Strait between the Kingdoms of Enath and Britain
Depths of the Ocmarun Gulf
Submarine base of ancient humanity
My head was a complete mess.
Too many questions, too little sense.
Why did I dream about little Sam?
Why the hell go to an academy?
And who the hell was that system that nerfed me?
My thoughts were like a stampede, but little by little I managed to organize them.
And when I finally calmed down, I reached a single conclusion:
That so-called Origins—or "Org," as it called itself—had to be more than just a simple program.
It was a supreme administrative system, a guardian of the game's order, or perhaps of the universe itself.
It achieved what no programmer or administrator ever had: it blocked me, nullified my abilities, reset me.
And worst of all: it left me alive to suffer it.
I couldn't change it. Only adapt.
And if I had been reduced, then I had to become clever.
I had tons of mana...
but no way to use it.
The irony was cruel: I possessed an ocean of power, and I couldn't even learn magic, because all magic required elemental affinity.
Without affinity, mana was just... useless energy.
I sighed.
I had gone from basically an unstoppable god, to a useless battery.
Then I remembered something curious:
Every person stores tons of garbage knowledge in their mind—useless data, nonsense theories, forum trivia, comics or novels.
Things that are never useful...
until the world becomes so absurd that all that mental waste becomes your only source of strategy.
If there was something those thousands of books, manga, fanfics, and games I translated as a hobby—and with some annoyance—had taught me...
Although I had to admit the fact that only those works were insane enough to imagine the scenario of: what if you get trapped in a game or a novel.
"Fucking disgusting premise."
It's that there was always some madman who got trapped in a world like that.
And those idiots always knew exactly what to do.
"Those damn protagonists always got trapped in their favorite game or the one they were experts in."
I didn't have that damn luck. Of reincarnating into something I knew.
Instead, I had to appear in a new game. That hadn't even been released yet.
I was an expert... but at losing.
I couldn't even reach a moderately competitive level.
My hands always ruined every RPG strategy.
I was literally annihilated in every damn game I touched.
I had a sense of déjà vu:
It was the same feeling I had when I woke up in the barn.
And still, I was here.
Analyzing like a madman.
Reevaluating my future possibilities, with the restriction of never using magic.
—What the hell am I going to do with all this mana if I don't even know how to use it? —I growled to myself—. I don't even know how it works...
I thought for minutes.
Nothing logical came to mind.
Only one absurd idea, so ridiculous it almost made me laugh.
Training.
Yes, training.
The most basic cliché, the universal method of the generic protagonist.
But in all stories, those who trained... ended up becoming unstoppable.
Even if they had to go through impossible physical hells.
And I skipped that part.
In my defense:
I had money, connections, and resources thanks to my family.
But those expert protagonists in every discipline...
They were designed poor to evoke pity.
I, even though I wanted to be disowned...
I always kept my secret accounts in the Bahamas.
I shook my head side to side.
Once again I was losing control with unnecessary thoughts.
I took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to calm down.
I concluded that the system punished me because it was inevitable due to my actions:
Now I had to start from the bottom in terms of personal power.
I set two immediate objectives:
1. Learn how to control my mana.
2. Find some use for it in combat.
While I was reflecting, a strange sensation hit my body.
Something began burning violently inside me.
A brutal heat expanded from my joints.
My lungs burned.
My cells vibrated as if they wanted to disintegrate.
My consciousness blurred.
Then I heard Quincy's voice, desperate:
[!!MASTER, YOU MUST CONTROL YOUR MANA NOW OR YOU WILL DIE FROM OVERLOAD!! \( > ▭ < )/]
The world spun. I couldn't breathe.
Suddenly, a message projected in front of me:
[Basic Skill «Absolute Resistance» stabilizes mana overload.]
The burning subsided.
My body trembled, but I could move.
The skill timer indicated its duration, and I understood how close I had been to death.
I decided to activate another:
[Basic Skill «Systematic Transcendental Omniscience» is activated.]
I decided to update Quincy once more... She had the unique ability to control my stats by percentages, but now everything was nerfed.
It was time to change that function: now knowing the risks of overload, I programmed her to have percentage control over my mana.
—Quincy, lower my mana until it's stable.
[I will do it immediately, master. Full adjustment. ( > . < )✌]
I deactivated both skills.
Duration: one minute and a half.
Not bad...
I asked Quincy:
—At what percentage did you adjust my mana?
And she replied:
[I adjusted your mana to 0.00000000001%. That is the safe amount, master idiot. ¯\_( ' . ' )_/¯]
—What?! Zero point what?
