Zayne bit his lips, pain flaring as he muffled his cry with a rancid piece of cloth, torn from the undersides of his left forearm. Those abominations, numbered at three, trapped him into a corner, taking turns to claw away at his body. Two things allowed him to survive; the shield and his chest plate, both ravaged apart by their claws. Cold blood trickled down his abdomen from the nasty gash on his chest, the numerous light lacerations peppered his body didn’t do him any favors either. Any contact with water seethed and burned despite the cold, and tears blanketed his eyes as he winced.
His misshapen shield rested on the soil beside him, the clasps in its backside torn from excessive use. At this point, Zayne had lost his primary defensive tool, luckily not before ending the lives of his assailants. He’d be dead had he been coreless; gaining a core by itself empowered him in a way he deemed unnatural.
Finished cleaning, he found a spot far and away from the carcasses, limping across the stream in a haze of languor, then groaned when an incline walled him from progressing upward. His muscle had strained too much and too far in the fight, and his body—as battered as it was—craved rest. Both lower limbs protested when he climbed, his arms creaked when he grasped tough branches to propel himself up, then he plopped his ass down, leaning behind the bark of an impervious tree. Like it or not, he had to find ways to avoid the eyes of those curious about his appearance.
Grasped tight within his right hand, three gems clangored when he released his clenched fist. Without missing a beat, he consumed them, relishing in the sensation of gaining power, then vanished when his wounds throbbed, demanding attention from his mind, begging for relief.
He let a small sigh out and clasped his eyes shut, tuning out the blaring pain to locate his core. The same lines of messages appeared :
CORE
Core.Level
1
To next level
50
Max. Essence
100
Race
Human
Mana
0/0
Essence
20
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
-
-
-
Let’s see what happens if I unlocked a slot, He regarded those messages, then crossed his fingers when he opted to open a slot; he picked white, following the color of his available essence gems—also, the other colors were simply too expensive. A part of him deflated as if air had escaped through his pores, replaced by another enigmatic sensation that triumphed over. Inside his mind, the branches colored white in his core quivered upon the appearance of a tiny insertion. Squinting, he stared into that hole, then a few lines of messages followed:
[Insert an essence gem? This process cannot be undone.]
[White: plains warg - Grade 0, slot required : 1, +1 brawn, +2 Endurance.]
Zayne selected his only gem. The white hole glimmered, pulsing as he felt an unknown force sealing it shut. An electrifying sensation blitzed him; Zayne’s feet nigh kicked the solid dirt beneath his heel as he shuddered, a trembling force sent his eyes wide open, and then, as quickly as it came, it left.
[Trait granted : + 1 Brawn, + 2 Endurance.]
He scanned his core again.
CORE
Core.Level
1
To next level
50
Max. Essence
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
100
Race
Human
Mana
0/0
Essence
10
Class
-
SLOTS
Required ess.
Open slots
Required ess.
Open slots
White
20
0/1
Red
100
-
Blue
100
-
Green
100
-
Violet
500
-
Black
1000
-
TRAITS
NAME
NAME
NAME
Brawn
+1
Endurance
+2
-
He gulped. Brawn and Endurance; common-rarity traits mentioned during a class in his academy. Traits that all adventurers had; Brawn increases muscular strength, and endurance increased toughness and resistance against most outside influences.
Zayne wheezed from the slight excitement. He made sure to not aggravate the wounds on his chest and rested his head on the bark of his tree, gazing at the night sky once a sense of progression and calm washed over his senses. Despite the potential danger awaiting him in the corners of the forest, despite his unknown future, he found peace within the utter blackness. The loss of Kate pained him, ailing him with each step he took, even if those anchors burdened him in a way he naught recognized. He’d eluded the depressive thoughts since his need for survival overtook his thoughts, but now that a semblance of peace had been found…
If the man told the truth, then he couldn’t say the price of losing everything was worthy of obtaining this core. But he’d be lying, no, downright ignorant if he said the prospect of having a core didn’t rouse him off his sleep.
