Right, settle down, class. You've potentially eaten something that wasn't retrieved from a gutter and maybe even know the name of the cesspit city you landed in. Progress! But survival isn't just about avoiding starvation; eventually, something (or someone) is going to try and rearrange your internal organs. Welcome to the wonderful world of Combat & Skills!
Skill Acquisition & Development:
Unless you lucked into the 'Overlord OS' (and if so, why are you reading this? Go smite something!), your starting skills likely range from 'Adequate Shoe-Tying' to 'Proficient Mouth-Breathing'. Don't despair! Skills can often be learned or improved through:
-
Practice: Use a skill, it might level up. Whack enough training dummies (or unfortunate goblins), and your [Basic Sword Wielding] might eventually become [Slightly-Less-Basic Sword Wielding]. Progress is often glacial. Enjoy the grind.
-
Instruction: Find a teacher! Grumpy old masters, stern guild instructors, that shady guy in the alley who offers 'Combat Secrets' for a few coins. Quality varies wildly. Choose wisely, lest you learn the 'Get Beaten Up Faster' technique.
-
Epiphanies/System Prompts: Sometimes, in moments of extreme stress (like plummeting off a cliff) or sheer plot necessity, the System might grant you a new skill or a sudden level-up. Don't rely on this. It's like hoping for a winning lottery ticket printed by Truck-kun himself.
-
Skill Books/Scrolls: Rare, expensive, and often require specific stats or prerequisites. Finding one early is like finding a clean sock – miraculous but unlikely.
Your First Taste of Combat (It Tastes Like Blood and Disappointment):
Forget those graceful sword dances you saw in anime. Your first real fight will likely involve:
-
Panic: A state where your brain helpfully shuts down all higher functions.
-
Flailing: See [Basic Street Brawling] (Lv. 1). It's not elegant.
-
Pain: Yes, getting hit hurts. Systems rarely give you full pain immunity from the start. Prepare for bruised egos and actual bruises.
-
Running Away: Often the best tactic. Live to fight (or run away) another day. There's no shame in a tactical retreat, especially when facing something with more teeth than you have hit points. Seriously, RUN.
Threat Assessment for Dummies:
Before engaging (or deciding to sprint in the opposite direction), ask yourself:
-
Is it bigger than me?
-
Does it have sharp bits (claws, teeth, pointy sticks)?
-
Does it look angry/hungry/territorial?
-
Am I likely to end up as a footnote in its digestive tract?
If the answer to most of these is 'Yes', see 'Running Away'.
The Ubiquitous Starter Quest:
Yes, the "Kill X Rats/Slimes/Tiny Annoying Critters" quest. It's a trope for a reason. It's supposed to be a low-risk way to gain EXP and basic combat familiarity. Keyword: supposed. Even rats can bite, and don't get me started on slimes... those gelatinous horrors... shudder. Never underestimate the tutorial zone. It's still trying to kill you, just less efficiently.
Now, try not to bleed out before the next module.
[Kevin's Story: Part 5 - The Grindstone of Reality]
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Ten copper pieces. Shelter. Food. The [Basic Needs] quest mocked Kevin with its simplicity. Finding Finn's fate had earned him 5 EXP, bringing his grand total to... 17/100 for Level 2. Pathetic.
He needed money. Standing near the grimy docks of Port Azure, the salty air thick with the smell of fish and tar, he watched burly dockworkers hauling crates and barrels. Work. The invisible, theoretical Guide he hadn't really accessed yet probably had suggestions, but right now, his System just showed the quest objectives.
He approached a gruff-looking foreman overseeing the unloading of a merchant ship. "Excuse me, sir," Kevin began, trying to project... competence? Employability? "Are you hiring any help? For unloading?"
The foreman, a mountain of a man with arms thicker than Kevin's legs, looked him up and down. Kevin's STR 6 (Below Average Citizen) and ragged appearance did not impress.
"Help?" The foreman barked a laugh that sounded like rocks grinding together. "Lad, you look like a stiff breeze would knock you over. This is hard labor, not pickin' pockets. Bugger off 'fore you get hurt."
