Re-Awakening: I Ascend with a Legendary class

“The first activity we will be doing is Apex Simulation.” John Wicked waved his hand as the space next to him ruptured, drawing a pitch black void that soon shaped into a five-meter-wide and tall gate with flowing golden patterns on its frame.

“This place is something I’ve constructed. Once you are inside, you will experience utter loss of your powers.” John gestured with his hand as he smiled, “And all you have to do is to survive for as long as you can.”

“Enter.”

Swoosh!

Grim Students vanished as lights shot into the gate. In a couple of seconds, all students vanished.

“Now then, let’s watch the show.”

A throne materialized as John sat down. The screen screem above descended and stationed ten meters across before expanding and parting in sections equal to the number of students.

Next to him, another throne appeared, on which a man sat with an eccentric web of thorns like an elk, shaped into a crown atop his head.

“You’re here. You said you didn’t have time.”

“I made some.”

Grimlord Spilcrown—the head master of Turning Crown Academy.

Looked at the screen, he added. “Are these the ones you want to send there?”

“Indeed.”

“Did you tell them when they will be able to return?”

John smiled. “Not yet. I still have a year.”

“Tell them everything first, and ask them whether they will join or not, and only keep those who are willing.”

“Fine. But all of them will stay because I only chose who would.” John casually said. “Well, I’ll finish the formality once they exit.”

…

The moment the students crossed the gate, the world fractured into countless shards of darkness.

Almond blinked and found himself alone.

A barren wasteland stretched endlessly in every direction.

The sky was a dull iron-gray with faint streaks of darker mist curling like smoke.

The ground beneath him was cracked stone mixed with patches of jagged black growth. No wind. No echo. No power.

He exhaled.

All of his strength, rune of power, true concept, Grim Trees, everything was gone.

This world did not allow it.

Only brain, brawn, and will remained.

[ Kill 100 beasts to acquire one power and move to the next stage. ]

A screen appeared before his eyes, and a monotone voice in his head.

’Sounds fun.’

Ahead, a creature crawled from a fissure in the ground—low to the earth, limbs bending the wrong way, its entire body twitching in irregular spasms. Its jaw split too wide, dripping pale fluid.

’And the beasts are unconventional. It made it hard to spot the weakness. Interesting.’

Almond crouched and picked up a stone.

Heavy. Rough. Poor balance.

He rolled it in his palm and then struck it against the ground once, twice, thrice, as the beasts closed in upon hearing the sound.

Thak!

Shaping it, shaving it, and refining the edge with small, precise motions until one side gleamed faintly.

The beast charged.

Almond stepped forward and struck once.

The stone blade slid across the creature’s neck, at least what he assumed to be its neck.

A straight cut.

No wasted motion.

The creature stumbled, convulsed, and fell.

He didn’t stop to watch it die. He knelt beside it and broke its foreleg bone, splitting it against the ground. After filing the length with fast, steady scrapes against a broken protrusion from the ground, he shaped a crude bone-sword.

It wasn’t beautiful.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was a sword.

He paced forward without looking back.

A second beast appeared.

Then a third.

Five.

Eight.

Almond adjusted his grip.

And he moved.

Slashes were tight and quiet.

His footwork carved straight lines across the uneven stone.

Each movement held everything he had ever learned—purified, stripped of power, reduced to pure martial form.

He cut through twelve beasts before pausing.

He wiped the blood on his arm and breathed out softly.

It felt good to move this body stripped of powers.

…

Arjun stood in a swamp of black reeds, the water still and glassy around him. His fingers moved quickly, extracting thin fibers from the reeds and twisting them with delicate precision. A bowstring. Then a branch, flexible enough to bend, sturdy enough not to snap.

He wrapped the ends and tested the pull.

Good enough.

A beast burst from the water.

Arjun had already notched a sharpened reed.

The arrow buried itself in the creature’s throat.

The beast collapsed into the mire.

Arjun tore a fang from its jaw, weighed it in His palm, and lashed it to a reed to form another arrowhead.

He stood, eyes cold.

Another beast crawled from the mud, jaws clicking.

Arjun loosed his arrow.

It fell without a sound.

He collected his arrow, wiped the fang, and walked on.

…

Natalia opened her eyes to a moss-covered cave, faint shimmering spores drifting around her in slow spirals. She pressed a sample between her fingers, watching the texture shift from damp to powdery within seconds.

She sniffed it lightly.

Bitter. Caustic.

She mixed it with a pinch of dirt, rolled it into a crude pellet, and set it aside.

A beast skittered across the ceiling and dropped toward her.

Natalia flicked the pellet upward.

The moment it hit the creature’s snout, the powder burst. T

The creature convulsed, limbs seizing, then went still.

Natalia crushed more moss.

“…Good.”

She moved deeper into the cave.

…

Rudra woke lying on a slanted cliff.

He sat up, cracked his neck, and stood.

Powerlessness felt strange—like his skin was too tight.

But his muscles remained.

A beast leapt toward him with a screech.

Rudra grabbed its jaw with both hands, twisted sharply, and hurled it off the cliff.

A second climbed up after it.

He jumped down the slope and drove his knee into its head, the impact splitting bone.

He dusted off his sleeves.

“Next.”

…

Liang emerged in a forest of crooked, pale trees.

Their branches dangled low like skeletal fingers.

A beast stalked him from behind.

Liang didn’t turn.

When it lunged, he pivoted half a step, grabbed a low-hanging branch, and snapped the end with a sharp flick of his wrist.

The branch tip pierced the beast’s eye, sinking deep enough to hit its brain.

It fell twitching.

Liang brushed off the blood and kept walking as though he had merely swatted a fly.

…

Kexell found himself in a valley filled with thorn-vines.

“Eh? I can’t turn into a dragon?” Kexell was startled.

“In that case,” Kexell looked at the vine structure and got an idea.

He examined the vine structure, pulled one free, and braided three strands together until they formed a tight cord. He continued braiding until he had a ten-foot length.

A whip.

Two beasts crawled from the shadows.

Kexell snapped the whip once.

The crack echoed like thunder, and the vine wrapped around the first beast’s throat. “Just like my tail. Perfect.”

He yanked it off its feet, brought it close, and stomped its skull.

The second beast lunged—He snapped the whip backward, striking its joint, dropping it instantly.

He twirled the whip and cracked it.

Boom!

“Good.”

…

Lily awoke in a barren plain.

The wind was dry.

The horizon is empty.

A beast charged her from behind.

She stepped aside and spun nimble before rising to its left side, her blades creating fluid lines across its neck area.

Her daggers got stuck, but she somersaulted, hitting her leg with the dagger and slicing it off.

It died instantly.

“Need to sharpen another pair.”

She scoured through the dead beast and pulled out two solid bones.

…

One by one, the Regalons and other students carved their path.

With technique, instinct, their craft, their patience, and their brutality, they use the environment around them.