Ethan woke before the sun this time, not because of noise from the Craftsmen's Circle or the distant calls of merchants preparing their stalls, but because his mind refused to stay quiet. He lay on the cot, staring at the faint outline of the ceiling beams, listening to the village breathe in that strange, half-awake state where night hadn't fully let go and morning hadn't yet claimed its place. Somewhere outside, a rooster tried and failed to sound confident. A dog barked once, then went silent again.
He exhaled slowly.
Yesterday's work had gone well. Too well, maybe. The framework held, the master had nodded, Lysa had smiled, and for the first time since arriving in this world, Ethan felt something dangerously close to stability. That feeling, he had learned the hard way in his old life, was often followed by responsibility.
Today was proof of that.
He sat up and reached for the small basin, splashing cold water onto his face. The reflection staring back at him still felt unfamiliar. His features were sharper now, his posture straighter, his eyes clearer—less worn down by late nights and financial desperation. But when he looked closely, the same habits remained: the slight tightening of his jaw when thinking, the way his gaze lingered on details others ignored.
He dressed simply, choosing clothes that wouldn't restrict movement. Leather boots, reinforced but flexible. A rough tunic. Over it all, a light jacket he'd modified himself the night before, stitching thin strips of treated hide into the lining where joints were most vulnerable. It wasn't armor, not really, but it was better than nothing.
He checked his satchel one last time—water, dried food, a small notebook, charcoal, and the compact multi-tool he'd assembled from scraps at the Circle. No weapons beyond the short spear resting against the wall. He hadn't made it himself, not entirely. A village hunter had helped him balance it, showing him how weight distribution mattered more than sharpness in inexperienced hands.
Ethan hesitated before picking it up.
Fighting wasn't his craft. He knew that. In his old world, problems were solved with calculations, prototypes, revisions. Explosions were mistakes, not objectives. And yet, here he was, preparing to hunt beasts to complete quests and earn experience like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The system hadn't pressured him. That was the unsettling part.
It had simply… offered.
When he stepped outside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of damp earth and woodsmoke. The Craftsmen's Circle was quiet for once, its usual clamor replaced by stillness. A few figures waited near the outer path leading toward the forest—three villagers, all armed, all talking in low voices.
Torin was there, fidgeting with the strap of his pack, eyes darting around as if the forest might leap out at him early just to prove a point. Beside him stood Brann, one of the village hunters, broad-shouldered and calm, with the posture of someone who had learned long ago how to conserve energy. The third was a woman Ethan didn't recognize immediately—lean, sharp-eyed, a bow resting casually against her shoulder.
"Morning," Brann said when he spotted Ethan. His voice was steady, almost relaxed. "You're on time."
"I didn't sleep much," Ethan admitted.
"That's normal," the woman said, smirking faintly. "Anyone who says they slept well before their first hunt is lying or already dead."
Torin swallowed.
Brann shot her a look. "Mira."
"What?" she shrugged. "I didn't say it'd be him."
Ethan almost laughed. Almost.
They set off as the sky slowly brightened, the village receding behind them. The path into the forest was familiar now—Ethan had walked it just days ago while gathering materials—but the mood was different. Then, the forest had felt like a resource. Now, it felt like territory.
Birds flitted between branches. Insects hummed. The ground was uneven, roots twisting beneath fallen leaves. Brann led the way, spear in hand but lowered, his steps quiet despite his size. Mira moved differently—lighter, her gaze constantly scanning ahead, above, and to the sides. Torin stayed close to Ethan, clearly reassured by proximity rather than logic.
"So," Torin whispered after a while, unable to help himself, "what exactly are we hunting?"
"Stoneback Hares," Brann replied without turning. "Big ones. Fast. Territorial. Not dangerous unless you're careless."
Mira snorted softly. "Or stupid."
Ethan absorbed that in silence. Stoneback Hares. He'd seen sketches on the quest board—creatures about the size of large dogs, with dense muscle and thick, hardened plates along their backs and flanks. Herbivores, technically. But so were bulls.
They stopped near a clearing where the ground bore faint marks—scratches, shallow depressions, bits of chewed bark.
