Chapter 3: The Bear of the Deep Forest
The forest was different that day.
I'd been meditating by the stream for nearly two hours, cycling my Nen in the deliberate, measured patterns that had become second nature over the past two months. My energy reserves were nearly full, and I was practicing the subtle art of maintaining perfect circulation while remaining completely aware of my surroundings.
That was when I felt itâ€"a disturbance in the forest. Not a sound exactly, but a presence. Something large was moving through the trees.
I opened my eyes and stood smoothly, extending my senses outward. Most Nen users could learn to feel the presence of other Nen-using beings, but I'd discovered that the Error Pathway had a different specialty: I could sense the *absence* of things. I could feel where objects weren't supposed to be, where reality had shifted slightly in my favor. But more importantly, I could feel large disturbances in the natural order.
Something massive was approaching.
I didn't panic. Instead, I quickly assessed my options. The stream was to my left, dense forest in all directions. I could run, certainly. I had no reason to engage whatever was coming. My training was going well, my progress was steady. There was no need for unnecessary risk.
But as I turned to leave, something made me pause.
If I ran from every challenge, I would never truly understand my power. And understanding the Error Pathway required testing it against real resistance, real opposition.
I settled back into a ready stance, my Nen already beginning to circulate faster in preparation.
The bear emerged from the treeline perhaps fifty meters away.
It was massiveâ€"nearly three meters tall when it reared up on its hind legs. Its fur was a deep brown, almost black in the shadows of the forest, and its eyes held an intelligence that went beyond mere animal instinct. This was a *beast*â€"likely a super creature, the kind that existed in the deep forests of the Hunter x Hunter world.
For a moment, we simply stared at each other.
Then the bear bellowed, a sound so deep and resonant that it made my bones vibrate. It was a territorial challenge, a declaration of dominance.
I was in its territory. It wanted me gone, or deadâ€"preferably the latter.
The bear didn't waste time on further posturing. It charged directly at me, covering the distance between us in powerful bounds. Its massive paws thundered against the earth, shaking loose soil and leaves.
I had perhaps three seconds to decide my response.
Running wouldn't work. The bear was faster than it looked, and there was nowhere in this forest where it wouldn't have the advantage. My only option was to engage.
As the bear closed to striking distance, I threw myself to the side, using a burst of Enhancement-type Nen to increase my physical speed and agility. The Error Pathway was primarily a Specialization-type ability, but Nen wasn't exclusive to one category. Every user could technically employ all six Nen types to some degree. I'd been practicing Enhancement Nen since the beginningâ€"the most basic application, simply flowing Nen through my body to enhance my physical capabilities.
The bear's massive claw raked through the air where I'd been standing, tearing deep gashes in an ancient tree trunk. Splinters the size of daggers flew through the air.
I rolled backward, putting distance between us, my mind already working through my options.
The Error Pathway's primary application at Sequence 9 was theftâ€"stealing physical objects through conceptual displacement. I could steal small things without issue. But stealing from a moving, aggressive opponent was exponentially more difficult. The bear's will, its fierce determination to remain intact, created a kind of resistance.
However, I realized, I didn't need to steal from the bear itself. I could steal from its environment.
As the bear charged again, I focused my Nen on the ground. Specifically, I focused on the rocks and debris scattered across the forest floor. Using the stealing technique, I displaced themâ€"not stealing them away, but stealing their *position relative to the bear's path*.
It was a slight variation on my usual technique, but the principle was sound. If I stole the position of objects in the bear's way, redirecting them through conceptual manipulationâ€"
The bear stumbled. Not a full fall, but enough to break its charge momentum. One of its massive feet caught on a displaced stone that suddenly appeared directly in its path. The creature recovered quickly, shaking off the disturbance, but I'd bought myself precious seconds.
I used those seconds to run.
Not out of fear, but out of strategy. I needed distance and space to think, to plan. Hand-to-hand combat with a creature that outweighed me by several hundred kilograms and had claws designed for tearing through flesh was suicide.
I put about a hundred meters of forest between myself and the bear, moving at full speed with Enhancement Nen boosting my physical capabilities. The bear pursued, but I was faster in short bursts, and the dense forest favored my agility over its raw power.
Once I had distance, I slowed and allowed my mind to settle. The bear would continue pursuingâ€"territorial beasts didâ€"but I had a moment to breathe and think.
The Error Pathway at Sequence 9 offered me one primary tool: stealing. But stealing could be applied creatively.
