Flipping through the new menus didn't reveal whole lot of useful information yet. It was far too early for me to access most of the pages, apparently most of the information was locked behind getting a class. However, I did find the option to stop notifications while in combat so that was nice. I also found it interesting that unlike games I couldn't quickly equip items in my hands from my inventory. I'd have to wait and see if this system had created anything like a bag of holding. The map revealed absolutely nothing new which was rather unfortunate, "Damn, fog of war." I muttered. At the very least I suppose it would be almost impossible for me to get lost with it, so it's not all a loss. Not seeing anything worthwhile on the map, I tabbed over to the journal where lo in behold a quest sat.
Quest: Recover the illegitimate teleportation coins 0/5
Rewards: Unknown
"Well, that's exciting." stating in all too dry tone. Deciding to close the menus for now and figure out where and what to do. Looking at the sky it had to be early afternoon, of course the system gave me a digital clock in the menus, that read 14:26 but I wasn't sure if it worked on this planet as it did back on earth. Not wasting another moment on menus, I snagged my club off of the ground, picked up the meat frond package and started walking away from the beach.
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How long can one go without interacting with others? I mean before the insanity creeps in like a warm fuzzy blanket covering your mind in a haze. Giving you a plethora of bad ideas that seem rational given the circumstances, but the voice in the back of your mind sits there judging you like it would do any better if it was in control. This is what I was currently thinking about one hour into the journey seriously contemplating one idea in general. Grabbing a coconut, etching a face into it and naming him after my 8th grade science teacher, Mr. Wilson. All jokes aside the temperate weather was horrendous to walk through. The muggy air clung to the inside of my lungs making it feel like I was drowning, and dying of thirst at the same time, yet I continued, one step after another.
After another hour or so of walking on rough sand and through the thick palm trees I finally saw something worthwhile. It wasn't some worn game trail used by villagers to forage or a city wall in the far distance but a mountain. Opening my map to see if it would be visible and luckily it was, I decided to do a quick calculation and found that it would only take roughly another hour and a half to get there. Wanting to get there as quick as possible, I started jogging.
In the back of my mind, I braced for this to be a lot harder than it turned out to be. Back home, I was what most would call a bit overweight, and I only ever ran when absolutely necessary—or during one of those "this is the year I'll get in shape" resolutions that always fizzled out by February. But here and now, it came shockingly easy. Ten minutes in, I realized I wasn’t gasping like a fish out of water. In fact, my breathing was steady, my pace consistent. Surprised by my newfound stamina, I pressed on. By my count, I only had about forty-five more minutes to go.
I finally made it within a mile to the mountain before noticing anything strange. All of a sudden, the dense palm trees were replaced by oak trees and the temperature significantly dropped out of nowhere. The sweat all over my body felt warm against my chilled skin, as every muscle tensed up from the cold air. It was like I passed over some magical barrier that created a new space with its own rules. I stopped immediately after the difference and turned around to see if I could go back into the beach environment again. Luck had worked in my favor this time and just like before, humidity hit me full blast. The temperature must've dropped an instant thirty degrees. Making me wonder how significant the changes would be at night. I felt other changes when I crossed over which is why I instantly decided to waste the time and make a hodge podge hula skirt out of palm fronds.
After completing the uncomfortable kilt which is what I will be referring to it as, from now on. I crossed back over the threshold thankful that it wasn't some kind of dungeon that you had to fight your way out of. The cold air hit me again almost taking my breath away, but I pushed on. Deciding against jogging any further I took in the landscape, the trees weren't too grouped up together down here, but I could tell that changed the higher the elevation got. Peering at the mountain from what I could see of it past the trees the left side of it looked as if half of the mountain broke off and blew away. Nothing but a sheer cliff remained on that side, the right side appeared scalable it would be rough without some rope further up though. Just continuing on my current path would seem to be the best bet, so with that I began to jog to the base knowing I'd be there within 7 minutes.
It was silent until I felt a stinging pain at the top of my ear. After that, all I could hear was the throbbing. Reacting on instinct, I dove toward the nearest tree, my heart pounding in my chest. I knew I was under attack. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I wrestled with myself mentally, debating whether to peek around the tree to see my attacker.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
An old paintball trick came to mind—a move we'd used on makeshift fields at a buddy’s farmhouse. You'd take your helmet off, put it on your gun, and edge it out of cover to fool your opponent into thinking it was your head. Of course, legit courses banned this, but it worked well in a pinch. With no better plan, I raised my club above my head and leaned the top over the edge of the tree.
