Nimrod stifled a groan, swearing silently at the Sages for the streak of abyssal luck that had him run into two Beasts within a single week. Horned Hares were among the weakest of Beasts, but even one who was barely Emergent, like the one in front of him, would have a hide tough enough to deflect any arrow shot by a mundane human. And even a Beast that came from herbivorous stock wouldn’t hesitate to attack other animals, and humans, for their essence.

The one bright side to the whole disaster was that a Horned Hare would be much easier to run away from than the wolf. It was probably faster than the canine, but its senses were still those of a rabbit. It’d be easy for an experienced hunter to slip away without the Beast noticing him. But it still meant a fruitless hunt, and he would need a lot of luck if he wanted to catch something in time for the Disciple’s party and doubled pay. Luck which the Sages seemed determined to deny him.

Nimrod’s vision tuned red with his anger at the unfairness of the past week, and he could feel his right arm burning, itching to release the arrow at the Hare, who’d become the focus of his rage. The wolf was dead and gone, and the Sages were far more of a mystical concept than a physical target for mundane anger, but the Hare was right in front of him. A Hare which, mere days ago, must have been a mundane animal.

He tried to slowly release the tension on his bowstring, but his hands were trembling too much for anything resembling caution. The string slipped from his senseless fingers, launching the arrow in the general direction of the Horned Hare. It was such a bad shot that Nimrod would have been mortified had anyone been around to see it. He hadn’t missed so badly since his was barely into his teens, and his father would have tanned his hide for it if he’d still been alive.

Not that his accuracy mattered to anything when shooting at a Beast. But badly botched or not, the shot was more than enough to attract the Hare’s attention. Sudden fear fought with his anger for control. There would be no outrunning the Horned Hare, which could leap for four or five meters at a time. If he had more distance, he could have climbed a tree and stayed there until the Hare went away, since an Emergent Hare would be unable to climb or bring down the tree. But the Hare would be on him long before he could get high enough to avoid its jumps.

Fight and flight fought within him, neither of the instincts deterred by the fact that he knew that both would be pointless, and he crouched motionless as the Hare raised its head and looked in his direction, sounding a squeaking call that should have been adorable, but somehow managed to be terrifying, and leaped in his direction.

Nimrod raised his arms to try and block the Hare’s charge, knowing that even if the Beast’s horn was too short to do much damage, its legs would still be strong enough to break his bones. The searing heat in his right arm intensified, focused on the same point in his palm that got burned by the fire in the old tower. The pain rose to unbearable levels, until suddenly Nimrod could feel something tear itself out of his palm and launch at the Hare. His vision whited out from the pain, and his arm fell to his side like a doll’s arm when the string is cut.

It was dark by the time he came to, surprised to still be alive. His right arm felt like he’d stuck it into the fireplace up to the elbow, and was completely unresponsive when he tried to move it. The arm was covered in black streaks that seemed to parallel his veins, leading up to a large gaping wound in his palm. Fortunately for Nimrod, whatever caused the damage seemed to cauterize it at the same time, and he wasn’t actually bleeding. Shying away from the sight of his useless dominant hand, Nimrod turned to look around him. The headless corpse of the Horned Hare lay mere centimeters away from him, its short neck ending just above the shoulders. Whatever it was which had beheaded the Beast kept on going after hitting it, bringing down numerous trees in a straight line that started from the hunter’s own position. It was too dark to see the full length of the path, but it must have reached at least a hundred meters from him.

Nimrod shook his head in awe at the attack, which must have somehow originated in his right palm, and turned to the dead Hare. He’d need to somehow butcher the Beast with his right hand out of commission, but the corpse promised a reward that was more than worth the hassle. He had to position the Hare on its back and kneel with it in between his legs so that each of his knees was immobilizing two of the Beast’s legs just so he could use his hunting knife to cut open its belly. Even dead, the Beast’s skin was tougher than any he’d ever dressed before, but it was at least possible.

It took long minutes to slice a large enough cut that he could push his hand through, and Nimrod immediately set aside his knife and started rummaging through the Beast’s guts. He knew he wasn’t dressing the kill properly, and that his actions were probably ruining the meat, but he didn’t care. He was looking for something far more valuable than meat.

