It was three days later, and Silas sat cross-legged in his hollow beneath the massive stump, the earthy space offering little comfort despite its shelter. His merits now totaled 249,600, a testament to the bloodshed of the past few days. He had focused almost entirely on killing beasts, ambushing them from the safety of the trees.
Humans, for now, were avoided. One man had tried chasing him, yelling threats and insults, but Silas had evaded him easily, sticking to his plan of stealth and caution. Humans can wait. Beasts are enough.
His shoulders still ached from the eagle attack, jagged scars a vivid reminder of how quickly things could turn. The incident had happened a day ago, when Silas had been perched high on a tree branch, scanning the forest floor for his next target. His strategy of striking from above had worked flawlessly—until then.
Confident, Silas hadn't thought to look up. Who looks up? he'd thought smugly. The answer came in the form of a giant eagle.
The attack was swift and brutal. The bird's talons pierced clean through both his shoulders, the sharp pain searing as it yanked him clean off the branch. Blood soaked his jacket as he tumbled to the ground, landing hard with a groan. The eagle screeched and circled for another pass, but Silas managed to grab his bo staff, swinging wildly and driving it away.
The next twelve hours were hell. Silas focused on healing, channeling energy from the corpses stored in his ring of holding to mend the torn muscles and gaping wounds. The pain was relentless, but he pushed through, his body knitting itself together piece by piece. By the time he was done, his shoulders bore jagged scars, a brutal testament to his mistake.
The following twelve hours were spent cultivating. Silas used the incident as fuel, pouring his frustration and determination into refining his control. Each cycle of meditation became more precise, the energy flowing into his dantian with increasing efficiency.
Finally, the system's neutral voice broke the silence:
"Intermediate Completion of the Muscles achieved. Host is awarded 15,000 merit points."
Silas exhaled slowly, relief washing over him. Checking his merits, he saw the total climb to 264,600.
Now, Silas flexed his fingers, feeling the subtle but significant changes in his body. His strength had grown noticeably, his movements sharper and more deliberate. Progress wasn't easy, but it was real.
Taking a deep breath, he gripped his bo staff tightly.
"Okay," he muttered. "Today's the day."
The king boar had been a looming presence in his mind for days. Silas had scouted its clearing multiple times, careful to stay hidden while observing the massive beast. The boar wasn't just strong—it was intelligent and territorial. It had defended its domain against every challenger, dispatching anything that wandered too close to the flower it protected.
The scars on his shoulders ached faintly as he stood, a reminder of the eagle's ambush. He wouldn't underestimate his surroundings again. If he wanted to grow stronger, he had to take risks. Defeating the king boar would mark a turning point, a test of his growing power.
Adjusting the amulet around his neck, Silas felt its faint warmth, a steady pulse of stored energy. He stepped out of the hollow into the cool forest air. Mist clung to the underbrush, and the scent of damp earth filled his lungs.
The time for caution was over. It was time to dethrone the king.
Silas crouched in the underbrush, his gaze locked on the king boar, which lay curled protectively around the glowing flower. Its tusks, long and sharp, glinted faintly in the light as its massive chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. The timer above the flower showed 18 hours until it was ready to harvest, but Silas wasn't the only one waiting.
He'd already watched the boar defend its claim multiple times, including its brutal encounter with a lynx just an hour ago. The lynx, a powerful predator in its own right, had charged with deadly precision. The boar had barely moved, letting the smaller creature lunge before skewering it with its tusks in a single, fluid motion. Now, the lynx's bloodied remains lay discarded at the edge of the clearing, another warning to any challenger.
Others were waiting, too. Silas spotted figures lurking in the shadows, their eyes fixed on the flower. One man had tried earlier, tossing what looked like bait toward the boar. Silas had watched, unimpressed, as the boar ignored the bait and charged the man instead. The poor fool hadn't even had time to scream before the tusks ripped through his chest and sent him crumpling to the ground.
Idiot, Silas thought, shaking his head. Amateurs don't last here.
The boar now slept, its massive form rising and falling in deep, steady breaths. The clearing was eerily quiet until a low growl rumbled through the air.
Silas's attention snapped to the forest's edge, where a mountain lion emerged from the shadows. The beast was larger than normal—its bulky frame rippled with muscle, its sharp claws digging into the dirt as it moved. Its long canines gleamed like ivory daggers, and its amber eyes burned with predatory focus.
The system's notification confirmed it: "King Beast detected."
Silas grinned faintly, anticipation buzzing in his chest. The boar stirred, lifting its head as its eyes locked onto the mountain lion. Slowly, it rose to its feet, snorting loudly as the two beasts squared off.
The mountain lion made the first move, leaping forward with shocking speed, its claws aiming for the boar's face. The boar turned just in time, the claws raking across its thick hide but failing to draw blood. With a furious snort, the boar countered, driving its tusks forward.
The lion twisted midair, narrowly avoiding the deadly strike, and landed gracefully a few feet away. It crouched low, growling as it circled the boar, looking for an opening.
The boar snorted again, charging forward with startling force. The lion darted to the side, its claws lashing out and carving deep gouges into the boar's shoulder. Blood sprayed, but the boar barely flinched, its momentum carrying it into a turn as it prepared for another charge.
The lion lunged again, this time sinking its teeth into the boar's flank. The boar bellowed in pain, twisting violently to shake the predator off. Its tusks lashed out, grazing the lion's side and forcing it to release.
The fight was brutal and relentless. Both beasts traded blows, their attacks leaving blood and torn fur scattered across the clearing. The boar's thick hide and lower stance gave it an edge, but the lion's agility kept it in the fight.
Finally, the boar saw its chance. As the lion lunged for another strike, the boar lowered its head and charged forward with all its strength. Its tusks drove into the lion's belly, lifting the predator off the ground before throwing it several feet away.
