Jaune POV
Panic clawed at me as I sprinted through the forest, desperately trying to reach the safety of my hometown. My lungs burned, my legs screamed for mercy, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was outrunning the shadow chasing me—the Beowulf.
It had been a dumb idea from the start, and I knew it. But when you're a twelve-year-old kid and you hear a Huntsman is out fighting Grimm near your town, what choice do you have? Seeing a Huntsman in action was a chance too good to pass up, a dream come to life.
So, when I heard the news, my legs started moving before my brain could catch up. I told myself I'd stay hidden, just watch from a safe distance. But dreams have a way of twisting into nightmares, don't they?
I'd always wanted to be a Huntsman. My family hated the idea, constantly nudging me toward other paths, encouraging me to find something else that "brought me joy." But nothing shone as brightly as the call to protect people, to stand as a shield against the Grimm. It wasn't just a dream; it felt like destiny. The Arc bloodline had always been known for producing knights and warriors—not kings, not politicians, but protectors. I wanted to be a part of that legacy.
But my father? He refused to train me. Too tired. Too busy. Too wet outside. His excuses piled up like fallen leaves, and each one left me more frustrated than the last. So I decided to teach myself, to find my own way forward. If I could just prove how serious I was, maybe he'd change his mind.
That's what brought me here, trailing a Huntsman as he cut through the woods to handle a pack of Grimm threatening Ansel. I thought I'd stay close enough to learn but far enough to stay safe. Then the sharp crack of gunfire cut through the air, and before I could stop myself, I ran toward the sound.
What I found was mesmerizing. The Huntsman was a storm of motion, tearing through the Grimm with brutal efficiency. In one hand, he swung a jagged handaxe, its blade gleaming with each deadly arc. In the other, he wielded a revolver so massive it seemed absurd, each shot booming like thunder.
Grimm surrounded him, snarling and snapping, but he didn't falter. He moved with a wild precision, his strikes calculated but relentless. The forest itself seemed alive with the chaos of the battle—the growls of Grimm, the rustling of leaves, the snapping of branches. Gunpowder hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid stench of Grimm ichor. It was both horrifying and awe-inspiring.
I was so captivated I didn't notice the Beowulf flying toward me until it was too late. The Huntsman had kicked it away, and the creature sailed through the air, slamming into a tree just feet from where I hid. I barely managed to dive to the ground, heart hammering in my chest.
Slowly the beast raised its head and shook itself from its stupor, I did my best to make myself as small as possible as I hid in my bush. Blood red eyes locked onto mine. For a moment, the world stood still. My breath hitched. My muscles froze. I prayed it wouldn't rise, that I could slip away unnoticed. But then it growled, staggering to its feet, and my fragile hope shattered.
I turned and ran, tearing through the forest with the beast close behind. My pulse roared in my ears, louder than the crashing of branches or the growls of the Grimm. It was injured, limping from the Huntsman's earlier blow, but it was still fast enough to keep up.
Panic surged as my legs began to falter. I couldn't keep this pace much longer. I couldn't outrun it. The reality hit me like a cold slap to the face—I'd have to fight.
I reached into my pocket, fingers fumbling until they found my only weapon: a small whittling knife. It wasn't much, but it was all I had. My hands shook as I gripped the blade, turning to face the approaching Grimm.
My knife wasn't much of a weapon—it barely deserved to be called one. It was small, its blade no longer than the length of my hand, and so thin I was sure I could snap it in half with enough pressure. The only redeeming feature was its edge. I had spent months pestering my father until he reluctantly taught me how to sharpen it properly. Even then, it was a tool for whittling, not for fighting.
But here I was, clutching it like it was my lifeline, staring down a creature that could tear me apart in seconds. The irony wasn't lost on me—my mother had given me the knife in one of her many attempts to distract me from dreams of becoming a Huntsman. She probably thought I'd find some joy in the craftsmanship, in creating something with my hands. She was wrong, of course, but at least I'd learned to keep my blade sharp.
Sharp or not, the knife brought me no comfort now. The Grimm behind me wasn't a piece of wood I could carve; it was a living nightmare. Would the blade even pierce its hide? Would it notice if I stabbed it? These questions clawed at my mind, but there was no time to dwell on them. I would find out soon enough.
Sending a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening, I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and came to a halt. Spinning on my heel, I turned to face the Beowulf.
To my surprise, it didn't charge immediately. Instead, it stopped a few feet away, its glowing red eyes locked onto mine, saliva dripping from its maw. I raised the knife with trembling hands, pointing it at the creature as I shouted—a pitiful attempt to scare it off.
The Grimm huffed in response, a sound eerily close to laughter. My shout had no effect, my trembling hands and cracking voice only serving to entertain it. It began pacing around me, circling slowly, forcing me to turn to keep it in sight.
Panic clawed at my chest, growing heavier with each passing second. My resolve was crumbling. Being an Arc was meaningless without the strength or skill to live up to the name. My vision blurred as tears welled up, and I struggled to keep them from spilling over.
Then it lunged. I screamed, swiping wildly with the knife, but hit nothing but air. My legs scrambled backward, nearly tangling as I tried to put more distance between us. For a moment, I thought it would be the end—but the Grimm stopped short. It stood frozen, its fiery eyes boring into mine.
Was it playing with me?
