Excerpt 12
(Page 75, Section 2)
Some winter storms carry perils far beyond snow and bitter cold. When a blizzard draws in large reserves of soul?energy from its surroundings, it can become a conduit for an endless barrage of soul lightning. Worse still, soul?energy is drawn to itself: any creature or object that contains even a trace of it becomes a beacon for repeated strikes.
Because soul lightning is non?physical, solid cover offers no refuge—neither thick walls nor burrowing underground will shield you. In practice, only potent magical wards or other sophisticated defensive spellwork provide real protection. Better still, win the favor of the winter elements or winter spirits; with their blessing, the storm may disperse—or ignore you entirely.
Source: Nature’s Wrath – Druid Elder Eltrax
Excerpt 12 End
Hassan was once again heading toward the forest.
This time, he felt different—more grounded, more willing to face what had terrified him before. Maybe I was just unlucky last time. But even if that wasn’t the case, the basic tracking manual had taught him enough to improve his odds. He could hide now—better, quieter, smarter.
The manual hadn’t just given him tips on survival. It had become something more—a guide to existing in this strange place. It didn’t just teach him to track—it taught him how to observe, how to think, how to interpret the land itself. It taught him how to stay alive, not just here in the system space, but perhaps even in the real world too.
He had to be more cautious now. If a spirit caught him doing something strange, anything outside of a newborn’s behavior, he might be soul-read again. He didn’t know if he’d survive a second time.
These thoughts echoed in his mind as he reached the forest’s edge.
He paused. Breathed deeply. Then pulled the animal hide around his body and hunched lower. It was crude camouflage, but it would have to do for now. Later, maybe, he could create something better—something that masked his scent, concealed his steps, and made him truly invisible.
For now, he used what he had.
He crushed a bitter-smelling grass between his fingers and rubbed the juice across his skin and the hide. It was pungent—almost nauseating—but that was the point. Better to smell like rotting grass than like prey.
Staying crouched, he moved slowly into the shadows, keeping low and close to the trees. Each step was measured. Each breath shallow. His eyes scanned constantly, every sense alert.
This time, he remembered the option to exit the system space. But even with that knowledge, he wasn’t safe. The exit didn’t trigger instantly—he needed to survive for one full minute.
Last time, he hadn’t even lasted ten seconds.
But now he was faster. Stronger. And more prepared.
He reached a nearby tree and pressed a hand to the rough bark. The sensation grounded him. Maybe… maybe I really was just unlucky last time. The fear that had once gripped him was still there, but it had dulled—like the fading echo of a bad memory.
Maybe the forest isn’t so bad after all.
And then, a system panel shimmered into view.
#####
Tutorial Quest: Survival of the Fittest (I)
Information: You have entered the Darkened Woods, a shadow-drenched forest where venomous flora and apex predators cull the careless. Only those who can outwit, outrun, or outlast their rivals endure.
Objective: Survive 10 consecutive days within the forest, while personally hunting at least three secondary consumers—or higher—each day.
Reward: Basic Hunter Manual
#####
His breath caught. The slight comfort he'd felt vanished instantly.
From endless roaches to this? Really?
The reward looked useful. But how strong was a secondary consumer, really? Was that bird that killed me one? Or something even worse? If that was the standard here, then this quest was impossible. For now, at least.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Still, there was something important in what just happened. He had learned something: new quests triggered when he entered unfamiliar zones and stayed long enough. That meant exploration wasn’t just for survival—it was for progress.
How many areas are hidden in this tutorial? And what happens after I complete them all?
But those thoughts could wait.
Right now, he needed to find shelter. Standing out in the open was dangerous.
He spotted a bush nearby. Not perfect, but thick enough to hide in. He moved toward it, slow and careful, then slipped inside and crouched low. Thorns poked at his legs and arms—not deep, but annoyingly sharp.
This better be worth it.
He would need to stay hidden through the night. If this zone followed the same rules as the starting area, then the darkness would bring stronger threats.
But hunger gnawed at his stomach, stronger than the fear.
I need to find food. I haven’t eaten anything since—
#####
You have perished
Exiting System Training Space
#####
His vision blurred. He froze as the message took over his senses.
Suddenly, he was back in the tent.
What...? How did I die?
