Walker

Lucian Vale read through the meditation technique word by word, committing it to memory. He didn't just memorize the original text—he also studied the meditation tips and annotations left behind by Tharion. Those insights made it easier to truly grasp the technique.

After carefully studying for hours, Lucian Vale began his very first meditation session.

Recalling the exact steps in his mind, he settled into the most comfortable posture he could find and closed his eyes to begin.

Time passed. After about half an hour, Lucian Vale opened his eyes—astonishment flickering across his face.

Could it be… he was actually a genius?

He had entered the introductory stage of "Breath of Darkness" on his very first attempt. He could already sense the magic energy that had seeped into his body through the meditation.

A faint smile touched his lips.

Curious, he summoned his attribute panel to see if anything had changed after that first session.

Name: Lucian Vale

Bloodline: Human

Rank: Tier 0 – Apprentice

Strength: 1.3

Constitution: 1.1

Agility: 1.1

Spirit: 2.1

Mana: 1.7

Skills: "Breath of Darkness" (Initiated)

Potential Points: 0

There were some new elements on the panel—his rank now displayed as Tier 0 Apprentice, likely because he had officially entered the world of the supernatural through meditation.

A new stat had appeared too: mana. The number was low, but Lucian could tell from how his body felt that it was something he could continue to grow. After all, this had only been his first session.

As for the skills section, "Breath of Darkness" now appeared under it, marked as "Initiated." That must have been because he'd successfully learned the meditation technique.

His heart swelled with excitement. With this panel to track his progress, he'd receive clear, positive feedback every time he advanced. That alone was enough to keep him motivated—something many aspiring practitioners lacked.

After stretching his limbs, Lucian glanced out the window.

The sky had grown dim. In less than an hour and a half, full night would fall.

Seeing no immediate threats, Lucian resumed his meditation.

Right now, he was like a kid with a brand-new toy, still caught in the thrill of discovery. He wanted to meditate every second he could.

…

Lucian finished another round of meditation, pleased with the growing pool of magic energy he felt inside.

He pulled up his attribute panel once again. No change in his other stats, but his mana had risen to 2.1. It seemed mana growth was tied to spirit.

Unfortunately, despite his growing reserves, he still hadn't learned any actual spells.

He was in the middle of contemplating that when he suddenly heard something—a noise coming from below. It was getting louder.

A chill ran through him. His face drained of color.

Carefully, he stood up, grabbed his fire axe, and crept toward the window.

Through the loose, drafty frame, he peered down—and saw the source of the noise.

A massive horde of Walkers was stumbling down the road in ragged formation.

Lucian's heart pounded like a war drum. His palms grew clammy as he gripped the axe tighter, grounding himself.

Walkers one of the more commonly encountered, mindless entities of the Ethereal Plane.

Their origin was straightforward: when a world was drawn into the Ethereal Plane, its native species if too weak to resist the foreign magic would sometimes mutate into Walkers, losing all rationality.

Some areas in the Ethereal Plane had persistent populations of them.

Though lacking in intelligence, Walkers could passively absorb ambient mana, which sustained their decaying bodies. As long as they weren't killed, they could persist for decades—maybe even a century.

Each world that birthed Walkers produced unique variations. Some grew to the size of giants. Others developed bloodlust and hunted living creatures with an insatiable hunger.

And Walkers could reproduce. They may have lost their minds, but the primal urge to breed remained. Entire generations of Walkers had been spawned this way.

There were even theories that, in time, a descendant of a Walker might one day develop intelligence—possibly evolving into a new sentient species of the Ethereal Plane.

Lucian remembered skimming through that part of a book once. He now regretted not studying the details more carefully.

Not that it would've helped much—Walkers were notoriously unpredictable. Each strain had its own unique traits. Some could see. Others had enhanced hearing. Some relied almost entirely on their sense of smell. There was no way to tell from appearance alone.

Now he understood the mystery of that skeleton in the next room. It had likely fallen victim to Walkers.

Though they survived off mana, they were still driven by bloodlust. Any living being wandering into their domain would be hunted, and eventually devoured.

That skeleton was probably one such unlucky soul. The bite marks on the bones made perfect sense now.

There had to be at least a thousand Walkers in the street below—an entire shambling horde stretching down the road. Their exact destination was unknown.

Walkers might be brainless, but their hearing and smell were often enhanced. They could detect sounds from an astonishing distance.

Ironically, they were all but blind.

Most Walkers were extremely sensitive to light. Though sunlight wouldn't actually harm them, it made them uncomfortable. That's why they usually stayed in shadows during the day.

At night, they emerged—drawn by noises, vibrations, anything that hinted at life.

Lucian was on the fourth floor. As long as he stayed silent, he'd be relatively safe.

The horde stumbled onward, sluggish but vast—a sea of the dead swaying down the avenue.

Lucian didn't dare rest. He feared he might make a sound in his sleep, or worse, one of the Walkers might stray inside.

Thankfully, he had been meditating in silence when they passed by. As soon as he ended his session, he'd heard the distant sounds and crept over to check.

