In a wrestling match between a big, buff man and a dinosaur, the dinosaur is still going to win.

In a wrestling match between an angry, charging dinosaur and a not exactly big or buff me... Well, let's just say that if I didn't have a stolen spear to rely on, I would be a whole lot more dead right now.

Good ol' Verkendork is still screeching incoherently with pain as he tries to get my magic salt out of his eyes and mouth and crazy eyebrow beard, so at least I've got only one opponent to deal with. But... when that opponent is a crocodile-jawed dino with angry claws on arms considerably more useful than a t-rex's?

I'd be seriously concerned for my safety, if not for the fact that I know I can heal myself as soon as this fight is over.

As it is, I ignore the continued slashing of the angry dino's claws, instead focusing on stabbing it with the spear as many times as possible. I learned the trick to popping these scales off, when I was trying to butcher the first dino, so the first few attacks are glancing side-on attacks just to give myself an opening, leaving the ground littered with dino scales from its chest and side. Only then can the real stabbing start.

The angry dinosaur is having none of this. One of my arms is torn almost to ribbons as I hold it up to protect my face. And... maybe I spend more time on the ground gasping for air from where its charge bowled me over entirely than I do executing careful attacks and jumping aside with impunity, but let's not dwell on that.

The point is, dino vs arm: Dino wins in a landslide. Spear vs dino: Dino... at least is bleeding. A littlet. For the moment, it's overshot me as I lay gasping. The spear is a few feet away, but I can grab it easily once I recover. Verkremond the Slayer is still out of commission, but his screaming has dulled to an angry growl and I get the feeling he's going to be back in the game sooner rather than later.

"Bless. Haste."

Clarity and speed flow through me. I still have a second before the dino will be able to turn and return to finish the job.

"Heal." I have the feeling this'll be a longer fight, and bleeding out from my savaged arm while fighting is a stupid way to die. I definitely don't want to die in a stupid way.

Then again... perhaps fighting at all would be stupid. I can use the glow from Heal and Bless to find that tree again...

[All available spell slots are filled. Please try again later.]

Craaaaaaaaap.

I jump to my feet and grab the spear, then run flat-out back toward my campfire. This fight has to end now, and I'm in no position to force a victory.

Operation run-away-and-climb-a-tree is a go.

With the faint silvery light of the glowing spear to guide me, I manage to reach the precious safety of a tree. Well, I do bounce off it a little, and may have broken my nose, but the point is I've found a refuge. I scramble up, using the point of the spear like a piton to anchor me since one of my arms is mostly AWOL.

I'm breathing too fast, I know, my head pulsing with a deep ache and leaving me feeling adrift.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Heal." I try again, but receive the same error.

[All available spell slots are filled. Please try again later.]

The same message I'd seen yesterday when I tried to cast Haste.

Crap. Crap crap crap! I'd been assuming the spells operated under an unlock system - once you have it, you have it - but it looks more like a spells-prepared kind of deal.

I have two spell slots. And I just prepared Bless and Haste as my slots for today.

No heal.

No heal for a full day.

I'm so dead. This isn't even funny, how dead I am. I hold my arm tight against my chest to slow the bleeding as much as I can, but I know it's a failing proposition. I don't even have my tattered shirt any more to make bandages with. Without my knife it would be hard to tear off any fabric from my jeans without ruining them, and I do appreciate the protection they afford against bark and minor abrasions. Not to mention that they'd likely be worse than useless as bandages, covered as they are with all the blood and random detritus.

Verkremond shouts in triumph. I know my time is up.

NO. I refuse to die here. One setback will not end my quest. I won't allow it.

Perhaps...

I sigh.

Perhaps sacrifices must be made, for the greater good.

"Hey, uh, you still want my quest?" I shout down to him. "If you can find me a healer, I'll give it to you."

"Hah, you jest poorly! All the quests you will ever possess are not worth the time of my healer. Now return me my spear so you may die quickly."

"What about a medic, physician, doctor, shaman, anything with wound-treating properties?" It's a desperate long shot, but I've gone in half a minute from 'totally going to be fine' to 'actually in the process of dying someone please help'.

"You give me my spear, I will kill you quickly. That is the only bargain you'll get."

"So you don't want my quest any more?" My voice comes out painfully desperate, but the

"You refused to give it. Now I can only take it when you are dead." Verkremond laughs, deep and unconcerned. "If you wanted to trade, you should have said that before locking it. Now... you must die. What a shame."

"Wait, you said something about healers being valuable? I'm a healer! I can... help you, in the future, if you can help me today."

"Hah, your jests grow funnier by the moment. You are Nameless the Weak, if you were Nameless the Healer, then I would listen to your words, but now they are meaningless sounds of one who wants to continue to grasp at life. Come down or I will come up after you."

'Nameless the weak'?

Of everything this world - and the system, most of all - has done to me, this is the most insulting. The most unforgivable.

Nameless the Weak.

I'll show you weak.

I won't stop until I win, curse it all!

"Bless," I growl, and this time I don't stop. "Bless, bless, bless, bless."

Power flashes through me, once, twice, four times, seven, twelve. I grow weaker and weaker as the blood from my shredded arm continues to soak into my jeans and leaves my stomach wet and sticky.

I think I'm delirious.

The thought doesn't last long.

"Haste, haste, haste, bless," I'm casting as fast as I can speak, between too-fast gasps for air; if this is all I have to work with, then I'm going to work with it.

*DING!*

[Healer level increased! Keep up the good work.]

"Heal," I gasp, relief at my desperate strategy's success warring with the dull recognition of just how many times I had to cast my support spells before reaching this levelup.

[All available spell slots are filled. Please try again later.]

I don't know if I can keep it up long enough to reach whatever level will finally unlock a new spell slot. Five? Ten? A hundred?

Verkremond is climbing the tree, I can feel it shaking. Or maybe that's only me, shivering in the cold air, my lifeblood chilling my skin as I steadily draw closer to death.

NO.

I won't die. I won't.

"Bless, haste, bless, bless," it's not a shout, it's a desperate mutter, but one laced with unflinching determination. It goes on and on in a whisper as I rush through the spells as fast as I can speak them.

The worry that I have a limited number of casts left nags at the back of my mind, that I'll hit some other barrier and be left utterly helpless.

But what else can I do? Without getting Heal back, I'm dead. Verkremond has already proven himself not even a potential ally.

I keep casting.

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