According to Echo, I make it exactly eight hours and twenty-four minutes before I nick myself with the knife.
[1 point of Slashing damage self-inflicted.]
[HP: 48/90]
“Shit.” I drop the knife on the kitchen counter and stick my finger in my mouth, filling it with that coppery sour taste of blood.
Iski watches me passively from where she’s stirring the huge cauldron of stew in the fireplace. “You’re really terrible with a knife, huh?”
I take my finger out of my mouth to look at it, a small smear of red spreading through the ridges in my skin like ivy over bricks.
“I’ll get better at it,” I say. “Just need more practice.” And some skill level ups. The faster I can pick a class, the better.
Muted, from somewhere out in the tavern, a bell chimes; at the same time, a rune on the wall—invisible until now—lights up orange.
“Well here’s another opportunity for practice,” Iski says. She knocks the spoon against the lip of the pot and sets it aside. “Looks like we’ve got company. Stay back here and keep the pot stirring; can’t cut yourself that way.”
“I’ll get better!” I insist. But Iski has already hopped down from her stool and is heading out the storeroom door.
“Welcome to the Starlight Inn!” I hear her say. “You looking for room or board?”
With a sigh, I follow the goblin’s instructions and begin mindlessly stirring the stew. This is boring. I should be learning magic by now! Fighting direwolves or slimes or something. Who gets reincarnated into another world just to do housework? And I don’t even get to be an elf or catgirl or anything else cool, either.
I sit on the stool Iski had been using to reach the top of the cauldron, the fire’s warmth quickly stinging at my skin. At least I didn’t end up as a goblin. That would probably make everything about a hundred times harder. I wonder if the heat is worse, too, when you’re that small. I shift, trying to scoot away from the open flames.
Or maybe…
I eye the fireplace dubiously. Echo had said it was a low chance. But it wasn’t no chance. And I’ll heal whatever damage I take, anyway. Echo, what’s the rate of my passive healing?
[The user regains health at a rate of one hit point per hour.]
At a total of 90 HP, that means I can heal from pretty much anything within four days. Nifty. And also probably why I’m not dead right now. Re-dead? Anyway.
I reach a hand toward the fire, then hesitate. It’ll hurt, but I’ll be fine. And then, maybe, I’ll be able to do fire magic. That should be worth the risk, right?
Before I can psych myself out anymore, I stuff my hand in the coals. For a moment it only feels warm. Then, I scream.
[12 points of Burning damage self-inflicted.]
----------------------------------------
“What were you thinking?” Gugora demands.
I blink through the tears, trying to choke down a sob, as my hand continues to pulse with a searing heat like the fire never left it. “Magic,” I croak.
Gugora looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
I try again. “Don’t have an Affinity. Thought maybe if I got burned…”
The orc passes a hand over his face. “You can’t consciously force an affinity that way. They happen, or they don’t.” He frowns, checking the bandage around my hand—the slight touch wrenches a strangled cry from me. “At least it’s not deep. Might scar, but won’t cause lasting damage. You got lucky. I hope you treat this as the lesson it is.”
I nod pathetically. I’ve experienced worse pain. I rationally know that. But while you’re dealing with fresh second-degree burns that cover every inch of your hand, it’s a little hard to internalize that.
Gugora sighs. “Stay here in your room. Rest. I need to go help Iski with the customers—assuming you haven’t scared them away.” He offers a small reassuring smile as he stands.
I try to summon a weak smile to meet his, but I can only grimace. Even as he leaves, though, I can’t find it in myself to regret what I did. I had to try, at least.
And sure enough, as I laid in bed that afternoon, ice in hand, the pain gradually dulled. By that night, it was gone. Iski and Gugora were shocked to see my hand unbandaged and undamaged the next morning—I guess not everyone has this passive healing perk that I do. Echo tells me it’s because I’m in the System, so that’s good, I suppose. One mark in my favor.
Which is doubly good, considering I don’t have any time to waste.
----------------------------------------
What follows, directly against Gugora and Iski’s advice, is a series of magic-dowsing experiments. I stumble around blindly in the middle of the night, nearly falling off the second-floor balcony and down into the tavern. I stick my head in a bucket and inhale a lungful of water. I climb a tree in a thunderstorm and wave a metal shovel around. No luck. Or, as Gugora and Iski would have you believe, I’m extremely lucky. That’s a matter of perspective, in my opinion.
