Silas perched quietly in the crook of a sturdy tree branch, his fingers gripping the bark as he balanced effortlessly. His slight enhancements from cultivation made climbing easier, and the branches felt sturdier somehow, as if the awakening had strengthened the trees themselves. He wasn't sure why, but it was enough to give him confidence in his elevated position.
He waited, his eyes scanning the forest floor for movement. Most of his time was spent watching and picking targets of opportunity, creatures drawn toward the flower in the desolate field. Patience was key. The flower's strange allure made this a natural hunting ground.
Eventually, something stirred beneath him. His eyes focused on a deer—except this wasn't any ordinary deer. Its build was the same, but its antlers were thicker, jagged, and unnervingly sharp. Worse, its mouth bore canines that glinted faintly as it chewed on some foliage.
Not Bambi, Silas thought, frowning. Definitely not Bambi.
The deer moved directly beneath him, and Silas tensed, gripping his bo staff tightly. Timing his jump, he pushed off from the branch with his legs, aiming for the creature's head.
He missed.
His staff struck the deer's back instead, the force amplified by his enhancements and the weapon's latent power. A loud crunch echoed as the impact landed squarely on its spine. The deer buckled, its back legs giving out immediately as it collapsed to the forest floor with a pained screech.
The fall had hurt Silas too, though not severely—a bruising kind of pain in his legs from the landing. Not exactly to plan, he thought, wincing as he pushed himself upright. But he recovered faster than the deer.
The creature flailed, trying to stand, but its back legs were useless. Silas didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and brought the staff down hard on its skull. The strike connected with a resounding crack, and the deer's body went limp.
Lights out.
Panting, Silas stepped back and glanced at his ring of holding, watching as the numbers for his merit points updated.
Another 10,000 points!
He grinned despite himself. If every beast gave this much, maybe that million-merit debt won't be so bad after all. A quick check confirmed he now had 21,200 points. He frowned slightly, remembering Traci's fight. He'd only gained 1,200 points for killing her.
He exhaled sharply. She hadn't surrendered, and he wouldn't have spared her anyway. Too dangerous.
His thoughts drifted as the number ticked up to 21,700.
The system's voice chimed in. "Host will receive 500 merit points for each day of survival if host relies solely on personal strength."
Silas raised an eyebrow. So, grouping together gets you less? Interesting.
After clumsily cleaning the deer, he managed to salvage a decent amount of meat despite his inexperience. The process was messy, his earlier strike having ruined some of the best cuts. But he worked quickly, not wanting to linger near the scent of blood. With the meat bundled into his ring of holding, Silas jogged back to his hollowed-out tree.
The familiar space felt like a small reprieve, but as he shrugged off his jacket, he noticed new tears along the fabric.
This coat isn't going to last much longer, he thought, sighing.
He worked on starting a fire, using the driest kindling he'd managed to collect. Frustration mounted as he wasted three matches before the flames finally caught. Smoky tendrils curled upward, and Silas quickly poked a small hole through the mud walls for ventilation. A makeshift chimney. Not perfect, but better than choking.
Pulling out the raccoon meat he'd butchered earlier, Silas noted it still felt warm. The ring must be keeping it fresh, he thought. He skewered the meat on a stick and held it over the fire.
The smell hit him first—rich, savory, and mouthwatering. When he finally bit into the cooked meat, his eyes widened. So good, he thought, chewing hungrily.
Then it hit him. A surge of energy coursed through his body, powerful and immediate. He straightened, startled by the intensity.
What the hell?
Closing his eyes, Silas focused, directing the energy into his dantian. The difference was startling compared to cultivating from ambient spiritual energy. This was faster—stronger. His dantian, mostly empty after his earlier inefficient use of the staff, began filling rapidly.
Curious, he directed some of the energy into the amulet around his neck. The amulet absorbed it greedily, but Silas frowned. The process was less efficient than eating the meat directly and channeling the energy himself.
To test further, he placed a piece of meat directly on the amulet. It glowed faintly, but the energy it absorbed was minuscule compared to what he gained from eating. Not even 10% effective, he thought.
Shrugging, he continued eating, savoring the flavor and the energy it provided. His dantian swelled with energy, and he directed as much as he could into the amulet, which began filling slowly.
