It tasted like copper coins and battery acid.
He slammed the mug down on the closet floor. For three seconds, nothing happened.
Then, his stomach detonated.
It wasn't nausea. It was heat. The Horned Boar liver, neutralized by the Salt Root, dissolved instantly into a rush of pure, raw Blood Essence. It hit his bloodstream like jet fuel.
Amari gasped, clutching his chest. His veins bulged against his skin, turning dark.
[System Alert] [Warning: Unapproved Vitality Source Detected.] [Toxicity Levels: Critical.] [Error: Process Not Registered Under Mana Cultivation.]
"Shut up," Amari hissed through gritted teeth.
He dropped into a meditative posture on the cold linoleum. He didn't fight the heat; he guided it.
Void Body, Stage 1, he commanded his own nervous system. Consume.
It felt like being microwaved from the inside out.
Sweat poured off him. It wasn't clear sweat. It was a thick, black sludge—the impurities of a malnourished, weak body being purged through his pores.
The pain was blinding. It dragged him down into the dark.
And then, the dream came.
[Nightmare Sequence]
He was back in the trenches of the 20-Year War. The sky was the color of a bruise.
"Amari..."
He turned. Jada, his old guildmate, was gripping his arm. Her eyes were gone. In their place, jagged blue mana crystals were growing out of her sockets, blooming like terrible flowers.
"It hurts," Jada whispered. Her skin was translucent, glowing with the sickness. "I cast too much. It’s eating me."
Amari tried to hold her, but his hands were covered in blood.
"Stop casting!" Amari screamed. "Cut the flow!"
"I can't," Jada wept. "It tastes so good. It wants more. The God is hungry, Amari. We are just..."
Her jaw unhinged, snapping open too wide.
"...livestock."
[Waking World]
Amari woke up screaming.
He clamped a hand over his mouth, cutting the sound off before the security drones could triangulate his position.
He was shivering. The closet smelled terrible—like sickness and rust. He was covered in dried, black grime.
He took a deep breath. The air didn't wheeze. It rushed into his lungs, deep and clear.
He looked at the blue window floating in the dark.
[System Notification] [Status: Purge Complete.] [Attribute Update:] [Vitality: 0.7 ----> 1.5] [Strength: 0.8 ----> 1.2] [Mana Capacity: 0 (Unchanged)]
Amari wiped the grime from his face. "1.5 Vitality," he whispered. "The civilian baseline is 1.0. For the first time in this life, I'm above the curve. I'm not a soldier yet. But I'm not a victim."
He stood up. His joints popped—a deep, heavy sound, like stones grinding together. He felt denser. Heavier.
He reached for the door handle to leave the closet. He gripped it and turned.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
CRUNCH.
The metal doorknob sheared off in his hand. The internal mechanism shattered under his grip.
Amari stared at the broken metal in his palm. He hadn't used mana reinforcement. He hadn't even squeezed that hard. This was just... torque.
Iron Grip, he realized. It’s starting.
Two Hours Later: Introduction to Alchemy
Amari sat in the back row of the lecture hall. He had scrubbed the black oil off his skin in the cold showers, but he still smelled faintly of iron.
Down in the "pit," Dr. Aris was pacing in front of a holographic whiteboard. Aris was a thin man with nervous energy and yellow-stained fingers.
"The Horned Boar," Aris lectured, tapping the hologram. "A nuisance beast. Its liver is highly toxic due to Mana Bile concentration. Standard protocol is incineration."
He looked up at the tiered seats.
"However, in emergencies, it can be neutralized. Does anyone know the reagent?"
A hand shot up in the front row. It belonged to a girl with silver hair and a uniform that cost more than Amari’s entire life earnings. Elara of House Vance. The Dean’s niece.
"Salt Root, sir," Elara said confidently.
"Correct," Aris nodded. "And why?"
"Because the sodium in the root binds to the acidic enzymes in the liver," Elara recited from the textbook. "It neutralizes the pH balance."
Amari scoffed. It was quiet, but in the silent hall, it carried.
