I Shall Pervert the Heavens

Class Step was a scaling method of levels. Every 20 levels, one would enter the next 'Step'.

<Lv. 1> to <Lv. 19> – First Step.

<Lv. 20> to <Lv. 39> – Second Step.

<Lv. 40> to <Lv. 59> – Third Step.

<Lv. 60> to <Lv. 79> – Fourth Step.

<Lv. 80> to <Lv. 99> – Fifth Step/Titled Step.

<Lv. 100> to <Lv. ??> – ??.

By advancing to the next Step, one's class would evolve and grant a substantial boost in strength. Raising one's level offered far greater benefits than before, unlocking new powers, and granting skills far more formidable than any beginner could hope to wield. As a rule, someone of a higher Step stood untouchable by those still below them.

It wasn't a simple matter to rise, though. A person had to cultivate enough potential within their body to unlock even a single higher-tier class. Without a qualifying upgrade waiting for them, no amount of bloodshed would help. They could slay monsters without end and remain stuck at their current class forever, locked in place like a chained beast.

Max Level was the other chain strangling advancement. To Class Up required not just potential, but also capacity. A body could only hold so much. Once someone reached their limit, they would no longer gain experience. It didn't matter how many enemies they cut down, the numbers simply would not rise. This barrier could come at <Lv. 13>, <Lv. 27>, <Lv. 46>—the exact number varied from person to person, and the cruelty lay in not knowing until the wall slammed shut.

This wall was called Max Level.

It was possible to shatter it, but the method was perilous: a life-and-death battle against someone vastly stronger. Surviving and winning would expand the body's capacity, creating new room for growth. But this act, called Limit Break, was as deadly as it sounded. More challengers were buried than survived. After all, one's opponent had to be at least an entire Step higher.

Dungeons, then, became the lifeline. Every major city had one, often at its heart or just beyond its walls. Nobles held sway over them, their rank tied directly to the dungeon's power.

Wild dungeons appeared too, scattered across caves, forests, mountains—anywhere. Claiming a dungeon core granted noble status, or else could be sold for wealth so great it could buy cities.

Dungeons constantly bled monsters into the world, birthing them daily from their mana-rich depths. Warriors reaped both materials and experience from this endless supply of prey, while the dungeon itself devoured a portion—ten percent of all experience earned inside its territory.

In this way, dungeons, rankers, and kingdoms all formed a tight knot of survival and prosperity.

"As such, summoned heroes stand apart from the rest of us," Carrion continued solemnly. "Crossing the world barrier blesses you with power we can scarcely imagine. Even without choosing, the class given to you will outshine what any ordinary person could ever receive. Your starting stats are higher, your gains per level greater. You face fewer bottlenecks when Classing Up, your Max Level is immeasurable, and even the experience you need is reduced by a fifth compared to us."

The words weighed heavy, but before Arkanis could even process them, the king cut in. Wallanther XII rapped the haft of his enormous axe against the tiles, silencing the echoing lecture. His voice was calm, yet carried command.

"This is why you are called hero. This is why we emptied nearly a third of our kingdom's treasury to buy a reagent worthy of the summoning ritual. Only such a treasure could pierce the world's barrier and draw you here."

Arkanis 's throat went dry. "So all this—me—cost you… that much?"

The king's reply was as blunt as the fall of a blade. "It was worth the price."

Arkanis's fists tightened. His fear spilled out as anger. "And what, I'm just supposed to fight for you? To kill? To die in your war?"

Wallanther XII's eyes narrowed, his words cutting sharp as steel. "We grieve for your circumstance, but our will is firm. The moment you were summoned, there was no path of return."

The floor tilted beneath Arkanis. "W-what do you mean? You're saying I can't go home? I was dragged here without my choice, and now you expect me to fight—and there's no way back?"

"That is correct."

His heart dropped. "…Why not?"

The king's steady gaze told Arkanis the answer, but Carrion spoke anyway, his voice heavy with resignation. "The summoning is a one-way call. It pulls through the veil, but there exists no ritual to send one back. At least none known to us. If a banishing rite exists, it lies buried in myth, for I have never read even the faintest mention of such a thing."

Arkanis's knees weakened, the floating window of his status mocking him with the proof of his situation. No way back. No choice. This was his life now.

Wallanther XII stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his words merciless. "Correct. But take heart, hero. You will not be left unrewarded."

The king raised his axe slightly, and his decree boomed through the throne hall.

"By royal command, you will be granted marriage contracts into noble houses. Your rank will rise with your achievements. This kingdom's wealth, beauty, and bloodlines are at your feet. In skill, in body, in magic, your partner will surpass all your dreams."

Arkanis froze. For a moment, he thought he'd misheard. Marriage contracts? Nobility? It sounded like gilded chains, shackles dressed up as gifts.

And yet the king's words left no room for refusal.

"Second command, by royal decree. All marriages will have a trial period of six months before the official binding. This is to ensure that no hero is left unsatisfied. During this period, you may decide the compatibility of your partner. Should the match prove inadequate, the bond will be severed. The loss of chastity, however, will signify the trial's early termination and confirmation of union."

"Third command, by royal decree. Should a hero not desire marriage, he shall instead be granted noble title and a novice dungeon core. With this comes full royal backing and funding to develop a new city. This right cannot be refused, though it may be postponed. It will await you indefinitely, ready whenever you choose to claim it."

"Fourth command, by royal decree. To the hero who proves himself the most outstanding, We offer the hand of Our own daughter, Zoerina Wallander, in holy matrimony. There shall be no trial period in this case, for We are certain none could deny the honor of claiming Our daughter."

The king's body erupted with an aura so heavy that Arkanis staggered to his knees before he realized he was even falling. The weight pressed down like a mountain, crushing defiance out of his chest, forcing every muscle to strain simply to breathe. His palms slammed to the floor, and shame burned in his gut for bowing without meaning to.

When the pressure eased, Arkanis raised his eyes just enough to see her—the princess. Zoerina's serene smile painted her as the perfect vision of grace, but the sharp glint in her golden gaze betrayed her. She was watching him. No, not just him—measuring, dissecting, weighing. She scanned him the way a hunter would study prey, or perhaps the way a queen might size up a potential consort.

The intent was clear: though her hand was promised to the most distinguished hero, she would not leave the matter to fate. She would tip the scales in favor of the one she chose.

The realization curdled in Arkanis's stomach. This wasn't an opportunity. It was a trap dressed in silks.

Around him, he imagined others would have stolen glances at her, hiding their lust or ambition behind lowered heads. But he wasn't them. He had no teammates to whisper to, no classmates to lean on. He was alone, a single piece on a board he didn't understand, surrounded by predators who'd been playing since birth.

"This is insane," Arkanis muttered under his breath, voice shaking more than he wanted. Marriage contracts. Noble titles. Dungeons. Rewards layered like poisoned fruit, offered with one hand while the other chained him in place.

Why the hell all this?

Can't he just read Webnovels and criticize the MC instead of being thrown into the world?

And worse part is, he was being tied down to the kingdom ysing marriage, nobility and so on.

Even a dummy not blinded by greed could easily see through it but the issue isn't seeing through it, but rejecting it. Something he couldn't while standing before such strong beings.

The king's words echoed like iron bars slamming shut. There is no path of return.

He wanted to scream, to demand to be sent back, but the truth had already been drilled into him: there was no way home. The ritual dragged him here like a fishhook through flesh, and now he was expected to bleed for this kingdom's survival.

His mind churned, struggling for a path out, but the answers circled back into the same black wall: he was trapped. From the moment that circle lit beneath him, his fate had already been sealed.