Desmond slept for what felt like moments to him. In truth, he remained in a state of delirious consciousness and unconsciousness for over a week. He only ever woke up long enough to relieve himself and then drink a little from his watering can before falling asleep once more.

Of course, he wasn’t aware that he was waking up at all at these times, as it seemed his mind and consciousness was absent from his body for some unknown reason that was beyond him.

The entire time, he was assaulted by dreams that he could make no sense of; In one, he saw Calcheth before its destruction, yet he watched as it slowly eroded away into sand and then into nothingness before rising back out of the ruins and falling apart again, over and over.

In another, he gorged himself on copious amounts of meat, fruits, and bread, seemingly unable to get full. No matter how much he put in his gullet, more food continued to appear on the table and he continued to shovel it in his face, as if he were a blackhole for food.

In another, he floated in an endless void; no body of his own to speak of, as he stared into an endless nothingness. A rift formed, creating a long thin pink line in the nothingness before it spread apart; revealing a completely pink eyeball and a single, slit black pupil. It stared down at him and he stared back.

In another, he sat in a large spinning chair before it quickly slowed to a stop. He realized he was, in fact, in a large library, with shelves that extended far into the air and continued upward, past the clouds. Each shelf was stuffed to the brim with books of all shapes and sizes and, standing in front of him between the shelves, was his Father. The man looked down at his son with the same warm, brown eyes he had and smiled.

These dreams repeated over the course of the week, alongside other, shorter, dreams that he couldn’t fathom, yet each one seemed to affect him all the same; causing his body to break out into sweat as if he was breaking out into a fever.

Yet with no one around, he had no conscious choice and simply had to wait it out...

►⚉◄

Sometime later, Desmond's eyes suddenly snapped open and he sat up in a cold sweat. He looked around the cafe, his eyes wide in surprise. Light streamed in through the busted windows and, for a moment, Desmond didn’t realize where he was.

Eventually, his mind caught up and he sighed, running a hand over his forehead to clear it of the sweat that had accumulated. He smacked his lips, realizing how dry his mouth was, and languidly got up to take a drink. At the same time, he vaguely remembered ignoring the Voice sometime before. So, as he was drinking from the watering can, he decided to take a look at the alerts he’d missed.

[Generic Skill: ⦓Small Blades Proficiency⦔ has leveled up to Lv. 2!]

[Additional EXP has been awarded for leveling a Generic Skill!]

[You’ve been infected by a demonic pathogen. Your body is attempting to fight if off.]

[Your body has failed to fight off the demonic pathogen. Your condition worsens. Your stats have been altered to reflect this.]

It took all of Desmond's willpower not to immediately spit out the water in his mouth in shock. In a panic, he opened his stats to see what it was talking about.

Desmond Whitechapel

Race: Human

Age: 8

Class: Village Boy - Lv. 5

Generic Skills:

⦓Small Blades Proficiency - Passive⦔ - Lv. 2

Stats:

Stat Points Available: [0]

Strength: 10 (-3)

Finesse: 9 (-3)

Endurance: 9 (-3)

Insight: 8 (-3)

Self: 9 (-3)

Personal Skills:

⦓Eye For Detail⦔ - Lv. 2

Available Skill Slots: [5]

Afflictions:

Unknown Demonic Pathogen - Inflicts ⦑Demonic Stress⦒ - Lv. 2 and lowers all stats until recovered.

To say that Desmond was stressed—now in more ways than one—would be a severe understatement. The only thing that stopped him from bursting at the seams with rage was the fact that he could feel how much weaker his body was at this point.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

‘Demonic Stress? What the hell is that?’ Despite his lowered stats, Desmond was quick to run back inside and toward the demon corpse, as if he was worried about what it could be doing. It was still a corpse, however, and was in the exact same state that he’d left it in. Still, it was easier for him to direct his anger at the demon than at himself for eating it raw.

There was only so much he could deflect onto it, though, and he eventually sighed and gave up, wandering back into the other room with his head in his hands. He collapsed onto the floor, groaning in exasperation. For a moment, he was silent and unmoving; Until the sunlight outside shined through the window and hit the blade of his knife, which was lying on the floor next to him. Absently, he picked it up, for no reason other than because it was comforting to hold. As he looked at it, though, he realized he could see a little bit of his reflection and it made him squeak in surprise.

Just above his right eye, a large patch of his hair had turned a stark white, seemingly out of nowhere. It reached from his hairline all the way to the base of his ear, but didn’t seem to be spreading any further just yet.

Desmond paused, gaping at it before he groaned and tossed the knife back onto the floor. He buried his face in his hands once more and screamed his anger into his palms.

“The one thing I said I couldn’t do..!” he muttered to himself, collapsing into a heap on his side in the middle of the floor. “...and I went and did it! How stupid can I be?!”

