In all honesty it’s my first time seeing someone speed write using a quill. It’s quite impressive to be honest. I tried to sneak ahead, to move on to the next part, barely touching my plate, but my hand was swatted back by some combination of force and parental-like insistence.
<
Quiet.
Finally, Celestia straightened, looked around, and clapped her hands. “Everyone! Pay attention! We’re moving to the title section now. Titles are important—they confer special buffs besides the recognition.”
My first title got displayed.
[Just a guy]
You are just a guy.
Silence. I looked at Celestia. She was now a shade of red I didn’t think was physically possible.
“The—Pla—cle—clearly, Lord Vi’s status is broken,” she said, defensive and flustered, arms crossed before looking away.
Not exactly off to a good start.
<
Wait. Whose morale got boosted?
I never got the answer because Celestia moved to the next one.
[Accidentally Summoned]
Gained by a person who was not supposed to be summoned, but was summoned anyway. Cannot gain experience.
Celestia froze at the last line, about to slip into another mood swing that could have engulfed the room. I placed a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but not too badly.
“Chill, girl, chill,” I said, trying to sound authoritative without snapping anyone’s head off. “Do you see me complaining?”
“I do not know what you mean by ‘chill,’ Lord Vi, but I think I understand what you are trying to say,” she replied, exhaling once… twice… before finally straightening. “Yes. I—I am calm. Thank you.”
Failure never sat well with her. Then again, given the scrutiny she and everyone else placed on herself, it’s understandable why she would react like that.
“Lady Celestia,” Taka raised a hand, tilting his head with curiosity. “If Vi can’t level up, then what about that sound we heard earlier? Does that mean level-ups use a different kind of experience than skill mastery?”
“Uhm… yes,” she admitted, still a little shaky. “That is the case. All skills will increase with use. But that would mean that lord Vi has basically zero combat potential if he cannot level up.”
I smirked internally.
<
That was my plan.
We continued.
[Ambidextrous]
Gained by a person who can use both hands equally well for tasks like writing, drawing, or combat. No demerits when dual-wielding weapons meant for one hand. +5% Bonus to Agility when dual-wielding.
[Night Owl]
Gained by a person who naturally stays awake late at night, becoming more active, alert, or creative under the cover of darkness. +50 Bonus to Agility, Endurance, and Intelligence from sunset to sunrise.
Trayn whistled, eyes wide. “Wow.”
“Yeah, that’s a lot,” Arthur agreed, shaking his head as if he’d just seen a particularly complicated magic trick.
[Long Sleeper]
Gained by a person who requires more sleep than average to feel fully rested and function optimally. +30% chance of gaining the angry debuff when deprived of sufficient sleep. Debuff chance and level increases per missed hour.
I raised an eyebrow, reading the description aloud to no one in particular. “Yeah… sounds about right.”
“Son of mine,” my mother called from her seat, her voice a mix of exasperation and slight amusement. “That is not something to be proud of.”
“Ae,” Reika intoned, her tone infuriatingly serious. “Listen to mother.”
I braced myself as laughter broke out around the room. Most of the males snickered, some trying to hide their smiles behind hands or notebooks.
<
Quiet.
[Escape Artist]
Gained by a person who is skilled at getting out of tricky situations, whether literally—like slipping through a locked door—or figuratively—finding clever solutions and avoiding constraints. +20% to Agility or Intelligence depending on the situation. Gains another +10% bonus from Rapid Calculations, Rapid Analysis, and Evasion skills.
Despite the deeply suspicious glares sent my way by my parents, Reika and Shizuku, I smirked inwardly. Yep, for once I was glad to have a title that actually makes sense. A small personal win.
<
…I hate you.
[Deep Thinker]
Gained by a person who reflects carefully, analyzes situations thoroughly, and often contemplates philosophical, abstract, or complex ideas. +30% to skill mastery gain. +20% to skill gain chance.
[Quick Learner]
Gained by a person who can absorb and apply new information, skills, or concepts faster than average. +40% to skill mastery gain. +30% to skill gain chance.
“Vi, by the time we finish this adventure of ours,” Arthur said, puffing out his chest like he had some divine insight, “I bet you’ll have more skills than levels.”
“Well, duh,” I replied. “It’s easy enough to tell.”
“Or,” my brother added with a smirk, “he’ll be a glass cannon.”
