As odd as it sounded, even to Kent, he had enjoyed his afternoon alone. After reclaiming what he had hidden the night before, he had marched further away from the center of the zone. With the forest slowly approaching afternoon came and went. He foraged the fields for vegetables and let his mind drift, remembering what he had heard about traitless in stories.

That was how Kent’s mind ended up in turmoil for the second time today. Now the situation was even more dire. The exile had been predictable, his current situation wasn’t. His mind struggled as he tried to find a solution that would solve his current crisis. This time his survival was even more directly tied to his next few actions.

The hope of having encountered one of the few rare animals was gone by now, he was dealing with a monster. The forest still hid whatever was messing with him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t identify it. The scuttling which moved through the forest rapidly – each change in origin accompanied by a heavy landing – couldn’t be anything besides a drop-pig, one of the erstwhile common monsters in the region.

The scuttling moved away from slightly ahead, where he was currently facing. For a second it was gone, its next appearance literally up in the air, then a light thump intoned from behind. This back and forth had been ongoing for the better part of a minute now.

The initial emotions that came with his unspoken exile had calmed down as he spent time among the bushes and trees. The fault was his own, he knew. The elders of the village had told plenty of stories that only solidified this notion. He couldn't even fault the chief for exiling him, if anything, he had been too lenient. Traitless were dangerous.

He was only here because he hadn’t solidified a stupid trait. Without a trait, he had no chance of ever gaining any skills. He couldn’t even level, as much had been experimented with, which made the kingdoms ruling even weirder.

And without a skill, it was almost impossible to defend against monsters, especially since he had never fought with a knife before.

His sadness, anger, and disgust at people, rules, and his village had subsided. Now he just felt dread and hopelessness at his situation.

His reminiscing on the situation was interrupted by another heavy impact on the ground.

Is it playing with me?

This time the monster was almost entirely behind him again, just slightly to the left.

It had been at the very same tree before. He strained his eye looking for where the monster might be. His glance passed over previously inspected regions to no avail. His thoughts fluttered irrationally; they were less than helpful. His instincts far overpowering his rationale.

He was waiting for the scuttling to stop, yet it didn’t. Instead, the monster approached. Its silhouette rushed out from the dense shrubbery several meters away. Kent didn’t have much time to react. With his lacking grasp of knife fighting, he tried to stab the monster.

A small squeak was audible as his hand reverberated with pain. He squeaked as well, dropping the knife that had partially twisted his hand.

The monster had disappeared again.

Another ebb in sound followed. The next thump of impact was unexpectedly close. Closer than he had thought possible. Before he could entirely reorientate himself to the threat, he realized that he wouldn't make it in time to face the threat. All he could do was throw himself to the side. Just out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed the bristly brown creature as he fell.

He dodged his assailant by a finger's width.

The rotation imbued by his kick-off was barely enough to roll instead of falling flat on his back. Mid-roll he hit his shoulder on a rough stone jutting out from the ground. He had to actively suppress his desire to feel the sore spot. After a bit of shuffling and reorienting he placed both of his hands on the ground feeling the cool temperature of metal with his left. In a sudden burst of relief, he identified it as the kitchen knife he had fumbled out of his pocket when the monster had charged him the first time.

Finding the handle proved painful, he was too excited to fumble around for the hilt and just grabbed the blade. Two shallow cuts later, and just a single blink, he held the knife secure in his hand. He adjusted his grip so the knife pointed downwards so as to not drop the knife again and, if all went well, even retaliate effectively.

Another thought raced through his mind; he could run away. He might make it. While not the fastest, he had dodged successfully thus far. He was fortunate to still be within the zone of civilization’s critical region where both monsters and nature were less vicious and weaker. Where human presence had tamed both over time, just not to a degree equal to that in the zone proper.

I could make it back home, he thought. Only to have all his hope crashing down on him when he realized why he was out here in the first place.

Had any of his friends been in his place they might even be fine in a situation such as this. Each had received their trait by now, only he had been unlucky.

