The sensation was not external. No flash of light, no weight appearing in his hands. The change was internal, a subtle update in the corner of his vision. The line detailing the 'Novice Resource Package' shimmered and vanished. In its place, a new, temporary list appeared, glowing with a soft, tangible light:
[Acquired Items:]
· Basic Nutrient Solution x1
· Low-Grade Healing Poultice x1
· Skill Point: 1
· Protocol Points (PP): 100
Relief, sharp and sweet, cut through the pervasive numbness. He had tools. Now, to use them.
The thought, 'Use Basic Nutrient Solution,' had barely formed when a new prompt overlaid the list:
[Item: Basic Nutrient Solution. Use? Y/N]
Yes.
Immediately, a cool, viscous sensation flooded his throat and stomach. It had no taste, only a slight metallic tingle. The effect was almost instantaneous. The gnawing, hollow agony in his gut receded, replaced by a spreading warmth. The lightheadedness fogging his mind cleared a fraction. His dry mouth felt less like parchment. A quiet chime sounded in his perception, and his Status line flickered, updating from 'Critically Weakened (Starvation, Dehydration, Minor Internal Injury)' to 'Weakened (Minor Internal Injury, Fatigue).'
Next, the poultice. He pictured it applied to the bruised, throbbing area on his abdomen. Another prompt, another mental confirmation. A soothing, herbal coolness seeped through his skin, targeting the deep ache where the club had struck. The sharp pain dulled to a manageable soreness. The Status line flickered once more, the 'Minor Internal Injury' tag fading to a pale gray, then disappearing. It now read: 'Fatigued.'
Strength, real and solid, began to seep back into his limbs. It wasn't much—he was still a malnourished slave in chains—but it was the difference between drowning and finding a piece of driftwood. He was no longer sinking.
His focus shifted to the 'Skill Point: 1' and the 'Protocol Points: 100'. The system interface seemed intuitive, reacting to his focus. As he concentrated on the 'Skill Point', a new, expansive section of the interface unfolded in his mind's eye. It was a vast, shadowy library titled Skill Repository. Most of it was shrouded in darkness, inaccessible. Only a tiny, illuminated corner was available, labeled Foundation Tier.
Within it, he saw a handful of icons, simple and clear:
· Basic Swordsmanship (Novice)
· Basic Archery (Novice)
· Basic Unarmed Combat (Novice)
· Basic Woodcraft (Novice)
· Basic Herbalism (Novice)
Each icon had a faint cost indicator: '1 Skill Point'.
A slave in a moving cart. Chained. A prison on wheels. Swordsmanship and archery were useless without weapons. Unarmed combat against armed guards? Suicide. Herbalism or woodcraft held no immediate value.
He needed to see, to understand. He focused beyond the icons, on the concept of perception itself. The system reacted. A new, previously hidden icon shimmered into view at the edge of the Foundation Tier.
[Keen Eye (Novice)] – Cost: 1 Skill Point
Description: Slightly enhances visual acuity and detail perception. Allows for rudimentary assessment of mundane objects and living beings. A foundational skill for appraisal, tracking, and threat assessment.
This was it. Information was power. In an unknown world, the ability to see more clearly, to assess his surroundings and potential threats, was paramount. Without hesitation, he allocated the point.
A faint, electric tingle passed behind his eyes. The world didn't suddenly become high-definition, but the details sharpened. He could now clearly see the individual grain of the wood plank beneath him, count the rusty links in his chain, distinguish the different shades of grime on the canvas canopy. He glanced at the slave across from him, a hulking man with a broken nose. A faint, semi-transparent text appeared, hovering near the man for a second before fading: 'Condition: Malnourished, Despondent. Threat Level: Negligible.'
A grim smile touched Chen Mo's lips. It worked.
Now, the Protocol Points. Focusing on them brought up the Marketplace. Like the Skill Repository, most was locked behind higher Protocol Clearance Levels. The only available section was Essentials (Tier 0). The list was frustratingly mundane and expensive:
· Clean Water (1 liter): 5 PP
· Hardtack Rations (1 day): 10 PP
· Simple Wool Blanket: 20 PP
· Iron Dagger (Poor Quality): 75 PP
· Lockpicks (Crude): 50 PP
· Regional Map (Crude): 30 PP
He had 100 points. A dagger was tempting, but 75 points was a huge investment for a single, poor-quality weapon. Lockpicks were useless without the skill and opportunity to use them stealthily. The map, however… knowledge of the terrain was a weapon and a tool. He purchased the Regional Map (Crude), the points deducting from his total. A stream of information, not an image, flowed into his mind—a basic, topological understanding of the area. He was in the foothills of the 'Rustspine Mountains', on a traders' track heading roughly southeast. The nearest settlement of any size was a frontier town called 'Blackstone Outpost', about two days' travel on foot… if one was free.
He was not free. The manacles were his primary cage.
The cart jolted violently, throwing the occupants against each other. Curses from the guards outside, the nervous whinny of a horse. They were hitting rougher terrain. Chen Mo used the distraction to study his restraints with his Keen Eye. The lock was a simple, heavy pin-tumbler mechanism, crude but robust. The iron itself was pitted with rust, but the locking bar was thick.
