Sylas awoke with the dawn.Yesterday had been a day of building-meeting the villagers, organizing them, seeding something bigger. Today, they would work. Honest work.
The earth he'd chosen was just off to the side of the center path where the trees opened up. It'd been fields, ages ago, but now it was a mess of tangled weeds, broken ground, and obstinate roots. Still, it was the most convenient spot to begin.
Sylas rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
He worked with a shovel at first, digging and flipping the dirt row by row. No shortcuts. No magic. His creation skills would come in handy he knew that but there was part of him that wanted to feel the dirt between his fingers. To do it the right way. The village needed more than a leader with capabilities. It needed someone who could lead by doing it first.
His muscles ached quickly. The work was harder than expected. Rocks snagged the blade, and roots clung to the soil like they had no intention of leaving.
But Sylas kept going.
By midmorning, Mira showed up with a woven basket of food and a knowing look in her eyes.
"You're doing this the old way," she said, setting down water and bread.
Sylas nodded, swiping sweat from his forehead. "It has to be done properly. I'm not lying."
She sat on a stump next to him, observing. "You're not as you once were. More steady."
"I suppose death does," he said with half a joke.
Mira did not smile. "Don't dramatize. You're amazing, but you're still a human."
When she'd departed, Sylas continued. With time, he spoiled himself to some assistance-a subtle nudge of his Creation: Shape Soil so that he might shift debris and even the land. Not because he needed to save time, but because otherwise it would look messy.
And then he began planting. Onions, snaproot beans, carrots-usual crops. But there were seeds he'd also been given in exchange, unknown to him: bloodberries and dusk-wheat. Mira'd cautioned they were finicky. He wanted to show her otherwise.
He planted each seed himself, carefully pushing it into the dark soil, stooping low.
As he planted, the system pops up:
> Quest Progress: [Grow the Village]
Land Prepared: 28%
Bonus Objective: Use minimal magic – Progress +10%
Sylas smiled. "Good to know someone's keeping track."
The wind changed.
Sylas remained rigid. Birds that had been singing fell silent. He rose up slowly, looking in the direction of the forest edge.
Something was coming.
The bushes shook, low and fast. Sylas let his tools fall and squinted.
Three creatures padded into sight.
Not wolves. Not dogs. Their bodies twisted, hunched, and too lean.
Their eyes glowed yellow light that was unwell.
> Hollow Hounds (x3)
Rank: E
Condition: Aggressive
Threat Level: Moderate
Sylas's instincts howled.
He moved back, taking the shovel. "You picked the wrong person."
One attacked.
Sylas turned and slammed the flat of the shovel against its face. It yelped and rolled away. Another popped up from the left. He sidestepped the snap of its jaws and thumped the handle into its side with all his strength. It coughed and snarled and backed off.
The third came from behind.
Sylas spun around just in time to see a glimpse-then agony.
The beast's claws tore through his arm. He swore, collapsing, the shovel dropping from his hand.
Use magic! his brain screamed.
But he couldn't. The system held back. The villagers held back, even though they weren't present. He had to do it without magic. He had to do something-something with himself.
So he bent down, picked up a rock, and hurled it with every ounce of strength.
It smashed into the hound's head. It stumbled.
Sylas charged, leaped on it, and pinned it. One hard punch. And another. It calmed down.
The others snarled low… and fled.
The silence came back.
Sylas got up, bleeding, panting for breath.
The system beeped:
> Combat Complete – Hollow Hounds (3 Defeated)
EXP Earned: +120
[Greenthumb] Skill Upgraded
[New Trait Acquired: Earthbound Farmer]
You worked hard, not taking shortcuts. You stand up for what you plant.
The earth burned at his feet. Where blood once was, green shoots burst forth.
Sylas gazed. Not magic. Almost not. Something other.
He breathed slowly, agony leaking from his arm.
"that's close," he said.
As the sun began to set toward the woods, he glanced back at his land. Seeded rows. Plowed earth. Runoff creatures. It wasn't good, but it was real.