Three days had crawled by in Tyler's new "home." Three days of relentless, unfamiliar labor, punctuated by the maddening, ever-present hum of the Life System. His initial rage had curdled into a simmering annoyance, a constant thrum beneath his skin, like a mosquito he couldn't swat away. He had, against all odds, managed to settle into a rudimentary rhythm of survival.The most significant, and frankly, miraculous, turn in his burgeoning farm life had come on his second day. As he was diligently clearing another patch of weeds from his hilltop farm, a low, resonant moo had echoed across the meadow.
He'd looked up, shovel still clutched in his hand, and there it was: a full-grown, healthy cow, its mottled brown and white hide a stark contrast against the vibrant green of the grass. It grazed placidly, utterly unconcerned by his presence. His first instinct was caution; it was a wild animal, after all. But his stomach, a far more persuasive force than his ingrained wariness, churned with the thought of fresh milk, of a stable food source beyond berries and what meager fish he might catch from the ocean.He approached slowly, cautiously, remembering snippets from old agrarian texts Zach had in his library, something about feeding animals treats. He ventured back to his tent, retrieved a handful of the precious carrots and lettuce he'd planted the meager, still-small sprouts from his initial farming attempt. They weren't much, but it was all he had. With a deep breath, he extended a tentative hand, holding out the greens. The cow, surprisingly docile, lifted its large head, its liquid brown eyes regarding him with an almost bovine curiosity. It took a hesitant step forward, then another, sniffing at his palm before delicately, almost courteously, taking the offered vegetables.That first interaction was slow, painstaking. Tyler spent the better part of the afternoon coaxing the cow, offering more small portions of his precious produce, speaking to it in a low, soothing voice. He learned its patterns, its preferred grazing spots. By dusk, he had managed to guide it, surprisingly willingly, towards the hill where his tent stood.
The very next morning, armed with more determined resolve, Tyler had set about constructing a rudimentary fenced area using fallen branches and lengths of sturdy vine he painstakingly gathered from the edge of the forest. It wasn't pretty, and it certainly wasn't impenetrable, but it was enough to keep the cow contained. He even named her, an unspoken, private acknowledgment of her vital role in his survival: Bessie.The greatest benefit of Bessie's arrival, beyond the promise of future meat, was the milk. Tyler, with his limited knowledge, had managed to fashion a crude milking stool and pail from salvaged wood, and after several awkward, fumbling attempts, he finally succeeded in drawing forth a steady stream of warm, creamy liquid. Grizzy, the tiny wolf pup, had taken to it immediately. No more mushing berries and straining juice; now, the pup lapped eagerly from a shallow bowl of fresh, nourishing milk, its tiny body visibly gaining strength with each passing day. The sight of Grizzy thriving, its once fragile whimpers replaced by contented grunts, brought a quiet satisfaction to Tyler that few things ever had. It was a tangible victory in his desperate fight for survival, a testament to his own resourcefulness.But the persistent, green-tinged shadow on his contentment was the Life System. It was always there, hovering just outside his tent, or shifting silently beside him as he toiled in his farms. And it wouldn't shut up about its damned "mission."
— Mission: Heal 6 unique targets! Reward: 100 EXP and 2 Attribute Points. —It began subtle enough, but over the three days, the text grew larger, bolder, more insistent.— User, please consider the mission. There are many wounded creatures in these lands who could benefit from your ability. —Tyler would grit his teeth, ignoring the words, focusing instead on the rhythmic swing of his hoe, the steady pulling of weeds. He wasn't some cosmic medic. He was Tyler, the banished, the survivor. He didn't want to heal anyone. Healing implied caring, and caring implied getting hurt. He'd learned that lesson painfully, repeatedly, from his family, from his fake friends.
But the system, it seemed, was as persistent as a burr under a saddle. On the fourth day, the message changed, its tone shifting to one of almost comical pleading.— Please, User. Just one. Even one would be a start. The potential for growth is immense! Think of the Dexterity you could gain! —Tyler just scoffed. It's trying to tempt me now? With stats? Ridiculous. He was stubbornly resistant to its appeals. He continued to ignore it, choosing instead to focus on the tangible, the immediate: coaxing his fledgling crops to grow, ensuring Bessie was well-fed, and teaching Grizzy, now a slightly stronger, more adventurous fuzzball, to follow him around.By the sixth day, the system had reached a new level of digital desperation. The green screen pulsed with an almost frantic energy, the text practically screaming at him.
