The Huntsman Of Death:A Gamer's POV As Side Character

This world was cold...

Unforgiving, resolute, and filled with filthy—schemers and scums lurking in the shadows.

Specters, wraiths, ghosts, monsters and dungeons from the abyss with all kinds of nightmares haunted the world, threatening its fragile peace. Yet, if you thought they were the only enemy, you couldn't be more wrong.

The greatest enemy of humanity was none other than the human itself.

Trash who are the actual devils in human skins, hiding in plain sight and playing all around, manipulating and deceiving.

That was the dirt that lay beneath the beautiful facade of a vast world.

A modern world in appearance, but still governed by a primitive hierarchy, consisting of royals and nobles.

But instead of noble ranks and titles categorically dividing people, they served as tools of segregation—dividing the higher-class families, middle-class commoners, and the lowest-class peasants.

While commoners were working class, residing in important towns and cities while working under the rule of noble families, peasants were those people who lived in scattered villages, usually farming.

The main differentiating point that separated a commoner from a peasant was that the commoner had a title in name, while the peasants did not.

Lukas was born into a peasant family which didn't have a surname but the hunter who saved him put him into an orphanage which wasn't just an ordinary one.

It was a branch of an organization that festered the young ones who had lost something important, fueling their hatred to grow strong and make them useful tools.

But Lukas wasn't taken care of properly. He didn't have much prospect.

Hatred...

That was all he had.

Yet even hatred wasn't enough. Lukas was all talk and no talent.

DRIP! DRIP! DRIP!

Beads of water slid down my body, washing away the filth that had been clinging to my body.

As I raised my chin, the reflection in the mirror stared back—a pair of brutal, lifeless eyes, lacking any shred of emotion.

Looking at it I couldn't see any resemblance of humanity in it.

A malnourished, starved, and broken body.

The only good thing? A handsome face.

I raised my fingers and rubbed my face a bit.

"Why?"

"What good does a pretty face do except bring trouble?"

SCRATCH!

My nails dug into my cheek as I fought the urge to tear that face apart.

"I hate it... I hate this face... I hate this existence... I..."

Thinking that I was trapped alone in a desolate space full of darkness while this fucker enjoyed, then started playing Batman and went on to lose everything without being able to do significance pricked me.

"AHHHHHGHGH!"

I shrieked letting out a moanful cry as my fist smashed onto the face in the mirror.

BANG!

CRACKLE!

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"I hate you... I fucking hate and everything in this world."

"I HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE IIIITTTT!"

A gurgling sound echoed as water from the shower drained into my mouth relentlessly. Nevertheless, I screamed, I kept on screaming like a madman, my sanity slipping through my fingers.

I felt the grip on my sanity slipping away that I was so desperately trying to hold on to.

For that, I need to vent...

To vent all this anger on something.

Deathborne.

Never had I thought that the game which I almost dedicated my life to, scrambling all the details of and hadn't left any plot undone would become the rope that would only day wrap around my neck.

I would have been content if I was reborn in this world normally like any other character. But no... that fucker...

He messed with me.

He trapped me in a coffin of solitude, only to make me end up in such a weak, useless body—the lowest-ranked, without a single redeeming trait.

I was a perfectionist.

Everything I did, I strived to master.

No matter what I had done, I would always dominate...

For me, mediocrity was a weakness... A sign of patheticness.

Whether it was studying, playing, fighting, or other, I always stood at the top, drawing envy from others.

But now...

Now, I was nothing.

After finishing my guttural maniac screams, I walked out of the bathroom, and my gaze fell on the bare, white room.

It had a wardrobe. A bed in the center. A table and chair.

It is small but functional. The lowest ranked accommodations, yet comfortable enough.

I dressed quickly and sat up on the bed, trying to free up my storming mind and decided to check my stats which I only dared after puking up a bit of my frustration knowing well that what I might see next might decide my entire life course of actions.

Name: Lukas Star

Class: None

Species: Human

Combat Rank: Spark.

[Stats]

- Strength: 0.4

- Dexterity: 0.7

- Constitution: 0.2

- Agility: 0.7

- Perception:0.9–>1.4

- Wisdom:0.1→0.8

- Will power:1.2→9.8

- Mana Capacity: 0 → 1.5

Potential: 3

Ability:

- None

Weapon Mastery

- Dagger Style (Novice)--89%

- Archery [(Novice) 70%→(Adept)--12%]

-Unarmed Combat Mastery [(Novice)12% → (Adept)-78%]

Spells:

- None

Talents/Blessings:

- None

Blessings:

- None

Skills:

- None

After taking a look at it, I squinted my eyes and massaged my forehead.

