!! SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT:
DEER SKIN ROLLS X 3 ACQUIRED
SIMPLE FUR CLOAK ACQUIRED
As the System called out what Vol had gained from killing the man, the boy continued to search through his pack. If the man had been journeying, Vol expected that he would have brought some supplies with him, just in case.
And indeed, the fur trader seemed to be a careful man. A hard loaf of bread, a flask of some strong-smelling alcohol, a few strips of dried beef, and a handful of dried fruit. The man had been well prepared. In there, too, he found a flint and steel, some kindling, and a small knife. All of it had a use to Vol, given that he had nothing now.
As he noted each acquisition, the System called out what each one was, as though echoing his own thoughts. For some things, the System gave extra information on them. 'Small knife: attack +3' it said as Vol removed the knife from its sheath to test its edge. Again, the stats seemed to be valid. Comparing the attack numbers to the 10 of his axe, he found that he was in agreement.
All in all, despite not getting the clothes that he wanted from the fur trader – aside from the clothes – it seemed to have been worth killing the man. There had been numerous worthwhile items amongst his things, and there even ended up being a small pouch of coin, a total of seven coppers, enough for a week or so of cheap food, provided that he could make it to the next town.
Satisfied, Vol returned the goods to the pack. Because of his care, only the smallest droplets of blood had infected the package, so even taking the whole thing as it was, it was a worthy addition. He hefted the pack up onto his back. It looked small there, far smaller than it had looked on the fur merchant.
He turned to go, as the body continued to drip blood behind him, but just before he left, he had the sense to pull the fur merchant down from the tree, with the hopes that it would look more like a murder of war, than the murder of robbery that it was. The last thing that Vol needed was lawmen on his tail.
With the last few hours of sunlight, he began to make his way north, trudging through the heavy snow.
…
…
Vol awoke early. An hour before dawn. He sucked in a shivering breath. The cold had awoken him. He held his hands to his chest. He'd slipped on the fur mittens in the middle of the night, as the temperature dropped. They were frosted from the moisture of his breath, as he held it so close to him.
Even with three fur blankets, and the simple shelter that he'd built, the cold – especially in the early hours of the morning – had been a struggle.
His fire had burned down to embers outside. That was likely part of the reason.
It was still dark outside, but Vol's natural body clock told him that dawn was not far off.
Even shivering, as he was, he found himself smiling – a vicious, Yarmdon smile. Sleep had done wonders for helping him process the events of the last handful of days. His dreams had been full of scenes of the battle, of death, of Gods and their blessings, and of the System's voice, offering him progress.
Before he went to bed, he'd completed the two other quests set by the system, gaining their rewards, along with the other vast riches that it had already given him. Along with the completion of the finding shelter quest – with the stats that it had given him – there had also appeared, out of nowhere, a perfectly fitting unstained winter coat.
That coat had done wonders for Vol throughout the night, and it also helped to cover his battered appearance, somewhat, hiding the blood. Though, his trouser furs and his boot furs seemed to be beyond recovery. The blood was sticky, and had run its way deeply into the fibres, before being frozen over again during the walk and during the night.
Of all the things that the System had done for him the day before, the appearance of an object from out of nowhere had been the strangest. Of all his stories of the Gods and all his stories of their blessings, he had never heard of them manifesting seemingly mundane objects on a whim. It was enough to make him half-expect that he'd dreamed it.
With that in mind, the first thing he did when he woke up – and not without a certain apprehension – was to try to pull up the interface window. He felt more nervous doing that than he had going into battle.
After a moment of anxious suspense, the interface popped up, oblivious to his feelings, and listing his stats.
!! SYSTEM STATS:
STRENGTH: 38
AGILITY: 10
STAMINA: 13
CHARISMA: 3
WEAPONS SKILL: 8
STRATEGIC SKILL: 1
GENERAL KNOWLEDGE: 2
A great moment of triumph came from seeing it, a feeling of elation. There was no better feeling that Vol knew than the feeling of getting stronger. He'd always grown excited whenever he'd lifted a heavier rock, or whenever he'd run further than before, or swung his axe more times than before. They were achievements that demonstrated his might, and demonstrated that he was moving in the right direction.
These stats did the same thing. Vol was beginning to trust what they represented almost completely. If they did even half of what he expected them to do, then he would be getting stronger at an almost impossible rate.
With a sigh of relief, satisfied that he hadn't imagined the previous day's events, he dismissed the interface from his view, and rolled out of his shelter – he'd had to make it small enough that he couldn't sit up in it, for lack of time.