Book 1 Chapter 3 A Rock and a Hard Place 2
…
He took a deep breath, the nausea receding, replaced by the detached, clinical focus that served him best. He had a weapon. An unconventional, highly dangerous, and extremely effective weapon.
He spent the next fifteen minutes in the eerie, silent clearing punctuated by the vast, prone corpse of a tree, practicing.
Throw, whoosh, stop, return.
The cooldown was absolute. Once the rock returned, it became momentarily translucent, a six-second timer appearing over the inventory slot. [Cooldown: 6.0 / 5.9 / 5.8...] During this time, it could not be launched. Six seconds was an eternity. It meant he had to make every two-damage shot count, and then he had to survive the next six seconds unarmed.
The range was also absolute. Six meters. If he threw it five meters, it wouldn't return until he mentally recalled it or threw it past the six-meter mark. If he threw it seven meters, it would loop back at six meters without fail. He learned to manage the recoil, the slight thrum in his arm when it launched, and the sudden, gentle click when it returned to his grasp. It felt like playing catch with an invisible, murderous dog on a short, invisible leash. He nicknamed it the "Malignant Marble."
Just as Rowan felt he was getting the hang of the rhythm—launch on cooldown, clear, immediately take two steps back for distance, hold position, catch, repeat—the air suddenly changed.
It wasn't the smell of blood this time. It was the smell of damp fur, musk, and pure, concentrated aggression.
From the dense shadows beneath the remaining, undamaged trees, a massive, brown-and-gray shape exploded into the clearing.
It was a rodent. A truly gargantuan rodent. It was easily the size of a large German Shepherd, with twitching whiskers, yellowed, chisel-like incisors the length of Rowan's forefinger, and small, intensely malicious black eyes. Its paws, disproportionately large, tore up the soil as it charged.
Rowan, momentarily paralyzed, watched as a small, secondary, floating blue display, specific to the creature, snapped into existence above its head.
Rodenta, Greater ForestLevel 1 BeastHP: 50 / 50Status: Enraged, Hungry
Rowan's mind went instantly into data-processing mode, even as his instinct screamed. "Fifty HP! That's... twenty-five hits. With a six-second cooldown, that is two and a half minutes of uninterrupted, perfect execution. I am a mere mortal. I do not have two and a half minutes of perfect execution!"
The Rodenta covered the first ten meters of the distance in a blur, its low, guttural snarl rattling the silence.
FIGHT!
Rowan acted purely on training—not military, but the Pavlovian response to the six-second timer finally hitting zero.
He launched the Malignant Marble. WHOOSH.
The creature, too big and too focused on the easy meal ahead, didn't even flinch. The rock struck the Rodenta squarely on its left flank, near the hip.
CRACK!
The sound was a dull, heavy impact, not the clean, explosive sound of the tree strike. A microscopic chip of fur and dried blood flaked off.
The Rodenta stumbled momentarily, more from surprise at the sudden, localized concussion than actual pain. It let out a high-pitched, indignant squeal.
Rowan, however, was staring at the HP bar.
Rodenta, Greater ForestLevel 1 BeastHP: 48 / 50
"Two points," Rowan whispered, his voice trembling in disbelief. "It took two points of damage. The tree was worth... infinity, apparently, and this angry beaver is worth twenty-five trees." The systemic absurdity of a 50-caliber impact only chipping 2 HP points was staggering. The sheer density of this 'Level 1 Beast' was terrifying.
The Malignant Marble returned to his hand with its gentle, persistent thrum. The cooldown timer immediately began its descent. [Cooldown: 6.0 / 5.9 / 5.8...]
The Rodenta, no longer merely charging, was now bounding, an expression of pure, predatory intent on its rodent face. It was five meters away. Rowan, with his meager martial arts training, above-average athletic ability, and a brain full of pharmaceutical theories, realized his immediate mortality.
He didn't run. He had nowhere to go, and the Rodenta was faster. Instead, he executed a pathetic, stumbling sidestep, using his previous experience in fighting thugs and bullies.
The Rodenta slammed into the space where Rowan had been a half-second before, its massive shoulder impacting the air with a brutal force that felt like a shockwave. Rowan was thrown off balance by the near-miss, staggering back toward the base of the fallen tree.
He noticed the creature's tail—thick, scaled, and whip-like—was suddenly swinging around in a brutal arc.
