After rescuing the group and splitting the loot, Helier left the five and wandered off to the quietest corner of the forest.

  “Since you’ve got your hands on one, time to teach you what a Starshade’s for,” the system said.

  “This one?” Helier pulled out a turquoise crystal, warm to the touch—the one that dropped from the wild boar.

  “Yeah. Now calm yourself. Try sensing its energy.”

  “Okay.” He obeyed.

  Holding the crystal with both hands, Helier quieted his mind. Before long, a gentle warmth spread from his palms to his arms, then through his entire body, even his consciousness. Finally, a fleeting image flashed across his mind.

  A forest—lush trees drinking in earth’s essence, clean stream water, and drifting starlight. Day by day they grew, slowly and patiently, gazing up at a sky glittering with stars, yearning to someday touch them.

  The image ended. Helier slowly came back to himself.

  “What you saw was a fragment of a star’s dream,” the system explained.

  “Stars can dream?” he asked, curious.

  “They can. But there’s something you should know. A star isn’t just a lump of rock; it’s made up of countless living beings and elements. Its dream, too, isn’t just a fantasy—it’s a memory, a longing from everything that once existed on it.” The system continued, “Originally, these dreams belonged to each lifeform individually. But once devoured by the Beast, they were drawn together, forming a collective will—then crystallized.”

  Helier’s eyes widened. So that forest… belonged to the star this crystal came from.

  “How’d it feel?” the system asked.

  Helier thought for a moment, then said, “Like... taking a stroll through a forest at dawn. Misty air brushing against you, starlight leaking through the leaves. Kinda... healing?” His voice faltered with uncertainty.

  “Be more confident. There’s no right answer. What matters is your feeling. That’s what makes it yours,” the system said seriously.

  Suddenly, the crystal scattered into shimmering light and surged into Helier’s body, merging with him completely.

  Acquired Starshade: Turquoise — Resilient, healing—Vitality.

  Learned Art Skill: Minor Heal — Restores a small amount of HP.

  The system chimed with prompts.

  Eyes lighting up, Helier raised a hand and shouted, “Minor Heal!” Energy swelled within him, gathering in his palm—

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  Then fizzled. Nothing happened.

  He blinked and waved his hand. “Huh?”

  “Starshade skills require paint to activate,” the system explained. “You’ll need to learn to call on pigments. Start with your brush—it’s strapped to your back—”

  Before the system even finished, Helier casually reached into his inventory and pulled out a fully ripened, bright red Spicy Fruit. With a thought, the fruit transformed into a vibrant red glow, floating above his palm—no brush needed.

  The system fell silent. Well then. Looks like he didn’t need any tools—he was already a brush himself. Normally it took newbies months of practice to reach that level. Nice. One step saved.

  “Minor Heal!” Helier tried again, directing it at the bruises on his right hand from punching the boar.

  A turquoise light burst from his palm, collided with the red glow, and fused into a muddy brown orb. It latched onto his fist—and in the blink of an eye, the wounds healed. But a sharp, spicy sting surged through him, and he yelped, shaking his hand wildly.

  “Ha. Always check your pigment’s properties. Mixing colors has side effects,” the system laughed, with zero sympathy but still popped up a skill window.

  Minor Heal

  Pigment: Spicy Fruit — Brown. Temporarily increases pain before healing. Very small HP restored.

  Clutching his fist, Helier shot the system a glare. He was pretty sure it stayed quiet on purpose just to see him mess up.

  Still, lesson learned. Nothing like pain to make knowledge stick.

  Good thing he had a full pack of ingredients. One by one, he started testing—Hollow Flower, Spiral Algae, Three-Headed Caterpillar Hair...

  Around the thirty-somethingth try, dizziness hit him out of nowhere. He staggered, nearly falling over.

  “Using pigment and casting skills consumes your inner energy—Soulcolor. Once it runs low, symptoms include dizziness, weakness, and general ‘I-need-a-nap’ vibes. Time to take a break,” the system added oh-so-helpfully.

  Helier lowered his eyebrows, too tired to sass back. He made a mental note: if he ever met the system face to face, first thing he’d do was say hi—and punch it.

  But that could wait. Among all the pigments he tried, one stood out.

  Pigment: White Glowshroom — Pale Green. Creates a healing orb that emits restorative aura, healing minor injuries over ten seconds.

  The result was excellent, and the mushroom grew in abundance near the stream. No worries about running out. If there was a downside, it was the slightly higher Soulcolor cost. Still worth it.

  Luckily, he didn’t need long to recover. Barely fifteen minutes later, he was back to full energy.

  System said it was thanks to his high recovery stat. Apparently, Soulcolor could regenerate in two main ways:

  One, absorbing stray energy—Spiritcolor—from the air.

  Two, eating and drinking. Everything living held Soulcolor, a reflection of its traits. Whether you munched on grass or chomped enemies like a Soulcolor vampire, it worked—just varied in efficiency.

  Either way, recovery depended on your natural or trained constitution.

  “What do you want to do next?” the system asked. “Also, quick reminder—do whatever you want, but try not to attract too much attention. At least, not yet.”

  “Can I ask why?” Helier asked carefully.

  “You’ve probably noticed by now—you’re not exactly normal,” the system said, tone serious. “To put it simply, your system’s different from everyone else’s.”

  “Most players are connected to the Witch Council. That means thirty million witches working behind the scenes to help with gameplay, questions, troubleshooting. You, however—your system links to me directly. I handle everything myself, then upload updates to the Council. This way, I filter out unnecessary hassle.”

  Helier froze, eyes wide. Wait—his system was exclusive?

  “Sounds pretty OP,” he said. “So you’re like... thirty million witches in one?”

  “I’d rather not take that compliment. First time running this kind of gig. Please be gentle,” the system replied, feigning modesty.

  “Back to the question—what do you want to do next?”

  Helier thought for a moment, then grinned.

  “I wanna go see how other players play this game!”

  The Stars, Redrawn recently passed its 100th chapter! I’ve been thinking… it’d be amazing if more people could read it, so I found this platform and used GPT to help with the translation, hoping this little wish of mine can come true.