The village of Oakhaven didn't so much sleep as it passed out. Once the sun vanished, the world was swallowed by a deep, country blackness, broken only by the weak glow of a few late-burning hearths. The air grew cold, and the only sounds were the rustle of leaves and the distant, lonely call of a night bird.
Leo waited, his ear pressed to the crack in his door. He'd spent the hours since his… conversation with the system resting, planning, and sharpening the rusty hand-scythe on a stone until its curved edge had a nasty, jagged bite. His body still ached, a symphony of bruises, but the pain was just data now. An inconvenience to be worked around.
Finally, the last sounds of footsteps and murmured goodnights faded. The village was still.
He moved.
Slipping out the door, he became a ghost in the moonlight. His deductive mind mapped his route instinctively—sticking to shadows, avoiding the crunchy gravel near the smithy, moving with a silence that would have been impossible for the old Kaelen. The palisade gate was shut and barred, but he'd already calculated the weak point. A section on the north side, behind the tanner's shop, where the logs were warped and offered just enough handholds for a determined, desperate climb.
He scaled it, his muscles screaming in protest, and dropped softly into the tall grass on the other side. The forest loomed ahead, a wall of deeper darkness. It smelled of damp earth, pine, and something wilder. A place that didn't care about his plans or his system.
For a moment, fear, cold and primal, gripped him. This was real. The things in these woods had teeth and claws and hunger. He was a soft, city-bred thing with a sharp mind and a sharper piece of junk.
Then he remembered Rolf's face in the mud. The system's condescending voice. The infinity of zeroes next to the Kamehameha.
The fear didn't vanish, but it was shoved into a box and locked away. He had a job to do.
He moved into the tree line, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. His plan was simple, born from a fusion of survivalist documentaries and his new analytical power. He wasn't building a complex machine. He was creating a killing zone.
Step One: The Lure. He found a small clearing, not too far from the tree line but hidden from casual view. Here, he laid his spare tunic on the ground. He took the little pouch of hardened salt pork he'd saved from his meager rations—a week's worth of food—and smeared its greasy, pungent scent all over the cloth. It was a pathetic offering, but to a hungry predator, it was a dinner bell.
Step Two: The Pit. This was the back-breaking part. Just beyond the bait, he found a natural dip in the earth. Using a sturdy stick and his hands, he enlarged it, digging until his fingers were raw and his back was slick with sweat. It wasn't a massive pit, maybe three feet deep. It didn't need to be. He sharpened several stout branches with his scythe and planted them at the bottom, points facing up. A crude, but effective, welcome mat.
Step Three: The Trip. He took the length of coarse rope he'd… acquired from the well-house. He tied one end to a thick, springy sapling on the edge of the clearing, bending it back until the wood groaned with tension. The other end he tied into a loose, open loop, which he secured just an inch above the ground between the bait and the pit, camouflaging it with leaves and dirt. A simple snare. The goal wasn't to catch anything, but to startle it, to make it panic and jump backwards.
Right into the pit.
Step Four: The Vantage Point. He chose a thick oak branch ten feet off the ground, with a clear view of the entire clearing. He tested the climb, ensuring he could get up there quickly and quietly. This would be his sniper's nest.
He surveyed his work, his mind critiquing every detail. The bait was placed upwind. The snare was positioned to exploit a prey's most likely line of flight. The pit was in the blind spot of any creature focusing on the food. It was elegant in its brutality. A Rube Goldberg machine of death.
Now for the hard part. Drawing them in.
He took a deep breath, pushed down the last vestiges of his civilized hesitation, and let out a high, wavering cry. It was the sound of a wounded rabbit, something he'd heard in a nature documentary. He poured all his fear and frustration into it.
He waited. Silence.
He did it again, putting more force behind it, making it sound desperate, easy.
This time, an answer came. Not a rabbit's squeal, but a low, guttural growl from the deeper woods. Then another. A chorus of hunger.
His heart hammered against his ribs. Showtime.
He scrambled up the oak tree, finding his perch and pulling his legs up. He gripped the hand-scythe, its cold metal a small comfort. The [Observe] skill was active, his eyes scanning the darkness.
