Chapter 24
Written by Bayzo Albion
Last time, the Baroness vanished into the woods, leaving me alone against that impossible creature — a bear's body crowned with a rabbit's head, charging straight at me through the trees.
I dove to the side just as its massive paw slammed into the ground where I'd stood, the impact reverberating through the earth. Scrambling to my feet, I yanked my wooden sword from its sheath and swung at its flank. The strike landed with a dull *thud*, barely scratching its hide. If anything, it only pissed the thing off more. Its rabbit-like face contorted in a grotesque snarl, those oversized, razor-sharp teeth glinting in the dim light.
The beast lunged again, claws slicing through the air. I rolled, dodged, and weaved, its jaws snapping inches from my face. Those teeth weren't natural—they looked grafted onto its skull, as if some twisted magic had forced them into place. My heart pounded, but my mind stayed sharp. This thing was strong but predictable, its attacks all brute force and no finesse.
I fell into a rhythm: dodge, strike, retreat. Roll, swing, step back. Each movement was a gamble, each second a brush with death. My muscles burned, my lungs screamed, but I couldn't stop. Stopping meant dying.
The beast reared up, towering over me like a living nightmare, its paws swinging like warhammers. Dodging became a desperate dance—leaping over roots, sliding under blows, using every rock and tree as cover. My wooden sword felt like a toy against this monster, but I kept swinging, kept moving, fueled by equal parts fear and fury.
*Where the hell is she?* I thought, my frustration spiking. But this was my fight now. My trial.
A claw grazed my arm, and instead of pain, I felt a strange, itching heat, like something alive was crawling beneath my skin. No time to dwell on it. More scratches followed—my shoulder, my side, my thigh. Blood soaked through my clothes, but I forced myself to ignore it. Focus. Survive.
The beast was slowing, its breaths coming in ragged heaves, its movements growing sloppy. This was my chance. I shifted to offense, striking fast and hard. A thrust to its underbelly. A slash at its neck. A blow to its foreleg. The wooden sword groaned under the strain but held. The creature staggered, its growls turning to desperate whines.
I didn't let up. Even as my body screamed for rest, I pressed forward, driven by instinct and raw determination. One wrong move, and I was done. But I wasn't going to lose. Not here. Not now.
Finally, the beast collapsed, its massive body hitting the ground with a thud that shook the earth. It let out a final, pitiful moan, twitched once, and went still. I stood over it, gasping, my vision swimming. Every muscle ached, my hands trembled, and my lungs felt like they were on fire. But I was alive.
A notification flashed in my mind:
> **System: You have defeated a Herbivorous Bear.**
I let out a hoarse laugh. *Herbivorous?* What a joke. They might as well have called it "cuddly."
Slow, mocking applause broke the silence. I looked up to see the Baroness leaning against a tree, her lips curved in a smug, approving smile.
"Not bad," she said, her voice dripping with playful condescension. "I figured you'd be dead in three minutes flat. But you? You put on quite the show. Almost… adorable."
I opened my mouth to retort, but all that came out was a ragged wheeze. My legs buckled, and I dropped to my knees, using my sword as a crutch to keep from collapsing entirely. My body felt like it had been run through a meat grinder, and my stomach clenched with a hunger so fierce it bordered on pain.
"You've earned a breather, hero," the Baroness said, sauntering closer. "Just don't keel over from exhaustion. It'd be a shame to ruin such a performance."
Another system message appeared:
> **System Inventory:**
> - Bear Hide
> - Meat: 37 kg
> - Monster Bones
> - Monster Blood: 10 liters
> - Magic Crystal: +1
I stowed the loot in my spatial pocket—blood sealed in a vial, meat in an insulated compartment, bones and hide in the main storage. Then I pulled out the magic crystal. It pulsed softly, radiating a faint, otherworldly warmth.
> **System: Would you like to upgrade your Wooden Sword with 1 Magic Crystal?**
"Hell yeah," I muttered, not hesitating.
> **System: Upgrade successful! Wooden Sword +1: Sharpness increased.**
I ran my finger along the blade's edge, marveling at its newfound keenness. It practically sang with latent energy, the wood humming like a tightly strung bow.
> **System Hint: Monster Blood can restore your weapon. Restore the sword? Cost: 1 liter of Monster Blood.**
No second thoughts needed. I poured the thick, dark blood over the blade. The wood drank it greedily, its surface growing smoother, the faint runes etched into it glowing brighter. The edge sharpened before my eyes, transforming the crude weapon into something almost alive.
