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Peter barely had opened his eyes for a second when the System’s voice spoke in his head.
“Fuck…” Peter took a deep breath, remembering the previous night.
Following the System's suggestion, he used an emery board to scrap a few flakes from one of the monster cores looted two nights before into a cup of coffee the machine had prepared following the programmed timer. It accentuated the bitterness and tasted horrible. However, Peter was notified about getting an upgrade in Poison Resistance and felt dizzy.
"Stupid me for listening to you," Peter grumbled, letting himself fall on the bad, eyes closed to stop the ceiling from spinning.
“The police discovered my identity?”
“Is there such a thing?”
“I know all that,” Peter pointed.
"It’s common knowledge. They're called the Uncultivated or Wild Mages. They’re supposed to be unable to go past stage one.”
“Sorry?”
“Like the Qi-channels?” “OK… maybe we’ll talk more about it later. Let’s go to the girls' dorm to check on Regina and then hit the hill.” I should have asked for her phone… “Yeah, Mother, I’ll eat my veggies,” Peter sneered, yet relieved she was OK. “Woof!” “Oh, hi, little one,” Peter gasped, remembering the pup. “You want to come for a walk?” “Woof!” “Super. Just a second.” Peter dressed in sports gear and left his building, jogging slowly, then sprinting to check how his new physical performance felt. The pup followed, making rounds around him. Running felt amazing, a true euphoric sensation due to his physical stats finally fully kicking in. In the forest, Peter searched for a tree stump this time, with a better view. He enjoyed it for a while, then closed his eyes. Relaxing was great. Peter began to understand the difference between the techniques, or at least believed so. Cultivation, as far as he knew from the booklet—which he had read from curiosity—was about cycling and concentrating on developing the dantian until it solidified. But meditating was a struggle against the course of nature, a hard one, and those who advanced farthest looked down on their inferiors. Relaxation was just what the name said. Breathing in and out, the muscles softening. Allowing all the sensations around to enter his mind: the warg chased insects beyond the line of sight, the still cold air on one side contrasting with the places where the sun touched his skin, the wind in the leaves, and myriads of other small things. However, many thoughts and worries came to nag his mind as well. Half an hour later, Peter opened his eyes and stretched, intending to go in person and see if Regina was feeling OK and maybe take her out for a coffee or a cake if she needed to cheer up. Maybe by happenstance or reading his thoughts, the System interjected. “That’s good. She could use some emotional support.” “Great. We’ll hunt later tonight. I have to gear up first,” Peter said, taking his phone and making several calls. It took him about five minutes in all. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. “Sorry?” “Then why do you ask what I talked about?” The System replied with silence. “Aha! You wanted to trick me and find out. It’s all right. I didn’t cut you on purpose; it must have been my subconscious. I made two appointments. The first is with someone who sells hunting gear. I can’t risk fighting monsters only with those javelins. He also put me in touch with the Resistance. I’ll give an interview with the local branch in the evening.” “There are lots of Resistance movements. Many people are unhappy with the cultivators.” “Not so fast, buddy.” Peter wrinkled his nose. “All I want from the Resistance is protection.” “Very well,” Peter half-shrugged. “Bad people giving drugs for free to students means a Mafia of some kind. I stole from them and beat their guy. If they try hard enough, they’ll find us. The Resistance could help us hide or cross the border if it comes to that.” “It’s a just-in-case scenario, buddy.” The rest of the day passed in a blink, in Peter’s perspective, although he did many things. He walked the pup thrice and bought a proper leash and a fancy automatic feeding machine for when he was busy. Also, he bought a cat’s box with special sand because the System assured him the Awakened pet was smart enough to use it when necessary. After that, Peter tried to analyze the pink pill in the Alchemy lab when no one was there. He got no results. The gauges showed a large concentration of stabilized Mana mixed with unknown monster parts, but the purpose of the combination eluded him. After a big lunch in a McDonald's, hungry because he skipped breakfast, Peter did a second session of Relaxation because he liked it, then a lot of physical exercises in the sports facilities, including throwing javelins, running, and weight lifting. When evening came, Peter looked at the notice displayed by his Spatial Storage, making a short mental list of the loot. He had a lot of Dire Wolf meat, seventy-two claws, sixteen canines, and four pelts. Those from the Boss were marked accordingly. Ten minutes later, wearing a hoodie and riding his bicycle, he exited the Campus and went first toward the town's outskirts, then to Lebanon, the next town southeast. Half an hour later, he stopped at a