Seth stood panting amidst the carnage, the pungent, acidic smell of spider guts filling the air. The giant mother spider, the one he'd dubbed "Eight-Legged Freak," lay twitching at his feet, its multiple eyes glazed over.
Around it were the smaller, dismembered corpses of its offspring. His fur was matted with sticky web and specks of green ichor, and a shallow, stinging cut on his arm was already clotting thanks to his new-found vitality.
A series of cheerful dings echoed in his mind, a stark contrast to the gruesome scene.
Target: Broodmother Arachnid.
Biomass Quality: Medium!
Devour Points (DP) Gained: 25!
Current DP: 33/100
Skill Available for Acquisition!
[Venom Gland (Minor)] - 40 DP - Allows host to secrete a weak paralytic toxin.
Skill Upgraded!
[Venom Resistance (Minor)] -> [Venom Resistance (Moderate)]
A wide, greedy grin spread across Seth's feline face. "Twenty-five points! Now we're talking!" He plopped down right on the carcass of the Broodmother, not out of disrespect, but because it was the most convenient log-like surface. He pulled up his system screen, scrolling through the updates.
Current DP: 33/100
Skills: [Venom Resistance (Moderate)]
"Thirty-three points," he murmured, his tail twitching with restless energy. It was a good haul, a great haul for a first solo hunt. The thrill of the fight, the visceral satisfaction of his claws tearing through chitin, and the rewarding chime of the system... it was an addictive cocktail. Yet, a part of him still felt unsatisfied.
'It's not enough. I need more. I need to see what happens at 100 DP. What kind of evolution can I get?'
He looked at the [Venom Gland] skill. "Tch, still too expensive." The greedy part of him wanted to hoard every point for that big 100 DP milestone.
As the adrenaline faded, the deep blue of twilight began to bleed into the forest. The practical part of his brain, the one that remembered the pack and the looming Orc negotiation, kicked in.
Right. The 'strongest hunter' should probably return with, you know, food. With a sigh, he used his claws to sever a few of the Broodmother's thick, meaty legs. They were grotesque, but presumably edible for his furry companions.
The journey back to the hidden camp was quieter, the forest sounds now a serene lullaby compared to the earlier skittering chaos. He slipped back into the clearing, the spider legs slung over his shoulder.
The scene that greeted him was... subdued. The pack was huddled around a small, pitiful fire. Their initial relief at seeing him was immediately overshadowed by their palpable hunger and exhaustion. And then he saw it.
A small figure, a kitten-boy no older than five or six in human years, was curled against his mother. His arm was bandaged with dirty rags, and his ribs were visible beneath his thin fur. His eyes were huge, sunken, and devoid of the energy a child should have.
Seth's first, instinctual thought was not one of pity or compassion. It was a cold, sharp spike of irritation. 'Damn it. If that kid dies, the morale of this whole group will shatter. They'll be too busy grieving to fight. They're all counting on me, and a dead kid is a liability I can't afford.'
He didn't care about the child, not really. The very idea of caring for some furry kid was absurd. But he cared about the hope in the adults' eyes when they looked at him.
That hope was a resource. If they lost it, if they started dying off from starvation or despair, then his position as the "strongest" would be meaningless. He'd be the strongest in a graveyard.
"Here," Seth grunted, tossing the spider legs onto the ground near the fire. The pack stared at the bizarre offering with a mix of revulsion and desperate hunger.
Fon was the first to move, her yellow eyes wide. "Seth... you... you brought food?"
"Don't get used to it," he said, his tone deliberately harsh to mask his calculations. "And someone make sure the scrawny one over there gets a piece. I didn't haul this back just for him to die on an empty stomach."
He didn't wait for their grateful responses. He turned and found a secluded spot to sit, pretending to clean his claws, all while his mind was racing.
This is troublesome. This 'strength' of mine... they're going to lean on it completely. For food, for protection, for everything. He glanced back at the kitten-boy, who was now tentatively nibbling on a piece of meat his mother had roasted.
A strange, unfamiliar sensation tugged at him. It wasn't kindness. It was the satisfaction of a resource manager seeing a critical asset stabilized.
Hah, he thought, a wry smile touching his lips. Maybe this is my real curse.