“I’m going foraging,” I announce after several days of failed experiments. “We’re running out of mushrooms and swampweed, right?”
Iski squints at me suspiciously from where she’s cleaning up after a couple patrons. There’s been more travelers in the last few days, though only three or four ever spend the night at a time. Gugora says we’re entering summer, so more people tend to be on the road.
“I suppose so,” Iski says. “Awfully observant of you.”
After spending the last week doing nothing but chores, attempting to force magic powers, and chopping vegetables, it’s hard not to notice the few bits of detail available to me in an otherwise glaringly mundane environment. At least my Knifework has gone up to level 3. And on the plus side, all this damage I’ve taken has gotten me halfway to leveling up, no magic or combat grinding needed. Still, I can’t afford to limp along at this pace forever. It’s time to be more proactive—and that’s the real motivator for my little adventure.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Foraging,” Gugora says, “or looking for trouble?”
I stick my tongue out. “I can stay out of trouble.”
“You can,” he grunts. “But you won’t.”
I turn back to Iski. “Well? Can I go?”
She exchanges a look with Gugora. He shrugs helplessly. “Alright,” she agrees, even as I’m scrambling to secure my knife to my belt. “Hold up! Take a basket with you. And we’re running out of blueroot, too. I’ll make you a list.”
I try to hide my impatience as I follow Iski back to the storeroom for her to go checking all the crates and pots for whatever items might be low. I mentally have Echo note down whatever Iski says, and after she confirms I haven’t forgotten anything—well, after she confirms Echo hasn’t forgotten anything—I’m off.
As I step out the backdoor, wrapping my scarf (well, Gugora’s scarf) about my shoulders, I can hear Iski let out a labored sigh. “What agent of chaos have you unleashed upon this establishment?”
I grin, closing the door behind me. Agent of chaos. I kinda like the sound of that.
It’s early afternoon still, and the trees help keep the worst of the sun off me as I trek into the forest. I run my hand over the hunting knife Gugora gave me, sheathed at my waist.
“Alright, Echo,” I say. It’s nice to not have to keep the conversation in my head, finally. “Keep an eye out for any monsters, will you? It’s time I start training.”
[There are thousands of creatures within range, if insects are to be included in this classification,] Echo says. [Display list?]
“Er, actually, no,” I say. I glance around, but I don’t see whatever bugs she’s talking about. “I’m more looking for some low-level mobs. You know, the stuff in video games you need to grind in order to level up.”
[Command unclear,] Echo says.
I chew my lip. Maybe the way this world works isn’t as video game-y as I first thought. “Let me know if there’s a pack of animals around,” I suggest. “Excluding bugs… unless they’re, like, big cat-sized bugs or something.”
[Affirmative,] Echo says. [Additionally, notify user if ingredients on ‘Iski’s List’ can be identified?]
“Sure,” I say with a sigh. “Might as well.”
I guess I’ll have to hope she got the gist of what I want. I can’t really make heads or tails of this place. Why have I got a System setup, but no one else I’ve met seems to? What’s the purpose of these Role things except to be really annoying? It seems you’re rewarded for working on skills that fall under the Role’s jurisdiction, but only slightly; after a week of chopping food and helping around the kitchen, I still haven’t earned enough experience to level up. And the punishment for not adhering to the Role Requirements—a gradual loss of my sanity—hardly seems worth the boons.
I have the passive healing thing, and an Echo in my head definitely helps me notice and learn things other people wouldn’t, but otherwise, this System seems pretty broken to me.
I wander around the woods, trying not to go too far, so I don’t lose track of where the inn is. But apart from some birds and rabbits that dart away before I’m anywhere near them, I don’t find anything but the plants on Iski’s list. With a grimace, I cut a handful of spotted mushrooms from a rotted log to throw in Iski’s basket. Watching the animals dart away presents yet another problem; I’d just assumed I could find some slimes or whatever that would stick around and fight me. But if everything acts like a normal wild animal, how the hell am I gonna manage to kill anything?
And do I even want to? Slashing up a shadow snake or whatever sounds a whole lot more appealing than having to stab an actual deer. (Of course, if I plan to take down the champion Maru, I’m going to need to get over that squeamishness. I try to push that thought from my mind.) Where are all the monsters? The magic? I sigh. This has got to be the lamest start to a hero’s adventure ever.
