The silence after combat was a living thing, thick with the smell of blood, voided bowels, and river mist. Chen Mo stood amidst the carnage, his body humming with fading adrenaline and the deep ache of the Protocol's withdrawal. The notifications hung in his vision, a clinical summary of violence. He had 120 PP that were truly his. He was Level 2. He was alive.
And he was standing next to a thousand pounds of rapidly cooling meat and hide, with scavengers doubtless already scenting the air.
"Process. Preserve. Protect," he muttered to himself, the words a mantra to focus his racing thoughts. The modern project manager in him surfaced, breaking down the monumental task into steps. Step One: Secure the perimeter. Step Two: Harvest critical resources. Step Three: Establish a defensible position.
He moved first to the goblin corpses. They were repellent, their green-grey skin cool and rubbery to the touch. His Keen Eye provided dispassionate tags: [Forest Goblin Corpse. Potential Yields: Claws (crude tools), Teeth (materials), Hide (poor quality).] He felt no pity, only a desperate pragmatism. They were resources now. He took their crude stone knives and spears—jagged flakes of dark flint lashed to wooden hafts with sinew. The weapons were clumsy and poorly balanced, but they were sharp. He also found a small, grimy pouch on the pack leader containing a few dried, unidentifiable grubs and a smooth, river-worn stone with a hole in its center, strung on a leather thong. A trinket. He took it all.
Next, the boar. It was a behemoth. The remaining left tusk, longer than his forearm and curved like a scimitar, was a prize. The hide was a thick, matted armor of bristle and scar tissue. The meat… the meat was a fortune he had no way to carry.
"System," he whispered, his mind brushing against the blue interface. "Is there a… preservation technique? A skill?"
The system responded, not with a direct answer, but with a new, unlocked option in the Skill Repository. It seemed his recent, hands-on experience had broadened his available choices.
[New Skill Available: Basic Butchery (Novice). Cost: 1 Skill Point.]
Description: Grants foundational knowledge in field dressing game, identifying prime cuts, and basic preservation methods (salting, smoking, rudimentary tanning). Efficiency and yield increase with skill level.
A skill point. He had none. He'd just reached Level 2, but no point had been awarded. Perhaps they came every few levels, or from specific achievements. He checked his PP. 120. The Marketplace's Essentials list was still pitiful. But a new tab had appeared, faintly glowing: Knowledge (Tier 0).
He focused on it. Inside was a short list of purchasable data packets:
· Local Flora & Fauna Primer (Rustspine Foothills): 80 PP
· Basic Wilderness First Aid Guide: 60 PP
· Primitive Toolcraft Fundamentals: 70 PP
And there it was:
· Field Processing Manual (Small/Large Game): 50 PP
It wasn't a skill he could internalize, but it was an instruction manual he could consult. It was expensive, but less so than watching the boar spoil. He purchased it.
A small, transparent schematic window opened in the corner of his vision, independent of his main interface. It showed a rotating, ghostly image of a boar-like creature, with layered diagrams highlighting muscle groups, organ locations, and step-by-step instructions for skinning and quartering. It was eerily similar to a technical manual he might have used for assembling furniture. The absurdity almost made him laugh.
He got to work.
It was the hardest, most visceral labor of his life—both of his lives. The flint knives were terrible tools for the job, blunting quickly against the thick hide and requiring constant resharpening on river stones. The schematic helped, but it couldn't convey the sheer physical effort, the resistance of sinew and bone, the overwhelming smell and heat. He was drenched in blood and sweat within minutes.
He worked with frantic speed, prioritizing. He managed to separate the massive hide, a task that felt like moving a waterlogged carpet. He rolled it as best he could, bristles outward. Following the guide, he removed the liver and heart—rich, dense nutrients. The sheer volume of meat was overwhelming. He cut away the two massive back haunches, the most manageable and meaty portions. The rest—the ribs, the shoulders, the bulk of the carcass—was a loss he couldn't afford to grieve. He dragged the haunches, the hide, and the offal up the bank, away from the water's edge.
