I’d read about these things in one of the monster encyclopedias from my sister’s collection. The book was massive, the kind you’d avoid unless absolutely necessary. At first, I was too lazy to even open it. But after skimming a few pages, I got hooked. Books in this world often had magic embedded in them, which made them far more interesting than the ones back on Earth.

For instance, if you turned to a section about slimes, not only would it describe their characteristics and weaknesses, but it would also replicate the sound they made. Yes, the book itself would let you hear it, like an audio guide for monster hunters. That magic made reading almost addictive. I devoured the contents of that encyclopedia, learning about slimes, goblins, trolls, griffins, minotaurs, krakens, and countless other creatures.

And now, here I was—face to face with a Giant Spider.

Thanks to the book, I already knew what I was dealing with: eight legs, six soulless eyes, and venomous fangs capable of paralysis or slow death. Oh, and the silk. That sticky, annoying webbing they produced could trap you before you even realized what was happening.

But it wasn’t all bad news. The book also detailed their weaknesses: their soft underbelly, their vulnerable eyes, or the exposed joints in their legs.

The only thing I was worried about now was how to escape. I had nothing but a wooden sword, and I was already nearing my limit for magic chanting. Just earlier, I’d discovered how pathetically low my mana capacity was—daunting, to say the least. If I managed to get out of this alive, I’d definitely be working on fixing that. Why did I overuse my chants earlier? Because I wasn’t used to magic yet? No, because I'm being an idiot. Clearly, it was going to take time.

For now, though, this was a mind game between me and the spider. It didn’t move an inch, just stared at me with those soulless eyes. I couldn’t help but wish it wasn’t hungry. Or, better yet, that I looked less appetizing.

Then, out of nowhere, it spat a venomous green liquid at me.

I barely dodged it in time. The sound of it sizzling on the ground where I’d just been standing. “I’m just a five-year-old, please let me go,” I joked, though my heart was pounding in my chest.

But joking wasn’t going to save me. My goal wasn’t to kill it—I was at a clear disadvantage. I needed to escape.

This felt like the pressure of a looming deadline, except it was far more terrifying.

Wait.

If I could cast one more fire spell, I might be able to scare it off like I did with the slimes. Spiders hated fire, didn’t they? At least, I hoped they did. There wasn’t anything in the books to back me up—it was just wishful thinking.

Before I could put my plan into action, the spider lunged at me, its venomous fangs aimed to kill. If this plan failed, I’d be as good as dead.

Swishssh!

If you’re expecting me to say I dodged it, nope. I faced it head-on. My wooden practice sword, as it turned out, wasn’t as ordinary as I’d thought. The thing was made of the hardest wood I’d ever seen. But then I found myself in a tight spot. Facing it head-on didn’t seem like a good idea—it became even more terrifying the closer it got.

Facing it head-on with this tiny body of mine was a mistake—especially when green venom was visibly dripping from its fangs. That was the moment I realized my advantage.

My size.

I was small. Small enough to slide under its massive body and strike at its weak spot: its underbelly. Of course, this was a risky plan. If I mistimed it, I’d end up flattened like a pancake. But optimism was my only option.

I can do this. No, I can't.

Yes... Yes I can.

It just needed to take the bait.

“Come on,” I said, taunting it. My voice seemed to make it angrier, and I gripped the sword tighter. My plan was simple: chant one last spell to blind it, then use the opportunity to strike. But then I hesitated. This time, I could actually get killed, and this wasn’t like dealing with those harmless slimes.

Its rage was visible now. The spider pushed against me harder than before, and I could feel the strain in every muscle of my tiny body. I wasn’t going to hold out much longer.

But instead of panicking like earlier, I smiled. Yeah, in that insane moment, I somehow managed a grin.

“Flame arise, bright and small,

Hear my will, heed my call.”

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Swishhh!

The fire spell cast quickly, exactly as I needed. I dropped the torch as the flame burst forward, momentarily blinding the spider. It flinched, its movements erratic, and that was my chance.

In one swift motion, I slid under its massive body, gripping my wooden sword tightly. It wasn’t fancy—it didn’t need to be. With all the strength I could muster, I slashed at its vulnerable underbelly.

The spider screeched, its body thrashing. I scrambled out from underneath as its fluids leaked onto the fire I’d set, igniting it further. Within moments, the creature was engulfed in flames.

And then it was over.

“That was....amazing,” I muttered between deep breaths, staring at the smoldering remains.

I realized how weak I really was after leaving the cave. I’d just gotten lucky that time. My mana capacity was pathetic—barely enough to scrape by. If I had greater reserves, I could’ve chanted spells and gotten out of that situation much easier. Still, I was grateful I’d learned swordsmanship and that little mana that I had—it really saved my life.

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I got home quickly, doing my best not to raise any suspicion. If they checked up on me to see if I was really playing with the other kids as I claimed, I’d be in trouble.

“Why are you panting so much, Vonn?” Mother asked, her hands full of dried clothes as she gathered them from the line outside.

“Hello, Mother. I outran them,” I said casually, tossing out another lie.

Not proud of it, but it felt necessary.

“You really… well, help me with these,” she said, pointing at the remaining clothes. “Bring them inside.”

“Alright, Mother,” I replied, thankful she didn’t press further.

I was still catching my breath—not just from running to get back quickly, but from that encounter with the giant spider.

After defeating the spider—which, thankfully, was easier to outsmart than I expected—I’d received a system notification:

[You earned XP.]

[Earned a new trait: Survivor Instinct]

Benefit: The system will notify you if there’s any dangers lurking near you.

The reward was substantial as I also got a new trait. My updated XP bar now looked like this:

Current XP: 25/100

It seemed the XP I earned depended on the type or level of the monster I faced. The stronger or rarer the creature, the higher the reward.

