It was late in the evening by the time Luke finished making his new shield. There was a level of satisfaction he derived from creating something with his hands. Apparently, Rurik enjoyed it too, because the forgemaster offered to work alongside him to make a full suit of armour.

During the crafting process he had learnt about shaping and infusing aether into the shield. This process had given Luke an opening to ask about removing his [Undeath] concept. Rurik had been amenable to sharing, but the insights gained had been disheartening.

Apparently, removing a concept was a long and painful process. This was why cultivators usually contemplated their path for years, before they began imprinting one.

For Luke, the choice had been taken away from him while he slept. He imagined it had been a consequence of the system automating cultivation, something Rurik described as ingenious. Luke was just unfortunate to have passed out in the middle of imprinting an unwanted concept.

Surgically removing a concept from his soul was something Luke didn’t want to do on an empty stomach. He asked Rurik if he wanted to go hunting, but was turned down. It turned out that the aspect was literally bound to the four walls of the forge, and the spirit couldn’t take a single step outside.

Luke had a destination in mind. A few minutes before he discovered the forge, he had come across an overgrown public park. Several low-level shamblers had been ambling around the greenery, and Luke was hoping to make one of them his supper.

Their appearance quite closely resembled giant mushrooms, so it was possible they were edible. If that failed, he would have to go foraging, or pray that they dropped some loot to trade.

On the streets outside, Luke took a moment to get his bearings. The entire city was on a slope, so he could see the train in the distance down by the river. Without a compass to navigate by, Luke defined the train as his new north. That put the large gothic cathedral to the east, and the collapsed section of the city to the west. From the forge, it was a five-minute walk south-east to the garden.

Unlike his earlier travels, Luke didn’t run through the streets like a headless chicken this time. He had a rough idea where the hot spots were, so could avoid trouble. Luke had never been very good with directions, but one of his attributes seemed to enhance his memory.

It was probably his [Intellect].

At what point will I have changed so much that I’m no longer myself? Luke thought absent-mindedly. It was an age-old question, but one that was relevant. His more practical side didn’t care as long as it gave him the strength to survive.

He had never been much of a philosopher.

When Luke arrived at the park, he stopped by the spiked metal fence. The metal was painted black, and was about as tall as Rurik. He took some time to observe the shamblers in their natural habitat.

Two of the monsters appeared to be in a stasis of sorts, each lurking in the shadows of the overgrown park. The third was shambling around the park. It wandered aimlessly, trailing its spiny tendrils over the foliage. In its wake, it left a trail of decay. The shambler was feeding on the flora, leaving the plants at the edge of death before moving on.

How do you kill a giant mushroom? Luke pondered. The rats, the ghouls, and even the alien grackslau, had all shared a familiar enough anatomy. Destroying the brain seemed to work on most undead, but Luke wasn’t confident that the shamblers even had a brain. He might have to just rip them to pieces until they stopped moving. If all else failed, he could rely on the system to tell him when it was dead.

Rather than fight all three at the same time, Luke gathered up things to throw. He planned to draw them to him, starting with the one walking around the park. Instead of pelting it with rocks from the start, Luke launched a mental probe to grab its attention.

[Level 3 Shambling Rot - A fungus that has been infused with Rot. Core Domains: Rot and Undeath.]

Unlike the ghouls, the shambler showed no reaction to Luke poking at its aura. He was glad to confirm its low level, but was going to have to trust his aim to get its attention. A loose brick flew as Luke launched it at the shambler. The missile hit and left a large indentation in its spongy flesh. Before Luke could get too excited, the hole sealed itself back up again. It was like the monster was made of rubber, which was hardly appetising.

I can’t afford to be picky, Luke thought.

The shambler shambled towards Luke at a sedate pace. Whilst he waited, Luke forced himself to keep his guard up. He looked around. He didn’t see any other undead near the park, and the two shamblers sleeping in the shadows hadn’t responded.

Luke threw a few more objects at the monster and then backed away from the fence. When it reached the fence it stopped. For a moment it pressed itself against the metal, and Luke wondered if it was trying to push the fence over.

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

Suddenly and with no warning, a spiny tendril whipped forwards, but Luke was ready. His shield was already raised and easily deflected the attack. The tendril bounced off and tried again. This time it tried to reach around the side of the shield.

Using the claw of his hammer, Luke cut through the tendril. Against such a squishy opponent a bladed weapon would have been much more efficient, but he was somewhat committed to the war hammer at this point.

Over the next minute, Luke slowly wore down the shambler. It was resilient for sure, but it posed very little actual threat to him. Even when it slipped an attack through his defences, Luke’s skin was tough enough that the spines struggled to find purchase.

