"I Can Copy Any Skill — But Only If I Kill Its User"

The forest was silent again.

Burnt trees crackled. Ash drifted like snow through the clearing where I'd almost died.

That thing—whatever it was—had walked away without looking back, blade dragging against the dirt like it didn't care if I followed.

And maybe I would've chased it… if my legs weren't shaking.

Not from fear.

From thrill.

I used everything I had—Bloodrush, Flame Guard, Phoenix Step, even Blazing Wrath at the end—and it didn't flinch. Just one slash. One casual flick of its blade, and I was knocked halfway across the clearing.

But I didn't die.

Barely.

"Not bad," I muttered, wiping blood from my jaw. "Could've been worse."

I could've ended up like the ground behind me. Split clean down the middle. No grave. No loot.

Speaking of loot…

I pulled open my inventory.

Everything was there—sword, potions, gear… and one dumb-looking egg still sitting at the bottom.

> [Mysterious Egg] Rarity: Unknown Status: Dormant Description: ???

It hadn't changed since I got it from that risky 100-gold spin.

"I should've bought socks instead," I muttered, squinting at it.

The egg was pale blue with faint runes etched into the shell. It pulsed softly, like a heartbeat you couldn't hear. And somehow, it always looked slightly… annoyed?

Was that possible?

I tapped it. "You gonna hatch or just sit there judging me forever?"

No response.

I stared at the egg for a solid minute. "Okay, so you're just… chillin' there? Just vibing, huh? What's your plan? Do you have any idea what adventure you're supposed to be part of, or are you just here to look cute?"

The egg wobbled slightly.

"Ah, I see. You're like that one guy at the party who shows up, doesn't bring anything, and just sits in the corner hoping someone notices them. Yeah, I see you, buddy."

It wobbled again, like it was trying to act cool.

I laughed. "Okay, okay, don't get all vibey on me now. Do you have secret powers? Can you make a decent omelette? Is that your hidden talent? If you can crack jokes, I'm all in—literally."

The egg made a small, almost imperceptible hiss.

"Oh, so now you're a sassy egg? What are you gonna do, roll away on me? At least roll with some style, man. Right now you're just a breakfast disappointment."

I gave it one last look before stuffing it back in the bag. "Alright, stay cool, Eggs Benedict. Let me know when you hatch into something with personality."

I sighed and closed the screen.

Whatever. I'd keep it. For now.

---

The next few hours were a blur of blood and grinding.

I pushed deeper into the forest, slicing through beasts that used to scare the hell out of me. Wolves the size of horses. Venom hawks with acid spit. A pack of shadowbeasts that tried to ambush me in the fog.

All dead.

My level climbed. 43. 44. 45.

But I wasn't satisfied.

Not anymore.

Not after what I saw.

That thing—[???]—wasn't just a boss. It was a message. A reminder that no matter how strong I got, there were monsters out there built different.

And one day, I was going to kill it.

Because only then… would I get that skill.

> [Abysscarve] —Skill Copy not available. Target must be slain.

I smirked.

Challenge accepted.

The ash hadn't even settled when the sky dimmed again.

Not from clouds.

Not from a storm.

From her.

A distant crunch echoed across the battlefield as a figure strode through the ruin, boots cracking the charred earth beneath her. Red and black armor gleamed like molten obsidian, runes pulsing with silent threat. Her shield—massive and gnarled like it had been carved from a demon's spine—dragged sparks with each step.

And her sword?

A nightmare.

Heavy. Crooked. Singing with heat like it had tasted gods.

I blinked.

"...The hell is that?"

But my voice caught.

Because as she stepped into the light, I saw her face.

Long silver hair flowing like moonlight.

Eyes—icy and emotionless—but too perfect to look away from.

A beauty that didn't make sense in a place like this.

Like heaven had dipped its toe into hell.

She stopped.

Our eyes met.

The weight in the air doubled. Maybe tripled. The system didn't ping her level, didn't show a name, didn't show anything—like the game itself was afraid to look.

My heart stuttered.

Not from fear.

Not from awe.

Something else.

"...Who are you?" I whispered.

