“I hate trees,” Harrow said, spitting out a mouthful of water. He wiggled his limbs, shaking off droplets of water that clung to his body as he emerged. “And ants, and beetles, and those cursed bees.”

At least his thirst was sated. The torn clothes clung to his body—wet, heavy, and uncomfortable. Good thing he hadn’t suffered any new injuries from the dive. The water had rinsed most of the sticky nectar that had smeared his hands and body. Still, he’d swum long enough, scrubbing at his skin to remove all trace of it.

The intoxicating smell had mostly washed away, though a trace of riveting aroma still wafted from him. The lingering scent was more like a strong perfume. Hopefully, it wouldn’t attract more unwanted bugs.

The stings still ached, with patches of angry red spots, but they weren’t as fatal as he had feared. He felt under the weather and quite lethargic. The progress in his core certainly helped with that. It might be crude maths, but he was easily twice stronger than he had ever been.

Spotting a large, sun-warmed boulder on the riverbank, Harrow flopped down onto it, groaning as the hard surface pressed against his tired body. There were plenty of much smaller rocks scattered across the landscape. Towering trees loomed in the background, their branches swaying gently under the ominous sky. He rested, lifting his left arm into the air to shield his eyes from the sun’s direct light.

The steamy breeze curled around his wet clothes like a gentle caress. After a moment’s thought, he pulled off his wet clothes and laid them out to dry.

Harrow hadn’t meditated in what felt like an eternity. Now, more than ever, he felt a need for calm, and only meditation could provide that. The space felt safe enough to try for a few minutes, but it was hard to clear his mind while he was still in pain. So he settled down for some rest and breathing exercises.

His eyes wavered from time to time, while his stomach twisted in hunger. What I wouldn’t do for a loaf of bread. Maybe some anaesthetics too.

This should be a good time to bind the relic, he thought. The only reason he hadn’t tried it the moment he learned it was a relic was because of the history related to it. Duskripper was something his father had left for him.

Harrow didn’t know the man enough to love or hate him, but the practical thought would be to bind the knife. Relics were, after all, beyond rare. On top of that, if he bound it, he wouldn’t have to fear losing it.

He considered losing it in the stream… and felt binding would be the right option.

Harrow had barely come to a decision when a loud croaking noise broke his train of thought.

His mind snapped to attention, and he spun to find a large, fat, frog-like creature leaping out from the gnarled shrubs. With a few more leaps, it came straight towards him, ribbiting as it moved.

He groaned and leapt to his feet, naked as the day he was born.

The rotund red frog was nearly as tall as his waist, its skin greasy, reflecting the reddish glow of the sun. What worried Harrow more was when it opened its mouth wide to flick its long tongue in his direction. He lurched to his side, and thankfully, its lengthy tongue was unable to reach his skin. But its spit did.

Most of the spit fell on the stone, but some grazed his arm. A sharp, burning sensation flared where it had touched him, as dark, wrinkly patches formed on his skin. Even the stone degraded a bit, white smoke rising from it.

“Tor’s balls!”

Harrow didn’t check his swelling skin. Clutching the relic, he darted behind the large boulder to shield himself.

The frog was huge, but it could certainly leap. Its tongue had an alarmingly long range. All he could do to avoid its advances was play a dangerous game of tag with it, ducking and running in a circle around the large boulder.

He was merely trying to buy time at first, but soon he found the acid spit was growing slower and slower, while the ribbiting grew dire.

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He didn’t know how its acid was formed, but this suggested there was a limit to its production. Capitalising on that fact, Harrow lunged at the frog from behind, Duskripper pinning into its neck.

The creature struggled as he began ripping the knife downwards, twisting in its path. It leapt, taking him along with it. Harrow didn’t let it shove him aside. Only a few seconds more and he would be able to—

[Claiming Sacrifice!]

[Essence Plundered.]

[You have slain an unformed creature: Kerkhastic Frog.]

The frog’s corpse vanished into thick mist and a burst of light, dissipating into the air just like the other creatures had.

