Two dead wargs and 20 essences richer, Zayne took careful steps outward, hoping to see any stray wargs away from its pack. Their alpha was nowhere to be found—a budding relief in Zayne’s mind—but for what reason it stayed, he didn’t know. Perhaps the forest was too packed for its humongous body to brave the trees comfortably.
No essence gem again. He thought to himself, muttering bitterness as he found a quiet spot to sit on, then searched the depths of his heart for his core.
[Use 50 essence to level up?]
“Yes, yes…”
Zayne’s arms and feet tingled for an unknown source of energy. It burst through all his inner veins, and for a brief moment, Zayne’s vision blared to pure white.
[Level up successful. The core level is now 2. Increase core level to raise your odds of gaining essence gems.]
Odds? Zayne regarded the sentence with a light twist of his head. So my low level is the reason I’ve barely gotten any?
[Max essence increased by 50.]
He felt the tingles powering his muscles and his senses. The forest earth smelled earthier, and the air permeated with the flavor of death. Zayne tasted the sweetness in the atmosphere, and his eyes peered further into the forest. Not so much that his vision turned into a hawk’s, but enough to notice the slight differences between the colors of leaves, good enough to tell which bark had decayed and which was virile. Then, it hit him. He gained strength and power in every aspect with each core level up, and a look into his core showed him exactly that.
CORE
Core.Level
2
To next level
100
Max. Essence
150
Race
Human
Mana
1/1
Essence
0
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
-
If he hazarded a guess, each core level added 1 to each basic common-rarity trait; Brawn, Endurance, Magic, Regeneration, Agility, and Resistance. They all formed the basic strengths of a typical adventurer. Leveling up was undoubtedly useful, but the cost skyrocketed with each level. It took him two days to earn 50 essences, now it exploded to 100. This method differed from the cores the academy taught; each level granted a selection of traits of varying rarities, and the so-called prodigies had access to rarer traits most drooled upon seeing it. Laura had one; it was called Acrobatics, a rare-tiered trait that increased her flexibility and speed proportional to her Brawn and agility. However, for Zayne, it appeared common traits were all he got unless they changed at higher levels.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Zayne reopened his eyes.
Slaps of bent leaves struck near his eyes as he navigated a quiet course through the dense trees. Occasional howls for a distance perked his ears every few minutes or so, and he altered his direction to the source of that noise. Rays of sunlight breached the wall of leaves, translucent green painting the landscape below, revealing the presence of another; a lone warg sniffing the ground while pacing about in its space.
He kept his gaze locked onto the grunting warg, then waited. As much as he wanted to strike right away, his spear had dulled to a point where he couldn’t reliably use it anymore. His last attack spelled its final breath, and now, all he had available was his sword and a staff masquerading as a spear.
Zayne measured the distance; he’d reach the warg with a full push of his legs. The additional brawn gave him confidence in his physical prowess. He bit his lips and his brow frowned, flippant about his increasingly reckless behavior. Had he always been this way? Of course, he’d always been stubborn, but not to this extent. Perhaps it was his gnawing stomach; regardless, his drive for power tipped him toward a decision.
His legs burned when he pounced. The branch serving as his footing rattled, drawing attention from the idling warg. Air rushed past his face when his blade found air—dirt spurted as his blade crashed into the soil. The warg sidestepped his preemptive strike with haste. Zayne kept his glare on its blurry figure. An ugly cry writhed as it jabbed with its open fangs. He paired its aggression with his blunted spear, blood splashed as he drove the stick inside its maw, then drew his sword and slashed it in one perpetual motion.
Wounded, the warg recoiled, but Zayne wasn’t finished. His eyes frowned as he felt gashes leaking blood from when he pushed his spear into its maw, yet, adrenaline submerged his pain into heart-wrenching determination. Two slashes found their mark, wounding its head and splitting an eyeball apart, and he finished with a tumultuous stab down its skull.
