Every inch of my body ached as I sat there, leaning my back against the massive Dreadboar. The adrenaline from the fight was slowly draining out of me, leaving my eyes heavy and my limbs leaden. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart and calm myself. But all I could think about was the battle and the fear that still lingered in my body.
The Dreadboar had been relentless. There were moments in the fight where I was sure I wouldn’t make it, where the razor-shark tusks or the powerful hooves would have killed me. I’d been pushed to the brink of death several times in the fight, and if I had to do it again, I don’t think I would have won. The fact that I was able to kill it was an accomplishment I doubted a lot of people could claim. The fact I was able to do it without picking up any new wounds was nothing short of a miracle.
I opened my eyes and looked down at my battered and bruised body. My muscles screamed in protest with even the slightest of movements. Hell, it hurt just breathing. I’d lost all my weapons, and the only thing I wanted to do was give in to the exhaustion and let the pain wash over me. But a small voice in the back of my head urged me to move, to get up and get to work.
With a groan, I struggled to stand, my body protesting at the sudden movement. When I finally managed to get up, I scanned the area around me and tried to plot out my next steps.
The Dreadboar was way too big for me to try and move it. It was a massive, hulking creature that easily weighed over 500 pounds. There was no way I’d be able to move it on my own, much less drag it down to the river where I could get to work carving it up. I pushed against its flank, testing its weight, but it was like trying to shove a mountain.
The reddish-brown blood of the beast stained every inch of my body, crusting on my skin and under my fingernails. The smell of the beast’s blood mixed with my own that leaked from the gash that had opened in my side. It made me want to vomit and rush to the river to wash it all off. But I didn’t want to just leave the Dreadboar sitting there, vulnerable to scavengers who’d swoop in and steal the meat from my kill.
To make matters worse, I was now weaponless and defenseless. The three spears I’d made with plasteel from the cave complex had all been broken during the fight. One was lodged deep in the Dreadboar’s eye socket, its wooden shaft splintered and shattered beyond repair. No matter how hard I tugged, it refused to budge. Another had impaled the beast’s shoulder, but the force of the impact had snapped the plasteel spearhead clean off, and I didn’t know where the hell it ended up. My third and final spear was little more than a heap of splinters after being crushed by a swipe of the Dreadboar’s massive head.
The only weapon I had left was my knife, but even that hadn’t survived the fight unscathed. The handle had snapped during the struggle, leaving the blade buried deep in the creature’s tough hide. I could probably pry it out, but then what? Without a handle, it was next to useless. And I didn’t even know if it had kept its shape from after what I had put it through.
A quick glance at the Dreadboar’s massive body and the weapons sticking out of its hide told me I wasn’t going to find much help there. Each weapon was in various states of disrepair – some rotted, some chipped or broken, and a few so old and brittle they’d snap if I even tried to use them.
I sighed and looked around the clearing, desperate for anything that could help me. The tree I’d been perched on at the start of the fight – the one the Dreadboar had shattered with its charge – lay in pieces nearby. I rolled one of the larger chunks of the tree over to where the Dreadboar lay. With all the strength I could muster, as well as a few branches I used as makeshift levers, I managed to push the beast halfway up the trunk, leaving its massive head still resting on the ground.
I grabbed a chunk of the tree and used it as a crude shovel to carve out a hole beneath the Dreadboar’s head. The work was slow and grueling, but once it was done I had a decent-sized pit. I climbed atop the Dreadboar’s lifeless body and, with a grunt, tried pulling my knife from where it had been stuck in its hide. The blade resisted at first but then it gave way with a sickening squelch.
With my damaged knife in hand, I sliced the beast’s throat, allowing its blood to pour out into the hole I’d dug. The dark, viscous liquid pooled and then drained away, ensuring the carcass wouldn’t spoil too quickly in the heat.
