Chapter Eight – Harvest and Healing
By midday, our cave resembles a frontier workshop. Two of my newly-fired clay bottles sit on a flat stone before me – one brimming with a rich green liquid, the other half-filled with a viscous, milky venom. I hold the green bottle up to the light filtering in at the cave mouth and swirl it gently. Inside sloshes the healing concoction that saved my arm this morning: a concentrated brew of crushed cave moss and clean water, steeped in a pottery shard by the fire. It's the first real "potion" I've crafted, and it worked wonders – the long gash on my left forearm is now a faint pink scar, closed and painless thanks to repeated doses of the moss tea.
I set the bottle down with a satisfied exhale and flex my fingers. Just hours ago, I could barely hold a weapon; now my grip is steady. Bramble watches from a short distance, head cocked, as if he too is amazed by how quickly the green medicine worked. "We'll keep the rest for emergencies," I say. He thumps his tail in agreement.
Next, I turn to the second bottle. The creamy-brown venom inside catches the light unpleasantly. Using a funnel made from a broad leaf, I transferred what remained of our snake toxin into this vessel earlier, diluting it slightly with distilled water from boiling – a trick to preserve potency longer. We used only a small portion on the trap spear, so plenty remains. I cork the bottle tightly with a carved wooden plug and seal it with pine sap. A deadly asset, now safely stored.
With those urgent alchemical tasks done, it's time to deal with the elephant – or rather, the bear – in the room. The gigantic carcass of the six-legged guardian sprawls just outside the cave entrance where we dragged it. The morning breeze is already turning foul with its stench. Flies gather in buzzing clouds. If we don't process it soon, we'll lose a trove of resources (and invite every scavenger for kilometers).
I roll up my sleeves and gather my tools: flint knife, a stone hand-axe (salvaged from the broken pieces of my previous one), and some rope-like vines. Bramble stands at attention, as if sensing we're about to undertake a major project. "Let's get to work," I nod.
Skinning a creature this size proves to be a daunting task. Thick black fur covers tough hide underlaid with layers of fat and muscle. I start at an incision near the rear leg and begin peeling the hide with slow, strong pulls while cutting connective tissue with my knife. My arms burn with effort. Bramble paces around me, occasionally sniffing at the exposed meat curiously. When I pause to catch my breath, sweat drips from my brow and mixes with the bear's blood on my forearms, creating pink rivulets.
"This is… beyond anything I've done," I admit aloud with a strained chuckle. I've skinned small game on survival exercises – rabbits, a stray deer – but a monster bear is a different beast entirely. Bramble steps forward and licks my cheek as if to encourage me to continue. I smile and get back to it.
It takes the better part of an hour, but finally we wrest the hide free. Bramble actually helps at one point – I give a command and he tugs on a loose flap of fur, pulling with a low growl until a large section sloughs off. We manage to drag the hide into the cave to keep it out of the sun. It's absurdly heavy and still tacky with blood; I'll need to clean and stretch it soon before it spoils, but that's a task for later in the day.
Next, I butcher the carcass for meat. We smoke what we can immediately over a rekindled fire using green wood for lots of preserving smoke. Thick strips of red meat hang from improvised racks of branch poles, already attracting hungry smoke with a mouthwatering aroma. There's far more flesh than Bramble and I could eat even in a month, but I'm loath to waste it. Bramble, for his part, is in heaven – at one point I toss him a chunk of raw liver the size of a loaf of bread, and he devours it with glee before trotting back, muzzle dark with blood, to help me by digging a shallow pit to bury the unusable offal.
Under the hot afternoon sun, we render fat in one of my clay pots, boiling it down into grease that can be used for lamps or treating leather. We also assemble a rough drying rack outside the cave entrance where thinner cuts of meat, rubbed with a paste of salt-like ash and pungent herbs that Bramble sniffed out among the rocks, will cure into jerky. The dog found those preserving herbs – sage-like leaves with a sharp, antiseptic smell – and dropped a mouthful at my feet unprompted. I ruffled his ears proudly; his nose continues to be one of our greatest assets.
By late afternoon, the bulk of the messy work is done. We've accumulated a small mountain of bear meat (smoking or drying), a large oilskin sack of rendered fat, and the immense hide safely shaded inside the cave awaiting a brain-tanning treatment (once I figure out how to do that at scale). I also cracked the massive leg bones for marrow; we'll roast those tonight for a rich, calorie-dense meal.
Throughout the process, yellow glyphs occasionally flit at the edges of my vision – the system acknowledging our flurry of survival activities. Primitive Butchering +1, Preservation +1 pop up as I master new techniques by necessity. I can't help but grin at one notification: Resource Maximization – Achievement Unlocked, it reads, trailing a shower of yellow sparks. Perhaps an encouragement for using every part of a kill.
"Nothing wasted, huh?" I say to Bramble. He's lounging near the cave mouth, gnawing contentedly on one of the bear's gigantic claw tips as if it were a chew toy. At my voice, he pads over and sits by me, head cocked. I show him the interface entry (at least, I show myself – he follows my pointing finger and wags his tail). "Good job, partner. We'll eat well for a long time."
He barks once, then suddenly his ears perk toward the forest beyond our clearing. A moment later, I hear it too: the distant yapping laughter of hyena-like scavengers. They've caught the scent of blood. Three mottled shapes slink between the trees at the edge of the clearing, sniffing and skittering closer. They resemble oversized hyenas with too many teeth and patchy fur. Perhaps they've been drawn by the smoke and smell of our processing.
Bramble positions himself in front of me, a quiet growl rising in his throat. "Easy," I whisper, reaching for my sling resting on a stump. The lead scavenger – its eyes reflecting a feral intelligence – creeps closer, head low. It crosses some invisible boundary about twenty paces from our cave, and I decide that's too close. With a smooth motion, I load a stone into the sling, whirl it twice, and let fly. The stone whistles through the air and connects with the hyenadon's shoulder with a sharp crack. The creature yelps and staggers back. I hear a ping from the interface – Sling Skill +1 – just as Bramble breaks from my side, sprinting at the frightened pack with fierce barks.
The two uninjured scavengers turn tail and flee immediately, darting back into the brush. The one I struck limps after them, snarling and snapping in our direction but unwilling to take on an angry dog and whatever human weapon struck it from afar. Within moments, they vanish into the jungle gloom, their laughter silenced for now.
Bramble trots back, tail high and proud. I kneel to rub his neck vigorously. "Good boy! That'll teach them." He licks my cheek, then bounds over to mark the perimeter with a few territorial scratches at the dirt and a lift of his leg on a shrub for good measure.
I take a moment to rest, leaning against the cave's cool stone entrance. The sun is dipping low, and between the butchery, rendering, and fending off scavengers, it's been an exhausting day. But a productive one. We have food, materials, and even some luxury items (bear grease candles, anyone?) stockpiled.
As we start organizing our bounty – moving smoked meat onto a higher rock shelf safe from damp, rolling the folded hide to soak in a tannin-rich bark solution overnight – I feel an unfamiliar but welcome sensation: security. For the first time since waking on this brutal world, I'm not ravenous, injured, or empty-handed. We have a base stocked with supplies, weapons forged by our own hands, and knowledge growing by the day.
While packing away the last strips of jerky, my eyes drift to the gaping entrance of our cave, and beyond it, the twilight-kissed forest. In the dying light, my gaze snags on the silhouette of that rune-carved monolith we discovered on our trek to this bluff. It stands not far down the slope, partly hidden by vines – easy to overlook in the chaos of yesterday. We never did get to fully decipher it, interrupted as we were by signs of the "guardian."
Guardian. I recall the partial translation we managed: "Guard / Watch". My breath catches as realization sets in. Guard… I glance at the colossal carcass we just processed. That beast was likely what the monolith warned about – or perhaps even somehow controlled or linked to. And now that it's gone…
A thrill of curiosity overrides my exhaustion. Perhaps it's time to revisit that Lexicon Node and see if it has more to reveal. Who knows what information lies locked behind its symbols? If it contained a warning about the guardian, it might contain other useful lore or even guidance.
Bramble brushes against my knee, drawing me from my thoughts. I give him a conspiratorial grin and point toward the vine-wrapped stone barely visible down the slope. "What do you say, boy? Up for a little puzzle-solving before dark?"
