Jake woke to the sound of rustling leaves.
His eyes snapped open, mind already alert. He was lying across the thick branch of a tree, one arm hanging lazily while the other clutched a smaller branch for balance. His body ached—hunger gnawed at his gut, and dried blood caked the back of his neck—but he was alive.
That rustle again.
Not wind. Not an animal. It was too calculated. Too heavy.
A man was approaching. Alone.
Jake moved slowly, silently, pressing his body flat against the tree trunk like a predator in wait. He peered through the leaves.
The man below was limping. His leather armor was torn, and one of his hands was wrapped in a crude cloth bandage. His sword hung from his hip, barely sheathed, and he kept glancing over his shoulder like a paranoid animal.
The last guard from yesterday? Or a different guard? Or a scavenger?
Didn't matter.
He was breathing. That was enough.
Jake gripped a jagged rock in his hand—sharp on one side, heavy on the other. He had plucked it from the forest floor before climbing the tree the night before. At the time, it was just a backup plan. Now, it was his only weapon.
He waited, heart thudding not from fear, but from cold anticipation. He timed it—counted each step.
Five more...
Four...
Three...
Jake dropped from the tree like a hammer.
He landed hard on the man's shoulders, knocking the breath out of him. They crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs, and Jake wasted no time. He mounted the stranger, pinning him down, and drove the rock into the man's face.
Once.
Twice.
Crack.
A scream burst from the man's throat, but Jake was already lifting the rock again.
Blood sprayed his hands. Bone gave way. The man thrashed, kicking, struggling to grab the hilt of his sword—but Jake didn't let up.
The third hit collapsed part of the man's cheekbone.
The fourth crushed his eye socket.
The fifth split his skull.
Jake kept going.
Not because he needed to—but because he didn't want the man to get back up. Not ever.
When it was done, Jake sat back, breathing hard, covered in hot blood and pulped tissue. The man's face was unrecognizable—just a caved-in mess of red and grey. A faint gurgle escaped his throat, then nothing.
A soft ding echoed inside Jake's skull.
『+50 EXP.』
『Level Up! 』
He blinked.
A wave of warmth passed through him—sharp, brief, electric. His muscles tightened slightly, his vision sharpened. He felt... better. Just barely.
"Level up, huh?" he muttered, wiping the blood off his face with the edge of the dead man's cloak. "Not bad for a rock."
He checked the corpse. No coins. Just a waterskin, a small pouch of dried meat, and a rusted knife. He took all of it.
Jake crouched beside the body for a moment, studying it—not with remorse, but with calculation.
He'd learned something.
If he wanted to grow stronger then he'd have to kill.
...
..
.
Jake looked down at the pile of corpses. Blood had soaked deep into the dirt, forming a dark smear beneath the remains. Three goblins. Two humans. A few slimes. A horned rabbit. Each kill had taught him something new—about the system, the world, and himself.
And what he had learned was simple: killing was the fastest way to grow.
He knelt beside one of the goblin bodies. Its green skin was slick with gore, one eye hanging from its socket like a drooping grape. The kill had been messy. Brutal. That was on purpose.
He had tested a theory earlier in the day. The first goblin he killed, he had dispatched with a quick stab to the throat. It had barely earned him +10 EXP. The second, he had taken his time with—broken the legs first, crushed the arms with a rock, then caved in the skull after several minutes of prolonged suffering.
The system had rewarded him with +25 EXP.
Jake had no idea why. But he had seen the pattern repeat across the day. A brutal, agonizing death meant more experience. Human targets gave more than monsters. And method mattered.
He stared at the twitching remains of the horned rabbit skewered on a makeshift spit over the fire. Its fur was singed, one of the antler-like protrusions cracked during the hunt. The meat sizzled over the low flames, and the scent was almost comforting.
For the first time since he'd arrived in this strange world, he felt something close to normal. Hunger. Firelight. Food.
Jake squinted at the firelight and focused inward.
The interface appeared instantly:
『 NAME: —
RACE: HUMAN
LEVEL: 4
EXP: 40 / 100
MANA: 20
SKILL: Godly Eye of the Killer (Lv. 1) (passive)
STRENGTH: 5 (Average: 10)
STAMINA: 6
ENDURANCE: 7
INTELLIGENCE: 12
WILLPOWER: 15』
Jake had spent hours analyzing this screen—experimenting, theorizing.
The name field was still blank, and that puzzled him more than anything else. No default designation. No placeholder. Just an empty space.
He was beginning to suspect that names had power here. Perhaps this world wouldn't assign one to him. Perhaps he had to declare it himself.
That raised another concern.
If names had power, could they be stolen?
Jake tore a piece of rabbit meat off the bone with his teeth. It was oily and gamey, but warm. He hadn't eaten since the day before, and the calories helped silence the gnawing in his belly.
He leaned back against the tree, eyes scanning the horizon. No sounds except for crackling fire and distant birdcalls.
His mind, however, never rested.
He needed weapons. Real ones.
He needed shelter.
He needed a name.
And above all else, he needed to grow stronger—faster.
If his theories were correct, then a brutal, efficient killing spree would yield more EXP than any other method. Which , he was already in favour of.
Jake closed the interface with a thought. It vanished instantly, as if it had never existed.
The fire burned low.
Tomorrow, he would move deeper into the forest. There had to be a town somewhere, or a ruin, or anything with structure and civilization.