Shadows detached themselves from the greater dark. Two of them. Low to the ground, moving with a fluid, predatory grace. They entered the clearing, their forms resolving in the patchy moonlight.
[Forest Wolf. Level 3. Status: Hungry, Cautious. A pack hunter. Weakness: Flank, Throat.]
They were bigger than he'd imagined. Not dog-like, but raw-boned and lean, with matted grey fur and eyes that shone with a pale, intelligent malice. Their snouts twitched, sniffing the air, zeroing in on the salted tunic.
The lead wolf, the larger of the two, crept forward, its head low. Its companion hung back, watching the tree line. They were cautious.
Come on, Leo thought, his knuckles white on the scythe. Just a little closer.
The lead wolf reached the bait. It sniffed it, then let out a low, eager whine before tearing into the cloth with its teeth.
Its focus was absolute. This was the moment.
Leo didn't throw a rock. He didn't make a sound. He simply let a small, dry branch he'd carried up with him slip from his fingers.
It wasn't loud. Just a faint tick as it landed on a leaf below.
It was enough.
The second wolf, the lookout, flinched, its head snapping towards the sound. The lead wolf, startled, jerked its head up from the bait. In its surprise, it took a single, instinctual step back.
Its hind leg slipped into the loop of the snare.
SNAP.
The sapling whipped upright with terrifying force. The rope yanked taut, catching the wolf's leg and hauling it off its feet with a yelp of shock and pain. It wasn't a clean catch—the loop wasn't tight around its ankle—but the effect was perfect. The wolf was thrown into a blind, scrambling panic. It twisted in the air, frantically trying to right itself, and as Leo had calculated, its terrified leap sent it stumbling directly backwards.
It fell into the pit with a short, sharp cry that was cut off by a wet, sickening thud.
A system message flashed, cool and impersonal.
[Forest Wolf Eliminated. +25 Nexus Points.]
A vicious thrill shot through Leo. Yes!
The second wolf stared, confused and agitated, at the pit where its packmate had vanished. It let out a low, uncertain growl, circling the edge, sniffing the air now thick with the scent of blood.
Leo didn't hesitate. This was the cleanup. He dropped from the branch, landing with a grunt that sent a jolt of pain through his injuries. The remaining wolf spun to face him, its lips pulling back from yellowed fangs. It saw a weak, injured human. Prey.
It charged.
Leo stood his ground, his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. He didn't have the strength to fight it. But he didn't need to. He just needed to be a distraction for two seconds.
The wolf leaped, a grey blur of muscle and fury aimed at his throat.
Leo dropped into a crouch, not away from the wolf, but to the side, presenting his non-dominant arm. It was a gamble. A horrible, insane gamble.
The wolf's jaws clamped down on his forearm. Agony, white-hot and searing, exploded through him. He screamed, but through the pain, his mind was crystal clear. Got you.
As the wolf's weight slammed into him, he didn't try to pull away. He rolled with it, using its own momentum, dragging the beast towards the pit. With all his strength, and with the wolf still attached to his arm, he shoved them both toward the edge.
The wolf, focused on worrying his arm, didn't see the danger until it was too late. Its back legs scrambled for purchase on the loose dirt at the pit's rim and found none.
With a final, desperate heave, Leo threw his weight sideways. The wolf, off-balance, tumbled into the pit, releasing his arm as it fell.
There was another choked yelp, another brutal, final thump.
Silence returned to the clearing, broken only by Leo's ragged, pained breathing.
[Forest Wolf Eliminated. +25 Nexus Points.]
[Quest Completed: First Hunt. Reward: +50 NP.]
He collapsed to his knees, clutching his mangled arm. Blood soaked through his sleeve, hot and sticky. The pain was immense, a roaring fire in his nerves. He looked into the pit. The two wolves lay still, impaled on the sharpened stakes, their blood darkening the earth.
He had done it. He was hurt, maybe badly. But he had won.
A slow, bloody smile spread across his face. He looked up at the moon through the canopy of leaves, his chest heaving.
"One… hundred… points," he gasped out, each word a victory.
He had his start-up capital. The Omni-Bazaar was finally open for business, and its sole customer was ready to spend.