I'd already discovered I could steal abstract concepts like tiredness and pain. What about other things? Could I steal the bear's momentum? Its grip on the ground? Its sense of balance?
The bear crashed through the trees behind me, getting closer. It was smartâ€"it was learning my movement patterns, cutting off angles, herding me toward less favorable terrain.
I picked my ground carefully, selecting a small clearing where fallen logs created natural obstacles. The bear would have a harder time maneuvering here.
When the bear burst into the clearing, I was ready.
"Come on!" I shouted, allowing it to lock onto my position. The animal's focus narrowed on me, and it gathered itself for a charge.
This time, instead of running, I stood my ground.
I drew my Nen inward, concentrating it into my core. Enhancement Nen flowed through my arms and legs, strengthening my muscles, quickening my reflexes. When the bear charged, I used every bit of speed I could muster to dodge to the sideâ€"but not far enough.
A massive claw caught me across the ribs, and I felt the world explode into pain.
Air rushed from my lungs. The bear had expected me to dodge completely, and the glancing blow was still enough to crack something in my chest and tear open my shirt, leaving deep gashes that bled freely.
I refused to cry out. Instead, I did something the bear wouldn't expect.
I stole the pain.
Using the same technique I'd practiced on myself during training, I reached out with my Nen and stole the sensation of injury from my own body. The pain vanished instantly, replaced by a clear, cold focus.
The bear, having expected me to be incapacitated by the blow, was already committing to another attack. This gave me a crucial window.
I threw myself forward, directly at the bear, instead of away from it. Enhancement Nen surged through my legs, and I launched myself upward, using one of the fallen logs as a springboard. I needed to get above the bear, to avoid its claws and teeth.
I managed to grab onto the creature's back, my fingers tangling in its thick fur. The bear immediately began thrashing, trying to shake me off. I held on desperately, my Enhancement Nen keeping my grip from being torn away.
From this position, I could try something new.
I focused my Nen on the bear's limbs. Specifically, on the power in its limbsâ€"the force that gave its movements such devastating impact. Using the stealing technique, I attempted to steal the raw force behind its thrashing.
It was like trying to grab smoke. The bear's will was too strong, its determination too absolute. I could only steal tiny fractions of its power, and the effort cost me dearly in Nen expenditure.
But it worked. Each stolen fragment of the bear's power manifested as a slight reduction in the violence of its thrashing. It was minusculeâ€"barely noticeableâ€"but it gave me just enough time to maintain my position.
The bear went wild. It twisted its massive body, it reared up and crashed down, trying to crush me against fallen logs. I held on with everything I had, my arms screaming from the effort.
This was where I was in serious trouble.
My Nen reserves were depleting rapidly. I'd been using Enhancement continuously for several minutes, and now I was attempting to steal power from the bear itselfâ€"a process that met massive resistance and consumed enormous amounts of energy.
I couldn't maintain this. I didn't have the stamina, the power reserves, or the strength.
The bear managed to get one massive paw up and raked it across my left arm. Even with my Enhancement Nen active, the claws carved deep. I heard rather than felt the bones cracking.
This was real danger. This was death.
And in that moment of clarity, I realized something crucial about the Error Pathway.
Stealing wasn't just about claiming physical objects or even abstract concepts. It was about absolute certainty of claim, about convincing reality that something should belong to you. It was about the application of will so complete that the universe accepted it as truth.
What if I stole the bear's will itself?
Not its life forceâ€"I wasn't strong enough for that. Not its Nen. But its fundamental conviction that it was winning, that it had the advantage, that it was in control.
I let go of the bear.
Dropping down, I hit the ground hard and immediately began cycling all my remaining Nen inward, concentrating it to a single point. I stared directly into the bear's eyes, and I opened myself to the Error Pathway's true nature.
I stole its certainty.
It was like pulling a thread from reality itself. The bear's absolute conviction that it was the predator and I was the preyâ€"I stole that conviction and claimed it for myself.
The bear staggered. For just a momentâ€"barely a fraction of a secondâ€"its will wavered. Its sense of dominance flickered. In that instant, I was the apex predator, and it was prey.
The moment passed, but it was enough.
I limped forward, my arm hanging useless, blood dripping from the claw wounds on my ribs and the massive gash on my arm. My Nen was nearly depleted. I could barely stand.
But the bear hesitated.
Animals understood predators. They understood dominance. In that single moment when I'd stolen its certainty, the bear had felt the reversal of their positions. Its instinct, powerful and absolute, recognized a threat that it wasn't sure it could overcome.
