Hi. Yeah. It's again. Racis. Local nace.
Five years—done. Dusted. ntally scarred like a rejected ani villain's backstory.
And I'm sure that discount narrator who popped in during Chapter 199 already explained the dramatic stuff. So I'll just pick it up from there… but from my perspective. The main character. The golden retriever with rage issues.
For the past five years, I did everything Sexis' mom—Stronges—told to do. If she said "Punch that rock," I punched it. If she said "ditate until you question your own existence," I did that too. If she said "Eat this leaf, it builds character," I ate that leaf like it was a Michelin-star salad.
And now? I can actually feel the strength in my body.
Not the "gym bro who posts mirror selfies" kind of strength.
No. This is the "kill a man with a spoon and still have ti for tea" strength.
Today, I finished my training. And yes… I also killed another one of Malthus' guards.
Casually. Like it's part of my skincare routine.
Cleanse. Moisturize. Homicide.
After that, I had dinner with the rest of the trauma squad and ca back to the basent. Everybody looked dead inside, but in a peaceful way—like monks who pay taxes.
And then I saw her. Stronges. Sexis' mom. Smiling.
Not just any smile.
A bright smile.
The "my kids finally stopped peeing on the carpet" smile.
Because she knew—we all knew—training was finally over.
She was happy. Not just because we obeyed every word she said… but because not even one of us died. I think she was low-key disappointed about that, but whatever.
She gave us new clothes today. Fresh robes. Fresh belts. Fresh trauma.
And wrapped around our waists—black belts.
Actual black belts. Not the muddy, bacteria-coated, fungus-dipped cloth we've been wearing for five years.
Tears ford in everyone's eyes. Not because we're emotional. No. It was because we could finally take off those radioactive, disease-spreading robes. Even the bacteria living on it stood up and clapped.
Black belt ans Stronges finally thinks we're not weak little bitches anymore. She believes we're strong fighters.
I don't cry often, but damn… I felt sothing. Pride. Relief. Hunger. Mainly hunger.
When I first ca into this world, I already had everything—strength, a good body, powers. I never appreciated any of it. I was the definition of "spoiled, but in a warrior way."
But now? These muscles? This strength? This ability to choke a demon with one hand while eating bread with the other?
I earned this. Every last bit.
I didn't get this for free. I bled for this. I grinded harder than Indian dads grind their children's dreams.
If I hadn't t Stronges… I wouldn't even know what real pain or real achievent feels like.
So yeah. I'm proud.
After wearing the new clothes, we stood in front of her. We expected a speech like, "I'm proud of you, my children."
But instead, she started re-organizing us like we're furniture at an IKEA store.
Prisoners at the back.
Aliens in front of them.
And at the very front—, Erect, and Sexis.
Hierarchy unlocked.
For her, we three were the strongest.
Behind us—the aliens.
Behind them—the prisoners.
But don't get it twisted. When she says the prisoners are "weakest," she doesn't an they are weak. She ans they can't kill Malthus—but they can still murder hundreds of his generals like they're stepping on ants at a picnic.
So yeah, her weakest = other people's nightmares.
If we three are the strongest… then even God is sowhere whispering, "Bro… nerf them."
Erect and Sexis are my friends (God help ). When they saw training like a maniac, they followed my lead. Except… they didn't kill guards.
That was just . Every single day. One guard. Like a punch-in office job, but with more blood.
I even asked them to do it too.
They said no.
I asked why.
They said, "Side characters don't surpass the main character."
Okay, no—they said they weren't sure if they could kill the guards, and if all three of us started murdering Malthus' army daily, soone would notice the disappearing staff.
So yeah. For five years—only I did it. My body count is horrifying. Malthus probably thinks the guards are resigning and choosing a better career.
And now sothing important.
After training all these people for five years—prisoners, aliens, everyone—they all beca my allies. Every single one of them. Even Stronges.
I thought for soone to beco my ally, they'd have to kneel dramatically in the rain and swear loyalty.
Turns out, nah. They just had to think of as a friend. Or at least soone important to them.
That's it. Boom. System goes: 1 Ally. 1 Skill. Congrats, you emotionally bonded, you sad orphan.
So right now?
I have more than 1,800 allies.
Which also ans—1,800 Skills.
I am literally a walking, talking glitch in the universe.
And I still have two ongoing quests:
Quest 1 – Beco Strong
Do everything Stronges says.All allies must also finish their daily training.If all conditions are t, I get a Skill every day.
And for five years… we never missed a single day.
So yes. I got a Skill every single day. For five years straight.
That's 1,825 skills just from this quest.
Quest 2 – Side Gig
Kill one guard of Malthus daily.Reward: 1 Skill 100 Exp daily.
And I did it.
For five. Years. Straight.
At first, I killed them quietly. Like a shy murderer.
By year three? I was doing speedruns.
Today, I killed one in like… three seconds? Maybe two? I've stopped counting.
So what I'm trying to say is…
I am Overpowered. Again.
Stronger than I've ever been. Stronger than common sense.
Even Stronges looks at now like, "Yeah, he could probably punch the moon."
And honestly?
I couldn't be happier.
I'm not scared anymore. I'm not weak. I can protect my family. I can protect everyone who stood by .
And I can kill Malthus.
So yeah.
I'm Racis Tate.
5 years of pain.
1,825 guards murdered.
1,800 allies.
Ridiculous number of Skills.
Golden hair now longer than most relationships.
Beard touching my chest like it pays rent there.
Heart calm. Mind focused.
Except for one thing.
One ember. One fire that never stopped burning in my chest.
Revenge.
And this ti… I have the power to make it happen.
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