Once his excitement died down, the pull of the night sent him asleep, only to be awoken by the occasional rustling of leaves and the voices of distant footsteps. Zayne elected to climb even further up, his newfound Traits gave him enough extra power to push further. He hung by a cavity with both arms, nearly tearing the closing wounds of his chest, gritting his teeth, then sat still atop a rigid branch as he yanked himself up.
Losing breath, he watched the vicinity below him. Nothing seemed to notice his presence, yet. As much as gaining essence empowered him, with his state and lack of proper defenses, more fighting would lead to suicide. So he rested.
The safety of height and the calm wind urged his body to doze off again. Zayne didn’t want to, but the fatigue and stress took their toll on his mind, compounded with the breeze of calm wind, the soothing sounds of flowing water, the swaying of trees… he succumbed to the allure of sleep dangerously fast.
Images of his life flashed. Kate’s inn, the academy, the bazaar, the loud nights inside her dining hall, the occasional fights from multiple drunkards, all played on a running rivulet inside his mind. Tears of sadness flowed when he recalled Kate’s death; how utterly weak and insignificant he was. Tears of regret flared as he thought of his friends and their uncertain fate, and then…
The unknown man appeared, putting a single finger on his lips, “The Central continent.” He said. His voice boomed as he recalled the unknown man’s final words, “Protecting her is your duty, and you failed at it. Horribly so, I might add.”
In his dreams, he clutched himself, shielding his heart from the frigid cold and never-ending torment. Never again he wanted to feel that despair, never again he wished to lose those precious to him. Now, he had the means to gain strength, and he meant to never squander this opportunity.
No. Never again. He awoke to the cries of an abomination. Determination submerged him, running circles inside his heart, the burn of his will pushed him to descend, seemingly numbing him of the radiating pain of his wounds. Those with cores healed rapidly, at least compared to the ones without, and Zayne felt good enough to face the music of danger. Spear in hand and sword clung beside his waist, he perused the tangling vines and bushes, finding his target; two golden eyes piercing the dark of night.
Tonight, Zayne hunted.
###
Morning washed over the lake, revealing a bloodied figure cleaning his tattered clothes in the water’s clearness under the safety of sunlight. The momentary madness in his heart waned after his rampage across the woods; the abominations seemed trivial once he’d gained traits that helped his brawn and endurance. He felt stronger, sturdier—the cold affliction stung lesser, and he shrugged the occasional sting of sharp points from the barks and the leaves. Then, with a cautious look at his surroundings, he allowed himself to bathe. Sparkles of water washed his creeping languor and lethargy away; as if his pores absorbed energy from the beads of clear water abundant in the lake.
A calm breeze brushed his skin as he wiped himself off with his hands; had he been coreless, he would be shivering from the frigid air, but the combination of the sunlight and intense shaking dried him off within minutes. The dampness of his shirt and trousers had evaporated by the time he’d worn them, then after picking up his battered spear and chipped sword, he scanned the lake for any movements, then looked into his core once he ensured nothing was curious of his presence.
He’d killed four more of those abominations before the sun had risen, earning him 20 more essences, but he lacked essence gems to make use of those points. A momentary calm swept past him, and he turned his head back to where he came from. His mind went back to his previous caravan, where a bunch of dead people scattered, tarrying for the hunger of those desperate enough to reach them.
Perhaps he’d find stray wargs to kill and he’d gain strength that way; the lake seemed too tranquil for efficient use of his limited time, the cloud of trees masked the figures of those hiding behind the looming trees and tangling branches, and he’d failed to scout any abominations once the sun breached the horizon of the distant sky.
With a hopeful glance, Zayne took a deep breath and made his way back. While engaging the pack carried certain risks, the dense forest would hamper their speed and their maneuverability—plains warg, as its name suggested, lived and adapted to thrive in a wide expanse of tall grasses and fields, not a forest. They differed from the wolves; possessing stronger maws than legs, and their stocky frame made traversing through dense trees—where agility mattered more than pure brawn—a challenge.
