Alternatives of the Weak

The cultivation chamber was silent, a perfect void of sound thanks to the intricate runes inscribed along the walls. They pulsed faintly with power, sealing the space from all external distractions. This isolation chamber was one of the academy's most valuable resources, designed to help students hone their abilities and push their limits.

Denwen sat cross-legged in the center, bathed in the dim green glow of a single hovering essence crystal. Around him, shattered remnants of spent essence cores lay scattered like broken glass—lifeless husks drained of their power.

He reached out instinctively for another core, only to find nothing but dust between his fingers. A sigh escaped his lips.

"Ten cores a week are really nothing. Thirty minutes, and I've already run out."

His eyes drifted down to the pendant resting against his chest. The Verdant Core Pendant. Even without touching it, he could feel its faint warmth, a soft hum of power waiting to be tapped into.

"Good thing I have this."

With a practiced motion, he grabbed the last intact green essence core and pressed it to his palm. It immediately started to dissolve, its energy flowing into his body like a warm tide. As the essence seeped into his dantian, he focused, guiding the energy through his body's core points.

The pendant reacted instantly.

A vibrant glow pulsed from the engraved runes, spreading in rhythmic waves as it amplified the incoming essence. The moment the refined energy entered his system, Denwen felt the change—his body absorbed the essence faster, purer, more efficiently.

It was like the difference between drinking water straight from a polluted river versus having it filtered through the finest purification system. His body, which normally struggled to retain essence, greedily drank in the surplus energy.

The flow of essence was like a canal being carved into dry, cracked earth—gradually widening, deepening, reinforcing his foundation.

His fingers twitched. His breathing slowed. His mind sharpened.

"Without this artifact, I'd have hit my limit already. My body would have rejected any more essence."

He clenched his fist, feeling the strength slowly build within him. "But now… this is like having the reserves of a C-rank. The difference is unreal."

His mind drifted toward the future. If he could maintain this pace, it wouldn't be long before he attempted essence channeling into external weapons. That was the first true step toward bridging the gap between awakened and warriors. And after that… a breakthrough.

He could pass this semester.

His grip on the pendant tightened. His thoughts turned to his ambitions.

He still had his eyes set on Class President. Not just for the status, but for the benefits—access to better resources, priority training sessions, and even political weight within the academy.

But Roy was already miles ahead. If Denwen wanted to catch up, he had two choices:

Exploit weaker students, steal resources, force his way up. But this would make him unnecessary enemies along the way. There was no point in making enemies unless as a last resort.

Find a mentor, someone who could provide direct benefits—Roy, Mellissa, or even Angus.

The problem? His talent.

Who would waste their time mentoring someone with a D-grade?

Denwen opened his eyes, the green glow of the pendant reflected in his pupils.

"No. I won't beg. I won't scheme."

"There's another way I can do this. "

The last of the essence from the core vanished into his body, and the shattered remains crumbled between his fingers.

Denwen inhaled deeply, then exhaled.

—-

A week after his failed awakening,

Denwen sat at his desk, a thick tome sprawled open before him. The dim glow of the mana lamp barely lit the pages, but he was too engrossed to care. The book was an extensive study on Mechavaris—the technological marvel of the Techno Continent—and how their advancements in magic-technology fusion had shaped entire civilizations.

His door creaked open, and the scent of sweat and steel wafted in before the intruder even spoke.

"Hey, champ. Hope you're good."

Denwen smirked, not bothering to turn around. "Shouldn't you be off drinking somewhere, or in one smelly dungeon, old man?"

Varek let out a loud bark of laughter and stepped into the room. His boots clunked heavily against the floor.

"Oh, come on. Can't a father check in on his little runt?"

Denwen finally turned, setting his book aside. His voice was light, but there was a weight behind it. "Well… things happen. But I can't let Nicole see me sulking. That'd really hurt my ego more than the awakening did."

Varek grinned at that. "I see you've taken that setback well. That's the sign of a true man. That's why I've always liked you—while other kids your age would be having their rebellious phase or moping around, you just keep going. Hahaha!"

He reached out and clapped Denwen on the shoulder.

"OW! You crazy bastard! Why the hell are you hitting me like I owe you money?!" Denwen yelped, clutching his shoulder.