He tilts his head, then trots a few paces down the path as if already leading the way. I laugh. "I'll take that as a yes."
I sling my spear over my back and grab a torch, lighting it from our fire. With Bramble by my side – energized by a day of feasting and success – I descend the slope toward the rune-covered monolith, eager to scratch another itch that's been with us since we first saw those strange symbols. Dusk deepens around us, but I feel no fear; for once, I feel only anticipation for the knowledge waiting just ahead in the gathering dark.
Chapter Nine
I rubbed a sore knot on the back of my neck as I sat by the mouth of our cave, morning light filtering through the newly grown thorny barrier encircling our campsite. My muscles still ached from yesterday's frenzy of activity – Bramble and I had spent long hours reinforcing our perimeter after that surprise boar attack. The wooden gate had nearly shattered under the boar's assault, and only quick thinking with a venom-tipped spear had saved us. In the aftermath, we'd built a living fence of thorn bushes around our clearing, hastened to maturity by one of Bramble's growth potions. Now stout, prickly hedges and freshly tied cord marked the boundary of what I cautiously called home.
While Bramble trotted along the inside of the perimeter on his morning patrol, nose low to the ground sniffing for any intruders, I busied myself with another project: deciphering the strange alien script from the nearby tunnel. A few days ago, after life had mercifully calmed following the bear and boar encounters, I'd decided it was time to tackle the mystery of that vine-choked passage in the limestone cliff. Carved walls lined with unknown symbols and diagrams had been waiting in the dark for us to understand them. I realized that if this world had any manual or clues to survival, it might be hidden in those very writings.
To that end, I had started creating a lexicon – a personal dictionary of the alien language. Each evening by the firelight of captured orb cores, I scratched symbols and attempted translations onto flat clay tablets we'd baked in our primitive furnace. Bramble often watched me with his head cocked, occasionally nosing at a tablet as if to check my work. It was slow going. I knew only a handful of words gleaned from patterns and the context of our experiences: the recurrent sigils for health, skill, craft, power – I suspected these corresponded to the colored sparks we'd seen. I had deduced, for instance, that the green swirling glyphs we saw when using the healing potion likely meant healing, and the yellow wavy symbols that absorbed into us when crafting or learning indicated skill growth. But I wanted confirmation, not just guesses.
Late last night, with Bramble dozing by my side, I finally made a breakthrough. Cross-referencing symbols from various tablets, I found a repeating set of five characters on one wall fragment sketch I'd copied. They were arranged in a chart-like format under a series of colored circles: green, yellow, white, blue, and red. My heart had pounded as I recognized this could be the key. Bramble, sensing my excitement, woke and peered at the tablet as I ran a finger over the etched symbols and murmured, "This looks like a legend… maybe explaining those colors and their meaning." The dog gave a quiet woof, as if urging me on.
Piece by piece, I matched the symbols to my limited lexicon. The green circle's label I translated roughly as "Vitality/Healing", the yellow as "Skill/Knowledge", the white as "Advancement", the blue as "Creation/Crafting", and the red as "Aggression/Strength". I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. It was as we suspected: this color-sigil magic system was finally yielding its secrets. "Green for healing, yellow for skills, white for advancement, blue for crafting, red for aggression," I whispered, a thrill of validation running through me.
Bramble's tail thumped against the dirt floor of the cave in encouragement. I scratched behind his ears. "Good job sniffing out those patterns with me, buddy." He licked my hand, and I could swear there was a spark of pride in his eyes.
Now, with morning upon us, it was time to put this budding lexicon to use directly at the source. The mysterious tunnel waited, perhaps holding more answers or even tools we could use. I strapped on my gear: the stout bear claw knife I had crafted hung at my waist, along with a stone hand-axe and the longer spear we'd fashioned from sapling wood. These weapons felt inadequate against some of the nightmares prowling this land, but they were all we had – at least until we could forge something better. Bramble trotted over as I finished packing a satchel with essentials: a couple of the healing herbs and green potions we'd made, some dried meat, a water gourd, and my clay lexicon tablets wrapped in leaves for protection. The dog sat and lifted one paw to tap the side of the satchel where the tablets were. He gave a low whine and then a short bark.
"You ready to crack this puzzle, boy?" I asked with a faint smile. Bramble bobbed his head in a convincing nod and stood, heading out of the cave. That simple exchange made warmth bloom in my chest – he understood our goal. His intelligence had been growing day by day, it seemed. We no longer needed complex commands; oftentimes, Bramble intuited what needed to be done with minimal cues. In this case, he knew we were heading for the tunnel and was eager to lead.
We moved cautiously across our encampment and slipped through a break in the thorn fence where a crude wooden gate now stood reinforced with extra planks. Outside the safe zone, the forest's morning chorus was in full swing. Strange bird calls echoed from high branches, and the underbrush rustled with unseen critters. I scanned the treeline, ever vigilant, spear in hand. My military instincts never truly rested – I automatically checked sight lines between trees and listened for anything larger than a rabbit moving out there. Bramble ranged a few meters ahead, sniffing and scanning with ears perked. His behavior had become more and more like a trained scout. I recalled how, back on Earth during patrols, I'd rely on my squad's point man and a keen-eyed canine unit to spot trouble. Here and now, I had both in this four-legged companion.
Within minutes, we arrived at the ivy-draped rock face that concealed the tunnel entrance. We'd cleared some of the vines on a previous visit, revealing a carved archway leading into darkness. Faint luminescent moss glowed on the walls just inside, casting an emerald sheen on the alien inscriptions covering them. I tied back a curtain of vines and ducked into the tunnel, stone spear haft in one hand and my other hand resting near the knife at my belt.
The air inside was cool and stale, undisturbed for who knows how long until our recent explorations. As we ventured deeper, the ambient light faded, so I withdrew one of our precious light sources – a small net bag containing a glowing orb core from a firefly-like creature Bramble had caught one night. It wasn't bright, but it cast enough bluish radiance for me to read the walls and for Bramble to navigate by without his eyeshine.
We passed along the corridor of text and diagrams that had baffled us days ago. Now, armed with some vocabulary, I could pick out occasional words: "harvest," "ability," "combine" – terms that hinted at instructions or lore about this world's mechanics. I whispered translations aloud to Bramble as we walked. "This part talks about… 'combining core with…something.' And here I see 'strength' next to that red sigil." He snorted softly, tail wagging like he also recognized the reference.
Eventually, the tunnel opened into a familiar circular chamber – the one we had briefly scouted before, where our presence had thus far been met only with silence and a strange, seamless architecture. In the center of the domed space stood two squat pyramidal stone slabs with flat tops. Last time we were here, touching those slabs had triggered a surreal display: a holographic clone of myself had appeared above one slab and one of Bramble above the other, accompanied by scrolling lines of alien script. At the time, we couldn't understand the information, and Bramble apparently hadn't seen the projections from his angle; only I had via my personal interface. We'd left soon after, realizing we needed more linguistic understanding to make sense of it.
Now I felt more prepared. I set the netted orb on the floor to illuminate the chamber and carefully laid out two of my lexicon tablets on the smooth stone next to the first slab. Bramble sat on his haunches beside me, alert but patient.
"All right, let's see what we missed last time," I murmured. I placed my palm flat on top of the first slab – the one that had shown my body's image before. Immediately, just as before, my interface vision flared to life. An ethereal green silhouette of my form materialized above the stone, rotating slowly. This time, instead of overwhelming lines of unreadable text, I could pick out some meaning. Many of the paragraphs were still gibberish to me, but scattered among them were terms I had just deciphered: "Strength – 12," "Endurance – 15," "Skin (hardened): 2" and other numerical notations floated around the clone model of me. I inhaled sharply. It looked like some kind of status readout, listing attributes and even that new ability I'd unknowingly gained – hardened skin – likely from consuming that ogre core earlier. There it was in writing, albeit with half the words unknown: I recognized the symbol for strength, and a number I presumed was my stat.
I quickly flipped through one of my tablets to confirm a symbol – yes, the one I thought meant "strength" matched what hovered next to "12." The discovery sent a surge of excitement through me. "Bramble, this is showing my abilities...like a personnel file or a game character sheet," I explained, voice reverberating in the stone chamber. The dog pawed at the ground, perhaps impatient that he could not see what I did. "Okay, let's check yours." I moved to the second slab and placed my hand on it.
