Beyond The System Chapter 11: Strength Without a System

Thankfully, at least on our current level, ti didn’t pass in the exaggerated way I’d read about in fantasy novels.

After our sparring match and a bit of energy consolidation, I had the vague sense that only about half our ti had passed.

“Should we start on the second reservoir? I think our right shoulder would be a good spot. It’ll connect naturally to the chest reservoir and branch out toward our hands. Then, our third can be centered on the hands themselves,” I suggested.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great plan. Let’s begin!” Thea replied, her voice carrying that sa gleeful spark she always got when cultivation was involved. Total cultivation nerd.

We settled back into our positions, closing our eyes and sinking into focus. Just like before, I began drawing in world energy, guiding it to my main channel first, letting it build and saturate until nausea started to creep in. Then, carefully, I directed the excess upward, weaving it into a new web-like reservoir in my shoulders.

The process felt smoother this ti. Like my body was slowly getting used to it, but I could tell this shoulder reservoir wasn’t fully stable yet. Another session would be needed to solidify it properly.

I opened my eyes, finding Thea already staring back at with a satisfied grin.

Neither of us said a word. We both knew what ca next. With a heavy sigh, I pushed myself up and fell into a sparring stance once again.

By the ti we collapsed back onto the floor, chests heaving and muscles aching, the sharp crackle of a voice echoed from a hidden speaker above.

"Ti’s up. Leave now or you will be charged for another session."

“I guess we should go register for battle,” I said between breaths, pushing myself upright. “I can’t imagine skipping registration ends in anything good.”

Thea nodded, and we trudged back to the front desk to return our key.

We made our way back to the Hall's entrance, weaving through the ever-present crowd of recruits and vendors.

At the far end of the grand archway, another desk stood. Behind it sat yet another tired-looking attendant, her posture slouched and her expression utterly uninterested in life itself.

“There’s the registration desk.” Thea pointed.

We approached, and the attendant, already prepared, stretched out her hand. “Orbs?”

We handed over our glowing point orbs. The faint green numbers flickered softly from our earlier transactions.

“Nas?” she asked, her eyes still glued to the glowing interface in front of her.

“Peter.”

“Thea.”

She tapped sothing on her desk with chanical precision, her fingers dancing across the glowing symbols. After a brief pause, she handed our orbs back. A faint shimr passed across their smooth surfaces as if sealing so unseen agreent.

New information glowed faintly in green lettering across the surface of both orbs.

Unfortunately… I couldn’t read any of it.

I leaned slightly closer to Thea, keeping my voice low like we were hatching so grand conspiracy. “Thea?”

“Yeah?” she replied, squinting at her orb with sharp focus.

“Teach how to read. Please.”

She glanced up at , her mouth already forming what I could only assu was going to be a sharp-witted, sarcasm-drenched retort.

But before she could unleash it, the attendant’s voice cut through the space between us. “Wait for your nas to be called. It shouldn’t take long.”

We both fell silent, stepping aside to make room for the next pair of recruits.

Around us, nas were called one by one, each followed by the soft shuffle of boots and murmured conversations.

I turned my orb over in my palm, its green letters glowing faintly in the dim light. It felt heavier sohow, like it carried more than just numbers and letters. Sowhere within these unreadable symbols was the next step, the next challenge.

“So?”

“What?” Thea asked, confused. “Oh, right. Um, sure, I can teach you. But we’ve only got a few books to practice with, and they’re all about cultivation and plants. Not exactly packed with daily conversation material.”

“How about just the characters first?” I suggested with a laugh. “I just need to know the sounds. I think I can pick it up pretty quickly that way.”

At least, I hoped they were phonetic symbols and not so overly complicated pictograms that could represent entire words. Or worse, entire concepts.

Before we could talk more, a sharp voice crackled through a speaker above us, echoing across the hall.

["Peter!"]

My heart practically punched in the ribs, but before panic could fully settle in, a firm hand landed on my shoulder.

