The rain finally broke, and with it, the tribe’s hunger sharpened to a gleam, their movements charged with the excitement of a fresh hunt. The days spent gnawing on leathery dried fruits and fibrous root vegetables were done, at least for now, and anticipation thrummed through our cave. Men were testing the sharpness of their spears, their voices low but buzzing with energy, while women prepared baskets and ropes, faces bright with the prospect of real food.
But I had a different hunger to sate.
While the others busied themselves with hunting tools and hopeful conversations, I slipped away quietly, my backpack slung across my shoulder. I could feel the press of eyes, suspicious of my solitude, but I didn’t break pace until I was out of sight and heading for the river.
The rain had swelled the riverbanks, and the soil was soft and muddy beneath my feet. The scents of wet earth and pine filled the air, punctuated by something sour that always seemed to linger downstream. Downstream, where the tribe pisses and shits without a thought. I grimaced, keeping my strides firm in the opposite direction. It was a small effort to take, a step upstream to find purity, free from the waste that collected where no one cared to look. I already know too much, I thought with a wry grin. Why do they do that? Because it’s less work. Out of sight, out of mind.
When I found a secluded bend, hidden behind a cluster of thick pine trees, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure I was alone. Satisfied, I approached the edge of the shallow river and crouched, feeling the cool rush of water lapping at my fingers. I let out a long, slow breath, focusing on the pulse of mana within me. Time to put it to work.
I let my aura ripple out, then etched two sigils with my intent on my aura with mana and started feeding mana into the two sigils: one to detect and the other to gather. My aura surged in response, tendrils of energy flowing outward, spreading across the rocky riverbed. I pushed myself harder than I ever had before, pouring every ounce of focus into the advanced spell. A thrill danced along my spine as flecks of gold dust and small nuggets began to pull free from the silt, and stones inching toward my open hand.
Bit by bit, the flecks accumulated, tiny fragments that looked insignificant on their own, but together, they began to form a small mound in my palm. The energy pulsed around my fingers, and I felt a surge of triumph, intoxicating and fierce. Slowly, I compressed the fragments, squeezing them together with my aura, condensing them into a single big nugget of gold that gleamed with a rich, warm light.
Then the pain struck—sharp as a spear and twice as deep.
image [https://preview.redd.it/chapter-09-the-price-of-progress-is-out-v0-tp3sxulp1eyd1.jpeg?auto=webp&s=d706ae2b78a3f8de9076b49e1ad34b3ab4b4789c]
My chest tightened, my breath catching as my heart seemed to seize, the strain of pushing my aura to its limits clamping down like a vice. I gasped, one knee buckling as I fought to stay upright as my heart burned. My body paying for the recklessness of my spell.
The spell had demanded more mana than I could give, and my aura is unignited it couldn't protect me from the spell, it was directly carving itself into my hart taking its mana and pushing out into the world to create its effect of gold collection, leaving my hart and aura strained and raw.
Each beat now carrying the ache of overexertion, raw and searing. This is the price, I reminded myself, gritting my teeth through the pain, the cost of reckless magic. This is why I must ignite my aura, and soon. I can’t keep chaining my power to these limits, not if I want to survive what’s coming.
I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to keep still, to wait until the pain began to fade. Every ounce of gold, every spark of mana had come at a price. But I would pay it. I had to.
Gold, silver, iron—they weren’t just metals here; they were survival. Each had a purpose, a function. Gold to stabilize my aura, its conductive properties smoothing the flow of mana, grounding my spells so they would endure. Without it, even my most powerful spell would crumble, fleeting as a spark in the dark. Silver was another necessity, a shield against hostile auras and lurking threats. A rare metal, yes, but essential if I wanted any real protection. And iron—that would be my anchor. The element that would keep my aura from scattering, binding it in place, and, with enough of it, allowing me to lay down wards strong enough to last through the night.
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But gathering them is like herding fireflies in a storm. Gold erodes with each spell, silver is scarce, and iron… iron, I would need a small fortune of it to create anything lasting. But the need was there, sharp and relentless.
The mana I have now can barely cover the cost of these searches. But if I’m going to get stronger, to rise beyond these limits, I have to use every bit of it. Gold, silver, iron. It’s a slow path forward, but I’ll forge my strength out of every last drop of mana and every ounce of these metals. This is the only way.