She didn't speak. Just tilted her head, curious, like I was a bug that dared to stare back.

Then—

A faint smile.

And I swear—for a second—everything else disappeared.

She stepped closer.

No words. No warning.

Just presence.

Like a storm walking on legs.

I barely caught the glint of movement before her sword was already swinging. My blade came up on instinct, catching hers in a harsh, grinding clash that sent sparks flying between us.

Steel screamed.

My feet slid back, heels digging furrows into the cracked ground—but I didn't fall.

She stepped again. Forward.

Another slash. Brutal. Fluid.

I met it with a parry, twisting my blade and forcing her momentum off-center. My counter came fast—elbow up, knee tight—I struck for her ribs, blade angled for the gap beneath her arm.

But she rotated, shield sliding into place with eerie precision.

I leapt back, breath ragged, heart thundering.

She was calm. Too calm.

Like this wasn't a fight.

Like she was testing the sharpness of her edge—on me.

"Who the hell are you?" I growled, circling.

Still no answer. Just that blank stare, like she was seeing through me.

She moved again—no flash, no skill burst, just sheer physical speed. Her greatshield crashed down toward me like a wall of iron. I ducked, barely slipping under, my back scraping dirt as I rolled to the side.

I came up slashing, dragging my blade along her exposed leg. A direct hit—!

But it didn't draw blood.

Her armor took it. Barely scratched.

She looked down at the mark, then back at me. For the first time, her lips curved upward.

A smile.

Cold. Curious.

My muscles tensed. I lunged, swinging with everything I had—timing, power, precision.

She blocked. Not with her shield—no.

With her sword. One hand.

The force of it jarred my arms.

Before I could blink, her knee struck my gut. Air left my lungs. My vision blurred, and I staggered.

She didn't press. Just waited.

Letting me breathe.

No.

Letting me realize.

She wasn't even using 1/2 of her power.

And I still hadn't scratched her.

Yet somehow…

I couldn't look away.

The wind shifted as she walked away, the battlefield dust still clinging to her armor. Her grip on the sword had loosened, but her fingers trembled faintly—not from exhaustion, but something else.

She shouldn't have smiled.

Yet the corner of her lips refused to fall back into the usual line of indifference.

That boy...

He was reckless. Raw. Bold.

And for a moment… interesting.

Rankers Base

She stepped through the gate of the Ranker Base—stone halls carved into the jagged cliffs, echoing with voices and footsteps of the elite.

"Yo, Valkyrie," a voice called from down the corridor.

A second-rank duelist, tall and sly-eyed, leaned against the archway. Her white braid swayed as she tilted her head with a smirk.

"You look… flushed. Did you finally find someone worth swinging at?"

Valkyrie didn't answer.

She didn't need to.

The duelist's smirk widened.

"Oho~ so you did. Look at you, all quiet and soft around the edges. Did he land a hit or steal your heart?"

Valkyrie paused by the hall's edge, letting the question hang.

She could feel it again—his stubborn gaze, the way he refused to fall even when the odds turned hopeless. His movements were unrefined but full of fire.

She looked out the window, eyes catching the wind sweeping over the desolate field behind them.

Then, for the briefest second, she smiled again.

Just a flicker.

Just enough.

And then she kept walking.

Not a word spoken.

But the silence said more than enough.

Back to the MC:

The forest stank of blood and moss, the air thick with steam from freshly killed beasts. I moved without pause, sword dragging against the dirt, breath heavy but steady.

I wasn't fighting to survive anymore.

I was fighting to forget her.

She showed up like a flash of lightning—bright, beautiful, and gone too damn fast.

And now she was burned into my skull like a brand.

I slashed through the last of a howling fangboar, blood spraying across my chest.

> [You have killed: Razorback Fangboar]

[Skill Copy — Eligible Skill: Iron Fang Slash]

[Acquired Skill: Iron Fang Slash]

A brutal, wide-angled strike mimicking the tusks of a boar. Deals increased damage on charging enemies.

"One."

I barely caught my breath before another creature lunged from the shadows—a shriekbat, its wings slicing the air like razors. I stepped under it, pivoted, and drove my blade through its chest.

