Chapter 28
Written by Bayzo Albion
But first, the groundwork: clearing the space.
Armed with a makeshift wooden shovel I'd fashioned earlier, I set to work tidying the area. Stones of varying sizes were methodically stacked aside—their rough textures scraping against my palms as I envisioned them forming a sturdy foundation, reinforcing walls, or encircling a future hearth. Dry branches were sorted by girth: the thicker ones for stakes to mark boundaries, the slender ones for kindling that crackled promisingly underfoot. Fallen leaves piled into a separate mound, their crisp, autumnal scent filling the air—perfect for compost or insulation against the coming chill.
I labored in focused silence, my mind a whirlwind of calculations: resources tallied, efforts weighed, stages planned. Each motion felt like a ritual—purifying the space, claiming it, weaving myself into its fabric. Sweat beaded on my brow, the earthy smell of disturbed soil grounding me in the moment, a tangible reminder of transformation.
But as I cleared another heap of debris near the entrance, the ground revealed something unsettling.
Bones.
Bleached by time but not ancient, scattered fragments that spoke of recent violence. Some bore deep gouges from massive teeth—predatory marks, unmistakably fresh. None showed signs of charring from a fire, meaning this wasn't a campsite meal. No one had lived here. They'd died here.
I paused, not in terror, but in wary alertness. The forest murmured its secrets, but offered no answers.
"So, I'm not the first to stumble upon this place," I whispered to myself, a chill prickling my skin despite the warmth of exertion.
Yet, retreat wasn't an option. If anything, the discovery fueled a defiant resolve—to turn this cave from a grave into a bastion. A home. The heart of my emerging domain.
I scanned the interior once more—and that's when, from the depths, something stirred. A faint rustle, almost imperceptible, like a shadow uncoiling.
Out onto the clearing emerged... not a mere rat, but a monstrous beast the size of a Doberman! Its gray fur gleamed with an oily sheen, its muscular frame straining against the confines of what should have been a rodent's body. Beady eyes glowed with a malevolent crimson hue, like embers from a infernal forge, and from its snarling maw protruded four massive yellow fangs—two above, two below—like a pint-sized saber-toothed tiger.
Clutched between those jaws was a long bone, unmistakably humanoid or close to it, dangling like a dog's prized stick.
Realization hit: this creature had been dragging the bones to the entrance. Not devouring them, but arranging them—as trophies. Or a warning.
"Lucky me! Second monster of the day, delivered right to my doorstep!" I exclaimed with grim satisfaction, drawing my upgraded wooden sword. It thrummed in my grasp, eager for the fray, as if sharing my adrenaline-fueled thrill.
The rat let out a piercing squeal and lunged.
The clash was brief but fierce, a whirlwind of motion and instinct. It moved with blinding agility, a streak of fury snapping at my heels with surprising power. Each leap aimed to tear into me, each bared fang a taunt that ignited my reflexes.
But the upgrades shone through: the sword sliced the air with newfound precision, a deadly whisper. I stepped back—slash to the flank. Dodge—strike to the paw. Leap—counter along the spine.
Ten blows. Exactly ten. On the final swing, the beast faltered, wheezing as it collapsed sideways. Dark, viscous blood poured from its wounds, soaking into the moss and erasing the evidence of its end in greedy gulps.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead, heart pounding like a war drum. A minor skirmish, yet it felt like toppling a boss, the rush of victory coursing through me like liquid fire.
> Interface: You've slain the Monster Rat (Level 0)
> Loot:
> - Mutated Rat Hide
> - Meat: 3 kg
> - Rat Fangs (x4)
> - Monster Blood: 1 liter
"Hah, that's it?" I snorted, eyeing the carcass. "Looks like a mini-boss, but it's just appetizer material."
Still, the encounter sparked deeper thoughts. Those bones at the entrance weren't random debris. This had been her turf. And if even a rat needed to ward off intruders... what lurked out there that frightened *her*?
I stashed the loot in my inventory and turned back to the cave.
Yes, this home would need fortifications. And soon.
As twilight descended, the forest stirred to life—or rather, its nocturnal denizens emerged from their daytime slumber. From behind every trunk, every pooling shadow, they slunk forth: small at first, skittering with glowing eyes that tracked my every move like hungry stars. With each passing minute, they grew bolder, larger, more ferocious, their growls weaving into a symphony of primal threat.