Exhausted but not done, I rummaged through my spatial pocket and pulled out a bottle of wine. I downed it in one go, then another, and a third. With each gulp, strength trickled back into my limbs, the fog of fatigue lifting. My breathing steadied, my muscles loosened, and the world stopped spinning.
Yet beneath the exhaustion, something else stirred—a restless, electric energy born from the fight. It wasn't just hunger for food. It was a craving for *more*—more battles, more victories, more of this wild, untamed world.
"Enough for one day," I said, meeting the Baroness's gaze with a tired but defiant grin. "Let's head to the village."
She arched an eyebrow, her smile widening ever so slightly. "Lead the way, hero."
As we made our way toward the village, I moved at an easy pace, eyes scouring the forest floor for anything that might prove useful. Herbs with silvery edges, wildflowers that caught the light, even fist-sized stones that hummed faintly when I brushed them with my thumb. Everything went straight into my spatial pocket without hesitation. Potions, weapon upgrades, trade goods, or some future trick I hadn't yet imagined—nothing was too small to matter. A weed with a bitter scent could be poison tomorrow. A smooth black pebble might resonate with magic I hadn't learned.
I'd pause now and then to study a find more closely. One stone had veins of pale metal that shimmered like frost in sunlight; I tucked it into its own corner of the pocket, already wondering what it could become. I bound the herbs into careful bundles, fingers gentle so the leaves wouldn't bruise and lose potency. The flowers I lifted like apologies, cradling their fragile petals as if they could feel my gratitude.
The Baroness trailed a few steps behind, her gaze lingering on me with the weight of silent questions. She didn't speak—maybe she thought it childish, maybe she was cataloguing my habits the way I catalogued the forest. Either way, I didn't break rhythm. Gathering had become its own quiet ritual, a way to steady my pulse after the fight. Each new item was a promise: *I'm ready for whatever comes next.*
By the time the village gates loomed ahead—towering slabs of living wood bound with ironwood vines—my pocket felt heavier, not with weight but with possibility. In a world that could turn hostile in a heartbeat, even a weed might be the difference between life and a shallow grave.
Siesta waited at the threshold, the moonlight gilding the tips of her hair like threads of molten silver. Her face held that familiar mask of calm, but a restless spark danced in her eyes, sharp as a hidden blade.
"I covered the toll for both of you," she said, her voice a quiet current, steady and unyielding. "And I filled the tub. It's still steaming. You reek of the road—you could use it."
I flashed her a grin, the dull throb in my shoulders fading to a tolerable hum. "After you, then."
The Baroness shadowed us in silence, her presence a cool weight at my back. I didn't argue. If she craved the spectacle, who was I to deny her the show?
The path twisted through a grove of titans, ancient trees whose massive trunks had been coaxed into dwellings by hands both patient and wild. Some mimicked the tidy illusions of mortal homes—windows hewn from pale wood, roofs of woven bark shingles, lazy wisps of smoke threading from chimneys that sprouted like veins from living limbs. Others reveled in their ferocity: twisting root-stairs spiraling skyward, vine-lashed bridges that creaked and swayed between lofty perches, doors of rough-hewn bark that throbbed ever so faintly with the slow pulse of sap. Glowing toadstools dangled from tangled lianas like living lanterns, spilling warm golden light across the mossy trail.
"Winter's breath is on us," Siesta whispered, drawing her cloak close with a shiver that rippled through her like a warning. "It doesn't trumpet its arrival. Just... one dawn, you stir awake, and the whole damn world's gone quiet under a shroud of snow."
The home she led us to wasn't just a shelter but a living oak, vast enough that three men couldn't wrap their arms around it. The heartwood door, etched with leaves and sly spirits, opened at her touch—as if the tree knew its keeper.
Inside, the air pulsed with life: sage and mint, lavender and the deep scent of rain-soaked moss. Dried herbs hung from the rafters, and shelves sagged under vials, clay jars, and brittle scrolls. Charms of twigs and feathers trembled in the soft draft, whispering quiet wards.
At the center stood a wide stone basin, carved into the floor like an altar of forgotten gods. Fungi cast a golden glow across runes that shimmered with quiet power. Steam rose from the water, rich with rosemary, chamomile, and citrus—its warmth loosening my shoulders before I even touched it.