The realization sent a chill through me. It wasn't attacking—it was toying with me, savoring my fear. The tears I had been fighting spilled over, and I wiped them away with shaky hands. My breaths came in ragged gasps, my body trembling. The Grimm was small for its kind, barely larger than a dog, but its sinister, toothy grin made my blood run cold.
I felt pathetic. What kind of Huntsman quaked in the face of such a minor threat? What kind of Arc trembled before a creature barely worthy of a Huntsman's attention?
Anger bubbled beneath the surface, mixing with my fear. It didn't erase the trembling in my hands, but it gave me enough strength to force my body into a stance. I mimicked what I'd seen the Huntsman do, raising my knife in front of me and glaring at the Beowulf.
The beast didn't like that. It growled low in its throat, pacing faster, then lunged again. This time, it was another feint, its claws swiping at the air, but I refused to flinch. I shuffled back a step to maintain the distance, my heart hammering in my chest.
The Grimm huffed in frustration. It had lost the satisfaction of my fear, and it didn't like it. Lowering itself to the ground, its muscles coiled like springs, its glowing eyes narrowing. This time, it wasn't playing.
Even as I braced myself, ready for the Grimm to lunge, I could barely track its movements. My eyes darted to its claws, expecting one to lash out and rake across my throat. Instead, the beast moved differently—faster and more deliberate.
Before I could react, its jaws clamped down on my left shoulder.
Pain erupted like wildfire, searing through my arm as its jagged teeth tore into my flesh. A scream ripped from my throat, raw and primal, as I flailed against the Grimm. I kicked, punched, anything to force it off, but my blows might as well have been raindrops against stone. The beast didn't even flinch.
Desperation clawed at my mind. With trembling fingers, I drove my knife into its neck, the blade biting into its black hide. The Grimm growled but didn't let go. Instead, it dragged me to the ground, its weight pinning me as it thrashed me like a ragdoll. My screams faltered into choked gasps, each jerk sending fresh waves of agony through my battered body. I felt muscles snap and bones grind under the crushing force of its jaws.
This was it. I was going to die here.
A surge of anger cut through the despair like a lightning strike. Was this how I would uphold the Arc name? Killed by an infant Beowulf, alone in the woods, leaving nothing behind but a story of failure? The thought burned hotter than the pain. If I was going to die, I would drag this thing down with me. Maybe then I could face my forefathers with some shred of dignity.
With a roar fueled by desperation and rage, I tore the knife free from its neck and plunged it into the creature's glowing eye. The blade sank deep, burying itself to the hilt in the soft tissue.
The Beowulf howled, a sound that sent shivers through the trees, and its grip on me loosened. For a moment, I thought it might retreat, but I wasn't about to let it escape. Not now.
As it reared back in pain, I threw my legs around its torso, locking myself to it. It twisted and clawed, trying to pry me off, but its strikes grew weaker with each moment. Summoning every ounce of strength I had left, I raised my free hand and slammed it down onto the knife, driving it deeper. My palm struck the beast's matted fur with a sickening crunch as the blade disappeared entirely into its skull.
The Grimm shuddered violently, its claws falling limp as it collapsed on top of me. I felt its body grow still, the weight of its death pressing down on my chest.
I was alive. Somehow, I had done it.
But the victory was short-lived. The Beowulf's heavy, lifeless body pinned me to the ground. I wriggled and pushed, but my strength was spent. It didn't matter, though. Grimm vanished eventually, didn't they?
Pain radiated from my shoulder with every shallow breath, sharp and relentless. My entire body ached from the fight—the strain of running, the impact of its thrashing, the toll of adrenaline fading from my system. Hot tears pricked at my eyes, but I didn't care.
I had killed a Grimm.
With no training, no weapon worthy of the name, and nothing but sheer will, I had survived. The pain, the blood soaking into the ground beneath me, the exhaustion—they were all drowned out by a single, unshakable truth.
I had won.
*Ding*
The sound of a bell drew me from my thoughts as a blue screen appeared before my eyes.
Congratulations
Jaune arc
You have fulfilled the prerequisite and have been invited to join the game
Will you accept?
Yes no
I have to be going crazy, was this a hallucination before death? Or just my mind trying to distract itself as it slowly died.
I couldn't help but chuckle, Eh, what's the harm? I always loved a good RPG anyways. With a shaky hand I reached up and hit Yes.
The blue screen flashed as my finger hit the button.
Congratulations
As a gift for entering the Game please select one Perk
Parkour - move more effectively over difficult terrain whilst maintaining speed.
Steel hide - The gamers skin becomes as tough as steel turning into a flexible suit of armor. (Cost: 10 mp per minute)
Critical eye - whilst in a fight the weak spots of the gamers enemies will begin to glow.
Gamer's body - After 6 hours of uninterrupted sleep The gamers body will return to its healthy state refilling both the Hp and Mp bars.
Return to a healthy state? The words hung in front of me, taunting me with their promise. I glanced at the other options, but none of them seemed to matter—not when compared to the Gamer's Body option. It felt like a lifeline, a beacon of hope in the chaos I was drowning in. Without hesitation, I tapped it, my finger trembling slightly as it made contact.
The moment I selected it, the screen shifted, the text and visuals changing in an instant.
You have been granted the perk - Gamer's body
Welcome to the game
The blue screen vanished, leaving me alone on the forest floor.
For a brief moment, I lay there, waiting—hoping—that something might happen, that maybe The Game would do something miraculous to save me. But nothing did. The only change was the Beowulf's body, growing lighter as it slowly dissolved into wisps of black smoke.
