My System Is a Fallen God: I Level Up Endlessly

The harsh red dunes of the Lawless Zone gave way to dry, cracked earth.

Saile walked along the rutted trade road, tugging the collar of his cheap linen tunic. The silver choker burned against his throat. The elven artifact actively wrestled the ocean of black lightning inside his chest, compressing the dark magic down to a microscopic thread.

To the naked eye, his messy brown hair was a neat blonde. His cold brown eyes were a bright, innocent cerulean blue.

He was no longer the Sovereign. He was Gabriel.

The physical toll of the illusion throbbed behind his temples. The Endless Devourer despised being caged. The dark magic scraped against his veins, begging to shatter the silver relic and consume the hot desert air. Saile forced the energy down, filtering a tiny fraction of it outward.

A faint, pathetic yellow glow sparked around his fingertips. It was the signature of a weak, generic Light Element Awakener.

The rhythmic creaking of wooden wheels broke the silence of the scrublands.

Saile stopped walking. He dropped his shoulders forward, burying the lethal posture of a Diamond-Tier fighter beneath the timid slouch of a street orphan.

A slow merchant caravan crested the nearest hill. Six wooden wagons, pulled by

tired oxen, kicked up low clouds of dust. A dozen hired guards marched alongside the cargo, their cheap iron armor rattling.

Saile waited by the road, widening his blue eyes to project nervous hesitation.

The lead wagon rolled to a halt. A sweating merchant leaning against the driver’s bench looked down, wiping a layer of grime from his neck with a dirty cloth.

"What do you want, boy?" the merchant grunted. "We don’t give handouts to strays."

"I don’t need a handout, sir," Saile said. He pitched his voice slightly higher, injecting a faint, desperate tremor into the syllables. "I need passage across the border. I have coin."

Saile reached into a small leather pouch tied to his belt. He pulled out three dull silver pieces. It was absolute pocket change compared to the gold sitting in his high-tier ring, but it fit his disguise.

The merchant eyed the silver.

"Three silver gets you a spot in the back with the grain sacks," the fat man decided, snatching the coins. "I am Kobb. Keep your hands off the cargo, kid. Name?"

"Gabriel," Saile replied quietly.

He climbed over the wooden tailgate of the last wagon, wedging himself between two rough burlap sacks smelling of cheap cumin. He pulled his knees to his chest, keeping his wrapped sword tucked safely out of sight.

The caravan lurched forward, resuming its agonizingly slow crawl north.

"This is humiliating," Naicul drawled in his mind. The ancient God sounded deeply offended. "The architect of the first ruin, riding in a spice cart like a sack of turnips."

"It is a disguise," Saile thought back. "A lone boy walking across the border draws the eyes of the Inquisitors. A merchant’s extra hand is invisible."

Naicul let out a low, cynical hum but did not argue.

For the next two days, Saile endured the grueling pace. He ate stale bread and drank warm, metallic water. He listened to the guards complain about their pay. He kept his head down and his fake blue eyes fixed on the floorboards.

Maintaining the weak light aura while surrounded by mortals required unbroken

focus. If his concentration slipped for a single second, the freezing dark magic would leak out and kill everyone in the convoy.

On the evening of the second day, the dirt road dipped into a narrow ravine flanked by dying trees.

The lead ox suddenly bellowed. The wooden wagons ground to a jolting halt.

"Barricade!" a guard shouted.

Saile peeked over the tailgate. Chopped logs and thorny brush blocked the path. Before the merchants could turn their oxen around, the surrounding bushes rustled.

Two dozen men stepped out of the tree line.

They wore mismatched, filthy leather armor and carried rusted iron swords. They surrounded the six wagons, cutting off any route of escape. The hired guards drew their weapons, but their hands shook visibly. Twelve against twenty-four seasoned highwaymen.

A tall man with a jagged scar across his cheek strutted forward. He rested an iron-spiked club on his shoulder.

[Target: Bandit Leader]

[Level: 22 (Silver Tier)]

Saile stared at the floating text. A Level 22 Silver-Tier bandit. To a Diamond-Tier Transcendent, the man was less than an insect. Saile could sneeze and accidentally break the man’s ribs.

"Well, well," the bandit leader laughed. His voice was raspy. "Looks like Kobb brought us a fat delivery."

Kobb raised his shaking hands in the air.

"Take the cargo!" the fat merchant pleaded. "Just take the spices! Let my men live!"

"Oh, we are taking the cargo," the bandit leader sneered. "But a few of these guards look strong enough to fetch a decent price in the underground slave pits."

The bandits laughed, tightening their circle. The merchant guards slowly lowered their swords, surrendering to the numbers.

The bandit leader walked down the line of wagons, inspecting his new loot. He stopped near the very back. His dark eyes locked onto the skinny, blonde-haired boy sitting between the grain sacks.

"Look at this," the leader grinned, showing rotting yellow teeth. "A pretty little runaway. He will fetch a premium price."