Full and satisfied, Silas leaned back against the hollow wall, the fire's warmth spreading through the damp space. His contentment was short-lived.
A loud noise shattered the quiet.
Silas froze, his ears straining. Outside, low growls and the sound of claws scraping against dirt sent his heart racing. He peeked through the small opening he'd made and saw two wolves prowling outside, their fur bristling and their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
The smell of the tree—or perhaps the meat—had drawn them. One wolf sniffed the air, its nose leading it closer to the hollow.
Silas tensed as the other wolf began digging furiously at the entrance, knocking away the foliage he'd used as cover.
Before he could react further, something unexpected happened—a human burst out of the underbrush, startling the wolves mid-snarl.
Silas didn't wait. Stomach heavy with the weight of his meal, he forced himself to move, pushing past the sluggishness. Damn it, cooked food draws animals. Rookie mistake.
He leapt out of the hollow, gripping his bo staff tightly. The first wolf turned to face him just as he brought the staff down in a hard swing. The strike connected with its side, and the wolf yelped in pain, staggering from the impact. But it wasn't enough—it was hurt, not out.
Silas cursed under his breath, adjusting his stance as the second wolf lunged at him. Its jaws snapped with terrifying force, but Silas managed to sidestep and sweep his staff low. The blow struck its legs with a sickening crack, and the wolf tumbled, one of its legs clearly broken.
Before Silas could press the advantage, the first wolf lunged forward, teeth sinking into the back of his left leg.
"ARGH!" Silas screamed, the pain white-hot as the wolf shook its head viciously, trying to tear into him. He fumbled, his free hand diving into the ring of holding, pulling free his knife in a desperate motion.
With a savage yell, Silas brought the blade down hard onto the wolf's head. The knife sank deep, blood spurting as the wolf released his leg and fell limp. Silas pushed the corpse off him, panting as his injured leg throbbed with searing pain.
The remaining wolf snarled weakly, dragging itself away with its broken front leg. Silas forced himself to his feet, but his injured leg gave out almost immediately, sending him stumbling.
"Not yet," he growled through clenched teeth, the taste of blood sharp in his mouth from biting his tongue. He could feel the warm trickle of blood running down his calf, pooling in his torn shoe. But he refused to stop.
Balancing on his good leg, he raised the staff and swung down hard. The strike missed as the wolf tried to hobble away, collapsing just a few feet from him. Silas dragged himself closer, adrenaline dulling the agony in his leg as he willed himself to finish it.
He raised the staff again, this time bringing it down squarely on the wolf's head. A sickening crack echoed in the quiet night, and the wolf went still.
Silas dropped to the ground, chest heaving as exhaustion washed over him. The fight couldn't have lasted more than a minute, but it felt like an eternity.
First things first, he thought, his hands trembling as he sat up. The injury.
Peeling back the torn fabric of his pants, Silas winced at the sight. The bite had been deep, muscle torn and flesh ragged, but as he moved his leg experimentally, relief flooded him.
"Just muscle," he muttered to himself. No tendon or ligament damage. Lucky.
Still, the bleeding was bad, and the wound was gnarly. He had to stop it before he passed out. Silas crawled back to the hollowed tree, every movement a reminder of the wolf's savage bite.
Once inside, he pulled the knife from his ring of holding. The blade was still slick with blood, but Silas ignored it, focusing instead on the fire.
His hands shook as he held the blade over the flames, the steel turning red-hot as it absorbed the heat.
"I'm not sure what else to do," he muttered, more to himself than anyone.
The smell of burning hair hit him first, and he grimaced, bracing himself. With a deep breath, Silas brought the glowing blade to his wound.
The instant the hot metal touched his skin, agony erupted. The scent of his own flesh cooking filled the hollow, and his vision blurred from the intensity of the pain. He bit down hard, stifling the scream that clawed its way up his throat.
It felt disturbingly familiar—like his cultivation technique, that relentless burn, the demand for endurance. Silas gritted his teeth and rode the wave of pain, his knuckles white as he gripped the dirt beneath him.
Fuck me, he thought, the words barely forming through the haze of suffering.
