Nathan – POV

  Holy fuck... Hell yeah! I mean hell no!

  Did I just become a demonologist from one of my favorite MMORPG? No way! This is totally bad assery!

  I have a Shadow Fel Energy Core.

  The words echoed through my mind like a victory chant, triumphant and wild, though my lips couldn’t shape them. My infant body was a prison of flesh; no voice, no coordination, no celebratory fist-pump to mark the moment. But inside? I was buzzing. Euphoric. Like I’d just soloed the final boss of a Soulsborne game with nothing but a wooden stick and sheer spite.

  I had power. Real power. And it was from one of my favorite pc game, and it was mine.

  But beneath the high of achievement, a thread of unease tugged at me. The status screen floated before me, radiant and cryptic, and I realized I didn’t understand half of what I was seeing. Stats, numbers, titles; they shimmered with significance, but their meaning slipped through my mental fingers like mist.

  I needed to investigate again.

  Problem: I couldn’t speak. No dramatic “Status!” shout like every isekai protagonist worth their salt. My vocal cords were still baby-grade, good for gurgles and cries, not system commands.

  So, I tried the next best thing.

  I thought it.

  Status.

  And—voilà.

  A translucent blue screen shimmered into existence before my eyes, like a window carved from moonlight and magic.

  Status:

  Name: Nathan

  Class: Shadow Mage, Warlock Demonologist

  HP: 10

  MP: 1200

  Strength: 1

  Stamina: 1

  Agility: 1

  Dexterity: 1

  Intelligence: 110 +10 = 120

  Constitution: 1

  Affinity: Shadow SSS+, Fel Energy SSS+

  Active Skills: Shadow Bolt 1, Demon Skin 1, Immolate 1, Summon Imp

  Passive Skills: Mana Sense 1

  I stared at it, heart hammering in my tiny chest.

  I’m a freaking warlock. Damn. Fuck. Yes.

  Memories of my old undead warlock came rushing back, but something was off. My stats weren’t what I remembered, and there was definitely no such thing as a mana core or a Shadow Fel Energy Core back then.

  I hesitated. Should I try casting a spell? Would it hurt? I mean, I was still a baby, after all. The thought of frying myself with my own magic wasn’t exactly comforting. Still, curiosity won. I picked Demon Skin and cast it.

  Shing.

  At first, nothing. Then I glanced at my tiny hands, now wrapped in a faint sheen of purple-black energy. Whoa. It worked. I was able to cast Demon Skin rank 1 on myself. My status sheet confirmed it: MP down by 10 points but already refilling.

  I turned my focus inward. My core was pulling in the ambient mana, twisting it from its natural blue into a shadowy violet. My MP was being replenished automatically.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Looking deeper, I noticed something new: a black cloud condensing within the core itself, greedily drawing in more mana.

  I knew what shadow and fel energy were in the game, but they’d always been handled automatically. Here, though, they were distinct. Maybe Fel is tied to demonology, while Shadow leaned toward shadow priest-like spells.

  Then I saw my stats. Intelligence: 120. MP: 1200. A massive jump from the nothing I’d started with. Why had it been zero before?

  The answer was obvious...the Shadow Fel Energy Core. The glowing nucleus I had forged inside myself, willed into existence through sheer determination. Without it, I’d been an empty vessel. With it, I was something else entirely. I remembered that Fel magic was a sickly green color. I wonder why it is purple here. Not that I am picky. I shrugged that thought from my mind and observed my core again.

  The core pulsed softly, a hungry light of shadowy purple. It drank in the world’s energy, converting it into that strange, dark essence. My affinity. My power.

  And yet… the system whispered of corruption. Why? What was it warning me about? I didn’t know. But I will find out.

  Shadow. SSS+. Fel Energy SSS+

  SSS+. That wasn’t just rare; it was absurd. That was protagonist-tier nonsense. The kind of rating reserved for cheat characters who broke the rules of their worlds and made the gods nervous.

  And yet here I am. Staring at it. Terrified.

  “Shit,” I muttered internally.

