After practicing half the night, Foster, full of sweat, collapsed into bed and fell asleep with a jolt.
[Fencing practice: 368/1000]
It wasn't until the afternoon that he woke up. Still a little woozy, he went for a good shower.
After his shower, Foster opened his system panel.
- Practicing fencing and magic is good, but it's not enough, I need more and I need it fast.
He gazed longingly at quest number 3 and a gleam lit up in his eyes. Rising hastily, he fetched a shoulder bag, filled it with provisions, equipped his makeshift belt with his kitchen knife, attached his magic staff to his bag and left his house.
On the outskirts of town, he turned and sighed.
- I'm going away again, but this time I'll come back alive!
And without saying goodbye to his best friend or anyone else, the Inferior Elf Foster set off.
If the world of Lyréanor is peaceful from Foster's point of view, it's only because he had never known the dangers of the outside world before the arrival of the Obscurus.
And when he left the city, it was only after a 3-hour walk that he realized it wasn't going to be as easy as he'd thought.
- Damn! When did the forest get so dark and dense? I can't even put one foot in front of the other.
With his miserable kitchen knife, he tried to cut through the branches and foliage blocking his path.
- The good thing is that according to the system I'm practising fencing at the same time ahahaha.
After 5 hours of walking, the foliage became less dense and Foster was able to walk without struggling.
Foster advanced, his steps muffled on the dense, damp carpet of moss, the almost imperceptible sound of his boots absorbed by the thickness of the ground. The foliage behind him was now far away, and the forest had changed. The trees here were gigantic, their massive trunks reaching for a sky he could no longer see. Their tops formed an opaque canopy, so dense that it plunged the forest into an almost nocturnal gloom.
The air seemed heavier, laden with a cold moisture that clung to his skin. He slowed down instinctively, his instincts whispering to him that this place was hiding something.
Every sound, however discreet, echoed in the oppressive silence. A branch cracked somewhere to his right, followed by a quick rustle among the undergrowth. Foster stopped dead in his tracks, his senses alert. He scanned the gloom, but nothing moved. Just this darkness, oppressive and motionless.
A breath of wind crept between the trunks, making the dead leaves hanging from the low branches shiver. The whisper might have been harmless, but Foster felt an inexplicable tension building in his belly. This wind carried something strange, almost... alive.
- Bloody forest! Who's there?
First, a distant growl, low and guttural, barely audible, but which made his bones vibrate. Foster frowned, and held his magic wand out in front of him, the red gem inside glowing slightly. The sound was soon followed by another, closer this time: a deep, gasping breath, like that of a huge beast on the prowl.
His heart raced as he spun slowly around, his eyes searching desperately for something, a sign, a figure, a clue. Yet the forest remained empty, or so it seemed. But he felt a presence. No, presences.
A howl suddenly tore through the silence, high-pitched and piercing. Foster gasped, his fingers crunching on the handle of his knife, which he had now pulled out alongside his wand, though it was far too modest to reassure him. This scream was different from anything he'd ever heard. Too wild. Too cold.
The silence fell again, but it was now charged with an unbearable tension. Then, almost imperceptibly, he heard the rustle of leaves, light footsteps moving swiftly through the shadows. Sometimes to the left. Sometimes to the right. Sometimes behind him.
His breathing became faster. His survival instinct was screaming at him to leave, to run, but his legs refused to move, as if frozen by a primal fear.
Another restrained growl, closer this time, and Foster felt a cold sweat run down his back. Someone was choosing to move in the darkness, he was sure of it. A blurred silhouette, low and massive, crossed his field of vision. Then another, and another, just far enough away to remain indistinct, but close enough to make his heart beat wildly.
He took a step back, his gaze fixed on the shifting shadows. Someone had chosen to hunt him down. Or rather, several had chosen. But he didn't yet understand what.
The howl came again, longer, deeper, and this time it sounded like a signal. The noises around him intensified, silhouettes drew closer. The breath of a predator blew past him, making the strands of his hair move.
Foster took a deep breath, forcing himself not to panic. His [Beginner's Talent for Fencing] took over, his stance adjusted to welcome the enemy as it should be.
- A kitchen knife perhaps, yes, blunt too, yes, but a knife that wouldn't hesitate to stab you all in the brain! GET OUT OF THERE!
His voice was like a signal, six wolves came charging at him ferociously. Foster's staff lit up red and with a cry of rage, two fireballs shot out and exploded the skulls of two different wolves.
[*Ding* Skill created: Multiple Shot]
[Forest wolf killed: 5 XP]
[Forest wolf killed: 5 XP]
- Here?
[10 XP used to create a level system]
[Each level will allow you to add stat and skill points]
[*Ding* Creation successful]
[Level 0: 0/10]
Foster felt joy cross his heart, but he immediately refocused as the rest of the pack, enraged by the loss of one of their own, charged at him like black arrows, their eyes shining with savagery, their fangs bared in a guttural snarl. Foster had no time to think. His left hand gripped his knife, a simple but sharp weapon, while his heart beat wildly.
The first wolf pounced, its claws outstretched towards his throat. Foster dodged with a jerk to the side, the knife arcing swiftly through the air. The blade bit into the flesh at the wolf's leg, a shrill cry bursting out into the night. But he didn't have time to savour his blow: a second predator appeared at his back.
Foster pivoted, his body reacting almost before his mind. His new-found talent for fencing seemed to guide his movements: his feet instinctively planted themselves, ensuring his balance. He planted the blade in the side of the second wolf, a direct and precise movement. The wolf let out a muffled growl before collapsing heavily.
There was no respite. The three remaining wolves were now circling their prey, their movements coordinated and calculated. Foster realised they were intelligent, waiting for the slightest opening.
A wolf charged at him from the front, mouth wide open, while another tried to attack him from the side. Foster took a step back, letting the frontal wolf leap into the void. But the second was too quick: its claws scratched his chest, tearing his tunic slightly and leaving a stinging burn.
Foster gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain. He took a step forward, turning towards the wolf who had wounded him. He feinted a low attack, forcing the beast to retreat, before plunging his knife into its neck. This time, he felt the resistance of the flesh give way under his blade. The wolf collapsed, a hoarse moan escaping from its throat.
But just then, the last wolf took advantage of his movement to pounce on him. Foster didn't have time to raise his knife: the weight of the beast slammed him to the ground. His breath was taken away by the impact and he felt the creature's fangs close in on his forearm.
His cry of pain was mingled with rage. His free hand searched desperately for a grip, and his fingers found a stone on the ground. In a desperate move, he struck the wolf's head, once, twice, until the beast let go.
It rolled onto its side, its bloody hand gripping the knife again. The wolf, dazed, tried to charge again. But this time Foster was ready. He drives the right blade into the beast's chest, using his weight against it.
The silence fell abruptly, disturbed only by his panting breath and the distant moans of the wounded wolf limping away.
Foster remained kneeling, knife still in hand, the warm blood of the animals covering his fingers. He could feel his arm trembling with pain and exhaustion, but he was alive. Against all the odds, he had survived.
He looked up at the massive trees around him, their shadows as heavy as ever.
- FOSTER!' he heard before fainting.