Chương 11: First Blood

Cade walked west through the wooded wetlands, the sound of his boots sucking softly through the mud. The air here was different—thicker, maybe, or just quieter. His breathing was slow and steady, the swamp's ambient hum filling the empty space where words and noise used to be. The corpses stayed behind but the weight of them followed. Seeing those two dead had done something. Not just the gore, not just the blood—it was the stillness that haunted him.

The way their bodies had been half-curled, like they'd fallen asleep and never woken up. The way death had clung to them—not loud, not dramatic. Just finality. He was still alive, somehow, and seeing those two corpses drove home how thin the line was. Intellectually, he'd known his chances were bad. No Class, no Core, no skills. He was easy prey. But until he'd seen those two—until he'd pulled their bodies out of that tree —he hadn't really felt it.

The thought kept looping back to what the System entity had said: To manually create a Core, you must refine either your body, your mind, or your soul. The first two made sense. Training. Learning. He could understand that. But the soul? How do you refine a soul? What even was a soul in this new reality? Some metaphysical stat? A resource to be ground down? Or was it still something sacred like people on Earth had thought before the System came? He didn't know. He wasn't sure anyone did.

But if the System acknowledged it—if the word soul had appeared in a message, spoken by something so far beyond human understanding—then maybe it really existed. Maybe it always had. And if souls existed, what happened to them when the body died? Cade didn't have answers. Only more questions. And if he was honest with himself, he did want to know. Just not firsthand. He kept walking, boots sinking into the muck, his mind caught somewhere between the earth and whatever might wait beyond it. The trees began to thin.

The change was subtle at first—more sky visible between the branches, fewer knotted roots snaring his ankles—but before long, the wooded swamp gave way to a vast open stretch of reeds. Cade paused at the edge of the clearing, his eyes widening. The area was massive. A sprawling oval of flat land, waterlogged and choked with chest-high stalks. Cattails swayed in a breeze he hadn't felt beneath the canopy. Sunlight poured in here unbroken, turning the reed-tops gold.

And in the center, rising like a monument, stood a tree unlike any he had ever seen. It dominated the landscape. A banyan, he thought. At least, that's what it resembled—if a banyan had been stretched upward by the hands of titans. Its trunk alone was thicker than some houses. A maze of aerial roots twisted down from the upper branches like living ropes, some of them thick enough to serve as columns. The crown towered high into the sky, easily forty meters if not more, its upper limbs lost in a tangle of green.

Cade stood there for a long time, silently staring. He didn't know trees could be that big. He took a tentative step forward into the reeds, pushing through the dense tangle. The stalks brushed against his armor, whispering faintly as they parted around him. Water sloshed with every step, and though he couldn't see the ground beneath his feet, he felt the same shallow muck give way beneath each boot. It wasn't easy going, but something about that tree drew him forward.

The scale of it felt almost sacred, like it didn't belong in the same reality as the rest of this place. His thoughts of souls and mortality hadn't quite left him, and now—walking toward this living giant—it was hard not to feel like he was approaching something important. Or at least useful. If nothing else, it was tall, sturdy, and full of potential high ground. Cade kept moving, eyes scanning the reeds as he pushed toward the tree's looming base. He was most of the way there when he froze. There. A rustle.

Something moving up ahead. He dropped low, pulse quickening. This time, he stayed in the moment. Cade crouched in the reeds, one hand bracing the bow slung across his back to keep it from snagging. The rustling was close now—steady, deliberate, and much too loud to be anything small. He cursed silently. He'd been so lost in thought he hadn't heard whatever it was until it was nearly on top of him. Focus, he scolded himself. This place isn't safe. Daydreaming will get you killed.

The rustling continued, drawing nearer. Cade stayed low, heart pounding, eyes scanning the sea of reeds ahead. He couldn't see the creature, not fully, just stalks parting in its wake and the occasional glimpse of something broad-backed moving through the green. It wasn't charging. It was rooting around. Searching. Slowly, carefully, Cade turned to look for a way out—and spotted one of the banyan's aerial roots a few meters to his right.

It stretched low to the ground, thick as a firepole, then curved upward into the trunk above. It might be climbable. He crept toward it, moving as quietly as he could. The mud sucked at his boots, and his armor creaked faintly with every crouched step. But the rustling didn't change. Whatever it was, it hadn't noticed him. Reaching the root, Cade wrapped his hands around it and began to climb. It wasn't graceful. His boots slipped more than once and the axe at his hip kept bumping into his leg.

