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That Unique Monster Who Just Got the ‘Consciousness’ Passive Skill – Chapter 1: Prologue Bahasa Indonesia

I was life in its purest form. Nobody was more alive than I. If anyone didn’t think so, let them prove it. It’s simple—all you have to do is kill me.

So, you could call me “life.” Or rather, living. And to further introduce myself: Life was great. Life was worth living. Life had to be treasured and protected. Your own life had to be, at the very least. That’s how it worked. The point of the matter was that, from my perspective, life was precious.

Yet, people threatened it. People threatened life. People threatened me.

When people saw a monster, they killed it. That was their job. People went after it, cornered it, and disposed of it. As swiftly as could be, without batting an eye. They had their weapons, skills, mana-wielding aptitudes, and they simply killed it. Monster-hunters did.

“That’s how it’s done,” monster-hunters could think. “Now, we’re totally safe. No more of ’em monster bastards in sight. That’s how you get the job done, yup…”

Except, that wasn’t how it was done.

Why? Because, as it happened, you could call me “life,” but you also could call me “monster.”

All I wanted to do was live, yet, they threatened my life with their swords.

And so, today, I would be the hunter. I’d be the guy to carry on the job: I’d go after the people who hunted me, corner them, and dispose of them, too. I would use mana as well, and have the people helplessly subdued in front of the monster. Then, I would end them.

Because “I want to live” was enough reason.


That makes for a rather brutal and forceful introduction, though, don’t you think? Where are my manners? Instead of telling you about all of that, I should rather first tell you about the beginning, shouldn’t I.

At the very beginning, there was a glass of water. Your regular ceramic cup and its contents. That glass was filled with water. Very special water, yes. Some kind of potion, you could say. Rather than a regular ceramic cup, it could be considered a witch’s cauldron.

When I say “beginning,” I mean the very beginning, by the way. The very beginning of time, before the monster even existed. But you guessed it: I was from such a witch’s cauldron. I was born from the magic cauldron. I arose from it. If you’re confused about that last statement, don’t worry, you’ll understand soon enough. To be fair anyway, even I might have been confused about my origin, at the time.

All I knew was that I was about to come into existence… and eventually be turned into a monster. Not some kind of monstrous demon, no. A simple mob, sort of. Not a goblin, not a slime, not an undead… but some kind of monster-type creature of this world.

At the moment, the glass of water—no, the witch’s cauldron was everything.

Yes, the magical potion was everything.

Thoroughly contained inside the witch’s cauldron, there, the potion rested, trapped and unable to break free from the mystical container, as it was being cooked up.

Pretty bizarre.

Suddenly, it struck me, and I, at once, seemed to know about my first function. My goal was to gather information. So I did just that. The witch’s cauldron, or cup of water, was there, and I swear it wasn’t minding anyone else’s business. I swear to it. The cup of water only minded its own business. And so the glass of water was just there, placed on a tray, on top of a kitchen counter, inside of a restaurant.

Now, the situation seemed less bizarre.

How enlightening that was. Inside a restaurant, but more specifically inside the kitchens, I take it? So what must have been that witch’s cauldron’s business waiting here?

The cup was to be served, and I found two waiters surrounding it.

They were the key here. If the glass of water was truly a witch’s cauldron, then these two were the actual witches who concocted whatever elixir they wished for.

In the first setting—there were two waiters. The two of them stared down at the teacup, reluctant to take their eyes off it. Their two pairs of round eyes were heavily pressed down onto the glass, when their two pairs of hands were flat on the wooden table, surrounding the thin tray. That cup of water wasn’t just any. It seemed that it managed to, all by itself, get the two attendants’ full attention. No mean feat to pull off, if you want my opinion.

And they didn’t stop scrutinizing the glass just yet. The intensity with which they went about tending to the glass was truly beyond reproach. A nearby window gave onto the cup—as the elixir’s surface glistened into the sun, one of the waiters nodded and murmured some words: “This attempt shall be the one,” he said. The other waiter spoke more clearly: “For Shop’s will.”

Was Shop supposed to be a person’s name? Was it just how the restaurant they worked in was called? Go wonder.

The two waiters were here for work, it seemed to me. Whatever they were up to, these two weren’t actual witches, after all. The service awaited. One of them took it upon themselves to serve me. So the tray lightly clattered when picked up, and the cup of water gently slid off its former spot bathing in the sun. Soon, we arrived someplace else.

There, it wasn’t quiet. There were lots of people: they ate, chatted, and jested. Navigating through the endless tables of customers, the platter clattered again, I was placed onto one table: “Your beverage, sir.” A young man briefly paused to say thank you, and the waiter departed.

