Jerry closed the last book with a decisive thud and leaned back, stretching his arms with a satisfied sigh. "Alright, kid, this is the last bit I'm going to cover with you. After this, you're on your own. If you ever need more information, this library,"—he gestured broadly at the towering shelves around them—"has everything you'll need. I've written most of these books myself, so if you want to dig deeper into what I've told you today, you'll find it here. What I've given you is a crash course. There's definitely more detail that I've glossed over or missed, so ‌come back here when you've got questions."

Jerry leaned forward again, his expression serious. "Now, let's finish this up. We're going to talk about leveling, loot, and lastly, the undead plague."

Colm straightened in his seat, absorbing every word.

"I've already touched on monsters and how their levels don't mean shit—don't forget that. What matters are attributes and tiers, and the system does shit to tell you that. Higher-tier classes give you an edge because they allow you to punch above your level. If you're smart and strong enough to fight monsters a few levels above you, you'll earn more experience and level up faster. Some lucky encounters can even net you multiple levels in one go."

Jerry jabbed a finger at Colm for emphasis. "But here's my advice: don't go rushing into fights you're not ready for. You don't want to run into something of the same tier that is much higher level than you. Hone your skills first. Build up your reflexes, instincts, and combat sense. Once you know how to use your abilities properly, then you can start taking those risks. That's just my two cents, though—it's dated advice because you're not like most people. With a high-tier class like yours, you'll run laps around them. Still, I'd recommend finding a team to learn from, at least for a little while. You'll share experience, so it'll take longer to level up, but the knowledge and safety a group brings are worth it. I did that myself for a time. Then, when I felt ready, I struck out on my own. It worked for me because, well let's just say I'm uniquely hard to kill. That's not everyone's cup of tea, though."

Jerry leaned back again, his voice growing more casual. "Next is loot. Monsters rarely drop anything worthwhile, but when they do, it's better than anything you'd ever get by taking apart their bodies. System drops—loot awarded directly—are incredibly valuable and go for a fortune. If you're lucky enough to get something, I'd recommend visiting the appraisers at the Adventurer's Guild. They'll give you a fair estimate. If the item suits your combat style, you might also consider bringing it to a crafter. System-enhanced crafted gear is leagues ahead of anything else you'll find."

He paused for a moment, as if weighing his words, before his voice took on a darker edge. "Now for the undead plague. As you already know, we've got a bit of a problem with the undead. We don't know if it's something the system brought with it or if it was part of the reason the system came. What we know is that it's manageable—most of the time."

Jerry's gaze turned distant, his tone heavier. "Undead cluster in cursed zones—areas of rot and corruption that spread slowly but persistently. I believe these hubs form around a powerful undead—someone who was once strong in life but wasn't able to survive the infection. Very few‌ classes have healing, so when the infection takes hold, almost everyone dies. When they succumb, they anchor themselves to the land, cultivating it into a nest. The zones expand at a snail's pace, though, so it's not an immediate threat, not for hundreds of years, anyway. But those undead at the center? The masters of the hubs? They're terrifying. Some are stronger than me, and that's saying something. I have little regeneration, so I tend to not risk attacking the hubs."

He locked eyes with Colm. "You might think you've got an edge as a Morvyn, and maybe you do, but don't let that arrogance get you killed. I've seen other Morvyn try to clear those hubs, and almost every one of them met an early grave. One scratch, one bite, and it's over for most people. For Morvyn, the infection might not be a death sentence, but that doesn't mean you'll walk away unscathed. Don't be a hero, kid. Grow stronger. Live to fight another day."

Jerry exhaled, the tension in the room easing slightly as he straightened up. "Alright, that's the crash course I wanted to give you. There's a lot I didn't cover, and there's even more out there that we just don't know yet. If you want to learn more, find a team and delve into some nearby low-tier Echoes. Gain experience and figure things out for yourself."

He paused, glancing at Colm's ragged attire with a smirk. "Speaking of which, you look like shit." Reaching into his inventory—pulling the items out of thin air—Jerry produced a set of clean clothes. "Here, take these. They're backups I always keep on hand. Don't worry, I've got plenty more. I'm just tired of looking at you in those rags."

Colm blinked in surprise but gratefully accepted the clothes. He quickly ducked into a nearby alcove, stripping off his ruined outfit and slipping into the fresh fabric. The new clothes were simple—long pants and a cotton shirt—but they felt impossibly comfortable compared to his old gear. Staring at the tattered remnants of what he'd been wearing, Colm chuckled to himself. "No clue how these lasted this long." Glancing down at his worn-out shoes, he grumbled, "I need to find some new shoes."