Relief was fleeting as pain exploded in my shoulder, sharp and unrelenting. The warm, sticky sensation of blood seeped down my arm and across my side, clinging to my skin and reminding me how much damage had been done.
I tried to push the Grimm's fading weight off my chest, desperate for air, but the instant I moved my left arm, agony shot through me like a live wire. My vision blurred as a scream ripped from my throat.
It felt like fire was eating through the flesh of my shoulder, the jagged edges of the wound sending shockwaves of searing pain with every twitch. The muscles around it throbbed and clenched uncontrollably, as though they were trying to tear themselves apart. I could barely move without triggering another surge of torment. My hand trembled, fingers twitching uselessly as my body refused to cooperate.
I let out a ragged breath, biting down hard to keep from crying out again. The sound of my pulse filled my ears, a relentless drumbeat that only added to the pressure in my head. The sky above, fragmented through the canopy of trees, blurred in and out of focus. I felt the pull of exhaustion, the weight of everything dragging me down, but the relentless pain refused to let me slip into the comfort of sleep.
The edges of my vision darkened, my body trembling as the last remnants of adrenaline faded. Each beat of my heart sent a fresh wave of heat through my veins, pulsing in time with the dull roar of my pounding head. I stared blankly upward, unable to focus on anything beyond the oppressive ache that enveloped me.
Finally, the pain and exhaustion proved too much. My body sagged under the weight of it all, my vision narrowing to a pinpoint before darkness overtook me. My last thought, fleeting and faint, was whether I'd even wake up again.
I startled awake on the forest floor, my heart pounding like a war drum. My hands flew over my body, frantically searching for injuries, every breath a shallow gasp as I tried to make sense of where I was. Panic coursed through me for a few seconds before my mind caught up.
"Wait... I'm not dead?" I muttered aloud, the sound of my own voice grounding me slightly.
The memories came rushing back—every agonizing detail of the fight, the Grimm's teeth sinking into my shoulder, the searing pain, and the sensation of blood pouring from my body. My attention snapped to my left shoulder, expecting to see the mangled ruin the Beowulf had left behind.
But instead of raw, exposed flesh, I saw scars. The once horrific wound looked like it had undergone years of healing in a matter of hours. Dried blood clung to my skin, but beneath it, the torn flesh had been knitted together, leaving jagged marks where the beast's teeth had sunk in.
I shivered as the memory of the attack flashed through my mind, the phantom pain almost as vivid as the real thing. But that thought quickly faded, replaced by an overwhelming realization: I was alive.
Not only that, but my body had somehow healed itself. The screen—the one I thought might have been a hallucination—was real. My excitement bubbled up as I scrambled to my feet, still shaky but driven by a new surge of adrenaline. This had to be my semblance. I'd overheard the retired huntsmen in town talk about them, though never in much detail. Was this what mine was?
"Umm… game?" I spoke hesitantly into the air, hoping to summon the mysterious screen again. Nothing happened.
"Okay... help?" I tried again, my voice tinged with frustration, but there was no response.
"Come on, Jaune, think," I muttered to myself, pacing in a small circle. "It said welcome to the game. If it's treating this like some kind of RPG, then maybe…"
I stopped in my tracks and spoke two words, clear and deliberate. "Status screen."
A grin spread across my face as the blue screen flickered into existence before me, its faint glow illuminating the forest floor. It worked. It was real.
I let out a breathless laugh, my earlier panic replaced with awe as I stared at the screen, eager to see what it had to show me.
-/-
Jaune arc
Lvl 2.
Title - N/A
Hp - 110
Mp - 50
Str - 5
Dex - 5
Con - 5
End - 5
Int - 5
Wis - 5
Cha - 5
(5 unassigned skill points)
Aura - Locked
Semblance - The game
-/-
Perks
Gamer's body - after 6 hours of uninterrupted sleep The gamers body will return to its healthy state refilling both the Hp and Mp bars.
-/-
I could barely contain my excitement as I stared at the glowing screen in front of me. Sure, my stats weren't impressive—kind of embarrassing, really—but the potential was undeniable. If I started with nothing at level one, gaining even a single level had given me enough points to outright double any one stat. And if my hunch was right, I could probably increase them on my own over time. After all, if these numbers represented me, shouldn't they change as I got stronger or fitter?
The question now was: how should I spend these points? And, more importantly, should I spend them yet?
Common sense told me I should leave them alone for now, maybe figure out how this whole system worked before making any decisions. But curiosity—and, let's be honest, impatience—got the better of me. I decided to test it out. Just one point, to see if anything actually happened.
I tapped on Con and assigned it a single point. A second confirmation screen popped up, asking if I was sure. I clicked yes without hesitation.
The change was immediate.
It wasn't anything outwardly obvious—nothing someone else would notice just by looking at me—but I felt it. My whole body buzzed with energy, like I was suddenly on a sugar high. My heart raced, my muscles tingled, and for a moment, I thought I might actually vibrate out of my own skin.
I forced myself to take a deep breath, and as I did, the sensation began to settle. It was like I'd been a battery that someone had overcharged. But instead of the extra energy bleeding away, it felt like my "battery" had expanded to hold the new capacity. The rush was incredible, leaving me feeling stronger, sturdier—more alive than ever before.
I couldn't stop myself from grinning as I pulled up the stat screen again, eager to see what had changed.
-/-
Jaune arc
Lvl 2.