Desmond wasn’t proud to say that he threw a tantrum; kicking his legs out in anger and groaning at nothing in particular. But he had no other way to release the anger at himself that he felt at the moment. If all he could do was kick the wall and scream in anguish, then that’s what he was going to do until it made him feel better.

In truth, though, he knew it wouldn’t. Ten minutes passed and he was still incredibly upset with himself and the situation he’d put himself into. His stomach grumbled once again, though, and he decided that he couldn’t waste any more time being angry at himself.

“I’ll cook it this time.” He said, standing up from the floor and moving toward the door. “I’ll find a way to cook it. That should...kill the disease or whatever in the meat, I think.”

But that was easier said than done. Desmond didn’t even know the first step to starting a fire, but he was certain that he would simply have to learn now, or risk the infection getting worse. Not eating the demon simply wasn’t an option, considering it was his only source of food. So he would simply have to do what he could to make this situation benefit him instead of killing him.

At the very least, learning how to start a fire shouldn’t be too hard.

“Well...I hope it’s not that hard, anyway...”

►⚉◄

It turned out to be much easier than he’d expected. Wood was flammable, and there was an abundance of dry tinder amongst all the destroyed homes and buildings in the town. Alongside that, he found some pillows, none of which had survived the raid without some damage, but the soft material inside the pillows was dry enough, so he collected as much as he could.

From there, it wasn’t hard for him to carry it all back to the cafe, dig out a spot safe from the elements so that the fire wouldn’t spread, and then toss it all together in a pile against the wall. He proceeded to grab a random assortment of wood chunks and cotton, constructed a little pyramid sort of deal with the wood in the cavity he’d cleared out, and then stood up, proud of his work.

After that, though, came the part that actually involved doing something more than just stacking things together. Still, even that part was much easier than Desmond thought. He simply carved out a cavity into a wooden block with his knife, then ran a stick against it as quickly as he could until he saw results.

The effects of ⦑Demonic Stress⦒ reared their head sooner rather than later, however, as he felt himself getting winded and slowing down much sooner than he’d anticipated. Even with his improved stats, the infection made him feel as if he was the same sickly kid as before.

Nonetheless, he was still stronger than he used to be. After a couple minutes of nonstop ribbing, the wood eventually began to smoke then, soon after, a tiny flame flickered into existence. With a sigh of elation, Desmond finally allowed himself a moment of respite as the Voice echoed in his head.

[You have gained the General Skill: ⦓Survival - Passive⦔ - Lv. 1!]

The young boy chuckled, ripping apart some of the cotton and laying it over the fire to feed it. Already, the skill seemed to be providing him with information he wouldn’t have thought about before.

“This whole ‘Nexus Heart’ system really makes life simple, huh...” Absently, he warmed his hands by the fire as he thought about his next step. He was getting hungry, and the sun was already beginning to set over the horizon.

Common sense told him that he’d need something to serve as a stovetop if he wanted to cook at all, and ⦓Survival⦔ told him that he could use a thin, flat stone to serve exactly that purpose. So he quickly rummaged around Calcheth until he found a fitting stone that was about as long as his thigh that he then cleaned off as best he could with a little bit of water.

Once he got back to the cafe, he made quick work of setting up his rudimentary stovetop over the fire, which had grown to a nice size, and then straining ⦓Eye For Detail⦔ once again to slice a sizeable tenderloin from the gluttony demon’s corpse. The headache he got this time around felt even worse than the one before, but he chalked it up to ⦑Demonic Stress⦒ lowering his stats.

Unfortunately, ⦓Survival⦔ gave him minimal tips when it came to cooking the meat. It really only told him to make sure it was cooked through and gave him a general guide to making sure it didn’t stick to the stone surface he was cooking on.

So, after a very scary fifteen minutes, Desmond found himself with a well done slab of demon meat, as opposed to the raw chunk he’d torn into before. Alongside that, he was actually warm for the first time in weeks, which he definitely didn’t take for granted; moving his sleeping spot closer to the fire where he promptly sat and enjoyed his dinner as much as he could.

It was leagues better than the raw meat from before, but that bar was so low it was probably impossible not to hop over it. For the first time since he’d escaped the crawlspace, Desmond was able to say that he was enjoying himself, even if it was just a little. He was comfortable, he had a full-stomach, and he was relatively safe, ⦑Demonic Stress⦒ aside.

Ignoring the fact that he’d pointedly avoided anything that would show him his own reflection throughout the entire day, as if seeing himself pained him, he thought he was doing rather well.

Finishing his meal and cleaning off his hands, he could happily say that he was confident that he’d be able to survive whatever this infection was. He would even go so far as to say that he was confident he’d fight it off tonight. Maybe it would fix his hair and he wouldn’t have to look at it anymore.

With a smile on his face and the remaining warmth from his now cold fire settling within him, Desmond settled in for the night.