"This... This is the biggest piece of dark shit I have ever seen."

After playing and finishing the main scenarios of the game, I had played countless characters, even narrowing down the lowest one, where the guy had at least 1 in each of his stats, something that was standard for any awakened character.

Yer, none had stats this abysmal.

Generally an awakened is a person who awakens their ability to sense the presence of mana around in the surroundings, allowing them to gain access to the stat screen, which was a form of blessing from the Gods.

And mostly, they have a standard stat of 1 in most if not all, allowing them to grade at realm Spark.

But with stats like this?

"With this, I don't think I can even survive the first trial. Let's talk about that later. I would be eliminated in the first month after failing a physical test and with a limit of 3, it would be harder to go ahead."

I decided to stop crying and go through everything first. Then, maybe—just maybe—I could carve out a path.

As it could be seen, stats were as significant as their names implied. Strength determined the physical power the body could exert. Dexterity was the smoothness and precision with which your body was able to respond to the brain's commands, while the constitution measured the physical capacity and endurance of your body.

Perception dictates the strength of your senses and your ability to grasp the things happening around you. Wisdom was your ability to control the mana, and mana capacity was self-explanatory.

Ability refers to the unique ability or traits you acquired, whereas weapon mastery indicates your proficiency with specific weapons.

Ability, skills, and arts all are segregated into different tiers...

Novice

Adept

Expert

Master

Legendary

Mythic

Divine

Novice represents the lowest level, akin to that of a newbie, while Divine denotes the God-level stage.

Talents or blessings were special abilities either you inherited or were granted at birth. The reason there is a slash between 'blessing' and 'talents' is because all the big families who rule have some god to bless them or have inherited unique talents from their ancestors.

For example, some people were born with the ability to manipulate fire, while some are blessed by the God of Fire, granting them mastery over the element.

Blessings could be inherited or granted anew, while talents were mostly passed down through lineage.

However, blessings were a double-edged sword. A god can fuck you any time he pleases, often for their entertainment. If your action doesn't please him he might take it away forever, leaving you to grovel at his feet, that's why supremacy and hierarchy exist.

The last was skills, by contrast, were the only thing that could be molded easily by effort or acquired.

With a glance, I understood what the pointed arrow on my stat sheet meant. These particular stats, which shifted after I took control, were related to the spiritual soul rather than the physical body.

"It's good that my willpower is still around 10 after having endured so much. I wished it was more," I muttered.

"With stronger willpower, I might be able to negate and get some things before the Arcs begin."

_____

Archeon Academy

The academy was humanity's stronghold, a place designed to prepare individuals for upcoming dark times against the evil vying for the world. But peaceful, it was not.

It was grueling and cruel.

Unlike other conventional institutions, it openly condoned bullying and abuse as long as they didn't witness live action. The upper faculty won't bat an eye if you die unless you hailed from a noble family. If you could kill without leaving any evidence, you were safe.

This brutality stemmed from a flawed ideology: if you can't survive here, how can you survive against the hellhole of advancing dangers?

However, one can't condemn the facilities it offers. Once you pass the entrance, your stay, food and accommodation are free.

That's why even though the term hadn't started, after passing the entrance, poor people like him had come in advance to live.

"But things won't be good as this is the worst time where bullies would use this time to bully others to heart content."

"With such meagre stats, I can't contend against them."

Falling into deep thought, I wondered about my next course of action.

"Huh! I remember Lukas had a diary where he used to record his thoughts as a way to strengthen himself. I should do the same—first write about the upcoming scenarios."

Making up my mind, I took it out from the desk. But the moment I opened it, a sharp, grating sound tore through the air—a screech akin to nails dragged across a blade.

And out of nowhere, loud blasting ravings and murmurs echoed within my mind.

𝕥ꪮ 𝕥ꫝꫀ ꪮꪀꫀ ᭙ꫝꪮ 𝕥ꪮꪮ𝕜 ꪮꪜꫀ𝕣 ꪖᠻ𝕥ꫀ𝕣 ꪑꪗ ᦔꫀꪖ𝕥ꫝ

𝕜ⅈꪶꪶ ꪗꪮꪊ𝕣ડꫀꪶ...𝕜ⅈꪶꪶꪶ ꪗꪮꪊ𝕣ડꫀꪶᠻ ꪖꪀᦔ ꫀડᥴꪖρꫀ 𝕣ꫝꫀ ꪀⅈᧁꫝ𝕥ꪑꪖ𝕣ꫀ.

ᧁꫀ𝕥 ꪮꪊ𝕥ꪮᠻꫝꫀ𝕣ꫀ 𝕣ꪊꪀꪀꪀꪀ𝕣ꪊꪀᠻꪮ𝕣 ꪗꪮꪊ𝕣ꪶⅈꪜꫀ.