“You got this,” Thea said softly, her storm-gray eyes steady and reassuring.

I managed a nervous smile, took a deep breath, and walked up to the front desk.

The attendant looked over and raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Good, you didn’t run away. Happens more and more these days. Honestly, I still think opening the arena to spectators was a mistake, but I’ll tell you just in case, surrendering cost five points.”

I nodded, then she gestured vaguely to an opening behind her, an indent in the stone wall that looked suspiciously like a doorway. “Through there.”

I stepped into the narrow space, and before I could so much as adjust my stance, the floor jolted beneath . A stone wall slamd shut behind , and then… I shot upward.

The world blurred around , and my feet scrambled for balance on the smooth stone floor. My stomach tried to stay stable below , and I was pretty sure I let out an embarrassingly high-pitched noise at least once.

Just as abruptly as it started, the elevator slamd to a halt and I stumbled forward, catching myself against the wall. A mont later, the stone door in front of slid open with a faint grind.

I stepped out into the center of the terrariums in the center of the coliseum.

The noise hit first, a chaotic muffled storm of shouting, clashing steel, and bursts of magical energy from arenas near mine.

I instinctively tried to spot Thea in the crowd, but it was hopeless. There was just too much happening.

A booming voice echoed from above, projected by so unseen magical force. ["Present your orb!"]

Across from , a guy who looked about my age stepped forward. He raised his hand confidently and his white orb, pulsed with light briefly.

[“Confird: Warrior Class.”]

[“Blessing: Clubist.”]

Glowing words shimred into existence above him, presumably matching what was said.

Right. Embarrassed and feeling incredibly out of place, I fumbled around my pocket before holding up the item.

The air around crackled faintly.

[“Confird: Late Bloor.”]

The guy across from visibly relaxed and then, cheered up. He seed a bit nervous before, but now? Now he looked like he was about to have a nice afternoon stroll.

The voice overhead continued, unfazed by my existential dread.

["When an opponent cannot continue, the fight will end. Killing the opponent will result in punishnt."]

Wait… punishnt? That didn’t sound nearly serious enough. Shouldn’t there be sothing like severe consequences or imprisonnt? My heart thundered in my chest again.

This system was ridiculous. This guy wasn’t planning to kill , right? I an, that would be insane. Even seriously maiming soone was out there. I haven’t done anything to anyone.

I just started to realize how truly crazy this all was.

Fighting until one of us couldn’t continue? How did the arena decide what counted as cannot continue? Was it based on blood loss? Unconsciousness? Emotional damage?

Before I could spiral further into panicked theories, my opponent pulled out a heavy, wicked-looking tal club.

A weapon.

A real weapon. Sothing solid. No doubt able to do serious harm.

The voice thundered overhead again.

["Begin!"]

My opponent charged.

Although still panicked, I tried to force myself to focus. After all, that club didn’t exactly look like it was painted to resemble tal. It was tal. Heavy and unforgiving.

I pulled energy from my chest reservoir, circulating it, causing energy to flow lightly into my shoulders and arms. My legs, though, they felt distant, even unresponsive. Diffusing energy into them felt like trying to thread a needle during an earthquake.

The reservoirs we’d built were in fact pretty good as shortcuts, but without one in my legs, I couldn’t guide force there properly.

No ti to fix that now.

The warrior lifted his club high above his head, the tal glinting faintly under the arena lights. I dove backward just as it ca crashing down.

BOOM.

The impact shook the ground, leaving behind a jagged dirt crater.

He didn’t stop. With on the retreat, he charged again. This ti, his swing ca with less force but far more speed. And unlike the first ti… it hit.

The mont the club collided with my side, it felt like I’d been struck by a freight train barreling down a mountain. My breath vanished in an instant, ripped away from .

Thea had been right. So right. Yesterday, she’d told so about systems. I now easily understood her reluctance to fight.

The stat boosts from these systems weren’t just arbitrary. They were real, tangible, and devastating.

