The swirling colors finally stopped, leaving me sprawled on cold, damp earth. “Great,” I muttered, pushing myself up. “Another isekai.” I’d read enough web novels to know the drill. Time to check the skill.
A translucent screen flickered in front of my eyes – Status. I mentally poked it, and a list appeared: Name: [My Name]. Class: [None]. Skills: Appraisal (Lv. 1). That was it. Just Appraisal.
“Appraisal?” I blinked. Compared to the wish-fulfillment fantasies, where protagonists got space rings, cheat systems, or even just a basic level-up system, Appraisal felt underwhelming. Disappointed didn’t even begin to cover it. Still, it was what I had. Might as well see what it did.
I focused on a scraggly weed poking out of the ground. Words shimmered into view above it: [Common Weed. No significant properties.] Okay, basic information. I tried it on a nearby rock: [Granite. Common building material.] Again, pretty bland. This was going to be a long isekai, wasn't it?
But then I noticed something. I looked around at the forest – the trees, the plants, even the air felt different. More real, somehow. Like I was finally seeing things clearly. I focused on a sword leaning against a nearby tree, probably dropped by whoever brought me here.
[Ornate Sword (Replica). Steel alloy, painted to resemble mithril. Enchantment: Illusion (Visual enhancement only). Warning: Structurally weak, prone to breaking under stress.]
Whoa. Replica? Illusion enchantment? My eyes widened. I’d been expecting something amazing, maybe a magic sword or something. But this skill it cut through the bullshit. ‘The World As It Really Is,’ the level was called. And it was true. No more being fooled by appearances.
Suddenly, Appraisal didn't seem so useless anymore. In a world undoubtedly full of magical trickery and powerful items, seeing the truth had its own power. I spent the next few days in the forest, constantly using Appraisal. Every plant, every creature, every piece of the environment I could reach got appraised. I practiced like a diligent student, and slowly, I started noticing more. Subtle differences in wood grain, the faint shimmer of residual magic on stones, the minuscule details that others seemed to miss entirely.
Then, one morning, the skill description changed. Appraisal (Lv. 2: The World in Greater Detail). Level up? Just from using it? That was interesting. I aimed my Appraisal at a flower I’d seen every day, a vibrant purple bloom.
Before, it was just [Purple Flower. Common forest flower. Mildly fragrant.]
Now, the words spilled forth in a torrent of information: [Divine Herb of Healing, 4756th Iteration. Genetically modified variant of common forest flower. Cultivated for alchemical purposes. Contains potent regenerative compounds. Fragrance: Synthesized to mimic natural pollinators. Note: Slightly unstable compound, requires specific processing for safe consumption.]
My jaw dropped. “4756th Iteration? Genetically modified? Synthesized fragrance?” This world wasn't just magical; it was scientifically advanced in a weird way. The detail was astounding. It wasn’t just a flower; it was the 4756th Iteration of the Divine Herb of Healing.
This newfound detail made all the difference. I made my way to the nearest town, hoping to find an Adventurer's Guild. Armed with ‘The World in Greater Detail,’ I figured I could at least be useful. And I was right.
At the guild, adventurers were clamoring for information. Were the potions real? Were the quest monsters actually dangerous? Were the rewards worth the risk? My Appraisal became invaluable. I could tell them exactly what they were dealing with. No more fake magical swords, no more traps disguised as treasure chests. My reputation grew quickly. ‘The Appraiser’ they called me, and soon the Guild Master himself was seeking my advice.
I became indispensable, identifying rare herbs, verifying the authenticity of magical artifacts, and uncovering hidden dangers in dungeons before anyone even set foot inside. Life was good, and honestly, fascinating. I spent almost every waking moment with my Appraisal active, just out of sheer curiosity. What else could this world reveal?
And then, it happened again. Unintentionally, just from constant use, Appraisal leveled up once more. Appraisal (Lv. 3: The World of Purpose).
This level was different. It wasn't just more detail; it was time. I was hired by a group of adventurers to appraise a monster, a hulking brute known for its lightning-fast attacks. As it charged, I activated Appraisal.
Before, it might have just shown me its stats and weaknesses. Now, the information flooded in, but with a new element. [Crimson Fang Boar (Alpha). Attack Pattern: Charge - Gore. Predicted Action: Charge initiating in 0.3 seconds. Gore attack expected upon impact zone. Vulnerable Point: Unarmored flank, left side. Recommended Action: Side-step right, exploit opening with a counter-attack targeting vulnerable point.]