With that done, I quickly rushed off to the river to clean myself. The cool water was a welcome relief and acted as a soothing balm as I washed away all the blood and grime that clung to my skin. The water turned a frothy pink as I scrubbed, gradually becoming clearer until I was finally as clean as I could get under the circumstances. I looked around for some more Redveil Herbs and crushed the leaves into a paste, carefully applying them to the gash in my side.
With my wounds tended to, I hurried back to the clearing where I’d fought the Dreadboar, relieved to find it untouched. The blood from the Dreadboar had finally stopped flowing from the cut I’d made on its neck, pooling into the hole I’d dug beneath it. The surrounding area was stained a deep crimson, the earth soaked with blood.
I pried the tusks out of the Dreadboar’s mouth, their rough texture gritty against my hands. With the tusks secured, I set about the gruesome task of skinning and gutting the beast. A quick buzz from my codex guided me through the necessary cuts. Every incision I made into the tough hide sounded like unzipping a stubborn, rusted zipper. The thick skin resisted my efforts, but eventually I was able to peel the hide away from the body, revealing the raw flesh beneath.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
When I finally finished skinning the creature, I turned my attention to all the weapons that had been embedded in its body. Most of them were worthless – rotted, chipped, or broken beyond repair. Yet, amid the remnants, I found two pieces that caught my eye. One was a dulled iron spearhead, its edges worn smooth by time. The other was a thin slip of metal that looked like a very thick needle.
Using the dulled iron spearhead, I began at the edgs of the hide and started scraping away all the flat and flesh that still clung to it. The iron cut through the layers with effort, revealing the raw, textured surface beneath. The smell was revlting – a mixture of blood and the wild musk of the boar – but I pressed on. Each stroke of the iron was an exercise in endurance, and soon my hands began cramping with the effort.
Once the hide was cleaned, I carved out several chunks of meat from the boar. Most of the meat had been spoiled by the various weapons that had pierced the beast over the years. I didn’t want to risk biting into shards of metal or splinters of wood, so I carefully carved out smaller, uncontaminated strips of meat from the animal.
With my haul in hand, I made my way down to the river. At the river’s edge, I carefully washed the heavy hide of the Dreadboar. The cool water was refreshing and soothing to my tired hands, and I rinsed away all the blood and muck from skinning the Dreadboar. The hide was heavy and bulky, but it felt like a prize worth struggling over. I regretted not having a bag with me when I explored the underground cave complex. With any luck, I figured I’d be able to turn the massive Dreadboar hide into something resembling a backpack.
I hung the hide over a tree brand to dry, letting the sun and breeze do their work. Then, I set about building a fire. Using the thin piece of metal I grabbed from the Dreadboar, I beat it with a rock until the tip grew orange from all the friction. The heat was enough to ignite a few dry aleaves, and I carefully tended to the flame with twigs and branches I’d gathered from nearby bushes and trees. Once the fire was crackling and roaring, I skewered a few steaks from the boar and roasted them over the flames. The aroma of cooked meat filled the air, teasing my growling stomache.
As the meat sizzled over the fire, I allowed myself a rare moment of peace. I watched the flames of the fire dance and flicker, and let my mind wander. The hide hung nearby, drying in the gentle breeze, while the savory smell of roasting meat filled the air, making my mouth water. For the first time since landing on this planet, I felt a sense of contentment. The river’s steady murmur and the rustling of leaves added to the tranquil atmosphere, creating a soothing backdrop.
The next morning, I awoke with the first rays of dawn filtering through the trees. My body ached from the previous day’s battle, but I had work to do. I rolled the tough hide of the Dreadboar into a bundle and tied it shut with vines, creating a shoddy backpack. It was rough and could barely hold anything, but it served its purpose.
Before closing up the bundle, I tucked the Dreadboar’s tusks and my trusty plasteel knife blade inside, ensuring they were safely stowed away. I gave the area one last look to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything.
I rekindled the small fire and warmed up one of the steaks from the night before, savoring each bite. I supplemented that with a handful of tart berries plucked from nearby bushes and drank my fill of water from the river.
