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114. Memories Already

Rushing around in the woods with Logy produced the disarming illusion that being with her could be kind of okay.

We went north, me in the form of a cat and her in the form of a butterfly that, if I wasn’t mistaken, I had definitely murdered in my first life.

Even in the wordless patches where I was fully intending to explore and ignore her, my gaze ended up drifting toward her shining wings. Not because she was stunningly beautiful or anything, but because…shouldn’t she have…Evolved, changed form, since then?

I dwelled on the thought as we passed into a region of melting snow. Clouds bristled forth from the mountain range behind us, hiding the sun and then skating away so fast that the sky was slowly flashing. Grassy ridges and scrubby trees were leading, I knew, to the savannah with all those silvery ponds further north.

image [https://jmassat.com/wp-content/Catgirl%20System/Map/Map114-1.png]

image [https://jmassat.com/wp-content/Catgirl%20System/Map/Map114-2.png]

Current Location: Melting Descent (S.A4)

As I snaked my way through and power-walked ahead, feet squelching in wet, melty silt, Logy and I continued our conversation. By that, I mean she fed me information and I stopped in my tracks to reply only when I absolutely couldn’t bear not to. Things would be confusing—that just seemed like an inevitability. But I was starting to find that giving her time to elaborate before stepping in helped.

Probably the hardest part would be relaying what I’d learned to the others back at the cabin.

That and descending with Logy into a dungeon even deeper underground than the ruined castle, the likes of which she herself hadn’t even scoped out yet.

Luckily-ish, Logy was clearly really strong. Yet she didn’t seem confident in our ability to pull this yet-unnamed Arkmagus out from this chasm.

Stopping in the wavering shade of a birch, I pulled out the Spirit Board. “U CAN DO IT ALONE. UR STRONG”

You just don’t want to

The butterfly had landed on a thin young branch. I twitched at her words, feeling defensive.

“THAT’S TRUE BUT ALSO NOT. YOU ARE LIKE LEVEL 100”

87

She would actually admit that?!

“YEAH EXACTLY. IM LEVEL 30. THEYLL CRUSH ME. BUT UR HOLDING BACK! U COULD BUST THIS WHOLE FOREST OPEN!!!” Instantly I wished I hadn’t said all that—I had to stop giving her ideas.

But her concerns were different.

You’ve been getting stronger. You fight and kill and that gives you more Levels

I think that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

But I lose Levels when I win. I am strong, but I need others to fight for me. I pull back because that is most beneficial. I need to be the support.

A breeze blew past, carrying more cold air. I didn’t know what to make of Logy’s statement here—rather, my mind was making a bunch of things of it, all at once. Disbelief that her System could work that way, a suspicion that she was lying. A weird pity.

“THE BOOK SAID WHEN U KILLED A HUMAN,” I said, “IN THAT PARK, U FELT DEEP GUILT”

That was one of the few things in the Book of Sister’s Shadow that’d stuck with me, inspired some early weird pity for her. Now, though, I wondered if…

Guilt?

I probably thought it was guilt, at first. It turned out that was just me losing Levels

Which really hurts

Logy felt no guilt about her lack of guilt. She was, to the umpteenth degree, not settling in well with her butterfly-human role. I hated to think of another living being as some object of contemplation, but half an hour later when she’d finished telling me what she had to tell, and I’d reached a high crest, she flew away, and I watched her go without a single goodbye, feeling introspective about myself more than anything.

So much so that if I wasn’t getting an additional Wisdom point or even two by my next level, something was wrong with the world.

But seriously…that butterfly (or “lepidot”? She’d used that word somewhere in there) really wasn’t as much like me as our origin here would suggest, and as the huge book had wanted me to believe.

As long as she wouldn’t kill me or anyone else I knew and liked, I didn’t mind helping her. That still surprised me—but I guessed it was because the mere sight and thought of her wasn’t bringing quite so many thoughts of annoyance and anger to the surface. She was so frustrating, but in a way I now understood. And she’d suggested that she might not live much longer. Could’ve been her digging for pity. I was charitable, though, and I preferred to think not.

Once she was gone, I was faced with a fork in the road. Go straight toward the cabin, or maybe address unfinished business here?

…Dang, I really should’ve realized this was coming sooner. I could’ve gotten Logy to fly me over. Or even warp—I didn’t mind that stuff…

Practically shutting my eyes to the world, I sprinted. Straight north, past warbling goats and rambling fields and through the odd shining pool. I dashed significantly faster than I had when I raced Chora—so much so that I was almost afraid to compete with her again, afraid of my own explosive strength.

Not so many minutes later, I crashed into the grove that marked its northern limits. Only then, when I scrabbled to a halt, did I become aware that I’d crossed a whole square, and was panting heavily.

I checked my Map and the ever-present Quest.

