Chapter X: The Alpha's Legacy
Smoke still lingered in the air when Ren knelt beside Varyth's cooling corpse. The great Alpha lay still now—its once-proud silver hide charred and tattered, massive frame slumped like a fallen monument. The forest, scarred but alive, crackled softly in the lingering firelight. Blood mixed with ash. Burnt leaves fluttered like black snow.
Ren didn't speak for a long while. Only the quiet hum of the system remained, a gentle golden glow hovering over the beast's body. The loot prompt blinked patiently. When he finally opened his hand, the familiar shimmer of system rewards bathed his dirtied fingers in light.
His gaze locked on one item in particular.
Moon Fangs.
Two long, curved fangs, nearly a foot each, gleamed with a muted silver-blue hue. When he touched them, they seemed to hum—soft, almost imperceptible, yet undeniably alive with dormant energy. Mana-conductive. Waiting.
These were no ordinary materials.
The system labeled them:
Item: Moon Fang (x2) — Grade: Legendary Crafting Material. Properties: Mana-Conductive, Adaptive Edge, Elemental Memory. Recommended Use: Daggers, Short Swords, Spell Blades.
Ren turned one over in his palm, the edge gleaming in the firelight. "Daggers... forged for my hands. They'll be perfect."
But before any forge work, one last task remained.
Ren looked back down at Varyth's massive corpse. He touched the beast's fur—still warm, still whispering of power. The silver hide had resisted flames, blades, and spells alike. Even now, it felt like armor.
"I can't leave this behind," he whispered.
He worked through the night.
Using one of the Moon Fangs as his blade, he skinned the Alpha with reverence. The hide was thick, but not unyielding, softened by ash and blood. With practiced care—learned from countless lesser beasts—he extracted the entire pelt, head intact. He smoked and tanned it with fire and river oil, crafting a cloak both majestic and savage.
When dawn broke, Ren stood reborn.
The pelt now draped over him like a mantle of kings. The Alpha's head served as a hood, resting atop his own—its upper jaw shadowing his brow, the snout just above his eyes. The fangs curled around the sides of his face like a crown, leaving only his jaw and mouth visible. The silver fur danced in the wind, catching the rising sun like moonlight come to life.
Beneath it, he still wore his rugged wilderness gear: hardened hides, carved bone buckles, primitive leather wraps on arms and legs. No shoes—just footwraps made from Dire Wolf hide.
He wasn't just a survivor now.
He was the predator.
Ren opened his system window.
With 2,500 skill points at his disposal, he accessed the shop and scrolled through the glowing tapestry of options. His choices reflected a hybrid path—melding martial agility with magical utility. He selected Quickcast, a passive that reduced his spell casting time by a quarter. With that, he could weave fire or lightning between his sword swings without leaving himself open. Mana Skin came next—a defensive spell that turned his mana into a temporary barrier. It would give him a buffer when dodging wasn't enough.
Then came Predator's Focus. This passive heightened his awareness, sharpening every movement and sound around him when undetected. It didn't just make him faster—it made him lethal. And lastly, he took Elemental Thread, an active skill that let him weave mana into objects or terrain. He could trap, enhance, or sabotage with it, and it was only limited by creativity.
He still had over a thousand points left, but opted to reserve them. Flexibility was sometimes better than raw power.
When the menu closed, he began walking.
The path weaved through rivers, ruins, and ridgelines. Though the Alpha of the Silver Howl had fallen, the wilderness had not grown safe—merely quieter. Older, deeper things stirred now.
Ren battled Ironhide Boars with tusks like twisted iron branches. He faced Glass Serpents whose refractive hides rendered them invisible until they struck from shallow creeks. He fought Wisp Wraiths that whispered forgotten names before raking at him with claws of mist.
Each battle forged him sharper.
But leveling became harder.
Level 31 became 32. Then 32.8. Then 33. Each sliver of progress felt like climbing a mountain.
By the fourth day, Ren frowned at the numbers. "Seraphina… why's it slowing down so much?"
The voice of the system spirit echoed gently in his mind. "You are now under Exponential Experience Scaling. Each level requires increasingly more experience—quadratically so. Early levels followed linear growth. No longer."
