Eventually, after freshening up at the stream and feeling somewhat more like a functioning lifeform, Veigar resumed his march into the unknown — wet boots, aching legs, and a dagger that was 90% cleaner and 10% trauma.
The forest had begun to feel like a second skin. Its sounds no longer startled Veigar — they whispered to him now, guiding, watching, waiting. Every step he took sank softly into the mossy ground, each movement measured not by grace, but by hunger. His body ached. His boots squelched with sweat. His fingers clutched the dagger like a lifeline. And still, he moved forward.
Then he saw it.
Tracks.
Hoofprints, broad and deep, pressed into the damp soil in staggered rhythm. Veigar crouched, brushing aside leaves and dirt with a practiced hand. He didn't know how he knew — he just did.
"Boar?" he murmured.
His stomach growled in response — long, low, pitiful.
"Alright, little piggy… this is personal now."
He crouched beside the tracks, examining them like a seasoned hunter.
Which he was not.
In fact, Veigar had never hunted anything in his life — unless you counted ganking bot lane as a Jungler in MOBA-Type games. And even then, he mostly got flamed.
Still, the logic seemed simple: follow the tracks, stab the piggy.
He followed the trail with more hope than skill, stumbling over roots, pausing too often to check if he was being watched. The tracks twisted through underbrush and over fallen logs, disappearing once or twice only to reappear like a cruel game of hide-and-seek.
"System," he called, low and urgent, "you wanna help out here? Maybe highlight the boar in bright red like?"
[Your instincts are developing, just trust them.]
"Why do your cryptic compliments always sound like things my therapist would say?"
[Perhaps you should have listened to your therapist.]
"Touche."
Minutes dragged by.
The air started to grew heavier and mana thickened, shimmering faintly in his vision, meanwhile the birds had gone silent. Even the wind felt like it was holding its breath.
Then he heard it — a low grunt, followed by the rustle of leaves.
He froze.
Another grunt. This time louder. Closer.
His breath hitched.
From the dense shrubbery ahead, a shape barreled out — massive, brown, covered in bristles and fury. Its tusks gleamed under slivers of sunlight that pierced the canopy.
"OH, COME ON—!"
Veigar dove to the side just as the boar crashed past, tearing through a sapling like paper. Before he could catch his breath, another exploded from the left — then another from behind.
"WHAT IS THIS, A FAMILY REUNION?!"
He sprinted, darting between trunks and ducking under branches. The boars gave chase, grunting and shrieking like demons with hooves. He twisted, slid, rolled — barely staying ahead of the stampede. One clipped his hip, sending him tumbling into a patch of ferns.
He groaned, pushing himself up with trembling arms. Leaves clung to his face.
"This is not how heroes hunt, damn it!"
[New Quest: Hunt the Wild Boars]
[Defeat: (0/5)]
[Reward: ???]
He wheezed a laugh. "NOW you tell me."
The boars turned — circling. Five in total.
Their eyes glinted with primal rage and one of them — larger than the others — scraped the dirt with its hoof.
Veigar raised his hand and instinctively fired off a pulse of mana — it singed the fur of one boar, but only made it angrier, the forest echoed with guttural squeals.
Then he raised his dagger.
"I'm gonna die in a fantasy forest because bacon hates me."
The lead boar charged.
He sidestepped — barely — and slashed. The blade tore into flesh and blood sprayed. The beast squealed and crashed into a tree.
Another came from behind — tusks aimed at his spine.
Veigar dropped, rolled, and kicked upward. His boot connected with its snout. It staggered back, snorting blood.
He was feeling something into his limbs, sharpening his reflexes, anchoring his stance.
It wasn't only adrenaline that surged inside his heart, that pounded like a war drum. But something else.
The desire to live and be stronger yelling inside of him, as a warmth.
A pressure in his chest.
He think no more
He just moved.
Veigar spun, ducked beneath a charging boar, slashed upward, and carved a red line across its side. He twisted on his heel, using the momentum to throw a punch — not with his fist, but with his entire body behind it.
The impact knocked a third boar sideways. Its legs folded.
"Holy… what was that?"
[Your instincts are developing, remember?]
No time to celebrate.
The last two boars came together. He reached for mana — but without success, he wasn't calm enough.
He clenched the dagger.
They charged.
He screamed.
And ran straight toward them.
At the last moment, he dropped to his knees, sliding beneath their bellies like an action hero in a discount kung fu movie. His dagger caught one in the stomach — hot blood splashed his face. The second boar tripped over the first and skidded into a tree with a crunch.
Silence.
Veigar remained on his knees, chest heaving, drenched in sweat and blood.
Then he laughed — not maniacally, but shakily. The kind of laugh someone gives when they're not sure if they've survived or hallucinated it all.
"...Did I just kill five boars?"
[Correct.]
"I should've filmed that."
[Would you like to claim your reward?]
"Hell yes."
The air shimmered, mana gathered and formed a swirling sphere of light before him.
Veigar's eyes lit up.
"Yes. YES. This is it. My first magic item!"
The sphere thickened, condensed.
The light dimmed and materialized into…
A glass plate delicately styled, along with a silver fork and a matching knife — both adorned with ornate etchings.
"…"
Poker face.
The system chimed cheerfully:
[Bon appétit, Veigar. I know how much you miss home]
He stared at the plate. Then at the bloodied battlefield. Then at the plate again.
"You even gave me cutlery."
[There's no excuse for you to eat like an animal now]
He picked up the fork.
"...I hate how much I love this."
[You're welcome.]
He collapsed onto the ground, staring at the canopy above.
Beneath the blood, sweat, and sarcasm, something had changed. The power he felt — that pressure — it wasn't mana. It wasn't the system.
It was him.
And for the first time… he felt real.
Capable.
Human.
He rolled over, wiping blood from his face with a leaf.
"Alright," he muttered, "I'm still hungry, covered in gore, and I probably smell like raw bacon. But I just beat up five forest creatures."
He grinned.
"I call that progress."