Quest: Explore the Vencian Wood Progress: 54% (16/30)

image [https://jmassat.com/wp-content/Catgirl%20System/Map/Map114-3.png]

Current Location: SQUIRREL REMATCH (S.A2)

Somewhere here was a peculiarly flat stone, sorely weathered. If not for my Map keeping its icon emblazoned on this square, I almost would’ve forgotten its existence. But now I could read. I tracked it down using my Map as a guide, and there on a rock so eroded that its letters were dull almost to obliteration, I read:

THIS PLAQUE COMMEMORATES

THE FALL OF THE LYCANBORN

IN IHE SOUTH VANCIAN WAR.

STAND TALL.

This thing is misspelled! How was anyone supposed to guess that?! I thought indignantly, before remembering that it was not intended as a guessing game, but a plaque.

Once I had puzzled over what those last two words could have been. Now—though the words weren’t at all directed toward me—they were surprisingly motivating.

There were old, unrelatable concepts of duty and valor loaded in this stone. I couldn’t possibly imagine supporting werewolves who would wage a whole war over, like, the cost of grain while keeping unwilling creatures penned up in their estates.

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But what little I could relate to in here gave me a sort of guiding light. Didn’t I have my own ideas about duty and valor? Keep up a duty to keep my loved ones safe. Be valid—um, valory—valorous—by doing it well.

Complete!

Quest: Decipher the Path-Sized Stone Rewards:

+Bonus EXP!

Bonus Affirmation!

+2500 Gold!

2000 EXP went on the books. That would’ve been a monumental amount for me about fifteen Levels ago, but now, well…it only pulled me halfway to the next one. Again it was hammering in how far I’d come…also the fact that I probably should’ve found a way to come back for this Quest several days ago.

These thoughts of EXP made me prick up my ears at the sound of a hawk nearby. It was close to the ground, past this thicket, sounding threatening.

I can’t go after that, I thought out of pure instinct.

But I shook it off. I can’t tie me down! I decided. I’d gone through enough of these woods today with all my potential prey fleeing from the sight of me, or the speed of me. In the end, it just made me antsy.

So I crept closer…then wondered if I could apply a tracking marker not to a sight, but a sound. If I could sort of echolocate an enemy—judge where they were based on a single cry—couldn’t that work?

Tracking marker failed to apply. No target selected.

Hm, maybe not. Or maybe my aim was just off. The hawk had only sounded off once, after all, and if they were moving, all the other rustles of forest leaves and creatures were getting in the awy.

I tried a few more times, using my limited mental mapping skills (Mapless mental mapping skills, that is) to try and target specific areas near me. It was like throwing darts into a void. Every one threw back an error.

Then I heard a low swoop that I felt certain could only be that bird. I cast another marker—failed!

Whatever. That was only me messing around. I weaved through the bushes and toward the sound.

This hawk was already in combat. I peered out of a bush, scarily close to poking my nose out. The hawk seemed scarily like they were staring at me, but actually their eyes were locked on some foe right next to me.

Shifting my head to find out who would just give me away. I focused on that hawk: sleek brown feathers, a yellow beak that hooked and ended in a spear-point of black. Black and white mottling ran through their wings, and the color of their eyes was haunting gray.

They only stayed still for a moment. The hawk flipped, whirling backward in a way I would never have expected of the bird. But that’s just what Skills do to animals sometimes: they drastically change whole species’ fighting styles. With more hops and beating, slicing wings, the hawk was launching an all-out assault of long-distance moves not unlike my Air Cutter. These, though, were more solid, like forged weapons made from thin air. All around me, in an area that fanned out from the hawk, I felt the shudders of sliced branches and earth, and a telltale impact of bark against sword.

Holding back a yelp, I ducked under a blade that scythed through the top half of my shrub—and clipped my ears.

Ow! Not a serious blow, but a surprising one. I backed away, not even caring if I made noise, to take cover behind a thicker tree trunk.

HP 74% (631/855) SP 1% (5/820)

Darnit, I still had amazingly low SP. I kind of wanted to make a difference in this battle—a hawk right in front of me was too good of a catch, too cool of an opponent, to lose—but I’d have to do it without relying on any of my old standards. Either that, or use that Debug Blade. No fun and a lot of pain in that.

I definitely preferred leaning on what I’d learned from wielding the Blade to actually using it.

In fact, maybe that sword was better as a teaching tool than anything, showing me a different style that was more intuitive and less hesitant than my typical self, even when I was at my most impetuous. I was finding out that I didn’t need to analyze in the middle of battle so much—almost like my baseline Intelligence was high enough that more and more, I would unconsciously do it. Not to be corny, but…maybe that blade “debugged” my fighting style? Eh?

This hawk’s movements were a little like mine, only where the hawk had a grace that was bizarrely humanlike (it must’ve come from only having two feet), I had a habit of whipping my whole slinky body around. I guessed every fighting style could be learned from, but only one was the most “me.”

