As Kaelan pondered the staggering potential before him, a sharp, familiar pain lanced through his body. He looked down. The white bandages wrapping his torso were slowly blooming with fresh crimson stains.
*Right. I'm still healing.*
The exertion of testing the bow had reopened half-closed wounds. Impatience was a luxury he couldn't afford. Survival required discipline.
He carefully returned the military bow to its rack and found a simple camp cot against the wall. Lying down, he focused on his breathing, forcing his body to relax. *Steady. Everything must be done steadily.*
From the lacquered box, he took the second and final **Healing Pill**. Without hesitation, he swallowed it, closing his eyes to guide his nascent spirit energy in circulating the potent medicinal essence.
The night passed, silent but for the eternal drumming of rain.
By dawn, the downpour had intensified. A new, deeper chill rode on the wind, a frost-laden breath that seeped through cracks in the stone and promised a harsh, early winter. In a matter of weeks, the true cold would descend.
Inside the outpost, the creeping cold was what finally woke Kaelan. He sat up, testing his limbs with careful stretches. The deep, burning aches had receded to a dull soreness. The wounds, while still tender, had knit enough to allow movement without tearing.
*Military-grade pills. Potency worthy of the name.*
A few minutes later, a hesitant knock preceded the door's opening. **Leo** entered, carefully balancing a small, steaming pot.
Kaelan's eyes tracked the wisp of vapor, his nose catching the faint, bland scent of grain porridge. "Supplies. How much is left?"
Leo sighed, the sound heavy in the small room. "Maybe a day and a half's worth." As he spoke, his eyes flickered, almost involuntarily, to the empty inventory pouch at Kaelan's belt.
Kaelan noted the glance but said nothing. When he had "returned," his dimensional storage had been scoured as clean as his cultivation.
They ate in silence, spooning the thin porridge into wooden bowls. The meal was fuel, nothing more.
"Your wounds… are they better?" Leo asked again, a fragile hope threading his voice.
"Better." Kaelan stretched, adopting a casual tone. "Leo, which squad were you assigned to? What was your duty?"
The man offered a weak, reluctant smile. "**Hearth Squad**. On a normal day, I could feed a few hundred men, no problem."
*A cook.* That explained the competence with even these meager rations. In this desperate scenario, without Kaelan, a non-cultivator like Leo had only one fate. But Leo didn't know the truth: Kaelan himself was a **Qi Refining, First Layer** novice. A single misstep, a encounter with more than one demon, and they would both be carrion.
Kaelan's thoughts were interrupted by a glance at his UI. A small, persistent hourglass icon glowed in the corner of his vision. The sand within was nearly depleted.
*Time's almost up.*
Players could spend a full day in this world for every hour that passed in Reality, but those at **Qi Refining Stage One** were forcibly logged out when their daily allotment expired, forced to wait a full terrestrial day before re-entering.
A burning question now eclipsed all others: *What year is it in Reality?*
Halfway through their silent breakfast, both men froze.
"Brother Kaelan… do you hear that?" Leo whispered, his body shrinking into itself.
"I'll look." Kaelan stood, taking up the military bow and a handful of arrows. He moved toward the door. The hourglass had maybe ten minutes of sand left. *Please, let it be nothing major.*
Stepping into the muddy courtyard, he nocked an arrow, his eyes sweeping the compound with predatory efficiency. Every shadowed corner, every rain-slicked rooftop was scanned and cataloged.
*Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.*
The sound came again, faint but distinct over the rain. It was coming from the direction of the main gate.
Kaelan pressed himself against the cold stone wall, moving with a ghost's silence toward the source.
A demon beast, bulky as two grown men, came into view. It stood at the edge of the burial pit, tail swiping slowly, its grotesque head turning as it sampled the air. Even the relentless rain couldn't fully mask the pit's putrid decay—a siren's call for scavengers like this.
Kaelan identified it instantly. A **Razor-Tusked Gorer**. A low-tier demon beast, but deceptively dangerous. Its clumsy appearance belied a terrifying burst of speed and crushing jaw strength. Three ordinary soldiers would be hard-pressed to bring it down.
*A stroke of luck.* He thanked his earlier foresight. The bow, combined with the outpost's **Obfuscation Array**, gave him a chance.
The beast began to pace around the pit, occasionally rolling in the mud. It was baiting, testing for traps or rival predators.
*Nine minutes.*
Kaelan became a statue, the bow held ready, his breathing shallow and controlled.
*Huff… Grunt…*
The beast paused, snorting plumes of vapor into the chill air, its head still swiveling.
*Five minutes.*
Kaelan didn't blink.
Finally, the Gorer seemed satisfied. It lowered its massive head towards a corpse, its snout sniffing back and forth before its maw gaped open, revealing rows of jagged, yellowed tusks.
*Now.*
Kaelan drew the bowstring to its full anchor point. A trickle of spirit energy flowed from his dantian, down his arm, and into the arrow. An almost invisible swirl of air coalesced around the arrowhead. A spirit-infused projectile hit with five times the force of a normal one. These military arrows were designed to channel such energy, even elemental affinities.
He held for two heartbeats, accounting for the wind and the rain.
Then, he released.
***SSSHWWWIIP!***
The arrow was a silver streak in the grey downpour. It struck true, burying itself deep in the beast's open mouth.
A roar of pain and fury shattered the morning. The Gorer lurched forward, thrashing on the ground.
Kaelan's hands were already moving. **Rapid Nock.**
Arrow after arrow transformed into lethal beams of light, leaving the bow in a relentless, rhythmic torrent.
Enraged, the beast charged blindly toward the outpost's gate. But after only a few bounding steps, primal fear overrode anger. It skidded in the mud, trying to turn and flee.
It was too late.
The arrows found their marks with chilling precision: the soft juncture of leg and torso, the base of the skull, the vulnerable flank. The beast's condition deteriorated from serious to critical with shocking speed.
Throughout the onslaught, Kaelan's expression remained a mask of cold focus. His arms, employing **Steady Aim**, were as immovable as iron set in stone. Draw, nock, loose. Draw, nock, loose.
*One minute remaining.*
The Gorer collapsed, a pincushion of feathered shafts, its blood painting the mud a violent red.
Kaelan's spirit energy reserves had dropped by nearly half. Yet, he did not cease. Demons were cunning. They knew how to play dead, to lure in the overconfident.
For seven more breaths, he sent arrows thudding into the beast's vital areas.
The ruse broken, the Gorer gave one final, desperate lunge, scrambling five meters before crashing into the trunk of a barren tree and sliding down, motionless.
This time, it was truly dead.
Two lines of blue text scrolled across Kaelan's vision.
**[Soul Point +1. Current Soul Points: 1/5.]**
**[Experience sufficient: 5/5. Level up available. Confirm?]**
The Skin-shedding Blood Demon had granted 4 Experience. This beast provided the final point.
"**Level up.**" The command was instantaneous.
The Experience counter reset from **[5/5]** to **[0/10]**. The requirement to reach **Qi Refining Stage Three** had doubled.
On his status screen, the text shimmered and changed.
**[Cultivation: Qi Refining Stage – Second Layer.]**
A pulse of brilliant golden light erupted from Kaelan's core, visible even to his own eyes. A torrent of warm, liquid energy flooded his meridians, cycling once through his entire body before surging back to coalesce in his dantian, swelling his reserves of spirit energy.
Power, however faint, returned. The first step on the long climb back had been taken.