The panel shimmered in front of James, gold letters crisp as if some divine menu had just dropped from the heavens.
[Level Up! Choose One Skill]
1. Seed Maker (Common)
Generate seeds from plants or raw mana. At higher levels, create hybrid or magical seeds.
“A chef without ingredients is just a man yelling at water.”
2. Mana Cleaver (Rare)
Imbue your weapon with mana, slicing through flesh, bone, and light armor as if it were butter. Damage scales with Intelligence.
“Why chop onions when you can chop reality?”
James blinked. His lips parted.
“Okay… okay, so either I turn into Farmer James… or I get an anime sword move that makes me look like a budget protagonist. Fantastic. No pressure.”
The words hovered, waiting. A faint timer ticked in the corner, and that alone made sweat prickle the back of his neck.
He pointed at the first option.
“Seed Maker. Wow. Exciting. I can grow beans. Maybe even lentils if the gods are generous. Truly, destiny shines on me.” He sniffed, shifting his gaze. “And Mana Cleaver… oh come on. That’s so unfair. You’re dangling a lightsaber skill in front of a guy who doesn’t even have pants.”
His eyes darted between them, jaw working. The villagers were still behind him, murmuring, but their voices were just background static. He had bigger problems.
“Cleaver looks amazing,” he muttered. “Armor-slicing, bone-cutting, flesh-dicing glory. I could be the naked terror of the battlefield. People would write sagas. Bards would sing: ‘Lo, the Pantsless Cleaver.’”
He turned back to Seed Maker, shoulders sagging.
“Seeds. Ingredients. Sauces. Soy sauce, for crying out loud. Sake, vinegar, miso… I’d kill for miso right now. Wars aren’t won with shiny sword moves. They’re won with bread. With rice. With spices that make people stop crying while eating plain porridge.”
The timer dropped another bar. James groaned.
“Goddammit. I know what you’re doing. You’re tempting me with the big shiny button while the real power’s in the boring one. Cleavers win fights. Seeds win wars. And also… sauces.”
He jabbed a finger through the glowing word.
“Fine! Seed Maker. Let’s farm our way to greatness. Happy now?”
The panel pulsed, congratulatory.
[Skill Acquired: Seed Maker Lv.1]
You may now generate common seeds from plants or raw mana.
“That’s not farming, that’s cheating! Forget being a farmer, I’m basically Mother Goose with a mana-induced digestive problem, spitting out seeds instead of golden eggs.”
He was so busy ranting at the screen that he didn’t notice the silence behind him had sharpened. When he finally did, it hit him like a bucket of cold water.
Every villager in sight was frozen, mouths hanging open. Children clung to their mothers, and the same men who had cheered seconds ago now watched him with uneasy eyes.
James froze, finger still midair, panel blazing in front of him.
“Oh. Oh no. Oh this looks bad,” he mumbled under his breath.
He lowered his hand slowly. The panel followed his movements, golden letters bright as ever. The whispers behind him swelled.
James cleared his throat. “Ah. I was just… uh… practicing. You know. Mime. Invisible glass walls. Street performance. Very popular where I’m from.”
A child giggled. Someone muttered something sharp. James’s heart galloped.
“Right. Not buying it. Cool, cool.”
An older man stepped forward, the same broad-shouldered villager who had spoken earlier. His expression was caught between wonder and suspicion. He planted the butt of his hoe in the dirt.
“Congratulations,” the man said, voice careful. “From what I can tell, you’ve gained a new skill.”
James flinched.
“You… saw that?”
The man frowned. “No. I cannot see your system. Each person’s panel is private. But the way you reacted… it’s obvious.”
James blinked. “Wait, wait, hold up. Everyone has a system?”
The man tilted his head, studying him as though he’d just asked if water was wet.
“Of course. Each person is granted one at birth. It grows as they do. You didn’t know this?”
James’s laugh came out sharp, brittle. He waved a hand, panel still hovering nearby like a tattletale.
“Ha! Obviously I knew that. Just thought maybe you could, uh, see mine too. Yeah. That’s it. Testing you. Totally a test. You passed. Good job.”