A projection of Bramble appeared – a perfect translucent replica of the scruffy mutt, lying down with tail swishing. Around him, more text. I squinted, managing to catch snippets: "Agility – 18," "Intelligence – 8," "Alchemy: 3." I let out a short laugh. Alchemy, that had to be referring to his potion-brewing talent! Trust Bramble to have a literal stat for being an incredible magical cook. He barked at my laugh, tilting his head.
"This is incredible," I said softly. "It's giving us feedback on our progress. You're one speedy, clever boy, you know that?" I gently nudged his side. Bramble puffed out his chest slightly and sat a bit taller. He didn't comprehend the numbers but clearly recognized praise.
Skimming the rest of the information, I realized much of it was still locked behind language I hadn't translated. This interface was a wealth of data – perhaps too much to decipher on the spot. And the slabs likely updated as we grew. I wondered if there was more interactive functionality, but nothing obvious happened when I slid my hands over the stone surfaces or concentrated on any particular element.
After a few more minutes, I stepped back, satisfied that I had gleaned what I could: confirmation of our stat growth and a few skill names. It was motivation to continue mastering the language so I could fully parse it all later.
Beyond the slab platforms, at the far end of the chamber, lay an open doorway leading to a second, larger dome-shaped room. When we first came, that inner sanctum had remained dark until we approached, at which point swirling lights began to animate in its center. We hadn't stayed long enough to fully investigate, because we were startled and frankly uneasy without understanding what it was. Now, I felt a mixture of nervousness and determination as we approached that doorway again. Bramble padded alongside me, the blue glow from our orb reflecting in his attentive eyes.
We crossed the threshold into the larger cavern. As expected, the moment we entered, wisps of light coalesced before us. Bramble gave an excited yip, seeing it clearly this time. The motes of radiance gathered into a swirling mass in the center of the room, then spread out like ink dispersing in water, resolving into a crisp three-dimensional image suspended in mid-air. I recognized it at once: a map.
It was a bird's-eye view relief map, with what looked like our surrounding region rendered in miniature. I saw the sprawling green of the forest and the line of mountains we sheltered under. A tiny pulsing dot of white light marked a spot on the mountainside—likely our current location at this Lexicon Node. Spreading out from that were more glimmering pinpoints across the land: a handful of them in varying colors. There was a red-glowing speck deeper in the forest, a blue one near a ribbon that might be a river, and a couple more – yellow? orange? – further out toward what looked like open plains beyond the forest's edge. Above the map hovered clusters of alien text. It had the appearance of a legend or key, just as I had seen on the wall diagram, except now bright and projected. My ability to read was still limited, but I caught sight of a symbol I knew: the one for copper (I had learned a few resource terms from contextual guessing earlier – the word had appeared near diagrams of ore veins). That copper symbol was next to one of the map's colored markers along the mountain's base, glowing a faint blue-green. Another I thought might mean iron was next to a different marker along the foothills. My pulse quickened at the implication: this map was highlighting resources.
"It's a regional scan… showing us where to find what we need," I murmured in wonder. Bramble stood on his hind legs briefly, paws on a low stone outcrop, trying to get a better look at the floating map. His nose twitched. "See here," I pointed, even though he couldn't decipher it. "I think that marker is a rich copper seam, and over there could be iron." The dog barked twice, tail wagging – whether he truly understood or was just happy that I was excited, I couldn't be sure, but I liked to think he grasped some of it.
Unfortunately, much of the legend text was beyond my translation ability. Had I more time to cross-reference my tablets with what hung in the air, I could decode more, but we couldn't linger too long – we were still in a potentially unknown situation. Yet my eyes drank in every detail greedily. The placement of markers suggested also the presence of other Lexicon Nodes or points of interest; the white light at our current position likely denoted an activated Node (this chamber), whereas other similar white lights on the map could be additional Nodes waiting out there. And if our experience so far was any indication, each might be protected or hidden by challenges.
I traced a route in the air from our mountain to the nearest other white marker, roughly at the forest's far boundary. "Maybe ten, twenty kilometers away," I estimated softly. "That could be another structure like this one. If we ever want more answers… we'll have to go there eventually." Bramble dropped back to all fours and nudged my leg, as if sensing the resolve in my voice. I realized I was effectively planning future expeditions already, a far cry from a week ago when my only plan was surviving the next night.
For a moment, I allowed myself to revel in the sense of progress and hope this Node had given us. We had knowledge of what the colored sigils meant. We had a map highlighting valuable resources – copper and iron, exactly what I'd wished for to improve our armaments. And we had confirmation that this world followed some manner of structured rules or system. It wasn't pure chaos; it was more like… like being dropped into a live training ground or a strange game. The soldier in me appreciated having intel and objectives, no matter how bizarre the context.
I was about to inspect the map closer – perhaps looking for water sources or other notable terrain features – when an ear-splitting screech ripped through the chamber from behind us. My blood ran cold. That was no natural cave sound; it was the unmistakable cry of a hostile creature, echoing down the very tunnel we had come from.
Instantly on alert, I snatched up the orb light and stuffed it back into my satchel, plunging us into semi-darkness save for the faint glow of the map projection. Bramble was already by the doorway, fur bristling along his spine, a deep growl emanating from his throat. I could see a pale blue gleam building at the base of his horn – an ability he'd gained from one of the cores, allowing him to manifest a sharp, blade-like energy projection above his head for combat. I pressed my back to the cool stone wall and gripped my spear tightly. My heart hammered in my chest as the screeching cry sounded again, louder and nearer, like metal scraping metal mixed with an animalistic wail.
The first rule of survival flashed through my mind: never let your guard down. In my fascination with the Node, I'd grown complacent, and now something had tracked us or been alerted by our presence. Cursing my lapse, I peeked around the doorway into the outer chamber. The map's glow cast strange shadows, but near the tunnel entrance I saw movement – multiple shadows in fact, shambling and jerking with eerie motions as they entered the domed room.
A pair of narrow, glowing eyes reflected green in the dark as the first creature stepped cautiously into the chamber. It was roughly half my height, shaped vaguely like a deformed humanoid with a hunched back and elongated arms that nearly dragged on the ground. Its skin was a mottled grey-green and covered in patchy scales. Two short, curved horns jutted from its bald head, and a fanged grin split its face as it spotted us – a visage of malice and hunger. Behind it, I glimpsed at least two more silhouettes clambering to get through the tunnel, gutteral grunts echoing.
"Goblins?" I muttered under my breath, thinking of old fantasy tales. They certainly resembled goblins or some kind of caverns-dwelling imp. Whatever they were, they did not look friendly. My interface did not pop up with convenient labels, but I was pretty sure these things were here to attack.
One look at the creatures' clawed hands – each fingertip glowing with a sharp blue sigil light not unlike Bramble's horn – and I realized they had their own dangerous magical weapons. Blue… creation energy? Or perhaps just manifested mana shaped into claws. Regardless, I knew what those claws could do; I recalled all too well the giant bear's blue-tinged slashes that had sliced my old stone axe to pieces and lacerated my arm. If those little fiends can project cutting energy like the bear did, we're in trouble.
I hissed a command to Bramble: "Back, form up!" We had practiced some maneuvers lately, and he knew to stay near my left side, slightly behind, ready to dart around and flank if an opening arose. He lowered himself, muscles tense and a growl still rumbling.
The first goblin-like creature did not wait for an invitation. With a shriek, it bounded forward, leaping into the air toward me with claws outstretched and jaws open drooling saliva. I had only an instant to react. I thrust my spear upward defensively, and its momentum carried it right onto the spear tip mid-leap. The sharpened stone and wood drove through its thin chest with a sickening crunch, skewering it. Hot blood splattered my face and chest as the creature let out a gurgling scream. Its weight almost ripped the weapon from my hands as it went limp, but I managed to stagger backward, letting the dying thing slide off and crumple to the floor.
There was no time to revel or recoil. Two more of the creatures scrambled over its corpse, howling in rage. In the dim light I could now see perhaps half a dozen behind them, eyes glowing, bodies contorting as they pushed and jostled to reach us. A full pack.
