Elara turned away from the basket, her taste buds sated by the hearty meal. She glanced over at Ignatius and Tirn, who were huddled together in a corner of the barn. Ignatius was gesturing animatedly, his voice rising and falling as he instructed Tirn on how to cut into the piece of flesh they had brought back. Tirn nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration as he followed Ignatius's guidance. He held a small, sharp knife in his hand, carefully slicing away at the meat to remove as much of it from the white crystal as possible.

Her stomach turned at the sight of the bloody mess, and she quickly averted her gaze. She had no desire to watch Tirn work, especially not so soon after eating. Instead, she took a moment to assess her own progress. With a thought, she brought up her status screen. The translucent display shimmered into view, hovering in the air before her. She scanned the information, taking note of her current level and unspent stat points.

Name: Elara Brightwood

Class 1: Voidstalker – lvl 36

Class 2: None

Status:

Unspent stat points: 5

Strength: 28

Vitality 28

Dexterity 37

Intelligence 60

Wisdom 68

Luck 1

Health: 280/280

Stamina: 158/158

Mana: 340/340

She took in the numbers. She had come a long way since her first days in this strange world, and her stats reflected that growth. Her thoughts drifted to the stat points she had earned by besting the two griffins. With a total of 110 points at her disposal, she had carefully deliberated on how to distribute them to optimize her abilities. She chose to invest heavily in wisdom and intelligence, recognizing their potential to expand her mana pool and enhance the strength of her magic. Her primary long-range attack, Void Bolt, has benefited immensely from this boost. Moreover, heightened intelligence promised accelerated experience gain, a strategic advantage she foresaw as invaluable in her future.

Following the prioritization of wisdom and intelligence, she turned her focus to dexterity. The memory of her successful climb atop the Griffin reinforced the importance of this attribute. Increased speed and reflexes would prove invaluable in both close combat and evasion of attacks. As she pondered her decisions, a pang of regret seeped into her thoughts. Vitality and strength remained her weakest attributes, and she couldn't shake the memory of her inadequacy strength during the Griffin encounter that cost Boogie his life. The pain of that moment lingered, burdening her heart with sorrow. She knew she needed to address this shortfall.

Elara studied her status screen, her eyes lingering on the five unspent stat points. She knew she wanted to increase her stamina to 160, allowing her to use voidwalk eight times in succession. The question was, should she allocate the points to vitality or dexterity? She considered her role in the upcoming dungeon expedition. The team had made it clear that she would not be participating in combat. With that in mind, investing in dexterity seemed like the logical choice. It would enhance her ability to dodge attacks and keep pace with her companions. Yet Esme's words about the importance of vitality echoed in her mind. The story of her own brush with poison, and how her vitality had allowed her to endure its effects, gave her pause. In a dungeon where supposedly hidden dangers lurked around every corner, the ability to withstand toxins and other debilitating effects could mean the difference between life and death.

Elara's brow furrowed as she weighed her options. On one hand, dexterity would make her more agile and responsive in the face of danger. On the other, vitality would grant her greater resilience and staying power.

She glanced over at Ignatius and Tirn, who were still busy. The older men had a wealth of experience, and she knew she would have valuable insights on the matter. "Guys," she called out, her voice tentative. "I could use your advice on something."

Tirn and Ignatius looked up from their work, eyes meeting her. "What's on your mind?" Ignatius spoke.

Elara explained her dilemma, outlining the benefits of both dexterity and vitality. "I'm not sure which one to prioritize," she admitted. "What do you think?"

Ignatius considered the question for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "Well, it depends on what you want to achieve," he said at last. "Dexterity will make you harder to hit, but vitality will help you survive if you do get hit. Personally, I would go for dexterity. Better be prepared to dodge than to take the hit."

Elara nodded, mulling over his words. She knew there was no straightforward answer, no clear-cut path to follow. In the end, it would come down to her own judgment. She pondered the advice Ignatius had given her, weighing the merits of investing in dexterity versus vitality. She imagined herself face to face with a level 80 enemy, their attacks swift and devastating. Would an extra two or three points in dexterity really make a difference in such a scenario? She doubted it. Thus far, her ability to evade attacks from stronger foes had hinged on her voidwalk skill, allowing her to teleport out of harm's way.

