Chapter 17 – The Gathering at the Waterhouse
Seth leaned back against the wall, eyes fixed on the glowing panel before him.
NAME: Seth
TRAIT(S): Weapon Mastery [+]
CORE: Initiate — Level six
SATURATION: 0%
STATS—
Physique: 12.0 [+]
Spirit: 11.0 [+]
ITEMS—
Soul Weapon: Sword
SP: 5.9
A grin stretched across his face. Both stats had finally entered double digits, and the difference was staggering. His body hummed with vitality, his thoughts sharper, his senses flooding him with detail so crisp he almost reeled. He clenched his fist, marveling at the raw strength thrumming through his veins.
For a brief moment, he imagined himself cutting down that horned boar—the strongest beast he had seen so far—like it was nothing. Confidence burned hot in his chest.
But then he remembered—it was not.
The snake.
The memory of that colossal serpent slithered back into his mind, crushing his rising pride. The casual way it had thrown a car through a wall… the oppressive weight of its gaze… the certainty of death he had felt just from locking eyes with it. Even now, a cold shiver trailed down his spine.
Compared to that dreadful monster, he was still nothing. A single careless flick of its tail would probably end him ten times over. And he felt there would be absolutely nothing he could do about.
Seth exhaled slowly, forcing the arrogance out of his mind. Never again, he swore. He would not let minor gains cloud his judgment. Not when such horrors roamed nearby.
Closing the panel, he pulled out the final level seven core and absorbed it. His saturation ticked up—0% to 4%. He clicked his tongue. Barely anything. Now that he was level six, It seemed he would be needing cores of higher levels than before. Still, there was no helping it. He needed more.
"Hunt. That's all I can do."
But first, he rested. Back against the wall, he let time slip by, listening to the eerie quiet, broken only by distant roars and faint rustling. He had killed and killed since the day he woke, never stopping, never breathing. Now the weight of it pressed against him. Survival demanded blood, and though he accepted that truth, it still gnawed at him.
When he finally rose, joints popping, he turned toward his next destination: the old Waterhouse.
The journey was anything but strenuous.
Every beast that crossed his path fell in a single stroke of his sword, heads rolling or bodies cleaved apart. Yet the further he went in the direction of the Waterhouse, the stranger it grew.
There were too many.
In less than an hour, his kill count rivaled what he usually gathered in an entire night day. And these weren't weaklings either—the lowest he'd encountered after a certain point were all level three. A couple even reached level nine. He finally got his first core of that level.
And the beasts weren't scattered as usual. They were more clustered, moving almost as though drawn to some invisible beacon.
Seth narrowed his eyes. Something's wrong.
Still, he pressed on, cutting down the unavoidable, skirting around clusters when he could. Even so, the detours and fights stretched what should have been a short journey into two and a half grueling hours.
When he finally climbed into the attic of a half-collapsed church overlooking the Waterhouse, he froze.
The sight before him stole his breath.
Beasts.
They blanketed the street, the rusting cars, the rooftops, the crumbled walls—everywhere his eyes landed, there were creatures. Wolves with glowing eyes, tusked boars, serpents coiled like shadows, spiders clinging to broken stone, birds perched with wings half-spread. Even supposed herbivores—deer with twisted antlers—moved among them, restless.
And they weren't random. The density grew heavier the closer they were to the Waterhouse fence. Stronger too. He spotted multiple beasts whose presence screamed of level ten, yet even they lingered only at the boundary, as if held back.
Inside the fence… Seth squinted, straining to glimpse past the rusted bars and overgrown vines. He couldn't see what lay within. But he could feel it. Auras seeped from inside, heavy enough to make his skin prickle and his breath catch. Not like the snake's suffocating doom, no—but still enough to stir fear deep in his gut.
Something was in there. Something all these creatures wanted.
His instincts screamed at him: to get it. But not yet.
He shuddered at the thought of drawing their attention. Even he wasn't arrogant enough to think he could face that swarm.
Sliding back from the attic, Seth retraced his steps as quietly as possible.
As for water… he'd have to find another way. Harder, yes, but safer than charging into that.
For now, he would hunt, grow stronger, and return when he was ready.
Because whatever lay in that Waterhouse… if it was worth gathering such monsters. Then there was no way he was leaving it.
And one day, he would claim it.