Bramble launched himself at the second one before it could fully rise from its crawl. With a fierce snarl quite unlike any domestic dog, he slashed with the magical horn of energy on his head, severing one of the creature's legs at the knee. The goblin screeched, tumbling over, and Bramble darted past it to clamp his jaws on the arm of a third creature trying to sidestep around. He shook violently, worrying the arm like a chew toy and likely shattering bone.
For my part, I let instinct and training take over. I cast aside the now-bloody spear – the first goblin's body was still impaled on it, making it useless as a weapon in the moment – and yanked my stone hand-axe from my belt. As a fourth and fifth creature closed in, I roared to steel my nerves and swung at the nearest ugly face. The axe head connected with a wet thunk, splitting the goblin's cheek and jaw. It reeled away, blackish blood flying.
Another set of glowing claws whistled toward my side. I twisted just in time, taking a grazing slash across my ribcage rather than a disemboweling. Pain flared as the shallow cuts burned; my hardened skin ability absorbed some of the damage but not all. I countered with a brutal kick to that attacker's kneecap, feeling a crack as the joint inverted and the creature collapsed with a wail.
They just kept coming. Bramble was a frenzy of motion at my flank – I heard him yelp as one managed to rake his hindquarters, but then a crunch indicated he'd crushed its throat in retaliation. I swung and smashed with my axe at any shadow that came within arm's reach. The narrow choke point of the doorway between chambers became our advantage; the creatures could only come at us one or two at a time, preventing them from swarming us fully. My military mind seized on that fact: we held the high ground here, figuratively, funneling the enemy.
The problem was fatigue and equipment. Every heavy impact against bone or stone sent shocks up my arm. The crude cord binding my axe head to its handle was loosening from the force. With one particularly hard strike that glanced off a goblin's horn, disaster struck – the stone axe head snapped off, clattering to the floor somewhere in the dark. I was left holding a broken wooden haft.
"Damn it!" I snarled. Another goblin lunged in that instant, claws aiming for my throat. I caught its wrists with my hands through sheer reflex and strength born of adrenaline. It was stronger than it looked, snarling and snapping its fangs inches from my face as I strained to keep those claws at bay. Saliva dripped onto my arm from its maw. With a surge, I wrenched its arms apart, overpowering it, and drove my forehead straight into its nose. The crunch of cartilage and its howl told me I'd broken it. I shoved the stunned creature back into two of its oncoming fellows, buying a precious second.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bramble wrestling with two at once now, his teeth clamped on one creature's shoulder while he raked another with his front paws. He was bleeding from a cut along his flank, but it didn't slow his fury.
Weaponless, I let years of hand-to-hand combat training take over. These goblins might have magic claws, but physically they were not too durable – and they were short. I could use my size as leverage. The next one came low, trying to hamstring me. I actually leaped forward, stomping down with all my weight on its back. I heard its spine snap under my boot. Another launched itself at my torso, scratching and clawing wildly. I accepted a few slashes on my arms, gritting my teeth against the pain, and in exchange wrapped my arms around the creature in a crushing bear hug (a fitting term, given my last major fight). With a savage yell, I lifted and then slammed the goblin head-first into the stone floor. It went limp instantly with a splatter of dark blood.
Suddenly, a relative quiet fell. I stood panting and dripping with gore, turning in circles to see if any foe remained. Bramble limped to my side, muzzle stained black with ichor, but otherwise alert. All around our feet lay the carnage: a dozen or more goblin creatures in varying states of dismemberment, none moving. Many had crushed skulls or broken limbs; one still spasmed weakly until Bramble stepped over and ended it with a quick bite to the neck.
I exhaled a shaky breath. The adrenaline was ebbing, bringing a symphony of pain from the numerous shallow cuts that crisscrossed my arms, torso, and even legs. It was as if I'd run through brambles – fittingly, my companion's namesake – and gotten shredded. But remarkably, none of the wounds were life-threatening. My hardened skin had prevented the claws from gouging too deep, and any serious strikes I'd blocked or mitigated. I'd have some scars, no doubt, but I was alive. Alive, and triumphant.
Bramble gave a soft whine and nudged my thigh with his snout. I immediately knelt, concern overriding my own pain. "Hey, hey… you hurt bad, boy?" He licked my face – a reassuring gesture – and then sat back to present his wounded flank to me. A long cut oozed blood through his brown fur, not too deep but enough to have me worried. He pawed at my satchel lightly, where the healing herbs and potions were stored, then looked up expectantly.
I let out a breathy chuckle. Even after a vicious fight, he was level-headed enough to remind me to dress the wounds. "You're right. Let's patch up before anything else shows up." If these goblins had a nest or more nearby, the smell of blood here could attract others.
Working quickly, hands still shaking from adrenaline, I pulled out a small clay jar of green paste – a crude poultice Bramble had made from healing herbs for external use – and smeared it generously along the gash on his flank. He sat still, only a faint tremble when it must have stung. "Good boy," I murmured soothingly. "That'll help." Next, I checked myself. Most cuts were already clotting or shallow enough to ignore for now. For the nastier gash across my ribs, I slapped some of the remaining paste and a strip of torn cloth from my shirt as a bandage. The pain dulled slightly as the herbal concoction seeped in with a cool tingling.
Only after tending wounds did I properly take stock of the situation. The chamber was a bloodbath of little bodies. The air reeked of iron and the musty stink of the creatures. Our orb light still faintly glowed from my satchel, so I took it out and surveyed the fallen. Cores – that was my next thought. Each of these creatures should have a core gem in them, typically near the heart or brain. We'd learned that every beast, no matter how small, had that magical core that could be harvested. And these particular pests had attacked with something akin to skill – those blue claws. Could their cores possibly be of the blue variety, indicating a crafting or creation alignment? It seemed odd for something so violent to be "crafting," but perhaps the color didn't strictly dictate behavior. Or maybe the blue was simply the type of mana they could manipulate for their claws.
Either way, I wasn't going to pass up resources. With a weary kind of resignation, I retrieved my bear-claw knife, still miraculously strapped to my belt, and set about the grisly task of extracting cores. Bramble, knowing the routine, helped by dragging bodies together into a pile to expedite my work, though he scrunched his nose at the foul smell. "I know, this isn't the good kind of scavenging," I empathized as I knelt over the first goblin corpse. A quick incision at the base of its skull and a bit of prying with sticky fingers yielded a small, dull gemstone-like orb about the size of a walnut. It glowed faintly with an inner light – indeed a soft blue. I held it up to show Bramble. "Blue cores. Would you look at that?" He sniffed at it then sneezed, which made me chuckle. "Not appetizing, huh? We'll figure out a use later."
One by one, I harvested all the cores we could find, dropping each into an empty leather pouch. By the end I counted eleven of the small blue orbs. A hefty haul, considering how potent even a single core could be in the dog's alchemy or for boosting our abilities. I wondered if blue cores might aid in magical crafting somehow – fitting to their color meaning. Perhaps fusing one to a tool might strengthen it, or grinding it to powder and mixing into metal might yield an enchanted alloy. These were just wild ideas for now, but soon we would test such theories.
With the core extraction done, I took a final look around the Node chamber. The projection had faded away at some point during the battle – likely shut off either due to time or triggered by the combat. The two slab platforms remained inert, faintly lit by the ambient glow from some wall panels. If there was more to gain from this place, it would have to wait. We were in no condition to puzzle out more secrets right now, not with exhaustion weighing on my limbs and Bramble favoring one leg.
I whistled softly and motioned to the tunnel. "Let's head home, buddy. We've got what we came for." Bramble agreed with a quiet chuff, but he surprised me by trotting a few paces back into the large room briefly. He returned not with another creature or item, but with my spear, which I had abandoned at the fight's start. The original goblin was still impaled on it, but the dog dragged the spear – body and all – back toward me. I grimaced, half amused, half grossed out. "I appreciate it, but you can leave the impaled one behind," I noted. Bramble halted and looked up at me, then gave a sly huff that almost sounded like a chuckle. He proceeded to brace a paw on the dead goblin's chest and yank the spear free with his jaws, flicking the body aside. A wet squelch echoed, and I shook my head with a mixture of pride and disbelief.