“You’re not half bad,” he muttered, looking at the bloody knife.

[Kerkhastic Frog’s acid gland plundered.]

[Hint: Alchemy material.]

The gland was large enough to be a fistful—not that he took it in his hands after reading what it was. It was soiled, with slimy liquid oozing off it.

“Now what do I do with it?”

First, Harrow slipped into his trousers, surveying his surroundings. He found no more frogs or any other creatures nearby.

Collecting a few fallen leaves from the nearby trees, he rolled the leaves around the gland before tearing his cloth to make a cord out of it. Binding the leaf-wrapped gland, he stowed it away in his pocket.

The stinging from the acid burn dulled, but his skin felt oddly numb instead of its usual awareness.

“Monster plants, giant bugs, acid frogs. What else am I going to encounter next?”

Finally, he turned his attention to the onyx relic. Duskripper.

To bind it, or not?

The process was irreversible as far as he knew, so there was no undoing it. The choice was troublesome because if he bound Duskripper now, he wouldn’t be able to bind another for a long time. There were some stipulations--a soul restriction too perhaps--that didn't let an awakened bind more than one relic unless their soul was strong enough.

I’ll consider my survival first, before thinking about ascending.

With the decision made, Harrow wasted no time cutting his palm, concentrating his willpower on connecting with the weapon.

[Would you like to bind Duskripper to yourself: Y | N?]

The voice of order came sooner than he had hoped. Harrow faltered for a moment before accepting it.

Heat rose from his blood and the obsidian relic, as warm air swirled around him in a flood. A sudden thrust crashed him onto the ground, face down, utterly powerless against the working force.

The obsidian dagger remained in his palm until smoke wafted out of it. Misty light ignited, and it dissolved much like the creatures he had slain. Unlike the dead creatures, the misty light drove straight into his chest. His awareness expanded.

It took a moment or two for him to return to lucidity, and when he did, he could feel the weapon within him. It was an organ, much like a limb.

A stray thought of summoning it occurred to him, and it appeared in his palm, materialising in shimmering mist.

Harrow whistled.

He dismissed it and re-summoned it repeatedly, becoming familiar with the motion. Satisfied with shuffling between summoning and dismissing, he left it in his palm, thinking about the dangers this wilderness posed.

Now if only I can find something to fill my stomach.

Harrow hurried beside the banks before trudging through a dense undergrowth. He spotted giant ants crawling up in the trees. Briefly, he considered killing a few more, maybe grinding for some more growth. Giant ants weren’t much of a threat, not without a swarming colony.

He did kill a few, but he even barely felt the harvested essence. All the running and fighting had left him famished. Oddly enough, the awakening seemed to intensify the hunger rather than alleviate it. The search continued.

Harrow found the remains of the rose hunter before anything edible. Its body was completely gone, but the entrancing smell remained.

A dozen bugs still lingered, their movements sluggish from intoxication. The nectar oozing from his body had all but dried up, so none targeted him. He dispatched a few insectoids until the rest scattered into the trees, barely feeling any change in his core.

It seemed he needed to face more dangerous creatures to speed up the process. Is that what the trial wants from me?

On that note, a creature’s rank didn’t always reflect the true threat it posed. An unformed dear will always be prey to an unformed wolf.

It’s their nature that matters, he guessed.

Harrow returned to the path along the stream—the opposite direction this time. It was more open than the wilderness and offered a clear view of anything that might assault him. Not to mention the easy source of water.

Soon enough, he stumbled upon another large red frog. Only this one was already locked in a fierce battle with a badger.

Taking shelter behind a nearby tree, he peered at their fight. The Ironclaw Badger was small—barely half the size of the frog—and seemed weaker too, and yet it was actually winning. Ignoring the searing burns from the frog’s acidic venom, the badger attacked with savage ferocity, raking its claws across the amphibian’s face.

They fought with everything they had, completely oblivious to the fact that someone was watching from the shadows.

Finally, some fortune on my path.