Klein woke to his body's alarm—the dull throb of healing wounds and muscles that had been pushed past their limits. Gray morning light filtered through the window of his room, and for the first span of heartbeats, he didn't remember the hunt.
Then his left arm reminded him.
The bandages Brunhilde had applied were dark with dried blood at the edges, but the wounds underneath felt different. Not worse. Just... present. The baseline optimization was working, turning what should have been days of recovery into something manageable within hours.
[PHYSICAL STATE: Integrity 71% → 74% (+3% overnight recovery)]
[DAMPENING EFFICIENCY: 82% - Stable]
Klein sat up slowly, testing his range of motion. The claw wounds pulled when he lifted his arm above shoulder height, and his feet still ached from yesterday's barefoot forest marathon. But he could move. He could function.
That was enough.
The copper pouch on the table held the proof of yesterday's mathematics: 450 copper. Minus 40 for last night's lodging meant 410 remaining. Minus today's lodging and food meant maybe 365. Still more money than he'd held since arriving in Tertius, but the awareness sat cold in his mind—one hunting success didn't equal competence. It equaled luck and Synel's rescue and preparation that had barely been sufficient.
[EVALUATOR ANALYSIS: Current financial reserves sufficient for 36.5 days minimum survival (lodging + food). Recommended buffer: 60 days. Deficit: 235 copper minimum.]
Klein pulled on his clothes—the canvas pants and wool tunic that had cost a dead man's execution. The thought tried to surface, Rajesh's face, but the Dampening caught it. Compressed it. Filed it away where it wouldn't fragment his focus.
Present, but manageable.
His second ward inspection wasn't scheduled until tomorrow morning, but Klein's analytical mind was already calculating the week ahead. Three inspections at 20 copper each meant 60 copper income. Against 50 copper weekly expenses for lodging and food, that left a 10 copper surplus. Pathetic. Unsustainable.
He needed trait progression more than money, but he needed money to survive long enough for traits to matter.
The contradiction sat in his chest like weight.
Klein strapped on his knife—10 copper he couldn't afford to lose—and grabbed his spear. The iron tip was clean now, the Stalker blood scrubbed off last night before sleep, but he could still feel the memory of resistance when it had punched through the Forest Cat's spine.
[Stalker observation: 21% → 21.3%]
Even thinking about the fight generated fractional progress. Klein filed that away. Mental rehearsal works. Not as efficient as direct exposure, but it's something.
The common room downstairs smelled of cooking porridge and wet wool. Mira stood behind the bar, and when Klein approached, she studied him with the same clinical assessment she'd given yesterday.
"You're walking better," she observed.
"Healing faster than expected." Klein set five copper on the counter. "Porridge."
She pocketed the coins and served. The porridge was the same gray, lumpy mixture as yesterday, but Klein's body absorbed it gratefully.
[Physical State: 74% → 75%]
He was halfway through eating when Lyra crashed into the chair across from him with her characteristic disregard for personal space. Her crimson Hail pulsed with barely-contained energy, and her grin was bright enough to hurt.
"You're alive!" She said it like an observation and a victory simultaneously. "I won twenty copper betting on you surviving past day three. Most people thought the Forest Cat hunt was suicide."
Klein continued eating, buying time to process. She'd bet on him? "You barely know me."
"I know you're not stupid. Stupid people don't make it past the first day out here." Lyra leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity. "And I heard you actually killed the Cat. Alone. With a broken sword and a trap. That's not luck—that's someone who can calculate survival math."
"It was absolutely luck." Klein set down his spoon. "Synel's advice, trap placement, and the Cat being risk-averse enough to retreat after getting wounded. If any of those variables had been different, I'd be dead."
"But you stacked the variables in your favor." Lyra's grin widened. "That's intelligence. Most fresh spawns just... react. You plan." She paused. "My mentor's been teaching me entropy manipulation theory—it's all about probability cascades and controlled chaos. You'd probably understand it better than half his other students."
[New Observation: Demonic Mage 2.1% → 2.8%]
The trait progression registered passively, Klein's observation multiplier working in the background. Even casual conversation with Lyra generated learning.
"Your mentor's the one who threatened to turn you into a toad?" Klein asked.
"He's never actually done it. He just likes threatening." Lyra waved dismissively. "Anyway, I came to offer something. Training partner arrangement. I need someone to practice controlled destruction on—nothing dangerous, just minor entropy manifestation—and you need combat exposure. It'll give your Metamorph abilities something new to observe and learn from."
