Level-Up Cards at 100x

In a typical RPG, you earn experience by hunting — slaying monsters, completing quests. But the Survival Server, wearing the name 100x EXP Server like a mask, played by different rules.

Every action taken in the name of survival counted. Even something as trivial as cutting weeds — each and every swing — granted experience. And with that experience, you could level up.

Leveling up didn't dump stat points you could pour into whatever attribute you wanted. Instead, survival cards spread out before your eyes, and you grew your character by picking one.

"This is pretty interesting."

Whatever else was cluttering up my head, I was genuinely intrigued. Games that used this kind of growth system were usually roguelike RPGs — the kind where you roll a new character every run, snowball fast, and stack up a mountain of play experience through wildly different builds.

The reason ordinary RPGs don't do this — the reason they hand you stat points and pin you to a handful of attributes — is simple.

"Pick wrong and you end up with a trash character."

The word freedom makes a player's heart race, but give people that much of it and most of them will look down one day to find a ruined character staring back, then quit the game entirely. Which is why the hundred cards fanned out in front of me had me tense instead of thrilled.

Ten by ten. Cards of every color. White made up the bulk of them, green and blue filling in the rest, with one or two purple mixed through the pile. Each one had something different written on it, and just like the tip had said, all of it was for growth.

"…This easy?"

Status windows. Stats. The exclusive domain of hunters had been shared widely enough that even ordinary people knew a fair bit, so I knew exactly how hard hunters worked to raise a single point — the grinding to grow them naturally, the desperation of putting their lives on the line for the points they earned from leveling up.

And right now, all that effort was scattered in front of my eyes. Not one or two cards. A hundred of them.

"Skip the Normals."

Originally, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even thinking like that would've been a luxury, according to the tip. I didn't need to care.

The card that should've come as a single copy — take it or leave it, choke it down as given — had, through the grace of a hundredfold multiplier, become a pile big enough to give me choice paralysis. Even the odds of all hundred cards coming up white had been taken off the table. That was the only reason a newbie who'd just hit level 2 could get away with something as arrogant as skip the white ones.

"Hmm."

Putting every tip together, the answer came out clean. A hundred cards, and I still had no reason to agonize.

"I only need to look at blue and up."

There were no take-backs once you picked. They'd told me to choose carefully, so I sat down in front of the weeds I'd just cut and went on a long, slow shopping trip through eleven blue cards and two purple ones.

And the card I settled on:

"Hss. Hah. Shame, but raw stats are what you want early on."

True to the tip, the cards held all kinds of abilities for survival. Plain stats, skills you'd need to stay alive, even recipes and special traits. In a growth system like this, picking the higher grade was already half the battle, so after some thought I went with stats — the foundation. Stacked against the same type of ability card in blue, the purple one was worth almost twice as much. I wouldn't regret it later.

"I got stronger."

A Strength boost of six was something I felt the moment I lifted the rusty sickle. It was light. Feeling the power well up inside me, I started cutting weeds again.

Thwack!

Nothing like before. Weeds that used to fold halfway over now snapped off in a single stroke, torn out like they'd been yanked from the root.

"Whoa."

There was still a good stretch left to the ten-meter mark, but at this rate, it felt doable. I fired myself up and cut one more weed.

"…Whoa."

Time to think it over again.

Three hours since I'd logged into the 100x server. The front-yard cleanup I'd been given as a tutorial quest wasn't even twenty percent done.

"Haaah."

The work itself wasn't the problem. Every time I cut a weed, a fresh spread of level-up cards chopped the flow in half, and I had no choice but to burn more than half my time deliberating.

"So Hero-grade isn't that easy to come by."

Hitting level 5 just from pulling weeds was something I'd more or ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠less gotten used to, and after seeing four hundred cards in the process, I'd put together a decent picture of how this growth card system actually worked.

The Hero card I'd pulled at level 2 wasn't exactly top-tier — but it wasn't low, either. Even with the 100x applied to appearance rates, only two of them had shown up out of a hundred. Just how low was the base rate supposed to be?

At level 3 and level 4, only a single Hero card had appeared each time. Maybe that was why I'd spent even longer picking. At level 3 I'd taken the only one — Agility +5 — but at level 4, the best on offer was ten Rare blue cards. I'd considered grabbing one of the various skill cards, but by then I'd already figured out the advantage of the 100x server, so it felt like a waste.

"Skills? I'd need at least Legendary before I'd even consider one."

Levels would climb soon enough anyway. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weeds I had to cut kept increasing as I leveled, but factoring in experience that rose at 100x, stacking stats — even if they fell short of Hero-grade — still seemed like the better play.

So at level 4 I picked a Rare-grade blue card, Vitality +4, and then the level 5 cards arrived. That was where I had no choice but to give up on today's weeding. The sun was going down, and two yellow cards were gleaming among the spread.

"Shutters down!!"

Had I always been this into the kind of cheat mode that kills a game's fun? Why was this ridiculously childish system — the kind that felt like growth inflation was about to slam into me any second — so much fun? Becoming a hunter, what would change if I cleaned the front yard — all those tangled thoughts emptied out clean, leaving nothing but a brain pickled in the dopamine of click-click rewards.

"Heh heh. Sweep everything below Hero."

Ninety-eight cards vanished, leaving two yellow cards with a faint golden shimmer lined up in a row.

"Hss."

Carefully. Slowly. The moment I picked them apart one by one, I felt it. This wasn't going to be easy.

Neither one looked like a dud. Cards with completely different kinds of appeal. Stats were so straightforward they barely needed explaining. Just look at me — a shut-in who'd spent thirty years rotting in his room as a jobless bum — cleaning even a little of those tall weeds with nothing but three ability cards. The effect was undeniable.

A Legendary-grade ability card with Strength +10 was worth about the same as pulling two Hero cards. Same went for the skill. The truth was, the moment I saw it, I nearly jumped out of my seat.

No need to overthink it. This was the same as getting to choose and learn the hunter skill you'd normally receive at random upon awakening. And it was a B-class skill, no less. A combat one. Honestly, it wasn't even a question.

"I can't hold back."

A skill is a hunter's identity. An intangible weapon that lets a frail human perform as a superhuman hunter inside a dungeon. Even a non-combat skill has its uses in a dungeon, and Kim Yerin was already working at a major guild at twenty-two with nothing but a C-class exploration skill.

And this was a B-class combat skill?

The skill and the stats offered by those Legendary cards, gleaming proudly in yellow light, unfortunately weren't things I could put on the same scale. Not for me. Not right now.

"I'll grab stats later."

The yellow card sank into my body.