A torrent of mana—stronger, purer, deeper than before—surged from the chalice like a burst dam and merged at once into the current coursing through his whole body.
Gauss felt his very cortex tremble. Streams of information washed through his mind, and faintly he sensed a mysterious force gathering from all around into his body.
“Class level Increased to: 2.”
Strange energy rippled off him, kicking up an invisible wind from flat ground. His clothes snapped and flapped. In the space of a heartbeat, the mana within him kept refining itself; each pass through the chalice seemed to sieve out more impurities. His core skill, the Omni-Armor, came up on its own and visibly grew denser around him. Layered waves radiated outward and even warped the light nearby for an instant.
The wind died. The circulation of power eased and finally settled as a solid strength, sunk through his limbs and bones and the loops of mana within him.
Gauss slowly opened his eyes and felt the changes that came with the Level up.
His Intelligence had broken straight through to 10, and two of his weaker stats rose with it.
Of course, numbers alone couldn’t capture the full extent of his transformation.
Looking inward, he found the class’s outward emblem—the chalice—drained again. Brighter than before, it now radiated a hungry urge to climb higher. It also felt tougher, with a greatly increased capacity.
His mana, meanwhile, was denser—and roughly doubled in quantity. With a flick of a hand he could stir the world’s ambient mana into resonance more easily. That mattered: a spell’s power depends not only on your own mana but also on the ever-present natural mana it can draw on.
He also felt that the load his mind could bear for spell models had grown a lot. That load didn’t seem tied solely to Intelligence—when he’d gone from 8 to 9 Int at 500 kills, it hadn’t felt . This was more like the class going from level 1 to level 2 and loosening the bottleneck. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ NovelHub(.)net
In other words, as a Level 2, he could now carry more spells.
Savoring the upgrades on every front, Gauss let out a long white breath, the corners of his mouth lifting despite himself.
All the grind—the drills, the monster hunts—paid out in this instant.
He was now a Level 2 magic-user.
Feeling power that simply wasn’t there before, he understood more clearly why Level 2s usually roll over Level 1s. Stats are part of it, but the bigger piece is the class’s qualitative leap.
The class is the “central brain” that unlocks higher ceilings and coordinates your attributes and abilities. Think of it this way: two people might each have the same 50 pounds of force. A drunk will swing and never land a hit—effectively zero. Even when you do land hits, an open-hand shove, a clenched-fist punch, or a thrust with a weapon produce wildly different results. The gap between low and high class levels is like that.
So unless you’re a rare freak, combat specialists at higher levels almost always suppress lower levels.
He popped a strip of jerky into his mouth and began packing up. From 1 to 2 is a small step; the jump from 2 to 3 is the next big milestone. But he was satisfied—he’d only recently hit level 1. This pace was fast; some people never take this step in a lifetime, and he’d done it in under half a year. Those who climb from 1 to 2 quickly usually don’t slow down afterward.
Could I challenge a Level 3 now? The thought flashed by. For most people the 2-to-3 gap is a real wall—nearly impossible to cross. For casters, Level 2 spells require a Level 3 class, and Level 3s can up-cast skills—a qualitative change. But with his pile of abilities and talents… once he got used to the upgrades…
For now, though, back to town to confirm the adventurer rank star-up process at the Guild.
Packed and ready, Gauss turned toward Grayrock’s warm lights.
“Headin’ in early today, sir?” The gate guard recognized him, straightened by reflex, and saluted. His gaze slid from Gauss’s young, handsome face to the softly gleaming Bronze one-star badge, envy plain in his eyes.
“Hit my milestone,” Gauss said, noting the frost on the man’s shoulder. “Hard work out here.”
“Not at all, not at all—you’re the one working hard. Happy year’s-end, in advance.”
“Happy year’s-end.” After returning the wish, Gauss passed through the gate into town.
He didn’t find training a slog—watching steady gains and getting the rush of growing stronger was addictive and kept him pushing himself. The guards had it harder: day after day, year after year, like screws bolted to Grayrock’s outer wall.
Barring surprises, their world would be bounded by these stones—the low sky of a border town and the monotonous snowfields beyond. Ten, twenty years… the world’s grand sweep would remain tavern-fire tales for them.
Without hope, the old Gauss might have stomached that life. Now he couldn’t.
From the moment he arrived in this world of swords and sorcery, he’d heard the true voice in his heart and understood what he wanted.
To follow the track of his own footprints—feel different winds, see different sights. Through forests, poles, volcanoes, oceans… To watch ancient treants heave their knotted roots and migrate under the moon; to seek a lost spire frozen beneath the aurora; to turn back a beast tide and save a besieged city; to become the hero sung in epic lays.
To truly steer his own life.
He could see the quiet, water-still ambition within. For that, he would keep moving—and keep breaking through himself.