Yet, she couldn't deny the benefits of increased dexterity. Her recent experiences had shown her that even a slight boost in reaction time could mean the difference between life and death. The memory of dodging the Griffin's dive attack by a hair's breadth was still fresh in her mind. On the other hand, she had already taken a few hits during her adventures. The pain of those blows lingered, a stark reminder of her own vulnerability. She knew that in the heat of battle, even the most agile fighter could be caught off guard. In those moments, it was vitality that would determine whether she survived or perished.

Her mind raced with countless "what if" scenarios, each more daunting than the last. What if she encountered a trap that sapped her strength? What if she was struck by a poisoned blade? What if she found herself in a prolonged battle, her stamina pushed to its limits? In the end, she made her decision. She would allocate two points to vitality and three to dexterity. It was a compromise, a way to balance her need for survivability with her desire for increased agility. She knew it wasn't a perfect solution, but it was the best she could do with the resources at her disposal.

With a deep breath, she confirmed her choice on the status screen. The numbers shifted, reflecting her new stats. She glanced down at her status screen one last time, her eyes lingering on the strength stat. She made a silent vow to herself that the next time she had stat points to allocate, she would invest some of them in strength.

Just then, Esme walked back into the barn, her armor noticeably absent. Elara looked up and greeted her with a nod. "Welcome back."

Esme smiled, stretching her arms above her head. "The blacksmith kept my armor. There were a few kinks that needed fixing. Should be good as new by tomorrow morning."

As Esme spoke, her gaze drifted to where Tirn and Ignatius were working. Curious about what had their attention, she walked over and peered at the bloody mess on the table. "What are you two up to?"

Ignatius glanced up, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I plan on trying my magic on the crystal. Care to join?"

Esme's grin widened. "Absolutely." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped bundle. Carefully, she unwrapped it to reveal another piece of crystal surrounded by flesh, similar to the one Tirn and Ignatius were working on.

Elara watched as the three of them huddled together, their voices low as they discussed their plans. After a few moments, Ignatius looked up, his expression serious. "We should probably do this outside. I don't want to risk setting the barn on fire."

Esme nodded in agreement. "Good call."

With that, the three of them gathered up their materials and headed for the door. Elara hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should follow. But curiosity got the better of her, and she found herself trailing after them. They made their way to the spot where they had spoken with the hunters earlier. It was a large, open area with plenty of space to work. Elara hung back, watching as Esme, Tirn, and Ignatius prepared for their experiment. The anticipation was palpable in the air, a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

Esme stepped forward, a determined look on her face. "I want to start," she announced, her voice filled with confidence.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

She placed her piece of flesh on the ground, the crystallized surface glinting in the sunlight. Esme frowned, her brow furrowing as she surveyed the grassy surface beneath her feet. "This isn't ideal," she muttered, more to herself than to the others. "But it'll have to do."

Ignatius and Tirn exchanged a glance before taking a few steps back, putting a good distance between themselves and Esme. They knew better than to get in the way of a warrior with a hammer. Elara, feeling a sense of unease, moved to stand behind Tirn. She hoped that his large frame would shield her from any potential blood splatter. Leaning past his side, she watched as Esme readied herself.

The warrior gripped her hammer tightly, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grip. Slowly, she raised the weapon above her head, the muscles in her arms straining with the effort. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Elara held her breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for the inevitable. Then, with a fierce cry, Esme brought the hammer down. The weapon crashed against the crystallized flesh with a sickening crunch, the impact sending shockwaves through the ground.

Elara flinched, her eyes squeezing shut as she braced herself for the splatter of blood and gore. But none came. Instead, a strange, high-pitched sound filled the air, like the tinkling of shattered glass. Cautiously, she opened her eyes. The sight that greeted her was one of utter destruction. The flesh lay in pieces on the ground, shattered into countless tiny shards. But there was no blood, no viscera. Instead, the shards glittered in the sunlight, their edges sharp and jagged.

Esme stood over the remains, her chest heaving with exertion. She looked up, meeting Elara's gaze with a triumphant grin. "Well, that was unexpected," she said, her voice filled with a mixture of awe and satisfaction.

Elara could only nod, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of what she had just witnessed. She had expected blood and gore, not this strange, crystalline substance. What exactly were they dealing with here?