Klein processed the offer. Exposure to Demonic Mage techniques would accelerate that trait's progression. But Lyra's energy was chaotic, her control questionable. The risk wasn't zero.
"Define 'nothing dangerous,'" Klein said carefully.
"Small degradation effects. Making metal rust faster, wood rot, that sort of thing. I'm working on precision control before my mentor lets me try anything with actual destructive potential." Lyra's expression turned serious for once. "I wouldn't ask if I thought I'd actually hurt you. I like you—you're interesting. Most spawns here are either terrified or overconfident. You're just... calculating. It's refreshing."
[EVALUATOR ANALYSIS: Proposed arrangement - Risk: Low to Moderate. Benefit: Accelerated Demonic Mage observation (estimated +2-4% per session). Recommendation: Accept with clear safety boundaries established.]
"Afternoons," Klein said. "After I've completed any paid work. And if something starts to feel wrong, we stop immediately."
"Deal!" Lyra's grin returned full-force. "Eastern training ground, today after lunch?"
Klein nodded, and Lyra bounced off with the same chaotic energy she'd arrived with, leaving Klein alone with his porridge and the awareness that he'd just agreed to let someone practice entropy magic near him.
The mathematics of survival kept getting more complicated.
Klein found Synel in the same training yard as yesterday, moving through forms with his bow. The Elf's movements were liquid precision—each draw, each release, each adjustment so efficient it looked effortless.
[Elf Scout observation: 8.7% → 9.2%]
Just watching generated progress. Klein's observation multiplier was working constantly now, cataloging movement patterns, analyzing efficiency.
"You survived the hunt," Synel said without stopping his practice. "I wasn't certain you would."
"Makes two of us." Klein approached carefully. "You mentioned teaching me proper spear work if I lived. I'm here to collect on that offer."
Synel loosed one final arrow—it split the previous shaft dead center again—then turned. His golden Hail cast warm light despite the gray morning.
"Most spawns wait at least a week before trying to learn combat." His tone was neutral, but Klein caught approval underneath. "You're either very motivated or very aware of how close you came to dying."
"Both." Klein met his gaze. "The Forest Cat fight taught me I have zero combat training. Desperation and a trap aren't sustainable tactics. I need actual skills before the next crisis."
"Honest assessment." Synel set down his bow and walked to a weapons rack, selecting a practice spear—wooden shaft, blunted tip. He tossed it to Klein. "Show me your stance."
Klein caught it awkwardly, adjusted his grip based on half-remembered observations from yesterday's hunt. Feet shoulder-width apart, spear held at mid-shaft, tip angled forward.
Synel circled him slowly, golden Hail pulsing thoughtfully. "Your grip is wrong—too far forward. Your stance is too narrow—you'll lose balance the moment something hits you. And you're holding tension in your shoulders that will exhaust you in minutes."
He demonstrated the corrections with fluid efficiency. "Grip here and here—gives you leverage and control. Widen your stance—stability over mobility for someone with your experience level. Drop your shoulders—tension is wasted energy."
Klein adjusted, and immediately felt the difference. The spear felt less like an awkward weight and more like an extension of his body. Not graceful, but functional.
[Elf Scout observation: 9.2% → 9.8%]
"Better." Synel picked up his own practice spear. "Combat fundamentals: distance management is everything. Spears give you reach advantage. Use it. Never let opponents get inside your effective range. If they do, you've already lost."
He moved through basic forms—thrust, withdraw, guard position, lateral deflection. Each movement precise, efficient, the product of someone who'd trained until technique became reflex.
"Watch, then replicate."
Klein watched, his observation trait cataloging every detail. Then he attempted replication.
His first thrust was clumsy—too much wind-up, telegraphed movement, balance compromised. Synel corrected with terse efficiency: "Thrust from the guard position. Minimal movement. Your opponent doesn't get warning."
Second attempt: better. Still obviously amateur, but functional.
[Elf Scout observation: 9.8% → 11.2%]
They drilled for an hour—basic thrusts, guard positions, footwork fundamentals. Klein's body protested, his healing wounds pulling with each movement, but the Dampening held the discomfort at manageable levels.
"Your ability to observe and replicate is faster than I expected," Synel said during a water break. "Most spawns take days to build this kind of muscle memory. You're internalizing the patterns in a single session."
"Observation multiplier." Klein didn't elaborate. "I bought a system upgrade. Accelerates learning."
"Smart investment." Synel studied him with new consideration. "You're treating this like mathematics. Calculate the variables, optimize the approach, minimize waste. It's not how most Divine or Demonic souls approach combat, but it's effective."
