His grandson had the potential to surpass him, so he nurtured the brat, pouring out his fortunes to see another progenitor rise. It had been too long since their faction made any headway within the [Order].
“Levels, now,” Terrac ordered before anyone dared to present an argument.
The small army accompanying the brat was also thanks to Terrac’s meddling and finances, which he used to support his grandson. It had only been twenty days, but he needed returns. In such an energy-dense realm, he could have gained ten levels already, but these whiskerless brutes were stuck at the first threshold.
They all shouted numbers from four to seven, with the highest being a level eight peasant currently napping on a crystal ball, his whiskers gracefully brushing the floor.
“Someone wake him up before I cut his whiskers,” Terrac growled.
“She Your Highness.” A level seven general responded.
Terrac never bothered with the names of those who could never reach greatness, so he remembered others by assigning their role and levels as their name. Yet, a girl crossing the second threshold so quickly piqued his interest.
“What is her name again?” Terrac inquired.
“Serra.” One of the mistresses conveys the information by playing with his whiskers.
“Keep an eye on her.” He orders the general and turns to his grandson. “And you?”
Rasool turned a ring on his finger as Terrac yelled in fury before getting sucked into the ring. The rest of the group only relaxed after confirming no trace of the former king remained.
“His Highness is on the verge of becoming displeased.”
“Former,” Rasool reminds them, “I’ll heed that geezer counsel once I’ve razed that human settlement and ascended to level nine.” He glances at the generals and then scowls at the girl. “Instruct her to cease her leveling.”
“Yes, sire,” the general salutes. “Is it prudent to engage them, sire?” he questions again, earning a stern glare from Rasool.
“A prince never reneges on his word. Cripple them, and I shall administer the decisive blow.” His whiskers loom over the general.
“Yes, sier.” The general bowed deeper, noticing his stature was still taller than the prince.
Having a pure bloodline didn’t conceal the fact that he remained stuck at level one. Yet General Xeno understood that power wasn’t the sole determinant of one’s position at the top. Background, connections, and wealth can outweigh raw power any day.
Take himself, for example. He reached level fourteen, yet he found himself obliged to heed his king’s command, sacrificing all his levels to accompany this youngster into the incubation grounds. In such an energy-rich environment, he could reclaim all his levels in no time. After all, they might have taken his levels, but not his years of experience.
Within a day, Xeno regained four of his levels, but the brat ordered him to halt, unwilling to be surpassed by a lowly peasant. True, he possessed more raw potential, wealth, and support to surpass a general with years of experience, but he squandered it and compelled the general to do the same. If it weren’t for that ring, he would have ended him and embarked on a new chapter of his life. Who knows, with such an opportunity, he might ascend to kingship himself.
The crystal ball shatters, jolting Xeno out of his daydreams. Serra plummets to the floor, her whiskers sinking deeper into the mud. The spectacle elicits Rasool to wince in disgust, causing him to forget his anger and excuse himself from the scene.
General Xeno gently tugs on his whiskers, hoisting the girl upright. Serra is the daughter of his closest friend. He didn’t want her here; both her parents led simple lives, untouched by the worries of the future. He admired their tranquil existence and yearned for Serra to follow a similar path, to keep her safe from the chaos of this world.
Yet, she insisted, and with no children of his own, he embraced her as if she were his own. This complexity arose because it’s easier to deny others’ children, but not your own. Unable to quell her determination to unfurl her whiskers, he agrees and even assures her parents he will be her guardian.
The plan seemed foolproof, and once the prince seized control of the world, she could reunite with her parents within a year. But reality often diverges from plans, and one setback after another shattered their failproof strategy. The prince revealed his true colors as a jerk, his niece emerged as a genius, and the system seemed to mock the very notion of a Whisker outmaneuvering it, by altering aspects of the trail one after another.
“Hey, uncle—boss,” Serra says with a weak grin.
“What happened?” Xeno asks. Before she replies, he stops her with a gesture. “Clean your whiskers first, soldier.” He sighs in defeat.
Serra clumsily brushes off the dirt, causing the others to cringe at the rough handling of her whiskers. “We need to stay away from that human… sir,” Serra salutes and puffs her cheeks, trying to hold back her laugh.
Xeno understood she had a hard time calling him sir, but he couldn’t treat her any differently from the rest in training. “Why?” He glares at her, reminding her of the surroundings while suppressing his desire to nuzzle her. ‘She was just too darn cute!