Bramble picked up the spearshaft in his mouth and carried it to me, tail wagging proudly despite the limp. I reached down and took it from him gently. "Good initiative," I praised. "We'll clean it later." For now, I wiped the gore off on an already bloody goblin rag and used the spear as a walking stick as we made our way out.
We retraced our path through the carved tunnel slowly, both of us limping and wary of further ambushes. Thankfully, it seemed this pack was the only immediate threat. Perhaps they'd been nesting deeper in the mountain and heard the noise or sensed the magic of the Node's activation. The thought was troubling – this place might act as a beacon for monsters whenever used. We'd have to be extremely careful if we returned.
Emerging into the daylight was like being reborn. The morning had progressed toward noon, rays of sunshine spearing through the canopy. It illuminated the drying blood on our clothes and fur, making us quite a sight. I couldn't help but laugh weakly. "We look like we rolled in a butcher shop." Bramble barked softly in agreement and shook himself, sending droplets of black blood splattering. He then sniffed at one of my bigger cuts and nosed my pocket where a tiny ceramic vial of green healing potion sat.
"You think I should take a swig?" I asked. He gave a definite nod. The potions he brewed from green cores and herbs were powerful – they accelerated natural healing incredibly, though we tried to use them sparingly. But with this many wounds, the risk of infection or debilitating pain was high. I uncorked the vial and drank half of the cool, minty-tasting liquid. A warmth spread through my chest and into my limbs, and within minutes the stinging in my cuts dulled as flesh knitted subtly beneath bandages. Bramble watched, satisfied, then bumped my hand until I dribbled the remaining half onto my fingers and let him lap it. It was a testament to his growing savvy that he insisted on sharing the dose; he knew it benefited both of us.
We hobbled back toward camp. My mind whirled despite my fatigue – analyzing everything we'd learned and encountered. The Lexicon Node had not only confirmed the color magic system for us, but given us a map with vital clues. Copper and iron seams were out there, waiting. And further Nodes or points of interest too, likely with greater challenges guarding them. We had taken a beating from a mere pack of small monsters; what of the bigger ones sure to be protecting more important sites? A shiver ran down my spine at the thought, but also a thrill. We'd survived everything thrown at us so far by adapting and learning. We were only getting stronger and smarter.
Back at our cave, I opened the reinforced gate and ushered Bramble in. The waterfall beside our camp trickled serenely, as if mocking the violence we'd just endured with its peaceful babble. First order of business was cleaning up. We waded into the cold stream together, washing blood from our skin and fur. Bramble rolled in the shallows to get the grime off, then emerged and shook, droplets glistening in the midday sun. I cleaned my weapons and what remained of my gear. The stone axe was gone – lost in that chamber when it broke. Only the wooden handle remained, which I tossed aside with a sigh. "Farewell, axe Mark One. You served well until you didn't."
At that, Bramble trotted over with something in his mouth – the stone axe head, cracked in two but recovered, likely picked up in the tunnel while I was distracted. He dropped the pieces at my feet. I huffed a laugh. "You picked that up too, huh? You must have been busy while I was carving up goblins." He gave me a canine grin, tongue lolling. I ruffled his wet fur. "You're a regular pack mule, except way cuter."
We set the broken tool aside. I would keep it as a memento or grind it into a scraper later. The truth was, I wouldn't need a primitive stone axe much longer. We finally had a lead on real metal. Copper and iron – resources that could catapult our equipment from Stone Age to a semblance of Medieval. I thought of my aching arms and the shattered axe. Yes, upgrading our arsenal was priority.
After donning a relatively clean tunic (one I'd woven from plant fibers and animal sinew that fit roughly), I spread out my clay tablets and a piece of flat bark near the fire pit. Using charcoal, I began sketching from memory the portion of the map we'd seen. Bramble lay beside me, watching as I drew the rough outline of the mountains, the forest, and marked an X at our location. To the best of my recollection, I added a symbol for copper where I'd seen it on the projection, and one for iron. There were other markers further out – I penciled those in as question marks for now. We'd investigate one day, but not yet.
Once done, I sat back. The map was crude but it was ours. It felt empowering to have a homemade chart of the area rather than wandering blind. Bramble seemed to sense the significance; he gently placed a paw at the spot I'd marked for copper and then looked up at me, tail giving a single wag.
"Yes," I said, scratching under his chin affectionately. "That's our next mission. We're going to find that copper seam." I glanced over to where the large boar hide was stretched and drying on a rack – a fresh reminder of the beasts in these woods and why we needed better weapons and armor. "With metal, we'll have a fighting chance against whatever this world throws at us, even possibly the bigger monsters guarding those other Nodes."
At the word Nodes, Bramble gave a low chuff and flicked his ears back, as if remembering the nasty fight we'd just escaped. I chuckled. "We'll be better prepared by then, don't worry." He snorted as if to say we'd better be.
The afternoon sun began to wane as we made plans. I stoked the fire and put on a small pot of stew (some foraged tubers and dried rabbit meat) to simmer while we rested. Bramble busied himself grinding a few herbs with his mortar and pestle – a simple set I'd made from a hollowed stone and a rounded pestle rock. He added a pinch of crushed blue goblin core dust – he'd taken one of the smaller cores and apparently decided to experiment. I watched curiously as he brewed, the concoction sizzling a bit when the core dust hit it. He gave it a sniff and promptly sneezed again, stepping back with an offended huff. I laughed. "Not every experiment is a success, eh professor?" He nodded vigorously, scooting the bowl away and pawing dirt over the mixture as if burying something foul. So much for goblin core stew – whatever he'd attempted was clearly not edible or useful, at least not in that form.
Evening was coming on by the time we'd eaten and tended to all chores. Both of us were exhausted from the day's exertions. We shared a final look as I scratched behind Bramble's ears. "Tomorrow, we head out at first light. Copper hunt." He gave a single bark of assent, then circled his favorite spot on our bedding and curled up. I added a few logs to the fire to keep it strong through the night and lay down beside my loyal friend, draping the edge of the bearskin blanket over both of us. Above, through the gap at the cave's mouth, I could see a sliver of the artificial sky already peppered with stars – or what passed for stars inside this Dyson Sphere. Sometimes I wondered if those pinpricks were actually lights from distant parts of the sphere's inner surface, or something projected to simulate a night sky. One day I might find out.
As I closed my eyes, my mind drifted over the recent revelations: color sigils, status screens, a map of resources, other Lexicon Nodes out there guarded by who-knew-what. We had a purpose beyond mere day-to-day survival now. We were unraveling the layers of this world, and with each step, we grew stronger. Nestled in the quiet safety of our fortified cave, Bramble's steady breathing by my side, I allowed myself a rare moment of contentment.
"Goodnight, Bramble," I whispered, reaching out to feel his warm fur. He thumped his tail sleepily in response.
Tomorrow was going to be another hard day – but we were ready for it. The wilderness of the Dyson Sphere held many secrets, and together, we would decode them all, one puzzle at a time.
Chapter Ten
Dawn broke in a palette of pale gold and pink across the inner sky, but I was already awake, checking and re-checking our gear for the journey ahead. The excitement of having a mission fueled me more than any morning coffee could have (not that I'd seen a single coffee bean in this place, to my eternal regret). Bramble watched me hustle about with an amused tilt of his head, stretching lazily before trotting over to nose at a coil of rope I'd braided from plant fibers.
"We might need that to haul ore," I explained as I fastened the rope to my pack. I ran through the inventory aloud for both our sakes. "Water, dried meat, healing salve, one full green potion, one venom vial, flint and tinder, a digging pick…" I patted the last item – a makeshift pickaxe I'd cobbled together yesterday by securing a sharp wedge of rock onto a sturdy branch. It wasn't ideal, but if we had to chip copper out of rock, it would do until we could craft better tools.
Bramble had his own little carry harness now – a sort of saddlebags rig I'd fashioned from boar hide. He sat patiently as I tightened the straps around his chest and belly. "Not too tight?" I asked. He gave a quick shake (to seat the harness rather than in objection) and then a short bark. I'd distributed some lighter items into his pouches: extra bandages, a bit of food, and one of the ceramic jars to carry any small ore pieces or samples. He could easily bear that weight, and it freed me up to carry the heavier stuff.