Varek gave him an unimpressed look. "Come on, you're a Rank 1 now. Stuff like that shouldn't even make you flinch." He flexed his thick forearms, grinning. "Besides, you should see the beatings I used to get. Builds character."

Denwen rolled his eyes. "Yeah? Well, maybe Rank 1 should also come with 'immunity to idiot rank 3 fathers' Because that actually hurt, you brute."

Varek roared with laughter and took a seat across from him. They talked for a while—about everything and nothing at all. Varek teased him about his non-existent love life, poking fun at the way Nicole hovered around him.

Then, after the laughter settled, Denwen's expression turned serious.

"Old man, I've been thinking."

Varek arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Should I be worried?"

Denwen ignored him and flipped open his book, pushing it toward Varek. The older man leaned in, squinting at the diagrams and inscriptions detailing the selection process for Mechavaris scholars.

Varek's grin widened. "Ah, so that's your plan—you want to head to the Techno Continent."

Denwen nodded. "It's my best bet. Even if I lack talent in cultivation, my intelligence is something no one can take from me."

Varek nodded approvingly. "That's a solid plan, honestly. If anyone could make a name for themselves through wit alone, it's you. But… you do realize Mechavaris is far from here, right? Traveling by road would take at least a year, and teleportation is… well, let's just say that's not in our budget."

Denwen smirked. "I know. That's why I'm aiming for the selection exam in my third year."

Varek let out a low whistle. "Oho, I see. Clever."

The selection exam was a once-in-a-decade event, where scholars, warriors, and mages competed for sponsorships from major kingdoms, noble houses, and research institutions. It was the fastest, safest, and most prestigious way to get into Mechavaris.

But getting selected was an entirely different beast.

Varek leaned back and crossed his arms. "You know what that means, right? You'll need to be the best of the best. And for that, you need resources—manuscripts, artifacts, herbs. Something to make you stand out."

Denwen was already nodding. "That's why I wanted to ask… can I get registered as a hunter?"

Silence.

Varek's relaxed posture vanished. His expression darkened, and his fingers drummed against the table.

"Absolutely not."

Denwen blinked. "What? But—"

"No." The finality in Varek's voice sent a chill down Denwen's spine.

Varek leaned forward, his voice quieter but firm. "Listen to me, kid. The life of a hunter isn't something you can just 'do for extra cash.' It's a death sentence for someone at your level. You don't have the rank, the talent, or the experience."

Denwen gritted his teeth. "But if I—"

Varek slammed his fist onto the table, the wood groaning under his strength.

"Dungeons aren't training grounds. They are war zones. There are things in there that even seasoned Rank 3s avoid, and you think you, a fresh Rank 1 with a D-grade talent, can just waltz in and come back out?"

Denwen clenched his fists, but Varek wasn't done.

"Do you even know how most low-rank hunters die?" His voice was sharp now. "They don't get killed instantly. No, they get injured. They lose an arm, a leg, or an eye. They bleed out slowly, screaming in some forgotten cavern, while their squad leaves them behind because survival comes first. Most times the dangers don't even lurk within the dungeon but with your own team members"

Varek's gaze bore into Denwen's, unwavering. "If you step into that world now, you won't be fighting for money—you'll be fighting to stay alive. Every. Single. Day."

Silence stretched between them.

Denwen exhaled slowly. "…Then what else can I do?"

Varek relaxed slightly and leaned back. "There are other ways to earn without throwing yourself into a meat grinder.

Such as Apprentice under a blacksmith, become a mage understudy, tutor younger students. Denwen your knowledge far surpassed his peers, teaching theory classes could provide some gold. Artifact appraising – With enough training, you could help evaluate and trade minor relics".

Varek listed the options carefully, his tone less harsh now.

"Build yourself up slowly, step by step. By the time you reach Rank 2, you'll have options. And when you finally step into a dungeon, you'll do so as someone ready."

Denwen wanted to argue—but deep down, he knew Varek was right.

—-

Back to the Present,

Denwen smiled weakly, his fingers brushing against the glowing pendant on his chest.

"I'm sorry, old man…"

His grip tightened.

"But I think I'm finally going to have that rebellious phase I never had."