10 essence richer, Zayne leaped on another tree, the motion of climbing grew familiar with repetition, and he eyed the forest floor once more. The hunt resumed; most of the wargs had found their way back when Zayne stopped his advance. The figure of their leader skulked about in the distance, circled by a sea of pallid, violet flesh, with thousands of flies flying around their position.
Just one. He cussed, cursing their prudent action of regrouping. He made sure to retreat further this time.
###
Night scoured the skies. Zayne hunkered beside the lake bed, drinking and cleaning his wounds, taking in the gentle chill and fresh air. The cold was ever-present, enough for him to quiver every once in a while, but he felt a semblance of comfort within the frigid atmosphere. Right as he thought to stay, air blasted harshly near the edges of the lake, strong enough to push Zayne into the tree line.
His newfound strength granted easier access to the treetops. Each leap felt easier on his legs, each pull on the branch yanked him up just a little further, and he felt lighter, despite his unchanging size. His stomach churned from the lack of food; an issue no core could solve, and the thought of cooking meat escaped him since he had no access to the fire. The humidity was too much for any spin of the wood to generate enough friction for flames to spark. No berries and edible fruit came upon his vision, either. Had this situation continued for another week, he’d be dead from starvation.
Zayne slapped his growling stomach as he rested on a branch. Luckily, water was abundant. He had half a mind to consume the wargs raw, but that was hunger speaking for itself, and his rationale slapped that thought away from his head.
He gazed at the calm, windswept lake that seemed to call upon him to enter. It had been two days since Burg had been invaded, and Zayne had no clue whether his friends had made it out alive. The darkness of the forest, as oppressive as it was, seemed to comfort Zayne as he navigated his way around it. He’d hoped for any signs of abominations to hunt, yet it appeared that their numbers had dwindled to a point he thought they ceased to exist.
Tiny cries of the wargs rang from the distance; their continued presence stemming from their leader’s refusal to part way with the corpses. He thought about how to handle their numbers and an idea popped inside Zayne’s mind, what if he struck when they were asleep? The odds of them killing him outright were high, and to engage with their leader would be unwise, but he understood he could deal with their numbers if they spread afar.
No… Not with my crude spear. He shook that thought away. Spears proved best against these four-legged creatures, as swords lacked the length to engage them at a safe distance.
Circling the forest around the lake, Zayne noted the presence of something else. Lake Burg’s local wildlife was hardly a mystery, so the sight of a foreign monster stopped him in his tracks. He eyed the monstrosity snoring away, and a light shudder ran through his skin.
A dark creature, shrouded in nothing but black swaying furs, rested in the grace of midnight. From a glance, it appeared to be of the same size as the warg Alpha, but a short look told volumes of its strength—its body was built with speed and elegance in mind, contrasting the wargs. In its sleep, Zayne failed to regard the color of its irises. Its face resembled a panther’s; roundish skull with a slight protrusion where its nose and mouth were, fangs that jutted out of the openings of its lips, tiny, almost undetectable whiskers rigid even when a breeze whiffed past.
Zayne paused as he noticed the unmistakable tone of blood dotting its black, shining surface. It’s wounded? He recalled the conversation about monsters escaping Burg’s vicinity, and this could very well be an example of it. He didn’t know its name, but like the alpha, he knew well enough to steer away from it.
But what if? What if he found a method to lure the wargs into the panther? This idea bordered the lines of impossibility, and to act upon this… daredevil, borderline suicidal would be incredibly foolish of him, and yet, his heart raced from a burst of sickening excitement. His stomach churned again, its desire for meat equaled his unquenched will to put fate into his own hands—even if it came at a small risk to his own life.
Near the lake, a few steps away from where the trees began. Zayne remembered the spot of its temporary lair; markings of its claw, the light scent of its droppings pointed curious eyes into another direction, indicating its overwhelming presence, but not him. Not when he might find a sufficient match to this creature. He made sure to take careful steps as he escaped, then bolted to the direction of outside; the direct opposite of the lake and its unmistakable features across the desolate caravan. The panther wouldn’t move from its spot when it was asleep, and Zayne tasted the urgency to make it happen. There were no guarantees it would stay when it roused from its slumber.
