Chương 5: First evolution

They traveled through the night, just as Ethan had planned. The desert had cooled quickly once the sun dipped below the horizon, heat bleeding out of the sand until the air turned sharp and dry. Their footsteps were the only sound for long stretches, broken occasionally by the whisper of wind across the dunes. As they walked, Ethan shared what he could. They had only just arrived, probably at the same time as him, so they had little information. Ethan showed them how to call up their status. How the shop worked.

And tried to explain what was going on as best he could. Mark and Sarah absorbed it faster than he expected. They asked the right questions. Tried things quietly as he explained them. The system didn't seem to overwhelm them the way it did most people. Apparently, they'd both been gamers before all this, something they mentioned almost sheepishly. It was how they'd met. Ethan never understood that instinct. The need to frame the trials as a game. He'd seen where that mindset led. People treating this like a game.

It made them reckless. But he didn't argue. For most people, it was the only way to reconcile what was happening. A bridge between reality and fantasy. A way to keep their sanity intact while the world changed around them. He'd just have to make sure they stayed wary. Mark, at least, already was. Ethan noticed it in the way the man walked, always positioning himself at the back while Ethan led, always glancing around to check for threats, even when he was still injured.

Ethan had told them of the dangers they could face, and it seemed the couple had taken him seriously. They stopped when the sun barely began to crest the horizon, light spilling weakly across the dunes. Ethan raised a hand and called the halt without explanation. No one complained. They were exhausted. It showed in the way Sarah leaned heavily on her knees, in the sheen of sweat on Mark's face, in how Tom had long since fallen asleep, curled against his father's chest with his arms drooping over Mark's shoulders.

Mark was breathing hard. Sarah too—but for very different reasons. She was too pregnant to be out here. The thought made Ethan's jaw tighten. The trials didn't care. They never had. They were unfair by design. Uncaring. Ruthless. Why Earth had been dragged into this mess—why humanity had been deemed ready or useful—he had no idea. He dropped his pack and pulled out a canteen along with a small bundle of rations, handing them to Sarah.

"Go easy," he said.

"We've still got a long way to go." She nodded and thanked him quietly, offering a tired smile that didn't quite hide how drained she was. Ethan turned away and drew his sword. The blade was still dark with dried blood. He grimaced slightly and set about cleaning it as best he could. He didn't have the tools to do it properly, so he tore a strip from an old shirt and wiped it down. As the family ate, the silence settled.

That was when Ethan finally let himself acknowledge the notification that had been waiting patiently at the edge of his awareness. [Sword Mastery] has reached Lv. 20 Evolution required Evolve? Y / N He selected Yes. The options unfolded before him. [Refined Sword Mastery] [Adaptive Sword Mastery] [Advanced Sword Mastery] [Balanced Sword Mastery] [Aggressive Sword Mastery] For most people, this would've been a defining moment. A fork in the road.

Each option narrowed the future, shaping how they would fight for the rest of their lives. Ethan barely hesitated. He'd thought about this years ago. Around campfires. During forced downtime on the march to the final level. It had become a kind of morbid pastime among the veterans—designing builds, theory-crafting, creating mock battles using make-believe builds. Alex used to tease him for it. Said Ethan was predictable. Said his builds were solid but boring.

Then he'd counter them effortlessly in mock scenarios, laughing the whole time. Alex had always been better than him at those games. He would do well if he had the knowledge Ethan now had. But as it was, Ethan had to decide everything alone. And for this particular decision, it was an easy one. [Advanced Sword Mastery] It had the highest ceiling. Something that could still be altered at a later stage if he desired. Every other option forced a path. Refined precision, brute aggression, rigid balance.

By all rights, they were still great—just not what he wanted or needed. He selected it. You have selected to evolve [Sword Mastery] into [Advanced Sword Mastery] Cost: 0 PO Confirm? Y / N Yes. The skill settled into him. He felt it devour [Sword Mastery]. Knowledge layered atop knowledge. His muscles tightened subtly, posture adjusting without conscious thought. His body adjusted to better suit the skill, as was common with evolved skills.

Each evolution would bring him closer to being the perfect instrument for the skill. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Ethan noticed he was being watched. He looked up. The boy was staring. Tom stayed tucked in close to his mother, half-hidden by her side, but his eyes never left Ethan. He looked curious in the way kids did when they were trying to figure something out they didn't have words for yet. He couldn't have been older than five.

Dark hair, same as both his parents, matted with sand. His eyes were red and swollen from crying. He looked worn thin, clinging to whatever calm he had left. It made Ethan's jaw tighten. Ethan made the decision without ceremony. He'd get this family somewhere safe. He didn't lie to himself and pretend it would go further than that. He couldn't save everyone. He'd learned that lesson the first time around. But this? This was in front of him. And if he could help, then he would. Simple as that.

Mark handed the canteen back. Ethan took it and slid it into his pack.

"How do you know where you're going?" Mark asked. Ethan looked up. He'd already accepted the fact that lying was part of this now. He was terrible at it. But the truth wasn't something he could afford to hand out. So it was time to get creative and make shit up.

"Someone told me," he said.

"The last settlement I stayed at pointed me the right way." Mark's brow furrowed.

"You've been to more than one?"

"Yes." Sarah studied him for a moment, then asked quietly, "Why? Are you looking for someone?" Ethan hesitated.

"Yes. My sister." Technically, he wasn't lying. He had been to plenty of settlements, and he was looking for his sister. He knew she wouldn't be where they were headed. Hell, he didn't even know if he would actually find her. But he would try. The thought sat heavy in his chest, so he did his tried-and-true method and pushed it away.

