My Perfect Isekai: Pragmatic Protagonist, Progression Fantasy and Strategy

The winter morning brought with it an absolute, freezing silence that only comes after the heaviest blizzards. The entire basalt valley, which for the past year had been Dave’s spartan field of katorga, had vanished beneath a thick, impeccably white shroud of powder. The cracked plates of the arena, the basalt pillars, and the roaring mountain torrent had been meticulously silenced by winter. Dave and Sensei, exhausted after yesterday’s titanic clash of Hazetsu, reached the old man’s medium-sized, perfectly hidden manor nestled deep in the forest thicket. The estate, built of thick larch logs and dressed basalt, almost completely blended into the snow-covered cliff side, remaining invisible to any prying eyes from the outside.

Inside, there reigned a dry, deep warmth. In the great stone fireplace, a fire crackled merrily, devouring thick logs of oak and casting orange reflections on the raw wooden walls of the manor. The air was saturated with the incredible, caloric scent of a fatty wild boar roasting on the grate, which the master had hunted and marinated a few days prior.

Dave sat at the heavy oak table in just his shirt, his dark blond hair slowly drying, steaming from the heat radiating from the hearth. After a full twelve months of spartan katorga, painful injuries, and eating dry rations, this hot, grease-dripping meal was like a massive caloric shot for his organism. The boy devoured the meat methodically, feeling his energy-drained Vessel instantly absorb every calorie, stabilizing his body chemistry which had been unsettled after yesterday’s Hazetsu.

In a fraction of a second, completely instinctively, Dave fell into his habitual gesture of deep calculation, narrowing his sapphire eye. He assessed the structure of the barriers cast around the cabin—the invisible runes and defensive splotches were arranged with incredible engineering precision, completely cutting the building off from any external detection. He lowered his hand and returned to eating.

”Your splotches regenerate faster than I estimated, kid,” the old man spoke, sitting opposite him and methodically gnawing on a bone. ”But yesterday’s discharge could have killed you. Hazetsu KAI is not a toy for children who want to show off in front of their peers.”

Dave swallowed a massive bite of wild boar and looked at the master with his steady, brazen calmness.

”I unleashed it instinctively,” Dave answered, resting his elbows on the oak tabletop. ”I first awakened this phenomenon almost a year ago, back in the dungeons of Oakhaven. My splotches and Vessel were at their absolute limits then, and I felt a pure, brutal need to save Shnee from Kaelar’s death grip. Back then, I simply broke the blockades in my head to save my First Pillar, without caring about the consequences. For the past twelve months of katorga here in the wilderness, I haven’t been able to summon this state at will. But yesterday, under the massive surge of adrenaline, tension, and the desire to break through your defense... my body reconstructed that vector on its own.”

The old man fell silent for a long moment. He set the bone down, wiping his hands on a linen cloth, his predatory tiger’s eyes narrowing slightly in deep thought.

”So it was a re-ignition. That explains a lot,” the master muttered, reaching for his old clay pipe and slowly packing it with tobacco. ”Hazetsu cannot be learned from books. It is a pure manifestation of an overriding will. But the fact that you cannot control it is completely natural. Most isekai arrivals consider themselves kings of this world just because the system assigns them powerful Talents at the start, making them feel exceptional. The truth is, most of them are ordinary, whiny crybabies without a shred of character. When they collide with the brutal reality of the dungeons, they die within the first weeks because they lack discipline and grit.”

The old man lit his pipe from a smoldering ember and exhaled a thick plume of gray smoke.

”Only about ten percent of isekai arrivals actually unlock and awaken Hazetsu KAI in their lives,” the master continued, his rough voice sounding incredibly serious. ”And among the locals of this world? For them, it is an absolute, extreme rarity, around three to five percent. A monster is born with it once in a generation, and they go on to shake entire kingdoms. Ordinary Yomi and Gōtai are common enough, as they are a matter of technique and biomechanics. But Hazetsu requires an overriding, inviolable will to survive and dominate. You have it because your pragmatism and lack of hesitation are simply murderous. But you must learn to choke this engine.”

”Why?” Dave asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

”Because yesterday you lit a massive bonfire in the middle of a starless, quiet night,” the old man replied, pointing the stem of his pipe toward the snow-covered window. ”Anyone who has awakened soul energy on this continent can sense the KAI of others. And Hazetsu is like a titan’s roar. Potentially problematic, incredibly nosy, and dangerous individuals from all over the continent have surely already started sniffing around our valley, trying to find out who caused that explosion. I have lived in this world for hundreds of years, and I know how quickly the local elites can swarm to a rare source of power. I am an isekai arrival myself, kid. Earth was my home hundreds of years ago. I watched my compatriots die from their own arrogance, lack of discretion, and that blind sense of exceptionalism given to them by their system Talent. The truth is, most isekai arrivals quickly bite the dust. Those few who survive get their act together and become true monsters. And those rare cases of whiny crybabies who are still alive? They just got extremely lucky with broken Talents or spawned in an exceptionally safe, friendly environment of some kingdom that held a protective umbrella over them. You do not have such a hothouse roof. Your strength must be silent until you come to utilize them.”