Sure, this plan was full of holes. Zayne sensed a chance at grasping meteoric strength if things worked out. All he had to make sure of was to make sure The leader followed him this time. With his increased level and his familiarity with the forest, he found slight confidence in pulling things together. It had to work; by the chance it didn’t, Zayne planned to scour the plains for the remaining weapons scattered about near the caravan. Either way, his path led to the pack of wargs regardless.
As the darkness parted into the pride, Zayne located their dozing leader in the distance chewing a person’s spine, having a time of its life.
Hidden behind the treeline, Zayne’s crouched figure tallied their numbers. The ever-present mist and the overbearing darkness made counting difficult, but near the leader, a few numbers of Warg paced about, playing with one another, or resting. He never considered them as animals, but witnessing their behavior gave Zayne reason to think things over once more. With flippant eyes, Zayne snaked his way through the trees, finding cover within the undergrowth and the night, wincing as the blades of grass cluttered his vision. It almost tickled; a sensation he naught expected.
Doubt surfaced when Zayne lost the cover of the trees. What if his plan didn’t work out? What if their leader didn’t follow? Questions rang in his mind as he stepped close enough to sniff the crabby odor of the beasts. He rubbed his stomach again.
Fear cautioned him too much so he circled their group instead. Let’s make sure I get one thing completed. On his way, he found the remains of the other adventures dotting the plains; a damned treasure trove of new tools and weapons the wargs discarded when they finished their meal. Spears, swords, daggers, armors, you name it, existed in some form or another in varying levels of quality and state of disrepair. Equipped with a decent chest-plate that had rusted near its edges and a spear magnitudes better than his, Zayne smiled as he sheathed a pair of daggers complete with their scabbard that hung near his waists, opposite of his sword. One done. He turned his attention back to the pack.
A light shudder crept through his spine. Zayne cocked another spear, aiming it straight at the leader’s lethargic figure. Hope this works. He breathed to himself, then let go.
The giant warg’s eyes awoken as if sensing something coming from nowhere and leaped into a cautious stance. His spear caromed off its sides, the leader’s fur thick with soot and dirt, providing solid defense against outside attacks. But that wasn’t why he threw it. All he wanted was its attention, and he got it in spades.
First step complete, Zayne raced his way into the trees, his steps generating enough noise to pinpoint his location. The wargs howled in fury—their cries wailed shattered the mirror of silence. Midnight turned from a calm, unassuming chatter of trees into a cacophony of high-pitched shrieks and growls. A chase ensued, this time, he kept his glance at the leader. Its eyes shot wide open, maddened with scarlet anger. Its stare sent chills down his skin, enough so that his legs nearly buckled, yet, Zayne kept his wits to himself and trekked into the looming barks of trees and the forest soil.
Rapid breaths huffed as Zayne coursed a path into where the panther lay. Rapid howls followed his steps, echoing within the pressing ambiance of night. Branches snapped. leaves and bushes rustled. Their steps grew in volume and numbers. But none bellowed harder than the deep, terrifying growl of their leader. None struck fear into Zayne’s heart like its cries.
Right. Then left. Leap past the tiny ravine. Zayne kept his mind focused. Here. I’m close.
Under the guise of moonlight, Zayne saw its figure breathing calmly before the cacophony of growls and roars woke it up. It was then he saw its hazy, unfocused eyes. Violet orbs, glowing in the darkness, almost spotting him before he swerved aside. Behind him, the army of wargs came upon its vision, the man leading them here disappearing with the veil of nocturnal midnight.
If there was one thing he knew, the strong monsters—or animals, for that matter—despised those who breached their territory, especially if they disturbed it from its sleep. And this panther, with all its efforts to mark its spot, wounded from head to toe, would be extremely territorial.
The wargs and their alpha came face to face with a sharp growl from the panther. Every single pack member froze, and their leader, for the first time, showed signs of hesitation.