It felt like an iron casting had just been lifted off his chest. It had been a week of hell but at least it was now over. The Stanis who now stood slouched with a mocking stump for an arm was incomparable to the "hardened-veteran" he was last week.

Stanis had spent most of his time either unconscious, training or helping others. He had only had fleeting moments of combat, each and every one of the moments being easy and quite frankly, clean. This week of endless combat had been anything but that. It wasn't a one-night raid-against the Spectres, it wasn't even a week of being tortured. Instead, it was a grimy, dirty period in which he was consciously making the decision to kill more every single day.

In fact, the only period of time Stanis could compare this week to was the time he had spent at the first village, right after the tutorial had ended. He had hated every moment there and he had hated every moment here.

And thus it was with a light heart that Stanis sliced into the 20 or so Rashkars, prising out their Storage stones before moving onto the next corpse. Once finished, he opened all of them and was not surprised by the results: 2 tickets for a single point in an attribute.

He had taken Caleb's comment about the Storage stones being next to useless offhandedly. But after harvesting more than 1000 Storage stones, he would be a fool to not see the truth. All he had gotten after opening that many were a few dozens of tickets for a single point in an attribute, and a few simple equipment like leather shoes or steel swords. That was it!

It seemed the starting period really had been the golden period, a period Stanis had incidentally used to be unconscious half the time and away from Humanity the other half. Stanis rubbed his forehead with his palm, ironing down the furrowed creases.

Bah! He might not have tens of skills but he doubted there was any human who could now beat him. He had thought this exact thought when the Zelaro had let go of him but the feeling was even stronger now. It wasn't just his stats, rather the intense battle experience that proved the most valuable. He had been fighting for his life the entire week, how could he not become strong after surviving such battles?

Stanis checked his status:

Stanis Volkov

Age: 18 years

Mana capacity: 308 (Mana capacity is actually 468 but 160 points are currently in use) (regeneration is capacity/4 per hour)

Level 83 (Progress to the next level is 9%)

Class: Origin

Strength: 151 [61 -> 69]

Dexterity: 146 [59 -> 65]

Constitution: 140 [62 -> 69]

Intelligence: 159 [45 -> 52]

Wisdom: 145+5[43 -> 50]

Tenacity: 161[62 -> 71]

Skills: Layman's Rush, Scout and Sense, Light Healing, Destructive Mana Recharge, Ice shot, Blueshot spitfire, Lightning seed, Darkness Manipulation

He had gone from level 51 to 83 in the time, his level finally catching up to his strength. But that was merely the tip of the iceberg. In a single week, his stats, which had been nearing 100, were all near 150 now. Not only that but he had also upgraded Lightning seed using Intelligence in that time.

Lightning seed – Use mana to create lightning outside of your body.

Upgraded: Electric transfer- Transfer mana from your body into electrical energy, before sending it into another body. The energy will return to you but strengthened. The cycle can be repeated.

But more than his stats, more than his equipment, more than any of this. The thing that proved his strength the most was the battle he had just won. He had struggled to escape from the Spectre boss a few weeks back, let alone fight it. Now, he had just simultaneously killed more than 20 enemies stronger than the Spectre boss…

This thought alone plastered a smile across Stanis's face. Destructive mana recharge had a 6-hour cooldown so all he could do was wait for his mana to regenerate naturally and then heal his injuries.

He sat down and waited a while. It was a few minutes later that a few Jaguars came over, allowing him to ride them back. The hours quickly passed back at the Jaguar's new base. Stanis ordered them to get a few equipment from the Smithy, quite a bit of food but most importantly a lot of drinks.

It was fair to say that the night passed by peacefully, if not maybe a bit raucously.

****

It was with a light heart that he left the Jaguars. He wasn't worried about them and he wasn't worried about himself. When he had first experienced the hint of tier-four, it had been a fishing line tugging at him. He could feel it but in no way could he see it. Over time it had become clearer and clearer, now a bright path for him to follow. Halfway through the week, the line had stopped solidifying: he had reached the peak of tier-three by then. But he had carried on training and to no real benefit as the line's clarity had stayed stagnant.

This clearly meant he was already above the normal strength of a tier-three. When he had first felt it, he had felt danger, like it was a great mountain hiding around the corner. Now he felt no danger as he followed the line; he had more than enough strength to protect himself, whoever or whatever his foe.

What was most interesting, however, was the fact that he hadn't entered tier-four despite going over the top of tier-three's boundary. This showed that it was most likely as he had thought weeks ago, that the two tiers had a qualitative difference between them that you simply couldn't overcome without external help. And clearly wherever this bright line of mana led to was where he would get the external help.

