The world outside the cart was a wall of sensory overload after the dim, stifling confinement. The cold bit through his sackcloth immediately, a sharp, clean contrast to the cart's stale warmth. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, pine resin, and decay. Every rustle of leaves, every distant cry of a night bird, felt amplified, a potential herald of discovery.
Chen Mo didn't hesitate. He didn't look back. The system's objective glowed in his vision, a constant, urgent reminder. Initial Escape: In Progress.
He pushed through the first line of undergrowth, thorns snagging his clothes, and ran. It wasn't a sprint—his body, despite the nutrient solution, was still frail and untrained—but a desperate, loping scramble, putting as much distance and as many tree trunks between himself and the road as possible. His Keen Eye flickered constantly, highlighting treacherous roots, patches of loose scree, and the densest paths through the foliage. It was disorienting, the flood of visual detail overwhelming his panicked brain, but it kept him from stumbling headlong into a ravine or a noisy thicket.
Behind him, chaos erupted. A guard's shout, sharp with alarm, cut through the forest murmurs. "The runt! Number Seven's bolted!" More shouting, the baying of a dog—he hadn't known they had dogs—and the harsh clatter of weapons and armor being seized.
Adrenaline, cold and metallic, flooded his veins. He pushed harder, his lungs burning. The mental Crude Map provided only the broadest direction: the mountains were to the north and west, Blackstone Outpost lay southeast. He angled east-southeast, away from the road and the known path, deeper into the untracked woods. His goal wasn't the town, not yet. It was survival, distance, and obscurity.
[Skill Progress: Keen Eye (Novice) proficiency increased. 3%.]
The notification was a ghost at the edge of his awareness. He had no attention to spare for it. A branch whipped across his cheek, drawing a stinging line. He ducked under another, his movements growing slightly more fluid, his eyes learning to parse the Keen Eye's data stream faster. He was adapting.
The pursuit was not quiet. He could hear them crashing through the brush, the dog's excited barks growing alternately louder and fainter as it scrambled on the scent. They were bigger, heavier, armored. He was small, desperate, and unencumbered. It was his only advantage.
He ran for what felt like an hour, until the stitch in his side was a white-hot knife and his legs trembled with exhaustion. The sounds of pursuit had faded, though he couldn't be sure if they'd given up or were simply moving more carefully. He found a shallow depression behind a massive, moss-covered fallen log and collapsed into it, chest heaving, ears straining.
Silence, save for the wind in the high branches and the frantic drumming of his own heart. He willed himself to be quiet, to become part of the forest floor. The system's objective still pulsed: Undetected. It hadn't failed. Not yet.
As his breathing slowed, the reality of his situation crashed down. He was free of the chains, but he was alone in a wilderness teeming with unknown dangers, wearing rags, with no food, no real weapon, and a massive system debt hanging over him. The 55 PP he had left were a lifeline, but the Marketplace's Essentials list was a cruel joke. He needed shelter, real food, water.
A new, quieter notification appeared:
[Secondary Objective Updated: Survive the Night.]
Conditions: Avoid predation (animal/humanoid). Maintain core body temperature. Secure a water source.
Reward: Variable (Based on performance). Unlock 'Wilderness Survival' skill branch.
It was no longer just about escape. It was about the next twelve hours.
First, water. His throat was parched again. The nutrient solution had staved off dehydration, not cured it. He focused, using Keen Eye to scan his immediate surroundings. The skill highlighted subtle gradients in the terrain, patterns in the moss growth. It pointed him downhill, to where the earth looked damper. After a careful, silent crawl of fifty yards, he found it—a thin, clear trickle of water seeping from a rock face into a small, leaf-lined basin. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
He drank greedily, the cold water shocking his system. It tasted of minerals and earth. Pure. He filled his cupped hands again and splashed it on his face, washing away sweat and grime.
Shelter and warmth came next. The temperature was dropping steadily with the fading light. He had no tools, no firestarter. But he had 55 PP and a marketplace. He browsed the list again, his mind racing. A Simple Wool Blanket (20 PP) was tempting but a luxury. A Flint and Steel (25 PP) was essential. He purchased it, the worn set of stones appearing in his hand. The act of striking them, of nurturing a tiny spark into a flame in a carefully prepared ring of stones and dry tinder, felt profoundly human. It was the first thing he had made in this world. The small fire pushed back the creeping dark and the chill.
He spent another 5 PP on 1 Liter of Clean Water, storing it in the system's temporary space as a reserve. He was down to 25 PP. He dared not spend more; the 120 PP debt loomed like a specter.
Food was the next problem. His stomach growled, reminding him the nutrient solution's effects were temporary. He scanned the undergrowth with Keen Eye. The skill now highlighted certain plants with a faint, neutral yellow glow. One was a cluster of small, dark berries. A memory fragment from the slave boy—not a detailed knowledge, but a visceral sense of "not poisonous, bitter, but edible." He gathered a handful, eating them slowly. They were tart and unpleasant, but they took the edge off the hunger.