— MISSION: PLEASE 🥺 🙏 PLEASE HEAL 6 UNIQUE BEINGS! Reward: 100 EXP and 12 AP! —The little emojis, a pleading face and hands, were a bizarre addition, utterly out of place in the harsh reality of the Outlands, and they made Tyler want to scream. Twelve Attribute Points?! It's practically begging now! He had stubbornly refused to touch the initial 7 AP it had granted him, let alone consider healing anyone. He still felt a deep, ingrained resentment for the system's sudden appearance, for its unwanted intrusion into his life, for its implication that he somehow owed it something. He was done being told what to do, done being judged for his lack of magic. He would survive on his own terms. He didn't need the system, and he certainly didn't need its missions. He kept ignoring the screen as he worked on his new farm life, the simple, demanding rhythm of manual labor a welcome anchor in his chaotic existence.The sun was a warm blanket on his skin as Tyler made his way towards the ocean, a crude fishing spear fashioned from a sturdy branch in hand. Grizzy, no longer a tiny mewling bundle but a surprisingly agile, fluffy shadow, trotted faithfully at his heels, its tail wagging with youthful exuberance. The vast expanse of the ocean shimmered under the afternoon light, its rhythmic waves a soothing lullaby. Tyler squinted, searching for any signs of fish, perhaps a shallow pool left by the receding tide where he could try his luck.As he neared the water's edge, a dark, strangely angled form caught his eye, partially obscured by a cluster of jagged, salt-encrusted rocks. It was unnaturally still. His parkour instincts, honed to identify anomalies in his environment, screamed caution. He lowered his fishing spear, holding it ready, and Grizzy, sensing his tension, dropped into a silent, predatory crouch beside him, a low, almost imperceptible growl rumbling in its tiny chest.Tyler moved slowly, his steps light and deliberate on the damp sand. As he drew closer, the form resolved itself. It wasn't a log, or a shipwrecked piece of debris. It was a person.His heart gave a sudden, involuntary lurch. A human? Out here? He hadn't seen another soul since Zach's farewell. But this wasn't quite human.She lay prone, half-submerged in a shallow pool of water left by the tide, her form slumped against the rocks. Her most striking features were immediately apparent: a pair of magnificent, curved horns spiraling elegantly from her forehead, dark and glossy like polished obsidian, and, folded tightly against her back, two immense, leathery bat-like wings.
Even in their collapsed state, they spoke of incredible power and aerial grace. Her skin, where visible, was a deep, vibrant scarlet, a color that seemed to hum with an inner fire, yet it was marred by ugly streaks of drying blood.Her clothes were tattered, clinging to her form in sodden, ripped rags. What remained of them seemed to be dark leather and intricate, metallic fastenings, now shredded and torn as if she had endured a terrible, brutal struggle. Fresh, crimson liquid still pulsed from several deep cuts and gashes across her arms, legs, and torso, staining the clear tidal water around her. She was breathing, shallow and ragged, a faint rasping sound that barely disturbed the silence.
Tyler felt a familiar, uncomfortable twist in his gut. This was clearly a demoness, a creature of myth and fear in the stories his family whispered. Yet, looking at her, so broken and vulnerable, he felt only a surge of that unexpected compassion, the same raw pity that had compelled him to help the wolf. She was suffering. He knew suffering.His gaze flickered to the ever-present green screen, which now, with a timing that felt suspiciously deliberate, displayed a new, flashing message:— YOU ARE REQUIRED TO OBSERVE. NEW TARGET DETECTED. —
And then, another, more personal message, accompanied by an almost audible smirk in its digital tone:"This is your doing, isn't it?" Tyler muttered, his voice low, directed at the screen, a chilling calm in his tone that belied the turmoil in his mind. It wants me to heal. It needs targets. And suddenly, a dying demoness appears out of nowhere? Too convenient.The system's response was immediate, appearing over the still form of the demoness.— I have no idea what you are talking about 😗, but that demoness is in grave danger‼️ —The winking emoji and the exclamation marks were almost too much.