I’d also unlocked a new skill—or rather, an upgraded one. It seemed odd how quickly I learned new skills. Maybe it wasn’t normal, but it felt like I had some unique ability that accelerated my growth.

Painter’s Eye: 2nd Stage.

This was the enhanced version of my first skill. Unlike the basic version, this one seemed far more practical for combat. According to the description, it allowed me to identify weak points on opponents—spots where I could aim my magic or sword for maximum effect.

I hadn’t tested it out yet, but I planned to. Tomorrow.

“Hey, Father, need help?” I called as I spotted him feeding the donkey.

He waved me off. “No, just help your mother. I’ll be inside later,” he replied.

“I don’t know what’s going on with that donkey,” Mother said with a worried tone. “It’s been so picky with food lately. Your father’s tried giving it a variety, but it doesn’t eat like it used to.”

“Maybe it’s sick,” I said, glancing at the donkey.

“Probably. That’s what your father thinks too,” she replied.

As we stepped inside the house, it was getting dark. I noticed Brandt was nowhere to be seen. For a second, I jokingly thought he might’ve run off.

“Where’s Uncle?” I asked.

“He’s probably on his way home. He mentioned visiting a friend in the capital,” Mother said, placing the freshly folded clothes inside the storage cabinet.

After a while, Father came inside, looking downcast. It was probably because the donkey still wasn’t eating. I wasn’t a professional or anything, but maybe the donkey needed some high-quality meat. Kidding, of course. I forced myself not to suggest it—I wasn’t looking to get grounded.

“That donkey just won’t eat,” he said with a sigh, sounding thoroughly defeated.

He looked so disappointed, I figured I should try to lighten the mood.

“Maybe setting him free for a while is a good idea,” I said, making sure my tone sounded anything but serious.

Father’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Setting him free? Like giving him freedom?”

Mother, thankfully, got the joke and started laughing. “No, Father. I’m just trying to make you laugh,” I said quickly.

He cracked a small smile. “Haa. Well, that’s a terrible idea too, son. If I let him wander off, it’d be like saying goodbye to a bag of coins.”

That earned even more laughter from Mother, and for a moment, the negative energy eased.

Creak.

Enter Brandt, looking as if the weight of the world had personally sat on his shoulders.

“What a tiring day,” he said, dropping himself into a chair with the grace of a falling sack of flour.

“How was your visit?” Father asked.

“Fine. Just a few drinks, we talk and talk, it's..” Brandt replied, he sounded drunk.

A few drinks? He sounded so drunk I half expected him to fall asleep mid-sentence.

We were about to have dinner, but Brandt waved it off, claiming he’d eaten earlier. Instead, he suggested he’d sit and "entertain us with stories." By the way he slurred the word stories, I could already tell this was going to be good.

"Is Brandt okay?" Mother asked, her voice laced with concern.

"He’s always been dramatic after a few drinks," Father replied, waving it off. "But he means well."

"You ever notice," he began, gesturing wildly as though trying to swat invisible flies, "how chickens… they don’t wear pants? Like, not ever. Not even in winter. Makes you think, doesn’t it?"

I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. That was his opening line? My father blinked at him, clearly as baffled as I was.

“About what?” Father asked, his confusion tempered by a growing smile.

“Exactly!” Brandt exclaimed triumphantly. “That’s the thing! What’s the kingdom hiding? I asked an officer about it once—nearly got arrested. Said I was ‘disrupting the peace.’” He accompanied this with air quotes so violent, I was afraid for his fingers.

Mother, who had been politely silent until now, burst out laughing. Honestly, it was contagious. Brandt’s nonsense was like a bad sitcom—you didn’t want to laugh, but you just couldn’t help it.

Before Father could comment, Brandt launched into another story, seamlessly abandoning the first one like it never existed.

“And let me tell you about the time I wrestled a goose,” he said, leaning forward as if sharing a great secret. “No, wait—two geese. Twins. Identical. Mean as hell. They got me in a headlock—geese can do that, by the way. Did you know that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Anyway, I escaped by singing an anthem backward. Geese hate patriotism. Geese weren’t the only things we fought there, let me tell you. Never trust silence.”

I nearly choked on my drink. Even Father couldn’t hold it in anymore, his booming laugh filling the room.

“Are you okay?” Father asked, wiping tears from his eyes.

Brandt waved him off like the question was beneath him. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got the reflexes of a mongoose. Saved a kitten from a burning building once. Except, turns out, it wasn’t a kitten—it was a hat. But still, the empire gave me a medal. Well, not a medal. It was more of a firm handshake. You get the idea.”

“Mother, I’m done,” I said, pushing my plate away as I clutched my stomach, trying to contain the laughter that was practically tearing me apart.

As I stood up to leave, Brandt leaned back in his chair, clearly not done with his monologue.

“And the point is,” he concluded solemnly, like this had all been leading to a grand revelation, “chickens don’t wear pants. And that’s how I ended up here.”

As I sat in my room, painting in the quiet, I could hear him again. Brandt was telling stories before bed, though this time his voice was softer, almost subdued. It took a while for my parents to calm him down.

Oddly enough, his restless chatter inspired me. I decided to paint a drunk man on my canvas—slumped, rambling, yet somehow full of unspoken depth.

But then, just before he finally drifted off, he said something that caught my attention. It wasn’t nonsense or drunken rambling—it sounded more like a warning.

“They are coming. I need to save everyone. I need to go back to the empire—let's get..sleep,” he said.

I heard it clearly, even from my room.

I didn’t know why he said it, but it made me wonder. Something was definitely bothering him.