As dusk settled in, painting the forest in deep blues and purples, the sounds changed. The daytime birds fell silent. New noises emerged: the hoot of an owl, the scuttling of unseen things in the leaf litter, and once, a long, chilling howl that was far too close for comfort. He added more wood to his fire, making it a little brighter.
He was examining the fire, his mind racing through plans for the next day, when his Keen Eye caught a discrepancy. On the mossy trunk of a tree near his hiding spot, a patch of moss was torn, the bark beneath scored by deep, parallel grooves. They were fresh, sap still oozing from them. The system provided no assessment—it wasn't a living being or a simple object. But his own modern mind, fed on nature documentaries, supplied the terrifying answer: claws. Very large claws.
A new prompt, in stark red, flashed across his vision:
[Environmental Threat Detected: Forest Predator (Large Carnivore) in vicinity. Estimated threat level: Lethal.]
[Recommendation: Abandon current location. Ascend to safety.]
His blood ran cold. He looked up. The tree with the claw marks was tall, its lower branches thick and within reach. The howl came again, closer this time, a guttural sound that spoke of hunger.
"Climb," he whispered to himself. It was his only option.
He kicked dirt over his fire, plunging the depression into near-darkness. He stuffed the flint and steel into a fold of his cloth, leaped for the lowest branch, and hauled himself up. His arms screamed in protest, but fear lent him strength. He climbed higher, until he was a good thirty feet off the ground, nestled in a fork between two substantial limbs.
Just in time.
Below, a massive shape moved silently into the clearing he had just vacated. His Keen Eye strained, and a faint tag appeared: 'Forest Lurker – Juvenile. Threat: Extreme.' It was the size of a large pony but built like a monstrous cross between a panther and a wolf, with sleek, shadowy fur and eyes that glinted with a faint, malevolent yellow in the starlight. It sniffed the air, its muzzle lowering to the remains of his fire, then to the base of his tree. It let out a low, rumbling growl of frustration.
It knew he was here.
For what felt like an eternity, the beast circled the tree. Chen Mo held his breath, pressing himself against the rough bark. He was a city programmer, hiding in a tree from a monster. The absurdity almost made him laugh, a hysterical bubble rising in his throat that he forcibly swallowed.
Finally, with a last, baleful look upwards, the Lurker melted back into the shadows. The forest fell silent once more, but the silence now felt watchful, predatory.
He didn't sleep. He sat in the tree fork, shivering as the night grew colder, clutching the branch. He watched the stars, unfamiliar constellations wheel slowly overhead. He listened to every rustle, every snap of a twig. He thought about the system, the debt, the clawed beast below, and the vast, uncaring world he was now a part of.
Just before the first grey light of dawn touched the horizon, a new, welcome notification chimed softly.
[Secondary Objective: Survive the Night – COMPLETE.]
Performance Assessment: Good. Avoided direct confrontation with lethal threat. Secured water source. Maintained body temperature (minimally).
Rewards: 50 Protocol Points. 'Wilderness Survival (Novice)' skill now available for purchase (Cost: 1 Skill Point).
The 50 PP brought his total to 75. It was something. A down payment on his freedom, paid in terror and cold. He was still 120 PP in debt to the Protocol, but he had survived the first night. The sky lightened from grey to a pale, watery blue. In the distance, the faint, unmistakable sound of a river could be heard, a low, steady roar he hadn't noticed in his fear.
A new primary directive glowed to life, replacing the now-completed escape objective.
[New Primary Objective: Establish Foothold.]
Goal: Reach a relatively safe location (River identified as potential point of interest). Secure a sustainable source of food and water. Craft or acquire a basic weapon.
Reward: 300 PP, +1 Skill Point, Unlock 'Crafting' module preview.
Failure: Continued vulnerability leads to high probability of expiration.
Chen Mo looked down from his perch. The forest floor was empty. The Lurker was gone. For now. He was cold, sore, hungry, and deeply afraid. But he was alive, and he had a direction.
He climbed down, his muscles stiff and protesting. He scooped a handful of water from the seep, ate another bitter handful of berries, and oriented himself towards the sound of the river. His first steps were slow, cautious. Every shadow was a potential Lurker, every sound a potential guard.
But he walked. He had survived the auction block, the chains, the chase, and the teeth of the night. He had a system that was as much a taskmaster as a savior. And he had a singular, burning purpose that pushed him forward, past the fear and the fatigue.
He needed to find out what lay at the end of this Multiverse Growth Protocol. And to do that, he first had to carve out a place in this ruthless, beautiful, and deadly world. The river called. It was a start.