Galaxy's First Ruler

A few minutes before

Japan

The graceful katas performed by the young lady had melted away the heaviness of the empty training hall. The occasional swishing sounds of the hard strokes gently counterbalanced the swiftness of the soft ones. One could see small beads of sweat all over the floor, but the young practitioner had hardly even moved from her position.

Hisakawa Tomiko looked at her Naginata with a calm gaze, but the determination in her brown eyes had bested her beauty by a huge margin. She heard small footsteps approaching the training hall and gave herself some rest. Her black hair shimmered with silvery radiance. And the sharpness of the Naginata's blade and her milky smooth skin contrasted each other wonderfully.

She saw a man entering the training hall wearing a uniform, much like her Naginata Gi. The gigantic frame of that man and his quick steps brimmed with unrestrained power, and yet she could not see a slight hint of pride on his face. And Tomiko had declared this man to herself as her lifelong goal. She hit the butt of the Naginata's hilt on the floor and let it go. But it didn't waver from its position.

"Master," Tomiko gave her master a traditional bow.

"How are you feeling?"

"Ready to fight." Tomiko saw the man's brows rising upon her reply. She immediately got to know that she had again given a hastily reply.

"You need to learn how to reign on your impulse."

"You are right, master."

"Hmm, do you still wonder why I didn't let you go to any Dungeon after your awakening last week?"

"No…" Tomiko took a deep breath and continued, "Yes, I wonder about it sometimes."

"Good. What do you think Skills and 'Record' are?"

Tomiko hadn't expected such a question from her master. How could she have provided a satisfactory answer about Skills to one of the strongest Dreamers? But all questions were to be answered at some point.

"Skills gives a Dreamer means to do unachievable things. Not only do we use them for survival in Dungeons but the Class-specific Skills also let the Dreamer use their maximum potential in a battle. And 'Record' gives a Dreamer access to these Skills."

The statement was concise and to the point. Nothing better could have been found on Skills from any contemporary source. And Tomiko was the brightest among her peers, physically and mentally. But Matsumoto Sho couldn't be compared to just any knowledge hub out in the world.

"There is nothing wrong with what you said just now. But if you follow this statement, you wouldn't amount to anything more than a slightly stronger Dreamer."

Tomiko's whole bearing took a 180-degree turn. Her demeanor, her eyes, and even the Naginata by her side seemed more alert and straighter. There were plenty of lessons and things to learn in the internet's age. But a lesson that was needed and that was given at the right place and right time had become scarce these days.

"If we consider the 'Record' as our food, then the Active Skills would be our digestive system. There is one task it has to perform, and that is to provide energy to the body for its proper functioning. But Passive Skills are different. In the same analogy, the Passive Skills would be our taste, our smell, our vision, and even our sense of touch and other feelings. The 'Record' isn't a method to just level-up and raise our Rank, but it's a process to tap into the hidden aspects of these Passive Skills."

'How much time I would have taken to realize the underlying meaning which master had let me know casually,' she thought.

This perspective of seeing the RECORD and the Skills overwhelmed Tomiko. And a shiver ran down from her spine. The feeling of gratitude overtook all other emotions, and she kowtowed to him.

"Thank you, master. Tomiko would remember this lesson."

"Are you ready then?"

Tomiko's hand reached out towards the Naginata and wrapped it up using a long cloth. She looked at her Stat window and said, "Yes."

A blue-green light enveloped her, and the flashes left behind the Baron in deep contemplation.

*

South Korea

"Fuck this 'Record! Fuck its mother till the tenth generation! Motherfucking piece of shit…**…**…!"

The distribution of Dreamers in South Korea had followed a little different trend from its counterparts. Instead of Guilds, the Dreamer community was divided into four factions, each led by a General. The government tremendously supported these factions financially. And the factions were needed to supply Mana cores and other materials from the Dungeon.

The General of the Northern Gate was a retired Korean military officer. The General of the Eastern Gate was the eldest son of the head of the largest company in Korea's business world. The General of the Western Gate was the head of the many organized crime factions which had been scattered before the Night. And the General of the Southern Gate only existed in papers. Nobody in Korea other than the three Generals, probably, had an idea about who had claimed the title.

In Seoul's biggest fish market, behind the neatly assembled stalls and the hustling customers, there were rows of dilapidated homes. And from one of the many alleys there, one could hear the shout of curses scaring no one but rodents.

22-year-old Choi Seong was known in Korean as kkangpae. From the schoolyard gangs to being a thug himself, Seong had seen too much dirt in this world. The local gang war had claimed his father's life when he was in her mother's belly. His mother got herself a second husband 13 years later, but he never returned after going out one day. And he had left behind a 1-year-old daughter.

A mother, a sister, and a quiet kid. At least one of them had to take that abominable step. It had taken him 8 years to build a rapport with his small gang, but ECORD had laid it all to a waste. Who would hire him to take care of the dirt when the same thing could be done even more efficiently by a Dreamer? But somehow he had managed to earn bits and pieces from here and there.

But only until last week, when he suddenly disappeared and became a Dreamer himself. Becoming a Dreamer was indeed lucrative, but who would take care of his 10-year-old little sister and his mother. The frustration of being not able to choose anything for the last 13-14 years could not have been understood just by imagining it.

Seong kept cursing and kicking the crunched-up man on the dirty alley floor. His other three gang members were on the lookout. Each kick was hurting him more than the bastard lying flat on the floor. He looked at the Stat window and with a grinding voice said, "If I don't get my money by the time I return, consider yourself a fish food. You da…"

The blue-green light that had enveloped him cut his words off, and the flashes left behind the smell of sewers and blood.

*

Myanmar

Unlike most of the countries, the Dreamer's organizations were still scattered around the country. Even after the Night, the status of being among the least developed countries hadn't left it alone. The monopolization of resources and the immigration of Dreamers to other countries were two of the main reasons for this.

But among the abundance of agriculture-dependent citizens, some people wanted nothing but glory for their country. There were Dreamers, independent of age, who had died trying to bring a change. From farmers to professors, and from miners to engineers, someone could find these people everywhere.

27-year-old Tun Bo Ag was one of these people. But he wasn't some well-known gamer or a doctor. Tun Bo Ag had dedicated his whole life to perfecting the most brutal martial arts in the world, Lethwei. The Art of 9 limbs was famous for its use of bare knuckles with only tape and gauze. Not only that, the fighters were even allowed many means to bring down their opponent. Including but not limited to fists, elbows, feet, and even headbutts.

When everyone was relishing their luck after becoming a Dreamer, the World Lethwei Champion was just counting his days. He had known that one Night would come which would awaken him as a Dreamer. But his goals were more sophisticated and grand than those of his other fellow citizens who had left the country.

Tun Bo Ag wanted nothing more than honor. He had realized this word at a very early age. And after coming back from the dead in those bloody fights, he had earned the honor for himself. Now the time had come to earn honor for his country.

Tun Bo Ag looked at the Stat and wrapped his hands in tapes like another normal day. Soon a blue-green light enveloped him and the flashes left behind a proud father and a teary wife.