The villagers traded uneasy glances. A woman shifted her shawl higher, covering her child’s eyes. The older man’s gaze lingered, curious but not hostile.
James’s smile wavered, sweat prickling down his back. Smooth. Nailed it. Absolutely no one suspects a thing. Except everyone does. Great start, James Gordon of Narnia.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
The panel dinged softly, as if amused.
[Seed Maker Lv.1: Ready to Use]
James swallowed hard, forcing a grin. “See? Nothing to worry about. Just your friendly neighborhood seed dealer. Uh. Planter. Totally normal.”
The golden panel still hovered in front of him, smug as a waiter presenting the bill. James tried to look casual, like talking to floating menus was the most natural thing in the world. His smile wobbled. His stomach gurgled.
Loudly.
At first he thought it was just nerves. Then the gurgle became a twist. Then a cramp. His grin froze in place as his guts clenched like someone had tied them in a knot.
“Uh oh,” James whispered.
The panel blinked helpfully.
[Warning! Side Effect Detected]
Berserker’s Delight (Mushroom)
Duration: 10:00 minutes
Side Effect: Diarrhea (Severe).
James stared. Then barked a laugh that sounded more like a sob.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Another cramp bent him forward. He doubled over, clutching his belly like he’d just eaten three-day-old sushi off a gas station counter. His knees trembled. Sweat slicked his back.
He raised a hand toward the villagers, voice strangled.
“Excuse me. Question. Where is your…uh…lavatory? Latrine? Hole in the ground? Anything with privacy and a strong breeze?”
The crowd shifted, murmuring. Children giggled. A few men grimaced, realizing exactly what was happening. James’s face burned hotter than the cramps.
The older man with the hoe sighed, stepping forward like a farmer resigned to dealing with livestock.
“This way,” he said gravely. “Quickly.”
James half-hobbled, half-sprinted after him, every step a gamble. He hissed through his teeth.
“I swear it was the mushroom. I didn’t… I mean I did eat it, but I didn’t know it came with explosive consequences.”
The man gave him a sidelong glance.
“You ate a wild mushroom? Without testing? Foolish.”
“Yeah, thanks, Dad. Lesson learned. Now please, point me to salvation before I redecorate your village square.”
The man led him behind a hut to a small wooden shack. The door sagged on its hinges, but right now it looked like the gates of heaven. James practically threw himself inside, slamming the door shut.
What followed would not be sung of by bards.
James collapsed onto the rough plank seat, clutching the edges like a sailor in a storm. His guts rebelled in violent waves. The world shrank to one awful sound. Sweat poured down his face, hair plastered to his forehead.
Between groans he wheezed, “This… this is not the legacy I wanted.”
The panel helpfully updated.
[Status Effect Active: Diarrhea]
Duration Remaining: 09:12
James cursed, teeth gritted. “Don’t you dare count down in real time. That’s cruel.”
Another cramp bent him. He pressed his forehead against the wall, whispering, “I wanted stars. Michelin stars. Not… this.”
Minutes stretched into a blur. By the time the spasms eased, his legs were shaking, his pride in ruins. He pushed himself upright, wiped sweat from his eyes, and staggered out into the daylight.
The old man was waiting, arms folded. He did not look impressed. He also, thankfully, did not look disgusted.
James cleared his throat. “So… uh… good news. Your shack survived. Barely. Might need an exorcism though.”
The man’s lips twitched. “You blame the mushroom.”
“I absolutely blame the mushroom. One hundred percent. Zero user error. Totally the fungus’s fault.”
The man shook his head but offered a small bundle of cloth. “Here. Spare clothes. They may not fit perfectly, but better than nothing.”
James blinked down at the shirt and trousers, eyes stinging with something dangerously close to gratitude. He slipped into them quickly; the rough homespun itched against his skin, the trousers sagging a size too loose, but they still felt like pure luxury. Finally, pants. Real pants. He could have cried.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “You have no idea how good this feels. Civilization achieved.”
The villagers nearby chuckled. Relief softened the stares that had been sharp before. The older man studied James, then nodded.
“You must be hungry,” he said. “Come. My wife has prepared food. Sit with us. Eat.”