Title - N/A
Hp - 120
Mp - 50
Str - 5
Dex - 5
Con - 6
End - 5
Int - 5
Wis - 5
Cha - 5
(4 unassigned skill points)
Aura - Locked
Semblance - The game
-/-
Ten HP per point? That's insane. If one point in Constitution gives me that much health, what kind of impact would points have on my other stats?
The possibilities were almost overwhelming. For now, I just had to figure out the basics. What's the difference between Intelligence and Wisdom, for example? Intelligence was probably about knowledge, but then what did Wisdom represent?
I knew I had to tread carefully with how I allocated my points. Too many times, I'd gone all in on one stat while playing a game, only to regret it and restart. There wasn't going to be a reset button this time, though, which meant I needed to plan ahead.
And then there was this Perk system. As if stat points weren't powerful enough, apparently I could recover from nearly any injury just by sleeping? That alone was incredible, and if the perks followed typical game logic, they could potentially make me absurdly powerful.
The only thing that really stumped me was the term Aura. It was locked, just like my other stats had been before leveling up. I'd never even heard of it before, which was odd in itself. Usually, when I didn't know about something related to combat or hunting, it was because my family had gone out of their way to keep me in the dark.
Dad, in particular, was an expert at gatekeeping anything remotely related to combat. He'd made it clear to every retired Huntsman in Ansel that no one was to train me. His reasoning? "If anyone's going to teach my boy, it'll be me." Except he never did. Whether it was the weather, his mood, or some flimsy excuse about how I wasn't ready, there was always a reason to put it off.
It was frustrating. Some of the older Huntsmen clearly wanted to help, but they weren't about to risk Dad's wrath over it. I didn't blame them, but the pitying looks they gave me stung. Like I was some puppy they weren't allowed to save.
I sighed, letting my gaze drift to the orange sky above me, pondering my next move. The sight should have been calming, but instead, dread settled in my chest. The sun was setting.
"Oh no." The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. I'd promised Mom I'd be back by five, and it was way past that now. Mom was going to kill me.
Scrambling to my feet, I grabbed my knife off the ground and bolted toward home. The increased Constitution stat made a difference—I could keep a steady pace much longer than before—but I still felt the strain as I cut through the forest.
By the time I reached the edge of town, I slowed to a walk, my chest heaving with exertion. My house came into view, and the dread in my stomach twisted into a knot.
"This is going to suck." I muttered, rubbing my shoulder absently. My fingers caught on the torn fabric of my shirt, and I groaned. "Crap, Mom's going to freak if she sees me like this."
I ducked around the back of the house, heading for my secret stash. Mom had a strict policy about coming home with ruined clothes, so I'd gotten into the habit of hiding spares outside. That way, I could change before sneaking the damaged ones into the laundry.
Reaching a tree with gnarled roots, I dropped to my knees and pulled out a camo travel bag tucked into a hollow beneath the roots. It was one of the few things Grandpa had left me.
I quickly swapped out my torn shirt for a clean one, shoving the blood-stained one into the bag. The blood had dried so I could probably use the rag as a fire starter if nothing else. With that done, I rounded the house and approached the front door, steeling myself.
I muttered under my breath, "I'm going to have to hide the scar now. Great." My shirt covered it well enough for now, but with all my sisters running around, it wasn't uncommon for someone to catch me without a shirt.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, and there she was.
Mom stood in the entryway, her face a thundercloud of worry and fury. She looked me over, arms crossed, and I felt about two feet tall.
"Jaune Luna Arc," she began, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "Where have you been? Do you have any idea how worried we were? And can you explain why Old Man Jenkins said he saw you running into the forest? Poor Saffron has been out there looking for you all day!"
I tried to focus on her words, to come up with an excuse or at least minimize the fallout. But my attention was pulled away by something that shouldn't have been there—words, glowing softly in blue, hovering above her head.
Juniper Arc
The mother who reigns
Lvl ?
"Well? Anything to say?" Mom's voice was sharp, and she leaned down until her eyes were level with mine. Her piercing gaze felt like it could peel away every lie before it left my mouth.
"Sorry," I mumbled, keeping my eyes glued to the floor, unwilling to meet her gaze. "I didn't go far. I climbed a nearby tree to whittle in peace… and fell asleep."
The words poured out in a rush, the silence between us pressing down on me like a weight. I could only hope she'd buy it. If she thought I was lying, she'd ground me for sure, and that would be a disaster now that I had discovered The Game or whatever this strange system was.
Besides, technically, I wasn't lying. Falling asleep wasn't part of the plan, and while it might not have been wood I was carving with my knife, I had definitely been cutting something.
Mom's silence stretched on as she stared at me, her gaze so intense I felt like she was trying to drill a hole through my head. The tension was unbearable, and I could feel my palms growing clammy.
"Fine," she said at last, her voice clipped but not harsh. Relief washed over me. "You came back before dark, so I won't ground you. But if I hear anything about you running off into the forest again, you'll have more to worry about than Grimm. Understand?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said quickly, the words tumbling out in my haste to appease her. Inside, I was silently celebrating a victory—a grounding successfully dodged.
Her tone softened, her usual warmth returning as she straightened up. "Good. Now go get cleaned up. Dinner's almost done, and there's no way I'm believing for a second that you're clean."
I nodded and slipped past her, heading toward the bathroom. As I walked, a familiar blue glow caught my attention, and floating words appeared before my eyes.
Wordlessly I followed her request as I made my way to the bathroom, a few floating words caught my attention.