The leader reached over the wooden tailgate. He grabbed Saile roughly by the collar of his linen shirt, yanking the boy out of the wagon and throwing him onto the dirt road.

Saile hit the ground, landing intentionally on his hands and knees.

"Please!" Saile cried out, his voice cracking with manufactured terror. He scrambled backward, kicking up a cloud of dry dust. "I don’t have any money!"

"You are testing my patience," Naicul hissed. The God’s pride flared, furious at

being touched by a mortal. "Tear his spine out through his throat."

"Patience," Saile commanded his internal passenger.

If he threw a Diamond-Tier punch, the bandit leader’s head would explode into red mist. The merchants would realize they had a monster riding in their cart. He needed to win without fighting. He needed to appear incredibly lucky.

The bandit leader laughed at the terrified boy. He stepped forward, raising his heavy iron club to knock the kid out.

"Don’t run, little rabbit," the bandit sneered.

Saile scrambled backward again. He let his blue eyes widen in pure panic, flailing his arms wildly like a clumsy teenager losing his balance in the dirt.

As the bandit leader stepped forward, Saile’s left foot shot out.

To anyone watching, it looked like a desperate, accidental stumble. In reality, it was a surgically precise leg sweep. Saile targeted the exact weak point behind the leader’s ankle, applying a micro-fraction of his Diamond-Tier strength.

The leader’s boot caught the strike. His center of gravity vanished.

"Whoa—!" the bandit yelled. His arms pinwheeled as he fell face-first toward the

earth.

Saile let himself fall backward, screaming in fake terror. He tucked his chin and flailed his right arm upward, pretending to brace himself against the falling man.

He aligned his elbow directly with the trajectory of the bandit’s jaw.

Saile locked his Diamond-Tier joints in place. His bones possessed the density of refined steel.

Smack!

The bandit leader’s face slammed directly into Saile’s raised elbow. The sound of snapping bone echoed sharply through the quiet ravine.

To the naked eye, the clumsy kid had tripped the bandit by sheer accident, and the bandit had knocked himself out falling onto the kid’s arm.

The bandit leader’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He collapsed limply into the dirt, entirely unconscious. His iron club rolled harmlessly into the brush.

Saile squirmed out from under the heavy man, gasping loudly for air.

"Get off me!" Saile yelled, kicking dirt at the unconscious body. He scrambled back against the wooden wheel of the wagon, clutching his knees and shaking his shoulders.

A stunned, dead silence fell over the ravine.

The two dozen highwaymen stared at their leader lying face-down in the dirt. The man who had terrorized this trade road for months had just been dropped by a tripping, crying blonde kid.

"Boss?" one of the bandits asked nervously, poking the unconscious man with the tip of his rusted sword.

The leader did not move. His jaw was swelling rapidly, sporting a nasty purple bruise.

"He... he knocked out the boss," another bandit whispered.

Panic spread rapidly through their ranks. If a clumsy kid could drop their strongest fighter by accident, the bandit crew’s fragile courage dissolved. Without their leader barking orders, they had no strategy.

"Retreat!" a bandit yelled, turning around and sprinting toward the tree line.

The rest of the crew followed instantly. They abandoned their unconscious leader and vanished into the thick brush, running for their lives.

The merchant guards stood frozen, their swords still drawn, blinking in disbelief.

Kobb wiped the sweat from his forehead. The fat merchant climbed down from his bench and rushed over to the back of the wagon. He stared at the unconscious bandit leader, then looked at the shaking boy.

"Boy," Kobb breathed, his eyes wide. "Did you just... do that?"

"He tried to grab me," Saile stammered. He forced a few fake tears to pool in his bright blue eyes. "I just... I slipped. And he fell on me."

Kobb stared at him for a long moment. Then, the merchant threw his head back and burst into a roaring, echoing laugh.

"You slipped!" Kobb wheezed, slapping his fat knee. "The terror of the southern pass, knocked cold by a slipping orphan!"

The hired guards finally lowered their swords, joining in the relieved laughter. The heavy tension in the ravine broke.

"Boy, you have the luck of the Saints," Kobb declared, reaching down to pull Saile to his feet. "You saved my cargo. Your coin is no good here anymore. You eat our rations, and you ride up front with me."

The fat merchant clapped Saile on the back.

"Consider your passage to the Holy Capital completely paid for," Kobb grinned.

"Thank you, sir," Saile murmured, keeping his head bowed in mock gratitude.

He climbed back into the wagon, taking a seat closer to the front. He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on his arms.

"An Oscar-worthy performance," Naicul sneered in his mind. "I am going to vomit."

"It worked," Saile replied coldly. "No magic used. No blood drawn. Cover intact."

The merchants quickly cleared the barricade of dead trees from the dirt road. The oxen pulled the wooden wagons out of the ravine, leaving the unconscious bandit leader groaning in the dust.

Saile closed his blue eyes, settling in for the rest of the ride.

Gabriel the orphan had just earned his ticket to the center of the world.

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