The morning was brisk. Our breath misted slightly as we left the comfort of the fire and stepped out into the dewy grass. I had stoked the embers bright and left our camp secured – gate locked, thorn fence inspected, traps set. It was the first time in days we'd be venturing far from base, and I couldn't shake a slight anxiety about leaving our cache of supplies behind, even with the defenses. But there was no helping it; opportunity lay out there, beyond our fence.
I gave a soft whistle and we headed off into the forest, aiming southwest where the map had indicated the copper seam along the mountain's base. The woods welcomed us with birdsong and the chatter of small creatures in the canopy. Sunlight slanted through columns of eucalyptus-like trees, their leaves releasing a fresh, minty scent as we brushed past. Despite wariness, I felt almost cheerful – it reminded me of early morning ruck marches during training, when the air was cool and full of potential and my squad moved with purpose.
Bramble ranged ahead but always within sight, sniffing at prints and occasionally marking a tree with a quick lift of his leg (some habits die hard, even for an increasingly sophisticated creature like him). I kept my spear in hand, eyes scanning for any signs of predators. The last thing we needed was another confrontation with a camouflaged bear or a territorial boar. Luckily, the morning seemed peaceful; perhaps our thorn barrier and the lingering scent of venom and death near our camp deterred would-be intruders for now.
As we trekked, my mind wandered to the blue goblin cores jingling in my pack. We had stashed most of them at home, but I brought a couple along in case they proved useful. According to the lexicon, blue was the color of crafting, creation magic. It occurred to me that maybe, if I could figure out how, using a blue core during our mining or smelting process might yield benefits. Could it, for example, magically loosen the copper from rock, or increase the quality of metal we could extract? The interface might have skills related to that, possibly locked until I tried. This world seemed to reward experimentation – like how making cord and tools gave us those yellow skill sigils of improvement. If I attempted magical metallurgy, maybe I'd unlock something new.
A flicker of movement ahead pulled me from my thoughts. I froze, holding up a fist – a silent signal for Bramble to halt. He did so instantly, dropping low in the ferns. I crouched and peered through a gap in the brush. About twenty yards ahead, the undergrowth shivered, and I heard a soft clucking noise. Slowly, I eased forward to get a better view.
A plump, turkey-sized bird with vibrant emerald plumage was scratching at the forest floor, oblivious to us. Its head was crested with a red-orange frill, and it had a stubby, horn-like beak it used to overturn leaves and peck at insects. I recognized it – we'd caught glimpses of these birds before. Harmless foragers, and quite possibly good eating. My stomach tightened at the thought of roast fowl; our rations were fine, but nothing beat fresh meat. I glanced at Bramble. His eyes were locked on the bird and his body was tensed, awaiting my cue.
Hunting wasn't our main objective today, but it would be a shame to pass up the chance. I silently drew my bear-claw knife and pointed at the bird, then mimed throwing. Bramble understood – we'd done this dance with small game plenty of times. He began to skirt around quietly to flush the bird toward me.
I crept closer in a low stance, trying to get within throwing range. My knife wasn't ideally balanced for throwing, but I'd practiced a bit and at short range it could do the job. The bird continued pecking, a juicy beetle wriggling in its beak. Just a little closer…
With a sudden rustle, Bramble charged from the undergrowth, barking. The emerald bird squawked in alarm and bolted directly away from him – which was directly toward me. I burst from cover and in one fluid motion hurled the knife end over end. A thump and an explosion of feathers followed as the blade struck true. The bird dropped, flapping twice before lying still.
"Ha!" I couldn't help a triumphant grin. "Breakfast coming up." Bramble emerged and pranced over proudly as I retrieved the knife from the bird's breast. The kill was quick and clean. I offered my companion a hearty pat. "Textbook flush and throw. Good teamwork." He licked a spot of blood from the knife's edge (ever the opportunist for a taste) and wagged his tail.
Not wanting to spend too long on butchering, I quickly dressed the bird on the spot. My knife made short work of removing the innards and plucking a few feathers. We took only the meatiest portions – breasts and legs – wrapping them in a large leaf to take home. The rest, I stashed high in a crook as an offering for scavengers away from our path. No need to advertise fresh blood on the ground for any predator to track. A few green sigils drifted off the carcass and into my chest as I finished – likely acknowledging some minor survival/hunting feat or just the act of obtaining fresh food.
With that bonus secured, we continued on with renewed energy, and a slight detour to wash my hands and blade in a stream. The terrain began to slope upward and the trees thinned as we approached the foot of the mountains. I recognized landmarks from the map in my memory: a rocky outcropping here, a bend in a small river there. We were closing in on the area marked for copper. Sure enough, the soil underfoot became more reddish and littered with stones that had a green patina – the telltale sign of copper mineralization (malachite, perhaps). My excitement grew; the Node's accuracy was spot on.
By mid-morning, we found it: a jagged seam of copper ore exposed in the side of a low hill where a landslide had stripped away the topsoil. It wasn't a gleaming vein of pure metal – copper seldom is – but rather a swath of bluish-green stained rock and the occasional glimpse of native copper red. I climbed onto the slope, running my hand over one of the green-streaked rocks. It crumbled easily, the oxidized copper minerals flaking under my fingers. "This is it," I breathed. "Jackpot."
Bramble scrabbled up beside me and sniffed at a piece of ore. He sneezed at the mineral smell, giving me a comical look of accusation as if to say, We came all this way for rocks?
I laughed. "Not just rocks – metal. The key to stronger weapons, remember?" I brandished my spear for effect. He cocked his head, then to my surprise, he pressed a paw against the outcrop and sniffed again, more thoughtfully. Perhaps he was beginning to understand that certain rocks held value – smart dog.
Wasting no time, I took out the pickaxe and started prying at the softer sections of ore-laced rock. It was laborious, physical work, but my body was hardened from the past days of constant exertion and my strength stat upgrades. Each swing of the pick loosened chunks of copper-bearing rock. Bramble watched for a minute, then began helping in his own way: he wedged his horn or claws into cracks I made and leveraged pieces out, or grabbed loose chunks in his jaws and carried them down to flatter ground. I couldn't ask for a better partner.
Within an hour, we had accumulated a respectable pile of copper ore fragments near the base of the hill. I judged we had plenty for a first smelting attempt – perhaps 15 or 20 kilos. That might only yield a fraction of that in pure copper, but it was a start. I wiped sweat from my brow, leaving a streak of red dirt, and took a swig from my water skin. Bramble, panting a bit from his efforts (and with a new smear of green malachite dust on his nose), ambled over for a drink as well. I poured some water into my palm and he lapped it gratefully.
The sun was high and warm now. I estimated it was near noon. "We should get this home and start processing it," I said, surveying the haul. The prospect of actual copper ingots by day's end made me nearly giddy with anticipation.
I tied up the ore pieces into a crude sack we'd brought – essentially a doubled-up section of boar hide – and secured it with the rope. Even with my enhanced strength, it was heavy. I slung the sack across my back, feeling the weight bite into my shoulders. "Ungh. This'll be a fun hike back," I muttered. Bramble trotted to my side as if offering himself to carry some, but this load was beyond what I'd burden him with. "I've got it, buddy. Let's just go slow."
We started back, me moving carefully under the heavy pack. It was awkward, but after a few minutes I adjusted to the weight distribution. My mind wandered to thoughts of forging. How exactly would I smelt the copper? I had some ideas from basic principles: crush the ore, heat it in a charcoal fire with plenty of oxygen (hence bellows), perhaps use some flux like sand or limestone to help the molten copper separate from impurities. I had some limestone rocks from near the waterfall, and sand was plentiful by the streambanks. Yes, it could work. And as a wild card, I had a notion to try incorporating one of the blue cores. Perhaps placing a blue core in the furnace during smelting could magically raise the temperature or purify the metal.
Bramble suddenly stiffened, breaking me out of my metallurgical musings. He was staring intently off to our right, where the forest grew dense down a slope. I followed his gaze but initially saw nothing but shadows beneath the trees. His ears were perked, nose twitching. I set down the heavy sack gently and gripped my spear, heart quickening. "What is it?" I whispered.
