Later that evening, the strain of the journey and the aftermath of the battle began to show. Natasha sat cross-legged on the ground near their temporary shelter, her shoulders slumped and her eyes heavy with exhaustion. The flickering firelight cast shadows across her face, highlighting the deep fatigue etched into her features.
“I don’t know about you guys,” she began, her voice heavy with fatigue, “but I’m running on fumes. We’ve been fighting nonstop—zombies, frogs, everything—and we’re still here, barely holding it together.”
Jack leaned against a post, his orc club propped against his shoulder. “I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he said sharply. “But stopping now? What if something happens while we’re resting? What if this camp gets attacked again?”
Nir, who had been tending to a cut on his arm, finally looked up. “And what if we push ourselves too far?” he countered. “We’re no good to anyone if we collapse. We need rest, Jack. All of us.”
Dante observed the exchange in silence, the weight of their exhaustion pressing on him. He’d been pushing himself for days, trying to keep the group moving forward. But Nir’s words struck a chord.
“We’ve all been through hell,” Dante said finally, his voice calm but resolute. “And we’ve made it this far because we’ve stuck together. But Nir’s right. We’re human, not machines. If we don’t take a moment to recover, we won’t survive the next fight.”
Jack sighed, his posture loosening. “Alright. You win. But we keep our guard up.”
Dante nodded. “Four days. We rest for four days, help out where we can, and get ready for whatever comes next.”
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FOUR DAYS IN THE CAMP
DAY 1: MENDING AND HEALING
Dante spent the first day fortifying the camp’s defenses. Alongside Oliver, the eager teenager from before, he repaired weak points in the barricades. Using his bone manipulation sparingly, he created makeshift spikes and nails to reinforce the walls.
“Think of it as extra insurance,” Dante told Oliver with a grin as they stepped back to admire their work.
Meanwhile, Natasha took charge of organizing supplies. Her natural charisma and sharp wit kept the survivors motivated as they sorted through salvageable materials, ensuring that nothing went to waste.
Jack focused on rebuilding damaged shelters. His strength made him a natural at hauling heavy planks and debris, and his knack for problem-solving quickly earned him the admiration of the survivors.
Nir, quiet and reflective, took some time away from the group’s activities. Sitting in a secluded corner of the camp, he occasionally opened Ron’s book, his fingers tracing its worn pages with a sad smile. The weight of loss was evident in his expression, though he never spoke of it aloud
Later that evening, Jack called the group together with an unusual announcement. “I think I figured something out,” he said, his voice tinged with excitement. “Remember how I’ve been hauling all that wood and moving the heavy stuff all day?”
The group nodded, curious.
Jack continued, “Well, when I checked my status screen, my Strength stat went up by 0.2. I didn’t level up—I think it’s from all the physical work I’ve been doing.”
The revelation sparked murmurs among the survivors.
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“Wait,” Natasha said, her brow furrowing in thought. “You’re saying that we can improve our stats through focused effort, even without leveling up?”
“Looks like it,” Jack confirmed. “It’s small, but it’s something.”
Dante nodded, his mind already turning over the implications. “If that’s true, we can all start training to improve our stats. Every little advantage counts in this world.”
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DAY 2: TRAINING AND ORGANIZATION
On the second day, Dante joined a small patrol team, including Jack and Oliver, to scout the perimeter and eliminate any dangers.
The group moved cautiously, weapons ready, their eyes scanning the underbrush for movement. The humid air buzzed with the sounds of nature, but beneath it lay the croaks of Lesser Frogs.
Oliver, gripping his spear tightly, whispered, “I hear something up ahead.”
Dante nodded, signaling for the group to spread out. As they advanced, three Lesser Frogs came into view. Their grotesque forms hopped erratically, their glowing eyes and long, slimy tongues making them a menacing sight.
“Stay calm and work together,” Dante instructed. “Oliver, keep to my left. Jack, cover the flank.”
The creatures noticed them and attacked simultaneously. One frog lashed its tongue at Dante, but he sidestepped with ease, summoning a Bone Claw to counter. The sharp bone slashed through the frog’s tongue, causing it to screech and recoil.
Oliver took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and lunged at another frog. His spear pierced its side, and with a twist, he pulled it free. The frog collapsed with a final croak.
Jack, ever the powerhouse, swung his club in a wide arc, smashing the skull of the third Lesser Frog before it could leap.
As the fight ended, Dante clapped Oliver on the shoulder. “Good work. You’re getting faster.”
Oliver grinned, his confidence bolstered. “It’s because I’ve got a good teacher.”
The patrol continued, taking down a few more Lesser Frogs before returning to camp.
Meanwhile Back at the camp, inspired by Jack’s discovery, the survivors began their training routines. Natasha led a group in endurance drills, running laps around the camp to build stamina. Nir practiced his dagger techniques on makeshift dummies he built from wood
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DAY 3: REFLECTION AND RENEWAL
The morning sun cast a warm glow over the camp as Dante and Oliver resumed their work on the defenses. The camp was beginning to feel like a secure refuge, but there was always more to be done.
As they took a break from hauling planks and hammering spikes, Oliver asked, “Dante, how do you stay so calm? Even when we’re fighting those frogs or fixing the camp—you always seem like you know what to do.”
Dante leaned against a stack of planks, wiping sweat from his brow. For a moment, he was silent, his gaze distant.
“It’s not something I figured out on my own,” he said. “My father taught me. He was the toughest man I’ve ever known.”
Oliver sat down beside him, intrigued. “What was he like?”
Dante’s lips curved into a small, bittersweet smile. “He wasn’t the kind of dad who’d hug you or tell you he was proud. But he cared, in his own way. When I was a kid, he’d take me out to the woods near our house. We’d train for hours—running, climbing, learning to fight. He used to say, ‘If you want to live, you need to learn how to fight like your life depends on it. Because someday, it will.’”
“Did you like it?” Oliver asked.
Dante chuckled softly. “Not at first. I hated it. I didn’t understand why he was so hard on me. I’d come home bruised and exhausted, and he’d just say, ‘You’ll thank me one day.’ I thought he was crazy.”
“But you don’t think that anymore,” Oliver guessed.
Dante shook his head. “No. Everything he taught me—it’s the reason I’m still here. And it’s the reason I can help keep all of you safe.”
Oliver hesitated, then asked, “Do you think… he’d be proud of you now?”
For a moment, Dante didn’t respond. He looked out at the camp, at the people working together to survive. Finally, he said, “Yeah. I think he would be.”
Oliver grinned. “Maybe you could teach me more of what he taught you. I mean, if I don’t pass out first.”
Dante laughed, clapping Oliver on the back. “You’re tougher than you think. Let’s get back to work, and we’ll talk about training later.”
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