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Emerging from the alcove, Colm stood before Jerry, looking fresher and feeling a little more like himself. "Thank you," he said earnestly before raising a brow and gesturing to the clothes. "Also, where the hell did you even pull these from?"

Jerry chuckled, clearly amused. "Ah, right, you wouldn't know yet. When you make enough money, you can purchase storage items. They're invaluable—basically pocket dimensions where you can store almost anything. Supplies, gear, you name it. Food doesn't spoil, drinks stay cold or warm, and everything stays exactly as it was the moment you put it in. It's like time stops inside." He smirked. "I've got enough supplies packed away to survive for decades. A good storage item makes life a lot more convenient. Just don't go thinking you can store anything living—it doesn't work that way."

Blinking in surprise, Colm's mind raced with the possibilities. Storage spaces? That sounds ridiculously useful. Shaking off his amazement, he refocused, steeling himself. "You've given me so much information and helped me get my bearings in this godforsaken world." His voice steadied with determination. "I think I'll join the Adventurer's Guild, like you said, and learn the ropes. I want to get stronger. A lot stronger."

His voice dropped, carrying a quiet determination. "Back in my world, I felt powerless. I couldn't control anything… couldn't save anyone, not even those closest to me." He looked away, shoulders sagging slightly before he steeled himself. "I never want to be in that situation again."

Jerry regarded Colm for a moment, understanding softening his usually gruff demeanor. "Good luck, kid," he said, his tone genuine. "With a high-tier class like yours, you'll be an outlier. You're going to make waves. Some people won't like that. The status quo has been set for a long time, and shaking it up puts targets on backs. Be careful, stay alive, and don't let anyone drag you down."

Standing up, Jerry stretched and cracked his neck. "I'm heading out of town for a bit. Think I'll pay Brimwhistle a visit after what you told me. Looks like we talked right into the next day, so it's just getting started. If you're set on joining the guild, talk to the clerks at the front desk—they'll get you sorted. And if you ever need more knowledge, the library's open to you. Just don't disturb me—I'm a busy man these days," he added with a teasing smirk.

Colm stood up, extending a hand toward Jerry. The older man clasped it firmly, his grip steady and sure. "Truly, thank you for everything," Colm said, his voice sincere. "I mean it."

Jerry nodded, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Take care of yourself, kid. And remember—stay alive."

With a nod of gratitude, Colm turned and made his way toward the library's exit, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

* * *

Jerry watched silently as Colm walked away, the echo of his footsteps fading into the quiet library. It's been a long time since I've felt strength like his at that level, he mused. That Spirit Warden class of his is no joke. And synergized achievements already? That man is going to be a force to reckon with if he reaches the higher levels. I haven't felt this kind of potential resonate from anyone in years.

With a deep sigh, Jerry's thoughts shifted back to Brimwhistle, stirred by the revelations Colm had shared. I should've made the trip back a long time ago. But facing it again... it was easier not to and not knowing gave me some sort of hope. Still, I held onto some miracle that Pitch was alive. But from what Colm described, there's no one else who could've had abilities so similar to his.

He exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the past settle heavily on his shoulders. With resolve, he focused on his mana, activating Veilstep. The world around him blurred, fading into shadows and silence. Moments later, the landscape reformed, and he stood before the ruins of Brimwhistle's old town hall.

Jerry took a moment to take in the sight of the once-familiar town. The crumbled stone walls, the eerie quiet, and the faint smell of decay were a stark reminder of all he had left behind. Sighing, he stepped forward, his boots crunching against debris as he navigated through the ruins and past the countless rotting corpses scattered about.

A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. "Colm did a number here," he murmured, surveying the carnage. "That's a lot of undead. Like I said, the kid's going to be a monster one day."

Jerry approached the crater at the heart of the devastation, his eyes falling on a decapitated corpse that stood out amidst the rubble. His breath faltered as he bent down, reaching for a ring still glinting faintly on its decaying hand. Tears welled in his eyes as recognition struck like a blade to the heart.

"Yeah... this is him," Jerry whispered, his voice trembling with sorrow. "I'd recognize this ring anywhere." The memories came flooding back—a gift he had given Pitch in the early days after the system's integration.

Jerry sank to the ground beside the decrepit remains of his brother, his knees buckling under the weight of his grief. For a long time, he just sat there, the quiet hum of the cursed forest around him, mourning the loss of someone who had once been his anchor in the chaos.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.