My ribs felt like they were folding in on themselves, and every attempt to breathe felt like inhaling shards of glass. If not for Thea’s and my cultivation thod. If not for the thin thread of energy I kept circulating in desperation, I would’ve collapsed then and there.

The edges of my vision darkened, and my head felt light, my chest hollow. Yep. Definitely blacking out.

Before I could recover, another swing ca. Faster this ti.

I had no ti to think. Instinctively, I threw up my arms to block it.

CRACK.

Very bad idea.

The sound was sharp, sickening, and final. Pain flared up my right arm, racing to my shoulder in an instant. My arm went limp, hanging uselessly at my side.

Sowhere, I heard a scream. It felt distant and at first, I couldn’t place it. Then the realization hit : Oh. That’s .

I stumbled back, my breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. My chest burned. My vision wavered. My ears rang with the aftermath of that brutal impact.

Even if I wanted to shout surrender, even if my pride would allow it, which it totally would, it wouldn’t have mattered. My throat was locked; my lungs empty. I couldn’t pull in enough air to form the word.

How could anyone forfeit if they couldn’t even speak? This was a major flaw in the rules here. They had to know about it right?

Plus, I was done, it’s obvious. Why is the fight still going?

My enemy charged again.

Focus.

Instead of trying to dodge backward, I leaned into his swing, narrowly slipping past the ridiculous speed of his club.

I summoned every ounce of energy I had left into my left arm, planning for sothing, anything, that might resemble an explosive coback. So epic move that would leave the crowd cheering, my opponent unconscious, and looking vaguely competent.

Still, he staggered. His breath hitched, his eyes widened slightly, and for one glorious mont, I accomplished sothing in this fight.

Unfortunately… he recovered. Quickly.

My fist did seem to have an effect. My guess? Endurance, stamina, or whatever stat this guy had poured points into gave him enough natural armor to shrug off a blow that I think should’ve put him on his knees.

And now he looked… visibly annoyed.

“Fun’s over,” he said flatly, his voice carrying an edge of genuine irritation.

But my punch, and his final words, had given sothing far more valuable than damage: a second to breathe.

Air filled my lungs in a ragged gasp, and a surge of defiance flared through . I used my mont wisely.

I raised my hand, middle finger proudly extended.

His expression shifted from annoyance to… confusion? Oh. Right. Maybe flipping soone off didn’t an anything in this world.

But that didn’t matter, because with the last shred of air left in my aching lungs, I croaked out the word:

“Surrender.”

It wasn’t loud or heroic. Honestly, it sounded more like a dying creature being dragged over a concrete, but it was enough.

The speaker above crackled to life.

[“Continuing the fight will result in severe punishnt. If able, return to the room you entered from. Five points will be deducted from the loser upon exiting.”]

I let out a shaky breath, my legs trembling beneath . My opponent stood there, still holding his club, frozen in place. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he lowered his weapon.

I was alive. Bruised and broken, but alive.

I walked back into the strange elevator, this ti choosing to sit on the cold stone floor rather than try to stay upright. As the platform began its slow descent, the adrenaline faded, and I noticed just how much everything hurt.

I’m not ashad, well, maybe just a little, to admit that my eyes started to well up. Not crying, mind you. Just… a bit of water pooling in preparation for the kind of sobbing usually reserved for toddlers who’ve lost their favorite toy.

When the door finally creaked open, three figures were waiting for . Two holding a stretcher, and the ever-exhausted attendant standing between them.

Before I could say anything, the attendant reached into the tattered pocket of my ragged shirt.

Let tell you, having soone dig into your chest pocket while your ribs feel like shattered glass? Not fun.

She plucked out my glowing orb, tapped sothing on it, and handed it back to , now flashing 85 instead of 80.

“Move him quickly,” she said to the stretcher carriers, her tone flat, like she was giving directions for moving a sack of potatoes. And they did, gently placing on the cloth stretcher and dragging away.