The pounding on the dirt approached again. Realizing he had gotten stuck theorizing he rushed to position himself properly. The starlight being too dim and the leaves inhibiting what little there was, made it impossible to properly locate the assailant at a distance. His stats were not significant enough to overpower the threat, so he had to bet on luck and speculation.

I might be able to force it to overextend. If I run to one side and then the other... It might work.

With three large sidesteps, he feinted to his left. He forced the assailants to adjust the charge direction to not crash into one of the nearby trees.

With how fast the sounds were approaching he didn’t expect to have any chance of recorrecting his positioning again.

In a way, his actions were too decisive for his current mental condition. Somehow, he managed to make himself take another two steps back to where he came from. The tree that had forced the drop-pig to adjust its charge granted him the few finger widths he needed to escape the vicious touch of the split tusks.

The moment he stumbled backward he swung his arm down in a wide and fast arc. His body movement was taking a lot of energy from the swing, but he managed to pierce the skin deeply.

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The rapid dash of the drop-pig and resulting force on his hand proved too much for his already strained and unpracticed grip as his, reclaimed just seconds ago, weapon got stuck in the leathery skin of his opponent.

Had he been assaulted any other way than having a pig drop from above just five paces ahead, he would have tried to climb a tree, but what he was facing right now had some odd ability for getting into trees, so he ignored the impulse.

This is it, no? I can’t sustain this.

The drop-pig had no physical features that would allow it to become adept in climbing trees, but it was able to get into the branches somehow. Given by the speed with which it changed location, it was more proficient than he was in any case.

Yet as he was giving up hope on surviving any longer, an idea blossomed up in his head, inspired by his latest maneuver. He should have considered it earlier but that only spoke for the tremendous stress he was experiencing.

The monster had stopped decelerating, he could tell by the lack of scuttling. Any moment now it would emerge from some other place in the underbrush. He didn’t have much time to find a well-suited place.

Good thing that his requirements were low right now, any odd tree would do.

The poor lighting proved barely good enough to find the silhouette of an armlength thick tree before the shuffling re-emerged on the other side of the clearing he had been skirting.

As good a place as any.

The rustling approached once again. He faked facing the threat head-on as he stood a couple of paces away from the tree, right in the line connecting monster and tree. His eyesight was barely enough to make out the approaching contours.

When the creature sounded to be just a handful of paces away Kent turned and accelerated towards the tree. With three large steps, he reached the trunk. In his last step, he propelled himself upwards as much as possible, a non-pitiful amount. His strength had always been his strong suit.

As hoped, he managed two steps on the tree before losing his momentum. He had reached about two-man high. Running on the bark off the tree to reach higher had pushed him away from the tree, and now prevented him from efficiently rotating himself into a favorable orientation. He fell chest ahead, only at the last moment pulling his knees in to protect his vitals.

At the same moment, the tree shook from the monster’s impact. He didn’t dare hope that the tusks got impaled, but maybe it would be dazed.

With a light crunch and a good amount of pain, his knees impacted the monster’s back with the full weight of a moderately heavy adult.

Not letting the opportunity go to waste he sunk his elbow in the rough bristles of the drop pig’s head until, a moment later, he realized that he should try to locate the knife stuck somewhere in the monster’s hide instead of inflicting minor damage.

He felt for it, scrambling to locate it on the right side of the currently slightly dazed monster.

As it began to stir again, he was still on its back but hadn’t found his weapon yet, but checked most of the torso. He slid off at the hind legs, deeming that to be the safest spot.

As he swung his right leg over the right hind leg, he touched a rigid object and dislodged it a bit with his leg's swing.

The howls that followed were full of agony.

No, not agony, anger. The realization came from some weird instinctual place.

Oh, it’s the knife!

The drop-pig had barely moved, only managing to stand on its two front legs.

Kent was surprised that a small impact had managed to daze the monster that much. He brushed the errant thought away as that wasn’t important now.

He located the knife, pulled it out, and stabbed it into the same hindleg twice again, and the other one three times for good measure, in rapid succession before distancing himself from the spasming monster.

