The night mist chilled Zayne’s bones as he sat in contemplation.
He’d scoured the remnants of the battlefield and attempted to extract monster gems like how the unknown man did, but only a message line appeared.
[This monster had died for too long. Extraction failed.]
Shit… He’d never encountered such an issue before as a coreless; the sudden message woke him awake.
The disappointment aside, his efforts didn’t end in utter vain. He found swords and spears and shields with varying degrees of wear and tear, then unclasped a few pieces of armor that fit decently enough on his body, along with a mostly clean satchel hung snug on his waist. The rancid fragrance of decay seemed to cling inside his nostrils, so much so that his mind tuned that smell away. Sitting cross-legged beneath the swaying leaves of an oak tree, he stared upon the dark, expanding mist, figuring out what the hell to do next.
First, He had no idea where he was. The geography of his direct vicinity matched the outskirts of Burg, but without sufficient lighting, he couldn’t tell for certain. The amount of dead here would bring forth another pack of wargs that had decimated his people, and that said little about the overwhelming rancid odor he emitted. Once his body healed and armed with a set of passable weapons and armor, Zayne had confidence he’d survive the attack of a single warg, yet the notion of being imprisoned by their numbers gave him a cold shudder. If he recalled it right, the wargs roaming within Burg’s outskirts fell under the F-1 to F-2 rank, decent enough monsters for most beginner adventurers to hunt and kill.
Their numbers, however, posed a different issue. The guards around his cart had managed to fend off more than 20 of them before succumbing to fatigue and their wounds. Zayne tapped his shield as he cursed the man that left him behind—the fool escaping for his dear life when Zayne decided to help. Anger boiled in his stomach; he shrugged it off and focused on the now rather than the past. He’d deal with the man once he found him, but now, survival preoccupied his emotions.
Besides, the idea of him receiving some semblance of a core elated his soul, despite the exorbitant cost of power. He closed his eyes and felt up his core again, eager to see its shape inside his soul. It shone brighter now than before, yet that wasn’t all; upon closer inspection, extending like branches of a tree, he noted the lines stemming from the orb, reaching into the distant darkness; different paths that lead to different tiny holes, big enough that something could fit inside it. Variegated colors painted each line; red, blue, green, Violet, and black, each line avoiding another, never once did they intersect.
CORE
Core.Level
1
To next level
50
Max. Essence
100
Race
Human
Mana
0/0
Essence
0
Class
-
SLOTS
Required ess.
Open slots
Required ess.
Open slots
White
10
-
Red
100
-
Blue
100
-
Green
100
-
Violet
500
-
Black
1000
-
TRAITS
NAME
NAME
NAME
-
-
-
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[You need essences to unlock slots. The cost is different for each slot color.]
[You need 50 essences to increase the core level.]
Zayne paused. Normal cores; those possessed by everyone else, were specific in their methods of powering up. Everyone’s core resonated with different strengths, strengthening with age—particularly fast during puberty—then it stopped growing naturally. Adventurers must kill monsters from the monolith and the wilderness to get stronger past that point. Adventurers acquired a list of traits developing them into a specific type of fighter upon surpassing a threshold; the guild called those level-ups. Some said the term originated from their ancestors. People said to live in a completely different world, but those were just that; fairy tales with no relation to reality.
Separated by rarity, traits determined the future of an adventurer. The warriors would choose traits that compounded their brawn—increased physical strength, etc—while the mages focused on traits relating to magic. However, every adventurer had their limits; their cores would cease to strengthen beyond a point that was set from birth.
Zayne’s core was… unique. Never once the academy taught anything about essences, but slots did exist; they were used to attune spells, skills, or passives, which granted them access to the associated spells or skills, gained from crushing the respective stones to fill a slot within their core; these slots grew in numbers with level-ups seemingly at random. Some skills or spells require multiple, at the range of tens or hundreds of slots for a person to utilize them.
The cry of a creature woke him up from his trance. He rose, facing the direction where it came from, bracing for any sort of encounter. Yet, all he saw was the cold mist of the night and the rustling of leaves trailed by occasional howls from an unknown distance. Only the moon lit the darkened soil beneath his feet.