And to his partial delight, his efforts weren’t in vain. He spotted a dozen wargs chewing their way around the steel-clad corpses, spitting out soiled leather as they cannibalized the insides of the rotting dead. Although, their numbers meant that rushing in and hoping for the best would be suicidal. Zayne’s lips gritted in light bitterness, he had to find a method to separate the pack apart, but how?
It was then that he saw a hulking figure pushing off one of the wargs happily chewing away at its food and taking it for itself. The warg whined and cried, but it dipped its head in shame as the bigger one growled and snapped at it. A larger warg, twice the size of its kin, bit through the bones of a man, its fangs so strong it crushed the steel and leather then spat those out like it was nothing. Zayne gulped audibly, that thing had to be the alpha of this pack; with a frame towering over the others, and by extension, Zayne himself. Beating it would prove almost impossible in his state, witnessing the leader crushing armor with a single crunch showcased the zenith of its prowess.
Trees swayed as Zayne debated heading back. No idea appeared good enough for him to risk sure death, so with a hesitant, defeated sigh, he turned back, but not before the singled-out warg made its way into the tree line. He froze in his steps, his recent move provided a clear glimpse of his back. His heart skipped a beat when the warg noticed his presence, and an ugly howl disrupted the dancing blades of grass beneath its feet.
Zayne booked it, cursing under his breath for not making this decision sooner. The sounds of a dozen light footsteps rained upon the forest floor as he bolted past the trees and uneven surface, looking back after a few seconds to regard the approaching wargs. Four, six…. Ten? His mind counted the number of starving eyes as he curved his path, using the obscuring trees as cover. Sneaking between the tiny gaps between the barks, Zayne carved his way ahead, gaining an advantage over the wargs from the absolute density of trees, and their numbers—an advantage during the start now hindered them when they bumped into one another—none of the pack understood well how to hunt inside a forest. Their persistence and speed allowed the wargs to catch up whenever Zayne inched his way ahead, however.
No matter how much he ran, no matter how breathless he was, his feet found their will to take the next leap forward. Then, his eyes gaped when he noticed the smell; the carcasses of the dead abominations he’d slain. His momentum gave enough speed for him to scale a tree using his feet as a head start. Below him, the deceased abominations dotted the soil, subduing the wargs’ tenacity, enough for them to give up, and enough for Zayne to escape their clutches of death.
He rested atop a branch, panting like a dog in heat. Sweat dripped all over his body, and he tasted salt on his lips. The sun had risen higher, and the heat of afternoon replaced the cold mist of dawn. His eyes scrutinized the ravenous, starving wargs. They fought with one another for the rights of their prize, and the losers left with a defeated snarl.
Zayne licked his salty lips. A chance.
Without their leader, the wargs acted independently of one another. Zayne counted their numbers, the ten or so wargs dwindled to four, then shrank into two once the carcasses had been rendered to bones, licked clean by the pink tongues of those monstrosities. He gripped his spear tight, watched the warg’s bobbing head as it played with the final few pieces of meat clung to its bones, and struck.
His plunge was swift, and his thrust, swifter. The warg barely saw what happened before his spear carved a hole inside its skull; a tiny whimper left its snout before the other warg noticed. The spear’s jagged edge, a result of excessive use and lack of weapon maintenance, lodged deeply inside its meaty and bony head, refusing to give way when Zayne yanked its grip. The incoming bite came without much fanfare, fast and silent, dangerous and fatal. He tugged himself back, stumbling from the uneven surface, yet avoiding a mortal strike.
He kept his feet on the forest floor and kept one hand on his sword’s handle, ready to strike. The warg lurched, its limbs strong enough to propel it high, but Zayne had seen its moves before, and he welcomed its descent with an eager stab. Gravity and its weight did most of the work as his blade sank into its open jaw, a force clawed at his head, pulling him down with the excessive weight of the now-deceased warg. Ropes of drool and blood soaked his head, the stink of its unwashed maw and rotten meat nearly sent Zayne hurling.
Zayne pushed it off, held his stomach with his free arm, and breathed.