Opening his eyes, he found himself standing on a strange plain—a white land covered in thick, rubbery brown grass. The ground pulsed softly beneath his feet, almost as if it were breathing.
Above him, the sky was consumed by a roaring snowstorm. Heavy winds howled in his ears, and the freezing air gnawed at his skin like invisible wolves. Swirling flakes danced violently, stabbing into his cheeks and numbing his hands.
Shivering, he stood with the support of the tough grass and muttered, "Where the hell am I?"
The only sound was the howling wind. Aside from that, the world felt… isolated. Dead.
Though his legs trembled, he began to adjust. Time passed, and nothing jumped at him—no beasts, no monsters.
"So this is the Origin Realm?" he whispered. "Too calm. Definitely less dangerous than people give it credit for."
But just as the words left his mouth—crack!
A shadow lunged at him from the side. Roman barely rolled away in time, a sharp gust of air slicing past his cheek. The tall brown grass beside him split cleanly, sliced as if by a blade. Its tough, rubber-like texture tore like dry parchment.
Standing before him was a massive insect.
Lice. But not the kind found in dirty beds or stray dogs—this one was his size.
Its body was armored in thick black chitin, laced with glowing blue veins that pulsed like living lightning. Pincers snapped. Legs twitched. Soulless, beady eyes locked onto him.
"What the hell is that thing?!" Roman growled, falling into a stance.
His body moved on instinct—reflexes drilled into him through years of mastering a soldier's combat art. Omega Doctrine surged through his muscle memory, a martial art designed for combat in any terrain, with or without weapons.
Left foot back. Twist the torso. Guide the strike.
The lice lunged. Roman ducked beneath its arc, turned with the wind, and drove his elbow into the creature's underside.
The impact jolted through his bones—it was like hitting stone. Still, he flowed into the next motion, using its momentum to attempt a throw. He tried to flip it over his back, slamming it into the icy earth.
He failed.
The lice screeched, snapping its pincers as it lunged again.
Roman darted aside, narrowly avoiding the blow as a claw slammed into the ground, spraying up a burst of steaming frost.
He spun and drove an elbow into the creature's eye. It reeled back, shrieking. Then it pounced once more.
Roman ducked, gripped one of its legs, and twisted—throwing his full weight into the motion. With a sickening crack, the joint gave out. The beast crashed to the ground, howling in pain.
He leapt onto its back and began hammering down blows.
One strike. Two. Three.
His fists bled. Bones screamed. The thick carapace cracked—barely.
The creature bucked, almost flinging him off. But he refused to let go. He couldn't.
If he stopped now, he would die. Die without a legacy. Without anyone to remember his name.
With a roar, he slammed his fist into a soft spot between the mandibles. The Lice shrieked in its death throes—limbs spasming—then fell still.
Roman collapsed to his knees, breath steaming in the freezing air,
Roman collapsed to his knees, breath steaming in the freezing air.
He panted, trembling slightly as adrenaline cooled.
Then, a sweet notification appeared in front of him, washing away the memory of the breath-stealing battle like it had never happened.
[Ding! Host killed a Bison Lice General. Gained +2 EXP!]
[Talent Activated: 10,000x EXP Multiplier!]
[Received +20,000 EXP!]
Roman blinked at the notification
Bison Lice General
"Bison?" He muttered.
Then he remembered—the grass… the breathing land… the strange terrain.
A sudden soft thump-thump echoed beneath him. His face paled.
He wasn't on land.
He was standing on a living creature.
"Damn! My luck. Now that I think about it, a snow storm is happening."
"Oh! God dont tell me!"
Panic surged through him. He turned toward where he believed the head must be.
"I need to get to the head. Now!"
"Maybe a little upgrde in ranking wouldnt be a problem" thinking this roman mumbles status window.
Immediately transluscant window open infront of him.
Name: Roman Maximus
Trait: Origin Mana Enhancement
Rank: Tier - 1 (0/7409 Exp)
Trait: 10,000x Exp Converter
Rank: Tier - 0 (22900/10M Exp)
Mana: 1500/1500
Strength: 4
Speed: 4
Psych: 5
Skills:
Basic Martial Art (Omega Doctrine)
Proficiency: Medium (5%)
. . . .
"---___---" He is speechless.his gaze darting to his EXP storage.
Empty.
All his hard-earned points had vanished into the glowing abyss of one cursed talent.
Trait: 10,000x Exp Converter — Rank: Tier 0 (22900 / 10M Exp)
"Damn that gluttony talent of mine," he growled.
Then… the world changed.
The snowstorm start to fall heavier. "If i am,thibking what it is than i dont have much time, Roman thought as the snow start to Gathered in the ground but most likely most of the snow is actually held by those Thick brown grass.
which actually swayed and trembled, not from the wind—but from something moving beneath them.
There is more of them of course saying that he immediatly ran toward thw dead genarale body and tried to take its sharp
mandibles as a makeshift weapon. He yanked hard—once, twice—until the sickening crack of carapace giving way echoed around him. A curved blade of black chitin tore free, jagged but firm in his grip.
Another tremor. Then another.
The ground beneath him thumped rhythmically, and the grass parted in the distance. Countless glowing eyes emerged from the storm—more lice. Dozens of them. A swarm.
"Nope. Not fighting that. Not without proper mana weapons," Roman muttered and bolted forward, weaving between swaying grass.
He sprinted toward where the bison's head should be, praying the creature didn't sneeze or thrash—else he'd be flung into oblivion.
Snow hammered down from the heavens like vengeful arrows, slashing his vision to pieces. Roman's breath came in sharp bursts, every inhale stinging his lungs. Behind him, the swarm hissed, their insectoid screeches carried by the wind.
The warmth grew.
Not much—but enough to notice. The air wasn't slicing anymore. It was… bearable. He must be close Close toward the head.
"Just hold, big guy," Roman muttered under his breath, one hand bracing the lice's mandible blade like a sword, the other gripping onto thick tufts of grass lije fur for balance.
Then he saw something buried beneath layers of snow and frost, nestled between the cracks of the bison's massive shoulder.
Bones.
A skeletal figure half human half reptilian—its long tail curled around a jagged staff. Its scaled hand clutched at a broken chestplate, one side gnawed open and blackened, as if something had eat in.
Roman froze, eyes wide.
An Argonian.
But more importantly, the body was riddled with gouges and burn marks—evidence of a violent end. Around it lay shattered bits of chitin and crushed exoskeletons.
Roman crouched down, brushing frost off what remained of a helmet now fused with the corpse's chest.
Etched faintly into the scorched metal were three letters:
א . ֵל. ז
Roman narrowed his eyes. "What the hell is—"
A faint rumble behind him made the hairs on his neck rise.
Not from the sky. From the ground.
The grass shifted—slowly at first, then rapidly, parting like a curtain as something massive rose from a nearby ravine. At first, it looked like part of the terrain—frozen ridges, bark-like patterns, motionless for so long they'd gathered snow and dust.
Then it moved.
Out stepped a towering insectoid creature, taller than any he'd seen yet. Its exoskeleton was layered in natural camouflage—brown, frosted, cracked like ancient bark. But what made Roman freeze wasn't its size.
It was the aura.
Heavy. Measured
This was an Elder.
A dominant variant. A strategist. The mind behind the swarm.
And its many eyes—each glowing faintly like coals—had already locked onto him.
Roman stepped back.
"Shit."