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The master leaned over the table and studied Dave’s eyes closely.

”Your sapphire eyes... In Crossgard, such an iris color on an isekai arrival with a powerful Vessel screams from a mile away that they are dealing with someone dangerous. Let me show you a simple, clever trick from the field of illusion magic and light refraction. You will learn to apply a thin, passive layer of energy directly onto your corneas to refract incoming light rays.”

Dave listened closely as the master explained the structure of this simple spell step by step. It did not require complex splotches or casting major spells—only precise, laminar control over a fraction of a percent of energy on the surface of his eyeballs. Dave, with a year of katorga-level body calibration behind him, mastered it after just a few attempts.

The boy blinked slowly. When he lifted his eyelids, his sapphire eyes had lost their bright sheen. From the outside, they now looked like a completely ordinary, dull blue. A perfect, common cover that allowed him to travel incognito without raising any suspicion on the streets of Crossgard.

”Perfect. Even the best guild radar will take you for an ordinary craftsman or a mid-rank mercenary now,” the old man evaluated with satisfaction.

The master set his pipe down, rose slowly from the table, and walked over to an old chest bound with heavy iron standing in a dark corner of the manor. He opened it with a deep creak and after a moment pulled out a yellowed, thick scroll of parchment, singed at the edges. Placing it directly in front of Dave on the oak tabletop, he tapped it with a rough finger.

”This is my final gift to you, kid,” the master spoke roughly. ”A unique template for forging a Meiken. A named blade of the highest class.”

Dave raised an eyebrow, examining the complex technical drawings and runic descriptions on the parchment.

”Ordinary artisan steel breaks in your hands under the tonnage of Napierdalanka and Gōtai,” the master explained, crossing his arms over his chest. ”This template contains the structure and vectors that will allow a proper blacksmith to forge a weapon capable of withstanding the full load of your Vessel. Such a weapon will become a natural extension of your KAI. Find a good craftsman in Crossgard and have them make it according to these specifications.”

Dave smiled slightly under his breath, and the first schematics of optimization immediately fired up in his mind. When he reached the blacksmith, he did not intend to settle for a common, classic sword. He intended to soup up this Meiken visually and mechanically to create an absolutely destructive, murderous masterpiece that would become the icon of his power. This scroll was the perfect foundation for a monster’s weapon.

The boy stood up, walked over to a basin of cold water standing on the side, and deactivated his eye camouflage for a second to wash his face of the remaining combat dust. When he lifted his wet head, his sapphire irises flashed with a bright, clean light in the dimness of the manor.

The old man looked at that blue, and his face suddenly turned serious, losing all of his previous, mischievous chill.

”That sapphire...” the old man murmured softly, his voice sounding incredibly deep, almost reverent. ”I recognize this hue from very ancient, dust-covered millennia-old records from the first centuries of this world... You had better hide it well beneath that camouflage, boy. That color attracts trouble that even your Hazetsu might prove too weak a shield against.”

Dave suppressed all emotion, maintaining his iron, brazen chill. A predatory, confident smile slowly returned to his lips, and his illusion splotches once again masked his irises to an ordinary, dull blue.

”I’ll handle it, Sensei. I always handle it,” Dave answered shortly.

A full twelve months of spartan hell in the wilderness had come to an end. Dave packed his few belongings into his bottomless pouch, threw his iconic, dry black coat over his broad shoulders, and adjusted his dark blond hair. His camouflage worked flawlessly—in the mirror reflection of the water, he saw the face of an ordinary, common mercenary with ordinary, blue eyes, beneath which was hidden a monster capable of tearing space apart.

They both went outside the manor. The blizzard had stopped, and the pale winter sun illuminated the snow-blanketed valley. Dave and the old man stood opposite each other. There was no room here for tearful goodbyes, useless chatter, or pathetic gestures. They exchanged one short, incredibly strong handshake—the grip of two isekai arrivals who perfectly understood the harsh laws governing this world.

Dave turned on his heel and set off along the snowy trail leading east, toward the distant Crossgard, bustling with life and divided by spheres of influence.

A freezing, destructive fire burned in his soul. After a whole year of katorga-level tempering in the wilderness, the time had come for the leader to return, to reunite with his crew bleeding on the nightmarish 79th floor, and to ruthlessly enforce a new, bloody order on his own hard terms. Crossgard had absolutely no idea what was currently stepping into its walls.