He responded with a low growl, staring at one shadowy patch. I squinted and then I saw it – a shape slinking between two trunks, low to the ground. It was large, perhaps as big as Bramble, but elongated. Then I caught the flicker of a tail and the glint of amber eyes reflecting sunlight. A big cat, stalking us from the cover of the bush.
Slowly, I shifted to put the ore sack between me and where I last saw the feline shape. My mind raced. This wasn't the first time we'd encountered a predator eyeing us, but it was the first large cat. From its silhouette and movement, it reminded me of a panther or leopard analog. Lean, muscular, and undoubtedly fast. And here I was weighed down by 40-odd pounds of rock.
Bramble bared his teeth, emitting a sharp bark toward the trees in warning. A low feline snarl answered from the undergrowth. The cat knew it had been spotted and decided to confront rather than flee. I could hear it padding slowly through leaf litter even if I couldn't see it clearly.
I quickly unburdened myself, dropping the pack of ore completely. I needed mobility. Spear in one hand, I drew my knife with the other, backing up toward a larger tree to protect my flank. "Easy… we don't want a fight," I murmured more to myself than anything. But the cat had other ideas.
With a burst of speed, a tawny blur shot from the shadows, straight at Bramble. "Look out!" I shouted. The creature was indeed like a leopard but stockier, its coat a dappled brown that camouflaged well in the sun-dappled forest. Claws extended, it swiped at Bramble, who narrowly dodged aside – those claws raked the air where he'd been a second before. Bramble responded with a fierce snarl, his blue horn of energy manifesting in an instant. He retaliated by lunging and slashing the cat's shoulder with the horn tip, drawing a spray of blood. The cat yowled in surprise and pain, retreating a few steps.
I saw an opening and thrust my spear forward, trying to drive the cat further back or wound it enough to scare it off. The spear jab grazed its side as it twisted away, but I didn't manage a solid hit. Now the animal's attention shifted fully to me, the apparent larger threat. Ears flattened and fangs bared, it crouched, tail lashing.
It pounced. This time, at me. I had braced for it, spear leveled, but the cat was cunning – at the last moment, it swerved aside from the spearpoint and instead slammed into me from the side. We went down in a tangle, my spear knocked from my grip. The breath whooshed out of my lungs as a solid 100+ pounds of muscle and fury bore me to the ground. Claws scrabbled at my leather jerkin, trying to find purchase, and jaws snapped perilously close to my face. A raking pain shot across my left forearm; it had caught me there, tearing three parallel gashes. I roared in pain and punched at its face with my right hand, still clutching the knife. The blade sliced across the cat's cheek, and it hissed, recoiling slightly.
Before it could renew the assault, Bramble was on it. With an almost lion-like roar of his own, he barreled into the cat's flank, knocking it off me. They tumbled away, a blur of fur, teeth, and that glowing horn arc. I scrambled up, retrieving my spear with my good arm. The two animals were now face to face, circling. The cat had a pronounced limp – Bramble had slashed one of its rear legs badly – but it was not backing down.
Blood dripped from Bramble's shoulder where the cat must have clawed him in their tumble. Both were breathing hard, growling. I couldn't get a clear thrust with the spear without risking hitting my dog, who was bravely placing himself between the cat and me.
In a standoff like this, one had to tip the scales. My mind flashed to any trick I could use. Then I remembered: venom. I had a small vial of the deadly venom we'd extracted from that giant bear's glands days ago. It was strapped securely at my belt. Hands shaking, I yanked the cork out with my teeth and hastily smeared the black viscous toxin onto my knife blade. It was a meager amount – we had only a little left – but it should be potent enough even in a scratch.
"Bramble, back!" I commanded, hoping he'd understand I needed space to strike. He glanced at me and in a well-practiced move, feinted a lunge at the cat then darted backward a few feet. The cat took the bait and sprang toward him – turning its side to me briefly. That was my chance. I hurled the knife, aiming for its exposed flank.
The blade sank in hilt-deep, embedding in the cat's rib area. It screeched in agony and whirled to face me now, eyes blazing. Already the fast-acting venom was working – I saw its muscles begin to spasm and its movements turn erratic. It tried to leap at me but stumbled on landing as its hind legs gave out, the neurotoxin wreaking havoc.
Bramble seized upon this and charged back in. He drove his horn straight into the cat's throat in a final decisive blow. The creature collapsed with a gurgling whine and lay still, save for the occasional twitch as the venom finished it off.
I stood there panting, heart thundering, spear leveled at the downed predator until I was sure it wasn't getting up. Bramble withdrew, the blue energy dissipating from his horn, leaving just his natural forehead unadorned. Blood trickled from a cut above his eye and the bite on his shoulder, but he managed to wag his tail weakly at me as if to say, we did it.
Dropping to one knee, I extended a trembling hand to him. "Good boy… you okay?" He limped over and pressed against me. I felt an immense swell of relief and pride. "You saved my hide again." I gently inspected his wounds – they didn't seem too deep, mostly superficial claw marks. I had gotten the worst of it on my forearm. A four-inch gash bled freely through torn cloth, and though shallow, it hurt like the blazes.
We had to treat these injuries quickly. Out here, away from camp, infection was a real threat. I retrieved a small pouch of medicinal herbs and chewed a poultice of bitter leaves, then packed it into my forearm wounds and wrapped them with a strip of cloth ripped from the bottom of my shirt. Bramble sat patiently as I similarly applied some to his scratches. He licked my face once in thanks.
The cat lay expired a few feet away, its fierce amber eyes now dull. The knife was still lodged in its side – thankfully not broken. I extracted it, cleaned the blade on the grass, and slid it back in its sheath. The corpse represented another source of materials: more meat (though predator meat tends to be tough and gamy, it could feed us in a pinch), a luxurious pelt, and a core. But our primary goal today was copper; we couldn't carry both a heavy ore load and a big carcass home easily.
Briefly, I considered taking just the valuable parts: maybe the fangs or claws, which could be fashioned into weapons or jewelry, and definitely the core. The pelt was gorgeous, but skinning it properly would take time we didn't have right now, especially with me wounded and exhausted from the fight. I decided to come back for it later if feasible – though by then scavengers might have ruined it.
I knelt and carefully cut into the cat's chest, finding the glowing core nestled near the heart. It was larger than the goblins', about the size of a chicken egg, and shone a deep red-orange. As I pried it free, the significance dawned – red, the color of aggression and strength. Fitting for such a predator. I held the core up and whistled. "This might be our first proper red core." Bramble sniffed and gently mouthed it when I offered. I chuckled, "No, you can't eat it yet, glutton. We'll save it for when we need a strength boost or perhaps to brew something... perhaps an antidote or a berserker potion?" He let out a soft "boof" as if unimpressed by the hard gem's immediate edibility. Still, he understood its value, I was sure.
I also took a moment to slice off a few claws from its massive paws. Each was a curved ivory talon a few inches long, razor sharp. Could be useful for arrowheads or fishhooks, or even to tip a trap. They went into a side pouch. With that, we left the cat's remains for the forest to reclaim. I silently thanked it for the core and prayed its spirit, if it had one, would find peace – it was only doing what nature intended.
Finally, I hefted the copper ore sack again, much to my body's protest. We had about an hour or two of hiking to get home. The fight had drained me, but with healing herbs and sheer will, we managed. Bramble stayed alert all the way back, despite his own fatigue, clearly not wanting any more surprises. I was grateful; my reaction time was slowing as adrenaline faded.
When we stumbled through our gate in the late afternoon, I dropped the sack of ore onto the ground with a thud and nearly collapsed next to it. "Home sweet home," I sighed, wiping sweat and dirt from my brow. Bramble, though limping, immediately trotted to the water's edge by the pond and drank deeply, lapping noisily. I followed suit, kneeling to gulp the cool water and splash some on my face. The waterfall's gentle roar was soothing after the tension of the day.
It was tempting to call it a day and leave the rest of the work for tomorrow. But I knew that was a slippery slope. As a soldier, I'd been taught to finish the mission unless physically impossible. Right now, our mission wasn't done – we had copper, yes, but until it was smelted into usable metal, it was just dead weight. Also, we both bore injuries. They were tended, but I wanted to make sure by nightfall that we had extra medicine on hand.