When the blade finally left his skin, the wound was sealed, the bleeding stopped. Silas collapsed against the wall of the hollow, his breath ragged and his body trembling. He closed his eyes, letting the agony ebb into a dull throb as his heart rate slowed.
Not dead yet, he thought bitterly. But damn, that was close
For three days, Silas endured, his determination burning brighter with each passing hour. The hollowed tree became his sanctuary, a place of pain, cultivation, and raw resolve. With his injury healed but his pride wounded, Silas threw himself into training. He couldn't afford to waste time—not with the flower and the chaos it attracted.
The deer meat he'd gathered became his sole source of sustenance. He ate it raw, the metallic taste becoming a familiar bitterness on his tongue. Disgusting, but effective, he thought. He couldn't waste time cooking or risk the scent drawing more scavengers. The energy in the fresh meat was potent, though it wasn't as efficient as when cooked. He forced himself to eat anyway, directing the rush of energy into his dantian with practiced focus.
The wolves, however, served a different purpose. The amulet around his neck hummed faintly as he placed his hand over it and willed the corpses to dissolve into pure energy. It wasn't the most efficient method—he felt the loss of energy in the process—but he couldn't afford to let anything go to waste. The amulet's warmth pulsed faintly with each absorption, its energy seeping into his body, enhancing his cultivation.
Through it all, Silas cultivated relentlessly. His time was spent in cycles of meditation and consumption, willing every scrap of energy to flow into his dantian and then through his muscles. The process was agonizingly slow, but with each cycle, he felt progress.
The pain of his earlier failure lingered in his mind, fueling his determination. Foolish. Weak. I let myself get hurt. I can't let that happen again. He clenched his fists, the memories of the fight flashing vividly in his mind. The wolves' snarls, the bite of their teeth, the blood running down his leg—it all became fuel for the fire in his chest.
This world doesn't care. It hurts you, kills you, and moves on. Fine. I'll be stronger. I'll hurt it back.
His resolve grew sharper, his mind clearer. He felt the subtle changes in his body—the growing strength in his muscles, the steadier flow of energy in his dantian, the faint hum of the amulet as it integrated with him.
By the third day, something shifted. As Silas meditated, the system's neutral voice cut through his thoughts:
"Congratulations. Minor Completion of the Muscles achieved. Host is awarded 10,000 merit points."
Silas opened his eyes, his breath catching. Finally. He quickly pulled up his merit status:
Merit Points Before: 43,200 (from killing the wolves and surviving three days)Reward for Completion: 10,000 pointsTotal Merit Points: 53,200
A grin spread across his face. Progress. Real progress.
The changes were subtle at first, but as he stood, he could feel it—a new sense of power coursing through his body. His movements were smoother, more precise. His muscles felt denser, more responsive.
For the first time in three days, Silas stepped out of the hollowed tree and into the light. The sun was blinding, making him squint as he adjusted. The air was fresh, crisp, and alive with the faint hum of spiritual energy.
He stretched cautiously, testing his body. The ache in his leg was completely gone, replaced by a steady, latent strength. Silas broke into a jog, then a run. The difference was immediate. His feet pounded against the earth, each step faster and more controlled than before.
He stopped suddenly, skidding slightly on the damp ground, and turned his gaze toward a nearby tree. The rough bark reminded him of his earlier attempt, the small indent his fist had left after his first cultivation efforts.
Silas clenched his fist, grinning. Let's see how much has changed.
He stepped forward and punched.
The impact reverberated through his arm, but the pain was fleeting—more like a faint throb than the sharp ache he'd expected. The bark cracked where his knuckles connected, a clean fist mark embedded into the trunk. He stared at it, then flexed his hand, rolling his shoulders.
"Not bad," he muttered, the grin widening on his face.
This wasn't just progress—it was power. For the first time, Silas could feel it tangibly. He was stronger, faster, sharper. And this was only the beginning.
He turned his gaze toward the forest, gripping his bo staff tightly. Time to hunt, he thought. Resources were everything now, and he wouldn't let himself stagnate.
Silas took off at a brisk pace, his heart steady and his resolve unshakable. Every step forward was a step closer to becoming the predator this world demanded.