[Name: Andrew Daeth]

[Race: Human]

[Class: Classless]

[Talent: 5x Zoomable Eyes (F-Rank)]

[Rank: Bronze I]

[Level: 0 (0/100)]

[Attributes]

『Strength: 6』|『Agility: 6』|『Physique: 5』|『Mana: 2』

[Combat Potential: 19]

[Combat Techniques]

[Basic Military Combat Art: {Level 2 (19%)}]

[Auxiliary Techniques]

[Basic Military Breathing Technique: {Level 1 (5%)}]

Andrew stared at the translucent blue panel floating before his eyes.

Then he laughed bitterly.

"Combat Potential of 19," Andrew muttered, his voice echoing in the empty space around him.

He didn’t even have the base stats of a normal person.

In this world, the standard baseline for each attribute was 10 points.

With four primary attributes—Strength, Agility, Physique, and Mana—that meant a completely average, unremarkable player would have an overall Combat Potential of 40.

Andrew had 19, less than half of average.

The Elite Class Players, those from wealthy families who had access to basic mana nurturing resources and physical conditioning from a young age, would have stats that exceeded the baseline of 10 in each attribute. Their individual attributes would likely reach 13, 14, or even 15.

Which meant their Combat Potential would comfortably sit at around 55 to 65.

And the Supernals? Those genetically superior freaks who had been bathed in mana since the fetal stage, their Combat Potential would easily hit 80 or even beyond 80.

The gap was enormous, like the difference between an ant and a elephant.

If Andrew encountered any of those players the fight wouldn’t even last long enough to be called a fight. It would be pure bullying.

"Anyone is definitely doomed if they meet such people," Andrew muttered. "But I’m depending on my luck."

He paused, then let out a hollow chuckle.

’Which, given my track record, probably means I’m already dead. But I was alredy dead the moment I awakened the F-rank talent.’

But what other choice did he have?

An F-Rank talent wasn’t enough to deal with the troubles waiting for him back on Blue Water Planet.

The Culling Game was his only path forward.

Andrew shook the thought out of his head.

He finally looked around, taking in his surroundings for the first time since arriving.

The Culling Game Arena was absolutely massive.

It stretched nearly a kilometer in every direction. The terrain was uneven and treacherous. Tall, coarse grass grew in wild tufts between the rocks, and the earth beneath his feet was hard, dry, and cracked.

It looked like a natural killing ground.

There were no walls or boundaries that he could see. Just endless terrain that stretched out.

[System: Please select your weapon.]

[Time until match start: 1:00]

A countdown timer appeared in the corner of his vision, the numbers already ticking down.

59... 58... 57...

Simultaneously, a massive weapon rack materialized out of thin air with a soft shimmer of blue light.

Andrew raised an eyebrow as he scanned the selection.

The rack was absurdly diverse. Razor-blades with serrated edges. nunchucks standard longswords and even a wooden bat wrapped in barbed wire.

"What exactly is a wooden bat going to do against a Player?" Andrew’s lips twitched and he reached out and picked up a standard longsword.

He gave it an experimental swing but it was extremely off.

Andrew shook his head and placed it back on the rack.

He didn’t know how to use a sword. Not really. The Basic Military Combat Art he had learned was a generalized fighting style designed for survival.

His eyes landed on a machete.

It was simpler than the sword. A thick, heavy blade with a slight curve, designed for chopping and slashing through tough material and the edge designed for poking.

Andrew reached out and wrapped his fingers around the handle.

The grip was worn and textured, fitting snugly into his palm, without pulling his wrist off balance.

He swung it once.

Then twice.

The blade hummed through the air with a satisfying, heavy whoosh.

Andrew smiled happily as it was fit nicely.

For nearly eight years, from the time he was old enough to hold a blade, Andrew had worked part-time at Old Man Garrett’s butcher shop in the lower district of Starforge Town and had spent countless hours hunched , hacking through meat and bones with the cleaver.

[System: Weapon Selection Completed.]

[Selected Weapon: Basic Machete]

[Combat Potential: 19 → 20]

"A whole one point increase," Andrew muttered dryly. "Truly, I am unstoppable."

[System: First Advancement Battle has begun.]

The moment the notification vanished, the atmosphere of the arena changed.

The grey sky seemed to darken ever so slightly and his expression hardened.