> [You have killed: Screecher Shriekbat]

[Skill Copy — Eligible Skill: Quickstep]

[Acquired Skill: Quickstep]

A sudden burst of movement that blurs the user for a split second. Ideal for dodging or repositioning.

"Two."

The next fight was trickier—a stone-eyed gorgonape that cracked its own knuckles before pouncing. It knocked me into a tree before I adjusted and lured it into a downward slash.

> [You have killed: Gorgonape]

[Skill Copy — Eligible Skill: Focus Pulse]

[Acquired Skill: Focus Pulse]

A short burst of clarity and reflex. Slows perceived time for the user, enhancing precision for 3 seconds.

"Three."

Other kills offered trash:

> [Skill: Bark Skin] — too slow.

[Skill: Panic Shriek] — no thanks.

[Skill: Roll] — useless.

I discarded them.

Too many skills just made noise.

I needed clarity.

And right now, clarity came in the shape of a girl with eyes like wildfire and a blade like poetry.

I collapsed under the branches of a dead tree, chest rising and falling.

The potion vial glowed faintly in my palm.

I drank.

Still tasted like metal and regret.

She'd smiled at me.

For one second… I thought she saw me. Not as prey. Not as competition.

But as someone worth noticing.

And now?

Now I was cursed.

Not by magic. Not by monsters.

But by the way her hair moved in the wind and how her gaze made the world quieter.

"Damn it..." I muttered, staring up through the canopy.

What the hell was that feeling?

I pushed myself to my feet, shaking off the aftertaste of the potion. The glow in my hand had faded, but the hunger hadn't. My mind swirled with fragmented thoughts—of her, of the fight, of the damnable pull in my chest. It didn't matter. I was hunting, and that was the only thing I could focus on now.

I didn't need rest. Not yet.

The next creature came—a hulking behemoth of moss-covered stone, its massive limbs dragging like a titan out of some forgotten myth. A rock golem, sluggish but devastating. It raised one massive arm, preparing to crush me into the earth.

"Four."

I moved.

Not fast. Precise.

I ducked under the first blow, the shockwave sending debris flying, then darted in with a slash across its exposed flank. The stone cracked. I moved again, staying on its blind side, anticipating its next swing.

"You're not as tough as you look," I muttered, sliding between its legs to avoid another swing. I slashed up, aiming for the weak point under its stony chin.

> [You have killed: Rock Golem] [Skill Copy — Eligible Skill: Quake Fist] [Acquired Skill: Quake Fist] A powerful, ground-shaking strike that damages enemies and knocks them back. Effective against large, slow-moving targets.

"Five."

I was closer now. Level 49—just a step away from 50. But it didn't matter. Not the numbers, not the blood, not the kills.

I could feel the weight of my thoughts, each kill compounding the same thought—the same goddamn girl.

Her eyes.

She was more than a fleeting thought. More than a ghost in my mind. She was a fire I couldn't extinguish, a wound I couldn't ignore.

But I wasn't about to stop. Not yet.

The next beast—a giant, web-spun spider, claws snapping, fangs dripping with venom. It lunged, and I was already moving.

A roll to the side, a quickstep forward, and my blade cut across the monster's legs in one fluid motion.

> [You have killed: Venomous Widow Spider] [Skill Copy — Eligible Skill: Spider's Grip] [Acquired Skill: Spider's Grip] An ability to cling to walls and ceilings, enhancing mobility in vertical environments.

"Six."

The next several hours passed in a blur of blood and flesh. One after another, they came—manticore, chimera, dire wolves. They fell before me, and I barely registered the fights anymore. I was hunting on autopilot, the same rhythm of death playing in my head.

"Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten."

Level 49. Nearly there.

I sat in the shadows of a massive oak, my breath steady despite the brutal battles.

I didn't care about the levels. The skills were useful, sure—but they were distractions. I needed to forget her.

But the longer I hunted, the more I realized the truth.

I wasn't hunting to forget.

I was hunting to remember.

I slumped against the gnarled trunk of the oak, chest rising and falling with each slow breath, letting the cool forest air fill my lungs. My mind was starting to clear, the edge of the hunt dulled for just a moment. I wasn't hunting to survive anymore. I wasn't hunting to forget her. I was hunting because... well, it kept me moving.