My breath hitched. It wasn't just telling me what it was; it was telling me what it was going to do, and even how to react. Purpose. It was revealing the intent behind everything, the flow of action and reaction in real-time.
Combat became predictable. Almost boring, in a way. Every enemy attack was telegraphed, every weakness highlighted. I became an invaluable asset on combat quests, not for raw strength, but for my unparalleled ability to foresee and counter any threat. Guilds fought to recruit me. I was no longer just useful; I was highly prized, by both combat and life-focused professions.
Life became a whirlwind of quests, appraisals, and skill practice. And as always, I kept my Appraisal running constantly. The world was just too interesting to turn it off. Naturally, inevitably, it leveled up again. Appraisal (Lv. 4: The World Broken Down).
This time, it wasn’t just details, or time, or purpose. It was everything. When I appraised something now, it was like dissecting reality itself. I looked at a wooden table.
[Wooden Table. Material Composition: Processed Sylvian Heartwood. Cellular Structure: Reinforced lignin fibers, optimized for load bearing. Construction Method: Interlocking joint system, adhesive bonding via refined tree sap resin. Purpose: Stable horizontal surface for object placement. Historical Context: Crafted by artisan guild ‘The Steady Hand’ in Year 127 of the Regal Era. Skill Required for Replication: Advanced Carpentry, Resin Refining, Sylvian Heartwood Processing.]
It was broken down to its absolute core. Material, structure, construction, purpose, history, even the skills needed to recreate it. Everything was laid bare, down to its smallest components and the processes that brought it into being.
And then, it clicked. If I understood how everything was made, at its most fundamental level I could recreate it. Even skills.
I appraised a seasoned swordsman practicing a complex technique. [Swordsmanship Skill: ‘Whirlwind Strike.’ Component Actions: Footwork (Rapid lateral shift), Body Rotation (Torso torque generation), Arm Movement (Circular blade trajectory), Mana Channeling (Minor elemental wind amplification). Underlying Principles: Momentum transfer, kinetic energy maximization, targeted force application. Skill Replicability: High (Requires proficient swordsmanship foundation and rudimentary mana control.)]
It wasn't just describing the skill; it was dissecting it, revealing its inner workings, the steps, the principles, the requirements for replication. Suddenly, even the most mysterious, jealously guarded skills of this world were as clear as day to me.
Learning became instantaneous. I could appraise any skill, break it down, understand it, and then, through diligent practice, recreate it. Swordsmanship, magic, alchemy, crafting – everything was open to me. I became a prodigy, mastering skills in days that took others decades.
My power grew exponentially. I mastered techniques thought lost to time, skills whispered about in legends, magic spells that defied comprehension. I became the hero everyone dreamed of. The most powerful adventurer, the most knowledgeable scholar, the most skilled craftsman – all rolled into one. The kingdom thrived under my protection.
And then, at the peak of my power, when I felt I understood the world in its entirety, when I was truly the most powerful being in the land it happened one last time.
I was appraising the sunrise, a daily ritual, appreciating the intricate dance of light and shadow. And the skill description changed. Appraisal (Lv. 5: A Return to Simplicity).
This time, there was no flood of information. No dissection of reality. Just a single line, beneath the skill name: [The Skill of Seeing, Now See.]
And then, the skill vanished. The translucent screen flickered and disappeared entirely. My senses felt normal. Blunt. For the first time in years, the world wasn’t screaming details and purposes and components at me. It was just the world.
Panic flared for a moment. Had I lost everything? Was I powerless again?
But then, I looked around. The forest was still there. The trees, the leaves, the sunlight filtering through the branches. It wasn't broken down, it wasn't analyzed, it wasn’t appraised. It just was.
And I realized, I still saw. I still understood, maybe even more than before. Appraisal hadn’t just given me information; it had trained my perception, honed my understanding. It had broken down the world so thoroughly, so meticulously, that now I could see the simplicity beneath the complexity.
The skill was gone, but its lessons remained. I didn’t need to appraise the sunrise anymore to understand its beauty, its purpose, its intricate dance. I just needed to look. I had returned to simplicity, not to ignorance, but to a deeper, more intuitive understanding. The world, in all its complexity and simplicity, was finally just seen. And in seeing, I knew. And in knowing, I was free.
The Evolution of Appraisal