To stay or to go… Both are mistakes. Zayne considered his options. First, the likelihood of the kingdom sending a dispatch after this carnage was high, so staying had its benefits. To brave the night and walk in a random direction, knowing fully well that the hordes of wargs awaited past the wall of the darkness appeared foolish, sure, but waiting in the vicinity of dead men and corpses wasn’t any better, either. The charmed wargs hadn’t returned, but there was no guarantee his spell would last the entire night, and Zayne loathed waiting for that moment to come.
Zayne rounded the rows of destroyed carts and dead horses once more. A downtrodden sigh left his lips, but his eyes lit when he noticed the scintillating sea of water in the distance. Lake Burg, he presumed, meaning that Burg was within a few hours of walking from his location. He turned his head directly away from the glimmering waves of the lake, then bit his lips and proceeded toward it. The sea of dead enticed monsters more than anything else, rendering the lake a safer choice.
Using the moonlit lake as his guide, he ventured into the deep black.
The windswept plains brushed his feet and thighs on his way toward the brooding wall of trees. Lake Burg was famous for its local wildlife; wolves and bears and the occasional monsters made their appearance every once in a while, making it a popular spot for newbie adventurers to find their footing in the real world. Zayne’s hair flowed with the breeze and the trees pressed close, and soon, all he saw was the shadows of the brooding barks and the web of leaves and branches from above.
The smell of forest hit him with an uppercut. A welcome change of odor, Zayne mused, a stark contrast to the smell of rotting blood and guts. He tasted the humidity—almost too thick for the air to contain as his feet stepped on the crunchy soil. The roots earthing from beneath locked hands with one another, providing solid footing every few steps or so, and Zayne held onto the barks and the sporadic vines as walking supports.
Nothing dangerous so far. He breathed relief. He had half a mind to approach the lake bed to drink and wash his clothes immediately; it would be best if he rid of the stench of blood as fast as possible. Hell, He’d love to shower too if he could help it.
Only the sounds of rustling vines and bushes filled his ears once the trees gave way. The trees were split by a stream of water coming to and from the eerie, uncanny lake. Zayne followed the line of fresh rivulet as his maladroit steps squeaked the humus beneath his feet. So far, no monsters or animals bothered him.
So far.
Zayne noted the light markings of claws on the barks of the sparse trees as the lake welcomed him—either birth from a sign of territory or a sign of struggle. The markings halted his advance, pushing him to observe the distance for signs of a monster.
The lake stilled in his sights. The looming trees and undergrowth grew placid, and none of his senses alarmed him of anything dangerous approaching. With each passing second, Zayne sniffed the urgency to wash off his smell and tip-toed toward the running stream.
Do it quickly. When it’s still safe.
The running stream reached deep enough to wet his ankles as he dipped one of his feet into it, scouting his immediate vicinity with eagle eyes. The water darkened from the stain of dried blood and dirt, then he plunged another, splashing beads of crystal water as he submerged his soles, shivering from the wave of cold freshness passing over his tingling skin.
“Haa…” The freshness urged him to continue. He unclasped his shabby armor, setting it aside as he splashed his face. Chilly, he winced and shuddered, pulling his shirt up, studying which part of it had accrued the most stain, then gave that part a light rinsing; drenching his entire shirt appeared to be a mistake, the cold would sooner take him before any monsters did.
Zayne did what he could, a few specks of blood remained on his shirt and trousers, and their dark-scarlet coloring clung to the fabric like glue, yet the smell had washed with the running rivers, at least, it was better than how much it stank before. He re-equipped his armors; a light chest plate, a set of thicker trousers to protect his feet, and a set of vambraces. A light breeze earned a shiver from him, urging Zayne to find a safe spot to hunker down—a shade of trees and thick branches with a small space just enough for a man to sit under, and waited for the day to arrive.
A few minutes passed. Zayne clutched himself to lock in all the heat his body produced.