Ding!
[Social Interaction Failed: Potential Employer Intimidated (by your weakness)!]
[Suggestion: Increase STR or find work suitable for feeble physique.]
"Gee, thanks, System," Kevin muttered, retreating before the foreman decided to demonstrate 'hard labor' on him. Okay, heavy lifting was out. What else?
His eyes scanned the docks. Sailors coiling ropes, merchants arguing, urchins darting through the crowd. He saw a notice pinned to a wooden post near a harbormaster's shack. Maybe a job posting? He edged closer. It was written in the common tongue (thank you, passive System skill!), but the script was dense. He squinted, deciphering it slowly with his INT 9.
WANTED: Rat Catchers for Warehouse District Cellars. Must provide own traps/weapons. Payment: 1 Copper per tail. Apply at the Gnawed Barrel Tavern.
One copper per tail. To reach ten, he'd need ten tails. He shuddered. Sewer rats were one thing in games, but the thought of facing them in reality with [Basic Street Brawling] (Lv. 1) and LUK 3... seemed like a recipe for rabies and regret. He didn't have weapons or traps, either. As he stared blankly at the notice, the faint blue System interface hovered in his vision. That annoying pixel in the corner flickered erratically. He mentally swatted at it, trying to ignore the imperfection.
He remembered his skills. [Petty Theft] (Lv. 2). You can palm a coin... sometimes. He hated the idea, but desperation gnawed almost as fiercely as his hunger. He started wandering, using [Urban Navigation (Slums)] to guide him through less crowded backstreets adjacent to the main market area he'd seen earlier. He wasn't looking for pockets to pick, exactly. More like... opportunities. Lost items? Dropped change?
He saw a fishmonger haggling loudly with a customer, gesturing wildly. A few copper coins sat loosely on the edge of his stall. Kevin's heart hammered. DEX check... LUK 3... It felt incredibly risky.
Suddenly, a pair of burly thugs rounded the corner, shoving past Kevin without a glance. They swaggered towards the fishmonger. "Oi, Stinky! Boss wants his cut. Pay up."
The fishmonger paled. "I... I need more time!"
"Time's up," the lead thug growled, grabbing a handful of the vendor's tunic.
Kevin froze. This felt dangerous. Avoid eye contact with heavily armed individuals... The thought surfaced, vague, like advice half-remembered from a dream. Where did that come from? He dismissed it. These guys weren't heavily armed, just heavily built and radiating menace.
He started backing away slowly, trying to melt into the shadows. As the thugs began roughing up the fishmonger, shaking him down for coins, Kevin noticed something else. One of the thugs had jostled a small delivery crate near the alley entrance when they pushed past. Its lid had popped open slightly, revealing... meat pies? Small, greasy, but definitely food. And completely unattended while the thugs were busy.
It wasn't theft from the thugs, technically. It was... unattended goods adjacent to a crime in progress? His stomach overruled his caution. With his DEX 8, he moved surprisingly quickly, darting forward, snatching one pie from the crate, and immediately ducking back into the deeper shadows of the alley, heart pounding like a drum.
He didn't wait to see the outcome of the shakedown. He scurried away, using [Urban Navigation] to put distance between himself and the scene. Only when he was several streets away, hidden behind a pile of discarded barrels, did he dare to look at his prize. A small, slightly squashed, but blessedly warm meat pie.
He didn't get a System notification for theft. Maybe the System didn't count it if the original 'owners' were busy committing their own crime? Or maybe it just didn't care about pies?
He devoured it in seconds. It was greasy, the meat dubious, but it was the best thing he'd tasted since... well, since his previous life. It wasn't a proper meal (Objective 3), but it was something. It didn't earn him copper (Objective 1) or shelter (Objective 2), but it staved off the worst of the hunger and the [Minor Despair].
Small victories. Now, how to get those ten coppers without relying on accidental proximity to crime or facing plague-ridden rodents?