The air ripped, spitting Kaelen of Obelus onto concrete. He had braced for impact from a teleportation spell gone wrong in Obelus’s shimmering forests, but instead landed amidst noise, light, and strange smells: grease, metal, sweetness, and an acrid undertone.
He sprawled on the hard ground, his leather armor scraping. Colossal glass and steel structures reflected the harsh sunlight. Wheeled metal beasts roared, and brightly dressed people surged past, barely glancing at him. This wasn’t wilderness or village; this was a hive of stone.
He pushed up, disoriented, dusting runed armor humming with magic. His hand went to where the System interface should be, behind his eyes. It was gone.
His heart slammed. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, tapped his temples. Nothing. No stats, no skill list, no notifications. It felt like losing a limb, leaving a hollow ache.
Panic rose, but warrior discipline suppressed it. Assess. Adapt. Survive. He scanned the crowd. People in soft, bright fabrics, faces lit by glowing rectangles. No armor, no weapons. They moved with strange purpose, oblivious to unseen dangers he sensed lurking in the city's shadows.
A woman bumped him, eyes on her glowing rectangle. “Watch it!” she snapped, hurrying on.
“Pathetic,” Kaelen muttered, his voice rough. “A city without a System. How do they function?”
He couldn’t grasp it. In Obelus, the System was everything, governing the grass and determining the sky. Life without it was like drowning. These city dwellers seemed lost, stumbling in a world they didn't understand or control.
He stepped forward cautiously. A wheeled, fume-belching metal beast screeched to a halt at a bright pole. People flowed on and off easily. He sidestepped instinctively, fluidly fast - Swift Step. Muscle memory fired, but no notice of mana cost, no energy drain registered. He was a ghost.
He tested another skill. The air choked with acrid smell. Focusing, drawing on presumed inner reserves, he whispered, “Purify Air.” No tingling mana, no visual effect, no System confirmation. Yet, the fumes seemed slightly less harsh, replaced by a cleaner, artificial scent.
He frowned, confused. Had it worked, or was it his imagination? He needed proof. Approaching a vendor selling bright liquids, he asked, “Excuse me, did the air become cleaner?”
The vendor, in a bright apron, blinked. “Cleaner? Smog’s the same, buddy. Soda?”
Kaelen stared. “Smog is normal?”
The vendor shrugged. “City air. Buying or ventilating?”
Kaelen moved on, muttering, “Ventilating in fumes.” The lack of feedback, the inability to gauge magic, unsettled him. In Obelus, the System was objective truth. Here, he was adrift in subjectivity, without certainty.
Weeks blurred into months. Kaelen navigated “modern Earth,” learning their clipped language by listening and mimicking. He noted their customs: glowing rectangles, fear of sharp edges, reliance on metal boxes for travel.
His contempt deepened. He overheard conversations about “influencers” and “viral videos” - trivialities. They were utterly unaware, rushing through days chasing distractions, oblivious to unseen energies he felt must exist. They were ants, blindly following -- what? In Obelus, the System was a ladder to power. Here, chaos reigned, a scramble for trinkets.
Fear persisted, a cold dread not of physical danger, but of losing himself. Daily, in parks and alleys, he practiced sword forms with scavenged wood, whispered spells. He couldn't know if skills sharpened or dulled, if energy was spent. What if Flame Blade or Earth Tremor simply vanished from memory?
--
In his cramped “apartment,” he recited skills like a desperate mantra: “Swift Step, Steel Skin.” Each skill name was a lifeline against oblivion.
He saw a street performer juggle torches clumsily. In Obelus, even novices conjured grander illusions. Yet, the crowd was captivated. Teenagers chased a patterned sphere, wasting energy on games instead of honing skills. But they were smiling, genuinely happy.
He watched them with grudging curiosity. He saw a young woman help an elderly man, teens clean litter, a musician play for fleeting appreciation. Vulnerable, yes, weak by Obelus standards, they possessed resilience, a quiet strength. They faced hardships without System crutches, relying on each other, ingenuity, something intrinsic.
One afternoon, practicing sword forms, a woman named Sarah sketched nearby. She watched him, then picked up a stick, mimicking his movements chaotically. Her stances were loose, her footwork unorthodox, yet her strikes held a raw power.
“That’s really something,” Sarah said, breathless. “Performance?”
Intrigued, Kaelen lowered his blade. “Swordplay. My homeland.”
“Looks intense,” she said, twirling the stick, movements hinting at a fragmented Supreme Severing Style, a legendary Obelusn art. “Very focused.” She demonstrated rough strikes and parries, clumsy yet with flashes of speed and surprising angles.
Curiosity overcame pride. “You practice sword?” he asked, surprised.
Sarah laughed. “Practice? Messing around. Grandfather showed me family stuff.” She shrugged. “Nothing serious.”
“May I?” Kaelen asked, gesturing to the stick. She offered it. He mirrored her haphazard movements, abandoning System-taught precision. Then, a shift. Looseness, unexpected freedom bloomed. Not System-enhanced Steel Edge, but something wilder, instinctive, potent. Like a familiar spice in a new dish – Supreme Severing Style free from System rules, filtered through Sarah’s intuition.
“Huh,” Kaelen murmured, lowering the stick. “That’s…”
“Interesting?” Sarah finished, smiling playfully.
“Interesting,” Kaelen conceded, handing back the stick. A smile touched his lips. The System was gone. And like everyone else in this world, now he also didn't know what took the System's place.
Systemless and Unaware
