Chapter 41: Joy and Sorrow

After reading through all the information about this profession once more, Kong Zhe’s expression grew rather peculiar—he felt both joy and anxiety.

He was delighted by the sheer number of skills he could choose from. Ordinary professions were limited in their skill slots, with a maximum of five skills at the highest level. Even hidden professions could only possess ten. But as an Arcane Cardmaster, he had forty-eight cards—forty-eight skills! That was four or five times more than anyone else. Once magic reserves were plentiful in later stages, he would be invincible! In a fight with other professions, he could simply stand still and bombard them with spells until they were dead. No wonder the profession’s description was so outrageous; this class was truly powerful, perhaps the strongest of all.

Yet what worried Kong Zhe was the immense amount of experience needed to activate these cards.

The two cards currently lit had already consumed nearly a thousand experience points—these were just the most basic one-star cards. As the card’s star level increased, so did the experience required. For example, among the fire cards, the one-star "Ignition" required only 300 experience points, the two-star "Ruby" needed 1,000, the three-star "Crimson Rod" required 3,000, and the four-star "Trinity Flame" demanded a whopping 10,000 experience points!

Ten thousand experience points—enough to take him from level one to ten. As for the five-star and six-star cards like "Fire Spirit" and "Infernal Judgment," he didn’t even dare look at their requirements.

Moreover, the special cards depicting cups all required experience equivalent to six-star cards.

To light up all these cards would consume an astronomical amount of experience. Kong Zhe quickly calculated that before reaching level fifty, he would need at least twice as much experience as anyone else—effectively saddling him with an experience-halving debuff. This was hellish leveling mode.

He was currently leading among awakened ones, but to activate these cards, even if he pushed himself to the limit, the gap between his level and others would only widen. The thought made his liver ache.

Still, Kong Zhe gritted his teeth. Experience? That’s nothing. He was a reborn soul, and not just once—he’d been reborn three times. How could he fear lacking experience?

Besides, at the two major bottlenecks—level twenty and fifty—there would be plenty of people with surplus experience unable to level up. He could catch up then.

With this powerful Arcane Cardmaster profession, his starting point was leaps ahead. The heights he could reach in the future were limitless.

Kong Zhe clenched his fist in determination.

Then he remembered the last line in the profession’s description: "Due to the jealousy of the gods, you are afflicted with a permanent curse named ‘Misfortune.’"

What was this curse?

Instinctively, Kong Zhe looked down and found a line of small text at the bottom of his panel.

Misfortune: You are entangled by the force of misfortune, making you extremely prone to death.

The line was highlighted in blood-red letters, exuding a sinister aura that made Kong Zhe’s scalp tingle.

No wonder he had died twice in such a short time—the curse was at work.

Cold sweat broke out on him. He had always found it odd—he’d survived three years in the apocalypse during his previous life, yet with all that experience, he’d died twice in less than a week in this new life, and both deaths were bizarre. Now, he finally understood why.

But the headache remained—what could he do, now that he knew the cause? The curse was irremovable. If his deaths continued at the previous rate, even three more rebirths wouldn’t be enough.

This profession was powerful, yes, but the restrictions were overwhelming—not only did he need twice the experience, but even his survival was threatened.

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Sigh, there was nothing for it; he would have to be doubly careful from now on.

He had to treasure his three chances at rebirth, and avoid any preventable deaths.

Kong Zhe silently reminded himself, then sighed and slumped back on the sofa.

He’d finished examining his profession. Yes, he had gained a powerful special class, but why did he feel so empty inside, unable to rejoice? He sensed a future of endless exhaustion...

Ding! Title system activated. Please select a title for yourself as soon as possible!

With the system prompt, Kong Zhe sat up straight again, focusing on the notification. The hidden profession was personal, but the title system was truly the biggest change in this rebirth.