"So… the stronger I get, the harder it is to grow?"
"Correct. Additionally, enemies below your level offer reduced returns. Risk and challenge are now your best paths to progress."
Ren sighed. "So much for grinding wolves."
"Quite," Seraphina replied, almost amused.
During a night's rest beneath the stars, Ren stared at the canopy and asked, "Seraphina… how else can I learn skills? Other than just buying them?"
A golden diagram unfolded in the air in front of him. There were three methods.
The first was Level-Based Acquisition. Some skills were simply granted as a player advanced—reflections of their progress, combat record, and stat distribution. The second method was Conceptual Realization. If someone studied the theory behind a spell or technique and then managed to replicate it in practice, the system would recognize the act and formalize it into a skill. That was the foundation of magic schools, martial dojos, and other training paths. It was the idea made real.
The third and final method was Evolution and Fusion. If a skill reached level ten and was used often in a certain pattern, or with another skill in tandem, they could evolve into a stronger variant—or even merge into something new entirely. But this required access to a system function known as the Skill Architect, which remained locked for now.
Ren listened, eyes narrowed with thought. Fusion wasn't just a gimmick—it was a pathway to creating custom abilities. Combining Wind Cutter and Dash, for example, could lead to something like Gale Blink—a blink-strike technique imbued with slicing wind. The ideas that spun in his head now felt endless.
The next evening, beside a glowing riverbank where fireflies flickered like soft magic, Ren sat cross-legged and stared into the flames. "Let's talk numbers. Deep dive. Attributes, stats—everything."
Seraphina projected diagrams of his attributes.
Strength governed physical power—how hard he hit, how much he could carry, and how quickly his stamina drained under pressure. Agility influenced his movement, reflexes, and timing in battle. It dictated how many attacks he could chain and how easily he could dodge. Defense helped him resist damage, resist staggers, and maintain his footing when struck.
Magic influenced more than just his mana pool. It controlled his regeneration, casting speed, elemental control, and spell damage. Finally, there was a hidden stat: Perception. Seraphina revealed that it affected his ability to detect enemies, land critical hits, and see through stealth or illusions. It had only now begun to show its presence.
His cloak, the Silverhide mantle, added bonuses—+5 Agility, 10% cold resistance, and a slight intimidation bonus against beast-type enemies. It also enhanced his stealth when in natural terrain. His Moon Fang Daggers were a perfect pair. They dealt medium piercing damage, had a 5% bonus to crit rate at night, and had a passive bleed chance. Their real power, however, lay in their compatibility with Elemental Channeling. He could now infuse spells directly into his strikes.
"Every item changes your playstyle," Seraphina said, her voice calm but sure. "Build synergy between weapon, armor, and skill paths. That's how one wins in this world."
Ren stared at his character sheet like a general studying a battlefield. The numbers weren't just stats—they were pieces of his story, of his growth.
"It really is a game," he said quietly, "just not a fake one."
"It was never fake," Seraphina whispered.
The wilderness faded.
Trees gave way to tilled fields. Orchards. Smoke from hearth fires. The gentle clatter of carts on cobblestone.
Ren passed his first scarecrow—draped in tattered robes, bent in the wind. Soon after, he saw children laughing in the distance, and adults working in the fields with iron tools, not weapons.
The first true civilization.
Newvale.
A town nestled between hills, stone walls rising in layered rings, dotted with guard towers. The gates stood open but guarded. Lanterns flickered in the dusk. The smell of fresh bread, woodsmoke, and something sweet drifted through the air.
As he stepped toward the gate, one of the guards—broad-shouldered and clad in leather armor—stepped forward.
He glanced at Ren's cloak, at the wolf's head looming over his brow.
"Name. And purpose?"
Ren paused for a beat, then smiled, jaw visible beneath the skull's shadow.
"Ren Arclight. Traveler. Hunter. Just looking for a bed that doesn't try to eat me."
The guard barked a laugh.
"Welcome to Newvale, Arclight."
The gates opened with a wooden creak.
And with the Alpha's pelt on his shoulders and the Moon Fangs at his side, Ren stepped through—into a new world of stories waiting to unfold.