The mountain lion landed hard, its breath coming in ragged gasps as blood pooled beneath it. It struggled to its feet, turning to retreat into the forest, but it didn't make it far.
A figure stepped into its path—a towering man wielding a sledgehammer.
The lion barely had time to react before the man swung the hammer with terrifying precision, the blunt head crashing into the lion's skull. The impact shattered bone, and the king beast collapsed instantly, its body falling limp at the man's feet.
The man straightened, his dark eyes locking onto the boar, which was still standing, blood dripping from its tusks. He hefted the sledgehammer easily, moving toward the boar with calm, deliberate steps.
But before he could strike, Silas darted into the clearing.
The bo staff in his hands felt light, almost weightless as he channeled his spiritual energy into it. He leapt forward, his movements precise, and brought the staff down with a powerful, enhanced strike. The blow connected with the boar's skull, the impact cracking bone and sending the beast crumpling to the ground.
Silas exhaled sharply, his chest heaving as he stepped back, watching the boar's massive body go still.
The man with the sledgehammer turned, his gaze settling on Silas. Up close, he was even more imposing—his broad shoulders and thick, muscled arms looked as though they could break stone. His sheer size dwarfed Silas's leaner frame, but there was no hostility in his stance.
Silas instinctively tightened his grip on the staff, his body tensing as their eyes met. Though he didn't realize it, his expression had turned into a glare, a faintly savage edge in his gaze.
The man tilted his head slightly, studying Silas before speaking.
"Hello... name's Aberham. What's yours?"
Silas hesitated, his grip on the staff loosening slightly. The man's tone was calm, his voice deep but without threat. Silas took a slow breath, his instincts—honed over years of reading people—telling him this man wasn't an enemy.
"Silas," he replied simply.
The two stood in silence, their shared kills lying between them.
"How old are you, kid?" Aberham asked, his deep voice steady, calm, and unhurried—more conversational than commanding.
Silas hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. The system had restored his body to the way it was before the accident, lean and athletic, but it also left him looking younger than he was. He knew what he looked like—barely fifteen. Still, the truth was the truth.
"Seventeen," Silas replied, his tone clipped.
Aberham raised an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. "Ah. A year too old. Everyone sixteen and under got sent to the main pagoda even if they were injured.
Silas huffed lightly, not wanting to think about what that could've meant for him if the system had restored him as a sixteen-year-old.
Aberham continued, his tone measured, as if he were weighing his words. "You look like you've adjusted pretty well to all this," he said, his gaze flicking briefly to Silas's staff. "I'm twenty-five myself. Look, I don't necessarily want to fight. I figure we could either waste time knocking each other around, or we could share."
Silas blinked. "Share the flower? How do you even know we can share it?"
"Asked the cultivation assist system," Aberham replied with a knowing grin, his tone still calm but with a hint of amusement.
Silas frowned. "Can we share whatever comes out of the flower?"
The system chimed in immediately, its tone dry and unmistakably sarcastic: "Affirmative. Host's exceptional observation skills never cease to amaze."
Silas sighed, annoyed. "Why does it do that sometimes?" he muttered under his breath.
Aberham's grin widened slightly, but he didn't push. "I take it that's a yes?"
"Guess we can share," Silas said reluctantly. He shifted his stance, leaning on his staff. "Fine. I'll wait on the left side; you take the right. And we don't cross onto each other's side. Deal?"
Aberham nodded, his movements deliberate but unhurried as he hefted the sledgehammer onto his shoulder. "Fair enough," he said, his tone easy, almost friendly.
Silas moved to his spot, keeping one wary eye on the massive man as he settled on the opposite side of the clearing. Despite Aberham's calm demeanor, Silas didn't let his guard down. Aberham might seem amicable, but trust didn't come easy—especially not in a world like this.
For now, though, they had a deal.
And that was good enough.
Silas watched as Aberham grabbed the massive lion by its hind legs and began dragging it over to his side of the clearing. The effort seemed effortless for the towering man, who moved with calm efficiency. Aberham crouched and began pulling out a knife, clearly preparing to butcher the carcass.
Silas, however, had no intention of going through that ordeal. He glanced at the king boar, its immense body still lying lifeless where it had fallen, blood pooling beneath it. Without hesitation, he focused on the boar and willed it into his ring of holding. The body shimmered and vanished instantly, leaving only the bloodstained earth behind.
Aberham froze mid-motion, his dark eyes darting up to watch Silas. For a moment, his expression was blank—then his lips quirked into an amused grin.
"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered under his breath, standing back up and brushing his hands off on his pants. "Smart kid."
Taking a breath, Aberham focused on the lion, mimicking what Silas had done. To his amazement, the ring of holding on his finger responded. The lion's body shimmered and disappeared, stored neatly away. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.
"Guess there's more to these rings than I thought," Aberham said, glancing back at Silas, who was already settling into his side of the clearing without a word.
Silas opened his status screen, eager to see his reward. The system didn't disappoint. 250,000 merit points flashed on the screen, but there was a note attached: "50% penalty applied: target killed while heavily injured. Final reward: 125,000 merit points."
He frowned slightly at the deduction but couldn't bring himself to care too much. 125,000 was nothing to scoff at, especially when it added to the steady progress he'd made recently. A quick calculation brought his total merits to over 389,600.
Silas smirked faintly to himself, satisfied.
Aberham, oblivious to Silas's internal tally, leaned casually against his sledgehammer. "Efficient," he remarked, his tone calm and approving. "Could've used that trick earlier."
Silas didn't respond, instead turning his attention to the glowing flower in the center of the clearing. 18 hours to go. Sharing the reward might not have been his ideal plan, but so far, it was proving less of a hassle than he expected.
For now, at least.