Amber Arc
Lvl 3
Ebullient
Seriously? My youngest sister, Amber, was sprawled upside down on the couch, her legs kicking aimlessly in the air. How is she a higher level than me? She's eight!
I quickly ducked into the hallway before Amber caught me looking. I knew that pose—she was bored. And if Amber was bored and you so much as made eye contact, you were as good as caught. She'd latch onto you until her boredom was thoroughly obliterated.
As I moved deeper into the hallway, I nearly collided with Lavender, my second-oldest sister, as she stepped out of the bathroom.
"Oh, hey, Jaune," she said, giving me a once-over. "You didn't get into trouble, did you?"
I shook my head, hoping to breeze past her, but her eyes narrowed as they zeroed in on my shirt.
"Why are you wearing a different shirt? That's not the one you left wearing."
Why does she have to be so perceptive at the worst possible times? "I, uh, might've gotten my other one a little dirty," I mumbled, doing my best to sound nonchalant.
Lavender chuckled softly. "Don't worry, I won't say anything. Just be careful. Saffron wasn't too happy about being forced to go looking for you."
As she walked past me toward the living room, I caught a glimpse of the familiar blue text hovering above her head. It drew my attention immediately.
Lavender Arc
Lvl 4
The weight that withers
Lavender's title worried me more than I cared to admit, though it wasn't exactly surprising. She'd always had a weak immune system, constantly getting sick and struggling to keep up physically with the rest of us. Still, seeing it laid out so bluntly like that, in blue text floating over her head, sent an uneasy chill through me.
After a quick stop to wash my hands, I went through the rest of the day on autopilot, biding my time until I could finally be alone. The itch to explore more of The Game's screens was almost unbearable, but the risk of someone catching me staring off into space like a lunatic was enough to keep my curiosity in check. Worse yet, I couldn't let my family find out about it. If they realized I had something that could genuinely help me pursue a life as a hunter, they'd probably do everything in their power to keep me from it.
Dinner turned out to be more interesting than I expected, though. Between bites of food, I stole quick glances at everyone's titles, careful not to linger too long. Saffron caught me looking at one point and shot me a glare so sharp it could have skewered me. I quickly averted my gaze, pretending to be engrossed in my meal, but my curiosity burned brighter than ever.
Seeing those floating titles over my family's heads was both fascinating and unnerving. I couldn't help but wonder what mine might say—and what it truly meant for each of them.
Saffron Arc
Lvl 8
Solace Of The Earth
Blanc Arc
Lvl 5
The winds of folly
Coral arc
Lvl 4
Ink-bound dreamer
Violet Arc
Lvl 3
Sweet risks
Rouge Arc
Lvl 3
Sewn dreams
Man, I knew before that I never wanted to get on Saffron's bad side, but seeing her level confirmed it—level 8? She was a force to be reckoned with, no doubt about it.
Dinner passed quickly, much to my relief. Everyone seemed to have something else to get back to, which meant I was spared from any further questions. Once we finished, I volunteered to wash the dishes and tackled a few extra chores to help appease Mom after my earlier disappearance. It wasn't much, but every little bit helps when you were trying to stay off her radar.
As I was heading to my room, the front door creaked open. My father walked in, his tall frame filling the doorway. He was home earlier than expected, which usually meant his mission had gone smoothly.
"Hey, Dad," I greeted, pausing in the hallway.
Nicholas Arc
Lvl ?
The solitary sentinel: Carrying the weight of existence
"Hey, kiddo, any idea where your mother is?" my dad asked as he walked into the house, his voice carrying the familiar warmth I'd always found reassuring.
I shrugged. "I think she went to lie down for a bit."
He smiled and gave my shoulder a light pat. "Thanks."
As he walked away, my gaze lingered on the words floating above his head. Why couldn't I see his level? It was the second time this had happened. Maybe it was connected to my stats somehow? But more unsettling was his title—easily the longest one I'd seen yet, and so morbid it made my skin crawl.
I flopped down onto my bed, trying to shake the questions swirling in my head. What could my dad possibly be hiding to warrant a title like that? The thought clung to me like a shadow, but I forced it aside. Focus. I finally had some privacy, and there was no way I was wasting this chance to dig deeper into The Game.
Experimenting with the screens had already taught me a lot. For starters, I didn't have to say commands out loud—I could just think them. Even better, the screens only appeared when I wanted them to, which was a huge relief. The last thing I needed was to look like a lunatic waving away invisible windows in front of my family.
Let's see... spells? I thought, hoping for something flashy.
Nothing happened.
I sighed, a little disappointed. No lightning bolts for now, I guess.
Skills? I tried next, and this time, a window flickered to life in front of me. A triumphant laugh escaped my lips as I leaned in to study it.
Jaune Arc
Skills
N/A
Even with the screen devoid of any helpful information, I couldn't help but feel excited. If there's a screen, there's potential. That was all I needed to keep my curiosity burning. More improvements, and something entirely separate from Perks? The possibilities seemed endless.
I closed the Skills screen and decided to try one last idea: Settings. If The Game treated life as a game, there had to be a way to adjust the experience, right?
Thankfully, my game wasn't a terrible one. A new screen popped up, offering a list of options: Display, Audio, Language, and more. I immediately dove into the Display settings, curious about what tweaks I could make. It turned out I could do everything from toning down the sun's glare to adjusting brightness. The feature that sent me into a laughing fit, though, was the Subtitles option. Yes, actual subtitles. Seeing things like bird chirping and distant rustle of leaves written out in real-time was absurdly funny.
