A Blade Beyond Mana

The days passed slowly, but the fire within Yor only burned hotter.

After his near-death encounter with the Kuguro, he realized something crucial—raw talent and a sharp blade were not enough. His sword, infused with mana, had struck with strength, but not with purpose. He had relied on energy rather than instinct, on force rather than form.

That weakness had nearly killed him.

So he changed.

Yor did not return to the field blindly again. This time, he observed. He learned. He studied the patterns and tempo of the Kuguro like a musician memorizing rhythm.

He stood in the wild thickets of the outer zone, blade in hand, eyes closed, surrounded by the grating rustle of monsters in motion. The sound of claws scraping stone. The thud of armored bodies slamming into trees. The whistling air before an ambush.

He listened.

At first, his body moved too slow. His muscles were not tuned to react without vision. His strikes—lacking mana—barely scratched the monsters. But still, he continued. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month.

For four months, Yor trained in solitude and silence, facing Kuguro alone—never retreating, never faltering. With every failed strike, he understood more. With every bruise and cut, his instincts sharpened. His body adapted.

His muscles thickened, not through cultivation, but through honest, grueling combat. His posture became natural. His aura—calm but dangerous. Even Fren began to notice the transformation.

Yor Satoshi, once a desperate boy with a blade, had become a force of nature.

Now, without mana, his blade cut sharper than ever. Rock split under his edge. Trees fell in perfect silence. The once-impenetrable armor of the Kuguro crumbled beneath his refined strikes. He didn't need power anymore—he had mastery.

Even his appearance changed. Hardened skin, defined features, a gaze sharper than steel—he had become handsome not by effort, but by the raw polish of hardship and self-discipline.

But despite it all, his rank never rose past Level 2 - Peak.

A cruel irony. He could cut stone like cloth and move faster than the eye could follow—yet the world still labeled him as low-tier. Unbothered, Yor only smiled. He knew power wasn't always measured in numbers.

Still… he wanted to test the heights of his current strength.

And so, his eyes turned to the forest's nightmare—the Luolo Tiger.

A Level 4 predator, infamous for its brutal speed and venomous strikes. Few dared face it, even at Level 4. But Yor was no longer concerned with odds. He wanted truth.

He found the tiger resting beneath a twisted tree, its golden-black fur shimmering with toxic sheen. Its sleek, coiled muscles vibrated with restrained fury.

Yor stood before it, unfazed.

The tiger didn't even glance at him.

Yor tilted his head. "Really?"

Then—he turned around and slapped his own ass.

"Oi. Kitty."

The Luolo's ears twitched.

It rose with a low, rumbling growl. Now irritated, it blurred forward with a speed that shattered air.

But Yor had already vanished.

To the tiger's eyes, he had disappeared mid-blink.

When it finally caught sight of him again, Yor was standing casually ten meters away, brushing dust from his shoulder.

"Too slow."

The Luolo roared, poison mist curling from its fangs, and lunged again—claws extended, venom dripping, pure savagery in motion.

Yor didn't move.

He saw everything—the flex of muscle before the pounce, the shift in weight, the pattern of breath.

He stepped aside with a whisper of motion.

The tiger's claw struck nothing.

It twisted, snarling, and bit down toward his arm. This time, Yor didn't dodge. The fangs sank deep into his shoulder.

Pain flared—but no numbness followed.

Yor waited.

Nothing.

He glanced at the bite mark. Blood flowed, but his body was stable. The venom… had no effect.

The realization dawned slowly.

I should be paralyzed right now… so why—

He remembered Fren's words. The constant meals of roasted monster meat. The Kuguro flesh he consumed without question. Every single day.

His body… had built immunity. Adapted in secret.

Yor grinned.

"You're not dangerous anymore."

And with that, he struck.

His blade, uncoated in mana, sliced with such precision and velocity that even the Luolo's resilient hide split in a single arc. The tiger howled, collapsed, twitched—and died.

The ground went quiet.

Yor stood tall, breath steady.

He stared down at the corpse of the Level 4 apex predator—slain by a Level 2 human with no magic, no enchantment, no trick.

Just the sword.

The jungle grew silent around him, as if watching.

That night, beneath a pale moon, Yor and Fren sat beside a small fire once again. Fren sipped from his flask, eyes half-lidded.

"I got bit," Yor muttered. "No effect."

Fren smirked. "Told you. Four months of poison meat will do that. Your body's different now."

"But only up to Level 4 monsters?"

Fren nodded. "Level 5 beasts—Nova Class—are a whole other world. Their venom's not just biological—it's spiritual."

Yor was quiet.

He stared at the glowing core of the Luolo tiger in his hand. It pulsed with a strange rhythm—too alive, too restless.

Something wasn't right.

Fren yawned and lay down to sleep. "We move east tomorrow. Heard rumors of a collapsed ruin—maybe good loot."

But Yor didn't respond.

He felt it. A pressure. A memory. That same unsettling feeling from years ago—the sensation of being hunted from the sky.

His senses screamed.

He turned to the glowing core again.

It pulsed once—twice—and then let out a soft hum.

From the distant trees, something moved.

A shadow.

A shape.

A roar shattered the silence.

The forest trembled as a massive silhouette tore through the foliage.

Level 5 – Nova Class – Berserker Ape.

Its presence alone twisted the air with raw killing intent. Fangs like blades. Muscles like steel. Madness in its blood-red eyes.

And it had come… for the core.

For Yor.

Yor rose slowly, firelight dancing across his blade.

"Looks like the safe zone's not so safe anymore."

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