Phantoms

As Zion felt his shirt lifted by the tattooed thug, unease washed over him. In a swift motion, he drew his katana from the depths of the inventory system, swinging it with precision at the man's neck.

"Woosh!"

The sound of flesh parting echoed in the alley, and a moment later, a round object fell with a soft thud—yet in that tense atmosphere, it resonated like thunder.

"Damn, isn't that cool?" Zion remarked, a confident smile still gracing his handsome features. The remaining four thugs stood frozen, sweat glistening on their brows, their voices trapped in disbelief. One of them finally managed to stammer, "Isn't he a monster? What kind of monster is he?"

"A monster? Are you really that foolish? Since when do monsters aid the weak?" Zion retorted, his tone laced with disdain.

"Damn it! We don't care if you're a monster—just don't come any closer!" another thug shouted, but before he could process his fear, his perspective shifted, and he suddenly saw his own feet from a disorienting angle.

"Isn't this quite entertaining?" Zion mused softly, surveying the four headless corpses with a blend of sadness and satisfaction. The victim, whom the thugs had brutalized moments before, lay unconscious on the ground, blissfully unaware of the chaos that had unfolded.

"Oh, is there still someone alive?" Zion noticed the trembling form of a man sprawled on the ground. "Should I finish him off to eliminate any evidence?" After a moment's contemplation, he decided against it; the man had not witnessed the massacre. If the police arrived, they would find no evidence of the violent encounter, likely dismissing it entirely. After all, the government and law enforcement were well aware of the existence of individuals with supernatural abilities and knew better than to meddle with them—especially not with Zion, who had so effortlessly dispatched five thugs.

In this world, those with extraordinary powers were known as PHANTOMS, and they often formed clans or sects, keeping their existence hidden from humanity under the strict regulations of the government. The Zen Clan, a powerful phantom group, had significant influence and protection.

Power levels were meticulously measured, and Zion had recently discovered that he was at level 29—a remarkable feat for someone his age, as most phantoms at this level were over fifty years old. If the elders of the clans knew this, they would surely be astonished.

In stark contrast, the master of the Zen Clan had attained a daunting level 69, a figure that inspired fear among many. At 110 years old, his presence loomed ominously over the realm of phantoms.

Upon returning home, Zion washed away the remnants of the encounter and sank into the softness of his bed, a system voice echoing in his mind as green text illuminated the air before him:

[NAME: ZION YUU]

[LEVEL: 29]

[EXP: 199,000/205,000]

[STR: 20]

[DEX: 49]

[INT: 25]

[AGI: 79]

[LUK: ?]

[POIN STAT: 10]

"Where did I acquire these stat points? Was it a result of killing those thugs?" Zion wondered aloud, grappling with the nature of power in this world. "Did other phantoms gain their abilities through bloodshed? How cruel a world that would be."

[You are mistaken; they are different from you. They gain experience through cultivation, absorbing the earth's energy known as qi.]

The system's voice clarified, explaining that cultivators transformed this natural qi into experience points, allowing them to elevate their levels without the need for violence.

"Are the cultivators I've read about in novels real then?" Zion pondered, considering the parallels between this world and the fantastical tales that had once captivated his imagination.