<
…Good advice. And you’re lucky I still haven’t found the function to mute you.
The next eight titles—well, they were something. Four pairs, each gave bonuses that seemed promising, but the next set canceled it all out, despite the strange mess of numbers and percentages. The bonus was essentially zero. Everyone’s heads were shaking like bobbleheads in a hurricane.
“Your titles are confusing,” Shizuku muttered, almost as if she was confessing a crime. “You’re confusing.”
The king nodded. The queen nodded. The knight captains tilted their heads. Everyone nodded. I opened my mouth, ready to give my remark, but before I could—
Ping!
The machine chimed again. All eyes snapped to the screen as a new prompt appeared in my vision, jumping straight to the bottom like it had a sense of timing.
[You have gained a title!]
[Confusing]
Gained by a person who has multiple contradicting titles and is widely agreed to be a confusing individual. What matters is that, at the end of the day, they still embraced chaos. You are a walking question mark. Gain the skill [Epic] Random [X].
My eye twitched. Hard. I pointed at the ninja daughter. “You did this!” I growled. She looked just as bewildered as everyone else, blinking innocently.
“Vi,” Arthur said, shaking his head while Celestia scribbled furiously in her notebook again. “What the hell?”
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
I had half a mind to dump the ink bottle into Celestia’s notebook or on Arthur, just to even the score.
“Lady Celestia,” my brother began, “I thought you said titles were supposed to be hard to get?”
“Well, yes,” Celestia replied, peering at the screen with her usual fervor. “But as I understand it… Lord Vi didn’t get the title because half of the condition isn’t fulfilled yet.”
“Oh! Wait, I see,” Taka said, adjusting his glasses. “The part where many people must believe him to be confusing.”
I exhaled through my nose. Perfect. So basically, confusing had to be socially validated. Great. Just great.
<
Oh, fuck you.
“If anything,” Shizuku said, tilting her head slightly as if genuinely considering it, “I still think he should have a title like liar, considering he keeps lying all the time.”
“When have I ever lied!?” I protested, genuinely offended.
No one acknowledged me.
<
“Right?” Reika added far too eagerly. “Or maybe scammer. I mean Ae already have Escape Artist. Wouldn’t ‘sly person’ fit?”
“You mean sly bastard?” Shizuku countered and both giggled. These bastards were really just piling on now, weren’t they?
Of course, I won’t stand for this slander and I opened my mouth to defend myself—
<
Ping!
The sound hit like a gunshot.
My knees nearly buckled as my soul attempted to leave my body in protest.
[You have gained a title!]
[Smooth Criminal]
Gained by a person who possesses a suspicious combination of skills and titles commonly associated with villainy—yet consistently chooses to apply them in non-evil, comedic, or accidentally heroic ways. Capable of picking locks, stealing hearts, moonwalking past danger, and talking their way out of literally anything.
I stared at the text.
I stared harder.
<
“Mother fu—! Stop giving me titles, damn it all!” I snapped, spinning around to point directly at the two she-devils beside me. “If you’re going to give me something, give me chocolate!”
Everybody was talking now, I don’t think anyone can understand what everyone was saying at this point.
<
“Everybody shut up for a bit!” I blurted out—at everything. The room. The system. Existence itself.
Then—
Laughter.
High-pitched. Unrestrained. Joyous. The little princess was laughing so hard she had to clutch the edge of her seat. “Vi’s funny!” she declared between giggles.
Something inside me cracked.
Not loudly. Just… spiritually.
I stared at the ceiling, imagining a sun. Then imagining throwing myself into it. Then reconsidering and instead throwing the sun into this room.
<
I raised my hand, looking straight at the crazy nerd mage. “Teacher,” I said flatly, “can I sit down for a bit? I would like to take the time to cry my eyes out.”
<
“Uhm—sure?” Celestia nodded, wearing a wry, almost apologetic smile. She then turned to everyone else, clapping her hands once. “Everyone, if you have any questions, now would be the time to do so.”
Hands immediately shot up.
I turned and made my way back to my seat, my soul dragging about three steps behind my body.
“Listen,” I muttered as I reached the two she-demons, “I am dead-ass tired from stupidity, so can you just… not.”
Fortunately—miraculously—they were gracious enough not to force me to sit between them. I collapsed into my chair, slumping back and letting the noise of the room wash over me while they turned their attention to their own statuses and titles.
