The village walls loomed quietly behind Zach as he traced their perimeter, his eyes flicking between the map Veru had given him and the winding dirt track ahead. The early morning air was crisp, carrying the faint smell of damp earth and distant wildflowers. With every step, the village felt more like a memory, its bustling safety replaced by the stillness of the open road.

Zach paused at a bend, squinting at the map again. Veru had marked the carriage stop clearly, but the path was long, and he suspected he wouldn’t see another sign of civilization for hours. He slipped the map into his pocket and continued, the rhythmic crunch of his boots against gravel the only sound in the quiet expanse.

*I should’ve asked Veru more about this system,* he thought, chewing the inside of his cheek. The idea had gnawed at him since the encounter with the bandits. For all their brute force and numbers, none of them had displayed anything remotely unusual—no enhanced strength, no magical tricks. It seemed almost... ordinary. And yet, the System he used felt like something extraordinary, almost designed.

But then again, what if it wasn’t extraordinary here? What if it was common knowledge? The last thing he needed was to ask a naive question and blow his cover. He grimaced. *God knows what kind of stigma it might carry. Witches on Earth didn’t have it great, and people here might not either.*

The thought simmered in his mind as he walked, his pace steady but not hurried. The landscape shifted subtly, the grass growing wilder and the trees clustering closer together. Something about the quiet stillness brought a faint edge of unease. He forced himself to focus, scanning the ground for anything useful.

A patch of nettles caught his eye, their serrated leaves quivering in the faint breeze. Nearby, a small colony of red ants scuttled purposefully across a mound of dirt. Zach crouched, brushing his fingers lightly over the plants. The familiar hum of absorption rippled through him, the system quietly cataloging the components.

He straightened, his gaze sweeping over the nearby trees. The bark of one oozed thick, amber-colored resin, and Zach stepped closer, pressing his palm against it. The sticky substance clung to his fingers.

Over the next hour, he made a game of foraging, picking out plants and materials with care.

The system seemed to have no limit to what it could absorb, and the variety fascinated him. From soft fungi that practically melted under his touch to waxy leaves that beaded water.

He even tried pressing the sole of his boot into a patch of moss, curious if absorption worked through indirect contact. Nothing. *Figures,* he thought, brushing dirt off his shoe. *Guess there’s no shortcut for effort.*

As he walked, the system lingered in his thoughts. It reminded him of the litrpg novels he used to devour in high school, the ones that kept him up late into the night.

A wry smile tugged at his lips. *If I were really stuck in one of those, there’d be quest notifications popping up every ten steps.*

The thought sobered him. The idea that his life could be controlled by someone—or something—else wasn’t comforting. He shook his head and pressed on.

The sun climbed higher, and Zach felt the first pangs of thirst tug at him. His tongue felt dry as he scanned his surroundings, hoping for a stream or any source of water.

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Then, as he shifted his weight, a thought struck him. *Wait... water.* The realization felt absurd at first, but then it hit him: he could try synthesizing it. Yesterday, he had been so focused on using his new powers to fight that he hadn’t even thought of using his ability for something as basic as drinking water.

He started to cup his hand, intending to fill it with water, but then stopped mid-action. A sudden thought crossed his mind—why not make it directly in his mouth? It was worth a try.

Cool water began to form on his tongue. He swallowed the water immediately and almost laughed at how simple it had been. The thought of not realizing this sooner left a strange aftertaste of regret.

The water itself tasted bizarre—flat and metallic, with none of the natural minerals or impurities that give ordinary water its subtle flavor. It reminded him of distilled water from a lab. Still, the relief of quenching his thirst overpowered the strangeness.

Water.

The image of Markinson’s pale, face flickered in his mind. He dismissed the thoughts just as fast and started back walking.

The path began to bend, shaded now by tall trees whose branches wove a patchwork of light and shadow.

The air here was cooler, carrying the sound of rushing water. Zach slowed his pace, his ears straining to pinpoint the source.

The sound grew louder with every ten steps until finally he emerged from the trees to see a narrow stream. The water tumbled over smooth rocks.

Zach stood still for a moment, considering his options. He crouched and ran his fingers through the dirt at the bank, rubbing the damp grains between his thumb and forefinger. Glancing at the water again, he decided to test it.

Picking up a flat stone, he lobbed it into the stream. It skipped once before sinking, ripples spreading lazily. Still, no movement from below.

“Better to bait the trap than walk into it blind,” he muttered. He kicked off one boot and dipped a toe in, tensing as the cold water bit his skin. Only when nothing happened did he wade in fully, the chill seeping into his pants and numbing his legs.

*So damn cold.*

He knelt, pulling his bloodstained white shirt over his head. The fabric was stiff and reeked of sweat and iron. He scrubbed it against the rocks, watching the water turn a murky red-brown. It felt good to wash away the grime, even if the stains wouldn’t come out completely.

His black pants followed, and he worked in silence, the stream’s burbling a soothing backdrop. For a moment, he considered synthesizing soap but dismissed the idea.

His chemical mixture drew energy from him, so it would be best to avoid spamming it. Even absorbing felt like it took a bit of energy from him.

Once everything was rinsed, he wrung them out and draped them over a stick.

Finding stones with sharp edges, Zach struck them together until sparks caught the small pile of resin and fungal tinder he’d coughed up.

A modest fire crackled to life, and he sat by it, rotating his clothes over the heat. The damp fabric steamed, the moisture evaporating slowly. He watched it for a while, his thoughts blank.

When the clothes were dry enough to wear, he extinguished the fire, scattering the ashes with his boot.

The sun was past its peak now, and the road stretched ahead, promising another long hour of walking. He slipped on his boots and resumed walking

By the time the carriage stop came into view, Zach was sweating again. He kept to the edge of the trees, surveying the area. A cluster of carriages stood in neat rows, their drivers lounging near a wooden shelter. Dirt tracks crisscrossed the area, leading off in multiple directions. It was a busy hub, but one problem loomed large in his mind: he had no money.

Zach rubbed his temples, his eyes narrowing. *Okay. Think.*

A plan began to form, and he grimaced at the idea, but it was the only one that made sense.

Synthesizing a mild toxin from the common mushrooms and caterpillars he absorbed earlier directly in his body.

After a short while, he felt a faint burn creep through his veins. His body flushed, and his limbs trembled just enough to look convincingly ill.

*I'm so insane.*

He stumbled into the open, clutching his stomach. “Help!” he rasped, staggering toward the drivers. “Please... poisoned...”

The nearest driver caught him as he collapsed, his face a mask of concern. “What happened?”

“Poisoned,” Zach murmured, his voice weak. “Get me to the nearest hospital..."