Nimrod was far from being a squeamish person, but looking through the guts of a dead rabbit for something he’d estimated to be the size of the nail on his smallest finger proved to be far worse than simply butchering the animal. It would have been far better to properly field dress the Hare during the daylight hours and search for his prize outside its body, but that wasn’t going to be an option.

It took more long minutes before Nimrod’s hand closed around a small hard sphere, smaller even that he’d expected. The Hare must have evolved not even a full day before its death. Not even stopping to wash his prize, Nimrod immediately started on his way back to the village. He paid no attention to the large bonfire outside the Disciple’s shrine, or to the villagers gathered around it to celebrate the wolf’s death, instead going directly to his own cabin.

He had to fumble with his lantern for several long minutes before he managed to light it single handedly, and finally took a good look at his prize. The tiny crystal sphere was covered with crusted blood, and he could see large cracks running all the way through it. It looked like more cracks than crystal, and couldn’t have weighted more than a single gram, but it was still one of the most beautiful sighs he’d ever seen.

Cultivation cores were the difference between an animal and a Beast. Nimrod didn’t know how or why, but he did know that occasionally, an old enough and strong enough animal would reach some sort of threshold and start to form a core. The core would then start to circulate essence through the animal’s body and transform it into a Beast. Once evolved, the Beast would continue to build up and refine its core, becoming more and more powerful in the process.

The Core in his hand was the least powerful a core could possibly be. It must have formed mere hours before he harvested it, and would hold only the tiniest bit of essence, but it was still enough. Because while humans couldn’t create their own cultivation cores, they could certainly harvest and use them. A core, no matter how small and weak, would change a human from mundane to Disciple, just like it changed its creator from animal to Beast. And once a Disciple, a human could build up and refine his core just like the animal that created it.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Cores were bought and sold for small fortunes, and only Disciples and rich merchants could generally afford them. The small piece of crystal in Nimrod’s hand could feed and clothe him for years, or provide the seed money to build a trading empire from.

Or, it could form the seed for his own cultivation and turn him into a Disciple, once who’d never again be forced to run away from Beasts.

There was, in the end, no real choice in the matter. As a disciple, cores like this would eventually become as common as copper coins, and he wouldn’t want to become the kind of person who does nothing all day and lives on his past earnings anyway.

He did take the time to clean and wrap up the wound in his right palm, and to thoroughly scrub the small crystal. After all, he had no idea how long it took a new Disciple to become immune to parasites and diseases. And even if he did become immune immediately, the mere thought of what covered the core was beyond disgusting even to someone who cleaned and dressed his prey for a living.

When not a trace of rabbit guts could be seen on the crystal, Nimrod took a deep breath, popped the core into his mouth, and swallowed it. He waited, breath held, for long seconds, but couldn’t feel any change in himself. When his lungs started to ache for fresh air, he let out a gasp and relaxed. He honestly had no idea what he was expecting. The core held barely enough essence to get a Horned Hare up to the Emergent stage, so what did he think it was going to do to an adult human?

He probably had a lot of cultivating and essence gathering to do before he’d notice any difference in himself. All of which would have to wait, since he could feel the day’s stress catching up to him. He barely had the energy to eat some jerky and clean himself up before collapsing on his bad and falling into a fitful sleep, constantly interrupted by the pain in his right arm.

***

If anything, his arm was even worse the next morning. It was more responsive, and he could actually move it, albeit clumsily, but it was even more painful than the day before, as if the pain of the strange burns was somehow joined by the itch of a limb that had fallen asleep and was just now waking up.

His first order of business for the day had to be going to see Simon. In truth, he should have gone to him as soon as he'd gotten back the previous evening, but the herbalist would have been celebrating with the rest of the village, and Nimrod couldn’t bear the thought of showing up near the big bonfire empty handed and wounded.

Simon’s workshop and store stood near the general store, and looked just as indistinguishable as its neighbor. As soon as Nimrod entered the building, his nose was assaulted by the smells of hundreds of different herbs. Bundles of plants hung down from the ceiling to dry, some of which he could recognize as having various medicinal properties, but most were far beyond his own meagre knowledge.

The herbalist himself was standing behind the counter, grinding down something in his old, battered mortar. Simon was a short, wiry man in his early forties, still spry enough to gather his own supplies in the forest, but established enough that he let his son and apprentice, Manny, do it in his stead.