As I waited for the pain to fade, I couldn’t help but remember the words on that ridiculous reincarnation scroll, something grandfather must’ve thought was funny. “Get Isekai’d.” Hah. "More like get fucked". I just hope somewhere out there, my father is facing his own “personal hell,” served with a side of Stone Age misery, same as mine.
I shook my head, the bitterness leaving a faint smile on my lips. The sad reality? This tribe has no history of advanced magic. None. Nada. I’ll need to re-freaking-invent everything from scratch. Every spell, every technique, every tool, every single layer of structure I took for granted is gone.
At least I had the foresight to absorb those skill crystals before I was reborn. But even with that knowledge, I’m without a foundation, without civilized infrastructure, no archives or crystal libraries to sift through for answers. Just me, myself, and a lot of wild mana.
Still, I’ll give this new world one small win: at least there are no witch-cults.
The ache in my heart had finally faded to a dull throb, manageable enough to ignore. I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension drain from my body. Good. If I was going to hunt, I couldn’t afford distractions.
This time I am testing a different approach to my Druidic Hunt.
Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out the hunting sigils I’d prepared earlier. Each one was etched carefully into small, flat stones, their surfaces smooth from hours of shaping and carving. They pulsed faintly with the energy I’d stored, already charged and ready. With a practiced flick of my fingers, I activated the first one—a faint green glow lit up the sigil’s grooves before disappearing as the energy dispersed, seeping out into the forest.
The air seemed to change around me, the subtle hum of magic stretching outward like a web, attuning itself to the forest’s rhythm. I stepped cautiously into the tree line, crossing into the safe parts of the forest. Safe, but only by the narrowest margin. Even the birdsong here felt muted, as if nature itself respected whatever unseen rules governed this space.
Each step was measured, my senses heightened. The smell of damp earth, the soft rustling of leaves overhead, the way the light filtered through the dense canopy in shifting patches—it all felt alive, responsive. And I could feel the sigils at work, subtle as they were, attuned to the presence of life around me.
I crouched low, resting my hand against the mossy ground, and whispered, “Reveal.” The word was more an intention than a command, a trigger for the sigils. They flared briefly, sending pulses through the ground, spreading like ripples in a pond. The response was immediate—faint, but there. Tiny vibrations, moving patterns, warm spots amidst the chill of early morning dew. The sigils picked up on the faintest traces of aura, directing me like a guide in the undergrowth.
As I advanced, the forest seemed to close in tighter around me. Every snapped twig, every rustle of leaves put me on edge. This wasn’t just a hunt—it was a test, a way to push my limits, to see just how far I could go without breaking. I could feel the weight of each breath in my chest, the stillness in the air wrapping around me like a second skin. And beneath it all, a thrill—a hunger that went beyond food.
Suddenly, there it was: the flicker of movement ahead. I stilled, lowering myself further, keeping my breath even. A rabbit—a large one, nibbling at the base of a shrub, oblivious to my presence.
With a quiet focus, I activated the second sigil, one specifically crafted for hypnosis. It glowed faintly as my aura extended toward the creature, wrapping around it like invisible tendrils. The rabbit paused mid-bite, its gaze fixed on a spot just beyond where I crouched, its mind trapped in a trance.
Just a little closer. I moved with deliberate care, each footfall light against the damp earth, avoiding every leaf and twig that could betray me. The rabbit remained in its trance, its eyes glassy, the sigil’s influence weaving through its thoughts, holding it in place.
I drew my stone knife and in a quick, fluid motion, I ended it. The forest fell back into silence, the tension snapping like a taut cord released. Blood pooled on the ground, soaking into the dirt as I quickly bound the rabbit’s feet and slipped it into my pack. One down.
The thrill of the hunt was settling into something deeper, more satisfying. The aura, the sigils, the spellwork—it all flowed together, a seamless blend of intent and action. But I knew I couldn’t push myself too far, not after the strain of earlier. Even with the sigils to ease the effort, the Druidic Hunt was a game of endurance.
And I still don't know the rules of this forest especially the deeper parts, maybe I can get the hunters to speak up about it.
Time for me to go home.
As I walked towards home I saw IT, yeah there is something with an evil dark aura in the distance, its slooowly scuttling like cockroach on the cave outer wall moving towards the entrance.