Rangers Who Dream of Becoming Sword Masters Will Not Be Tempted by Delicious Food

Western Fantasy + Dungeon + Ranger + Mage When Leg Morlot woke up from the turbid river, he only had a rusty dagger on his body and a line of translucent writing in his field of vision: [Continuous Slash: Entry Level 2%] In his previous life, he was a patient who had been imprisoned in a hospital bed for sixteen years. In this life, he slept for another sixteen years. When he woke up, the world had been torn apart by the cracks in the dungeon - magic overflowed, monsters ran rampant, and the concepts of gods surged in the world. Combat skills are hard work of flesh and blood. Only by swinging the sword thousands of times and concentrating in life and death can the body resonate with the world and the power be doubled. Divine magic is the pawn of the soul. Borrow power from concepts, five years of piety, ten years of sanctification, and eventually even the shadow will disappear. Casper, the priest who rescued Legge, burned up in this way - leaving only a scorch mark on the ground for a group of unknown people. Legg did not sign the advance deed. He accepted the cheapest commission and saved his hard-earned money for three months to learn how to block; he swung his sword in the darkness of the dungeon, making the numbers on his heart mirror beat on the verge of death. Because he knows that in this world where everyone borrows money from the gods, the only weapon for mortals is to exchange every drop of sweat for a percentage that truly belongs to them. There are no tasks. There is no gift package. No adventure. There is only a rusty sword, a piece of moldy bread, and a soul crawling out of the hospital bed—— He won't lie down again.