Osric held still behind the shed as the sounds spread.
Not loud.
Not frantic.
That was the dangerous part.
Feral dogs didn't panic—they adjusted.
His breath slowed on its own. The cold no longer bit at his fingers. The world narrowed to angles, distances, and movement paths. Combat Instinct didn't tell him what to do. It stripped away everything that didn't matter.
Two on the far side of the pen.
One circling wide.
One closer. Too close.
Osric moved before the dog fully cleared the corner.
The second feral dog lunged from behind a collapsed trough, jaws snapping where his leg had been a heartbeat earlier. Osric pivoted into the motion, blade already rising—not reacting, but intercepting.
Iron met flesh.
He stepped into the bite instead of away from it, driving the sword forward and down. The blade punched through the dog's throat and pinned it to the ground. The animal thrashed once, claws scraping uselessly, then went limp.
Osric ripped the sword free and didn't look back.
A third dog burst from the farmhouse doorway, drawn by sound and blood.
Too fast for hesitation.
Osric closed the distance in three steps. The dog leapt—too high, too committed. His Combat Instinct adjusted his grip mid-stride. The swing wasn't wide. It was short. Efficient.
The blade took the head clean off.
The body hit the ground before the head did.
That was when the pressure changed.
Not sound.
Not movement.
Weight.
Osric felt it immediately.
Five.
They didn't rush him. They fanned out.
One ahead.
Two drifting to his right.
Two to his left—one wider, one cutting in.
They weren't smart. But they were experienced predators, and now there was no confusion left to exploit.
Osric shifted his footing, back angled toward the shed. Not trapped—but no longer free. His grip tightened on the sword, muscles coiling as his instincts recalculated.
This was no longer a hunt.
The circle tightened.
And Osric stood at its center.
Osric had seconds.
Not enough to rethink.
Just enough to decide.
The free stat point was still there—quiet, waiting. Osric didn't hesitate this time.
Agility.
The choice locked in without ceremony.
Something shifted immediately.
Not a surge. Not strength.
Balance.
His center of gravity felt tighter, more obedient. The slight delay between intent and movement—something he'd never consciously noticed before—thinned to almost nothing.
Right.
Two feral dogs were already charging from that side, muscles low, teeth bared. Osric pushed off the ground and moved to meet them.
The System spoke.
A single line. A new challenge.
Osric didn't look.
There was no time.
He felt the difference as he ran.
His stride was shorter, faster. Each step landed exactly where he expected it to. When the first dog lunged, Osric shifted half a pace to the side—clean, controlled—and brought the sword down in a tight arc.
The blade bit through the side of its neck.
Blood sprayed dark and hot against the cold air as the body collapsed mid-motion.
The second dog leapt immediately, jaws wide.
Osric dropped his stance instinctively, knees bending as the sword thrust forward. The timing was perfect. The iron blade punched into the throat and stopped the leap dead, the weight of the body slamming uselessly against him before sliding off.
Two breaths.
Gone.
Relief flickered—
—and vanished.
The remaining three were already on him.
Too close.
One came from his right. Osric swung down hard, catching its face as it recoiled at the last instant. The cut wasn't fatal—but it screamed and stumbled back, blood pouring from its muzzle.
No time to finish it.
The other two hit together.
Osric raised his sword and caught one bite on the flat of the blade, iron ringing sharply as he twisted his wrists and pivoted. The second dog slipped in low, teeth scraping across his hip as he turned—pain flared—and claws raked his left leg as it passed.
Osric hissed but didn't break rhythm.
Pain dulled instantly, shoved aside.
He drove forward.
The blocked dog was forced back with a shove of iron and shoulder. Osric turned into the motion and hacked down at the one that had wounded him. The blade sank deep into its shoulder, tearing muscle and bone. The dog collapsed mid-charge, howling once before going still.
Two left.
Both attacking.
Osric's feet adjusted without thought.
His stance settled—low, balanced, precise.
He moved.
The sword swept in a clean diagonal arc, faster than he'd ever swung it before. The nearer dog lost its head in a single motion, the body collapsing at his feet.
The last dog lunged desperately, but Osric continued his swinging arc to remove its right foreleg.
The Feral Dog collapsed to the cold ground while bleeding profusely.
Osric stepped inside its reach and finished it with a short, brutal strike.
Silence fell hard.
Osric stood there, chest heaving, blood dripping from blade and coat alike.
Something lingered in his hands.
Not strength.
Understanding.
For a brief moment, the sword didn't feel like a tool he wielded—it felt like an extension of intent. Every movement he'd made replayed clearly in his mind, not as chaos, but as sequence.
Cause.
Effect.
Correction.
Then the moment passed.
The System spoke again.
Osric finally let himself breathe.