[Group of creatures identified.]
Or maybe not. “Where?” I whisper, but even as I ask, a flicker of movement through the bushes in front of me catches my eye. Cautiously, I move closer to get a better look.
On the other side of the bushes is a small clearing, the surrounding air filled with a sickly-sweet smell, like rotten fruit. I wrinkle my nose and frown at the scene. The forest floor seems to be overrun with vines, among which dozens of bright pink, dinner-plate sized flowers are blooming. Those must be the source of the smell. One of the buds is closed and twitching, as if something is struggling to burst out. With mounting horror, I think I can hear a squealing sound coming from inside. After another few moments, the movement stops.
[Carnivorous Orchids, level 5,] Echo says. [Luring prey in with a sweet smell, these plants capture and devour small prey within their flowers, which snap shut as soon as any creatures crawl into their buds, seeking the source of the attractive scent.]
Smells anything but attractive to me. But it basically sounds like I’m dealing with slightly bigger Venus flytraps, which means this is the perfect opportunity for me to try hacking some things up. Given the low probability of falling into a flower that can’t swallow much more than my hand, I’m not particularly worried about getting digested by one of these things. I draw my knife, and step carefully around the bush.
“Alright,” I mutter to myself. “Let’s start small.”
I cut through the nearest vine leading into the clearing, and a thick, green goo oozes out the limb.
“Ew,” I say, wiping the blade on the grass even as I’m greeted with a familiar notification.
[2 points of Slashing damage dealt.]
Hey! Look at me dealing damage finally. Nice.
I cut through the next vine, and the next. The vine gloop is sticky and clings to my knife like glue. Annoying, but I’ve got to start getting experience points somehow. The EXP bar in the corner of my vision slowly starts to fill. Time to pump those numbers up.
Ignoring the goo—I can take a bath later—I start hacking up the plant, forging a path toward the nearest blossom. This one is open, and now that I’m close, I can see a collection of small animal bones in the dirt around the flower.
“Nothing personal,” I say, kneeling down beside the flower to push the petals aside so I can behead the plant at its base. “We all gotta do what we can to survive.”
[10 points of Slashing damage dealt,] Echo says as I cut the flower from the plant.
More green liquid pours from the cut stem, this time gushing over my hand and forearm as I pull it away. A strange tingling sensation passes through my skin.
[Status effect sustained: Poisoned.]
[Status effect sustained: Paralysis.]
“What?!”
I drop the blossom, hurriedly flapping my hand through the air, trying to fling the droplets away. It’s viscous and thick, though, and clings to my skin in a thick layer. The tingling is starting to turn into a burn.
[1 HP lost every ten seconds,] Echo reports. [Physical impairment spread at a rate of one inch every ten seconds.]
I scramble out of the nest of orchids to wipe my hand on a patch of fresh grass. My left hand is quickly feeling stuffy and numb, and the burning sensation is spreading up my arm.
“Crap,” I hiss, dropping my knife to tear a piece of my shirt off and use the cloth to wipe down my arm. “Echo, did that slow the poison rate?”
[Negative,] Echo says. [The rate of Poisoning cannot be altered.]
“Can it be stopped?” I ask, fear flickering through me, buzzing like static from my head to my toes. I have 90 HP. One point every ten seconds gives me 900 seconds. How long is that? Fifteen minutes? Not enough time to get back to the inn. Not even if I ran, and given the rate of Paralysis spread, I don’t think I’ll be able to do that for much longer.
[Affirmative,] Echo says, and relief washes over me. Briefly. [Poisoning status effect will cease in 985 seconds. Alternatively, an antidote would stop the Poisoned status effect.]
Oh great, it’ll stop just in time for me to die!
“Antidote?” I cry, still desperately trying to wipe the poison off on the nearby forest floor. “What is it? How can I get some?”
[An antidote may be brewed from carnivorous orchid root, among other ingredients and mana expenditure,] Echo says.
I can’t brew anything out in the middle of a forest! “Anything else?” I ask Echo, trying not to succumb to the panic welling up inside me. “There has to be some way to stop it!”
[Affirmative,] Echo says, restoring a momentary glimmer of hope. [Removing the affected limb will reduce the spread of poison.]
My stomach drops. “Fuck.”