Brann crouched, inspecting the signs. "They've been active. Probably close."
Ethan felt it then—a subtle shift in awareness, like something clicking into place.
The system interface appeared quietly at the edge of his perception, unobtrusive.
Quest Available:
— Cull: Stoneback Hare (0/2)
Reward: Experience, Minor Material Drops
No fanfare. No dramatic countdown.
Just information.
Brann straightened. "Ethan, you stay behind me. You observe first. If one charges, you step back. No heroics."
"I understand," Ethan said, and meant it.
They moved carefully now, spacing out slightly. Mira climbed a low rise and disappeared into the foliage, her presence reduced to the occasional rustle of leaves. Brann advanced steadily. Torin clutched his short blade like it might run away otherwise.
The first hare burst from the underbrush without warning.
It was faster than Ethan expected—a blur of muscle and earth, its hardened back plates catching the light as it bounded forward. Brann reacted instantly, planting his spear and shifting his stance. The impact sent a jolt through the ground, dust erupting as the creature rebounded, startled more than hurt.
Mira's arrow struck next, grazing the hare's flank. It shrieked—not in pain so much as outrage—and bolted sideways.
"Don't chase!" Brann barked.
Too late. Torin lunged forward, adrenaline overpowering sense.
The hare pivoted with terrifying speed.
Ethan didn't think.
He moved.
Not forward—never forward. He sidestepped, grabbing Torin's shoulder and yanking him back just as the creature slammed into the space he'd occupied a heartbeat earlier. The force cracked the earth where Torin's legs had been.
Torin stumbled, pale.
Brann drove his spear down, pinning the hare's forelimb. It thrashed, powerful and wild, until Mira finished it with a clean shot through the neck.
Silence fell hard.
Ethan's heart hammered in his chest. His hands trembled—not with fear alone, but with a sharp, focused awareness that bordered on clarity.
"That," Mira said, lowering her bow, "is why we listen."
Torin nodded repeatedly, unable to speak.
Brann looked at Ethan, studying him. "Good instincts. You didn't freeze."
Ethan exhaled slowly. "I calculated trajectories," he said before thinking, then winced internally. "I mean—distance and momentum."
Brann grunted. "Whatever you call it. It worked."
The system pulsed again.
Quest Progress: Stoneback Hare defeated (1/2)
Experience Gained.
No fireworks. Just a quiet confirmation.
They processed the carcass carefully, Brann showing Ethan how to avoid damaging the hardened plates while harvesting usable materials. The work was methodical, almost familiar. Ethan found comfort in it. Systems were systems, whether mechanical or biological.
The second hare was harder.
It ambushed them from higher ground, using terrain the way a clever machine used leverage. Mira took a hit—a glancing blow that sent her rolling, cursing. Brann engaged directly this time, muscles straining as he redirected the creature's charge.
Ethan didn't wait for instructions.
He watched.
Not the beast, but Brann. The way he shifted weight. The timing between movement and resistance. The predictable arc of force.
When the hare reared back, Ethan moved in—not to strike, but to jam his spear beneath a vulnerable joint where hardened plates met muscle. He didn't drive it deep. He didn't need to.
The disruption was enough.
Brann finished it.
Afterward, Ethan sat on a fallen log, breathing hard, dirt smeared across his sleeve. Mira sat nearby, binding her arm.
"Well," she said after a moment, "you're not useless."
"High praise," Ethan replied dryly.
She laughed, genuinely this time.
The system updated quietly.
Quest Complete.
Level Progress Increased.
No rush of power. No sudden mastery.
Just… progress.
They returned to the village by afternoon, tired, dirty, and intact. As Ethan walked back toward his quarters, the weight of the day settled in—not as dread, but as understanding.
This world didn't reward recklessness. It rewarded attention.
That night, as he cleaned his spear and noted adjustments he could make to improve balance and grip, Ethan realized something important.
He wasn't becoming a fighter.
He was becoming a problem-solver in a world that solved problems with teeth and claws.
And that, he suspected, was exactly where his advantage lay.