Before entering the game, Rhys had pondered extensively—about the game itself, about vocations, about his future path.
Yet standing in the Hall of Vocations now, his restless heart settled. The choice became effortless.
Wielding the Siphon Authority, Rhys could synergize with any foundational vocation. Affixes amplified all paths equally.
Instinctively, he chose the vocation he'd invested in most deeply—the one whose progression he knew intimately.
Mage.
In his past life, Rhys had selected Warrior.
Simple reasons: the later "Shield Warrior" specialization and the innate "Taunt" ability let him absorb maximum risk—shielding Willa behind him.
But Warrior never suited Rhys. Years of manual labor strengthened his body yet left chronic injuries. His highest base attribute wasn't Strength.
For Willa, he'd chosen it anyway.
Naturally, Willa picked Mage—a fragile rear-line damage dealer.
Countless players envied her. Mages were priority targets in PvP and PvE alike, yet Rhys's protection kept her unscathed.
Many whispered: Had Rhys not guarded Willa, specializing as a DPS Warrior would've placed him higher on the leaderboards.
No more what-ifs.
This time, Rhys rejected Warrior—not just due to mismatched stats, but because he'd never mastered DPS Warrior paths.
But Mage progression? He knew its routes inside out.
Naturally—he'd personally charted Willa's perfect ascension path. Now, unburdened by dead weight, that path belonged to him.
[Vocation confirmed: Mage.]
[Name your character.]
"Abysswalker."
[Naming complete. Player Abysswalker, welcome to The Epoch of Endings.]
"Open status panel."
A translucent interface materialized, mirroring earlier displays:
[Player: Abysswalker]
[Lifespan: 69 Years]
[Strength: 7]
[Agility: 6]
[Intelligence: 10]
[Constitution: 6]
[Skills: None]
[Affixes: None]
[Unallocated Attributes: 0]
Rhys stroked his chin, satisfied. The system judged attributes simply: 5 represented a healthy Common adult baseline. Higher meant excellence; lower, deficiency.
Years of labor had elevated all four base stats above average. Intelligence—capped at 10 before vocation selection—had reached its absolute limit.
This didn't mean Rhys possessed supernatural intellect. "Intelligence" here measured not wisdom or IQ, but Mana affinity—making Rhys a natural-born spellcaster.
Choosing Mage honored his innate gift.
[Player Abysswalker undergoing vocation transition...]
[Transition complete. Skill acquired: Fireball (Common)]
Though familiar with Fireball's function, Rhys—never having played a Mage—studied its details:
[Skill: Fireball (Common)]
[Cost: 10 MP]
[Cooldown: 5s]
[Effect: Channel mana to conjure a searing firebolt against a target.]
[Affixes: None]
An utterly ordinary Fireball. No affixes. Despite the short cooldown, its crippling 10 MP cost tormented all early-game Mages.
A level 1 Mage had only 100 base MP—barely ten casts before becoming a glorified minion. This cemented Mages as pariahs in early parties: all potential, no present value.
Rhys remained unfazed. The Epoch of Endings was no gaudy knockoff; its design stood peerless. Even mana-depleted, he could kill.
"Enter game."
As he spoke, the synthetic voice resonated:
[Entering The Sundered Realm....]
[Your birthplace: Riverwood.]
The world dissolved. His consciousness plunged into abyssal darkness—
—then resurged in a frontier town square. Around him, NPCs strolled or eyed newcomers with curiosity, while wide-eyed players gaped at their surroundings.
"Holy crap, this game's damn impressive! Truly next-gen!"
"Can I take my pants off? Whoa, it works!"
"Who designed this crap? My tank-built Warrior just got one-shot by a Slime!"
Rhys sighed at the antics. In his past life, he'd missed the launch frenzy. By his entry, the game's lethal reputation had sobered players.
Now, fresh recruits underestimated its ruthlessness. That pantsless player? NPCs had already witnessed his stunt. Reputation penalties were inevitable—unlike static NPCs in other games, here they'd slash quest rewards or deny them entirely.
Rhys had no intention of warning them. Even if they listened—which they wouldn't—no one would believe him. The system's notification upon entry should've been clear enough…
[Welcome to The Epoch of Endings. Your location: The Sundered Realm—Riverwood.]
[Riverwood is a sanctuary zone. Current lifespan consumption rate: 1x.]
[Remember: Every death is real. Upon player death, you forcibly lose half your lifespan.]
The synthetic voice declared a brutal truth.
Playing this game required payment—in real lifespan. Consumption rates varied by sanctuary tier. Backwater zones like Riverwood cost one day per day. Major hubs? Dozens of days—or more.
"Must hurry."
Rhys drew a sharp breath, ignoring the newbie quest. He turned toward Riverwood's outskirts.
To veterans, this would seem suicidal. The Epoch of Endings was no hack-and-slash fest. Here, predator and prey swapped roles instantly…
Players weren't the reapers—they were the crop. Every Fiend posed lethal danger.
Even a wild rabbit could solo-kill a player. And Rhys? A fragile early-game Mage. This wasn't bold—it was a death wish.
Yet Rhys knew: both Siphon and Mages were weak initially. To survive, he needed a crucial affix—fast.
After slipping beyond Riverwood, he crept toward the eastern Fiend cluster. Crouched in shadows, he studied the hopping blue creature.
[Slime]
The cannon fodder of other games? Here, it was every rookie's recurring nightmare.
Rhys inhaled deeply. His past life held countless near-death encounters with Slime packs—granting him unparalleled insight.
Mana surged. A fireball coalesced at his fingertip—then streaked toward the Slime's core.
Whump!
The firebolt detonated. A massive CRITICAL flashed—
—and the "terrifying" Slime evaporated.
[Authority: Siphon Engaged.]
[Siphon Successful. Affix Generation in Progress…]