“Nimrod,” the older man may have seemed completely wrapped up in whatever preparation he was in the middle of, but still retained some of the wariness of being in the forest. Enough, at least, to notice that he had a customer.

“Morning, Simon,” he answered.

“Didn’t see you at the bonfire last night.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t really in the mood for it.”

“I heard from Zeke that you had a run in with a wolf and a cold river. You should have come to see me, you know. The cold can kill you just as dead as a Beast.”

“I know, Simon. But by the time I got back to the village I was already much better.”

“So what kept you from the celebration last night?”

“I had another run in with a Beast,” Nimrod sighed. “A Horned Hare this time. It stopped me from bagging some rabbits, and I didn’t want to show up empty handed.”

“Another Beast?” Simon exclaimed. “What are you doing here, man? You should be at the shrine letting the Disciple know!”

“There’s no need,” I reassured the herbalist. “It’s dead now.”

“Dead? You mean to tell me you killed a Beast on your own?”

“I… I don’t know. I think I did, but I don’t know how. It’s why I came to see you, actually. Something happened when that Hare was charging me, and my right arm is really messed up now.”

I showed Simon my arm, and he unwrapped my messy bandages to take a look.

“What did you do to your hand? It looks like it’s burned, but from the inside out!”

“I don’t know. I was feeling an intense heat, and then the Hare was dead and something brought down the trees behind it.”

“Well, I’m not sure how much I can do for you. I’m not a healer, you know. I can give you a poultice to prevent infection and help it heal, but that’s all I can do.”

“I know. But the closest actual healer is outside the forest, and I can’t get there in my condition. I’ll have to leave with the merchants next time they come over, if it doesn’t heal on its own.”

Simon started pulling out a few pouches of powdered herbs, setting them on top of the counter. He measured precise amounts from each into a new pouch, and mixed them thoroughly.

“Here you go. You’ll need to replace the bandages twice a day. When you do, boil a pot of water, and add half a cup of this mixture to a cup of boiled water. Slather it on the burn, as hot as you can stand it, and wrap it up. You’ll need to keep doing it until it closes up, so if you run out you come back to me, hear?”

Nimrod paid and thanked the herbalist, and turned to leave the store and get back to his cabin.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Simon called out. “If you managed to somehow kill a Beast, did you get it?”

“I did,” Nimrod smiled for what felt like the first time that week. “It was so new it barely had a core, but I managed to find it.”

“And…”

“I’m not sure. I swallowed it, but I don’t feel any different.”

“You swallowed it? Just like that? But the money you could get for it…”

“If I’m a Disciple now, I should be able to make that kind of money, shouldn’t I? I just need to figure out how it all works…”

“You should go to the Disciple. They’re supposed to help any cultivator lower ranked than them, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. But she’s been out hunting the wolf almost constantly all week. I think I’ll let her rest before I bother her with it. Try and figure it out on my own meanwhile. I mean, we’ve all snuck in to see the old Disciple cultivate when we were kids, right? I’m sure I can remember how he did it.”

“I don’t think it’ll be quite as easy as you think, but you’re the new Disciple here, so it’s your call.”

The herbalist went back to grinding his herbs, and Nimrod returned to his cabin to apply the poultice and bandage his hand again.

He did remember how Old Man Owen moved when he’d been cultivating. At least, kind of remembered. And he did want to give Disciple Irene time to rest before he bothered her to teach him. But he felt somewhat self-conscious about trying to cultivate where everyone could see him, so he went back into the forest until he found an isolated clearing to practice in.

Nimrod stood in the quiet clearing, trying to remember the old Disciple’s cultivating routines. The old man always started standing, with his feet close together and hands held low in front of his waist. Then the arms went up and to the sides, circling about until…

Pain from his wounded arm interrupted his motion and dropped him out of the memory. He settled himself back in the remembered position and tried again and again to copy the remembered forms.

By evening, he’d managed to remember the first few steps the old Disciple used to take, and to perform some approximation of them himself. He’d also fallen down more times than he cared to admit, and his right arm was worse than ever. And as far as he could tell, he’d gotten nothing out to show for it from his efforts.

Somewhat dispirited, he promised himself he’d talk to the Disciple the next day, and went home to sleep.