Chapter 11: A New Path, A New World
In a dimly lit corner of his bedroom, under the flickering glow of an oil lamp, Hideo Takumi sat quietly at a small desk. Before him lay a scroll of parchment, its surface covered in dried ink and scattered diagrams—ideas planted like seeds, waiting to grow. Beyond the window, the night wind whispered through the old leaves hanging from the trees that surrounded the Takumi family estate.
The world outside was silent.
But within him, his consciousness stirred like a restless tide—loud, sharp, and alive.
It had been a month since he woke in the body of a disgraced noble heir—spoiled, arrogant, and useless. But that body was no longer the same. Not because of divine blessing or magical intervention, but because of something else entirely:
Hard work. And a resolve that couldn't be taught.
With a steady hand, he resumed writing. His notes weren't random scribbles but structured like a scientific journal—personal, meticulous, deliberate.
"Skill Memory (~) Active - Compiling Training Progress Chronology"
His job progression wasn't luck. It wasn't a gift from some randomized system. It was earned—through deep comprehension. Of technique. Of body. Of this world.
He wasn't born strong. He forced the world to acknowledge his method.
As his pen moved, a warm current surged within him. Like mana flowing freely from his core, rising through his limbs and fingertips like a swelling tide.
"LEVEL UP!"
"Job: Warrior (F) › Swordman (E)"
"Job: Mage (F) › Mage (E)"
"Job: Assassin (F) › Assassin (D)"
"Job: Archer (F) › Archer (E)"
"Mana: E › D"
"Strength: E › E+"
"Speed: E › E+"
"Status Screen"
Name: Hideo Takumi
Race: Human
Age: 17
Jobs: Warrior (F) › Swordman (E) | Mage (F › E) | Assassin (F › D) | Acolyte (F) | Archer (F › E) | Alchemist (F) | Summoner (F)
Current Stats:
• Mana: E › D
• Strength: E › E+
• Intelligence: S+
• Speed: E › E+
• Endurance: E
Skills: Learn (~), Memory (~), Giving (~), Hiding (~), Mana Sensory (F), Theoretical Convergence (E)
Hideo stared at the rows of data. Silent.
But his mind stirred.
"These aren't just numbers… they're mirrors. Reflections of who I am now."
His eyes landed on the word Swordman.
"Warrior (F) becomes Swordman (E)," he whispered, like a quiet incantation.
This wasn't a random evolution. He remembered the countless nights spent studying strategy guides, dissecting martial arts manuals from two different worlds—his old one, and this new one. And slowly, it clicked.
He wasn't a brute-force fighter. He was a thinker on the battlefield.
Every swing of his sword wasn't meant to destroy—it was meant to control.
The system had recognized that. His Warrior job hadn't leveled up due to strength, but direction. Swordman wasn't a savage—it was a technician. A tactician. Every strike was a decision, not instinct. Every step, calculation, not reflex.
"I wasn't born to be strong," he thought. "I learned to be sharp."
His gaze drifted to Assassin (D).
A full rank higher. And he knew exactly why.
He had trained in stealth, in silence, in stillness. He had become a shadow that knew when to appear… and when to vanish.
His Mage and Archer jobs had improved too. Not from chance, but from real effort—channeling mana through his hands, practicing basic spells, aiming arrows with the old bow of a retired servant.
But all of it pointed to a single realization.
"All these jobs... they share one core: mana."
Spells, swords, arrows, alchemy—everything started with mana. If he could understand its source—truly understand it—then he could master everything.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Inside his mind, his body turned into a glowing map. Faint lines traced like rivers of energy from his core, branching out to arms, legs, fingers—to muscle, to reflex, to will.
"New Skill Acquired: Meridian Sync (F)"
(Enhances internal mana flow efficiency; accelerates regeneration and cross-job synchronization)
Suddenly, it all made sense. Mages used mana for spells. Swordmen used it for technique. Assassins used it for movement. But they all used the same channels.
"Different paths. Same foundation."
He smiled faintly.
"Then all I need to do... is become a genius of the foundation."
The night grew deeper, yet his thoughts grew clearer.
He gazed up at the dark sky through the window and slowly rolled up his notes. Symbols, formulas, and theories that this world had never seen—drawn not from divine revelation, but from something far humbler:
Fiction. Imagination. Pages of escape.
Now turned into the blueprints of reality.
He tucked the scroll into a hidden drawer and stood up. His body ached. Muscles screamed. But the pain wasn't weakness—it was proof of growth.
Step by step, he made his way to the training room.
No one would see. No one would know. And that was exactly how it should be.
Because he believed in one simple truth:
"The only one who knows I'm growing… is me."
And that was his greatest advantage.