With my makeshift backpack slung over my shoulders, I set off once more. The voice in the back of my head urged me to continue north, or at least in the direction I believed to be north. There was a flicker of hope in my chest that there’d be some sort of civilization in that direction, and I could figure out where I was.
&&&
It took two days of walking before I came across anyone. My feet, now hardened by endless hours of hiking, had kept me going throughout the day. Calluses had grown where I’d repeatedly stepped on rocks and twigs scattered about across the forest floor. As I went further north, the weather began to cool, and by nightfall, I had to unroll the Dreadboar hide and use it as a blanket to ward off the chill while I slept under the light of the twin moons.
I’d initially been worried about finding a reliable source of water. During the early hours of my trek, I scoured the landscape for any signs of streams, rivers, or even small ponds, but couldn’t find anything. Instead, I stumbled across a bush that was filled with orange fruits. When I focused on them, my codex buzzed with information.
[Prunus Bush]
The Prunus Bush is a striking sight in the wild, with its sprawling branches laden with fruit that resemble miniature nectarines. This bush typically grows to a height of six feet, its branches weaving together to create a dense, protective canopy. Amidst the foliage, the fruit stands out, each one a vibrant orange with a velvety skin hiding a green endocarp. This bush is a lifeline for travelers lost in the wild, offering not just sustenance but also hydration. Each fruit is larger than a standard nectarine, and when bitten into, releases a generous amount of clear, refreshing water.
I bit into one of the fruits and almost moaned in pleasure as I slurped up the water it released. It was surprisingly cold, almost like it had just come out of a refrigerator. I quickly grabbed a bunch of the fruits and stuffed them into my makeshift Dreadboar bag before continuing on my way.
On the second day after leaving the riverbed, I was busy harvesting another Prunus Bush when I suddenly felt a sharp jab in my back. I instantly froze.
A voice behind me spoke in a strange, guttural language I couldn’t understand. The words were rough, grating on my ears, and I knew immediately I was in trouble. Slowly, I raised my hands, showing I was unarmed as I turned to face whoever was behind me.
“Mehnti tu kaala. Mehnti tu kaala,” the man barked, his spear trained on my chest. His skin was leathery and weathered, even though I was sure he wasn’t more than thirty or so. Tough living. He was clad in ragged clothes that seemed to have been made of a mixture of animal hides and cloth. His body was covered in faded blue markings that looked tribal. He kept shouting at me, but his words were a jumbled mess of sounds that didn’t mean anything to me.
“Look, I don’t understand what you’re saying,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “I’m not here to cause any trouble.”
“Ghesti gu manchii. Klantu. Sabbili.”
The man kept rambling in his foreign tongue, the words tumbling out rapidly as if he were trying to order me around. I couldn’t make sense of a single thing he said, but I knew one thing: this guy was an asshole.
He had to know I couldn’t understand him, yet he continued poking me with his spear along with barking out orders I couldn’t understand. It had to be some kind of powerplay or show of dominance. His jabs weren’t enough to break skin, but enough to make it clear he was in charge. He was an asshole. There was no other way to put it. Instead of trying to communicate more clearly, he seemed content to threaten me and enjoy the confusion he was causing.
“Seriously, I can’t understand your language,” I said.
The man’s response was more of the same babbling, but now there was a smirk on his face. He jabbed the spear into my side a little harder, still not enough to draw blood, but enough to make me wince.
I felt a surge of frustration and anger. I wasn’t in the mood for his little games, but I knew better than to make things worse. The asshole had the upper hand – especially since I didn’t have any weapons on me – and he was clearly enjoying his little power trip.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to think of a way to de-escalate the situation. I held my hands up higher, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. “I just want to gather some fruit and move on,” I said.
But as I took a step back, I felt another pin prick in my back. I turned my head and saw three more people, dressed exactly like the asshole, with their spears leveled at me.
Well, this is some bullshit.