Utopia: The Perfect World

"Nobody here is sane anymore! Don't you see? Your gods have forsaken you!"

The madman's voice rang through the disease-ridden streets, but no one flinched.

Crows cawed hungrily, their beaks tearing into rotting flesh. A thick, putrid stench filled the air as they feasted upon the dead—humans and monsters alike. The great wooden gates of the city loomed in the background, their presence overshadowed by the grotesque sight before them. Corpses were piled upon one another, some freshly slain, others long decayed. Among them, a few still clung to life, gasping weakly, their bodies tossed into the heap without mercy.

Plague and starvation had spread like wildfire, consuming the city from within. The people—gaunt, hollow-eyed—stood in eerie silence, their expressions devoid of emotion, as if their souls had already withered away.

The madman continued his rant, voice hoarse but unwavering.

"We are all doomed! Every last one of us! Our sins will be repaid in full!"

No one objected. No one resisted.

There was no hope left to hold onto.

"No matter what a soul does… there is no escape. No matter where they go."

His words dissolved into the heavy, suffocating air, sinking into the bones of those who still stood. Yet, none moved. None spoke.

Because deep down, they knew.

He wasn't wrong.

Decades ago, the world was a peaceful place. People lived together in harmony, working hard to make a living. Life was harsh, sometimes cruel, yet most did not complain—they simply endured, doing their best.

But one day, without warning, monsters emerged from the unknown.

They swept across the land like a plague, slaughtering the innocent, turning lives into nightmares. It was as if humanity was being punished for a sin they never committed. The very nature of their existence was thrown into question. Beasts that once belonged in children's stories now roamed freely, devouring all in their path.

Yet, among the helpless, there were a few who stood against the darkness.

Not chosen by the gods, but bound by their bloodline, they were different. Marked not by divinity, but by heritage, they wielded powers beyond mortal understanding—fragments of a concept passed down from the gods themselves.

They did not fight for humanity.

They fought for themselves.

And in doing so, they changed the fate of the world forever.

The scene shifted to a hooded figure standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into the abyss below. Hesitation flickered in his eyes as he tried to gauge its depth. I don't see an end… he thought. But he shook off the doubt. It doesn't matter now.

With a firm nod, he leaped.

Gravity took hold, the rushing wind howling in his ears, yet he remained silent. His thoughts were calm. Soon, I'll be there.

Then—light. A blinding, warm radiance enveloped him, pulling him away from the abyss. His senses wavered, disoriented, as a voice—sharp yet soft—struck him like a hammer.

"Hey, Mister… Are you awake?"

The words pierced through his trance. He jolted upright, his mind still clouded, but the fog of unconsciousness quickly lifted. As his vision cleared, he saw her.

A young woman with long pink hair, swaying gently in the breeze, stood before him. Her green eyes, striking yet filled with uncertainty, met his own. She had a fair complexion, though slightly pale, and wore the attire of a maid.

Realizing she had startled him, she quickly bowed. "I'm really sorry! I didn't mean to surprise you like that. But you weren't responding, so I thought if I spoke a little louder, you'd hear me."

She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I'm Lysa, a maid of House Vermillio. And you are…?"

The hooded figure slowly pulled back his hood, revealing his face—sharp features, brown eyes, and strands of silver-gray hair falling over his forehead. As he stood, his lean yet muscular frame became apparent. Lysa's eyes widened slightly, a faint blush dusting her cheeks.

"I'm Arav. A wanderer," he said simply.

Lysa studied him for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her expression. Then, as if debating whether she could trust him, she exhaled and spoke.

"I… I have something to tell you." She hesitated before pressing on. "I'm lost. By any chance… do you know how to leave this forest?"

Despite her composed words, fear lingered in her voice—fear that had been there since the moment she spoke.

Arav wanted to reassure her, to say that he knew the way out. But he couldn't lie.

"I don't know either," he admitted. "I'm lost too."

His gaze lingered on her. Though undeniably beautiful, there was something earthy about her presence, as if she had become one with the soil beneath her feet. It was then he noticed the bruises on her hands—small, but telling.

"Are you alright… Miss Lysa?" he asked.

A tremor passed through her lips, her green eyes glistening. She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper.

"We were attacked… by bandits."

"Bandits, you say?" Arav's tone sharpened.

Lysa nodded, her fingers clenching into fists. "It's been three days… three days since I've been wandering this cursed forest. I barely survived, but I got separated from everyone." She hesitated, then her voice cracked with urgency.

"There were monsters."

Arav's pupils widened.

"Monsters?"

"Yes," Lysa whispered, her body slightly trembling. "Monsters… in the forest."

"We need to get out of here," Lysa urged, her voice trembling.

Arav hesitated. Should I really take her along? She could slow me down. But then he asked, "What kind of monster?"

"Goblins," she whispered. "A horde of them."