I ran forth. When the hawk had their back towards me, I sped out, claws out, and lunged. I didn’t care who else this hawk was fighting or why—as often happens in the wild.

As soon as I was in range, I scored my right paw across their back. The hawk flinched—it drew blood.

But even a split second later when I pounced directly onto their back and laid in with all I had, things had changed. The hawk’s back flickered with aura, then a gray and solid shine. My claws weren’t getting through, weren’t making a dent in what was now harder than steel.

The hawk flung me off and backward. I cried out in surprise, but at least I shifted my roll so I ended up back on my feet. Then I snarled.

A different, tinier yelp followed. From somewhere next to me. I knew what it was by sound: a squirrel, still young.

Was I defending the defenseless here? It shouldn’t have mattered, on one hand; a battle is a battle is a battle, and I didn’t start this to feel like a hero. Then again, feeling like a hero felt good.

I was expecting the hawk to turn towards me, or maybe do some more acrobatics. Instead, they simply reached back with both wings, used whatever steel-feathers Skill they had in their arsenal, and clanged them like twin sabers. Instead of a shockwave or two, a pulse streamed out from all directions, rattling me to the bone.

HP 64% (546/855)

It shaved off about a tenth of my HP. Not bad in theory, but when I considered that the attack didn’t need to be aimed…and how its echoes were shaking the treetops high above…

The baby squirrel yelped again, and I heard it flee into thicker foliage. Well, it’d better hope that foliage didn’t get sliced by even more flying blades!

Meanwhile, the hawk drew its wings forward again, ready for another clap. I’d ignore it. Don’t worry about what you can’t dodge, I figured. I just darted into a new position, getting beside the hawk…

Their wings clashed again. I felt the sonic echo threatening to turn my bones into jelly, and jumped forward anyway.

Now, the hawk was about my size, a little bigger. Not huge, aside from its wingspan. As I jumped, one of my paws ended up behind the hawk and the other in front. In a dream scenario, I could crash into the hawk, bowl them over, and pin them down—but at this size, that wasn’t likely.

Instead, I hooked paws into either side. Maybe my weight could knock them over and at least disrupt things.

My claws met flesh, but were disrupted by a metallic flash, as if the hawk had used that Skill only in the middle of my attack. And while my weight made the hawk wobble, they didn’t topple over—they lurched straight into more acrobatics, doing a kind of bird-cartwheel that shook me off. I crashed onto my back.

A wing-beaten blade hurtled toward me, then another. I zigzag-rolled my head, then torso away from both. They exploded against the ground, and I almost choked on the dust.

I didn’t really mind the setbacks. I simply decided to play more evasively, only coming in to strike when the hawk was distracted. Apparently, they couldn’t attack and fortify themself at the same time. We seemed to be matched in acrobatics—well, frankly they had me beat—so I would need brains. What brains I had.

The swoop of a much larger jump filled my ears. A spread-shot of feathers sang through the air, raining down on me, too fast for me to defend against. And there was no dodging these—just like how I couldn’t dodge raindrops. Four feathers ticked into my back and the base of my tail.

HP 47% (398/855)

Now the ground around me was a maze of hardened feathers. Darn, some of the daggery things were still sticking in me, with no signs of changing back to their old wobbly harmless form. My tail twitched in protest. I wished I could just take a hand and pluck them out, or…

Hm, maybe these could be useful, albeit in a pretty ridiculous way.

The hawk hadn’t slowed down. They’d landed on the side of a tree, and now they were bringing their wings together again.

No you don’t! I thought, suddenly confident I could disrupt them.

Clamping my mouth around a steel feather, I then whipped my neck and let go. Cats can throw too!

The makeshift kunai flew directly into the hawk’s stomach! …That was the intent, at least. It really just hit the tree. And it didn’t even stick inside. It just bounced off.

The hawk successfully did another clang.

HP 37% (317/855)

Alright, no more horrible, horrible experiments. My backup plan—to use my steel-feathered tail like an ankylosaurus’s, only one that was flimsy and harmless everywhere but on the one tail spike—went out the window.

Now that my HP was below half, I wondered if I should use a Spell. After all, that was what I had them for! My Inventory still held three Fires, one Lightning, and a single Attraction Spell. But I settled on making them a more definitive last resort. If my health fell much further, then maybe I could roast the hawk with these Fire Spells. Otherwise, I’d see this as a chance for more physical practice and learn what I could learn.

Or maybe this hawk was still too hard for me to beat without any extras?

And maybe there was more value in knowing my limits than in speeding way too far past them and double-dying, at a time when I really shouldn’t be leaving my friends to survive alone.

As the hawk sprang off the tree and shone with metal luster in the sun, I reshaped my strategy on a dime. A fireball arced right into the hawk’s face—burning skin and melting steel.

The bird howled. It had to hurt.