For unknown reasons, the system had advanced to version 1.1 three months early. As for the cause, Kong Zhe couldn’t help but suspect the tarot deck, since it was the only difference between his past and present self—the tarot was fully awakened now.

Title, huh?

Kong Zhe stroked his chin. In essence, a title was like a username in an online game. Online usernames concealed real identities, and here, titles served a similar purpose—they replaced your name above your head. It helped people let go of their old names and start anew in the apocalypse.

After the apocalypse, hardly anyone used real names; only family and old friends called each other by name.

But what should he choose as his title?

He couldn’t pick carelessly; once settled, it would be nearly impossible to change.

Kong Zhe recalled his previous life. He’d awakened in the second month, and soon after, the title system appeared. He’d flamboyantly picked "Baron of Hell" as his title—only to discover that there was a legendary hero among the undead called the Baron of Hell.

He spent a year being hunted by the real Baron, until he happened upon a name-change potion, finally ending the pursuit.

This time, he had to be cautious.

Just as Kong Zhe was deep in thought—

"Hey!"

Xue Feifei poked her head out from behind the sofa and tugged at his sleeve.

"What?" Kong Zhe replied, annoyed at being interrupted.

She ignored his attitude, her eyes bright with anticipation. "You said you could foresee the future, but now that I think about it, that doesn’t seem right. According to a paper I wrote, that state of suddenly gaining fuzzy memories is actually the result of temporal correction. So you’re not a prophet—you’ve traveled back from the future, haven’t you?"

Kong Zhe looked at her oddly. Could she really explain time travel scientifically?

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"That’s right, I came back from the future," Kong Zhe replied blandly.

"Really?" Xue Feifei’s face lit up, and she immediately pressed louder, "How did you do it? Was it a black hole, a wormhole, or a time machine... Damn, which bastard invented a time machine before I did?" She suddenly complained.

But then she moved on, firing off questions in rapid succession: "What was the technological level of your era? Have we started interstellar migration? Have we found aliens? What’s inside a wormhole? Can you see spatial distortion? Any discomfort after landing? Any aftereffects of zero gravity? What’s with that monster? What am I going to do next..."

Kong Zhe had only wanted to brush her off, but her questions kept coming, chattering right into his ear and giving him a splitting headache.

Frustrated, Kong Zhe shouted, "Shut up!"

At last, Xue Feifei fell silent, though she continued to stare at him intently, obviously still full of questions.

Kong Zhe sneered, "Didn’t you want to know what you should do next?"

Her eyes lit up at his words, nodding eagerly and scooting closer, about to speak again.

Kong Zhe cut her off, pointing at the machine in the center of the room. "Next, you should use that device to make me a knife, so I can go kill the fishmen downstairs. Use that Z—whatever alloy."

"ZS monocrystal alloy!" Xue Feifei interjected at just the right moment.

"Yeah, that one. Make me a knife in the style of a Tang blade, now!" Kong Zhe ordered.

Hearing him mention ZS monocrystal alloy—a name she had invented and never revealed to the outside world—Xue Feifei knew he wasn’t lying. Though she was reluctant, she pouted and went to the machine, designing the Tang blade as he requested.

She kept glancing at him—not out of fear, but to keep an eye on him. After all, he was the first time traveler she had ever met; such a precious research subject couldn’t be allowed to escape.

Finally, Kong Zhe managed to send her off and breathed a sigh of relief. He could now calm down and continue pondering his title. There was a time limit—it had to be decided within two hours.

But sometimes, the more you think about a name, the harder it is to settle on one.

Kong Zhe racked his brain for ages, but couldn’t come up with anything satisfactory. Frustrated, he scratched his head. He didn’t have much time to waste on this.

Then, he suddenly recalled the name that the little brat with delusions of grandeur had called him in the warehouse.

"Blackwing Jax."

It seemed that no one had used this name.

Kong Zhe stroked his chin and carefully searched his memories—none of the top players in any race had ever chosen that title.

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