I knew better than to engage—exhausted from a day of relentless running, gathering, and building, I'd be a fool to pick a fight. No strength left, no edge to claim.
Darting between trees, ducking under low-hanging branches, and evading grasping claws, I hunted for refuge. And found it: a snug hollow nestled among the roots of an ancient oak, as if carved by fate for a weary traveler's respite.
Wasting no time, I planted magical wards around the perimeter and activated a protective barrier. It wouldn't halt a true menace, but it'd buy me precious seconds—a warning buzz to jolt me awake and ready.
From my bag, I pulled a warm container of food, lovingly prepared by Iris. Gratitude swelled in my chest—not just for the sustenance, but for the warmth of knowing someone had cared enough to think ahead.
Devouring the hearty bites, flavors bursting on my tongue—savory meats mingled with herbs and a hint of sweetness—I tuned into the night's chorus: the susurrus of leaves, distant snarls, the snap of twigs under stealthy paws. The forest pulsed with its own rhythm, and I was but a fleeting visitor, a speck in its timeless expanse.
Sated, I nestled in, draping myself with a hastily gathered cloak, and let my eyelids drift shut. Sleep in utter silence would elude me, but under the forest's nocturnal lullaby... why not?
– – –
I stirred awake long before dawn, the world outside still shrouded in impenetrable darkness, pierced only by the occasional blood-curdling shrieks of nocturnal beasts. The forest resonated like a chorus from the underworld: distant howls that sent chills racing down my spine, rustles that hinted at unseen movements in the underbrush, and the ominous crunch of something—or someone—being slowly ground to dust, like bones under relentless jaws.
The forest creatures sensed it too. Fleeting shadows darted between the trees, vanishing into the gloom—every living thing fleeing from invisible predators that ruled the night. My heart pounded in rhythm with the eerie symphony, a mix of vigilance and quiet resolve settling over me like a cloak. I knew the drill: with the first glimmers of sunrise, most of these monsters would weaken, retreating to their lairs. That narrow window of opportunity was my chance to move. I reached into my storage and pulled out the food I'd prepared the day before, methodically chewing through it to fuel up.
My body had this peculiar quirk—a "spatial stomach," an extra reservoir linked to my inventory. It didn't just hold excess food; it digested it independently, allowing me to stockpile energy like a bear gorging before hibernation. As I ate, the rich flavors of seasoned meat and preserved fruits burst on my tongue, a comforting contrast to the surrounding menace. The night gradually yielded, the oppressive blackness softening at the edges.
The first rays of sunlight—slender, warm threads of gold—filtered through the canopy, weaving a tapestry of light across the forest floor.
I emerged from my makeshift shelter, scanning the surroundings with heightened senses.
Most of the creatures had vanished, dissolving like remnants of a nightmare. Only a few stragglers lumbered away clumsily, drawn northward by some instinctive call, their heavy footfalls fading into the distance.
And then—my target appeared.
Right in the clearing, ambling leisurely, was a two-meter-tall sloth. Its long, black fur hung in ragged clumps like a tattered shroud, swaying with each deliberate step. But it wasn't the size or the unkempt appearance that set my nerves on edge. No, it was the unnatural precision of its movements—mechanical, almost robotic. This wasn't a mere beast; it felt like a bio-magical construct, alive yet devoid of true vitality, its presence radiating an eerie, calculated menace that made the hairs on my neck stand up.
Standard tactics screamed for a sneak attack—strike from behind, swift and silent.
But a quiet voice inside me—that intuitive whisper—cautioned otherwise: *Not like that. This isn't an ordinary monster. Don't be reckless.*
I ignored the urge to creep. Instead, I deliberately snapped a branch underfoot, the sharp crack echoing like a challenge in the still morning air.
The sloth halted abruptly.
It turned.
And... vanished.
It simply blinked out of existence, dissolving into thin air. Shock barely registered before my body reacted on instinct.
"Where is it?!" I shouted, my voice trembling with a surge of adrenaline that sharpened every sense—the metallic tang of fear on my tongue, the rapid thrum of my pulse in my ears.
In a fraction of a second, I coiled into a defensive stance, muscles primed for a roll. Posture locked, breath controlled, every fiber taut and ready.
It hadn't fled. It was close.
Now I understood its ability: it accumulated magical energy in its muscles, unleashing it in explosive bursts of speed. Not teleportation—pure acceleration, pushing the limits of perception, leaving afterimages in my mind like a ghost in motion. I felt the air shift behind me—then nothing.