The storm showed no signs of weakening. It neither grew fiercer nor calmed. It simply endured, a constant howl beyond the cave mouth.
Alton sat with his back against the rough stone wall, staring into the white void. A sea of confusion and fear churned inside him. He had died—or at least come close enough—and woken up in this frozen nightmare. Part of him wanted to curl up and wait for reality to reassert itself. But another part, the one forged from years of quietly enduring a disappointing life, knew better.
Calm down. You've done this before.
Life had been hard since he was young. He had learned early how to shove panic into a box and keep moving. The old trick still worked. His breathing slowed. The knot in his chest loosened just enough for thought to return.
He focused on the translucent blue window floating in front of him. At the top, clear letters now read: System.
"Level 3…" he muttered to himself. Talking out loud helped ground him. "I don't know what the hell that means, but okay."
He had two new skill slots available. Skipping the earlier options, three fresh ones caught his eye. The gamer side of him—the part that had spent countless nights optimizing builds in winter survival games—kicked in. Critical thinking under pressure had always been his quiet strength.
Critical Hit – Charge a punch for two seconds to deal massive damage.
Lightning Feet – Enhanced leg flexibility and rapid kicking speed.
Stun – After dodging, stun the enemy for three seconds.
"Critical Hit and Stun could make a nasty combo," he whispered. "They'd pair well with Predicting and Lightning Reflex too. I've always liked setting up combos anyway."
He selected both. The knowledge settled into his body instantly, as natural as breathing. Only then did he realize something: all four of his current skills were built for fighting one opponent at a time.
"Oh, damn it," he breathed. "Let's just hope I don't run into an army of those rabbits… I'll probably be fine, right? Right?"
His eyes drifted to the stored meat. He was starving, but raw rabbit wasn't exactly appealing, and he had no fire. Almost immediately, the System offered a helpful prompt: gather wood to start a fire.
"Get wood? After what just happened out there?" Alton let out a short, bitter laugh. "Fine. Whatever. Survival first."
He pushed himself up, testing the warmth of his new fur coat and boots, and moved toward the cave entrance. Just as he was about to step back into the blizzard, a deep, thunderous roar echoed through the storm—close. Too close.
Heart hammering, Alton peeked out cautiously.
There, barely twenty meters away, stood a massive bear. Not just any bear—it looked like a polar bear on steroids, its thick white fur bristling against the wind, muscles shifting powerfully beneath. The System instantly locked on:
White King Bear
Level: 3
Skills: Deadly Claws, Sharp Eyes
Class: Tank
"Class? The rabbits didn't have classes…" he whispered.
The bear hadn't noticed him yet. It stood motionless amid the swirling snow, a wall of muscle and fury.
Alton swallowed hard. This was it—his second real opponent in this world.