"Oh," Sarah said. The look she shared with Mark said enough. Mark cleared his throat.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"I don't mean to pry. It's just… you're clearly capable, but—""I get it," Ethan said with a sigh. He understood how it looked. At least partially. A young teenager found and saved them, naturally, anyone would have questions. In fact, he was slightly surprised it had taken them so long to question him. But if they knew his real age, it would only cause problems, so he decided to fudge the truth once again.

"Eighteen. I actually just finished school two days before I got dragged in." They exchanged a glance, and Ethan hoped they would leave it.

"Well," Sarah said gently, "I'm sure you'll find her."

"I will," Ethan replied, relieved. He decided to quit while he was ahead and change the subject.

"You should both check your PO," he added instead.

"Get at least one decent skill." They nodded and went quiet as they focused inward. Mark chose Warrior, same as Ethan. When he mentioned [Sword Mastery], Ethan stopped him immediately.

"Don't waste points on it," he said.

"You can learn it without buying the skill." Mark blinked, surprised, but listened. Instead, he picked a taunt-type skill—something meant to draw attention. Ethan respected the man's decision. It showed he was prepared to make the sacrifices in order to keep his family safe. Sarah's choices were harder. Healing wasn't Ethan's wheelhouse. He'd fought alongside healers, but he'd never walked that path himself. When she settled on Crude Mend, he hoped it was the right decision but couldn't offer any meaningful advice.

So when she healed the bruising on Marks leg, he assumed it was the right choice. Tom didn't get an option. He was too young. For now, he was entirely reliant on his parents. Which didn't sit well with Ethan, but there was nothing he could do about it. It was a catch twenty-two. If he were fourteen he would be old enough to gain a class, but then the family would have been split up, each out in the desert on their own. Just like him and Leah.

Ethan waited for Sarah to finish using her skill, but as soon as she was done they moved on. The sun had climbed, heat pressing down like a weight. Sand dragged at their feet, sweat soaked through clothes, and the dunes just kept going. [Steadfast] helped more than he'd expected. Even if it wasn't a movement skill, it made each step more solid. The day passed without incident. They didn't move as fast as Ethan could have alone, but they made decent progress. By nightfall, the family was wrecked.

Sarah barely stayed upright long enough to lie down. Mark's movements had gone slow and stiff. Tom was asleep before his head even hit the sand. Ethan felt it too. The exhaustion creeping in, but he'd learned how to live with it. So he let them sleep, while he stayed awake. It turned out keeping watch was the right call. As not even a few hours into their sleep, Ethan spotted movement. A subtle shift on the horizon where the stars should have been uninterrupted.

He narrowed his eyes, leaning forward slightly, forcing his tired vision to focus and pierce the darkness. At first, it was just a smear of motion. Then, slowly, it resolved. Too many silhouettes. Too close together. Moving with a uniform, dragging rhythm that had nothing to do with wind or drifting sand. Ethan felt his stomach sink.

"Fuck," he breathed. There was no mistaking it once he saw the pattern. A undead mob. The worst possible outcome on the first level. Everyone learned about them eventually—usually the hard way. Anyone who died in the desert didn't stay dead. The heat baked bodies dry, the system twisted what remained, and hunger did the rest. They rose again, empty and relentless, drawn to movement, sound, life. Luckly it didn't last. With most undead only surviving a few days until they once again fell to rest.

Ethan stood in one smooth motion and crossed to the family, crouching beside them. He shook Mark awake first. The man startled, muscles tensing. Ethan pressed a finger to his lips. Sarah woke next, clutching Tom to her chest, eyes wide but silent. Ethan waited until they were alert before speaking, keeping his voice low and steady.

"There's a mob coming," he said.

"Dead. A lot of them." Mark swallowed. Luckily, Ethan had already told them about everything that could kill them on this level, so they immediately knew what he was talking about.

"How far?"

"Ten minutes. Maybe a bit more." That was all the explanation they needed. Ethan pulled his notebook free, flipping pages quickly. His pen scratched softly as he drew. He sketched the dunes, the rock formations, the settlement's position relative to them. A quick, rough map. He tore the page free and pressed it into Mark's hand.

"You follow this," Ethan said.

"It will take you directly to the settlement." Mark stared at the page, then up at him.

"What about you?"

"I'll buy you time." Sarah shook her head immediately.

"No. That's not—""I'm not dying here," Ethan cut in quietly.

"This is just insurance. I'll catch up by the time the sun comes up. If not, then just carry on." Mark hesitated. Ethan saw the war playing out behind his eyes. Duty versus fear, instinct versus reason. In the end, instinct won. He nodded once.

"Thank you," Mark said, voice tight. Ethan met his gaze.

"It's fine. This needs to happen. They would just keep coming otherwise."

"Still," Mark said.

"Thanks." They didn't waste another second. Sarah adjusted Tom against her shoulder, Mark took point, and they slipped into the darkness along the path Ethan had drawn. Ethan waited until they were gone. Then he turned back toward the desert. The mob was closer now. Close enough that he could make out individual figures—ragged silhouettes, broken limbs, heads lolling at wrong angles. They ran toward him, dragging their bodies along with them. Ethan sat down in the sand and planted his sword point-first beside him.

He rolled his shoulders once, slow and deliberate, before going through stretches.

"Alright," he murmured.

"Let's start this level proper." He stood up and grabbed his sword. It was time to farm some levels.