But what really grabbed my attention was the BGM (Background Music) setting. The menu was currently empty, which made me wonder how to add music to it. Would I need to listen to a song and remember the melody? Memorize lyrics? It was an exciting mystery I'd have to solve later.
The HUD settings were a game-changer, though. After fiddling with them for a few minutes, I added two persistent bars to the bottom-left corner of my vision: a red one for Hp and a blue one for Mp. I even enabled a translucent progress bar at the bottom of my view to track my level-up progress. Sadly, the bar was nearly empty, but at least I could see it now.
Then came the Language setting—a mistake I swore never to repeat. Clicking on it brought up a long list of languages with no explanation. Naturally, being the curious button-pusher I am, I clicked on one. Suddenly, every menu turned into Chinese. Panic set in as I tried to navigate back, completely lost in a sea of unfamiliar characters. It only lasted a couple of minutes—three at most—but it felt like an eternity.
Great job, Arc. You've got an amazing power to grow stronger, and the first thing you do is almost render it useless by turning it into a language you can't read. Bravo.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I was getting ahead of myself, making too many changes without thinking. I closed the settings menu before I could mess with anything else and decided to leave it alone—at least for now.
"Let's just sleep on it," I muttered to myself. Tomorrow, I'd head to the library to dig for answers. Lying down, I did my best to settle into sleep despite my buzzing excitement.
Of course, the subtitles had other plans. With my eyes closed, they popped up to inform me of every little sound: footsteps, faint cough, creak of floorboards. It was like having a play-by-play of the world around me, and it was far more distracting than helpful.
Grumbling, I reopened the settings and quickly disabled subtitles. Maybe messing with the settings wasn't such a great idea after all. Lesson learned.
Waking up early, fully refreshed, was a feeling I wasn't used to, but I welcomed it. It wasn't just any morning—I felt more awake than ever, like a well-charged battery. Maybe it was a side effect of Gamer's Body. If this was how every morning would be, I'd gladly take it. On the downside, though, lazy mornings where I didn't have to get out of bed were officially a thing of the past.
My sisters didn't miss a chance to poke fun as I entered the kitchen.
"He's alive!" one called out dramatically.
"Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?" another teased.
I rolled my eyes, brushing them off as I wolfed down breakfast. I couldn't really blame them—on summer breaks, I was practically glued to my bed until at least eleven if no one dragged me out.
Before anyone could rope me into chores or their own plans for the day, I bolted. "Bye! I'll be back before dark, I promise!" I shouted as I slipped out the door. No one had time to stop me.
It only took me half an hour to reach the public library. Ansel was a small town, and it wasn't hard to cross the entire place on foot in about three hours. Mostly focused on agriculture, the town was a haven for retired military and huntsmen looking for peace and quiet. With so many seasoned warriors living here, there was no need for a wall—just a few turret emplacements and a good early-warning system. That said, the town wasn't exactly exciting. Unless you had an unexplainable love for bingo, Ansel didn't offer much to do.
The library, however, was an exception.
"Ansel's library is incredible," Coral had once told me. "It's got everything." And seeing the building now, I believed her.
The library's design was a love letter to classical architecture. A grand staircase led up to three stone archways framing the entry doors, the whole structure built from weathered stone. Above the arches was a balustrade that doubled as an outdoor reading area. The building exuded sophistication—and a clear sense that a lot of money had been spent to make it impressive.
As I opened the doors, I was greeted by the unmistakable scent of old paper and ink. For a moment, I stood there, taking in the vast rows of towering bookshelves. Each shelf was packed to the brim, and the second floor promised even more. It was no wonder this was Coral's favorite place. It wasn't just a library—it was a treasure trove.
I got to work immediately, scanning the shelves for any books on Aura. But with no idea where to start, my search was aimless. I wandered from section to section, guessing wildly. Hours passed, and frustration began to creep in.
Finally, a kind librarian noticed my struggle. She approached with a warm smile and pulled out her scroll. After a few quick taps on the screen, she gestured for me to follow her.
"Here we are," she said, stopping in front of a section I'd overlooked. She pulled a book from the shelf and handed it to me. "This one is highly recommended by teachers and huntsmen. Please don't take it out of the library unless you register for a library card. If you'd like one, come see me at the front desk."
I nodded and thanked her as she walked back to her desk. Turning the book over in my hands, I read the title: The Light of the Soul by Peter Port.
Finding a nearby table, I sat down and cracked the book open. As I read, the information within shocked me.
Aura wasn't just a tool—it was the manifestation of the soul itself, projected outward. It was the foundation of a huntsman's abilities, providing a shield, enhancing their physical capabilities, and even allowing for unique semblances tailored to the individual. How could something so integral to being a huntsman be something I'd never even heard of? My family had gone to great lengths to keep me away from anything related to combat, but hiding something this essential?
I turned the page, eager to learn more, already feeling the stirrings of determination in my chest.
Aura could take blows for you, strengthen your muscles for greater power and speed, heal your wounds, and, with time and training, manifest into a unique semblance. The implications were mind-blowing. Emotions surged within me—excitement, determination, and no small measure of anger.
On one hand, I was thrilled. I'd discovered something I could pursue without my father's approval, a path to my dream of becoming a huntsman. But the excitement was clouded by a bitter question: Why hadn't anyone told me?
