Adventurer of Many Professions

"The Eleventh One!"

Raymond swung his stick with raw force, sending the mutant rat in front of him flying through the air. Its companion, trailing closely behind, met a similar fate. But the victory was fleeting, more mutant rats surged forward, relentless and snarling, their small bodies lunging toward him like a tide of claws and teeth.

A feral grin spread across Raymond's face as he moved. With a swift, sweeping motion, he cleared a path through the swarm, the stick in his hand slicing through the air. The rats he struck never got back up, their flesh torn apart with every blow. Blood and bits of gore spattered in every direction, painting the ground in a macabre tapestry of violence.

Yet no matter how many fell, the horde pressed on. Two of the rats leapt onto Raymond, their claws raking furiously at his protective gear. He felt the sharp scrapes but saw with relief that the suit held strong; no punctures, no breaches. They couldn't get through.

With a powerful jerk, he yanked them off, hurling their writhing bodies aside. The stick in his hands was now slick with blood and grease, slippery and treacherous. It almost slipped free several times, forcing him to grip it harder, his fingers cramping under the strain.

"Argh!" he roared, smashing another rat into a pulp. The stick felt like it had a mind of its own, threatening to betray him at any moment. He clenched his jaw in frustration, realizing that the weapon was becoming more of a liability with every passing second.

Then it hit him. 'Why was he still using the stick?'

Raymond paused, his breath heavy but measured. Fighting with a stick might have worked against a few rats, but against an endless swarm at close range? It was slowing him down, making him vulnerable. A grin slowly spread across his face, he didn't need the stick. He had something far better: 'himself'.

Raymond tossed the weapon aside, his fingers flexing as he adjusted his stance. If this was going to be a fight for survival, he'd do it his way. He wasn't just a warrior now, he was a 'fighter' by profession.

Fighters don't need weapons. Their bodies are the weapons. Hands, feet, elbows, knees: every move, every instinct, honed for combat. At close range, no rat stood a chance.

"Guga!"

Another mutant rat lunged at him. With a flick of his wrist, Raymond hurled the stick straight at the beast, the impact sending it crashing backward.

"Sixteen!" he shouted triumphantly, keeping count of his kills.

More rats launched themselves at him, shrieking and snapping. Raymond pivoted, his movements fluid and precise. Two rats soared toward his chest. Twisting his body, he lashed out with a powerful kick, his boot connecting with one midair and sending it flying into the other. His motions were impossibly fast, his strikes clean and efficient.

Without the burden of the stick, Raymond felt unstoppable. He was no longer on the defensive, he was in his element, a whirlwind of strikes and dodges. Every kick, every punch, every movement was pure instinct, the kind that only a fighter could master.

For a brief moment, amidst the chaos, Raymond laughed; a sharp, defiant sound. 'Let the rats come.' He was ready for them.

'Bang!'

Two mutant rats flew through the air, their limp bodies thudding against the ground.

"Seventeen," Raymond muttered under his breath, his voice cold and steady.

Before he could catch his breath, another mutant rat lunged at his feet, sinking its teeth into his leather boot. Raymond reacted instantly, twisting his ankle with brute force. The rat was flung skyward, its small body flipping end over end. It never even realized what had happened.

'Bang!'

Raymond's fist shot forward, landing a devastating straight punch square between its eyes. The impact was so severe the rat's skull visibly caved in, leaving its lifeless body crumpled on the ground.

"Eighteen," Raymond said, his tone indifferent, as if the chaos around him no longer mattered.

He scanned the battlefield. Only four mutant rats remained, trembling with primal rage. These survivors had dodged death moments earlier, some shielded by fallen comrades, others spared by a misstep of the slippery wooden stick.

But Raymond didn't need to chase them. He stood still, his presence like a challenge. They would come to him.

And they did.

The four rats rose shakily, shook themselves off, and launched forward, teeth bared and claws slicing the air.

Raymond didn't flinch. The first two were met with swift punches, one to the left, one to the right, dropping them instantly. A third rat tried to dart past his guard, but a whip-like kick sent it flying, tumbling like a broken doll.

The last rat, desperate and wild, made a desperate leap for his throat. Its tiny eyes glinted with the thrill of a predator sensing victory.

