Day 3, 6:00 AM
I depart Edna’s home with sunrise, or to be more exact as the heavy downpour of the night gives way to the dimly lit drizzle of the day.
Redo is still red, and not having my crutch bothers me. I’m like all regular mortals now, only one chance at life, and one mistake means dying for days, months, years…
I shudder at the thought. Redo is as much doom as it is salvation. Excessive use caused my mind to fray more than once in the past, and just smashing my head into mush when things aren’t going my way isn’t the most mature thing I’ve done in my life.
The worst part is I neither understand my skill nor the consequences for those who remain. I’ve come up with multiple explanations, ranging from all existence being a fever dream of mine, to universe reverting and undoing all the events of the two weeks I travel back in time, and every single idea I had was absolutely insane.
I’m no closer to the answer, but thankfully, I’m currently in a universe with zero loved ones, zero friends, and one tentative alliance, which might be a step away from slavery. Redoing time without caring about the consequences somewhat eases my mind. The only possible drawback is becoming a raving madman. Again.
I push away the dark thoughts, and instead focus on Everrain. In the wide open fields, my long, oily hair protects me from the drizzle, while the heavily forested areas are really strange, hardly allowing a drop of water to hit the forest floor. Leathery leaves and twisting branches form rain collectors, directing all the water to the trees they belong to, and I don’t understand what the plantlife does with all that water.
If the rain were allowed to reach the forest floor, it would have become a swamp ages ago.
I frown. Wait, it’s the other way round. This area isn’t a swamp because flora like this exists. It captures water, allowing for soggy but firm ground, rather than rain flooding the land and forming an endless marshland.
Ecosystems are a complex topic, extremely fun to consider when they are alien, boring when it’s something you see every day.
Why the bugs, though? Shouldn’t amphibians dominate this world? Or walking fish? Crocodiles?
Edna mentioned things were different before, that wormlords have attacked with armies of mutated bugs, but that was before she was born. Heavily mutated life tends to die out, I think. They over-hunt their prey, they can’t procreate, dissolve because of volatile genetics.
And yet, big bugs are everywhere, if you know where to look. The staple representative of the mutated category, a spider with complex, bee-like eyes and way too many legs, jumps atop what looks like a land lobster twice its size. Vicious fangs flash, there’s a crack as the lobster’s spiked carapace gives, and the tranquil, dog-sized lobster is suddenly whipped into a frenzy.
The spider clings to its back while heavy pincers snap, probably with enough force to tear human flesh, if not break the bones outright, but the spider is nimble. It dodges out of the way, its teeth still delivering the venom.
How much venom does it need to kill a lobster? The answer is obviously a lot. The spider dances left and right with its fangs stuck in the lobster’s flesh for a good three to four seconds before letting go and jumping away from its prey.
The scene fascinates me, and I stop to see how the drama will unfold. Unfortunately, the end is disappointing. The spider scuttles around, just outside the lobster’s reach, harassing it enough that the crustacean can’t escape.
As minutes trickle by, the lobster slows, then grows completely motionless. I’m about to leave, when the spider approaches its dead prey. The lobster moves like a flash of lightning. It grabs the spider’s body in its massive claw and squeezes, severing the arachnid in half.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Its victory is hollow, though. The lobster curls, rolling onto its back, as dead as the spider.
I consider the sight and move on, determined not to relax even around the corpses of the monsters I slay. If a simple lobster can play dead, why can’t something bigger and more evolved?
The trek to the dungeon is around two days. My woodland sense and heightened sense of smell helped me forage for food, and I spent the night’s torrential downpour in the wilderness, huddled at the base of a great tree, munching on seeds, before moving on when the rain weakened.
I leave the forest and walk onto an elevated road paved with bricks, running into a trio of adventurers arguing two dozen yards ahead of me. Two women and a man, all older than eighteen, but younger than twenty-five. After listening in a bit, I get the situation. Apparently, their fourth team member got cold feet and decided not to go to the dungeon with them.
“We should turn back,” the shorter of two women says. “We haven’t activated the Guide, and only the three of us entering the dungeon for the first time is dangerous, we might not get out alive.”
I couldn’t have scripted a better cue.
“Hi there!” I catch up to the trio, startling them. “Couldn’t help overhearing you discussing your problem, and I think I have a solution.”
I blaze with charisma, and the girls blush, their capillaries turning redder and more visible as blood rushes through them.
This see-through skin will take some getting used to.
“What?” the male, who seems to be the oldest, asks, suppressing his confusion.
“I was heading to the dungeon myself,” I answer, pretending that the question was about what I was talking about and not about what I was doing sneaking up on them and starting a salesman’s pitch. “I’m a beginner weapon master, and while I could solo the dungeon, there is safety in numbers.”
The man blinks, the girls are star-struck, and I keep talking, lest they find their bearings and ask logical questions to which nobody has an answer, for instance, ‘How is this happening?’
“I won’t take any extra loot, even though I’m more experienced than you are. What do you say?”
The girls are about to say yes, give me their names and family histories, but my charm and good looks don’t work as well on men.
“I say who the hell are you and how can you prove your claims?” A reasonable question, a good one, in fact, if a bit rougher than needed. I glance at his gear and see he has a club.
“I see your favored weapon is the club, is that true?” He nods.
“And you should be at least decent in combat if you’re heading into the dungeon. You might say you’re a real combatant.”
The taller girl nods. “Fred’s dad is in the guards. He trained him personally.”
Fred stands a bit taller, rain sliding off his black hair, but some of it landing on his face as he lifts his chin up.
“Tell you what, Fred, how about I prove I’m able to fend for myself. You come at me with your club, and I’ll fight you with one arm behind my back until one of us surrenders.” Clubs are generally one handed weapons, but riling him up a bit will only help with my leveling.
Sure enough, taunt, backed by my charisma works like a charm.
“Lucy, hold my bag, I’m gonna beat up this braggart.” He hands his waxed sack to the taller girl and takes the club from his belt. “You asked for it, buddy.”
I take out my club, the rest of the wooden weapons still strapped to my back, and before I get into a wide stance, Fred swings wildly at my face. I jerk back out of the blow, and almost kick him in the stomach to drop him, but then I wouldn’t win with a club, and the whole fight would be pointless.
So, I rein in my instincts and wait for him to regain his balance. The kid finds his footing and lunges at me again. I duck under the blow, and slam him in the gut with my cudgel. He drops his weapon and curls up like shrimp as a notification appears before me.
[You have leveled up.
Select a skill within sixty seconds or a random one will be assigned to you.
Advanced Swordsmanship - Your skill with swords improves.
Initial Axmanship - Your skill with axes improves.]
“Sorry I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.” I say aloud, considering my options. It’s not really a choice, I can gain Initial Axmanship after several hours of practice, so I choose the advanced skill instead. I have no idea how much effort it takes to polish a skill to that level, but I know I never achieved it in my previous life.
“I’m Griff, by the way.” I help Fred onto his feet. The youth is still pale and gasping for air, but he’ll be fine soon enough.
“He’ll be fine,” I assure the girls. “I just knocked the wind out of him.”
If this class will give me weapon skill improvements, I need to master all of them to an initial level before leveling them. How many different weapons are there?
The answer is a lot.