Rowan threw himself down, landing flat on his back in the mulch. The tail whistled over his chest, the sheer velocity generating a sharp, stinging wind that ruffled his hair.
[Cooldown: 3.5 / 3.4 / 3.3...]
The Rodenta immediately spun, its head snapping down toward the prone, helpless human. Its huge incisors were coming straight for Rowan's face.
Rowan's body, fueled by pure, unadulterated adrenaline and the primal instinct to avoid becoming a Level 1 Beast's snack, reacted with two simultaneous movements.
First, the fear, panic, and stress, combined with the earlier abdominal distress, triggered an unfortunate, highly inconvenient, and predictable response. He puked again, a small, involuntary, entirely ineffective spurt of acidic bile.
Second, he saw the [Cooldown: 1.0] flash on the screen. He brought his arm up in a desperate, last-ditch effort, not even aiming, just launching the rock straight upward, hoping to distract the beast.
WHOOSH.
The rock hit the underside of the Rodenta's jaw, a small, soft, unarmored spot, with that signature CRACK that suggested a building had just been flattened.
HP: 46 / 50
The Rodenta jerked backward, its momentum broken, letting out a shriek of sudden, sharp pain. The blow hadn't done much more damage than before, but the location was a sensitive spot, momentarily stunning the creature.
Rowan scrambled to his feet, tasting bile and adrenaline. He had put 4 damage on the board, but he was one sloppy dodge away from death. He tried to attack again, but the enemy was already on guard and had dodged effectively.
[Cooldown: 6.0 / 5.9 / 5.8...]
"Okay," Rowan wheezed, adjusting his stance. "The data suggests: one, it's fast. Two, its defense is ridiculous. Three, it attacks in a one-two combo—charge/slam, then tail sweep or bite. Four, the soft spot doesn't yield bonus damage. Conclusion: this is a war of attrition, and I am the attrition."
He now had to survive six seconds. He backed up, eyes locked on the Rodenta, which was now circling him, low to the ground, twitching its nose, assessing the weird, vomiting obstacle.
The next minute and a half were the most surreal, terrifying, and physically demanding period of Rowan's life. It was a bizarre, slow-motion ballet of incompetence.
The Rodenta would lunge. Rowan would either execute an awkward, desperate scramble or throw himself behind a root. He was terrible at defense. He got nicked twice by the rodent's claws, which felt like being struck by small, electrified bricks.
Rowan was fighting defensively, purely focused on the timer.
[Cooldown: 1.0]. WHOOSH. He would launch the rock, chip 2 HP, and if there is still time, he would attack again. And then he would immediately begin the six-second scramble.
The Malignant Marble became his metronome of survival. Launch. Two or four damages. Run five steps. Dodge right. Roll under the tail. Wait for the rock to return. Catch. Cooldown: 6s.
The Rodenta, on the other hand, was growing increasingly frustrated. It was Level 1, and this squishy, smelly, pathetic human kept hitting it with the same high-velocity projectile that made a painful thump and then instantly vanished, only to reappear in the human's sweaty palm six seconds later. It was highly insulting.
The fight dragged on.
HP: 38 / 50 (Rowan dodged three attacks, launched four rocks.) HP: 30 / 50 (Rowan took a claw swipe to the arm, causing a stinging, non-lethal, but very real wound.) HP: 22 / 50 (Rowan was now breathing in gasps, his old T-shirt ripped, sweat pouring into his eyes, and still smelling vaguely of his previous nausea.)
The Rodenta, smelling blood and victory, was relentless. It launched a particularly vicious combination. It slammed its body low, a feint, then pivoted and used its massive back legs to jump, aiming to tackle Rowan and pin him.
Rowan saw the move coming, not through fighting skill, but because the Rodenta had executed the exact same feint-and-jump sequence in a video game he'd played once.
"Oh, no, you don't. That move is exploitable," he gasped.
[Cooldown: 0.5 / 0.4 / 0.3...]
He braced himself against the trunk of a tree—the intact one—and waited. The timer hit zero just as the Rodenta left the ground, becoming a brown missile suspended in mid-air.
Rowan launched the rock. WHOOSH.
He aimed, for the first time, not for the body, but for the open maw, now gaping and revealing those terrifying yellow teeth.
The rock, moving with its usual implacable force, hit the front of the Rodenta's mouth.