He searched his memory. The last thing he remembered was fatigue. His thoughts had gotten sluggish. Fuzzy.
Venom. It must’ve been the bush. He hadn’t eaten anything else, and the only injury he’d sustained was from the thorns.
A chill crept over him.
How am I supposed to survive like this? Even hiding wasn’t safe anymore. He needed a place to sleep that wouldn’t kill him.
The fear made him hesitate. Maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe the forest could wait. There was no shame in that—not when dying came so easily. I’ll just keep training. I can come back later… when I’m stronger.
The realization brought an odd sense of comfort.
The system isn’t forcing me. The quests would still be there. The rewards wouldn’t disappear. Once he grew—once he was even half the size of the caregiver—he wouldn’t need to hide. He’d be able to take on birds, beasts, or whatever else lurked out there.
For now, all that mattered was training.
#####
Crackle.
Days passed. Hassan had remained in the tent, training daily, avoiding the forest entirely. Something had changed in the weather—lightning had begun striking in the distance since early morning.
The cold had become unbearable.
He even had to wear the animal hide while moving, despite the caregiver having built a fire in the center of the tent.
Watching it had been mesmerizing.
The caregiver had whispered something—some incantation—and the center plant glowed. The earth shifted, parting neatly to create a fire pit. Then, with a graceful motion, they shaped a channel above the flames, creating an opening that funneled smoke out through the ceiling.
It was elegant. Efficient. Almost instinctual.
But even that wasn’t enough.
Then came the bell.
A low, resonant ringing that didn’t stop after a few chimes. It continued for an entire minute.
That had never happened before.
Bells usually signaled sleep—but this one felt different. Urgent.
The caregiver stood, and for a moment, Hassan expected the usual: to be carried to bed, maybe a bit early.
But something in the caregiver’s expression made him stop.
Fear.
And sadness.
The caregiver didn’t place him down. Instead, they bundled him in extra layers of animal hide and stepped outside, moving with purpose.
Outside, the sky had been split in two—one half still faintly lit by pale light, the other shrouded in dark, curling clouds. The darkness wasn’t still—it moved, swallowing the light as if it were a living tide.
From the far horizon, a bolt of white lightning cracked across the sky.
Hassan felt it not in his skin, but in his soul. A shudder deep and primal.
What is happening?
The caregiver didn’t hesitate. They joined others who were already moving. All were robed. Most carried staffs. Some, like the caregiver, carried children.
Then a massive dome of light began forming from the edges of the camp. It grew rapidly, symbols burning along its surface—symbols he recognized from the magic staffs.
He felt his chest tighten. He didn’t understand—but he knew something was very, very wrong.
They reached a massive tent. Not the soul-reading one—but just as large.
The caregiver paused only a moment before stepping inside.
Inside, it was chaos.
Zamongari children filled the space—dozens of them, from toddlers even smaller than Hassan to those nearly adult-sized. Some played, some fought, others cried. Caretakers moved among them, trying to maintain some semblance of order.
The caregiver approached a group of adults and began speaking quietly, urgently.
Hassan didn’t like it.
A few seconds later, the caregiver handed him over.
He stared, trying to look as pitiful as possible. He reached his arms out. Take me back. Please.
The caregiver gave him a sorrowful, determined look—then turned and walked away.
The new adult set him down near a group of crawling toddlers.
He noticed something instantly. None of them were walking. Not a single one even tried.
So that’s why I was considered strange. I walked too early.
Before he could think further, one of the babies crawled toward him.
Then another. Then a third.
Suddenly, he was surrounded.
And then—
Charge.
Oof.
They swarmed him. Crawling, giggling, squealing. Climbing over him like tiny animals. Their weight was surprisingly heavy. He tried to push them away, but there were too many.
Eventually, an adult stepped in and pulled them off.
He gasped. Was that some kind of greeting?
As he caught his breath, he finally looked around properly.
A great fire burned at the center of the tent, warming everything. There was no smoke—none at all. A large table nearby was piled high with food, more than he had ever seen.
Beds were arranged along the walls, each one spaced out, sized for a child.
He started to relax.
And then—they came again.
More babies. Crawling. Grinning. Closing in.
Not again.
He shot to his feet and ran in the only direction that wasn’t blocked by drooling toddlers.
No way. Not doing this.
What in the world have I gotten myself into?