My Level Is 1, But My Damage Is Infinite

Chapter 1: Level 1, Damage Infinite

The brickwork of the alleyway was slick with a cocktail of stagnant rainwater and something much darker. Eka Pradana tasted copper, the metallic tang of his own blood blooming across his tongue as his cheek pressed into the grime. Above him, the flickering neon signs of the lower district cast jagged shadows that seemed to dance in sync with his blurred vision.

"You really don't know when to just quit, do you?"

Garrett’s voice was heavy with a mix of boredom and irritation. He adjusted the leather strap of his chest plate, looking down at Eka with the same look a man might give a persistent insect.

"He’s still clutching the core, Garrett," another man laughed. Mick. The guy was barely a D-rank, but in this district, that made him a god compared to an unranked porter like Eka. "Look at him. His fingers are white. Eka, buddy, come on. Just hand it over before you actually get hurt."

"I... did the work," Eka wheezed, his voice bubbling through the fluid in his lungs. "I drew... I drew them out. It’s mine."

"You drew them out by being bait," Garrett said, stepping forward. His boot came down hard on Eka’s open palm. "That’s what porters do. You’re just a glorified target. Now, give me the essence stone before I decide your ribs look better in pieces."

"Screw you," Eka grunted.

"What was that?" Garrett leaned in, cupping an ear. "Speak up, kid. I couldn't hear you over the sound of your life wasting away."

"I said... screw you."

Mick whistled low. "Ouch. He’s got some fire today. Maybe we didn't hit him hard enough?"

"Maybe," Garrett said, and then he kicked.

The sound of the impact was dull, a wet thud that echoed off the narrow walls. Eka didn't scream; he didn't have the air left for it. Instead, he curled into a ball, his vision flashing white then red. In the darkness of the alley, beyond the two hunters, the shadows began to detach themselves from the dumpster.

"Wait," Mick whispered, his eyes widening. "You hear that?"

"Hear what? It’s just the wind," Garrett snapped, still glaring at Eka.

"No, man. Listen."

A guttural, low-frequency growl vibrated through the pavement. From the mouth of the alley, three shapes emerged—hunched, four-legged creatures with skin that looked like bruised velvet. D-rank Shadow Hounds.

"Damn it," Garrett hissed, reaching for the hilt of his short sword. "Look what you did, you idiot. Your bleeding attracted them. You couldn't even die quietly."

"Garrett, there’s three of them," Mick said, his voice jumping an octave. "We’re already low on mana from the first wave."

"I see them! Just back up. Let them have the kid first."

"You’re... leaving me?" Eka coughed, a thin trail of blood dripping from his chin.

"Hey, don't look at us like that," Garrett sneered as he slowly backed away, keeping his blade leveled at the approaching monsters. "Think of it as your final service to the guild. You wanted the stone so bad? Well, keep it. You can take it to the grave with you. Come on, Mick. While they’re busy eating, we make for the main street."

"I don't know, Garrett... if we leave him..."

"He’s Level 1, Mick! Look at his status! He’s been Level 1 for six years. He’s dead weight. Literally."

The hounds ignored the retreating men, their lidless eyes locked onto the broken figure on the ground. Eka could feel the heat radiating from their maws. He tried to push himself up, but his left arm buckled. Something was wrong, though. Underneath the searing agony of his broken ribs, there was a strange, low-frequency hum.

Is this the shock? he wondered. Is this what happens right before the end?

"Stay... stay back," Eka whispered to the closest hound.

The creature crouched, its muscles coiling like high-tension wires. It leaped.

"Look at that," Garrett whispered from the alley entrance, lingering just long enough to see the spectacle. "Should've just given us the stone, kid."

But the hound didn't tear out Eka's throat. Instead, it bounced off an invisible barrier six inches from his chest. A ripple of golden light, thin as a soap bubble, hummed into existence.

"What the hell was that?" Mick gasped. "Did he have a protection scroll?"

"No way," Garrett said, his eyes narrowing. "A scroll that strong costs more than his life is worth."

Eka blinked. The pain wasn't going away, but it was... changing. Every throb of his heart felt like a drumbeat in a vast, empty hall. He looked at his hands. They were glowing. Not brightly, but with a deep, volcanic embers-under-ash kind of heat.

[Threshold reached.]

The words weren't spoken; they were burned into the back of his retinas.

"Ugh... my head," Eka groaned.

"Hey! Eka!" Garrett yelled from the safe zone of the well-lit street. "What are you doing? Use the skill again!"

"I'm not... doing anything," Eka muttered, more to himself than to them.

The hounds, sensing the shift, circled him warily. The lead hound snarled and lunged again, joined by its two pack-mates. They hit the barrier simultaneously. This time, the light didn't just ripple; it roared.

"Get up, you idiot!" Mick screamed. "They're gonna break through!"

"Eka, if you've got an artifact, use it now!" Garrett added, his greed momentarily overcoming his cowardice. "Maybe we can still salvage this!"

Eka slowly stood up. Every movement should have been impossible. His bones should have ground together. Instead, they felt forged. He looked at the hounds, and for the first time in six years, he didn't feel the paralyzing cold of fear.

"You guys talk too much," Eka said. His voice sounded different—deeper, layered with a resonant frequency that made the nearby windows vibrate.

"What did you say?" Garrett barked. "Hey, watch your mouth! I'm still your senior!"

"I said," Eka turned his head slightly, his eyes glowing with an intense, terrifying clarity. "You talk too much. And these dogs are annoying me."