But Raymond only smirked beneath his bloodied veil. 'It was already over.'

His body shifted slightly, his muscles coiling like springs. His right fist seemed to hum with energy, glowing faintly as if gathering some unseen power. A sound like tearing fabric filled the air as his fist shot forward, impossibly fast.

'Bang!'

The mutant rat's head exploded in a visceral spray of red and white. Brain matter splattered across Raymond's protective gear, dripping onto the ground in messy streaks.

Raymond blinked, stunned for a moment at the sheer force of his punch. He looked down at himself, now drenched in the rat's remains.

"...Should've saved that move for later," he muttered, irritation creeping into his voice.

Pulling off the cloth that covered his face, now soaked in gore, he sliced away the filthy part with a small dagger before retying it. He sighed as his eyes drifted back to the battlefield, scanning for survivors.

One rat remained. It was the one he had struck with the wooden stick earlier, and it was clinging to life, barely breathing. The creature's tiny chest rose and fell weakly as its mouth opened and closed in slow, labored gasps.

Raymond knelt down, removing his gloves. He hesitated for a moment, grimacing at the thought of touching the filthy creature barehanded. But he steeled himself, cracking his knuckles.

"Time to finish this... and awaken the magician."

He raised his fist and slammed it down.

'Bang!'

The rat's fragile body collapsed, lifeless, under his blow.

"Twenty-two," he whispered, rising slowly and glancing around.

All fifteen rats in this wave were dead, their bodies littering the ground. Combined with the seven from earlier, today's total was 'twenty-two mutant rats'.

Raymond stood there, bloodied but victorious. He let out a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the carnage.

At that moment, a glowing blue panel materialized in front of Raymond, its text crisp and clear:

"Complete the [Magician] awakening requirement: Kill a monster with bare hands!"

"Awakening profession: Magician!"

Raymond blinked, then smiled; a rare, genuine grin. 'Two professions awakened in one day.' Even he couldn't suppress a flicker of pride.

His eyes scanned the updated information on his status panel:

"Age: 15."

"Magic Value: 307.5/427.5."

"Occupations: Fighter, Warrior, Craftsman, Magician."

"Skill: Bone Crushing."

"Skill Point: 1. Accumulation: 55%."

The numbers felt like a badge of his progress, but something caught his attention.

"Bone Crushing must've cost me 120 magic points... but my magic cap is already over 400 now!"'

Then, his gaze froze. Something was off.

"Hmm?"

Raymond's eyes narrowed as he stared at the screen. The values had changed again.

He mentally reviewed his kills: '22 mutant rats today.' If each rat gave him a 5% skill point accumulation, his total should have been '1 skill point and 60% accumulation.' But now, his panel only showed 55%.

And his magic gain? '0.5 points less than expected.'

Suddenly, a chuckle escaped his lips. He'd figured it out.

"So that's how it works... Killing ten ordinary mutant rats halved my gains. Killing another twenty halved it again. By the time I killed the last two rats, they only gave me '2.5% skill accumulation' and '0.25 magic points each!"

The realization clicked into place. The system's diminishing returns were brutal, but logical.

As for the giant mutant rat? That was a different case altogether. Its points didn't follow the same rules.

But a new thought crept into Raymond's mind, one that made him pause.

"Are these diminishing returns calculated separately for each type of monster? Or are all monsters grouped together?"

If they were separate, he could live with that. But if they were grouped… he couldn't even fathom how many creatures he'd have to kill just to earn a single skill point in the future.

"The answer," he muttered to himself, "will only come after I fight other monsters."

With a sigh, he shook his head and refocused. Pulling on his gloves, he unsheathed the dagger from his belt and began the gruesome task of cutting off the mutant rats' ears. One by one, he filled his pouch, the ears serving as proof of his kills.

When the bag was full, he straightened up, wiped his hands on his gear, and glanced back at the battlefield.

"It's time to head back."

Raymond bent down to retrieve the slippery, blood-soaked wooden stick he had discarded earlier. After a moment's thought, he made his way to a nearby river. There, he washed off the blood and grime from both his protective gear and his weapon.

Once cleaned, he slung the bag of ears over his shoulder and began his journey back toward the Adventurer's Guild, his mind already turning over strategies for his next fight.