John sat quietly in his chamber, the glow of the ethereal interface flickering softly before him. The questions had been pressing heavily on his mind, swirling like currents beneath the surface of his thoughts.

  What happens when I reach Level 10 again on the unnatural track, he had wondered. His recent progress had triggered something new—an option shimmering faintly in the interface. Unlike the past, where leveling down had reset him without fanfare, without change, this time there was promise.

  John scrutinized the precise wording in his stat window: the option to undertake a class change within his ascended unnatural track—the class already bound to his strange, paradoxical path. But it was a choice cloaked in risk. His current class, Sovereign of Paradox, was an extraordinary, Beyond Mythic rank class. Changing it recklessly could mean losing the immense powers he had painstakingly grasped and descending into something far less potent. He could not add a new class to the same XP bar, only change it because he passed the threshold again.

  Caution, he thought. The system was subtle but clear. The only way to explore new potential without jeopardy was on the natural track.

  To his astonishment, John saw the gateway open there: to not just continue leveling as before, but to choose an additional class. Two classes linked to two separate tracks—one natural, one unnatural. This was unheard of. Insanity to some. A miracle to others.

  He was a boy walking a line never charted before—his unusual dual awakening granting him a rare and perilous gift. The possibility of mastering two classes, two destinies intertwined by paradox and mastery.

  Questions still pulsed, but so did resolve. He would need to delve deeper—to learn, to test, to survive—and perhaps, one day, define what it truly meant to be the boy with two classes.

  John sat quietly, his mind turning over the mysteries of his unique path. Among the countless lines in the system’s codex and the scattered memories of his trials, one question stood out: what class would best complement his current role as Sovereign of Paradox? A class so rare, so entwined with contradiction and power, yet still only the beginning of a longer journey.

  He delved again into the ancient texts and trial records of the library, focusing particularly on the ascension trials. With measured curiosity, he explored the rarefied domain of Tier II ascensions—the next step beyond the Tier I classes like his own. Such ascensions were reserved for those at a far higher level, typically level 50. He knew he was still far from that threshold, yet the knowledge fascinated him.

  The writings described a second ascension as a return to the choice realm, where a soul faced pivotal decisions on its evolution. For those who had already ascended to a Tier I class, this realm could seem familiar, yet the stakes were higher, and the possibilities broader. However, the texts also cautioned that it was uncommon for “Tier I ascended” humans to move into Tier II classes, a path more frequently taken by other races or exceptional beings. Those few humans who reached the required level often opted instead to seek more powerful Tier I classes, choosing to remain on the established steps rather than ascend the mysterious higher stairways.

  John admitted he did not fully understand what it meant to “go up the stairs” or the trials that awaited beyond, but the idea stayed lodged in his thoughts as a guidepost for the future. It reminded him of the stairs in the tiger’s trial. The path before him was uncertain and complex, but he was determined to learn and prepare for whatever might come next. This moment of reflection added another layer to his growing understanding of his dual awakenings, his paradoxical nature, and the many roads he might walk.

  For now, the Sovereign of Paradox stood at the beginning of a deep and winding journey—with a curiosity vast enough to hold the secrets of stars and the patience to uncover them one step at a time.

  When John finally breached Level?11 on his Sovereign of Paradox track, anticipation pulsed beneath his skin. He hardly waited for the system chime before willing the long-locked “Skill Tree” button to open—something that, until now, had always been grayed out and faintly mocking him through his resets and resets.

  This time, it bloomed to life with a rush of gleaming blue and gold, intricate lines blossoming into the air like the branches of some ancient, spectral tree. He leaned in, heart thudding, eager to shape his own destiny. At last—choice. At last—a future he could steer, not just stumble into, skills handed down like inscrutable gifts or punishments.

  But as the window fully rendered, John’s breath hitched.

  The skill tree was... empty.

  Not a single icon. Not a hint of a path, nor even the ghost of a skill waiting to be unlocked. The branches were there—hundreds, thousands, an endless fractal of potential splitting off in all directions, infinite and wild as the night sky. But every node sparkled with only a single word, repeating down every line:

  “Undefined.”