Andrew gripped his machete with both hands and shifted into the opening stance of the Basic Military Combat Art. His knees bent slightly, ready to explode into movement at a moment’s notice.

His dark eyes locked onto the far end of the arena, nearly a kilometer away.

Something was coming.

Suddenly, a brilliant golden pillar of light descended from the grey sky and struck the earth at the opposite end of the battlefield.

As the golden glow faded, it revealed a muscular young man.

His name was Daerius.

Daerius was from the Orion Continent, thousands of miles across the ocean from where Andrew lived.

Daerius clenched his fists as he materialized, his heart hammering against his ribs, he was terrified.

It had started three years ago, when his parents, a pair of respected, mid-ranking adventurers had died in a dungeon collapse.

They had left behind everything: their estate, their savings, their equipment, and their mana resources. Everything was supposed to go to Daerius, their only son and sole heir.

But the Henrietton family which is his fiancée’s family.

The marriage had been arranged when they were both children, a union between two mid-tier households meant to strengthen both families.

But when Daerius’s parents died, the Henrietton family had swooped in like vultures.

They had invoked an obscure clause in the marriage contract, claiming that since their daughter possessed a superior mana affinity, all resources from the estate should be redirected toward her development.

They had produced forged documents. Bribed officials and intimidated witnesses.

And Daerius, grief-stricken, isolated, and legally powerless, had been unable to stop any of it.

He had tried to fight back but the Henrietton family’s influence was far-reaching.

And then, the Awakening Ceremony had made everything infinitely worse.

When the Mana Rain had descended upon him and the system had branded his soul with an F-Rank Talent: Strength Enhancement, he immediately knew that his life was over.

The Henrietton family would waste no time. They would use his pathetic talent grade as proof that he was unworthy of their daughter. The engagement would be dissolved by silencing him permanently.

Because as long as Daerius lived, he was a loose end.

So Daerius had made the only choice left available to him.

The Culling Game.

If he could advance his talent to at least a D-Rank, there might be hope. A D-Rank talent was enough to join a respectable guild.

It was a long shot, but it was the only card he had left to play.

Now, standing in this ancient arena with a sword in his hand Daerius prayed to the gods that his opponent should not be a dragonkin, a werewolf or an Elf.

He didn’t waste any time and he activated his talent.

[Body Enhancement: Increase Overall Stats by 50%]

His muscles expand rapidly as veins bulged out from neck face chest and arms.

[Strength: 8 → 12]

[Agility: 7 → 10.5]

[Physique: 7 → 10.5]

[Mana: 2 → 3]

[Combat Index: 24 → 36]

A surge of raw power flooded through Daerius’s body.

36 wasn’t much by the standards of the world, but it was nearly double what most F-Rank talents could produce.

Suddenly Daerius’s eyes focused on as a figure appeared a few hundred meters away from him.

The figure was scrawny and thin, looking as though the wind would blow him away.

Daerius eyes widened. "What luck! Hahahaha!"

Usually, there was an 80 percent chance he would die here but he actually met a wounded and weak human. He couldn’t believe his luck.

Without hesitation, Daerius raised his sword and roared as he surged forward with speed.

Across the arena, Andrew watched his opponent expressionlessly.

He could hear the laughter, even from this distance.

"So he’s happy to see me," Andrew noted dryly. "Wonderful. I must look even more pathetic than I thought."

His dark eyes swept over Daerius’s enhanced body.

Strength Enhancement, Andrew immediately deduced. It was one of the most common F-Rank talents.

At F-Rank, a fifty percent overall stat increase was the standard output.

Combat Potential somewhere in the range of 25 to 27.

His own Combat Potential was twenty. The gap between them was nearly double, but it was not insurmountable. Not like the gap between him and an Elite or Supernal Class player.

Andrew gritted his teeth as dozens of thoughts flickered through his mind.

’He’s bigger and stronger. Head-on combat is suicide. But if I can make him overcommit to a strike, his own forward motion becomes a vulnerability. One clean opening. That’s all I need.’

Andrew’s grip on the machete tightened until his knuckles turned white. His breathing slowed and deepened as the Basic Military Breathing Technique kicked in, regulating his heart rate and steadying his trembling muscles.

With a thunderous roar that shook the air, Darius surged forward with speed.

The ground trembled beneath Andrew’s feet as the muscular youth charged toward him like a tank.

Andrew bent his knees, tightened his grip on the machete, and without hesitation he exploded forward with force.