The sharp snap of twigs and rapid footsteps against the forest floor echo in the stillness, jolting me awake to the grim reality around me. Shadows flicker around me as I sprint, heart pounding, breath tearing through my chest. Wolves. An entire pack of them, their silhouettes dark and deadly against the moonlit trees. Their growls, low and predatory, roll through the forest, sending shivers down my spine. How did I get here? How am I the prey, when all I wanted was to gather some herbs?
My feet stumble on a raised root, and I barely manage to keep myself upright. Every stride feels more desperate, every heartbeat louder. I'm not even sure which direction I'm running in anymore; all I know is that slowing down even a fraction could mean my end.
The forest blurs around me as I push harder, frantically weaving between trees and ducking under branches. The wolves are closing in, their growls growing louder, sharper. I don't even have time to look back; I can feel their presence, the hot, musky scent of predators bearing down on me. Panic claws at my throat, almost choking me.
Suddenly, a wolf lunges out of the shadows, teeth bared and gleaming in the faint light. I yelp, narrowly dodging its attack as it snaps at me, its fangs grazing my shoulder. The pain is sharp, immediate, but I can't dwell on it. I push forward, ignoring the throbbing sting and the wet warmth trickling down my arm.
I curse under my breath, trying to keep my focus. This isn't a game, no amount of anime knowledge can save me here. These wolves aren't here to teach me a lesson; they're here to rip me apart.
In a fit of desperation, I fumble for the faint memory of the System's "Fist Strike" skill. It had been pathetic last time, barely more than a glorified punch, but it's all I have. Summoning what little energy I have left, I whirl around and throw my fist forward, feeling the skill's faint glow gather in my knuckles. My punch connects with the wolf's side, making it stumble and yelp in pain. A small victory, but it's not enough to stop it, not enough to save me.
The other wolves circle, their hungry eyes gleaming in the darkness, waiting for me to tire, to slip up. I'm surrounded, my legs quivering from exhaustion, my breaths shallow and ragged. I dart my gaze around, searching for an escape, a tree to climb, something—anything—to give me an edge.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a dense thicket, a narrow opening barely large enough for me to squeeze through. It's not much, but it's my only chance. Without hesitating, I dive for the thicket, tumbling and scrambling through the underbrush. Thorns tear at my skin, but I grit my teeth and press on, ignoring the sting as I crawl deeper, praying the wolves won't follow.
Silence stretches, thick and tense. My breath is painfully loud, my heart thundering in my ears as I lie still, pressed against the earth, hidden beneath the twisted branches. Minutes drag on, each one feeling like an eternity as I wait, barely daring to breathe.
Finally, after what feels like hours, I hear the wolves retreating, their growls fading into the distance. Relief floods through me, my muscles going limp as I slump into the dirt, exhausted. I survived. Barely, but I'm still here.
I sit there, panting, every inch of my body aching. My hands are scraped, my arms bleeding from where the wolf's fangs grazed me, and my clothes are torn and filthy. I look down at myself, at the bruises and cuts that paint my skin, and reality hits me hard. I'm not prepared for this world. Not even close.
The fear settles into something colder, more resolute. I can't keep running, can't keep floundering like this, clinging to whatever scraps of luck keep me alive. If I'm going to survive here, I need to get stronger, faster, smarter. I need to learn to fight, to defend myself, to face threats head-on.
I push myself up, wincing as pain flares in my side, but I force myself to ignore it. There's no room for weakness here, not anymore. Brushing off dirt and blood, I turn back toward Briarstead, the weight of this encounter settling heavily in my chest. The System's penalties, its merciless quests—it's all a twisted kind of discipline, a push to adapt to this unforgiving world. And if I want to live, if I want to survive whatever else it throws at me, I need to start taking it seriously.
As I sit on the forest floor, feeling every ache and bruise from the close call with the wolves, I can't ignore the creeping doubt eating at me. That encounter was a stark reminder of just how unprepared I am for this world. Despite all the little escapes, the clever dodges, the system's relentless quests and penalties are a constant weight I can't shake off. The pain throbbing in my limbs only reinforces the hard truth: if I don't learn to adapt, I'm not going to last long here.
I glance down at my scratched-up arms, remnants of the frantic escape. Each mark stings, but it's nothing compared to the mental bruising I've taken. For someone who spent a good chunk of his life watching others fight, dreaming of being some heroic figure, facing actual danger has a way of ripping the glamour right off those daydreams. My chest feels tight, not from exertion, but from fear—real, bone-deep fear that this might be too much for me. But the system's penalties are looming over me, and I know that giving up isn't an option, even if I wanted to.
Slowly, I push myself up, gritting my teeth against the wave of exhaustion that hits me. There's no time to linger. I have to finish this quest and gather the herbs. The system didn't give me a choice, and as much as I'd like to turn tail and head back to Briarstead, the penalty would be far worse. And who knows what new dangers await on the way back? Besides, if I can survive a wolf pack, surely I can handle a bit more.
I'm more cautious as I continue searching, every snap of a twig setting my nerves on edge. I'm learning to tune in to the forest's sounds—the distant bird calls, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, even the subtle movements of creatures in the underbrush. It's like a faint rhythm, a beat I can almost sync with. Somewhere in this chaos, I realize I'm doing something I'd never considered before: I'm learning to listen. Not with the casual, distracted attention of my past life, but with a sharper instinct. Every step, every breath, is calculated now.
Finally, I spot another cluster of herbs growing at the base of a tree just ahead. I approach it cautiously, scanning my surroundings for any sign of movement. My hand is steady as I pluck the leaves, the faint scent of the herb filling the air. A small part of me feels a flicker of triumph—it's a tiny victory, but it's mine. The sense of accomplishment, however, is short-lived.
Just as I turn to head back, a chilling sensation washes over me. It's like an instinctive warning, a primal sense of being watched by something far larger and far more dangerous than the wolves. Slowly, I raise my gaze, and there it is—a massive creature in the shadows, its outline barely visible but unmistakably predatory. It's unlike anything I've ever seen, and for a moment, my mind blanks. It feels like every instinct in my body is screaming to run, but my feet feel glued to the spot.