But after a few minutes of awkward scrambling, he managed to get high enough—maybe four meters up—to find a decent perch on one of the outstretched limbs. He straddled it, catching his breath, then looked down. The creature emerged from the reeds. It was a boar. A huge one. Its shoulders would have come up to Cade's waist, maybe higher, and its back was covered in thick, matted hair that resembled the surrounding reeds. No—on closer look, some of them were reeds.

Actual plants, sprouting like bristles from the boar's spine, swaying gently with each step. It rooted through the mud with its snout, tusks tearing small furrows as it searched for something beneath the surface. Unbothered. Oblivious. From the safety of the tree, Cade watched. That thing would tear me in half if I fought it on the ground. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. But it didn't know he was there.

A thought occurred to him as a smile crept up his face. He always loved the stealth archer archetype and this was his perfect chance. He could snipe it from above and the boar wouldn't even know what hit it. He hesitated for only a moment, then reached back and slowly unhooked the bow. His legs squeezed the branch as he drew an arrow from the quiver and nocked it. The position was terrible—he was off-balance, hunched over, legs shaking in an attempt to hold on—but he did his best.

He pulled the string back, aimed at the boar's broad side and loosed. The arrow soared and sailed clear over the boar's back by a good three meters, vanishing into the reeds with a faint fwip. The boar jerked its head up at the sound and looked toward where the arrow had landed. Cade winced. Okay. Not exactly a primeval archer here. Still, it hadn't spotted him. It was staring in the wrong direction so he still had another chance to shoot it while it was unaware. He took another arrow, aimed lower, and fired again.

This one hit—barely. It struck the boar high in the haunch, embedding in the muscle near its back leg. The boar squealed, loud and shrill, and spun in place. Cade watched, heart racing, as it sniffed at the air and turned slowly, its beady eyes scanning the reeds. Cade drew another arrow and aimed for the face this time. The shot hit—but not well. It thudded into the boar's back and bounced off, deflected by the thick reed-covered hide. The reeds must act as natural armor, Cade realized. Great.

The boar's gaze snapped toward the tree. Cade froze. A second later, it charged. It moved fast—far faster than Cade would've guessed for something that size. Mud and reeds flew in all directions as the creature barreled forward, straight for the base of the banyan. Cade fumbled another arrow, heart hammering. He aimed and loosed—but the shot went wide, vanishing into the swamp. The boar slammed into the tree's roots, rearing up as if it could climb. Its tusks raked bark, its hooves scrabbling at the trunk.

It couldn't reach him—but that didn't stop it from trying. Cade clamped his legs around the limb, breathing hard, another arrow already in hand. This was going to take more work than he'd thought. The boar slammed into the tree again, tusks scraping against bark, snorting furiously. Cade steadied himself, planted both feet on the branch, and loosed another arrow. Another miss. He hissed in frustration, grabbed the next arrow, adjusted his aim, and fired again.

This one struck the boar just above the shoulder—but barely sunk in. The angle was bad. Not enough force. The boar squealed again, but didn't stop. It was ramming the tree now in intervals, shaking the lower branches every time its body slammed into the massive trunk. Cade clenched his jaw and gripped the branch tighter to keep his balance.

"Come on" he muttered under his breath, drawing again. He'd lost track of how many arrows he'd used. At least six, maybe more. Each shot made his arms ache and his fingers sting. Another shot. This one landed solidly—just behind the boar's front leg. The boar let out a strangled, ugly sound, stumbling to the side. Blood darkened its side, thick and slow. It tried to turn, tried to rear up again, but this time its movements were jerky. Uneven. It was hurting. Cade didn't let up. Another arrow. And then another.

He kept shooting, trying to down the boar. Some of the arrows stuck while far more missed and were lost in the reeds. Cade was breathing hard now, shoulders burning. Drawing the bow repeatedly was catching up to him. He glanced at the quiver. Only two left. He gritted his teeth, aimed again, and waited for the right moment. The boar reared up, trying once more to reach him, its front hooves scrabbling at the banyan. Cade released. The arrow struck low, near the throat.