"Is he... is he taunting the monsters?" Mick whispered, stepping further back. "He’s lost it. He’s finally snapped."

"Probably the brain damage," Garrett muttered. "Look at him. He’s just standing there."

Eka balled his fist. It felt heavy. Not heavy with weight, but with potential. Like he was holding back a river behind a single wooden plank.

"I’ve been taking it for years," Eka said softly. "The hits. The insults. The low pay. All that damage... where does it go?"

"What are you babbling about?" Garrett spat. "Just die already so we can leave!"

Eka took a single step forward. The lead Shadow Hound lunged, its jaws open wide enough to crush his skull. Eka didn't dodge. He didn't flinch. He just swung.

It wasn't a professional's punch. There was no technique, no martial arts form. It was just a simple, straight jab fueled by six years of being the world's punching bag.

"One punch?" Garrett snickered. "He's trying to—"

The word died in his throat.

The moment Eka’s knuckles made contact with the air—not even the monster, but the space in front of it—reality seemed to fold. A shockwave, sheer and violent, erupted from his fist. It didn't sound like a punch. It sounded like a mountain splitting in half.

The first hound didn't just die; it disintegrated into black mist. The shockwave didn't stop there. It tore through the alleyway, catching the other two monsters and erasing them from existence. It hit the brick wall at the end of the alley, and the reinforced masonry exploded outward like it was made of dry sand.

"What... what just..." Mick stammered, falling over his own feet.

The shockwave continued, traveling down the street with the force of a low-yield nuclear blast. Streetlights snapped like toothpicks. The pavement peeled back as if a giant hand were skinning the earth. Half the block simply vanished into a cloud of debris and pressurized air.

Silence followed. A thick, heavy silence muffled by the dust.

Garrett was on his knees, his eyes wide and vacant. "The whole street... it's gone."

Mick scrambled to his feet, shaking. "Eka? Is he... is he still there?"

As the dust cleared, Eka stood in the center of the devastation. His clothes were rags, and he was covered in grime, but he was standing perfectly upright. He looked at his hand, then at the empty space where half the neighborhood used to be.

"Did I... do that?" he asked.

"You monster!" Garrett screamed, though he stayed exactly where he was. "What kind of skill was that? That’s S-rank! You’ve been hiding an S-rank skill!"

"I haven't been hiding anything," Eka said, his voice returning to its normal, tired tone.

In front of his eyes, a translucent window flickered to life.

[Conversion Phase Complete.]

[Damage Stored over 2,190 Days: Processed.]

[Kinetic Energy Discharged: 1,042,300 Units.]

[Potential Level-Up requirements detected...]

Eka stared at the numbers. They were astronomical. Over a million damage units? He looked down at the bottom of the screen, where the most important statistic was listed.

"Wait," he whispered.

"What?" Mick asked, edging closer now that the immediate danger of being vaporized seemed to have passed. "What does it say? Your rank must have skyrocketed! You’re probably Level 50 now! Or maybe higher!"

Garrett sneered, though his voice was trembling. "Yeah, kid. You hit the jackpot. You're gonna be the guild’s new star. Don't forget who mentored you, alright?"

Eka ignored them. He blinked once, then twice, trying to clear the notification. But the numbers didn't change.

"It’s not possible," Eka said.

"What? What is it?" Garrett pressed, his greed returning. "Show us the screen!"

Eka turned the interface slightly so they could see it.

[Name: Eka Pradana]

[Title: The World’s Punching Bag]

[Current Damage Multiplier: Calculated]

[Total Damage Inflicted: 999,999+]

[Rank: F]

[Level: 1]

The silence that followed was even more deafening than the initial explosion.

"Level 1?" Mick choked out. "You just leveled half a district and you’re still Level 1?"

"How?" Garrett whispered, his face pale. "That's not... that doesn't make sense. If you kill monsters that high-level, you gain experience. It’s the rule. It’s how the system works!"

"Apparently," Eka said, his eyes scanning the debris of his former life, "the system works differently for me."

He looked at his fist again. It felt empty now. The hum was gone, replaced by a deep, familiar ache. But somewhere in the distance, sirens were wailing. The Peacekeepers were coming. The Guild higher-ups would be right behind them.

"We gotta go," Mick said, looking over his shoulder. "We can't be here when they see this. They’ll think we caused it."

"They'll know it was him," Garrett said, pointing a shaky finger at Eka. "He’s Level 1. How is he going to explain this? Eka, run. If they find you, they’ll dissect you to see where that power came from."

Eka didn't move. He felt the cold wind of the open street blowing through the newly formed gap in the city. He was tired. He was hungry. And despite having more raw power in his pinky than most A-rankers, he was still the same Level 1 nobody he had been this morning.

"Let them come," Eka said softly.

He looked at the status screen again. At the very bottom, a new line of text was slowly scrolling into view.

[Notice: Experience points cannot be gained. Conversion Threshold Reset. Accumulating new damage... 0.01%]

"Level 1," Eka repeated to himself, a dry, mirthless laugh escaping his throat. "Of course. It’s always going to be Level 1."

The neon light above the alley entrance finally flickered out, leaving them all in the gathering dark. Eka stood there, waiting for the world to catch up with what he had just done, his fingers twitching as they searched for a warmth that was already starting to build up aga

in, deep beneath his skin. Every heartbeat was a ticking clock. Every second of silence was just more stored time.

"I wonder," he murmured. "I wonder how much damage I'll store tomorrow."