"Useful," I muttered, feeling the knowledge settle into my neural pathways.
We didn't get down the mountain without trouble. A pack of wolves, emboldened by the chaos, ambushed the rear of the column.
"Defend!" I shouted.
It wasn't much of a fight. R'virr pounced on the alpha, snapping its neck before it could growl. I tested [Sparks], shooting a stream of lightning from my hand that fried two others instantly. But a few refugees took bites to the legs in the scuffle.
I spent the rest of the walk using [Healing Hands] on the injured.
Ding.
[Restoration increased to 20.]
When the wooden gates of Riverwood finally came into view, the sun was dipping low. The village guards stiffened immediately. From their perspective, a group of forty people wearing a chaotic mix of Imperial leather and Stormcloak chainmail, covered in blood and soot, was marching on their town.
"Halt!" a guard shouted, hand on his sword.
I stepped forward, raising my hands. "We aren't an army. We're survivors. A dragon attacked Helgen. The town is gone. These people have nowhere else to go."
The guard looked ready to laugh, but the look in my eyes, and the terrified, exhausted faces of the women and children behind me, stopped him. They let us in.
By nightfall, the village had transformed into a refugee camp. The Sleeping Giant Inn was overflowing, so most of us settled near the riverbank. I sat on a log, watching the firelight dance. The refugees were helping each other, sharing what little food the villagers had spared. The kids were actually playing tag near the bridge.
I smiled. It was resilient. Humanity, or whatever you called the races of Nirn, was stubborn.
"Who would have thought escaping Helgen would be the easy part?" I whispered to myself.
"You speak to the air often, kitten."
R'virr sat down heavily on the log beside me. He looked tired, his fur matted, but he was grinning. He produced a bottle of Black-Briar Mead and a loaf of bread from a pouch.
"Are you hungry?" R'virr asked. "R'virr was given this by the lady who owns the mill. Gerdur. She says she has heard rumors of dragons, but seeing us... she believes. She says R'virr and Shiro can stay in her house for a few days, while we help these people get ready."
He tore the bread in half and tossed me a piece.
I caught it and took a bite. It was hard, crusty, and barely warm, but after the day we'd had, it tasted like a five-star meal.
R'virr uncorked the mead and took a swig, then passed the bottle to me. I took a drink. It burned on the way down, sweet and harsh.
"It doesn't taste half bad," I said, wiping my mouth and digging back into the bread.
R'virr laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, and tore into his own piece of bread.
We ate in silence for a few minutes, the crackle of the fire filling the void. When the food was gone, R'virr wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked me over with those piercing yellow eyes.
"You handle yourself well, kitten," he noted, his tone serious. "Who taught you to fight barehanded? Your form is... raw. But effective."
I shrugged, leaning back against the log. "No one, really. I've been in a few scrapes, but nothing like today. I just hit them until they stopped moving."
It was the truth. During the escape, I'd been waiting for a notification about Hand-to-Hand Mastery or Swordsmanship to pop up, but nothing had triggered. That's why I'd handed the steel to the others; I was relying entirely on the brute force of the Orc aspect and the natural claws of the Khajiit aspect. I was brawling, not fighting.
R'virr smiled, standing up and dusting the crumbs from his lap.
"If you want, R'virr can train you," he offered, falling into a loose stance. "I may not look like it now, but the monks in my home realm studied the art of combat. R'virr can teach you the basics. Give you some teeth to match that strength. What do you say?"
Ding.
[Opportunity: Learn the basics of Hand-to-Hand Combat from R'virr?]
[Yes/No]
I chuckled, draining the last of the mead. "I'd be an idiot to say no."
I selected [Yes].
R'virr spent the next two hours drilling me. He didn't teach me how to box; he taught me how to tear. The style was called "Whisper Fang."
[Skill Learned: Whisper Fang Style (Unarmed Combat) - Lv 1]
[Description: A feral style that demands the fighter abandon calm and embrace instinct. It utilizes the user's natural weapons for swift, devastating strikes. High offense, negligible defense.]
It was ironic. My [Gamer's Mind] forced me to be calm, but this style demanded I fight like an animal. It was a weird dichotomy, but my body seemed to understand the movements even if my mind remained cool.
Eventually, R'virr called a halt. "Rest now. Tomorrow, we refine your claws."
As he walked off to find a bedroll, I sat back down and mentally pulled up my status screen to see the damage.
[Name: Shiro]
[Age: 17]
[Race: Human (Modified)]
[Level: 7 (0%)]
[HP: 100/100]
[MP: 120/120]
[STR: 10]
[VIT: 7]
[DEX: 9]
[INT: 10]
[WIS: 13]
[LUK: 7]
[Stat Points: 21]
[Money: $500 / 0 Gold]
I stared at the screen. Level 7. Not bad for a single afternoon of hell.
Suddenly, a cascade of notifications filled my vision.
[Quest Completed: Escape the Prison]
[Reward: Skill Tree Unlocked]
[Reward: 2000 EXP]
[Quest Completed: Find a fighting skill book and start leveling up]
[Reward: 150 EXP]
I went to swipe the windows away when a golden prompt flashed, stopping me.
[Secret Quest Completed: Save the Prisoners of War]
[Rating: S (Zero Casualties)]
[Rewards:]
[Ring of Mana Regeneration: Increases MP regen by 100%. Decreases Destruction spell cost by 15%.]
[Ring of Hidden Presence: Hides the wearer's true power level. Effective on targets up to Level 20.]
I grinned, materializing the rings and slipping them on. The Ring of Mana Regeneration felt warm against my skin, humming with power. The Hidden Presence ring felt like nothing at all, just cold metal.
"Well," I whispered, flexing my fingers. "At least I got some souvenirs out of this nightmare."