“It’s hard to say—sir, but he trod with such caution that I was unable to trick him or make him reveal his cards.” Serra hesitated to continue, but once she saw Xeno brush his whiskers with annoyance, she blurted the rest out. “Our illusions might never work on him—sir.” She saluted, turned, and dashed away, only to find Xeno already blocking her way.
“Explain yourself.” Xeno held back his fury, gritting his teeth hard enough for Serra to hear them grind against each other. “You better make sense fast, kid.”
“We work on deceit,” Serra began explaining, “but this human, sir, he sees through it all. Our illusions and tricks don’t seem to affect him. It’s like he knows what we’re about to do before we even try. For now, he still hasn’t noticed we are behind it all, but once he realizes the trick, I fear every Whisker will become vulnerable to him. Our best bet is to kill him in one go. Give him just one chance, and we might never get a second,” Serra advised.
“We’ve come a long way, thanks to our racial abilities—”
“If he had taken a step further, we would have been exposed, sir, not him,” Serra cut him off mid-sentence.
“We don’t need brawn to fight,” another general interjects. “Our whiskers are enough to deal with all of them.” He points at a pack of overgrown dogs with a split maw and six legs. “Level five dumb ones.” He points and laughs.
“Dumb ones,” Serra repeats with a serious tone, her whiskers floating higher than the rest.
The illusion around her breaks, and she finds herself several feet away from the general. “He is way smarter,” she asserts, turning to Xeno before he raises the obvious doubt. “I just do. My skill helped me create what he desired, but have you ever seen such a beast?” All their retorts get stuck in their mouths as they relive the horror. “That’s not normal. Neither is he. If he reaches and joins that settlement, all of our plans until now will be for not.”
“Didn’t he come from there?”
“Don’t think so, but it's bad news if he joins the fight. We won’t win.” She again turns to Xeno, stopping his doubt before it leaves his whiskers. “Find a new, farther away settlement,” she answers Xeno’s doubt. “We have the time. There is no point in rushing.”
She glances in the human’s direction, his calm yet terrifying aura drenching her in sweat. “I don’t want to face him. Level four... or one.”
“Damn, space chicken,” Tetsu drools, imagining various chicken meals and unknown recipes for cooking a space chicken. “Will the meat disappear before I bite into it?” His stomach growls in disagreement. “What if it disappears after we eat? Hahaha. That’s a cheat to stay thin. Not that it matters now.”
Tetsu didn’t even have to flex his stomach for the perfect set of four abs to pop out. They were carved into it as if he were a sculpture crafted by the god of war.
He wanders from one crazy thought to another, mentioning the names of various gods of war such as Ares, Montu, and Kartikeya. He then questions why he hasn't had the opportunity to meet the god of war, but instantly regrets his blasphemous request and hopes that the system never heard it.
Tetsu climbed a tree for a better vantage point and found a mountain in the distance. “Huh-huh!” He frowned. “Another mountain.”
His inner monkey took over as he swung from tree to tree, all the while practicing with the runes in a fun way, with the only downside being a fifty-meter drop to his death.
One by one, ethereal runes flickered to life on the tree trunks, branches, and vines. As swinging became effortless, he transitioned to multitasking, maintaining the runes’ activation even when they served no immediate purpose.
The boxers ceased to be a hindrance; instead, they worked wonders, enhancing his strength and speed. Their drawbacks failed to impede his movements; rather, discarding them elevated his attributes to new heights.
It’s peculiar to say the least, discarding one’s shorts to run or attack. Yet Tetsu leveraged the shock factor multiple times to his advantage, whether it be fleeing or charging headlong into his opponent. In a world enamored with flashy maneuvers, he discovered an unconventional tactic that proved effective every single time. Whether or not were they of the same species was inconsequential. A single flash of brilliance could facilitate escape from the direst predicaments, even more so when confronted with an intellectual adversary.
The dumb never expect such a move, so the intelligent will never see it coming, and hate what they see later on. It may be unorthodox, but when faced with the choice between life and death, everyone’s true nature is bound to be laid bare.
Tetsu hovers between two trees, each adorned with a symbol, working in tandem to keep him afloat. Before him, a hollow mountain looms, soaring three hundred meters into the sky, encircled by a thick expanse of towering trees standing at fifty meters in height.