Dr. Aris stopped pacing. He peered up into the darkness of the back rows.
"Something funny, F-Class?"
Amari leaned forward. All eyes turned to him.
"The textbook is wrong," Amari said flatly. "Salt Root doesn't neutralize the poison. It doesn't touch the pH balance."
Aris turned red. "Excuse me? You are questioning Guild-approved science?"
"I'm questioning the survival rate," Amari said. "If you treat it like an acid, you leave the Mana residue. That's why mages get sick when they eat it."
Amari tapped his desk.
"Salt Root is a binding agent. It drags the mana-toxin out of the flesh and traps it in the scum. You don't drink the broth. You skim it. The liver isn't acidic. It's a battery."
Silence stretched across the room.
Dr. Aris stared at him. He looked at the textbook, then back at the F-Class cadet who looked like he had slept in a dumpster.
"That is... an archaic interpretation," Aris sneered, recovering his composure. "Pre-System superstition. We deal in precise magical chemistry here, Cadet. Not cooking."
Aris narrowed his eyes.
"See me after class, Malik. If you want to teach my course, you can submit your syllabus to the Dean. Until then, keep your primitive theories to yourself."
Amari sat back. He felt eyes on him. Not just the Professor's.
Elara Vance was staring at him. She wasn't looking at him with disgust. She was looking at him with calculation.
The Corridor
Amari walked fast, heading for the exit.
"Hey. Wait."
He didn't stop. "I have cleaning duty, Vance."
Elara jogged to catch up to him. Up close, she looked tired. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and her hands had tiny tremors—signs of Mana Fatigue.
"You were right," Elara said, blocking his path.
"About what?"
"The binding agent," she said. "My potions keep collapsing. I follow the formula perfectly, but they turn volatile. The mana isn't stabilizing."
"Because you're treating Mana like a chemical," Amari said, stepping around her. "It's not. It's a parasite. It fights back."
Elara grabbed his sleeve. "Teach me."
Amari looked at her hand on his cheap grey uniform.
"I'm F-Class," he said. "I'm bait. You're Hero Class. We don't mix."
"I'm failing Practical Alchemy," Elara admitted, her voice tight. "My mana output is S-Rank, but my control is garbage. My brews explode. If I fail this mid-term, my Uncle... the Dean... he'll cut my funding."
She pulled out a cred-stick.
"I can pay you. Five hundred credits a session. Just help me stabilize my formulas."
Amari looked at the cred-stick. It was enough money to buy decent food for a month.
He pushed her hand away.
"I don't want your money."
Elara blinked. "Then what? I can get you gear. Potions?"
"Access," Amari said.
He pointed to the ID badge clipped to her blazer. It had a gold stripe. [Library Access: Level 5]. [Lab Access: Unrestricted].
"F-Class is locked out of the Archives and the High-Grade Labs," Amari said. "I need books on Pre-System anatomy. And I need a burner in a lab that doesn't smell like rat droppings."
Elara hesitated. "Sharing badges is a Tier 1 violation. If we get caught, I get suspended. You get expelled."
Amari leaned in.
"Then don't get caught."
He held out his hand.
Elara looked at the credits, then at Amari's eyes. She saw the same desperation she felt, but colder. sharper.
She unclipped her badge and dropped it into his palm.
"Night shift only," she whispered. "And Malik? If you steal my research... I'll have my uncle revoke your Liability Waiver. The monsters won't be the only thing hunting you."
"Deal."
Amari pocketed the badge. He felt the weight of it.
He had his food source. Now, he had the keys to the kingdom.
Food. Access. And a way into the places the System didn't want him.
[VANGUARD ACADEMY — STUDENT FINANCE PRIMER] [Subject: Campus Economy]
- Credits: External currency transferred from family accounts. Used for luxury items, gear, and cafeteria upgrades.
- Contribution Points (CP): Internal currency earned via grades, monster kills, and Guild Tasks. Used to purchase Skill Books and Rank Ups.
F-Class Starting Balance: 0 CP / 0 Credits.