Had he made any noise during that time, the outcome could've been catastrophic.

Walkers, according to the books, were frighteningly fast when hunting. They could sprint with a speed that rivaled—or even surpassed—that of a normal human adult.

Even more terrifying, some Walkers grew stronger over time.

Though mindless, years of absorbing mana increased their physical strength and resilience. The longer a Walker survived, the more dangerous it became.

Some had even been observed advancing in tiers.

There was a report of a mage who had delved deep into the Ethereal Plane and encountered a massive horde—many of which had reached Black Iron and Silver-tier strength.

He even claimed to have spotted a few Gold-ranked Walkers among them.

Thankfully, even those powerful specimens lacked true intelligence. They acted on pure instinct. If they had gained sentience, the mage might never have made it out alive.

Eventually, the horde passed.

Lucian finally exhaled, letting go of the breath he'd been holding the entire time. The tension had left him mentally drained.

Slumping back against his backpack, he dared not make a sound.

And he certainly didn't resume meditation.

While meditating, he'd be completely unaware of what was happening around him—a sitting duck. For now, silence and vigilance were the only things keeping him alive.

…

Lucian couldn't afford to meditate again, and he didn't dare to sleep either. All he could do was lean silently against the window, relying on the dim silver light of the moon to keep watch.

He summoned the magic tome once more and began studying the three Tier-0 spells listed within it:

Dusky Mist, Bonefang, and Touch of Fatigue.

Out of the three, Bonefang was undoubtedly the first he needed to learn—because it was the only one with offensive capabilities.

The other two could wait. In this perilous realm of the Ethereal Plane, survival depended heavily on the ability to fight back. Without some form of magical offense, he was as good as dead.

Bonefang didn't involve many spell runes, but memorizing them was no easy task.

Without a teacher or mentor, Lucian had to rely entirely on the knowledge recorded in the tome. Learning a spell this way wasn't just difficult—it was time-consuming.

According to the book, it could take an apprentice anywhere from a week to half a month to grasp a Tier-0 cantrip.

And that was just to reach the point of basic activation—being able to cast the spell at all, albeit with a high chance of failure.

Casting spells consistently and accurately required long hours of practice and repetition.

Fortunately, failed spellcasting didn't result in magical backlash. Otherwise, a whole generation of apprentices would be dead before ever getting the chance to fight.

Learning magic was a lifelong commitment, one that demanded enormous time and perseverance.

Casting a single Tier-0 spell—from tracing the runes to releasing the energy—typically took about three seconds.

That might be acceptable under normal circumstances, but in the heat of battle, three seconds was more than enough time for an enemy to close the distance or strike a fatal blow.

To make a spell viable in combat, the caster had to master it—to the point they could reduce the casting time drastically.

Some spellcasters could condense the entire casting process into a single second, or even less. They could release magic with a single thought. In a fight, that kind of speed gave them an overwhelming edge.

Apprentice-level spellcasters were at their weakest. Most Tier-0 spells had little to no offensive power.

Even those that did were often underwhelming in terms of damage output, required several seconds to cast, and had a chance of failing entirely.

Mana reserves at this stage were also minimal—barely enough to fuel more than a few spells.

This was the one window of time where warrior classes had the upper hand against spellcasters.

Unlike mages, warriors trained their bodies for close-quarters combat. Even at the apprentice stage, they could fight effectively.

Their strength came from battle qi—energy they learned to channel into their bodies. With it, they could enhance their physical strength, speed, and durability.

Even when their qi ran dry, their well-conditioned bodies allowed them to keep fighting.

Of course, spellcasters had strengths that went far beyond direct combat.

Though apprentices didn't have access to many offensive spells, once they became proficient, even a simple spell could kill multiple warriors with ease.

And even Tier-0 spells came in many forms: disguise, defense, offense, traversal, decryption—they covered a wide range of practical uses.

Warriors, on the other hand, at the apprentice level… they could swing swords. At monsters. Or people.

But when both progressed—

At Black Iron or Silver Tier, spellcasters gained access to a greater variety of spells that could solve both combat and everyday challenges. Their attack spells became deadlier, their control magic more refined. Some even began learning healing magic.

Black Iron or Silver-tier warriors? They learned to swing their weapons harder.

At Gold or Epic Tier, spellcasters reached a level where their magic could solve nearly any problem they encountered—whether in combat, travel, survival, or creation. They could unleash devastating spells, summon mighty creatures, even resurrect the dead, teleport across continents, or create pocket dimensions to rest within.

Gold or Epic-tier warriors? They became even better at cutting things. Harder. Faster. Angrier.

Then there were the Legendary spellcasters.

For them, destruction came with a mere thought. They could create entire planes of existence—or annihilate entire worlds.

Space itself was like parchment to them. They could cross realms with a flicker of will. Even the bottomless Abyss couldn't hold them.

Legendary warriors?

They gained legendary physiques and legendary strength… and used it to chop things even more ferociously.

That was the difference between spellcasters and warriors.

There was a reason spellcasters were sometimes nicknamed "cheaters."

Because when compared to every other profession… they might as well have been playing with hacks.