Chapter 26 – Quiet Days
The system screen shimmered before him.
Both his stats had shifted by one point each from the breakthrough—Physique to 13.0, Spirit to 12.0. A small gain, but noticeable.
He hovered over the plus sign, ready to distribute his stored SP.
Fifty-seven points. This was enough to purchase a five full stat upgrades.
His finger lingered over Spirit. Balanced growth always seemed like the smart choice. But his gaze flicked back to Physique, and he hesitated. His body was still broken, ribs cracked, bones aching. If he couldn't recover fast enough, it wouldn't matter how sharp his mind or how deep his spirit ran.
He clenched his jaw.
Survival first.
Decision made, he tapped the plus sign beside Physique five times.
Physique: 18.0 [+]
Spirit: 12.0 [+]
The change hit immediately. His body thrummed, muscles tightening and stretching like bowstrings drawn taut. Energy rushed through his veins, raw and forceful, until he felt his skin almost too small to contain it.
He clenched his fist, marveling at the weight of strength compressed inside. Yet strength wasn't why he'd done it.
Lifting his palm, he focused inward. The sluggish crawl of his healing quickened, mending at a pace he could feel. From a three-maybe-four weeks to recover, he felt it become three.
No longer a debate but a definite three weeks. This was good. Once he has recovered he could always hunt for more SP points to equalize his stats.
"Good," he muttered under his breath, exhaling.
With that settled, another question came. What now?
He couldn't hunt recklessly—not half-healed, it wouldn't do him any good if he met another novice ranked beast. He could fight and maybe win, yes, but the risk wasn't worth it.
After some thought, he formed a plan: stay put for a week or two. Hunt only nearby beasts. Avoid fights unless absolutely necessary. Stockpile food and rest.
So began Seth's retreat.
Days slipped into a quiet rhythm. By daylight, he roamed the broken edges of the town, stalking lesser beasts for meat and blood. At night, he returned to the ruined house, gathering scraps of wood to keep a small fire alive, roasting whatever prey he dragged back.
Six days passed this way. The most peaceful days since he had first opened his eyes in this world.
This morning, however, he didn't bother to hunt. Instead, he sprawled on the floor, tossing pebbles against the far wall in idle boredom. His face wore a blank expression, lips twitching now and then as if even his thoughts refused to stir.
He no longer hissed in pain at every movement. The sharp edge of his injuries had dulled. Perhaps it was healing, or perhaps it was simply that he'd grown used to the ache. Likely both.
Still, progress crawled. He had managed to force his saturation to full and push through to Level Eight, but his bar remained a meager 3% filled. Most beasts nearby were too weak to provide real growth.
He noticed another trend as well—the Level Two beasts had begun vanishing. Their numbers dwindled, fewer with each passing day. Whether they had migrated or been hunted down, he didn't know. Nor did he have the strength to investigate.
But the thought lingered.
Seth sat up suddenly, boredom bleeding away. After a few moments of stillness, he summoned his sword. The soul weapon appeared with a whisper, materializing smoothly into his palm.
He stepped into the middle of the room. The space was empty enough to move.
Drawing in a breath, he shifted into a stance. Feet grounded, knees bent, sword raised high with both hands. The motion came naturally—guided by instinct, by something deeper than memory.
And then he swung.
The blade cut through the air with a crisp whoosh.
He swung again. And again.
At first it was just practice. Something to fill the silence, the way heroes and arrogant young masters in stories always trained when idle. But as the rhythm grew, the world narrowed.
His mind dulled. His focus sharpened.
Every thought bled away, replaced by sensation—the weight of the sword, the pull of muscles, the echo of each strike through his bones. The Weapon Mastery trait stirred, quietly guiding, shaping, correcting.
The room faded.
Only the sound of the blade remained, whispering through the air in steady arcs.