My aspirations weren't a secret. Everyone in Ansel knew about the boy who wanted to be a huntsman. I'd shouted it from the rooftops, never hiding my goals. Yet no one—not my parents, not the retired huntsmen in town—had mentioned something as fundamental as Aura.
According to the book, most children had their Aura unlocked by a huntsman around the age of nine, giving them the head start they needed to master it early. I was already three years behind.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut: They never intended to let me become a huntsman.
That truth stung deeply. My parents—my own family—had known about Aura all along and deliberately chosen to keep me in the dark. The betrayal left a sour taste in my mouth, and I felt the hot sting of tears welling up in my eyes. I bit them back, refusing to let the pain consume me.
Fine. If they wouldn't help me, I'd do it without them.
Fueled by a mix of determination and spite, I dove headfirst into the book. It was packed with theories about the soul, how it channeled through the body, and how Aura acted as its external manifestation. It also contained detailed instructions on unlocking Aura independently and exercises for learning to control it.
I committed every diagram to memory, mentally rehearsing each exercise as I read. When I came across particularly complex techniques, I borrowed a piece of paper from the librarian and jotted down notes, determined not to forget a single step.
This was it—the start of my journey. Whether my parents approved or not, I would find my own way forward.
*Ding*
A blue screen flared to life in front of me.
Through extensive study you have gained 1 intelligence
A smile broke across my face as I read over my notes, pride swelling in my chest. Despite everything—despite the silence and resistance from my parents—this was progress. This was my defiance taking shape, carving out a path for myself. Feeling reinvigorated, I dove back into my studies with renewed determination.
Hours slipped by unnoticed as I pored over every detail in the book, reading and re-reading each page until the concepts were etched into my memory. I wasn't content to simply skim through; I needed to understand it all. Only when I was certain I had absorbed as much as I could did I carefully return the book to its place on the shelf and head home.
When I reached the house, I bypassed my family entirely, heading straight to my room. I wasn't ready to face my parents yet. The bitterness of their silence about Aura still lingered, and I didn't trust myself not to say something I'd regret.
Shoving those thoughts aside, I focused on what came next. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of my room, I mimicked the meditative pose described in the book. My notes sat nearby, a reassuring presence, but I didn't need them now. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, preparing myself for what the book described as one of the most challenging parts of unlocking Aura—finding it within yourself.
I began by shutting out the world around me, stripping away my awareness bit by bit. The sensation of air brushing against my skin faded first, followed by the soft texture of the carpet beneath me. I closed my eyes tighter, rejecting the faint glow of light that filtered through my eyelids. Piece by piece, I forced myself into a state of detachment, a quiet void where the only thing that existed was me.
When the external world had all but disappeared, I directed my focus inward. It was strange—like searching for something in a bag you hadn't packed, knowing it should be there because it belonged to you.
Aura wasn't an external force to be found; it was part of me, something innate and ever-present, just dormant. The book described it as a sleeping giant, a power within us all that needed awakening. Even when locked, Aura permeated your being, a silent force with no effect. By reaching inward, I was supposed to find the pathways—the channels—that Aura flowed through, the intricate web connecting my body to my soul. These channels would lead me to my core, the very heart of my being where my soul gathered.
It wasn't simple. The book explained that these channels were unique to each person, as individual as fingerprints. Some people described theirs as rivers coursing through their limbs, broad and steady. Mine, though … if I was sensing it correctly, my channels were thin, delicate, like fishing lines strung through my muscles, taut and barely perceptible.
I stayed perfectly still, my mind reaching out tentatively, following the faint vibrations of those lines. It was exhausting, like trying to grasp smoke with my bare hands, but I was determined. My core was there, waiting for me. It had always been there. All I had to do was find it.
*Ding*
A noise startled me from my concentration, shattering my meditative state. I opened my eyes to find another blue screen.
Through extensive observation of one's self and inner working you have gained
1 wisdom
It was satisfying to see tangible progress—two different stat gains completely by accident. It gave me an odd sense of pride, as if my determination and effort were finally paying off in a way I could see and measure. Honestly, it was far more motivating than any pep talk ever could be. On the flip side, I couldn't help but wish The Game had timed its notifications better. The interruption had completely shattered my focus, pulling me out of my meditative trance.
I glanced over at the clock on my bedside table, blinking at the time. I'd been meditating for a couple of hours, but it felt like only minutes. Rather than diving back in, I decided to spend the rest of the evening outside my room. If my family saw me hanging around, it would stave off their inevitable efforts to drag me out and force me into some group activity.
It wasn't unusual for me to spend an entire day holed up in my room, but my sisters never let that slide for too long. Eventually, they'd team up and barge in, plotting some "fun" way to get me out and moving. As much as I loved them, I just wasn't in the mood for their brand of chaos tonight.
So, for now, I'd show my face around the house. Let them see I was alive and well, maybe even chat for a bit, and then retreat again once the coast was clear. It was the perfect strategy to keep my peace.
The days slipped into a steady rhythm: waking up early, ensuring my family saw enough of me to feel reassured, and then sneaking off to meditate in peace. It became a ritual, one that brought both progress and patience.
Earning my second point in Wisdom through self-observation took two full days. The painstaking effort confirmed a theory: the more points I accumulated naturally, the harder it would be to gain another. It was clear now just how valuable those assignable points were. If I truly earned five every time I leveled up, they were far more powerful than I'd first imagined.