His hands were slick, trembling with fatigue. He was making a mess, an amateurish, bloody mess. But he was doing it.
[Skill Progress: Wilderness Survival (Novice) proficiency increased. 12%. Practical application: field dressing.]
[New Skill Unlocked through Practical Application: Flintknapping (Rudimentary). Proficiency: 2%.]
The system was learning with him, acknowledging his crude, on-the-job training. The flintknapping unlock came from his repeated, desperate attempts to resharpen the goblin tools. He was no longer just a consumer of system-given knowledge; he was generating his own.
He needed to preserve the meat. Smoking was the only option the manual suggested without salt. That meant a smoking rack and a sustained, controlled fire. And a safer camp.
He scanned the area. The riverbank was too exposed. He needed higher ground, a defensible position. His eyes fell on a rocky outcrop about a hundred yards from the river, crowned with a cluster of sturdy pines. One tree leaned out over a flat, sheltered shelf of rock beneath it. It was defensible, with good visibility, and the overhang offered some protection from the elements.
Gathering his bloody spoils, he made the arduous trek to the outcrop. He made three trips, each time expecting to hear the snarls of a Lurker or the chitter of more goblins. The forest watched in silence.
At the base of the rock shelf, he used the last of his daylight to construct a crude framework from green branches, creating a platform about four feet off the ground. He built a small, deep firepit beneath it. He thinly sliced strips of boar meat, laying them on the branch grid. He fed the fire with green wood and damp moss, coaxing it to produce thick, billowing smoke rather than open flame. The process was slow, inefficient, and he had no idea if it would work, but the act of building, of creating a process, was a balm to his raw nerves.
As the first tendrils of smoke began to curl around the meat, he finally allowed himself to stop. He collapsed against the rock face, staring at his makeshift smokehouse. He was exhausted to his marrow, covered in grime and blood, his hands nicked and sore.
He ate a piece of the boar's heart, seared quickly on a hot stone. It was tough, gamey, and utterly delicious. The nutrients flooded his system, a tangible warmth spreading from his core. It was real food. His first real meal in this world.
Dusk was falling again. He had a small, smoky fire, a cache of meat slowly preserving, a heavy boar hide, a tusk, and some crude stone tools. He was perched on a rock, exposed.
He spent the last of the light working on the hide, using a sharp flake and the manual's instructions to laboriously scrape away the remaining fat and flesh. It was tedious, arm-numbing work, but necessary to prevent rot.
As full dark settled, the system delivered its nightly summary and a new, unsettling prompt.
[Daily Summary: Host Chen Mo. Day 2 Post-Insertion.]
Achievements: Successful Escape. Survival of Lethal Night Encounter. Hostile Encounter Neutralized (Tactical Contract). Resource Acquisition: Significant (Protein, Hide, Primitive Tools). Skill Development: Keen Eye, Wilderness Survival, Flintknapping (Rudimentary).
Threat Assessment: Moderate-High. Scent of blood and smoke may attract predators. Possibility of Goblin tribal retaliation.
[Protocol Analysis: Host demonstrates acceptable adaptability and risk-calculation. Contract compliance satisfactory.]
[New Contractual Offer Available: 'Material Debt' Clearance.]
Terms: The Protocol has claimed the Boar's Primary Tusk (Right) as per previous contract. This material holds arcane-conductive properties. The Protocol can refine this material into a bonded tool for the host, vastly superior to primitive stone.
Process: Host will provide physical labor and focus as a catalyst. The Protocol will direct the energy and shape the form.
Result: One (1) Artifact-level tool/weapon, attuned to host.
Cost: The host will forfeit all rights to any naturally occurring arcane-conductive materials encountered for the next 30 days. All such materials will be automatically claimed by the Protocol.