We stared at each other, both of us exhausted, both of us wounded.
The bear turned and walked away.
Not in retreat, not in defeat, but in the way dominant animals sometimes chose not to engage with uncertain threats. It had better things to do than fight a strange small creature that did impossible things.
I watched it disappear into the forest, then collapsed to my knees.
My left arm was badly damaged. The wound on my ribs was deep. I was bleeding from multiple locations, and my Nen was completely depleted. I couldn't even lift myself properly to stand.
But I was alive.
For several minutes, I simply knelt there, breathing heavily, trying to process what had just happened.
I'd fought a bear. An actual, massive predator creature. And I'd won. Barely. By using creative applications of the Error Pathway at Sequence 9, combined with Enhancement Nen.
But I'd also learned something crucial: I was still at Sequence 9, and there were firm limits to what I could accomplish at this level. My victory hadn't come from being stronger or more powerful. It had come from being clever, from understanding my abilities at a deeper level, and from a single moment of insight and will.
Getting back to the village was a nightmare.
My left arm was uselessâ€"the claws had severed something important, and I couldn't make a proper fist with it. The wound on my ribs made every breath painful, and my entire body felt like it had been run over by something heavy.
I used my Enhancement Nen to keep myself moving, pushing through the pain I'd stolen from myself, forcing my damaged body to function.
By the time I reached the village, the sun was beginning to set. I knew I couldn't go home in this condition. My mother would panic. Instead, I went directly to the stream at the forest's edge and used water from the cold stream to rinse away the blood.
The cold helped. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain I'd stolen was beginning to reassert itself. I focused on my Nen, attempting to cycle it through my body for recovery.
My Nen was completely depleted. It would take hours for me to regenerate enough energy to even attempt basic healing.
I sat by the stream, shivering, waiting for my Nen to recover enough that I could steal the pain againâ€"or better yet, steal the physical injury itself.
It took nearly four hours.
When I finally had enough Nen reserves, I began the careful process of stealing the pain from each wound. Stealing pain didn't heal the injury, but it made the wounds manageable. Then I attempted something more ambitious: stealing the infection risk, the inflammation response, the body's natural reaction to injury that would make recovery more difficult.
By the time I made my way back to the village, the pain was manageable, and my arm, while still injured, could move with limited function.
My mother was worried but didn't ask too many questions when I explained that I'd gotten into an altercation with a wild animal while training in the forest. Father examined my injuries with a thoughtful expression.
"That was foolish," he said firmly. "You could have died."
"I know," I replied. "But I learned a lot."
"About fighting?" Father asked.
"About myself," I said
Father was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded. "That's what matters. Growth through experience. But next time, be smarter about the risks you take."
"I will," I promised.
Over the next three days, I barely trained. My body needed recovery time, and while I was using the Error Pathway to manage pain and injury, I wasn't addressing the underlying damage. My arm slowly regained function. The gashes on my ribs scabbed over. My Nen reserves recovered.
By the fourth day, I was back in the forest, meditating by the stream.
But everything had changed.
I understood the Error Pathway differently now. It wasn't just about stealing objects or even abstract concepts. It was about absolute conviction, about the application of will so complete that reality bent to accommodate it. Every use of the pathway was an argument with the universe itself, a conviction so absolute that existence adjusted to make you right.
And I'd used that conviction in combat. I'd stolen the bear's certainty, convinced reality that I was the predator, and it had worked.
I was still at Sequence 9 but I'm nearing the elevating soon to Sequence 8. I can feel it .
And understanding was the true foundation of mastery.
That evening, I overheard my father discussing the incident with my mother.
"He fought a wild beast?" she was asking, concerned.
"He did," Father confirmed. "And he won, according to him. Though 'won' might be a generous interpretation. From the injuries, it seems more like he survived."
"He could have been killed," Mother said, distressed.
"Yes," Father agreed. "But he wasn't. And more importantly, he's not devastated by the experience.
Father paused. "I believe Ben will face many more dangers in his life. But he has the right mentality to overcome them. That matters more than raw power."
I lay in my bed that night, listening to their conversation through the thin walls, and something crystallized within me.
I had two years and ten months left before the Phantom Troupe arrived. I was still at Sequence 9, and advancement to Sequence 8 is nearby.
But I also understood something now that I hadn't before: raw power wasn't what would save the Kurta clan. It was understanding, strategy, and the clever application of existing abilities.
The bear had been more powerful than me in every objective measure. But I'd survived. I'd won.
Perhaps that was the lesson.