He paused. "That Neutral classification might be more advantage than liability. You're not locked into Divine honor codes or Demonic dominance displays. Just pure pragmatic calculation."
Klein tested his grip on the practice spear, adjusting based on the hour's training. "In Manila, I survived six years on 25,000 pesos a month. That's less than 500 dollars. Rent, food, utilities, medicine, transportation—all on 500 dollars monthly. You learn to calculate or you starve."
"And that poverty taught you survival mathematics." Synel's tone carried something that might have been respect. "The continental kingdoms are full of spawns who died with heroic ideals or ambitious dreams. Thornhaven's full of survivors. You'll fit here."
He gestured back to the training space. "Again. Thrust sequence, thirty repetitions. Focus on consistency over speed."
Klein moved through the forms, his analytical mind cataloging each iteration, comparing performance, adjusting variables. Clumsy still, but improving with each cycle.
[Elf Scout observation: 11.2% → 13.1%]
By the time Synel called the session complete, Klein was exhausted despite the Dampening's compression of discomfort. His arms burned, his feet throbbed, his healing wounds had reopened slightly and bled through bandages.
But he could hold a proper guard position now. Could execute basic thrusts without compromising his balance. Could recognize the fundamental geometry of spear combat even if his body couldn't execute it with grace.
Progress. Incremental, insufficient, but progress.
"Same time tomorrow," Synel said. "If you survive Lyra's entropy practice."
Klein nodded his thanks and turned to leave.
"Klein." Synel's voice stopped him. "The Forest Cat hunt showed you can survive alone. That's valuable. But don't mistake survival for dominance. There are things in the deep forest that will kill you even if you do everything right. Know the difference between calculated risk and suicide."
Klein met his gaze. "Yesterday taught me I'm not ready for solo hunting. That's why I'm here."
"Good." Synel returned to his bow practice, the conversation clearly finished.
Klein walked back toward Thornhaven's center, processing the morning's progress. Ward inspection tomorrow would bring 20 copper. Spear training with Synel was pushing his Elf Scout observation toward the 15% mark. Lyra's entropy practice this afternoon would accelerate Demonic Mage progression.
The compound interest of survival. Each small gain built on the previous one. Learn, adapt, accumulate capability.
He just needed to live long enough for the compounding to matter.
[Current Status Summary]
Copper: 405 (410 start - 5 breakfast)
Equipment: Iron spear, basic knife, functional clothing
Injuries: Healing (74% integrity, improving)
Trait Progress: Stalker 21.3%, Elf Scout 13.1%, Forest Cat 8%, others progressing
Balance: 46% Divine / 54% Demonic
PP: 0
Immediate goals: Lyra's training (afternoon), continue recovery, next ward inspection (tomorrow)
Klein found lunch—another five copper for stew that tasted like old mutton and regret—and made his way to the eastern training ground.
Lyra was already there, gesturing wildly at a wooden post while a middle-aged human man watched with patient exasperation. Above the man's head floated a crimson Hail, darker and more controlled than Lyra's chaotic pulse.
"—and if I can just get the degradation rate consistent—" Lyra noticed Klein approaching. "Klein! Perfect timing. This is my mentor, Corvus. Corvus, this is Klein. The Neutral Metamorphor I mentioned."
Corvus turned, and his eyes went immediately to the empty space above Klein's head. His Hail dimmed slightly, but his expression remained neutral.
"Interesting." His voice was measured, academic. "Lyra mentioned you'd agreed to be her practice subject. I appreciate the courage, though I question the wisdom."
"It's calculated risk," Klein said. "I require exposure to new combat variables to progress. She requires a stable subject to practice control. The benefit is mutual."
"Hmm." Corvus studied him with sharp eyes. "Lyra's mentioned your analytical approach to survival. Rare in fresh spawns. Most are too busy panicking or posturing." He paused. "I'll supervise the first session. If her control is sufficient, I'll allow future unsupervised practice. If not—" he glanced at Lyra "—we'll revisit her training timeline."
Lyra's grin didn't falter. "I'll be perfect. Watch."
She gestured Klein to stand beside a wooden post identical to the one she'd been practicing on. Then, with visible concentration, she extended her hand.
Klein felt it immediately—a wrongness in the air, like reality was being pulled slightly out of true. The wood of the post began to darken, fibers breaking down at accelerated rate. In ten seconds, what should have taken months of decay happened in real-time.
[New Observation: Demonic Mage 2.8% → 4.1%]
The sensation was uncomfortable—Klein's new spiritual sensitivity picked up the distortion, the way Lyra was twisting probability and natural law to force accelerated entropy. But it wasn't painful. Just... wrong.