The boar screamed, stumbled back, and crashed sideways into the mud. It tried to rise again, legs kicking, but couldn't get its feet under it. Blood pooled around its side now, thick and spreading. Cade nocked the final arrow. He hesitated. The boar was still breathing—barely. Its side heaved. Its eyes rolled. But it wasn't getting up. The final shot thudded into its flank—not a killing blow, but it didn't need to be. The creature collapsed fully, body twitching. Its squeals faded into rough, wet grunts.

Then silence. Cade sat there, straddling the branch, bow limp in his hands. His fingers were raw, and his arms ached. His heartbeat thudded in his ears. I did it. But it didn't feel like victory and there was no System notification confirming the kill. Even though the boar was down, it wasn't dead yet. He looked down at the blood-soaked clearing. Arrows jutted from the boar's body. He hadn't shot well—hadn't even landed half his shots—but it had been enough.

He slung the bow over his shoulder and clipped it beneath the strap of the now empty quiver. Time to finish it. Cade climbed down using one of the banyan's aerial roots, descending slowly as he watched the boar's body for any sudden movement. But it only laid there, twitching and spasming as blood continued to flow from the arrow wounds. When he hit the ground, his boots splashed softly into the churned-up mud. He approached the boar cautiously, axe in hand. Blood was everywhere, a wide pool soaked into the reeds.

The beast was still alive, but barely—it let out a weak, guttural grunt as Cade neared. He grimaced.

"Sorry," he whispered, and raised the axe. The first strike landed at the base of the boar's throat with a wet crunch. The second ended it and silence settled over the area. Then a familiar tone echoed in his ears. Ding! You have defeated [Juvenile Reedmane Marsh Boar – Level 5]. You have gained additional experience for killing a creature above your level. Race: [Human – (H)] has reached Level 3. +1 to all stats. Race: [Human – (H)] has reached Level 4. +1 to all stats. Two levels. Just like that.

Cade blinked as the System notification lingered in his mind, the last line catching his attention: You have gained additional experience for killing a creature above your level. So that's how it worked. The skinklets hadn't gotten him anywhere—fifteen total kills and not a single level. But now? One kill and two levels. Either he'd been close from before and the boar tipped him over twice or taking down something stronger than you was just that rewarding. It made sense, in a brutal kind of way.

Risk your life, get rewarded accordingly. He glanced down at the boar again, the pool of blood still spreading beneath it.

"Thanks," he muttered under his breath.

"You were worth a lot. I'm just sorry I couldn't give you a quicker, less painful death" Cade stood over the corpse, chest heaving. His hands shook from exertion, but a strange energy stirred beneath the fatigue—a spark of momentum. He wasn't just running anymore. He was finally taking action. He leaned on the axe and caught his breath. Then he looked at the body again. He didn't want to waste it. It wasn't just a victory that gave him levels. It was meat and he was hungry.

Cade knelt beside the boar, pulled the dagger from his leg sheath, and began to saw at the thick hide. It wasn't clean, and it definitely wasn't easy, but hunger was a great motivator. He didn't know how to butcher an animal. But if he could get just a few pieces—something to cook later—maybe it'd be enough to keep going. He was halfway through carving a chunk from the haunch when something made him stop. A soft sound. Not from the reeds this time. The sound came from above him. Something was moving in the tree.

Cade slowly rose to his feet, dagger still in hand, and looked up. A thick black shape was coiling down from the banyan's upper canopy. Its movements were fluid as the massive body slithered down the branches. A snake. No, not just a snake. An anaconda. Larger than any he'd ever imagined, easily thick as he was, its onyx scales catching the light with an oily sheen. It moved with eerie grace, wrapping around the banyan's aerial roots as it descended, its head swaying slowly from side to side.

Its tongue flicked out. Tasting the air. Tasting the boar's blood. Cade held his breath and took one quiet step backward. Then another. The reeds behind him swallowed his form as he crouched and backed away from the true predator approaching. The anaconda slipped lower and lower until its head reached the boar's body. It sniffed along the arrow-pierced hide, nudged it once with its blunt snout, then opened its jaws. Cade's eyes widened. The snake's mouth opened wide and its jaw unhinged.

Its lower jaw stretched open until it looked like a glistening pit of muscle and fangs. Then, slowly, it began to swallow the boar whole.