She watched as Ignatius stroked his non-existent beard, deep in thought. "Perhaps the crystallization has taken over the entire flesh," he mused, his voice low and contemplative. "Since the wolf died, it had ample time to spread. But it would not explain how we were able to cut off some of the flesh without it turning into whatever this is."

He nodded to himself, his eyes still fixed on the shattered remains of the flesh. "It does seem receptive to blunt force, which is good to know. But what worries me is how it shattered. If it were a larger carcass, such as the wolf, the shattering could have easily hurt Esme or anyone standing nearby."

Tirn nodded in agreement, his expression grave. Ignatius turned to him, gesturing towards the piece of crystallized flesh they had brought. "Tirn, would you mind placing that piece over there?"

Tirn complied, carefully setting the flesh down on the ground. As he did so, Esme walked up beside Elara, her eyes fixed on Ignatius. Tirn returned to his position in front of Elara, and she felt a rush of gratitude for his shielding presence.

Esme spoke up, her voice tinged with impatience. "Have you decided what spell you're going to use, old man?"

Ignatius ignored her jibe, his focus unwavering. He thrust his left hand towards the target, his fingers splayed wide. Elara watched intently as Ignatius began to weave his magic, his hand outstretched towards the crystallized flesh. The surrounding air seemed to crackle with energy, a palpable sense of power emanating from the mage. Beneath the piece of flesh, a ring of glyphs began to appear, their lines etching themselves into the ground with a sizzling hiss. The symbols glowed with an eerie red light, pulsing in time with the beating of Elara's heart.

As the circle completed itself, the glyphs flared brightly, their light almost blinding in its intensity. Elara squinted against the glare, her eyes watering from the sudden burst of illumination. Then, with a roar, the circle erupted in a burst of flames. The fire shot upwards, a pillar of searing heat that reached high into the sky. The flames danced and writhed, their tongues licking at the air with a hungry intensity. She watched in awe as the flames consumed the crystallized flesh, the shards melting and bubbling under the intense heat. The fire seemed to have a life of its own, twisting and turning in mesmerizing patterns. It was as if the flames were dancing to some unheard melody, their movements both graceful and terrifying.

Elara glanced over at Ignatius, her eyes wide with wonder. The mage stood tall and proud, his hand still outstretched towards the inferno. His face was illuminated by the flickering light of the flames, the shadows playing across his features in a mesmerizing dance. She was reminded of the attack Ignatius had used to fell the boar. It looked similar, but this one had a visible circle of glyphs that showed where the attack would be. The fire was also thinner and smaller than the one she had witnessed before. But somehow, she found that the smaller version looked more powerful. It is similar to comparing a bonfire to a blowtorch. A difference in intensity.

As the flames died down, she could see that the crystallized flesh had been reduced to a pile of ash. The surrounding ground was scorched, the grass blackened and charred. She marveled at the sheer destructive power of Ignatius' magic.

Esme let out a low whistle, her eyes wide with appreciation. "Damn, old man. That was impressive. I'll never get tried of watching your magic."

Ignatius lowered his hand, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Thank you, Esme. But it's not just about the power. It's about control."

He turned to Elara and gestured towards the burned grass, which was still smoldering faintly. "The magic circle I created allows me to focus the spell, to direct it where I want it to go. Without them, the fire would have been much more widespread and harder to control."

Elara nodded, her mind racing with the implications of Ignatius' words. Seeing the precision and control that he wielded, she realized that there was so much more to casting magic than she first believed.

Esme stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the pile of ash. "So, what does this tell us about the crystallization?"

Ignatius frowned, his brow furrowing in thought. "Fire is effective in breaking it down without it exploding in our face. But we'll need to be careful. If we use too much force, we risk shattering the flesh and causing injury to ourselves or others."

He turned to Esme, his expression serious. "Esme, I think it would be wise to avoid using your hammer on any larger crystallized creatures when in a group. The risk of shrapnel is too high."

Esme nodded, her face grim. "Understood. I'll stick to defending and redirecting when in a group, if possible."

Elara watched as Esme stretched her arms above her head, a satisfied grin on her face. "Well, that was interesting," the warrior said, her voice tinged with a hint of weariness. "But I think it's time we hit the hay. We've got a big day ahead of us, and I want to be well-rested for the dungeon."