"Good control," Corvus observed. "Focused, sustained, predictable degradation. Do it again, but this time on Klein's wooden practice spear."
Klein held out the practice spear Synel had given him. Lyra's eyes narrowed in concentration, and the same wrongness bloomed. The wood began to darken, fibers separating.
[Demonic Mage observation: 4.1% → 5.3%]
Direct exposure to the effect accelerated Klein's trait observation significantly. His mind cataloged the sensation—the way reality bent, the mathematical framework underlying the chaos.
"Sufficient," Corvus said. "Klein, any adverse effects?"
Klein tested his grip on the now-compromised practice spear. "Discomfort from sensing the distortion, but no physical harm. The entropy is contained to the target."
"Good." Corvus nodded to Lyra. "You may continue unsupervised, but Klein has veto authority. If he says stop, you stop immediately."
"I know, I know." Lyra waved dismissively, but her eyes held genuine respect when she looked at Klein. "I'm not going to hurt my favorite test subject."
Corvus left them to it, and Lyra's practice continued. She demonstrated different entropy effects—accelerated rust on metal, degradation of cloth, localized decay of plant matter. Each iteration gave Klein more data, more understanding of how Demonic magic warped natural law.
[Demonic Mage observation: 5.3% → 7.8%]
After an hour, Lyra was visibly exhausted, and Klein's spiritual sensitivity felt raw from constant exposure to reality distortion.
"That's enough for today," Klein said. "I'm approaching sensory overload, and you're running low on mana."
"Fair." Lyra collapsed onto the ground with zero dignity. "But that was amazing progress. I've never been able to maintain that much control for that long. Having a reliable target who isn't panicking helps immensely."
Klein sat beside her, his back against the training post. "You mentioned entropy manipulation theory. What's the underlying framework?"
"Oh, you actually want to know?" Lyra's eyes lit up. "Most people find it boring."
"I find survival mechanics interesting. Magic is survival mechanics."
Lyra launched into explanation—probability cascades, controlled chaos, the way Demonic magic exploited natural entropy rather than fighting it. Most of it went over Klein's head, but pieces connected. The mathematics of decay, the framework of destruction.
[Demonic Mage observation: 7.8% → 8.9%]
Even theoretical discussion generated progress. Klein's mind cataloged concepts, building foundation for future understanding.
They talked until the afternoon light began to fade, Lyra's chaotic energy gradually mellowing into something almost thoughtful. Eventually she stood, stretched with cat-like grace, and offered Klein a hand up.
"Same time tomorrow?" she asked.
"If I'm not dead from ward inspection duty or Synel's training."
"You won't die." Lyra's grin returned. "I've got money riding on you making it to week three. Don't make me lose my investment."
Klein watched her bounce away, leaving him alone in the training ground as twilight approached.
His body inventory was automatic now: feet still healing, arm wounds improving, exhaustion pressing against the Dampening barrier. But underneath the discomfort, something else was building.
Progress. Compound interest. Each small gain stacking on the previous one.
[Current Trait Progress:]
Elf Scout: 13.1%
Stalker: 21.3%
Forest Cat: 8%
Demonic Mage: 8.9%
Forest Ecosystem: 9.1%
Ward Magic: 1.6%
Not enough yet. Not even close. But moving in the right direction.
Klein limped back toward the inn, paid 40 copper for his room—360 remaining—and collapsed onto his bed. The broken sword from yesterday's hunt leaned against the wall, now fully his after being returned from evidence. A reminder of how close he'd come to dying.
And a reminder that he'd survived anyway.
Tomorrow: ward inspection, 20 copper earned, more training with Synel. The week would repeat, each day building capability, each interaction generating observation progress.
The mathematics of survival. Calculate the variables, optimize the approach, accumulate small gains until they compounded into something meaningful.
Klein closed his eyes and let exhaustion drag him toward sleep.
The Dampening held steady at 82%, compression managing the weight he carried. Rajesh's execution. His mother's death. Cariel's sacrifice. All present, all permanent, all compressed into manageable weight behind soundproof glass.
Survival first. Everything else after.
Sleep came easier tonight, achieved through exhaustion and the cold certainty that tomorrow would bring more calculations, more risks, more incremental progress toward becoming something that could survive past the first week.
[EMOTIONAL DAMPENING FIELD: 82% - Stable]
In the dark of his room, Kahiramura Klein—Metamorphor, balanced soul, survivor—began his third night in a world that killed most spawns before they learned to stop panicking.
He was learning.
That would have to be enough.