Anyone could awaken a system and become a Host. There was no centralized control over the process, no divine filter, and no test of moral character.
Just as not every person who awakened a system used their power for good deeds, not all systems bestowed upon humanity functioned for the well-being of society.
Before the first cataclysm, people across the world believed that systems were benevolent gifts designed solely to guard humanity against spatial dungeons.
That naive belief persisted until the appearance of one man and his terrifying system: The Annihilator.
Unlike standard Hosts who earned experience points by slaying monsters inside portals, the bearer of The Annihilator gained massive evolution points and attribute bonuses through the calculated murder of other humans.
His violent rampage triggered the first cataclysm, leading to the collapse of entire cities and the deaths of millions of innocent civilians.
The sheer horror of that era forced surviving human leaders to unite, eventually founding the global Host Association to monitor system awakenings.
From that devastating tragedy onward, the Host Association officially categorized systems into three distinct classifications based on their core functions: Heroic, Neutral, and Villainous.
Heroic systems provided defensive buffs, party healing, or standard monster-hunting combat traits. Neutral systems focused on utility, crafting, or lifestyle abilities.
Villainous systems, however, possessed functions tied directly to slaughter.
To prevent another cataclysm from repeating, every major global faction jointly created a clandestine organization that eventually evolved into an independent, ruthless agency.
They were called the Slayers.
The Slayers had only one job: hunt down users of Villainous systems and execute them before they could grow strong enough to threaten society.
In a sense, the Slayers were state-sanctioned assassins. However, they were widely considered heretics within the higher circles of power.
Their methods were cold, uncompromising, and inherently brutal.
Even if a Host with a Villainous system had never committed a single crime or harmed a human being, the Slayers would uproot them and eliminate them without hesitation purely based on their system classification.
Vance Miller looked down at Oscar, his gaze sharp and piercing.
"Boy, I am inviting you to join the Slayers," Vance said smoothly. "With your marksmanship and your perception, you are more than qualified to become one of us."
Oscar fell silent for a long moment. He looked at the middle-aged assassin standing before him, digesting the history and the dark nature of the organization Vance represented.
"I reject," Oscar said plainly.
There was no sudden change of expression on Vance’s face, but inwardly he was deeply surprised.
His shock was not simply because the boy rejected the invitation, as rejections were not entirely unheard of for the agency.
Not everyone wanted to become a hidden heretic, operating in the dark and hiding their identity from society.
After all, what young Host did not want to make a grand name for himself in the public spotlight?
However, every applicant who had ever rejected the agency in the past had been completely ignorant of the true strength of the person inviting them.
But this boy was different. Oscar clearly knew Vance’s terrifying power, yet he still dared to reject the offer in such a calm, blunt tone without offering a single word of hesitation or fear.
That level of composure made Vance genuinely curious.
"Why?" Vance asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Give me a reason."
Oscar looked directly into Vance’s eyes. "I refuse to accept how you guys divide Hosts."
"Huh?" Vance frowned, tilting his head. "What do you mean by that?"
"I don’t think the function of a system alone makes someone a hero or a villain," Oscar replied, his voice firm and straightforward.
"A Host with a so-called Heroic system can easily use their power to oppress the weak, steal from others, or murder people in secret while hiding behind a noble title. Meanwhile, someone with a dark or restricted system function might use it strictly to defend their family or slaughter monsters in the dungeons."
Oscar took a slight breath and continued cleanly. "A system is just a tool. The intent lies entirely with the person wielding it. I refuse to kill people based on a system label alone."
Hearing those words, a subtle flicker of appreciation passed through Vance’s sharp eyes.
In truth, Vance mirrored that exact belief in his own mind. He had spent decades working in the dark, watching self-proclaimed heroes commit disgusting atrocities behind closed doors while hunting down young kids whose only crime was awakening an unfortunate system function.
Yet, despite holding those feelings, Vance had never been daring enough to state that truth so loudly and directly to an agency recruiter.
The boy possessed not only incredible perception, but also an unshakeable moral spine.
"Fair enough," Vance said, letting out a short laugh. He did not force the issue, nor did he display any hostility. "You have good eyes, kid."
Vance reached into his inner trench coat pocket, pulled out a simple black calling card, and tossed it toward Oscar. Oscar caught it effortlessly between two fingers.
"Wait here. The local Association director will be in shortly with your rewards," Vance said, turning toward the door. "If you ever have a change of mind, or if the public world ever backs you into a corner, just call that number."
Without waiting for a reply, Vance opened the door and walked out, his figure disappearing down the quiet hallway as seamlessly as a shadow.
Only when the presence of the man disappeared did Oscar sigh in relief. That was... too oppressive.
His thirst for strength reached its highest level.
Oscar placed the card into his pocket and waited silently in the side room.
A few minutes later, the door opened again. The elderly director of the Baidu Host Association stepped inside, carrying a thick leather folder and a sleek metallic storage box.
"Ah, Oscar. Apologies for the delay," the director said warmly, placing the metallic box on the central table. "Mr. Miller has already concluded his private business with you, I assume?"
"Yes," Oscar nodded. "We are finished."
"Good, good," the director said, opening the folder. "Then let us finalize your secondary outbreak compensation. As verified by our surveillance feeds and field processing teams, your total share from the harvested Feral monster cores, hides, and rare materials comes to eighteen million six hundred thousand credits."
The director tapped a key on his tablet, and Oscar’s phone vibrated instantly in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the screen.
[Direct Deposit Confirmed: +18,600,000 Credits]
[Current Account Balance: 28,600,000 Credits]
Seeing his bank balance swell to nearly twenty-nine million credits brought a subtle sense of relief to Oscar’s mind.
’I am rich...’ He had to bite back his excitement from screaming aloud.
"Furthermore," the director continued, sliding the metallic storage box across the table toward Oscar, "this is one of the Feral’s drops..."
Oscar looked at the sleek box. "What is inside?"
"Open it and see for yourself," the director smiled subtly.
Oscar reached out, pressed the latch on the front of the box, and lifted the heavy lid.
Inside, resting on a bed of dark velvet, was a pristine, glowing rectangular object that emitted a soft orange light.
"This..." Oscar’s eyes widened.
"Yes. A skill card." The director smiled.