Accept? Y/N
Chen Mo stared at the offer. An "Artifact-level" tool. A real weapon, not a chipped stone. It was a lifeline. But the cost… forfeiting all "arcane-conductive" materials for a month. He didn't even know what that meant, but it sounded important, valuable. The system was offering a powerful short-term boost in exchange for potentially massive long-term gain. It was betting he wouldn't find anything better than a boar tusk in the next month. Was it a good bet?
He looked at his flint knife, already chipped. He thought of the Lurker's claws, the goblin's numbers, the vast, unknown wilds. A proper tool could mean the difference between life and death tomorrow.
Short-term survival versus long-term potential. The eternal struggle.
The smoky fire cast dancing shadows on the rock. In the distance, the river roared its endless song. Somewhere, a night bird cried. He was alone, on a rock, bargaining with a cosmic entity for the right to a sharper stick.
He took a deep breath, the scent of smoke and curing meat filling his lungs. He had survived two days by being cautious, then audacious. He needed an edge. A real one.
His mind made up, he focused on the prompt.
What form will the tool take? He pushed the thought at the Protocol.
The response was immediate: [Form dictated by host's immediate need and subconscious imprint. Catalyzation begins upon acceptance.]
It was a leap of faith. Into the jaws of another contract.
He selected Y.
The remaining boar tusk, which he had laid beside him, began to glow with a soft, blue-white light. It lifted into the air, hovering at chest height. The system's voice spoke, not in his visual field, but directly into his mind, resonant and deeper than before.
[Material Debt Clearance: Initiated. Host, provide focus. Visualize utility. Visualize survival.]
Chen Mo stared at the glowing tusk. He didn't think of swords or spears from storybooks. He thought of utility. Of the countless tasks ahead. Cutting wood. Scraping hides. Butchering game. Defending his patch of rock. He thought of a shape that was an extension of his hand, a multifaceted tool. He thought of the heavy, curved sweep of the tusk itself, its natural strength.
The light intensified, wrapping the tusk in a cocoon of energy. He felt a drain, not of PP, but of his own vitality, a gentle pulling sensation at his core. The tusk began to warp, flow, and reshape. Length condensed, curvature refined. The ivory-white material darkened at the core, taking on a smoky, almost obsidian hue, while the outer layer remained a polished, bone-like white. It elongated slightly, the tip curving wickedly, the inner curve of the tusk becoming a brutally sharp, concave blade.
After a minute, the light died. The object dropped into his waiting hands.
It was not a sword. It was a Kukri-style blade, but born of a boar's tusk. The handle, formed from the base of the tusk, fit his grip perfectly, warm and almost alive to the touch. The single, sweeping cutting edge was terrifyingly sharp, the darker core material forming a subtle, sinuous pattern along its length like a frozen shadow. The back of the blade was thick and solid, usable as a crude hammer. It was beautiful, deadly, and utterly practical.
[Artifact Forged: 'Sovereign's Tusk' (Bound).]
Grade: Foundation (Evolving).
Properties: Extremely sharp. Durable (Superior to steel). Self-honing (Minor). Bonded to host—cannot be disarmed by mundane means. Arcane-reactive (Latent).
[Contract Sealed: Material Debt Active. Duration: 30 days.]
Chen Mo hefted the blade. The balance was perfect. A single, experimental swipe through the air made a crisp, cutting sound. He touched the edge to a dry twig; it parted with no pressure.
For the first time since waking in the slave cart, he didn't feel entirely helpless. He had a tool. A weapon. A pact with a demanding power. And a smoking rack full of meat.
He sat back against the rock, the Sovereign's Tusk across his lap, watching the smoke rise against the starry sky. The foothold was no longer just an idea. He had literally carved a piece of it from the wilderness itself. The price was steep, and future debts were mounting. But for tonight, on his lonely rock by the thundering river, Chen Mo, former programmer, former slave, now hunter and debtor to the Protocol, allowed himself a single, grim nod of satisfaction.
Tomorrow, he would scout. Tomorrow, he would secure a permanent water source, maybe set snares. Tomorrow, the goblins might come. But tonight, he had a full stomach, a sharp blade, and a fighting chance. It was enough. For now.