I half-listened.
The most prominent discussion revolved around the Summoned Hero title. Turns out, it was a double-edged sword. On one hand, it doubled the experience required to level up. On the other, it granted early access to subclass selection.
That revelation alone detonated the room.
Everyone—the would-be heroes—started asking questions. Loud ones. Complicated ones. The kind that branched into even more questions. Because of that, Celestia called for assistance. Soon the king, the queen, and even the knight captains were circulating, offering advice, explanations, and opinions.
Which suited me just fine.
It gave me the breathing room I desperately needed. I leaned back, eyes half-lidded, finally free to think. To analyze what the hell had just happened.
So, using the method Celestia had explained, I murmured status and began by examining the biggest problem of them all.
[!#$] Knowledge Core [True Sight Identification]
AShdakgALJSDLKA;KJoakhvSM;kjmskAS(A(@KLLKJNlknk2@pljs;lkl’;aksdk;l!(@#ob19Ujogkjg!@#akjhdQ23097)(m!;kjabdlj;q2803q09231ou^@%#@&nGHAKJDx086y18037n80)&m!)@#)(!)(!)y#!ou!ihfKJHADL’JKHAUIY89O[Y99213asdAWEA2803q09231ou*^@%#@&nGHAKJDx086y18037n80AShdakgALJSDLKA;KJoakhvSM;kjmskAS(A(@KLLKJNlknk2@pljs;lkl’;aksdk;l!()@#ob19Ujogkjg!@#akjhdQ23097)(m!;kjabdlj;ihfKJHADL’JKHAUIY89O[Y99213asdAWEA2803q09231ou*^@%#@&nGHAKJDx086y18037n80AShdakgALJSDLKA;KJoakhvSM;kjmskAS(A(@KLLKJNlknk2@pljs;lkl’;aksdk;l!(@#ob19Ujogkjg!@#akjhdQ23097)(m!;kjabdlj;ihfKJHADL’JKHAUIY89O[Y99213asdAWEA2803q09231ou*^@%#@&nGHAKJDx086y18037n80AShdakgALJSDLKA;KJoakhvSM;kjmskAS(A(@KLLKJNlknk2@pljs;lkl’;aksdk;l!()@#ob19Ujogkjg!@#akjhdQ23097)(m!;kjabdlj;ihfKJHADL’JKHAUIY89O[Y99213asdAWEA2803q09231ouaksdk;l!(@#ob19Ujogkjg!@#akjhdQ23097)(m!;kjabdlj;ihfKJHADL’JKHAUIY89O[Y99213asdAWEA2803q09231ou*^@%#@&nGHAKJDx086y18037n80AShdakgALJSDLKA;KJoakhvSM;kjmskAS(A(@KLLKJNlknk2@pljs;lkl’;aksdk;l!()@#ob19Ujogkjg!@#akjhdQ23097)(m!;kjabdlj;ihfKJHADL’JKHAUIY89O[Y99213asdAWEA2803q09231ou
Ability [Retort] = [Curiosity] [Surprise] [Knowledge] [X]
A corrupted wall of text greeted me. Not incomprehensible in the poetic, mysterious, ancient-language way. No, this was straight-up digital brain hemorrhage.
There was nothing here. Nothing I could parse, nothing I could anchor onto. Just—noise—pretending to be information.
<
“…Yeah,” I whispered. “Great help.”
Right, then. I dug deep and retreated inward, back into my domain. Space folded around me as starlight bloomed.
That familiar, endless quiet returned—the kind that didn’t press on your ears but instead pressed on your thoughts. The Knowledge Core hovered before me, a small glowing sphere, pulsing faintly like a living thing pretending not to be alive.
I reached out and it drifted obediently into my palm. Then without waiting, sat down cross-legged, settling the sphere between my legs, grounding myself like I was about to meditate.
With a flick of my wrist, the space in front of me rippled. Text appeared. Then Images. Clean. Stable. The description straight from my status. In this place, where quiet reigns, I finally had time. Time to think.
I reread what I could read slowly. First of all, the mastery level was gone. Next the title was… integrated. Fused with my other skill. That mysterious [X] wasn’t some flourish or hidden joke—it was a slot. An empty socket waiting to be filled. That alone was unsettling.