ꪶⅈડ𝕥ꫀꪀ 𝕥ꪮ ꪑꫀ ᦔꪮꪀ𝕥 ᥇ꫀ ᠻꪮꪮꪶⅈડꫝ 𝕣ꪊꪀꪀꪀꪀ ᥴꪖꪊડꫀ ꪖꪶꪶ 𝕥ꫝꪮડꫀ ᭙ꫝꪮ 𝕥ꪮꪮ𝕜 ꪮꪜꫀ𝕣 ꫀꪀᦔꫀᦔ ꪊρ ᥇𝕣ꪮ𝕜ꫀꪀ ꪖꪀᦔ ᥴꫀꪖડꫀᦔ 𝕥ꪮ ꫀ᥊ⅈડ𝕥.

ꪖ𝕥 ꪶꫀꪖડ𝕥 ⅈᠻ ꪗꪮꪊ 𝕜ⅈꪶꪶ ꪗꪮꪊ𝕣ડꫀꪶᠻ ꪀꪮ᭙ꪗꪮꪊ𝕣 ડꪮꪊꪶ ᭙ꪮꪊꪶᦔ ડ𝕥ⅈꪶꪶ ꫀ᥊ⅈડ𝕥ડ ꪖꪀᦔ 𝕥𝕣ꪖꪜꫀꪶ 𝕥ꪮ ꪮ𝕥ꫝꫀ𝕣 ᭙ꪮ𝕣ꪶᦔ ᥇ꪊ𝕥 ⅈᠻ ꪗꪮꪊ ᦔꪮꪀ𝕥.ꪖꪖꪖꪖꪖꪖꪖꫝꫝꫝꫝꫝꫝꫝ

[𝕋𝕆 𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝕆ℕ𝔼 𝕎ℍ𝕆 𝕋𝕆𝕆𝕂 𝕆𝕍𝔼ℝ 𝔸𝔽𝕋𝔼ℝ 𝕄𝕐 𝔻𝔼𝔸𝕋ℍ

𝕂𝕀𝕃𝕃 𝕐𝕆𝕌ℝ𝕊𝔼𝕃...𝕂𝕀𝕃𝕃𝕃 𝕐𝕆𝕌ℝ𝕊𝔼𝕃𝔽 𝔸ℕ𝔻 𝔼𝕊ℂ𝔸ℙ𝔼 ℝℍ𝔼 ℕ𝕀𝔾ℍ𝕋𝕄𝔸ℝ𝔼.

𝔾𝔼𝕋 𝕆𝕌𝕋𝕆𝔽ℍ𝔼ℝ𝔼 ℝ𝕌ℕℕℕℕℝ𝕌ℕ𝔽𝕆ℝ 𝕐𝕆𝕌ℝ𝕃𝕀𝕍𝔼.

𝕃𝕀𝕊𝕋𝔼ℕ 𝕋𝕆 𝕄𝔼 𝔻𝕆ℕ𝕋 𝔹𝔼 𝔽𝕆𝕆𝕃𝕀𝕊ℍ ℝ𝕌ℕℕℕℕ ℂ𝔸𝕌𝕊𝔼 𝔸𝕃𝕃 𝕋ℍ𝕆𝕊𝔼 𝕎ℍ𝕆 𝕋𝕆𝕆𝕂 𝕆𝕍𝔼ℝ 𝔼ℕ𝔻𝔼𝔻 𝕌ℙ 𝔹ℝ𝕆𝕂𝔼ℕ 𝔸ℕ𝔻 ℂ𝔼𝔸𝕊𝔼𝔻 𝕋𝕆 𝔼𝕏𝕀𝕊𝕋.

𝔸𝕋 𝕃𝔼𝔸𝕊𝕋 𝕀𝔽 𝕐𝕆𝕌 𝕂𝕀𝕃𝕃 𝕐𝕆𝕌ℝ𝕊𝔼𝕃𝔽 ℕ𝕆𝕎𝕐𝕆𝕌ℝ 𝕊𝕆𝕌𝕃 𝕎𝕆𝕌𝕃𝔻 𝕊𝕋𝕀𝕃𝕃 𝔼𝕏𝕀𝕊𝕋𝕊 𝔸ℕ𝔻 𝕋ℝ𝔸𝕍𝔼𝕃 𝕋𝕆 𝕆𝕋ℍ𝔼ℝ 𝕎𝕆ℝ𝕃𝔻 𝔹𝕌𝕋 𝕀𝔽 𝕐𝕆𝕌 𝔻𝕆ℕ𝕋.𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸ℍℍℍℍℍℍℍ]