Arav's stomach twisted. Goblins—of all creatures, they were among the worst to encounter. Small, cunning, and relentless, they had an exceptional sense of smell and thrived in numbers. A lone goblin was already a menace, but a horde? That was a death sentence.

He exhaled sharply. "We need to run. Now."

But before taking another step, an idea crossed his mind. He needed to know his chances. He smirked slightly and muttered, "Status."

A translucent screen materialized before his eyes. His pupils widened in shock.

[Status]

Level: 19

Strength: 32

Stamina: 29

Intelligence: 40

MP: 50

His lips pressed into a thin line. I can fight… but something felt off. He wasn't sure what, but an uneasy sensation lingered in his chest.

His fingers curled into fists. No time to figure it out. I've got no choice but to run.

As Arav and Lysa prepared to move, he suddenly halted. His gaze lifted toward the sky, his breath hitching.

For the first time in his life, he saw something utterly alien—a sky painted in deep emerald hues, a blazing sun, and three luminous moons suspended like silent watchers. A strange, almost dreamlike sensation washed over him.

This… this isn't Earth.

His eyes drifted downward, noticing the grass beneath his feet. It wasn't green—it was something else entirely, something unfamiliar.

Yet, instead of fear, a satisfied smile stretched across his face. I really made it here.

Lysa, frightened yet confused, tugged at his sleeve. "Arav? What happened?"

He exhaled sharply, shaking off his awe. This isn't the time to get lost in wonder. He focused his mind, directing a silent plea to the system.

"I trust you this time, system. You gave me these random stats… but please, just this once, give me a good weapon."

With a flick of his thoughts, he opened his inventory. A list of items materialized before his eyes.

[Inventory]

Regular Sword (Class D)

Description: A normal weapon forged by the countryside blacksmith Russel.

Small Club (Class B)

Description: A toy belonging to a little orc who lost it while playing in Zhak.

Notice: Increases damage by 1%.

Pocket Knife (Class E)

Arav felt his morale crumble. This is it? A sigh threatened to escape his lips.

Frustrated, he was about to close the window—until his eyes caught something shimmering at the bottom of the list.

Wait… armor?

His heartbeat quickened as he focused on it.

[Inventory]

??? (Class SSS)

Description: A relic of a forgotten era, forged in the void where time and space intertwine. It was once worn by a warrior who defied the heavens, his name erased from history itself. Now, it waits for a new wielder to carve their legend.

Attributes:

All Stats +80% (Strength, Stamina, Intelligence, MP, Agility, Perception, Endurance—every aspect of Arav's being is enhanced.)

Voidborn Physique (Grants immense resistance to physical and magical damage, making the wearer nearly untouchable by conventional means.)

Phantom Step (Enables movement at impossible speeds, allowing Arav to phase through attacks and traverse distances in the blink of an eye.)

Eclipse Guard (Upon activation, the armor absorbs incoming damage and converts it into an explosive counterattack.)

Mark of the Nameless (The wearer's presence becomes elusive, making it harder for enemies to track or sense them.)

Appearance:

The armor is neither fully solid nor entirely ethereal—it shifts between states, its dark metallic surface streaked with glowing, rune-like engravings. A pulsating energy flows through it, as if alive, adjusting seamlessly to the wearer's body.

Arav exhaled sharply, steadying himself as he reached for the glowing inscription in his inventory. Equip.

In an instant, the world around him dimmed. A surge of overwhelming energy burst forth, coiling around his body like living shadows. The simple tunic he wore disintegrated into threads of nothingness, replaced by an eerie, shifting darkness that hardened into sleek obsidian plates.

The Abyssforged Exos—SSS-Rank Armor of the Forsaken King.

The armor clung to his form, its blackened metal jagged yet smooth, sculpted like an extension of his own body. Ethereal crimson lines pulsed across the plating, as if veins of pure power ran beneath the surface. The gauntlets felt weightless, yet when he flexed his fingers, he could feel their unnatural strength. A deep, haunting hum resonated through the armor, as if it were alive—watching, waiting.

A helm materialized over his head, molding itself seamlessly to his face. His vision sharpened. His mind cleared. The weight of exhaustion vanished, replaced by something primal, something limitless.

His status blinked before him—

[ All Stats Increased by 80% ]

[ Passive Skill Unlocked – Abyssal Resilience: Negates all low-tier physical damage ]

[ Passive Skill Unlocked – Monarch's Dread: Weak-willed beings tremble in your presence ]

Arav clenched his fists. His body felt lighter—stronger—almost too powerful, like he could rip through steel with a single strike.

Then he felt it.

A deep rumbling.

The earth trembled beneath his boots. The very air around him thickened with a foreign energy.

Lysa gasped, stumbling backward. "T-this power…! Just what are you?!"

Before Arav could respond, the ground beneath them cracked apart—splintering, crumbling—before collapsing entirely.

And from the abyss below, something monstrous rose.