The younger healer stepped closer; his face lined with worry. “Ten points for beginner healing.”

The older one, probably in his early twenties, with sharp eyes and an air of confidence, glanced down at my arm, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Twenty for my services. But you’ll be back on your feet before you know it. Plus, you won’t have to rest that arm of yours.”

Until then, I’d been carefully not looking at my arm. But now, thanks to his helpful observation, my gaze zeroed in on the ss of flesh and bone that used to be straight.

My right arm was bent in a way that could only be described as wrong.

Panic spiked in my chest, sharp and dizzying.

“Peter!” A familiar voice cut through my haze, and I turned just enough to see Thea rushing over, her storm-gray eyes wide with worry. Actual worry. “Why did you choose to fight, you idiot?!”

Not exactly the warm, heroic welco I was hoping for.

“Points are valuable,” I said weakly, offering a half-hearted shrug that imdiately sent a fresh wave of pain down my shoulder.

“And now,” she said, crossing her arms as her eyes flicked briefly to my mangled limb, “we’re going to have to spend more.”

She turned sharply to the older healer, her expression sowhere between stern and desperate, and thrust her glowing orb at him. “Hurry up.”

He nodded, tapping his orb against hers. His flashed with a number I couldn’t read, and hers dipped down to 50.

Before I could mutter a weak protest, the older healer extended his hand.

A faint hum filled the air. A low, resonant note that seed to reverberate sowhere deep in my chest. His fingers began to glow softly, and from his palm, thin threads of white light began to unravel into the air, weaving delicate trails around .

The light wasn’t harsh or blinding. It was soft and gentle. The threads of energy swirled lazily around my broken arm, wrapping it in a cocoon of shimring luminosity.

Warmth flooded through . Not the sharp, artificial warmth of a hot pack, but sothing deeper. The kind of warmth that sinks into your bones and chases away the cold.

The pain, which had been screaming in every nerve ending, dulled to a faint throb. My breath ca easier, my chest no longer feeling like it was filled with gravel.

For a brief mont, the world felt still.

The glowing threads of magic finally settled, fading away like fireflies blinking out one by one, and the healer exhaled softly, lowering his hand. “There. You’ll still be sore for a bit, but it’s set properly now. Don’t push it too hard.”

I flexed my fingers experintally, and while it still hurt, the sickening wrongness of my arm was gone.

Thea let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping as the tension drained from her fra.

“Let’s go back to camp,” she suggested softly.

I pushed myself to my feet, the lingering ache in my arm a faint reminder of my earlier failure. Sha pooled in my chest, heavy and suffocating. What was I thinking, going up against soone like that?

The healers had already dispersed, the younger one casting a brief glance back at as he walked away. His expression, uneasy, maybe even nervous, lingered in my mind. He was probably a new recruit, not hardened to injuries like mine. Not yet, anyway.

As Thea and I began our slow trek back to camp, she must’ve noticed how quiet I’d gotten. The familiar rhythm of our banter was gone, replaced by an awkward silence that clung to the air.

She bumped lightly with her shoulder, her voice carrying a forced cheerfulness. “I told you stats are too hard to catch up to with just cultivation.”

I didn’t respond, keeping my eyes fixed on the uneven ground beneath my boots.

She hesitated for a mont, her smile faltering slightly before she tried again. “But with our Spiritual Reservoir Formation, we’ll be tougher than anyone once we get ours.”

That was supposed to cheer up. It should have cheered up. But instead, it felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

I stopped walking.

Thea took a few steps before realizing I wasn’t beside her anymore. She turned, her storm-gray eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. “Peter?”

“I won’t.”

“What?” she asked, her brow furrowing.

It may have just been the humiliation, but I might as well face what had been plaguing my mind. “I won’t get a system... ever”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and unyielding.

For a mont, Thea just stared at , her expression unreadable. The distant murmur of the bustling Hall of Heroes filled the silence, a stark contrast to the quiet, fragile space that had ford between us.