bikers' bar. The sign read: The Black Market. “With this name, no one would suspect it’s the real deal. Smart, right?” Peter said. You worry too much. Awkwardly parking his bike among the huge cruisers painted with skulls—and dutifully chaining it to a fence—Peter attracted a roar of laughs from the few bikers who drank their beers outside. "Hey, kid, you're lost? They don't serve lemonade here," one shouted after Peter. "Let the kid be. He must be a new hire," a lady with more tattoos than a parlor scolded her friend. Peter made his way to the back entrance and entered the kitchen. It was filthy and stank of rancid oil that had been changed less often than a truck's. A man was cutting large pieces of meat with a cleaver on a gigantic stainless steel working table. Short but broad-shouldered, dressed only in a sleeveless shirt, with a bodybuilder’s frame. "Hi, Daniel," Peter said. “Hey, Peter. Where’s the stuff? I expected you’d rent a truck or something,” the man replied. “I obtained a Spatial Storage.” “Cool… That will come in handy.” “Right,” Petter nodded. The System was gargling alarmed messages he ignored. Using his gigantic cleaver, the cook pushed the meat he had cut on a plate, putting it aside. "Show me." Peter extracted the Dire Wolves' meat and the other loot and put everything on the table. It only fit on it because the backpack had rolled the furs neatly and packed the bones together. The cook's eyes shone, and the man rubbed his hands with satisfaction. "Three grand for the claws, five for the fangs, seven grand for the pelts," the cook said, extinguishing his cigarette butt on the side of the table. “Meat goes in the freezer, and I will pay you half of what it sells for.” Shut up! The System recommenced his complaints, but Peter shook his head, chasing away the AI’s pleas. “What about the bones?” Peter asked. “You can make tons of medicinal soup preserves.” "Fine, twenty grand for everything," the cook sneered. “It’ll pay for the stuff you ordered. Come." Following the cook into the cold room, Peter discovered it was not cold at all. Some sickly greenish old meat was lying around, but on most shelves were guns and all sorts of gear that didn't belong in a restaurant. "Mutated boar hide," the cook said, showing Peter a leather biker's jacket, pants, and gloves. "Ballistic, cartel issue," he followed with something that looked like a futuristic biker helmet but, obviously, was not. "Surveillance drone. And the piece de resistance,” the man pointed toward a gun, a holster, and a magazine. “Don’t you have a revolver?” Peter asked. “A sawed-off shotgun would work too.> “This is better. A one-of-a-kind gun.” “I dunno, man,” Peter scratched the nape of his head. “I want something reliable.” “Hear me out first,” Daniel insisted. “This is a forty-five caliber Alien, Czech-made. They do nine millimeters, but this was probably a custom job. It was forgotten in a suitcase at an airport during the Awakening, and a friend in the lost object department stole it. It’s worth ten, maybe fifteen grand at today's prices.” Peter whistled longingly. It was almost three times his current savings. Meanwhile, the cook continued. “That friend sat on it for a year, but he owed me money and—” “I get the picture,” Peter nodded. “But why are you giving it to me?” “You told me you became a Wild Mage and want to hunt monsters for a living, correct?” “Yeah.” I trust Daniel, and revealing a FAKE power covers the true ones. Shut up already! “Then consider it an investment. There are not many people who can afford this gun, and even fewer who hunt monsters. I give you the gun for cheap if you promise to sell everything you hunt through me,” the cook frowned at Peter. “Everything I won’t use for my Alchemy side-projects,” Peter nodded. “Do we have a deal?” Daniel forwarded his hand. “Yep,” Peter shook it. “Great. The gun is yours. Fifteen tungsten silver-coated bullets, perfect for hunting monsters. I ordered fifty more for next week. It’s twenty bucks a piece, by the way." "I guess I’d better go hunting as soon as possible," Peter said, taking the gun and inserting the magazine. The lateral slide racked itself back and forth as soon as he did that, chambering a round. Hmm… automatic features…. And that little thing over the trigger must be the safety… moves with the firing motion… Neat… Weighing it, the gun felt light and very handy for its size. "Keys for the bike," the cook continued, throwing the item on top of the pile. "It's the Yamaha sport. See yourself out. I have food to prepare." The young man left the kitchen, putting on the helmet and the jacket after fixing the gun's holster under his left arm and storing the leather pants and the gloves. The bikers that had made fun of him had left or entered the bar, and no one was outside. Peter profited and put his bicycle in the backpack, taking the only black Yamaha sitting around. It was not a new one but was sturdy. The problem was that he had little motorcycle experience, and his top speed was about fifteen miles per hour. "Biking like bicycles. More precisely, mountain bikes. Don’t worry, I’ll learn,” Peter said, accelerating. “A motorcycle is the best vehicle to move between hunting reservations.” “I’ll tell you later, we’re here.”