As they fought the metal fence rusted before Luke’s eyes as the shambler pushed against it. Once weakened, the shambler pried the bars open and pushed its way through the gap.

Eventually Luke abandoned the defence and just tore it to pieces with the claw of his hammer. He took a few unlucky spines to his exposed flesh, but the wounds were mild enough not to cause him any worry.

After a minute of wild attacks, Luke hit something vital. The claw punched into the rubbery flesh and he scooped the shambler’s innards out like a ball of ice cream. It stopped moving.

[You have killed a level 3 Shambling Rot.]

Despite working up a bit of a sweat, the fight had been pretty easy. The downside of an easy fight was that Luke had gained little from it.

No loot, and no levels; it was a bit disappointing.

He checked his concepts and saw that his [Bulwark] had crept up by one percent. Nothing else had moved.

Gingerly, Luke brought up the bit of shambler flesh dangling off his hammer. The ‘mushroom meat’ was a dark brown colour with a furry white coat, and a spongy texture. It was incredibly pungent. A cocktail of earthy tones mixed in his nose.

His stomach growled.

At least it didn’t smell too offputting, being similar to truffle oil. Instead of consuming the ‘truffle’ in the middle of the street, Luke decided it would be more sensible to do so back at the forge.

The forge at least had a bathroom in the quarters below.

Luke looked down at the corpse. It was about the size of a trash can, and when it died it had kind of collapsed into a puddle on the floor. Carrying it back would be awkward. Luke’s personal space was currently empty, so he tried to shove the shambler inside. Somewhat surprisingly, it popped in easily, without resisting too much.

[Corpse of level 3 Shambling Rot - Poor Condition.]

There didn’t seem to be an obvious pattern to what Luke could put in his space. Size was a factor, as the corpse was a bit of a tight squeeze. Most objects vehemently refused to be pulled in, even if they were tiny. Pondering the matter could wait.

Considering how easy the rot had been to kill, Luke finished the remaining pair with little fanfare. They were level three and four respectively and Luke could handle them without too much trouble.

It was like fighting a nettle bush.

He took plenty of minor cuts and necrotic stings, but these flesh wounds were annoying more than anything else. Between his necrotic resistance and endurance, Luke was in no real danger.

When Luke checked his attributes on the way back to the forge, he saw that his outing had netted him one percent in the [Warhammer] and two in the [Bulwark]. He enjoyed watching the numbers go up. It felt like he was making tangible growth towards his goals. It would take a long time to rank up fighting only shamblers.

The safest way to spend the next few days would be to grind up his concepts against weak opponents. Then when he was ready he could face stronger enemies. He had plenty of time, assuming his time dilation theory was correct.

How much time does Nate have? Luke thought.

As a fan of science fiction, Luke had watched enough alien invasion movies for his imagination to run wild. He couldn’t let himself get complacent. Throwing himself against a nightwalker in the morning wouldn’t help anyone, but neither would spending the next month killing only weak monsters. Even if the hands of time were moving slowly, the clock was still ticking.

In the street in front of the forge, there was a pile of scorched rat corpses. Luke counted twelve rats, joined by a burnt tail-knot. It served as a reminder that he didn’t want to get on Rurik’s bad side.

Carefully pushing the door open, Luke walked into the forge. Rurik was standing in the middle of the building in front of the furnace, which was burning bright. The aspect stood in silence, simply staring into the flames.

Not wanting to disturb whatever the dwarf was doing, Luke went to the quenching vessel and took a drink. Then, he went to sit at a workbench near the furnace. The heat was barely tolerable, so he could only imagine how hot it was inches from the fire where the forgemaster stood.

With some trepidation Luke retrieved the corpse of the shambler from his storage space, depositing it onto the table. Nose scrunched, he tore off a bit of the fungal flesh.

Luke remembered when he had first started getting into fitness, and learning all about proper nutrition. As someone who had grown up on a diet of junk food, it had been the first step on his journey away from morbid obesity. Luke convinced himself that the shambler was just an exotic source of protein.

He put it in his mouth.

It took Luke a few minutes to successfully get the mushroom meat down his gullet. When cooked on the fire of the furnace it was a little more palatable, and came somewhat close to tasting like roasted portobello mushrooms.

Though he vowed never to eat mushrooms again once this was all over, the meal was quite filling. He ate slowly, partially because of his revulsion, and partially to make sure that the meat wasn’t going to kill him. There was a reasonable possibility that the mushroom was toxic; shamblers were described as manifestations of rot after all.

Once he had eaten as much as he could bear, Luke checked his concept summaries again. His fear was confirmed when he saw that his [Undeath] concept had risen by a full twenty percent. He was almost half-way to silver rank.

Undead (Bronze, 49%): +1 Endurance, 15% necrotic resistance

So I can either starve to death or become a monster.