Ignatius and Tirn nodded in agreement, their expressions mirroring Esme's sentiment. "You're right," Ignatius said, his voice low and contemplative. "We should get some rest."

With that, the group made their way back to the barn, their footsteps crunching softly on the grass beneath their feet. Elara followed behind them, her mind still reeling from the events of the day. As they entered the barn, Esme and Tirn immediately set about making their final preparations for the night. Esme busied herself with checking her weapon, ensuring that everything was in proper working order after the experiment. Tirn, meanwhile, took stock of his supplies.

Ignatius, for his part, settled down on his bedroll, his eyes already heavy with sleep. Elara watched as he pulled a worn, leather-bound book from his pack, his fingers tracing over the cover with a reverent touch. Elara found herself drawn to the books weathered appearance. She moved closer to Ignatius, her eyes fixed on the tome in his hands. "What's that?" she asked, her voice soft and hesitant.

Ignatius glanced up, surprise flickering across his face at her question. "This?" he murmured, his voice soft and wistful. "It's just a keepsake from an old man—a cookbook, nothing that would likely interest you."

"May I look?" she asked, her voice hesitant. "Could you show me your favorite recipe?" She wondered how different the cuisine would be from what she was familiar with.

Ignatius hesitated for a moment, his fingers tightening around the book. She noticed from the corner of her eye Tirn and Esme exchanging a glance, but she kept her focus on Ignatius. After a moment, he nodded. He flipped through the pages, the paper rustling softly beneath his fingers. Finally, he settled on a page with the words "Ondu Pie" written at the top in an elegant, flowing script.

Elara leaned in, her eyes widening as she took in the beautiful handwriting. The entire book seemed to be written by hand, each letter crafted with care and precision. It was clear that whoever had written this recipe had done so with love and attention to detail. Below the recipe, there was a small, hand-drawn picture of a pie. It looked fairly ordinary, a simple pastry crust filled with an unknown filling. Elara had no idea what Ondu was - perhaps a fruit or vegetable of some sort.

"The writing is beautiful," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "Whoever wrote this must have put a lot of care into it."

Elara watched as his expression softened, a wistful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Yes," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It was crafted with care. My late wife wrote this, you see. She poured her heart and soul into every recipe, every word on these pages."

His fingers traced over the elegant script, his touch gentle and reverent. She could see the love and longing in his eyes, the weight of memories heavy on his shoulders. She nodded, unsure of what to say in the face of such raw emotion. The air between them seemed to thicken with the weight of his grief, the silence stretching on for what felt like an eternity. Her mind raced, searching for the right words to offer comfort or condolence. But nothing seemed adequate in the face of such a profound loss. In the end, she settled for a simple nod, hoping that her silence would convey the depth of her understanding. She knew that sometimes words were not enough. Sometimes, the best thing to do was simply to be present, to offer a quiet companionship in the face of sorrow.

He seemed to appreciate her silence. He closed the book with a soft snap, his fingers lingering on the cover for a moment before he tucked it back into his pack. "Thank you for your interest, Alira," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. "But I want to take my rest now."

Elara nodded once more, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She knew she had been granted a rare glimpse into Ignatius's past, a window into the man beneath the mage's robes. It was a privilege, one that she would not take lightly. As he settled back onto his makeshift bed, she found herself lost in thought. She wondered about the woman who had captured Ignatius' heart, the one who had poured so much love and care into a simple cooking book. She must have been an interesting person to have left such a lasting impact on those around her. Elara wonders if she had made such an impact as well.

Elara lay down on her makeshift bed of straw, the events of the day weighing heavily on her mind. She stared up at the barn's ceiling, her thoughts drifting to the crystallized flesh and the implications it held for their upcoming dungeon expedition. She closed her eyes, willing herself to relax. She focused on the sound of her own breathing, the steady rise and fall of her chest. Slowly, the tension began to drain from her muscles, the weight of the day lifting from her shoulders. Before long, she felt herself drifting off to sleep. Her thoughts grew hazy and disjointed, the world around her fading away into a soft, comforting darkness. As she slipped into the realm of dreams, her last conscious thought was if she had someone dear to her, akin to the profound love Ignatius still held for his departed wife?