Player Chapter 16. Skill Based
She stepped out slowly from behind the tall grass, trying to look like she had not just spent the last twenty minutes watching him turn into a walking crime scene. Sheepish smile. Casual posture. Totally normal. Absolutely not embarrassed.
Her embarrassment was, in fact, to the roof. Possibly beyond the roof.
"Uh… good morning, Riven," she said, voice softer than intended.
He huffed lightly, not unkindly. "Morning."
His weapons dissolved into faint particles of mana, disappearing like they had never existed. He folded his arms across his chest, stance relaxed but not loose.
He looked like someone who had just finished a workout.
Not someone who had just massacred an entire ecosystem.
"Mind explaining to me why you're following me?" he asked calmly.
No accusation. No irritation. Just curiosity. Which somehow made it worse.
"I mean, yeah, I get it if you're curious why I got up this early," he continued. "But I have proof I came here only to hunt. Yet you still watched me."
He tilted his head slightly. "Mind explaining to me?"
Her brain scrambled for something dignified. Something Saint-like. Something that didn't sound like "I was spying because you look suspiciously attractive when you fight."
"Uh, I…" She hesitated, then gave up halfway through the sentence. "I was just curious."
He didn't react immediately. Just watched her. Calm. Measuring.
The silence stretched a little too long.
She cleared her throat and tried to redirect. "Anyway… why are you here? This place is mostly for beginner adventurers. Level one to level ten."
He nodded once. "I was level ten."
She blinked.
Then blinked again.
Her lips curved upward despite herself. "I know you're joking."
He didn't smile.
"You fought the Empress yesterday," she continued, half amused, half incredulous. "There's no way your level is that low. Don't tell me you were level one when you fought her."
He didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
And that bothered him more than he liked to admit.
He frowned slightly, gaze shifting away for a moment as his thoughts lined up in the background.
Right.
This wasn't tournament mode.
In the championship, every player started equal. Same levels. Same stats. Pure skill determined outcome. No gear gap. No hidden bonuses.
"System, explain," he whispered.
[Although you are new in this world, as a transmigrator you arrived as yourself, not as a predefined character.]
It made sense.
He had been thrown into the world as himself.
Not as a character.
Which meant his stats weren't narrative-based. They were skill-based.
[Your combat awareness, reflexes, and tactical decision-making have translated into base stats. That is why you could survive encounters beyond your level.]
Riven's brows knit slightly.
[For your information, sir, most individuals at Level 1 in this world do not exceed 50 points of HP or Mana.]
He exhaled quietly.
So he was overperforming relative to level.
That explained the mismatch.
He glanced at Elena again, lowering his voice. "She mentioned level. Is that normal for people here?"
[Discussing levels is a common practice among adventurers and civilians alike. It is part of this world's social structure.]
He nodded slightly.
"And is she… like me? A transmigrator?"
[Unable to confirm.]
Of course.
He looked back at her, still watching him with faint concern.
"I didn't mean to laugh," she said softly. "I mean, your joke was funny."
He studied her for a moment. She looked genuinely apologetic.
He wasn't sure why that softened something in him.
So he decided to test it.
"What if I said," he murmured, voice low, "it wasn't a joke?"
Her lips parted slightly.
Before she could respond…
A flare streaked across the sky in the distance.
Bright red. Urgent.
She turned instantly. "Oh no."
Her Saint composure snapped back into place like armor.
"Another attack," she said, scanning the horizon. "It must be the caravans. I heard one will arrive today."
Her mind shifted from personal embarrassment to responsibility in seconds. Duty first. Always.
"We need to inform the guards!" she added, already turning to run back toward the city.
Riven's hand shot out and caught her wrist.
Firm. Warm.
She froze.
His eyes were still on the sky. Not on her.
"It's near," he said quietly. "We'll check them."
She hesitated. "But-"
"By the time you reach the guards," he continued, "it'll be over."
He looked at her now.
"Let's go."
Something in her chest tightened again.
Not fear.
Trust.
She nodded.
And for the first time, they ran side by side.
The wind cut through the plains as they sprinted, grass whipping against their legs. Elena moved gracefully, robes gathered just enough to keep from tripping. Riven, on the other hand, felt every single missing point in his Stamina like a personal insult.
"Why," he muttered between breaths, "did I not invest in cardio?"
[Your Stamina stat is currently 150. For your level, this is adequate.]
"Adequate is not enough when I'm being chased by plot," he hissed.
The flare's smoke trail lingered faintly ahead. And then…
The caravans came into view.
It wasn't a skirmish.
It was a massacre.
Wagons overturned. Horses screaming. Blood soaked into dirt so thick it turned the ground dark and sticky. Bodies everywhere, guards, adventurers, civilians. Some still moving. Most not.
The air smelled like iron and burned wood.
And the attackers…
Riven's eyes sharpened instantly.
Vampires.
Or supposed to be.
But wrong.
Some moved on all fours, snarling, claws digging into flesh, tearing without finesse. Feral. Animalistic.
Others stood upright. Calm. Controlled. They moved like trained fighters, dodging, striking, coordinating.
And they were using fire.
Actual fire magic.
He frowned mid-stride.
Bruh!
Vampires and fire were not friends. That was rule number one in most fantasy systems.
Vampires hate holy or light magic. Hate silver-based weapons. And hate fire element mana.
Yet these ones wielded it like it was nothing.
[Anomaly detected.]
"No kidding."
Elena stopped beside him, breath hitching at the sight. "We're too late…"
He shook his head once. "No." He turned to her. "Buffs."
Her training kicked in instantly. Staff lifted. Light gathered.
"Saint Blessing."