The now fully enraged beast would most certainly finish him now if it got close again. While monsters were prone to certain attack patterns, they didn’t have to follow them. This being the main reason why fighting in the wilds or in a dungeon was so dangerous, the initially predictable became more erratic and unpredictable the more a monster was damaged.

So, he would have to change tactics too. It wasn’t likely going to fall for either of his tricks again. The chance of the monster rushing him again would be vanishingly low now. Yet he would still have to guard against that. A tree as cover would be the best option he figured. He doubted that even a monster in such a state would be dull enough to needlessly stress injuries.

Placing a tree between him and the beast sounded fabulous at that moment. So, he did.

Ironically, he was a lot safer engaging a drop-pig in a forest, than in an open field where he would have been at an even greater disadvantage. Though if he were to be in an open field, there wouldn’t be any drop-pigs.

For a bit longer nothing happened, even the rustling of the pig’s movement had stopped. The next time he heard movement it came from straight ahead, more cautious this time. Either because it was genuinely injured by his stabs, or because of a change of strategy.

With the tree still between them, he waited for the monster to come closer, only occasionally looking around his wooden shield. The sound of hooves on the ground stopped as the monster vanished behind the tree, imitating Kent.

He heard a drop from his left moments later, he adjusted his position almost instantly.

A drop accompanied by a loud “OIIINKKK”.

And here I really thought monsters were intelligent.

The spiel repeated a few times, the sounds changing their origin and Kent changing his position, at a steadily decreasing frequency.

A sudden scream of rage reverberated through the forest after Kent had changed his position for what had to be the 10th time. With seemingly no regard for its own life the beast came charging – at an admittedly slow speed – while perpetually exclaiming its rage to the world.

Yet, the speed and physical condition with which it came stumbling in proved too much to attack the protected-by-a-tree Kent. The exile on the other hand was able to stab the knife into the tusker's left side. The momentum of the beast and Kent’s strong grip tore the blade out of its body the next instant.

This time, unlike all the other times, the beast didn’t stop after an unsuccessful charge and simply kept going.

The iron smell of its blood was the only thing that remained.

Irritated Kent rubbed his still hurting shoulder. That impact at the beginning of the fight had actually cost him HP, showing that it was more than a bruise. Contemplating his encounter left him in a sour mood.

Would have preferred if I had taken it out. Not good to leave an angry drop-pig to run around. The teachings had been unambiguous; monsters didn’t retreat because of fear or pain but when they thought there was a nonexistent chance of victory. Even worse, they would come back once in a better condition.

Without levels, traits, increased stats, and skills he was in a hopeless situation, lest the beast return. He could just give up; the thought having crossed his mind a dozen times already.

But he didn’t want to. Life had been good for the most part. It had only been the last week, especially the last two days when everything had gone down the drain. He wanted to go back to his old life of enjoying the company of friends on the fields while working. The good food his parents prepared when their cooking skills combined. Being able to fall asleep someplace safe.

With his natural boost – the body's elixir some called it – slowly leaving his body he came back down from his energetic high. He would have to find a place to sleep. He couldn’t come any closer to his town – his former town he mentally corrected himself – without being dispelled again once they discovered him.

The forest edge was technically the border they claimed. If he came closer than that ever again, they would kill him. He knew. It had happened once before in his life. That time an unfortunate hadn’t solidified and had tried to come home after banishment; it had been ugly.

With the hunger from not having eaten since the afternoon, he began preparing a fire. He had scoured a few root vegetables on his way through the fields, technically theft but he couldn’t care less now. Thirst was there as well, but if he needed to, there were always the muddy puddles, the remainders of the rain two days ago.

He stripped bark of the white beech and tore it to small bands. With his hands, he brought the flimsy pieces together, and using his firestone – another item besides the knife and cloak he had smuggled outside the day before – and a good chunk of his tiny mana pool, he ignited the bark.

Constantly feeding the flames with sticks from the area, he began to build a larger fire, to keep the dark away, and to prepare a meal.

*Ding – Notification pending*