I reached for my pack, my hand brushing over the familiar smooth surface of the egg. The damn thing had been with me for days now, almost like a strange weight I couldn't shake. At first, I had thought nothing of it—just another artifact or oddity picked up along the way. But now? Now, it was pulsing.

Great, another weird thing to deal with, I thought as I pulled the egg from my bag. It was warm in my hands, and I could feel a faint rhythm to it. The thing was alive—alive in a way that made my skin tingle. But... maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me after the chaos of the fight.

I stared at the egg, its surface crackling ever so slightly. It had been a while since I'd noticed any progress with it, but now, it seemed to be actively doing something. The warmth grew, and I swore it was starting to pulse faster, like a heartbeat.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," I muttered, cradling the egg gently. "You're about to hatch. Let me get a good fight in first. Give me a break."

I shoved the egg back into my bag as I rose to my feet. I wasn't in the mood for whatever this was. It could wait. Right now, I needed to focus on surviving.

But as I pulled my sword free from its sheath, ready to move, the forest around me grew unnaturally quiet.

A rumble shook the ground. A tremor that wasn't quite enough to knock me off balance, but enough to tell me something was coming.

Something big.

I stepped back instinctively, hand tightening on my sword. And then I saw it.

Not a beast, not a monster. But a monk.

A Martial Monk—a rare monster, and a deadly one at that. This one was unlike any I'd faced before. It was human-sized, but its power, its presence, felt otherworldly—calculated, precise, and deadly.

The monk wore ragged robes, and strange runes glittered faintly across its skin, glowing with the faint pulse of dark energy. Its eyes met mine—amber, sharp, calculating—and I felt my instincts flare.

This was no ordinary fight. This one was going to be a challenge.

The monk moved first, a blur of speed, its fist striking out like a hammer. I barely managed to dodge, rolling to the side and coming up with my sword ready.

"Not bad," I muttered, eyes narrowing.

It didn't stop. It came at me again—punch after punch, kick after kick, a dance of brutality and precision. The monk's form was graceful, its movements flowing from one attack to the next with a seamless rhythm. There was no wasted energy. Every strike was a deadly calculation.

I blocked, parried, dodged... but it was clear. This monk wasn't like the others I'd faced. It was faster, sharper. Every punch seemed to come just a little too fast for me to catch, each one a potential killer.

Focus. Focus. Copy something. I knew the drill. Only one skill could be copied from the fight, and it had to be the right one.

The monk lunged again, a spinning kick coming for my face. I sidestepped at the last moment, and that's when I saw it—a perfect opening.

The Quickstep—a blur of motion that could match the monk's speed for a split second. It was all I had, and I copied it.

In that moment, I moved with a flash of speed, dodging another punch, then pivoting behind the monk, blade slicing through the air. The sword caught the monk's robes, tearing through the fabric, but it didn't even flinch.

The fight raged on—fists and feet flying, energy crackling in the air. The monk's speed was overwhelming. I copied another move, then another, trying to stay ahead, trying to find an opening. But with every step, every swing, I felt the weight of the battle press harder.

Then, I heard it.

The familiar, faint pulse—the egg again. A soft thrum. I shoved the thought aside.

I needed to survive. The monk was relentless. One mistake, and I'd be finished.

The monk's next attack was a flurry—unpredictable, a combination of spinning jabs, low sweeps, and a knee that came crashing upward with the force of a boulder. I dodged, barely.

But then, it was my turn.

I blurred forward, Quickstep giving me the edge. My sword found its mark—my blade driving deep into the monk's side.

For a moment, everything stopped. The monk staggered back, blood dripping from the wound, but there was no cry of pain, no sign of weakness. It was only a pause in the rhythm of the fight.

And in that pause, I realized something.

This fight wasn't just about surviving. It was about pushing myself beyond limits.

It was about whatever was hidden inside me—inside this fight.

The monk straightened, a twisted smile playing on its lips.

"You are strong," it hissed, "but not strong enough."

And the fight raged on.