My day started early. I could barely sleep through the night, as anxious as I was.

The moment I awoke, I found Kaitlyn and wandered to the edge of the camp to what many considered the combat training area to get started. Even though the sun was barely over the horizon, the place swarmed with busily working people trying to improve their skills and craft better housing. I could hear the ding of hammer on anvil, and the sound of hammering nails and sawing logs was constant.

The survivors here had all decided that being isolated in your old house was a death sentence. The camp was safe and reliable, and though it was slow, the number of people grew steadily. While wild monsters were still rare, a few people noticed another giant squirrel wandering around the woods while I was gone yesterday. If you got caught alone, you stood a good chance of dying. The cult, also common knowledge, proved to be an even more significant deterrent.

Try and convince someone that a giant squirrel could eat their face if they wandered into the woods alone? They’d demand proof that the giant squirrel existed and doubt you the whole way. But a bunch of crazy people worshiping an evil god of murder and pain? It was, apparently, a danger that was very easy to grasp.

It helped, naturally, that we kept no secrets regarding the Cult of Gors and the dangers of the evil gods from anyone; we thought that keeping that under wraps only invited people to get into trouble that could have been avoided. With threats on the horizon and the system tracking and providing improvement, the citizens of our little establishment worked with an enthusiasm I’d never seen before.

Even more interesting, a general hierarchy around the camp had started to appear. Cindy was commonly deferred to despite her age, leaving her to spend her day dispensing work requests and organizing group labor with alacrity. Meanwhile, Mr. Garcia functioned as a quartermaster, divvying up goods quickly and efficiently. It was odd, but electronics and engine-powered tools seemed to break down constantly, so she worked full-time providing replacements, and spare parts were some of the primary goods scavenged.

Many, though, had deferred to using hand tools as the system stubbornly remained averse to technology. Just as there was no skill for using guns in the combat skill list, there were no chainsaw, driving, or electronics skills. If you didn’t use your hands to do it directly, the system didn’t provide help.

Though the hand tool users worked slightly slower, their skill gains pushed them onward rapidly. At lower levels, skills leveled rapidly, and the workers' speed was already improving. I knew that before long, there would be almost no reason to bother using a chainsaw when a skilled beastkin with a Lumberjack class could knock down a tree with only a few swings.

Drawing my machete, I started working through what I knew alongside the cheetah beastkin. Kaitlyn had decided to take up the dagger and reached the second level of her novice skill while I was away yesterday.

Quickly though, we were joined by many others. The camp seemed split around fifty-fifty, half working on crafting and other labor-oriented classes, the other half working on combat classes. Despite that, most people who chose to work in combat still kept non-combat skills. Just because you wanted to fight didn’t mean you wanted to do so exclusively.

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As I worked, I practiced the forms I knew, improving both my accuracy and speed. The mental drill instructor was brutal, pointing out every mistake, every misstep. After another hour of work, my novice swordsmanship skill improved, bringing me to level 4.

This skill level brought additional moves to the original set, adding basic blocks and simple parries to the attack rotation. Despite the addition, I found the movements intuitive enough that I felt confident using them after only two more hours of training. Level 5 was close.

By this time, most of the people who spent their mornings' training combat had shifted work, going to assist with scavenging more supplies, finding more survivors, or helping around camp. I steadfastly continued, my improved body keeping me going despite the hot weather.

Focusing only on myself, I moved as if I was dancing. Mentally, I imagined a sneering cultist rushing forward club raised high. With a lightning-fast parry and a quick thrust, I dispatched him, moving on to the next imaginary foe.

I saw a monster squirrel jump from a tree, trying to take advantage of my lowered guard. I took three quick steps to the side while maintaining posture before lunging with a horizontal slice, ending the conjured beast.

As it fell, I disregarded a skill-level notification. The outside world was fog. There was only me, and the motions.

I had more footwork to learn, along with a parry from a different angle. Greedily, I soaked in the information. Armed with new knowledge, I faced another hoard of mental enemies. Despite just passing level five, I felt another level quickly closing in.

I was starting to get tired, but I was so close! My body ached. Just three more repetitions.

Three more after that.

When the level notification finally came, I felt the techniques shift. I needed to stop soon, but before that I wanted to go through the new motions. At least to see what upgrades I had.

Just a few more repetitions… maybe I could even push to level seven.

Something rough and scaly grabbed my shoulder. I gasped, twisting in place and bringing my weapon around to the intruder, but managed to stop myself at the very last moment. It was Donny.

The world returned to focus at I looked at his face, filled with concern and panic.

“Vic! What are you doing? You’re hurting yourself!”

At first I didn’t realize what he was talking about, but after a moment I started to feel a painful throbbing in my palms. Looking to see what was wrong, I found my hands trembling, slowly bleeding fingers tightly clasped around a wooden handle. I had clutched the weapon so tight that I had broken the skin on my palms.

As I took a breath, I noticed the shocking soreness in my arms, legs, and back. I had put every muscle group in my body through the wringer. With a huff, I fell backward into the dust.

“Wow. Sorry, Donny, I just got into the zone there for a bit.”

I let out a forced chuckle, trying to break the tension. Somehow, it made him even more concerned.

“It’s nothing to worry about Donny. I’m fine.”

Stooping down, he looked into my eyes.

“Vic, that was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I’ve been trying to get your attention for a few minutes. You moved like a machine. Even after you started bleeding, you just kept going.”

“I’m fine, Donny.”

“You’re not fine! You’re bleeding, you could have-“

I clenched my teeth, forcing my feet beneath me as I rose, cutting him off.

“I’m FINE, Donny. I was just really invested in my training. Nothing to worry about. I got another three levels in Novice Swordsmanship.”

I had no idea why he was being so pushy.

Levitating slightly off the ground, I left Donny standing in the training ground, machete still in hand. I wanted to take a bath and start my regeneration. The soreness of my body had shifted from a dull throbbing to a consistent and painful ache, and I wanted to be rid of it.