Tyler clicked his tongue in exasperation. "You irritating piece of… argh!" He shook his head, but his eyes were already scanning the immediate surroundings, assessing the demoness's wounds. Whether the system was involved or not, this being was clearly in critical condition. His immediate, instinctive decision was purely practical: he couldn't leave her to die. Not like this. And he certainly didn't want a decomposing demoness near his fishing spot.
He carefully approached, instructing Grizzy to stay back. The pup whimpered, but obeyed, watching with intelligent eyes. Tyler knelt beside the demoness, noting the surprisingly delicate structure of her face, even contorted as it was in pain. Her features were sharp, aristocratic, contrasting with her wild, bestial wings. He checked for a pulse – faint, but there.With a grunt of effort, Tyler gently, yet firmly, picked her up. She was surprisingly heavy, her muscles taut even in unconsciousness, but his years of parkour training had gifted him with exceptional strength and balance.
He shifted her weight, careful not to jostle her injured wings, and began the slow, arduous trek back to his tent. Each step on the uneven sand and grass was a challenge, her limp weight a significant burden, but he pressed on, his jaw set.He finally reached his tent, carefully laying the demoness down on the ground just inside the entrance, where the light was still good. Grizzy, curious, padded closer, sniffing tentatively before Tyler shooed it away gently.His first priority was cleanliness. He grabbed a clean, damp cloth and his waterskin. With meticulous care, he began to clean her wounds. He poured fresh water over the cuts, watching the scarlet blood dilute and swirl away, revealing the raw flesh beneath. Her skin was indeed a vibrant, deep red, smooth and strangely warm to the touch, like heated stone.
As he cleaned, he noted the depth of some of the lacerations, particularly a long, jagged cut across her ribcage and several deep gashes on her thighs. They were severe, bleeding freely, and looked infected.He had no proper bandages, no salves, no medical supplies beyond a few basic herbs he'd gathered, none of which were suited for wounds of this severity. A cold dread settled in his stomach. He didn't want a possible dead demon on his hands. Not only was the thought of a rotting corpse unpleasant, but what if whatever had done this came looking for her? What if it tracked her here? His solitary, fragile haven would be compromised.He looked at the persistent green screen, which seemed to be glowing a little brighter, silently urging him. He hated it.
He hated its meddling, its uncanny timing. But he was in a bind. This wasn't a choice about whether he wanted to heal; it was about practical survival. A dead demoness was a liability. A live one, possibly grateful, was a better outcome. Or, at the very least, one that could walk away on her own.With a deep, guttural sigh of profound reluctance, Tyler extended his hand towards the demoness's chest, hovering it over the deepest wound. "Fine," he muttered, his voice rough, directed at the infernal system. "Just this once. Don't think this means anything."He focused, vaguely remembering the "Heal (Lv1)" skill description. "Cost 2 MP per use." He felt a strange, almost imperceptible drain from within him, a subtle shift in his internal energy, as the number 6/6 MP on the screen flickered to 4/6 MP. A faint, soft green glow emanated from his palm, just as the digital confetti had glowed. The light flowed from his hand, washing over the demoness's wound.What happened next was utterly astounding.
He watched, transfixed, as the torn flesh on her ribcage began to seal and close up. It wasn't just knitting; it was as if time itself was rewound for her injury. The raw edges pulled together, the blood receded into the skin, and the laceration smoothed over, leaving behind no mark, no scar, no trace that it had ever existed. It was perfect, unblemished skin. The deeper gashes on her legs followed suit, the raw, angry red vanishing, replaced by the flawless scarlet of her natural skin. Even the minor scrapes and bruises faded, as if wiped clean by an invisible hand. Her ragged breathing softened, evening out into a deep, steady rhythm. The change was complete in a matter of seconds, breathtaking in its efficiency.He pulled his hand back, staring at his palm, then at the now perfectly healed demoness.