CRACK!
Rowan didn't even check the HP. He was too busy collapsing in a heap of exhausted limbs.
The Rodenta hit the ground with an agonizing, muffled shriek. The impact of the rock had evidently shattered one of its massive incisors. The creature rolled, its momentum gone, its focus replaced by pure, blinding dental pain. It began to make high-pitched, whimpering, angry sounds, pawing at its mouth.
Rowan, recognizing a temporary reprieve, staggered to his feet.
HP: 14 / 50
He now had a target whose main weapon (its teeth) was temporarily compromised by a single two-damage hit.
He retreated to the six-meter boundary, leaning heavily against the tree. He ignored the pain in his arm and the burning in his lungs. He only focused on the timer.
[Cooldown: 6.0 / 5.9...]
The Rodenta tried to charge, but its running was now erratic, interrupted by pauses to rub its bleeding mouth. It was a wounded animal, less tactical and more feral.
Rowan took advantage of the six-second window to catch his breath. His mind was startlingly clear.
"Fourteen HP left. Seven shots. Six-second cooldown equals forty-two seconds of fighting time, plus transition time. Maintain range. Exploit dental vulnerability."
[Cooldown: 0.0]. WHOOSH! Two damage to the hip. HP: 10.
[Cooldown: 0.0]. WHOOSH! Two damage to the shoulder. HP: 8.
The next shots were a masterclass in highly pressurized, six-second-interval precision throwing. The Rodenta was slow, clumsy, and in pain. Rowan was a machine of monotonous, low-damage output. He fired and fired and then waited. It was tedious, terrifying, and effective.
The creature's HP bar ticked down in excruciatingly slow, two-point increments.
HP: 6 / 50
HP: 4 / 50
HP: 2 / 50
The Rodenta was now crawling, dragging itself forward, its eyes filled with desperation and hatred. It was one final, miserable lunge away.
Rowan, his hand slick with sweat, took aim for the final shot. [Cooldown: 0.0].
He threw the rock. It was a tired, uninspired launch, but the system didn't care about style. It only cared about the data.
The rock impacted the Rodenta's skull, making a final, wet THWACK.
HP: 0 / 50
The massive rodent shuddered violently once, all the fight draining out of its enormous body, and then slumped lifelessly onto the forest floor.
Rowan stood there for a long moment, breathing hard, listening to the silence. His Malignant Marble returned to his hand and sat there, inert, with no new cooldown. He hadn't just survived. He had killed a Level 1 Beast, a creature that could flatten trees and shrug off high-powered ballistics, using only his high school throwing arm and a piece of discount gravel.
The exhaustion hit him like another high-velocity rock. He slumped against the tree trunk and closed his eyes.
A new, golden message flared on his floating display, momentarily stinging his eyes.
NOTIFICATIONTarget Eliminated: Rodenta, Greater Forest (Level 1 Beast)Experience Gained: 5 (Level 0 -> Level 0)Loot Acquired: 0.10 Coins
Rowan slowly opened his eyes and stared at the final line of the notification.
0.10 Coins.
He had just risked life and limb, nearly puked himself inside out, dodged a beast capable of instant decapitation, and spent over two minutes in a duel of attrition, all for a pathetic one-tenth of a single unit of currency.
He had started with 1.00 Coin. He spent it on a Rock. He now had 0.10 Coins. He was, financially, worse off than when he started. The rock, however, was now a permanent fixture in his inventory, having survived its 12 seconds of use long ago.
Rowan pushed himself off the tree, his body aching in protest. He looked down at the dead Rodenta. It was massive, terrifying, and now completely inert. He considered the five corpses behind him, the ridiculous floating interface, and his single coin.
He spoke, his voice dry and filled with a deep, weary annoyance that only a perpetually phlegmatic person who has just survived a life-or-death battle for 0.10 coins could possess.
"This is an utterly unacceptable rate of return on invested bodily capital," he stated, looking at the display. "If this is the standard remuneration for a Level 1 kill, I will need to process approximately 250 of these to afford the next cheapest weapon, the Thorns accessory. This is not a viable economic model."
He sighed, the wind rustling the leaves overhead. He had a powerful rock, an empty stomach, and a deeply entrenched, highly academic sense of financial disappointment. His journey in this strange new world was off to a terrible, glorious, and deeply underpaid start.