  I didn’t know enough. My knowledge came from manga, web novels, and the occasional MMORPG stat screen. That was it. No teacher. No manual. No wise old mentor with a beard and a pipe to guide me. Just me, fumbling in the dark.

  I felt like a blind man stumbling through a cave, every step a gamble. What if I made a mistake? What if I crippled myself permanently? What if I burned out my mana core before I even learned how to use it?

  Should I wait? Bide my time until I can speak? Until I could ask my parents?

  But that would take months. Maybe years. And even then… would they even know?

  We were peasants. Dirt-poor. Scraping by. I’d never seen them use magic. Not once.

  I had to test the waters myself.

  I focused on my one passive skill: Mana Sense. I directed it toward my sleeping parents; their bodies curled together on the straw mattress beside me.

  Nothing.

  Well, not nothing exactly. There were traces of mana, faint wisps clinging to them like dust motes in sunlight. But it wasn’t theirs. It was ambient mana, the world’s energy brushing against them without sinking in.

  Unlike me.

  My core pulled it in, drank it greedily, converted it into that strange purple essence. I was absorbing mana. They weren’t.

  So, my parents weren’t mages. Probably couldn’t be. Which meant if I waited for them to teach me, I’d be waiting forever.

  A lonely path, then.

  “No matter,” I told myself.

  I have already started this journey. There was no turning back.

  If I wanted answers, I’d have to find them myself. I’d have to observe others. especially the adventurers who passed through town. The ones with staves strapped to their backs, cloaks stained with travel, eyes sharp with experience. They had to be mages. They had to know things I didn’t.

  I’d watch them. Study them. Piece together the rules of this world one fragment at a time.

  But gods, it would be easier if I could write things down.

  I glanced around the dim hut. No parchment. No ink. Not even charcoal. And even if I had them, what then? If anyone saw me scribbling notes in a foreign script, they’d think I was possessed. Or worse...a heretic.

  Burned at the stake before I even learned to walk. Yeah, no thanks.

  So, for now, I’d rely on memory. On practice. On trial and error.

  Self-study. The bane of every student, every gamer, every reincarnated soul who thought they’d get a cheat sheet.

  “Man,” I thought bitterly, “self-study is a pain in the ass.”

  But it was all I had.

  No matter. Expanding my journey, it is then.

  The days blurred together after that. My infant body limited me, but my mind was sharper than ever. With Intelligence at 120, thoughts came faster, clearer, more precise. I could hold entire chains of logic in my head, juggling them like puzzle pieces.

  I experimented with Mana Sense. At first, it was like trying to feel the wind with my skin, vague, and intangible. But slowly, I learned to distinguish patterns. The way mana drifted like currents in water. The way it pooled in certain places, thin in others.

  I discovered that my core wasn’t just passively absorbing mana. I could nudge it. Direct it. Like flexing a muscle I didn’t know I had.

  When I focused, the pull grew stronger. Ambient mana rushed toward me, threads of light invisible to the eye but vivid to my sense. My core drank it in, swelling with power.

  But there was a limit. Push too hard, and I felt a sharp ache, like a cramp deep in my chest. My HP didn’t drop, but instinct screamed at me to stop.

  So, I learned about restraint.

  I watched my parents. Watched the villagers. Watched the adventurers who came and went.

  Most people had faint mana signatures. They were like empty jars, very lightly touched by the flow of energy.

  The adventurers were different. Their mana was faint but present, like candle flames compared to my bonfire. Some carried staves that glowed faintly enchanted, perhaps. Others wore armor that hummed with dormant energy.

  I memorized every detail.

  But a gnawing feeling crept in.

  Fear.

  Fear of being discovered.

  I couldn’t reveal myself. Not yet.

  If anyone saw the shadowy purple glow of my core, if anyone realized I had an SSS+ affinity, what would they do?

  Reverence? Fear? Envy?

  I was a peasant child. Power like mine didn’t belong here. It belonged in palaces, in towers, in the hands of nobles and kings.

  If word got out, I’d be taken. Used. Or killed.

  So, I will stay quiet.

  Until I am grown up and ready.