═─┈─{═E═}─┈─═
His grandson had the potential to surpass him, so he nurtured the brat, pouring out his fortunes to see another progenitor rise. It had been too long since their faction made any headway within the [Order].
“Levels, now,” Terrac ordered before anyone dared to present an argument.
The small army accompanying the brat was also thanks to Terrac’s meddling and finances, which he used to support his grandson. It had only been twenty days, but he needed returns. In such an energy-dense realm, he could have gained ten levels already, but these whiskerless brutes were stuck at the first threshold.
They all shouted numbers from four to seven, with the highest being a level eight peasant currently napping on a crystal ball, his whiskers gracefully brushing the floor.
“Someone wake him up before I cut his whiskers,” Terrac growled.
“She Your Highness.” A level seven general responded.
Terrac never bothered with the names of those who could never reach greatness, so he remembered others by assigning their role and levels as their name. Yet, a girl crossing the second threshold so quickly piqued his interest.
“What is her name again?” Terrac inquired.
“Serra.” One of the mistresses conveys the information by playing with his whiskers.
“Keep an eye on her.” He orders the general and turns to his grandson. “And you?”
Rasool turned a ring on his finger as Terrac yelled in fury before getting sucked into the ring. The rest of the group only relaxed after confirming no trace of the former king remained.
“His Highness is on the verge of becoming displeased.”
“Former,” Rasool reminds them, “I’ll heed that geezer counsel once I’ve razed that human settlement and ascended to level nine.” He glances at the generals and then scowls at the girl. “Instruct her to cease her leveling.”
“Yes, sire,” the general salutes. “Is it prudent to engage them, sire?” he questions again, earning a stern glare from Rasool.
“A prince never reneges on his word. Cripple them, and I shall administer the decisive blow.” His whiskers loom over the general.
“Yes, sier.” The general bowed deeper, noticing his stature was still taller than the prince.
Having a pure bloodline didn’t conceal the fact that he remained stuck at level one. Yet General Xeno understood that power wasn’t the sole determinant of one’s position at the top. Background, connections, and wealth can outweigh raw power any day.
Take himself, for example. He reached level fourteen, yet he found himself obliged to heed his king’s command, sacrificing all his levels to accompany this youngster into the incubation grounds. In such an energy-rich environment, he could reclaim all his levels in no time. After all, they might have taken his levels, but not his years of experience.
Within a day, Xeno regained four of his levels, but the brat ordered him to halt, unwilling to be surpassed by a lowly peasant. True, he possessed more raw potential, wealth, and support to surpass a general with years of experience, but he squandered it and compelled the general to do the same. If it weren’t for that ring, he would have ended him and embarked on a new chapter of his life. Who knows, with such an opportunity, he might ascend to kingship himself.
The crystal ball shatters, jolting Xeno out of his daydreams. Serra plummets to the floor, her whiskers sinking deeper into the mud. The spectacle elicits Rasool to wince in disgust, causing him to forget his anger and excuse himself from the scene.
General Xeno gently tugs on his whiskers, hoisting the girl upright. Serra is the daughter of his closest friend. He didn’t want her here; both her parents led simple lives, untouched by the worries of the future. He admired their tranquil existence and yearned for Serra to follow a similar path, to keep her safe from the chaos of this world.
Yet, she insisted, and with no children of his own, he embraced her as if she were his own. This complexity arose because it’s easier to deny others’ children, but not your own. Unable to quell her determination to unfurl her whiskers, he agrees and even assures her parents he will be her guardian.
The plan seemed foolproof, and once the prince seized control of the world, she could reunite with her parents within a year. But reality often diverges from plans, and one setback after another shattered their failproof strategy. The prince revealed his true colors as a jerk, his niece emerged as a genius, and the system seemed to mock the very notion of a Whisker outmaneuvering it, by altering aspects of the trail one after another.
“Hey, uncle—boss,” Serra says with a weak grin.
“What happened?” Xeno asks. Before she replies, he stops her with a gesture. “Clean your whiskers first, soldier.” He sighs in defeat.
Serra clumsily brushes off the dirt, causing the others to cringe at the rough handling of her whiskers. “We need to stay away from that human… sir,” Serra salutes and puffs her cheeks, trying to hold back her laugh.
Xeno understood she had a hard time calling him sir, but he couldn’t treat her any differently from the rest in training. “Why?” He glares at her, reminding her of the surroundings while suppressing his desire to nuzzle her. ‘She was just too darn cute!