So, while Bramble sprawled on the grass to rest, I got to work preparing for the smelting process. First, I needed to crush the ore into smaller pieces. Using a large flat boulder as an anvil and another heavy rock as a hammer, I pounded the chunks of copper ore. With each strike, the softer, greenish rock pulverized, revealing the brassy metallic flecks of native copper within. It was arduous work with one hand bandaged, but I took it slow. Bramble watched from a distance at first, then, to my surprise, rose and padded over to help. How could he help with this? I soon saw: he began picking up smaller rocks in his mouth, climbing the boulder, and then dropping them onto the ore pile below, mimicking my own hammering action in a rudimentary way. It was adorable and actually a little effective – his "bombing run" cracked a few of the brittle lumps. I laughed. "Innovative approach, buddy, but watch your paws for shrapnel."
After a while, we had a coarse pile of crushed ore mixed with bits of stone. Next, I built up our furnace. We had constructed a primitive clay-and-stone furnace earlier for pottery, but smelting copper demanded a hotter fire sustained longer. The existing furnace was basically an open-top cylinder of hardened clay about two feet high and a foot in diameter, with a draft hole near the base. I decided to reinforce it now with some additional clay mixed with grass fibers (we had prepared some mud for this before leaving, since I anticipated smelting soon). I patched cracks and extended the height a little using that mud-ash-grass mix that had become our go-to construction material. Soon we had a robust little kiln that could hold a good bed of charcoal and ore.
Charcoal – we would need plenty. We had been making some in a pit kiln over the past days, charring wood to get better fuel for metalworking. I shoveled a batch of blackened, lightweight chunks into the furnace and took a moment to catch my breath. My arm throbbed under its bandage, and Bramble fussed over it, sniffing and giving me a concerned whine. "I'm fine. Nothing a bit of copper victory won't cure," I assured him, though I did take the hint and applied a dab of our precious green potion directly to the wound to stave off infection and pain.
As evening fell, I lit the furnace. The flames crackled merrily at first, devouring the tinder and taking hold of the charcoal. Using a wide leaf as a makeshift fan, I pumped air into the draft hole to raise the temperature. Before long, the interior was glowing orange-hot. Bramble, at a safe distance, watched with ears perked and tail wagging slightly – he could sense we were on the verge of something new.
I carefully added the crushed copper ore mixed with some dried grass (an old trick: the burning grass would create pockets for the ore, allowing heat to circulate) and a sprinkle of powdered limestone I'd ground up. The limestone, I hoped, would act as a flux to bind with the impurities and form slag, leaving purer copper. It was a guess based on half-remembered chemistry; I wasn't certain it would work, but worth trying.
Almost as an afterthought, I took one of the blue goblin cores from my pouch. It glowed faintly in the palm of my hand. If ever there was a time to test the "crafting magic" of blue cores, it was now. "Let's see if you can kick this up a notch," I murmured, and tossed the core into the heart of the furnace.
Immediately, the flames flared a vivid blue-white and a burst of sparks shot out of the top of the furnace. I stepped back in surprise, shielding my face. Bramble barked in alarm, but I quickly held up a hand. "It's okay! I think… it's working." The blue core seemed to melt into the crucible of charcoal and ore, infusing the fire with a new intensity. The heat radiating from the furnace doubled, and I felt a wash of warm air whoosh past us. It was as though I'd added a potent fuel or oxygen blast.
Encouraged, I resumed feeding the air hole with steady bellows-like fanning (wishing I had a real bellows – a project for later, now that we had hides and could make valves). The furnace roared. Through a small observation gap at the base, I could see the ore glowing and – yes – tiny rivulets of molten copper beginning to form, dripping downward. My heart pounded with excitement. We were actually smelting copper!
We maintained the heat for a while longer to ensure maximum yield. When I judged the charcoal was nearly spent and the ore fully melted or reduced, I donned improvised gloves (thick hide wraps around my hands) and took a pair of tongs – basically two sticks – to remove the crucible contents. We didn't have a proper ceramic crucible yet, so I had used a depression in the furnace floor lined with ash to collect the copper. Now it was time to get it out.
I scraped and scooped, pulling out glowing clumps of material and dumping them onto a flat stone. There was a lot of rocky slag – glassy black and grey chunks – which I knocked aside. Amid the dross, I spotted gleaming metallic blobs. One thumb-sized nugget rolled free, shining in the twilight with the unmistakable reddish-gold sheen of pure copper. I whooped in triumph. "We did it, Bramble! Copper!"
Bramble, sensing my joy, bounded in a circle, barking happily. He came over to sniff the still-hot copper globules but jerked back at the heat, sneezing. I laughed and grabbed a nearby bucket of water, carefully pouring it over the metal to cool it with a hiss of steam.
The result of our first smelt was a collection of copper bits and pieces – not a uniform ingot, but several small lumps and beads that together might weigh a couple of pounds. It wasn't much considering the ore we started with (smelting loss is always high without proper techniques), but it was metal. Soft, malleable copper that I could hammer and shape.
I took the largest piece, about two inches across, still warm but solid, and held it up to catch the glimmer of our campfire. In that polished surface, I almost saw our reflections – a man caked in soot and a dog sitting by his side with an expectant expression. I grinned wide. "This is the beginning of a new chapter, boy."
We spent the next hour re-stoking the fire to keep the forge area lit and began hammering out one of the lumps into a rough tool shape. Copper is soft; even heated to a red glow in our furnace and then pounded with a rock hammer, it flattened readily. I decided the first object to make would be a better knife blade – something akin to a short dagger that could double as a carving tool. With Bramble occasionally pawing at the ground in excitement (or perhaps impatience at how long I was taking), I folded and beat the copper piece, shaping a rudimentary blade about six inches long. We lacked a proper anvil, so I used a smooth granite slab. The work was painstaking and the result crude, but by night's deepest hours I had something that resembled a flat copper knife blank. It wasn't sharp yet, but with filing (using a flint scraper) and polishing it would cut.
Exhaustion finally crashed down on me. I realized we hadn't even had a proper dinner – just some bites of travel rations and the adrenaline of the mission sustaining us. Only when the excitement of forging abated did my stomach grumble angrily and my limbs protest every movement. Bramble too sagged onto his belly, eyelids heavy. He had refused to sleep until I stopped working, the loyal mutt.
I cleaned up as best I could, securing the newly smelted copper pieces in a clay pot and quenching any still-hot coals. A quick meal of the leftover stew and a few strips of dried bird meat (from our morning kill) satisfied our immediate hunger. We'd feast better tomorrow to celebrate.
Before turning in, I took one more look at our handiwork arrayed on a flat rock: the freshly forged copper knife blank, a pile of raw copper nuggets, the red core from the cat, a few goblin blue cores that remained, and even the cat's claws. These were trophies of a productive, dangerous, and ultimately triumphant day. I felt pride swelling in my chest. And I felt gratitude – to this strange world for providing the resources once we learned to look, and to my companion for being there every step.
Bramble huffed, pulling me from my thoughts. He had already dragged our bedrolls near the warmth of the campfire and was giving me a look that said, Are you coming or what? Clearly, he was done for the day. I chuckled softly. "Yes sir, Sergeant Bramble, on my way."
I joined him, lying down onto the familiar makeshift bedding with a groan of relief. Every muscle ached, cuts stung, and my head was spinning with fatigue. But it was the good kind of pain – the kind you earn doing something worthwhile. Bramble curled up beside me, and I draped an arm over him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
In the flickering firelight, I whispered, "Today copper, tomorrow iron, and after that… who knows? We're getting stronger." Bramble licked my cheek once, as if in agreement, then tucked his snout under his tail.
As I drifted off, I made a mental note to record today's lessons on one of my bark-scroll journals in the morning: Lexicon Node clues leading to copper, first use of blue core in crafting, a battle with a predator and acquisition of a red core, and the forging of our first metal blade. It was a banner day in the chronicle of our strange journey.
Sleep came quickly, with dreams of bright metal and colored sigils dancing behind my eyelids, and the comforting presence of my guardian dog warding off any nightmares that might dare intrude. Our small cave had never felt more like home, and our hard-won copper knife under my pillow was a reassuring reminder that even in this alien wilderness, with knowledge and persistence, we could shape our own fate.