  Beneath it, the system’s text scrolled in colder, fainter script:

  [Sovereign of Paradox: All choices must be created, not chosen. Please define your own skill. Root node is blank. Awaiting input. No example available.]

  John stared, stunned. The ordinary mages of the Enclave leveled up to unlock carefully curated trees of fire, water, or light, their paths outlined by centuries of perfected knowledge. He alone was given a tree of absence. Not permission to select, but a demand to invent.

  It was exhilarating. It was terrifying.

  The paradox deepened. In this class, even the power to grow had to be earned not by receiving, but by defining. To gain a skill, he must challenge the system’s rules, write into the void—and risk the unknown, just as he always had.

  A hollow laugh escaped him, somewhere between awe and defeat. The Beyond Mythic class held true to its nature: in the Sovereign of Paradox, nothing was ever freely given… but everything was, in theory, possible.

  John flexed his hand, feeling the empty branches writhe in anticipation. A blank, infinite canvas—and the dangerous freedom that came with it.

  He closed the window, mind alight with possibility and dread. The hardest tests, it seemed, had only begun.

  John stared at his stat window in the quiet hours of the night, the bluish arcane interface flickering just above his outstretched palm. The number “3” glittered beside the empty branches of his Sovereign of Paradox skill tree—three skill points won with blood, wit, and the almost reckless confidence of recent hunts. But there was nowhere to spend them. Not a single skill to allocate. No icons emerged, no prompts, no “choose your path” window. Only blank, infinite possibility staring back—like the system itself was mocking him, or daring him to break it again.

  He tried everything he could think of.

  He closed his eyes, focused his will, and imagined skills—rippled with intent, wrote names and effects in his mind, willed the branches to bud with invention. The system didn’t respond. Not even an error message. The tree remained as empty and silent as the dark mountainside outside his window.

  A spike of frustration made him bold. John retrieved his well-known, somewhat frowned-upon tool: the potion trick. With quick hands, he brewed the familiar, bitter -1,000 XP potion—an elixir that tasted of regret but always did its job. He drank it, wincing as the cold flood of lost experience washed through him.

  Then, grimacing but determined, he fought a Tier II beast in the Red Zone, absorbed XP, and climbed directly back to Level 11.

  Nothing.

  No opportunity appeared, no new options. Just the same empty skill tree, and three skill points reappearing as if the whole cycle had meant nothing but stat increases. Each time he leveled back up, his stats ticked slightly higher—Strength, Stamina, Dexterity, all inching up with each loop. Also his skill points increased but he had nowhere to spend them.

  After the fifth cycle, John sat back on his bed, head resting against the cool stone wall. He felt his body growing more powerful—a little faster, a little tougher each rise and fall—but it wasn’t the breakthrough he needed. Yet it almost seemed… logical. With nothing to spend the skill points on, focusing on stat growth before unlocking his “second” class was the next best strategy.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  If the system wants to play the long game, he thought dryly, I can wait. And if it wants me to write the rules myself, then let’s see how far I can push them.

  For now, he would keep honing his body and mind—with every potion, every fight, every calculated gamble. When the day came to forge a second class, or when the system finally let him define his own skills, he’d be ready—with stats that no one, and nothing, could ignore.

  And until then, the quiet hum of incremental growth would be his anthem: patient, persistent, and paradoxically prepared for the next impossible step.

  John exploited his potion technique and some days later looked at his stats on his twelfth birthday.

  He felt like he had exaggerated with his potion trick. There was no cap apparently but how strong was he now? Would he be on par with a true adult weretigress?

  His affinities had not changed.

  He had now more mana than ever before. At least in his feral form he had more mana than he had before his ascension tuned it down but the “Summon the Trial” skill still was asking for more.

  His Dual Wielding skill obtained during the spar with Talissa the blacksmith stood proudly on his list. Some of his skills had leveled up thanks to his training and his apex aura had increased a lot. It happened after he drank the blood of the captive weretigresses. Because his connection to the system had been restricted by the metal collar, he had not gained much—but still, something was better than nothing.

  He was abnormal and now had a fourth craft. Also, his Herbalism and Potion-maker crafts had advanced alongside his new Blacksmithing one.

  Many more spells he had learned were listed—but John did not feel like continuing to scroll down.