The world around him flickered like dying embers. Smoke curled upward in gray tendrils, carrying the scent of burnt flesh and ash. The screams of the living and the groans of the dead meshed into a chorus of despair. In the midst of it all, a voice cracked through his mind—a voice mechanical, detached, yet commanding:
[SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT]
"Awakening sequence initiated. Human consciousness detected. Class selection required."
His head throbbed as if it were trying to split open, and he could feel the weight of every heartbeat echoing in his ears. Eyes snapping open, he saw the remnants of what had once been a school: walls splintered, windows shattered, bodies scattered like rag dolls, and a faint crimson haze hanging over the courtyard.
The voice spoke again, smoother this time.
[SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT]
"Select a class. Available options: Tank, Mage, Healer, Rogue, Swordsman. Please focus on your instincts."
Instincts. The word felt like a challenge, like the universe itself had handed him a gauntlet and dared him to pick it up. He scanned the options. Tank—slow, clumsy, easily killed. Mage—fragile, dependent on skill points and mana he didn't have. Healer—weak, powerless, useful only to others. Rogue—interesting, but he didn't want to hide in shadows. No. Only one called to him, vibrating with the promise of precision, speed, and lethal beauty: Swordsman.
He clicked.
Immediately, more options unfurled before him, like the petals of a black flower blooming in his mind:
Longsword, Katana, Saber, Rapier.
His eyes glinted. Thin. Elegant. Fast. Deadly. The Rapier whispered promises of perfection. With a flick of his fingers, he selected it.
[SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT]
"Rapier class confirmed. Focus on agility, precision, and swift strikes. Recommended combat style: Piercing, quick counters, technical mastery."
A surge of power coursed through his limbs. Pain, hunger, and rage merged into clarity. He flexed his fingers, feeling the intangible weight of his new weapon materialize. His first thought wasn't honor, or survival. It was dominance.
Around him, his classmates—the other fledgling humans—were struggling to awaken. Panic and fear made them clumsy. One of them, a tall boy with wide eyes, stumbled toward him, half-aware, half-dazed.
A thought flickered, dark and precise. "First to strike, first to reap."
The rapier felt alive in his hand, a whisper of steel against his skin. He stepped forward. His target screamed, lungs burning, adrenaline coursing, but he was already moving too fast.
The rapier found its mark between ribs, a fine line of crimson blossoming instantly. The boy's eyes widened, a mixture of shock and betrayal. The smell of blood hit him—not unpleasantly, but intoxicatingly, like the first taste of power.
And then the system responded—not with words, but with subtle acknowledgment.
[SYSTEM]
Achievement unlocked: First Blood.
No fanfare. No congratulations. The system didn't explain. It never did. But he could feel it: a faint, tangible reward coursing through his veins. Strength. Speed. Focus. His senses sharpened, his heart syncing with the rhythm of the fight. He looked down at the corpse of his classmate with detached curiosity, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
Other humans were awakening now, screaming, crying, panicking. But he didn't hesitate. One by one, he struck. A flick of the wrist, a precise thrust, a single drop of crimson marking each death. They didn't even see him coming until it was too late.
[SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT]
"Human achievement detected. Reward allocated."
He didn't know what the reward was—experience? Stat points? Something more sinister? He didn't care. The knowledge that he had been the first, the only human to claim another human's life in this new world, was intoxicating enough.
He moved through the wreckage with the grace of a predator. Smoke twisted around him like curtains, and the smell of burning flesh was almost pleasant. He guessed at another reward—one the system wouldn't hand out for passive survival. He assumed, risked, and struck with precision. Every guess, every calculated move, was rewarded.
A girl stumbled from the ruins, shrieking, clutching her head. He met her gaze. The terror in her eyes was almost… beautiful. He struck, and the rapier pierced her heart. Another reward surged through him. Another layer of control, of dominance, of raw, untouchable power.
[SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT]
"Swordsman progression: Rapier mastery initiated. Technical growth rate accelerated. Potential for 'Sword Saint' path detected."
The word lingered in his mind like a promise. Sword Saint. Yes. That would be him. But first… this world would learn his name. First blood, first kill, first to dominate. Every achievement, every reward, every stolen life—it was only the beginning.
The sun began to rise over the scorched horizon, painting the sky red. He wiped his blade clean on the nearest corpse and flexed his fingers. Other humans scrambled, monsters stirred, zombies shuffled blindly—but he was no longer like them. Not weak, not mortal, not hesitant. He was the first. And in this new world, first meant everything.
The rapier hummed in his hand. He smiled—a predator's, a killer's, a swordsman's.
[SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT]
"Next objective available: Survive. Learn. Dominate. Swordsman path will continue to unfold based on actions taken."
Actions. Rewards. Achievements. Power.