“It’s hard to say—sir, but he trod with such caution that I was unable to trick him or make him reveal his cards.” Serra hesitated to continue, but once she saw Xeno brush his whiskers with annoyance, she blurted the rest out. “Our illusions might never work on him—sir.” She saluted, turned, and dashed away, only to find Xeno already blocking her way.
“Explain yourself.” Xeno held back his fury, gritting his teeth hard enough for Serra to hear them grind against each other. “You better make sense fast, kid.”
“We work on deceit,” Serra began explaining, “but this human, sir, he sees through it all. Our illusions and tricks don’t seem to affect him. It’s like he knows what we’re about to do before we even try. For now, he still hasn’t noticed we are behind it all, but once he realizes the trick, I fear every Whisker will become vulnerable to him. Our best bet is to kill him in one go. Give him just one chance, and we might never get a second,” Serra advised.
“We’ve come a long way, thanks to our racial abilities—”
“If he had taken a step further, we would have been exposed, sir, not him,” Serra cut him off mid-sentence.
“We don’t need brawn to fight,” another general interjects. “Our whiskers are enough to deal with all of them.” He points at a pack of overgrown dogs with a split maw and six legs. “Level five dumb ones.” He points and laughs.
“Dumb ones,” Serra repeats with a serious tone, her whiskers floating higher than the rest.
The illusion around her breaks, and she finds herself several feet away from the general. “He is way smarter,” she asserts, turning to Xeno before he raises the obvious doubt. “I just do. My skill helped me create what he desired, but have you ever seen such a beast?” All their retorts get stuck in their mouths as they relive the horror. “That’s not normal. Neither is he. If he reaches and joins that settlement, all of our plans until now will be for not.”
“Didn’t he come from there?”
“Don’t think so, but it's bad news if he joins the fight. We won’t win.” She again turns to Xeno, stopping his doubt before it leaves his whiskers. “Find a new, farther away settlement,” she answers Xeno’s doubt. “We have the time. There is no point in rushing.”
She glances in the human’s direction, his calm yet terrifying aura drenching her in sweat. “I don’t want to face him. Level four... or one.”
“Damn, space chicken,” Tetsu drools, imagining various chicken meals and unknown recipes for cooking a space chicken. “Will the meat disappear before I bite into it?” His stomach growls in disagreement. “What if it disappears after we eat? Hahaha. That’s a cheat to stay thin. Not that it matters now.”
Tetsu didn’t even have to flex his stomach for the perfect set of four abs to pop out. They were carved into it as if he were a sculpture crafted by the god of war.
He wanders from one crazy thought to another, mentioning the names of various gods of war such as Ares, Montu, and Kartikeya. He then questions why he hasn't had the opportunity to meet the god of war, but instantly regrets his blasphemous request and hopes that the system never heard it.
Tetsu climbed a tree for a better vantage point and found a mountain in the distance. “Huh-huh!” He frowned. “Another mountain.”
His inner monkey took over as he swung from tree to tree, all the while practicing with the runes in a fun way, with the only downside being a fifty-meter drop to his death.
One by one, ethereal runes flickered to life on the tree trunks, branches, and vines. As swinging became effortless, he transitioned to multitasking, maintaining the runes’ activation even when they served no immediate purpose.
The boxers ceased to be a hindrance; instead, they worked wonders, enhancing his strength and speed. Their drawbacks failed to impede his movements; rather, discarding them elevated his attributes to new heights.
It’s peculiar to say the least, discarding one’s shorts to run or attack. Yet Tetsu leveraged the shock factor multiple times to his advantage, whether it be fleeing or charging headlong into his opponent. In a world enamored with flashy maneuvers, he discovered an unconventional tactic that proved effective every single time. Whether or not were they of the same species was inconsequential. A single flash of brilliance could facilitate escape from the direst predicaments, even more so when confronted with an intellectual adversary.
The dumb never expect such a move, so the intelligent will never see it coming, and hate what they see later on. It may be unorthodox, but when faced with the choice between life and death, everyone’s true nature is bound to be laid bare.
Tetsu hovers between two trees, each adorned with a symbol, working in tandem to keep him afloat. Before him, a hollow mountain looms, soaring three hundred meters into the sky, encircled by a thick expanse of towering trees standing at fifty meters in height.
═─┈─{═E═}─┈─═
