Mocked at Level 1, I Became the Spear God

Chapter 8: The Core and the Wolves

**Primordial Soul Core**

**Quality: Rare**

**Use: all stats +1. Rootedness +1.**

That's what the glowing ball was.

He had no idea what Rootedness actually did, but "all stats plus one" alone made this whole ridiculous trial worth the bruises. He used it on the spot.

The light unraveled into fine threads and sank into his skin. It felt like stepping into a warm bath—like some slow energy was washing him clean from the inside out. When the last of the glow faded, he opened his sheet.

**Wren — Level 1**

**Strength: 4 | Vitality: 2 | Agility: 2 | Intelligence: 2**

**Attack: 27 | HP: 200 | MP: 100**

**P.Def: 6 | M.Def: 6**

**Attack Speed: 1.2 | Move Speed: 1.2**

**Rootedness: 1**

**Talent: Spear Mastery (Rare).**

**Basic Spearplay Lv4 (+1) — spear damage +50%.**

Twenty-seven attack, before the fifty percent skill bump. He honestly thought he could take on a level-three mob now.

He closed the sheet and hit teleport out. A flash, and he was back at the training yard gate, Blooddrinker in hand.

The old gatekeeper looked him over from head to foot. "You received a soul baptism, young warrior. A rare thing. The road ahead of you is long, but it's bright."

Rootedness. Nate still didn't know what it did. But the old man clearly knew things. He cupped his hands. "Master, I did just receive a Primordial Soul Core, but I can't tell what Rootedness is for. Could you enlighten me?"

"Rootedness is a hidden stat. Almost impossible to raise. Most people have none. You raise it by absorbing Primordial Soul Cores at the right tier. As for what it does..." The old man smiled and shook his head. "I can't say. You'll have to find that out yourself. But a word of advice, since you're young and already touched by it: whenever there's a chance to raise it, take it. Never let one slip."

With that, he went back to standing stone-still at the gate, and no amount of further small talk got another word out of him.

Nate had been in The Vigil five days. Plenty gained, but his level hadn't budged, and his wallet in-game was still the freebie hundred copper the system gave him.

He walked to the apothecary and bought ten minor health potions with his hundred copper. Time to actually level.

**Minor Health Potion: restore 10 HP per second. 30-second cooldown.**

He tucked Blooddrinker out of sight and jogged toward the village edge. He didn't want an audience.

The low-level mob fields were still a zoo. Most players sat around level three, and nobody dared touch anything higher—potions cost too much, and one slip meant a corpse run. So everyone fought over the same weak rabbits.

Nate had a lifesteal spear and ten potions. He wasn't wasting his time in the toddler pen.

He cut around the crowds and walked deep into the grassland, picking off a stray hare here and there. With his attack, a hare went down in two thrusts when he landed a Perfect Strike.

Out past the hare fields, the grass got tall and the players thinned out. This was steppe-wolf country. No more fighting over mobs. He picked an empty stretch and charged the nearest lone wolf.

*Thwack.* **-30.**

**Steppe Wolf — Level 3 | HP 300 | Attack 28 | Defense 12**

The wolf bared its teeth and sprang. Nate knocked its claw aside with the shaft and slid out of the way. It landed, and he drove for its skull.

**Perfect Strike! -62.** A golden number floated up.

The wolf howled and came again. This time he was half a beat slow and it raked him. *-22.* A chunk off his own bar. He spun and hit it back.

**-30.** **+3.**

Two numbers drifted up: red thirty off the wolf, green three off his own body. Blooddrinker had stored a hundred damage and kicked back three HP. Nice.

He didn't give the wolf another opening. Two more thrusts and it folded. A few copper coins scattered on the dirt.

Twenty-eight XP for the kill. The wolf's base was twenty—beating a mob three levels up paid a forty percent bonus. He was still thirty-odd wolves from level two.

He pocketed the copper and moved on. Five days in and he'd learned patience was worthless if you never used the clock. This time he pulled two wolves at once.

The spear whirled, offense and defense trading places. A claw got him now and then, but Blooddrinker kept his bar parked above the danger line.

*Ding. Congratulations. Level up! Now Level 2.*

He dumped the free point into Strength. Attack climbed to thirty-three, and the killing got a little faster. Twenty-some minutes, and he'd gone from level one to two. Anybody in the company seeing that would've dropped their coffee.

But level two to level three wanted a full ten thousand XP—and now he was only two levels above the wolves, so the bonus was gutted. Four hundred wolves. The Vigil did not hand out levels for fun.

He leaned on the lesson anyway: every level bought him a real jump in power. He watched the pack of wolves wandering the grass and picked the next one.

He knew how they moved now—the claw came up and he was already moving. Bit by bit he started to enjoy it. The pack size he could handle grew: two wolves, three, four, five, until he was standing in the middle of a circle of them. Even with lifesteal he couldn't take them clean for free, so he sipped a potion every now and then and kept his HP safe.

*Thunk.* He drove his spear up through a wolf's belly and the circle thinned. He started looting.

This drop wasn't just copper.

**Wild Gauntlets — Quality: Common | Req: Level 3 | P.Def +3.**

Three more defense. He tossed it in the bag—one more level and he could wear it. He'd killed about a hundred wolves; the bar was a quarter full. His coin sat around nine silver twelve copper.

He kept moving. The deeper he got, the fewer players he saw and the thicker the wolves ran. Fine by him.

Two hours in, he hit the heart of the grassland—packs of wolves, tall grass, not another player in sight.

*Ding. Congratulations. Level up! Now Level 3.*

He cleared the wolves around him and took stock. Fifty silver. The company's one-gold demand was basically handled.

Roughly five hundred dead wolves, and four pieces of gear had dropped: another gauntlet, two greaves, and a dagger.

**Wild Greaves — Common | Req: Level 3 | P.Def +3.**

**Wolf-Fang Dagger — Common | Req: Level 3 | Attack +6.**

He couldn't use the dagger, but it'd sell. He put on the greaves and gauntlets and dumped the level-up point into Strength. His sheet was starting to look downright pretty.

Level three. Level four wanted a hundred thousand XP—wolves would barely dent that now. Time to move deeper.

He'd gone maybe a hundred yards when he heard it: shouting, clashing metal, the wet sound of a fight.

He dropped low and crept forward through the tall grass, until he could see.

Ten players were swarming two. The two on defense were getting wrecked, backs to each other, nothing but blocks left.

Nate wasn't the kind of guy who ran into other people's fights. He was already turning to slip away—when one of the defenders shouted a voice he knew, and it stopped him cold.