With each passing day, I spent longer in meditation, growing more attuned to the web-like network that seemed to spread throughout my body. Every breath, every small movement, caused minute shifts in the channels I'd come to associate with my Aura. It wasn't a straightforward process, though—it took two weeks of trial and error to even begin to manipulate the web with any sort of control.
Each channel felt strange, almost intangible. They weren't physical like muscles or organs, yet they were undeniably present—a sensation overlaid upon my body. Grasping them was like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. Still, I persisted, learning their rhythms and responses through countless hours of experimentation.
Finally, one quiet afternoon in my room, something changed. As I meditated, tracing the web back to its source, I felt a shift—a subtle tug that sent a ripple through my entire being. My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, panic surged. I almost lost the sensation, but sheer determination kept me focused.
I followed the ripple, tracing it toward my chest, where I discovered what felt like a small, dense sphere at the center of the web. It was wrapped tightly in threads of energy, as though it were both protected and contained. Tentatively, I reached out with my focus and gave it a light tap.
Warmth blossomed from the sphere, suffusing my chest with a pleasant heat before fading almost as quickly as it had come. But the sensation lingered faintly, a quiet hum at the edges of my awareness.
"Is that my Aura?" I wondered, excitement building as I tapped the sphere again—this time, harder. A small crack formed, and the warmth surged outward, flooding the web of channels throughout my body. The feeling was exhilarating, yet fleeting. Still, the warmth didn't entirely vanish; it leaked steadily from the crack I'd made.
Perhaps the term "unlocking" one's Aura was more literal than I'd thought. The shell around the sphere felt like a barrier, containing the energy within. If breaking it could truly free my Aura, then I was ready to shatter it.
I took a deep, steadying breath and struck the shell with my focus, harder this time. The cracks spread like spiderwebs, and the rush of warmth was more intense than before. But I didn't stop. Without waiting for the surge to fade, I delivered another mental strike, pouring all my willpower into it.
With a soundless shatter, the shell crumbled, and the world around me seemed to shift. Warmth poured through my body like a flood, filling every channel, every limb, every inch of my being. It was as if I'd been ignited from within, my very soul alight with energy.
The warm light of my Aura surged through me, flooding my body in an almost overwhelming wave. It sought out the channels beneath my skin, the intricate web I had spent weeks discovering, but it was too much—too vast, too powerful for the pathways as they were. The initial comfort, like the soothing heat of a thick blanket on a cold night, was quickly overtaken by a searing pain.
The burning sensation rippled through me, sharp and intense, as though my skin was stretched too tight, struggling to contain something far greater than itself. It wasn't just pain; it was change. My Aura was forcing those tiny channels—once as thin as fishing line—to expand, reshaping them to accommodate its flow.
What had once felt fragile and delicate now stretched into something robust and strong, like drinking straws woven seamlessly into my body. These expanded pathways fused deeply with my muscles, connecting every fiber of my being to the energy coursing through me. It was as though my Aura had claimed its place, no longer a dormant force but an active part of me.
Then, everything shifted.
The world around me felt alive in ways I'd never known. The air, cool and crisp, seemed purer, cleaner, as though each breath filled me with a vitality I'd never experienced. My chest rose and fell rhythmically, every inhalation deeper and more satisfying than any breath I'd taken before. Even the mundane—the soft weight of my shirt resting against my skin—felt enriched, layered with an unexplainable clarity.
The sensation was intoxicating. Everything was familiar yet utterly transformed, like seeing the world for the first time through a perfectly focused lens. My senses thrummed with heightened awareness, not in a way that overwhelmed me, but as if they were finally working in harmony with the energy flowing through me.
*Ding*
I opened my eyes to a sight that was both surreal and awe-inspiring. My skin was glowing, a soft white light radiating faintly from every inch of me. The glow wasn't harsh or blinding; instead, it pulsed gently, as though it were alive. I raised my arms, inspecting the light that seemed to seep out from beneath my skin. It was mesmerizing, yet calming, like a warm reassurance that I'd unlocked something truly profound. Slowly, the glow began to fade, retreating until only the faintest traces of warmth lingered.
Congratulations
Through the extensive observation and manipulation of one's self you have managed to unlock your Aura
Aura - The embodiment of one's soul, Any damage taken will first subtract from your aura pool, Aura points may also be spent to reinforce one's body allowing you to achieve greater feats of strength.
Wisdom effects overall size of your Aura pool
Intelligence will affect the rate at which your Aura pool refills
Adjusting your stat page accordingly
With a single thought the notification window was replaced with my stat window.
-/-
Jaune arc
Lvl 2.
Title - N/A
Aura - 180
Hp - 120
Mp - 60
Str - 5
Dex - 5
Con - 6
End - 5
Int - 6
Wis - 9
Cha - 5
(4 unassigned skill points)
Semblance - The game
-/-
"What the - !?" A startled cry shook me from my thoughts, jolting me out of my thoughts. My head snapped up, and my heart dropped when I saw her. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor near the doorway, a book clutched in her hands, her wide eyes fixed on me with an expression that was equal parts confusion and disbelief.
The glow from my skin had all but faded, but it was obvious she had seen it. I scrambled to close the blue window still floating in my vision, the familiar motion feeling far too slow in the moment.
"Crud,"
AN - Hey guys its been a while since I posted anything I've been struggling to write out the next chapter if intrigue and had a few ideas for my own Gamer Jaune fic so I decided to give it a try. Let me know what you think. Thanks for reading and hope to see you next time :)