Seraphina had barely adjusted the final leaf of her grass toga when the Mossgrazer charged.

  It was, tragically, the last decision it would ever make.

  Because while she had spawned here like a confused woodland fawn with existential issues, one thing had crossed dimensions intact:

  Her endgame stats.

  Her raid-optimised build.

  Her mathematically abusive Phoenix perks.

  All of them.

  The system hadn’t reset her. It couldn’t. Instead, it had done the only sensible thing—compressed everything. Condensed it. Packed it down like a nuclear reactor forced into a teacup and politely told not to explode.

  The Mossgrazer lunged.

  The teacup cracked.

  Heat surged from her core, sudden and eager, like a volcano waking up and deciding it was morning stretches o’clock. Flame rippled along her arms, precise and obedient. Her skin tingled with the electric expectation of a thousand calculated outcomes, each one honed from years of optimizing digital raids she’d never admit she loved.

  The Mossgrazer slowed mid-charge.

  Its instincts screamed—predator—in a register usually reserved for dogs, philosophers, and creatures moments away from regret.

  Seraphina raised one hand.

  “Right,” she murmured. “Let’s see what ninety thousand hours of endgame optimisation does in a tutorial zone.”

  A spark leapt from her fingertip.

  Petite. Cute. Entirely dishonest.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  It touched the ground—

  —and the clearing detonated.

  Not destructively. Not wildly. This wasn’t chaos.

  It was a demonstration.

  A perfect ring of phoenix fire rolled outward, smooth as a diagram drawn by someone with a doctorate in arson. The grass bowed, burned, then extinguished itself with offended professionalism. Even the moss seemed to twitch as though taking notes.

  The Mossgrazer did not scream.

  It simply… ceased to be.

  < You have defeated Mossgrazer — Lv. 2 > < OVERKILL BONUS! > Damage Dealt: 1,842% of target’s Max HP Excess Damage Converted Into: — Spark Affinity — Environmental Fire Suppression (Forest: Grateful) — Mild, Lingering Shame

  Seraphina stared at her hand.

  “…oh.”

  Another chime followed, brisk and concerned.

  SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: All former character statistics remain active in physical form. Magic output scaled to bodily integrity.

  WARNING: Current vessel not designed for sustained mana output. Please refrain from detonation.

  She exhaled.

  Then laughed.

  “Oh marvellous,” she said. “I’m a walking patch note.”

  The scorched grass obediently snuffed itself out—apparently her raid-tank environmental settings had made the jump too. She nudged the loot pile with her foot.

  Pathetic. Symbolic. Slightly insulting.

  A starter crafting ingredient. Beginner-tier. The sort of thing meant to teach restraint.

  Seraphina scowled.

  “I erase a creature with the force of an offended star,” she muttered, “and it drops garnish.”

  Her phoenix core thrummed, impatient. Tempting her.

  She did not shift. Phoenix form plus grass toga equalled statistical catastrophe. She had enough chaos in one outfit, thank you.

  She swept fire-kissed hair out of her face.

  “Right. First order of business: real clothing. Something not categorised as livestock feed.”

  She took one step.

  The air changed.

  Pressure slid across the clearing—quiet, measured, deliberate. Mana displaced itself, as though something nearby had leaned forward to pay attention. Even the small critters froze, as if sensing a new variable had entered the equation.

  A presence.

  Predatory. Controlled. Old enough to know better.

  A voice followed—calm, faintly amused, and just restrained enough to be dangerous.

  “So,” it said, “that’s one way to deal with a Mossgrazer.”

  Seraphina froze.

  The voice continued, dry and unhurried.

  “You handled it well. All things considered.”

  A pause.

  “For someone dressed like a botanical experiment.”

  Seraphina closed her eyes.

  “Oh fantastic,” she murmured. “An audience.”

  Her mind ticked. Calculus of observation—risk assessment, variable: audience. Potential threat minimal, amusement factor high. Confidence: acceptable.

  Even in this new world, some things never changed: she had always loved watching variables play out. Just now, the variables were sentient, polite, and judging her fashion choices.