He was going east from the Jaguar's base. This was why he had told the Jaguars to bring him the items he wanted from the village as it would have been a waste of time for him to make a detour towards the village. And due to that, he now had a bag slung over his back with food and water in. He had also fixed up his equipment to the best of his ability but none of them looked as they once had.

His dagger was probably the best off. Its blade was stained and darkened with blood but those were impossible to see due to the dark, amorphous lines that squirmed across the blade. It was also his strongest weapon but also a consumable so he rarely used it unless necessary.

The way it worked was that he had to store darkness from shadows and such inside the blade. That took a good few uninterrupted seconds so it wasn't something he could do in the heat of battle. After that, he could use the darkness to contaminate another being. An example of this would be when he had stabbed the Rashkar leader with it: he had poured all of the darkness in the blade into the monster's bloodstream, which was the reason why it had quickly died as its body had become corrupt from the inside.

His sword was the next best off. Due to its lightning nature, it was easy to see all the stains and specks on it. However, despite the new, unsavoury decorations, the blade was still in-tact and just as deadly as it was before.

His cuirass, despite being in-tact, was not in the best of times. It had been dented and roughed up from all the punches Stanis had taken. The cuirass absorbed a lot of damage and it also bit back when Stanis poured extra mana into it. That didn't stop the Rashkars' desire to club him to death though. But the fact still stayed that it was in one-piece and functional.

That was not something he could say for the rest of his armour. His leather trousers had been ripped in a thousand different places, his shoes dulled and broken. He had asked the Jaguars to bring him replacements but it was just his luck that the war with Haven had only intensified since he had left, all the equipment left in the village ripped or bloody. Therefore, Stanis had done his best to fix up his clothing with a needle and thread but his work was sub-par at best.

On other matters, he had also started to go a direction with his stats. Before, he had been thinking of an all-even Status but he had rethought his strategy when fighting the Rashkars. In the end, due to his skills, he had decided on a glass-cannon build. Not exactly glass but his attack was far higher than his defence. He had put more points into Strength and Intelligence, alongside Wisdom, and less into Dexterity and Constitution.

One might think such a build was foolish since not only could he not dodge but he also couldn't take any hits but Stanis thought otherwise. With his cuirass and any other armour he made in the future, focusing on defence and dodging would be a bit redundant, and even if he was hurt, he had more tenacity than anything else to take it like a wasp's sting.

Stanis didn't rush while following the mana line, instead walking at a leisurely pace. He already knew that any rewards for reaching tier-four first, if there were any, would have already been taken. Perhaps, if he had rushed when he had first felt the tug from the mana line, maybe then he could have had a chance but not now after weeks of training.

Instead, he took it as some downtime from all the fighting. He knew he would soon be thrown back into the heat of battle whether he wanted to or not, so what was the point in rushing through the already-fleeting peaceful times?

****

"Baws, you sure this the way?"

"Course it is you fool, ain't it Bear?"

Bear thought to himself before performing a knowing nod, much to Skint's agitation.

"Bawss, you know he can barely feel it better than I do!"

Bear felt insulted at this, the bear-like man growling before rebutting Skint's claim.

"That not true. I feel much better than you ever do,"

"Shut up, you fools," said Pete, his head shaking at the fools he found himself with. Good-natured fools, but fools nevertheless. "You can feel it and that's what matters. We're going the right direction, ok?"

Bear thought for a second before doing an eager nod. Skint reluctantly nodded.

Pete scowled at the two, before going back to grooming his beard. There were not many things Pete cared for as strongly as his beard. Apart from his drink, of course.

It was a mighty beard that stretched from cheek to cheek like a second, mangled smile. It had to be groomed well, of course it did, after all, he had a certain image to keep up. Lady-killer Pete they used to call him, and now he was stuck with these two idiots.

Pete rubbed his beard for a bit before taking off the canteen that hung around his waist. It was dinged and the sheen had been scraped off the metal but what it hid inside was well worth hiding. He uncorked the top and took a mighty gulp, simultaneously feeling all his worries and fatigue drain away.

"Bawwss, you wouldn't mind giving me," said Skint.

"Us," added Bear, doing his bit to persuade Pete.

"Fine. Us, some of that lovely stuff, would you?" asked Skint, going cow-eyed with hands wrapped around each other, pleading Pete.

Bear wasn't going to go that low and shred all his dignity but he did his best to show Pete the few tears he had forced out of his eyes.

"No!" roared Pete. "I've seen what my stuff does to you two. Drink your own" he said while pointing at the canteens they too had wrapped around their waists.

"Boss, you worst after drinks. Stupid. More stupid than Skinty," rumbled Bear, suddenly realising his mistake and holding his hand to his mouth.

Pete stared daggers at Bear, and even fiercer at Skint who was now on the ground practically begging at this point.

Why hadn't anyone else followed him? Why had it only been these two…