Is there a skill for this? He pushed the thought at the system, focusing on the concept of 'locks', 'mechanisms', 'escape'.
The Skill Repository shifted. Another icon, faint and at the very edge, glimmered.
[Basic Mechanism Appraisal (Novice)] – Cost: 1 Skill Point
Description: Grants fundamental understanding of simple mechanical devices (locks, traps, basic gears). Does not grant proficiency in disarming or crafting, but identifies components and potential weaknesses.
He didn't have a skill point. But he had the map (30 PP spent), and 70 PP left. He scoured the Essentials list again. His eyes landed on an item he'd dismissed before: 'Improvised Shims (Set of 3): 15 PP'. The description read: 'Hardened wood and wire fragments, usable for rudimentary manipulation of simple locks by a skilled hand.'
He wasn't skilled. But Basic Mechanism Appraisal might give him the knowledge. And the shims were the tool. It was a gamble costing nearly all his remaining points.
He bought the Improvised Shims. His PP dropped to 55. Now, he needed the skill. There was no 'point' left. Desperation sparked an idea. He focused on the system itself, the cold, logical entity behind the prompts.
Trial Version. Core Directives: Survive. Ascend. Explore. I cannot explore or ascend if I die chained in this cart. I need this skill to survive. Advance the points on credit. Deduct from future earnings. Make it a contract.
He poured the thought, raw and forceful, at the blue interface.
For several long seconds, nothing. The cart rattled on. Then, a new prompt, different from the others, appeared in a stark yellow frame:
[Protocol Query Acknowledged. Directive Priority: 'Survive' confirmed.]
[Provisional Resource Advance Approved.]
[1 Skill Point advanced. Debt registered: 100 PP (plus 20% Trial Version surcharge). Total debt: 120 PP. To be repaid upon acquisition of next available PP.]
[Skill: Basic Mechanism Appraisal (Novice) – Acquired.]
Knowledge, crisp and diagrammatic, inserted itself into his mind. He understood the pin-tumbler lock now—the driver pins, the key pins, the shear line. He saw, in his mind's eye, how the crude shims in his 'storage' could be used to tentatively lift and set the pins, if he had the feel for it.
And he felt the weight of the debt. 120 PP. The system was not a benevolent gift. It was a ruthless creditor.
There was no time to dwell. He focused, and the set of three shims—two slivers of dark, hardened wood and a short, stiff length of brass wire—materialized in his palm, hidden by the curve of his hand and the gloom of the cart. His heart hammered against his ribs. This was the moment.
He waited for another violent jolt. When it came, he hunched forward, mimicking being thrown by the impact, bringing his manacled hands close to the lock. With his back to the other slaves, hidden by his body and the shadows, he inserted the brass wire into the bottom of the keyhole, applying tension as the new knowledge instructed. With his other hand, he carefully fed one of the wooden slivers above it, trying to feel for the pins.
It was agonizingly slow. His senses were hyper-alert, every shout from the guards outside making him flinch. The cart's movement made precise work nearly impossible. Minutes stretched. His hands grew slick with sweat.
Click.
A tiny, metallic sound, felt more than heard. One pin set. Elation warred with terror. He worked faster, the mental diagrams guiding his clumsy fingers.
Click. Click.
Another jolt of the cart. The shim slipped. He fumbled, almost dropping it. He took a shuddering breath, forced calm, and tried again.
Click.
The fourth pin. One more.
Suddenly, the cart began to slow. The driver's voice called out, "Whoa! Easy! Looks like a blockage ahead. Brann, Torg, check it out!"
This was it. Distraction. Chen Mo's entire world narrowed to the feel of the final pin under his probe. He listened to the guards dismount, their boots crunching on gravel, moving away from the carts.
CLICK.
A final, satisfying snick. The locking bar disengaged. The heavy manacle around his right wrist fell open, the weight dropping away. He barely caught it to muffle the sound. A few seconds of frantic, quieter work with the shim, and the left manacle followed. He swiftly freed his ankles, the chains pooling silently on the wooden floor.
He was unchained. He stored the shims back into the system's temporary space. They were valuable. He looked at the other slaves. The hulking man met his eyes. There was a spark there, not of hope, but of desperate calculation. Chen Mo gave a tiny, sharp shake of his head. Not yet. The man's eyes dimmed, looking away.
Chen Mo peered through a gap in the canvas. Two guards were twenty paces ahead, poking at a fallen tree limb partially covering the track. The driver remained on the bench of his cart, looking bored. A third guard was at the rear of the small convoy, leaning against a supply wagon.
[New Objective Generated: Initial Escape]
Goal: Leave the slave convoy undetected and put significant distance between yourself and it before pursuit can be organized.
Reward: 200 PP, Unlock 'Stealth' branch in Skill Repository.
Failure: Recapture or death.
The system's cold directive mirrored his own need. This was his only chance.
As the guards ahead began arguing about how to move the log, their voices rising, Chen Mo took a deep breath. He gathered his legs beneath him, the newfound, fragile strength coiling in his muscles. He focused on the dense undergrowth and tall, shadowy pines just five paces from the side of the cart.
On the count of three, he moved.