James’s stomach, traitorous as it was, perked up instantly. He straightened his new clothes, yanking his too-big trousers up before gravity betrayed him
“Food? Yes. Absolutely. As long as it doesn’t involve mushrooms, I am there.”
The man chuckled, shaking his head as he led the way. James followed, steps lighter despite the ache in his legs. The golden panel still hovered faintly at the edge of his vision, reminding him that this world came with rules he didn’t understand. But for now, he had pants. He had a promise of food. And maybe, just maybe, things were looking up.
James slowed his steps. Something tugged at his thoughts.
“Wait,” he muttered. “Didn’t I level up back there?”
The panel shimmered into being at his call, letters unfolding like pages of a menu he’d already skimmed once.
[Status Window]
Name: James Gordon
Class: Mishlin Sage ☆☆☆☆☆ (0/5)
Rarity: Unique
Level: 2
Progress: 0%
Mana: 50/60
Stamina: 12/150
Strength: 2
Dexterity: 2
Endurance: 2
Intelligence: 2
Wisdom: 2
Charisma: 2
Willpower: 2
Perception: 2
Luck: 5
[+10 Stat Points]
Abilities:
[Food Sense Lv.2]
[Butchery Lv.2]
[Knife Precision Lv.2]
[Recipe Creation Lv.1]
[Seed Maker Lv.1]
James nodded, lips pressed thin. “Yup. Same window as before. Only shinier. And I’ve got ten stat points sitting here like unclaimed tips. Should probably spend those before something else tries to kill me.”
He tapped the Luck stat, frowning. Still five. Exactly the same as before. He remembered every other stat nudging up after the goblin massacre, but Luck? Static.
“Figures,” he muttered. “The universe looked at me and said, ‘Five is plenty. You’ve already survived choking on a fortune cookie and fighting naked goblins.’ No upgrades for you.”
He sighed, rubbing his face. The villagers were still within earshot, watching him mumble at thin air. He turned his back, lowering his voice.
“Alright, let’s play fantasy accountant. Ten points. I could dump them all into Strength, go full barbarian. But then I’d trip over my own axe. I could go Intelligence, become the wizard of souffle. But then the first punch knocks me out. Or I spread them around, the jack-of-all-trades approach. Which is basically my whole life anyway.”
His eyes lingered on Luck again. He jabbed a finger.
Luck: 6
James blinked. “It worked?”
He jabbed again.
Luck: 7
A slow grin spread across his face. “Yes. Beautiful. Probability bent to my will. Lottery tickets, here I come. Also maybe surviving fights, but mostly lottery tickets.”
Another gurgle from his stomach reminded him how fragile that survival really was. He cleared his throat, glancing around. No one seemed to notice the number glow but him. Good.
“Eight left,” he whispered. “Strength to hit harder, Dexterity so I don’t trip, Endurance so I stop wheezing after three swings, Intelligence because I want to cook with fireballs someday, and Charisma because, let’s be real, the only way I’m getting better pants in this world is by convincing someone to give me theirs.”
He jabbed the glowing boxes one by one.
Strength: 4
Dexterity: 3
Endurance: 3
Intelligence: 4
Charisma: 4
The panel chimed, smug as ever.
[Updated Status Window]
Mana: 50/80
Stamina: 11/160
Strength: 4
Dexterity: 3
Endurance: 3
Intelligence: 4
Wisdom: 2
Charisma: 4
Willpower: 2
Perception: 2
Luck: 7
James exhaled, shoulders slumping. “There. Done. Stronger, smarter, more charming, slightly less likely to die. Basically the version of me my mom hoped I’d become.”
He waved the panel away and turned back toward the village. The older man was waiting, arms folded, eyes narrowed.
“You finished messing with your panel?”
James forced a smile. “Yep. All sorted. Totally under control.”
The man grunted, clearly unconvinced, and gestured toward the huts. “Come. My wife is waiting.”
James’s stomach growled again, this time with genuine hunger. He tugged at his borrowed trousers and sighed. “Stats can wait. Food cannot. And if dinner is mushrooms again, I’m not responsible for what happens next.”