An hour passed. Zayne breathed into the palms of his hands while his eyes darted around in the darkness. He heard it. A loud carol of howls and cries crashed the calm voice of running water and swaying trees. Zayne felt a chill run through his body, goosebumps flared as his eyes locked into the direction where it came from. The wargs. They’re back. Their cries came to a halt, then, as if it never happened, the stream and trees filled the silence in the air. Zayne closed his eyes and prayed.
But God never answered his call for help.
The rustling of bushes rang from his right. Between the slashes of thick branches and green leaves, he saw a pair of golden eyes stalking him from a distance. Zayne’s eyes widened as he scampered his way up, glimpsing back for every clamber of his arms, panting, gasping for fresh air. In the meantime, his stalker locked its eyes on him, rigid, unblinking.
Zayne gripped his shield harder than he should, slowly backing away, feeling the air grating his airways. Perhaps it was just trying to protect its territory, and this act was its polite way to warn him. Polite, as in it wanted to chew my head off. Zayne’s head swam in a minor panic, his breathing blitzed while he kept an eye around his vicinity. The rush of the riverbed entered his sights.
Alarm bells rang as the creature breached through the darkness, its beats matched with his jittery steps. No amount of squinting allowed him to make out its approaching figure, as he cursed the night; the dark of the forest had shrouded most of its body in pure blackness. He noted hints of darkened fur and a tail from the streaks of occasional moonlight peering past the swaying trees. Then he listened; a light growling as its fangs reflected white when it bared its snout. Two golden orbs appeared to glow as he retreated, and then-
It lurched, bolting past the trees, its figure turning into a blur as it sped toward him. A loud howl shrieked as Zayne met its fangs with his shield, throwing droplets of ropy drool lingering in his sight. His feet dug into the wet soil when they crashed, its weight and force digging his body into the humus, yet Zayne willed enough strength to ground his limbs and shoved. The creature flailed about in the air, then rolled its body to land on the soil with a gentle thump. It snarled, lurching forward, wildly swiping at Zayne with its long arms; twice longer than its hind legs, and sparks of flares burst as Zayne blocked its claws. He shoved forward, rebounding its next swipe, heaving as he performed a full thrust on its head. Blood splattered about as the creature wheezed and scraped the air frantically, struggling to push his spear off the hole carved into its skull, then died shortly after.
Zayne collapsed on the dirt once his adrenaline left him a trembling, bumbling mess. The attack came so suddenly. He gasped for air, rubbing his hands together and slapping his cheeks to keep himself focused, then scrutinized his stalker with a grim look. His breath shook when a glimpse of moonlight lit its eyes and face; this thing wasn’t a wolf, but some form of a hybrid between a man and a beast. Dark gray fur coated the entire length of its body, with its long frontal limbs almost as long as its torso. The brutish shape of its head, a mix between a wolf and a Crag beast, hosted a set of fangs as large as its lower jaw. Its glowering golden eyes, reminiscent of Direwolf’s, smoldered when no light was present. He extended his arms over its head, roughly mimicking the unknown man’s posture, then-
[Do you wish to extract the monster gem?]
Yes.
Fireworks of radiant light emanated. Between his fingers, Zayne sensed the presence of a gem being formed. Heat washed over his palm as he pinched the floating gem and scrutinized it, noting its transparent look, yet it was cloudier than the one the man gave to him. Not as pure as his, Zayne concluded. His palm warmed the gem as he considered what to do with it since the primary currency in the adventuring world revolved around gems. He had no money to speak of, no coins jingling inside his empty satchel, and no food or place to stay once he re-entered society. If ever.
Yet he consumed it anyway. Strength was paramount for his survival. A coin wouldn’t matter in his situation.
[A monster gem is consumed, [White-night abomination]. You gained 5 essences.]
Not enough to open a slot, and I didn’t get any essence gems this time. Zayne examined his body to see what had changed, then his shoulders slumped when a slight pang of disappointment struck. He wished to experiment with his core and how essences worked, but unless he found more of these abominations to kill…
Light growls echoed in the darkness. Zayne turned his head around, noticing a few pairs of eyes skulking within the fingers of trees and the undergrowth. Licking his lips, he raised his weapons, welcoming their appearance with an anxious grin.