Two arrows whizzed past almost immediately, both missing the club. At least two attackers, I noted. Close-range bows, not crossbows—it was too quiet for those. I slid back to the tree, heart pounding, as I heard rustling in a nearby bush. My angst peaked.
Time to act.
I shifted my weight, ready to fake them out again, this time holding the club lower. Hopefully, they'd take the bait and reveal themselves. I counted down silently, steadying my breath. Five. Four. Three... I pushed the club out.
Two more arrows flew by, one just grazing the club. One archer was either less skilled or further back than the other. Weighing my options, I made my move. Club raised, I stepped out from behind the tree, forced to act on instinct alone.
A small, wiry creature leapt at me; a bow slung across its back. Too close to swing my weapon, I threw up my leg and caught it squarely in the chest. The impact sent it stumbling back, but it quickly recovered, rolling out of the way of my follow-up swing. As I completed the arc of my strike, pain lanced through my upper right shoulder. I winced, biting back a curse, and locked eyes with the dodgy creature.
"Fight me," I growled, resisting the urge to check the arrow glancing off my shoulder. Without hesitation, it lunged again, this time wielding a small dagger aimed at my chest. I dropped my club, catching its wrist mid-swing with my left hand. The momentum carried its body forward, and both of its feet drove into my groin with unforgiving force.
A guttural noise escaped me as I crumpled onto the creature, pinning one of its hands beneath my knee. My right hand found its throat, squeezing as it writhed beneath me. Its rancid breath hit my face, and though its sinewy muscles fought against mine, I held firm. Sliding my grip higher under its jaw, I used my left hand to force the dagger it held against its own neck. Slowly, the blade dug into its throat, blood pooling as it struggled futilely.
Then, a mind-shattering pain erupted in my side. I toppled off the now-limp creature, glancing down to see a dagger's hilt sticking awkwardly from my armor. Looking up in confused frustration, I met the gaze of the second archer.
It dove toward its fallen ally, clearly aiming to retrieve the bloodied dagger. I lunged for my club. I was quick, but it was quicker. By the time I rose to my feet, weapon in hand, something was terribly wrong. My right leg refused to respond, leaving me hobbling awkwardly. The pain hit a moment later—a dagger lodged in my lower back, just above my hip.
“Little shit!” I roared, startling the creature. It hesitated, stepping back while unslinging its bow. I didn’t let it. Fueled by rage and desperation, I hopped forward like a madman, eating up the distance between us faster than it could retreat.
Branches and undergrowth were everywhere, yet the creature seemed impossibly nimble. I forced myself to focus, ignoring the searing pain and the useless weight of my leg. My mind screamed at me to stop, to retreat, but I launched myself at the archer instead.
What followed could only be described as chaos. Anyone who might have witnessed the scene later would likely recall a crazed man losing all sense of self, pummeling a young goblin hunter with his bare fists. There would have been shouts of rage, maybe even some incoherent sobbing over the destruction of a "kilt." Fortunately for Liam, there was no one around to see it, or so he thought.
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Bram had been contemplating the perfect moment to reveal himself to the human boy. Ever since the fight with those ridiculous fruit bugs, he had painstakingly observed Liam's every move. Watching the human struggle for five grueling minutes against creatures Bram could have dispatched in mere seconds was both amusing and infuriating. But circumstances had changed. Bram no longer occupied a physical body—courtesy of the coins and the divine judgment of Nexa.
The goddess had seen fit to punish him, binding him to this "Liam," the hapless human who had unwittingly exposed his scheme. If only the fool hadn’t picked up that coin, everything might have gone unnoticed. Bram's actions would have stayed hidden if not for Liam's bungled teleportation attempt—a violation for any non-system being. The system’s swift response had sealed Bram’s fate. First, an interrogation. Then, banishment to Nexa’s realm for judgment. The punishment? A cruel and binding tether to the very source of his undoing.
Bram seethed at the memory, his formless existence simmering with barely contained rage. The sight of Liam stumbling through the forest, only stoked the fire. During that ridiculous fight, Bram had discovered he couldn’t physically harm Liam—not directly, anyway. But there were other ways to toy with him. Small, subtle tweaks to the system menus—minor changes to wording that transformed mundane instructions into sharp, biting insults. Just enough to irk him without raising suspicion.
Their fates were intertwined now, and Bram resolved to wait. He would remain in the shadows, biding his time for a moment of true peril—when his intervention might make the greatest impact. Or perhaps... a different kind of mischief.
An idea struck him then, wicked and tantalizing. One last hoorah to mess with Liam before making his presence known.