Despite the injuries, Paolo lived.
The river had nearly claimed him. The current was violent and cold, smashing him against submerged rocks and dragging him under more than once. Only desperation kept him conscious. By the time the river spat him back onto land, his body was screaming in protest. One rib was cracked for sure. Breathing came shallow and sharp. Every movement sent a reminder through his chest that one bad decision would finish the job.
Still, he lived.
The system allowed participants to carry items up to a certain limit regardless of physical condition. Paolo's toolbox and most of his equipment remained intact, stored and retrieved through sheer will. That alone was enough to keep him moving. Without it, survival would have ended the moment he crawled out of the water.
He lay there for nearly an hour, listening to the distant chaos of the second stage. Roars echoed through the forest. Screams followed. Some human, some not. The system had turned this place into a slaughterhouse and it showed no interest in slowing down.
When Paolo finally forced himself upright, he did it with clenched teeth and a curse under his breath.
"In just five days, I've gained almost two hundred points," he muttered, leaning heavily against a tree. "Surviving here and setting traps like in the first round should give me a higher chance of surviving."
It was not optimism. It was arithmetic. Paolo trusted numbers more than hope.
Humans did not heal quickly. Compared to the other races he had seen, they were fragile, slow, and painfully limited. Paolo understood that better than anyone. He did not have monstrous strength or supernatural regeneration. What he had was time, tools, and a skill that rewarded preparation.
Using Tech Upgrade alongside sheer stubbornness, Paolo got to work.
He scavenged scrap from broken weapons and shattered armor left behind by the dead. Bent metal was reshaped. Leather straps were reinforced with thin plates. The end result was crude, uncomfortable, and heavy, but it worked. A rigid support wrapped around his torso, bracing his ribs and limiting movement just enough to keep them from getting worse.
Every adjustment hurt. Every breath was measured.
But it worked.
Paolo did not look for the others. In his mind, the outcome was already decided. The stampede, the monsters, the other participants. Survival rates were abysmal. Assuming anyone else lived was a luxury he could not afford.
This was another solo mission.
He moved deeper into the forest, away from open terrain and obvious paths. The second stage was far more crowded than the first. Not just with participants, but with things that hunted without fear. The system had learned. It was no longer testing individuals. It was forcing conflict.
After hours of slow travel, Paolo found it.
A small cave hidden behind thick foliage and uneven stone. The entrance was narrow and easy to miss, especially if someone was running or being chased. Inside, it widened just enough for a single person to rest without feeling trapped.
Paolo smiled despite himself.
"This'll do."
He worked until his hands were raw. Wire traps were laid in overlapping patterns. Pressure triggers were disguised beneath leaves and soil. Noise traps were placed farther out, not to stop anyone, but to warn him. The cave itself was modified last. A shallow hiding space was carved into the stone wall, concealed with debris and reinforced supports.
If the traps failed, there would be no one to find.
When the work was done, Paolo sat down hard against the cave wall and let himself breathe.
Then, like always, he started talking to himself.
"Let's list down what I've encountered so far and whether or not they're targets I should actually try to fight."
His voice echoed softly in the cave, steady and analytical, as if this were just another planning session back home.
"Reality 43305," he said. "Four armed goliaths. Bad news. Not even the combined strength of the five of us could take one down. My arrows could barely pierce their skin."
He paused, remembering the way those creatures moved. Slow, but unstoppable. Like walking siege weapons.
"Complete avoidance," Paolo concluded, tightening a wire trap with a twist of his wrist.
"There are locals from 312 again. Primitive humans. Weapons work well against them. Though their senses make it easy for them to hunt others down."
He had watched them from a distance. Their movements were efficient. Their communication was nonverbal but precise. They were predators pretending to be people.
"Viable targets only with preparation," he continued. "No direct engagements."
Paolo adjusted his armor, wincing slightly.
"There's those humans from 775 again too. This time their leader has a skill that lets him shoot out lightning. Thank god we chose to observe first before engaging them in combat."
That memory brought a bitter taste. Observation had saved them then. Matthew had agreed at the time. He nodded along.
Paolo did not dwell on it.
"Finally there's the stampede," he said quietly. "The system likely spawns it in intervals. I need to find out if there's some sort of timing or warning before it occurs. It can be weaponized if I just time it right."
That thought kept him awake.
The stampede was indiscriminate. It did not care about alliances or intentions. If Paolo could predict it, even roughly, it could become the deadliest trap of all.
Night fell slowly. The forest grew louder, not quieter. Something howled in the distance. Something answered.
Paolo retreated into the cave, pulling debris into place and sealing himself inside. Darkness wrapped around him. He listened to the traps outside, counting the seconds between each sound.
He did not think about Matthew.
Not yet.
The cave was temporary. The plan was simple. Heal enough to move properly. Gather information. Set better traps. Survive long enough to matter.
The second stage was hell, but hell had patterns.
And Paolo intended to learn them.