Then I focused on the ability. Retort. Why did a skill have an ability? And why was that ability defined as Curiosity, Surprise, and Knowledge? Those weren’t actions. Those were—well, for all intents and purposes, mental states.
A mindset.
I stared at the glowing sphere my floating between legs. Somehow, I get the feeling that it was enjoying itself there.
<
“Thanks, buddy,” I sighed.
Another flick of the wrist and another screen popped up to my left. This time, I replayed everything. Every moment after I first got this skill. What were the major events?
I’d integrated the core into my skill—my skill—one that activates visually. Sight-based. Observation-based. And—only received the prompt after my skill evolved.
I leaned back slightly. As far as I know, the skill identify is touched based, therefore—
“Curiosity …requires perception?” I murmured. I scratched my head. Everyone is like that. Rather, that’s normal. I mean, you see something weird of course you get curious.
Yeah. That was not helping.
One of the methods of thinking taught by the Order was simple. If one train of thought fails to yield an answer, change it, focus on another. So, I focused on the next thing.
So—what event could have produced the surprise aspect?
That one was easy. It had realized that it was small. Insignificant. A tiny fish in an ocean it had only just noticed. That kind of realization carried shock by default.
And the knowledge part?
I frowned.
“When I inspected the machine?” I muttered. “Or the plates? That would explain the level up to my other skill.”
I had been curious about those things. Genuinely so. Curiosity paired with my skill. Perception paired with intake. Intake paired with interpretation.
Letting the thought settle, I leaned back and a chair made of my will appeared behind me. I exhaled.
Over the absurdly long years I had roamed this kosmos, I had witnessed races do things that defied any sane definition of “natural.” One such thing was the Omniarus Credara or the closest rough translation in English. It was the collective soul—the fused soul-force of an entire race. Through it, they extended their lifespan, regulated birth and death, and preserved cultural continuity. In turn, they worshiped it, feeding it faith, emotion, memory.
It was both God and infrastructure.
Then there were manasancts. Information kernels of spiritual lifeforms composed purely of a single idea—power, fear, knowledge, decay. No ego. No will. No desire. They simply were, and thus acted in accordance with their informational nature.
A manasanct of power flowed toward powerful beings. A manasanct of fear drifted toward terror. I had once fought a creature bonded to a manasanct of knowledge.
To defeat it, I had done the only thing that made sense at the time. I overloaded it. I flooded it with information—contradictory, recursive, infinite. The manasanct tore itself apart under the strain, and the host… well. Brain-dead was the polite term.
Now, the key points were these:
It was fed by perception. It reacted to curiosity. It grew through knowledge. It can feel indignation. Similar to an Omniarus Credara. But not completely.
Manasancts could not choose what they became. They processed, and did things according to their nature. They simply are what they are in the very beginning.
“This thing isn’t an Omniarus Credara,” I murmured. “And it’s not a manasanct either.”
Yet, it shared traits with both.
This thing had no will. No ego. Opposite of an Omniarus, but acted like one. And the most important detail. It let me decide what it would become. Manasancts do not do that. But now it was processing. Reacting.
Then what about the first part, the curiosity?
“You can’t be curious about what you can’t see,” I muttered more to myself.
No.
Wait.
Adults’ brains, especially in the prefrontal cortex, are more efficient at filtering irrelevant information. This means adults are less automatically drawn to every new visual detail
Only babies need that much visual stimuli. Absorbed everything. No filters. No context. Just raw intake. Hells, they stare at everything as well. The more they are strongly exposed to new visual stimuli, the more it drives exploration and learning
I looked down at the sphere again. The corruption. The nonsense. The instability.
This thing wasn’t broken.
It wasn’t ancient, omniscient, or transcendent.
It was unfinished.
It was—
“…On the level of a newborn,” I finished quietly.
A core that could learn, but didn’t yet know how to organize what it learned.
A puzzle.
<
I stared at it as a smile slowly crossed my face. Had—had it just told me to treat it well!?
“…So,” I said slowly, the realization settling like a weight in my chest, “you’re basically a—what? Baby god brain?”
<
I exhaled.
Suddenly, the corrupted text didn’t feel random anymore.
It felt like the first cry of something that had just opened its eyes. And whether my assumptions about it was true or not one thing now was very clear to me.
This was something new, and I’m responsible for what it becomes.