A second setting opened itself to me: happy, shrill giggles rang out, deeper chuckles also burst, hands were waved around, mouths were served in food—my table sure was a lively mess—and more importantly, a story was told. That was the important detail here. My story was told.

This was my table, and at the moment I arrived, the happy giggles intensified. They were laughing among themselves.

Two wee kids pressed their hands to their bellies, clutching their stomachs with both hands, wild smiles on their faces. They had fun. A man’s hand was brought up before it was (gently enough) slammed onto the table. I slightly clattered again, and the man’s voice jokingly spoke: “Hear me, kids! I may be taking on a joking tone… but!—”

There, the children repeated in one voice: “But!”

“—but!… and you better mark my words on this… all of this is for real! Hahaha!” did the young man playfully growl. “These stories are for real!” That was right. A story was told, and that story was for real. The young man had, in fact, already wrapped up the telling of the two children’s favorite tale, however. With these words, he made sure to leave a lasting impression on his audience. “I mean it. The poor people I tell you guys about, the fantastic forests full of wonders and treasures… heck, even the monsters for that matter are all real. Real, I tell you. Got it? Not yet? Want proof? Grr!” And he playfully growled at them. “Now… I trust you understand how serious I am, little guys,” he snickered.

The boy and the girl suddenly fell silent, and looked at each other in silence, a mingle of eagerness and awe marked on their two tiny faces. They were also worried, however.

“So? Scared yet, lil’ guys?” asked the young man, a satisfied grin played about his face. He was now eyeing the lady who sat opposite him. And giving him back his subtle glance, she shook her head, smirking and sighing. For some reason, that made the young man’s grin grow even wilder. He heartily chuckled some more.

A change in their mind, the children now were more excited than worried, apparently. Excitingly hugging themselves, peering into each other’s face even closer… their nervousness, knitted brows, and pursed lips suddenly were blown away. Now that they remembered the ‘stories’ were actually amusing, there they went happily shrieking and giggling again.

And this was clear to him, the young man was defeated. Again. No, the children weren’t so scared.

Being called to order, the two kids stopped their hectic shrieking at once. Suddenly, then, they turned to the defeated man, clapped their hands together, and said, “I know! Tell the story again!” Again, both their voices rang as one.

My table was a lively mess of laughing, horsing around, and funny stories… and that was how, from the witch’s cauldron, I arose. Mom and dad didn’t do the— Ahem. And that was just how I came to life. Or I became “life.” I first arrived at my table, I had just been served, I was a teacup, or the elixir it contained, and now I would be born. Still confused? Grr, but I asked to listen attentively!

Jokes aside anyway, tell the tales again? The young man said yes. He was passionate about the Tales of the Ancients. That meant he’d tell them as many times as was needed. The fact was, he insisted, he liked these stories, too.

The two kids were happy.

Kicking it off with his usual forewarning: “This story’s for real, you see,” he began the narration of the story again.

And then… Ring! A weird, metallic or electric sound popped in my ears. It sounded slightly robotic. Probably my first notifications from the System.

❮ You have registered as ‘Skill.’ ❯

…❮ No Player(s) has been found. ❯

…❮ Enough ‘Faith Points’ have been acquired — ‘Creation: Player’ has been issued. ❯

What can I say? People believed in me. Also, the story the young man went about telling wasn’t any story.

❮ Engaging ‘Creation: Player’: Pending…

❮ Engaging ‘Creation: Player’: Pending….

❮ Engaging ‘Creation: Player’: Pending….. ❯

…And yet another ‘Ring!’ rang out.

❮ Engaging ‘Creation Procedure’: Authorized. ❯

‘This story’s for real.’ The young man said that, but really, he had no idea.






(free dots yum)

At last, the young man went about his storytelling.

“Once upon a time, within a forest—the Fantastic Forest—was a tribe of humans. A group of human beings. A group of ‘us’. And it was the first tribe of humans. They were a proud, joyful, and fine group of people.”

The two kids were in awe. It was as if it was the first time that same old opening was uncovered to them. They listened with as round eyes as plates, great expectations, as they hoped to unearth and devour every bit of that tale all over again.

“These people—our people—they lived in a forest. The Fantastic Forest, you know it. And ‘Fantastic Forest’ wasn’t just any name for it, no. Know it—the name was well-deserved, very well-deserved. Ancient, full of riches, wondrous, prosperous. That was the forest! Why, didn’t that suffice for it to be called in this dignified manner? For it to be called Fantastic, with a big capital ‘f’? Of course it did, but to make it even more fantastical… it was the forest where everything began!”


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