[You cannot properly control your energy, ignorant master. ( ¬ ₃ ¬ )]
—Perfect. We'll discuss that later. Shit... here comes the penalty...
The system responded without delay:
[System Message: You have used two basic skills. Applying random penalty...]
[Status penalty: Explosive diarrhea for one hour.]
—What...? DIARRHEA?!
The pain hit me in seconds.
I doubled over and screamed:
—Gideon, take me to a toilet, NOW!!
One hour.
A damn hour of infernal suffering and dehydration.
When it was over, all I wanted was to die or sleep... but then I remembered the battle suit Gideon had mentioned before.
—GIDEON!! —I roared hoarsely.
[Do you need anything else, General?]
—Bring me the battle suit.
[Right away, General.]
While waiting, I laughed between gasps.
—Great... now I'm not even going to train... hahahaha... screw you, generic protagonists!! I'll have an easy life!! SIUUUUU, YAHOOO!!
When Gideon returned with the suit, I almost teared up.
It was a masterpiece:
white plates, elegant design, anti-gravity wings, retractable helmet, circuits glowing with quantum energy.
A dream of mad engineers.
I read the specifications:
[Ancient Humanity Battle Suit — Model "Angels"]
Class: Legendary / Rank A
Properties:
* Enhances all stats by 2000% when energy circuit is activated.
* Increases destructive power by 50%.
* Increases firing pressure by 100%.
* Reduces incoming damage by 20%.
Requirements: All stats at minimum 80.
And there was the universe's final joke.
—Fantastic... —I muttered—. I can't even use it.
If I wanted to survive, I had to train.
And not with the basic routine of a hundred push-ups and ten kilometers.
I would do something more extreme.
A cocktail of madness inspired by every overpowered protagonist I had read or translated.
But first, I had to confirm if training actually worked in [War of Kingdoms].
So I asked:
—Quincy, are there training rooms that allow stat growth?
[Not yet... they will be created when monster waves increase and become a real threat. ( ◡ ₒ ◡ )]
—And does training now do anything?
[Yes, although there are limits. Besides... aren't you already too strong? ( ≖ ₒ ≖ )]
I had no idea what had happened to me since the "reset."
It seemed Quincy didn't even remember Org dismantling me.
So I answered calmly:
—I need to train. Tell me, what other functions will those rooms have?
[According to my data, they will provide stat points, improve skill efficiency, and increase the probability of obtaining basic skills. (. ~ ₒ ° .)]
—Perfect. Then why don't I have that efficiency?
[I don't know. You are an anomaly: neither player nor NPC. In simple terms, a bug with a soul. ( ⚈ ₒ ⚈ )]
I smiled ironically.
A bug... that's how I was defined.
And maybe she was right.
I had to find out if I could still grow, if the system would allow it.
Because without progress, there would be no survival.
I remembered the gods' levels: between 3000 and 5000.
I was at 9.
It was a cruel joke.
I called Gideon again:
—GIDEON!!
[Have you requested me again, General?]
—I'll ignore that stupid question. Do you have a training room?
[No, but Artia does.]
—Perfect. Store the suit in Narval. And send a shipment of seeds to her base.
[Shall I send it with you?]
—No. Separately, in different ships.
[Understood, General.]
I boarded Narval.
As the vehicle glided through the waters, I thought about the perfect excuse for my new appearance.
From being an imposing, completely unstoppable being, I had become a generic common child.
I suppose that had its advantage: with a charm of 9, at least I wouldn't draw as much attention.
I activated autopilot.
The ocean was an infinite abyss in front of me.
Then... hunger hit me.
A beast-like sensation, as if I hadn't eaten in weeks.
—Quincy, what the hell is happening to me?
[Master, it is simple: your body is consuming mana to sustain itself. Without that reserve, it burns calories... and you have barely eaten since arriving here. ¯\_( ಠ ₒ ಠ )_/¯]
—And what do I need to eat to stabilize?
[Approximately 30,000 calories. ( ㆆ ‿ ㆆ )]
—Thirty thousand? Are you aware of what you're saying?
[Yes. Or you may die of progressive starvation. ( ─ ᴗ ─ )]
I swallowed.
I searched the ship desperately.
—Gideon, tell me there's food.
[I'm sorry, General. There is nothing.]
—And fishing?
[It is not a function of Narval.]
I sighed.
My stomach roared.
My weak body wouldn't last long.
I had two options:
use a skill and hunt something outside...
or keep slowly dying of hunger.
But using a skill... meant another random penalty.
I looked ahead.
The sea was black and silent.
—Damn it, Org... —I whispered—.
I can't even be hungry in peace.