He had killed a living creature.
Not an enemy in a game, not a target in a simulation. A real, breathing thing. And now it was gone because of him.
His grip on the hatchet tightened. It was self-defense. It attacked first. The logic was undeniable, but it didn’t erase the cold sensation coiling in his chest. He had never taken a life before. He had never needed to.
But this world was different.
His eyes flicked to the crude stone dagger lying beside the corpse. It had been going to kill him. There was no question. If he had hesitated, if he had let himself freeze… the goblin wouldn’t be the one lying dead.
A notification chimed in his mind.
The words hovered in his vision, as impersonal as a level-up screen in a game. But this wasn’t a game. He wasn’t behind a keyboard, strategizing from a safe distance. He was here, flesh and blood, standing over the proof that survival had a cost.
And he had paid it.
A second notification appeared.
Basil frowned. The title stood out, gleaming faintly in his status window. At first, he thought it might be a joke—some kind of system quirk. But as he focused on it, a description materialized.
A cold realization settled in.
This is a bug.
The system had pulled from his past achievements, and somewhere along the line, it had mistaken Teamfight Tactics for real-world strategy. In TFT, players were called “Tacticians.” He had reached Grandmaster, a rank denoting the top 0.1% of players.
And the system had assumed that meant he was the pinnacle of tactical warfare.
Basil let out a short, humorless laugh. What the hell does “enhanced cognitive processing” even mean? Was it giving him some kind of intelligence boost? A predictive edge in combat? If so… it’s not actually a bad mistake.
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
A new screen appeared before him, listing ten different tailored classes:
A line of text glowed beneath the options:
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Basil exhaled slowly. Ten choices. Some seemed incredibly overpowered. Spiritcaller could mean necromancy. Elementalist meant magic. He didn’t know how powerful any of them were yet, but choosing wrong could cripple him long-term.
He analyzed the list carefully. 4 choices stood out to him for his goals.
- Scholar made sense. Knowledge was power, and if this world operated on system rules, understanding them first would be critical.
- Ranger was practical. Adaptability, survival instincts, and agility were things he already valued.
- Warrior was tempting, but it wasn’t his specialty. He had trained in judo, but he wasn’t a fighter in the way a real warrior would be.
- Tactician stood out immediately, but did it actually give him anything useful, or was it just a glorified title?
He needed immediate survivability and a strong long-term foundation.
After a moment, he made his selections.
A surge of energy pulsed through him.
The world around him sharpened—literally. His vision felt crisper, his thoughts faster. Patterns emerged in his surroundings that he hadn’t consciously noticed before. The way the wind shifted through the trees, the subtle tracks in the dirt… even the positioning of his firepit in relation to the goblin’s corpse felt like a data point his mind was processing automatically.
Then, another notification popped up.
Basil’s heart skipped a beat. Class evolution? Already? He had assumed that evolutions would come much later. But the system was clearly working off different rules for him.
A new choice appeared:
The description sent a chill down his spine.
Predict enemy movements? Issue commands?
It was giving him real-time control abilities. If this worked the way he thought it did, it wasn’t just theory or intuition—it was a tangible, system-assisted advantage in combat.
His hand hovered over the selection. There was no downside. No reason not to take it.
Basil made his choice.
Another pulse of energy surged through him, stronger this time. His mind felt… wider, like it was expanding past its natural limits. Tactical possibilities unfolded in his head like a flowchart, instinctively optimizing routes, attack patterns, and counter-strategies based on the terrain around him.
Basil clenched his fist.
This was powerful.
And he would need every advantage he could get. Because he had two priorities now.
First: Survive. Adapt. Learn.
The world had changed, and he had to change with it.
Second: Find Claire.
She was out there. And he was going to get to her.
A low growl rumbled in the distance.
Basil turned, muscles tensing. In the darkness beyond the firelight, something moved. Another goblin? Something worse?
It didn’t matter.
The world had changed. And so had he.
It was time to prove it.