His mind reeled. This wasn't just healing; this was restoration. It was… astonishing. And terrifying. He had just performed magic. Real magic. The kind his family had scorned him for lacking. The "Life Mage" class wasn't just a label.Hours later, the sun had begun its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. Tyler, still feeling a strange mixture of awe and trepidation, busied himself outside the tent, carefully milking Bessie. He needed to focus on the mundane, on the familiar, to ground himself after the bizarre encounter and his unexpected use of magic. Grizzy, now a slightly larger, more confident pup, nipped playfully at his ankles, its energy boundless.Suddenly, a rustle from inside the tent. Tyler's head snapped up, his movements freezing. He heard a soft groan, then the distinct sound of someone stirring.The tent flap pushed open, and the demoness emerged. She stood tall, her silhouette stark against the fading light, her red skin now entirely unmarred, her horns gleaming, her large, bat-like wings still folded neatly against her back, though they seemed to have regained some of their inherent tension. Her eyes, a startling, vivid gold, swept over her surroundings. She saw the simple tent, the nearby cow, the vast, open meadow. She was in a human dwelling.
A basic one, but undeniably human.Her gaze then settled on Tyler, who was still kneeling beside Bessie, his hands on the cow's udder. She moved with a silent, feline grace, approaching him without a sound."You," her voice was low, resonant, surprisingly smooth despite her demonic features, carrying an undertone of primal power. Her golden eyes fixed on him, sharp and intelligent. "What did you do to me? And what do you want?" Her tone was wary, demanding, betraying no gratitude, only suspicion. The air around her seemed to shimmer with a barely contained energy, a latent threat that Tyler, despite his new 'Heal' skill, instinctively recognized.Tyler straightened up, pausing his milking. He met her gaze, his expression calm, deliberately neutral. He wasn't afraid of her. Not yet, at least. He wasn't a noble, wasn't a mage of the Oyucuria Dynasty, wasn't someone she could easily intimidate or confuse with elaborate magical jargon. He was just Tyler, the outcast."I healed you," Tyler stated simply, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. He gestured vaguely towards her now-perfect skin.
"Obviously. You were bleeding all over the place. And I didn't have any proper bandages, or I would have just patched you up and left you to it. But I didn't want a dead demoness stinking up my fishing spot, or drawing whatever was chasing you right to my doorstep." He was brutally honest, his words blunt, entirely lacking the courtesy or fear she might expect from a human.He looked her directly in the eye, his gaze unwavering. "And what do I want? I want you to leave."The demoness's golden eyes widened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of surprise crossing her aristocratic features. She had expected demands, threats, perhaps even attempts to bind her. Not this."Not," Tyler continued, preempting her questions, "because I hate demons. I don't. And not because I hate you. I don't even know you.
But I have enough problems of my own. I don't need whatever problems you have, whatever fight you were in that left you so hurt in the first place, chasing you all the way here and compromising my… my home." He gestured around the small, hard-won clearing he was building for himself. "I just got here. I just want peace. So, when you're able, just go."The demoness stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. She seemed to be processing his words, analyzing his raw, uncomplicated honesty. Tyler simply waited, his hand now gently stroking Bessie's flank, a picture of nonchalant disinterest. Grizzy, bolder now, trotted forward and sniffed tentatively at her torn robes, then looked up at Tyler, as if asking for permission to approach.Finally, the demoness gave a slow nod, a subtle tilt of her horned head. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips, a dangerous, beautiful curve that was more promise than warmth.
"My name is Ammit," she said, her voice softer now, almost a purr. Her golden eyes gleamed with a newfound respect, and perhaps, something else. "And when I am better, I will return. I will repay you for your… unsolicited help, Tyler Mage." The way she spoke his name, lingering on the 'Mage,' sent a faint shiver down Tyler's spine. She knew his name. She knew his family. This was not over.Tyler merely grunted in response, resuming his milking, pretending a casual indifference he didn't quite feel. Ammit. A name that felt ancient, powerful. He watched, out of the corner of his eye, as she moved towards the entrance of his tent, a silent, imposing figure, contemplating his words, and her next move.