future held. But right now, in this frozen wasteland, survival came first.
To hell with it, he decided. Whatever happens, happens.
He allocated the rest.
+2 Strength
+4 Agility
+1 Intelligence
+1 Endurance
+3 Vitality
+1 Willpower
The changes hit him like a wave.
His muscles tightened further, denser, more powerful.
His body felt lighter, quicker—every movement smoother, more precise.
He could feel his heartbeat steady, stronger, more resilient.
His mind sharpened just a fraction—thoughts clearer, less foggy despite the pain.
And the constant, gnawing ache in his half-regrown arm dulled a little more.
Sato flexed his half-regrown arm. The new flesh responded quicker, stronger.
He stood fully.
For the first time since he arrived in this world, he didn't feel like a victim.
He felt dangerous.
He gripped the Asam Sword tighter.
The tent flap rustled again—harder this time.
Not the wind.
Footsteps.
Real footsteps.
Someone was definitely coming.