Foster slowly emerged from the thick veil of unconsciousness, his senses returning one by one, like flickering flames in the darkness. The first thing he felt was the pain, dull and omnipresent, pulsing through his arm and side. The second was the smell: a mixture of fresh wood, medicinal herbs and something more familiar, like damp earth after a rain.
He opened his eyes, his heavy eyelids protesting against the effort. A subdued light bathed the room, diffused by a lantern suspended from the rough wooden ceiling. The walls, made of hand-assembled planks, showed signs of wear and simple, unpretentious carvings. He immediately recognised the interior of a sylvan house: everything was functional, but warm.
- Awake at last, eh?
The voice, deep and tinged with a slight reproach, made him turn his head with effort. Yänn was there, sitting in a chair by the bed, his long black hair tied carelessly behind his head. His hard features were softened by a wry smile, but his grey eyes, piercing as steel, betrayed a concern he was struggling to hide.
- You really do have a knack for getting yourself into impossible situations, Foster.
The young elf tried to reply, but his throat was dry and only a few hoarse threads came out. Yänn immediately held out a cup of water, which he grabbed with silent gratitude. The cool liquid flowed down his throat like a balm, slightly soothing his discomfort.
- Where...?' whispered Foster at last, his voice weak.
- Vollua,' replied Yänn, leaning slightly towards him. We found you with the patrol, half dead in that bloody forest. You were bleeding all over the place and, frankly, I don't know how you're still alive.
The memories came flooding back: the gigantic trees, the gut-wrenching screams, the blood, the fangs, and that last moment of oppressive silence before it all faded away.
- Grey Shadows. A whole pack, as far as I could see.
Foster was awake, but his gaze remained fixed on the wooden ceiling. The subdued light in the room danced softly, casting moving shadows. He heard Yänn shift in her chair, a slight creak betraying her impatience.
- What were you doing there, Foster?' he demanded at last, breaking the silence in a voice that was calm but full of gravity.
Foster didn't answer immediately. He blinked slowly, as if thinking about the question, or perhaps the best way not to answer it. His hands, resting on the sheet, were motionless, his fingers relaxed.
- It's none of your business, Yänn
Yänn frowned, folding her arms across her chest.
- Since when have you kept secrets from me, Foster?
Foster looked away, staring at an indefinite point on the wall.
- Since always, my friend, since always.
His tone was calm, neutral, but there was nothing to hold him. Yänn tapped his foot against the floor, a gesture of frustration that he immediately mastered.
- You knew it was dangerous. You knew and you went anyway.
Foster inhaled deeply, his ribs protesting against the movement. He let out a sigh at his friend's reproach, but still didn't turn his head towards Yänn.
Yänn remained silent for a moment, scrutinising him, hoping for a clearer explanation. But Foster didn't move, his features closed and his gaze elsewhere.
- You're really annoying, you know that?' Yänn blurted out, but his tone was less harsh, almost resigned.
Foster shrugged slightly, a gesture that betrayed fatigue as much as disinterest.
- Perhaps.
Yänn sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair before standing up. He stopped at the door, taking one last look at his friend.
- You can keep your secrets, Foster. But be careful. Next time, you might not come back.
Foster didn't answer, his eyes remaining fixed on the moving shadows. It was only when the door closed that he murmured softly to himself:
- I know.
The next day, Foster, still covered in bandages, continued to practise his fencing.
After an hour and a half of practice, he stopped and opened his system panel.
[Current host status]
[Race] : Sylvain Elf
[Level 2] : 5/20
[Strength: 4
[Stamina] : 6
[Constitution] : 4
[Magic] : 15
[Available Skill Points : 4
[Skills : Fireball
[Talents] : Beginner Fencing Talent
[Quest 1: Cast 25 Spells: 13/25]
[Reward: Beginning Magic Talent]
[Quest 2.2: Fencing Skills: 849/1000]
[Random Fencing Skill]
[Quest 3: Go to Fotiya and search for the World Tree Seed]
[Reward: ???????]
- I'd forgotten! During my battle with the wolves, the system worked wonders.
Foster's excitement was palpable. He quickly distributed two points in strength, one point in endurance and one point in his physical constitution.
Foster felt a wave of gentle warmth pass through his body, lingering in his muscles and joints. His shoulders seemed a little more solid, his breath more grounded, as if his body had found a new harmony. Every movement he made seemed more precise, more controlled, and a discreet but palpable energy seemed to vibrate within him.
He clenched his fists, appreciating this emerging strength, this endurance that promised to carry him further. It wasn't a radical transformation, but he felt more confident, more ready to face what lay ahead.
- Let's start practising again! The sooner I get strong, the sooner I can complete quest 3 and the sooner I can gain strength.
With this constant sense of urgency, Foster started practising again.
In one fluid motion, he raised the knife, his arm stretched slightly forward, then executed a precise downward strike. The attack was fast, but finely tuned, his wrist locking to maximise the force on impact. Then he stepped back slightly, repositioning his feet, and did it again until he lost count.
Each strike was an exercise in control: a balance between raw power and precision. With each repetition, he corrected small details: the angle of the knife, the fluidity of the movement, the position of his other hand to protect his side. The muscles in his arm began to heat up, a familiar tingling that only spurred him on.
Suddenly, he moved quickly, striking the air with the knife, this time as part of a complete sequence: a diagonal strike followed by a quick withdrawal, a side step to dodge an imaginary attack, then a counter-attack aimed at an opening.
His feet glided over the ground with precision, each movement calculated to maintain perfect balance. Sometimes he would pivot abruptly, simulating an attack on his back, and respond with a feint before stepping back.
The exercise became an intense ballet, punctuated by his short breaths and the hiss of the blade defending the air. Foster stopped only to correct his posture or adjust his angle of approach, his eyes always fixed on what seemed to be an imaginary enemy.
[*Ding* Fencing 1000/1000, successful]
[Please pull skill wheel]
Foster covered in sweat suddenly stopped and clicked on the little roulette symbol next to quest 2.
A huge roulette wheel suddenly materialised in front of him and Foster spun it with all his might.
- Lady Luck have mercy on your poor servant!
The roulette wheel finally slowed down, each click of the mechanism echoing louder in the silence, and a shiver of impatience rose in his shoulders
- Let it be good...
He let out a nervous chuckle, then tensed the instant the roulette wheel stopped, his heart racing.
[*Ding* Skill: 'Tempestive Fulgurance' acquired]
[Description: The user becomes lightning incarnate, moving at breakneck speed before striking three times in a split second].
[Warning: Each move is accompanied by the sound of thunder]
A frightening amount of knowledge about the technique pierced his skull and slightly altered his body so that he was able to perform the technique.
- HAHAHA YES! Let's test it immediately!!!
Foster fetched a leaf from the nearest oak tree and, back where he'd been training, forcefully threw the leaf into the air.
As it slowly descended, he stared at it, totally concentrated.
He took a deep breath and when the leaf had descended sufficiently...
- Tempestive Fulgurance... he murmured
And suddenly he launched himself. An explosive movement, his body reacting instantly, propelled forward with the violence of lightning striking the earth. He moved so fast that the air seemed to tighten around him, and the attack came first, an almost invisible strike, the knife defending the air with mind-boggling speed.
He reappeared five metres behind the leaf and a second later it was violently separated by three clean, surgically precise cuts.
A crazed smile contorted his elven face