Chapter 2 - The First Night

  The metallic scent of blood, both his own (from minor scrapes and the raw skin on his hands) and the lizard’s, hung heavy in the humid air. Raven stood in the small clearing, the body of the giant monitor lizard a stark, still form on the ground. The adrenaline that had surged through him during the desperate fight was now ebbing, leaving behind a deep weariness that settled into his muscles. His chest still heaved, his breathing ragged, but the sharp clarity in his mind remained. He was alive. He had survived.

  He looked at the knife in his hand, turning it over. His fingers, raw and scraped from gripping the makeshift branches, felt the cool, smooth metal. The adrenaline high was crashing, leaving his muscles trembling, but beneath the exhaustion was the profound, exhilarating hum of a body that worked. It felt solid, real, a tangible piece of proof that the System, however bizarre, was not a hallucination. Ten points. A Level 1 Exchange Ticket used for a basic knife. It felt anticlimactic after facing down a prehistoric-looking beast, a modern reward for an ancient struggle, but the sheer practicality of the tool was undeniable in this raw environment.

  Okay. What now? The immediate threat was neutralized, but the fundamental problems remained. He was alone, in an unknown wilderness, a thousand years in the past, with no supplies, no shelter, and night approaching. Survival wasn't a System quest; it was the fundamental reality of his situation. The System might offer objectives and rewards, but it wouldn't magically provide everything he needed. He had to do the surviving himself, relying on the body he now inhabited and the fragmented knowledge he carried from a completely different time.

  His mind, sharp and analytical, immediately began prioritizing. Water. Shelter. Food. In that order. He could go a while without food, maybe days, his body likely capable of enduring more than his sedentary past self ever could, but water was critical, especially in this humid, tropical environment where he'd just exerted himself intensely. Dehydration could set in quickly, debilitating him and making him vulnerable. Shelter was needed before dark to protect him from potential predators, insects, and the elements – the heavy tropical rain could start without warning, soaking him and lowering his core temperature in a world without dry clothes or fire. Food was necessary for energy, for long-term sustainability, but less immediately pressing than the other two. His stomach was empty, a hollow ache, but it wasn't yet a crippling distraction.

  He glanced up at the sky. The sun, a fiery orange orb, was sinking rapidly towards the horizon, casting long, distorted shadows through the dense foliage. The vibrant greens of the jungle were deepening into darker, more ominous shades. He didn't have much time before darkness descended completely, and the jungle would become an even more alien and dangerous place, the unseen inhabitants of the night emerging from their daytime hiding places.

  He needed to find a water source. Rivers, streams, even stagnant pools, though stagnant water carried significant risks. His knowledge of survival, gleaned from documentaries like Man vs. Wild and Naked and Afraid (mostly the parts about finding water and shelter, he thought with a grimace, definitely not the social dynamics or lack of clothing), books on wilderness survival he'd read out of idle curiosity, and his own brief, mostly theoretical experiences during training exercises (a few weekends of Boy Scouts in 6th grade felt laughably inadequate now), kicked in. Alright, Raven, time to channel your inner Bear Grylls... or maybe those folks from 'Naked and Afraid', though hopefully without the naked part and definitely with clothes, he thought, a small, dark joke to himself, the humor a thin shield against the creeping anxiety. Let's see if watching all those reruns actually taught me anything useful beyond how to look miserable while eating grubs. Follow the slope of the land. Water flows downhill. Listen for sounds of running water – a distant murmur, a trickle, a rush. Look for changes in vegetation that might indicate moisture – lusher growth, different types of plants that thrive in damp soil, converging animal trails.

  He took a moment to gather himself, taking a few more deep breaths, letting his heart rate slow. The air still tasted faintly of adrenaline and the musky scent of the dead lizard. He looked at the dead lizard again. A potential food source, perhaps? The thought still sent a shiver down his spine, a visceral reaction that went beyond mere squeamishness. Eating a raw, wild animal, potentially carrying parasites or diseases unknown to 21st-century medicine... it was a gamble with potentially fatal consequences in this era without antibiotics or modern medical care. But he had the knife now. If he could make fire... cook it... maybe. The thought was still deeply unappealing, the image of butchering the scaled carcass with his new knife unpleasant. He shuddered slightly at the thought. It was raw, potentially diseased, and the idea of butchering it with his new knife was... unappealing, to say the least. He filed it away as a last resort, something to consider only if he found no other food and managed the monumental task of making fire in this humid environment. For now, water and shelter were paramount, immediate needs that overshadowed the less urgent requirement for calories.

  Turning his back on the clearing and the dead beast, he chose a direction that seemed to slope gently downwards, guided by the subtle contours of the land and the faint pull of gravity. He began to move, the knife held loosely but securely in his hand, its weight a small, tangible comfort. The jungle floor was challenging to navigate – uneven, covered in slippery layers of decaying leaves that hid unseen roots and loose stones, tangled vines that snagged at his legs, and hidden obstacles that could easily trip him. He moved cautiously, his senses on high alert, straining to filter the natural sounds of the forest from anything that might indicate danger. Listening to the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs, the calls of animals – trying to discern if any of them were too heavy, too deliberate, to be just the wind or a small creature. Every unfamiliar sound, every shadow that seemed to move in his peripheral vision, sent a jolt of adrenaline through him, a primal fear response that was both exhausting and kept him sharply focused.

  His body, his nineteen-year-old body, responded beautifully, moving with a quiet grace he hadn't possessed in decades. Each step over gnarled roots, each time he ducked effortlessly under a low-hanging branch, each time he navigated a patch of uneven ground without stumbling, was a small, profound victory, a silent celebration of his reclaimed physical capability. His balance was perfect, his limbs obeying instantly, moving with a fluidity that felt both familiar and utterly new. The fatigue was a dull ache in his muscles, a familiar burn from exertion, the kind he hadn't felt in years, but it was the healthy fatigue of exertion, a stark contrast to the bone-deep exhaustion that had been his constant companion in his disabled life, the weariness that came from simply existing in a body that didn't work. He felt the coiled power in his legs, the fluid flexibility in his joints, the effortless strength in his core. It was still surreal, this physical freedom, a constant, almost overwhelming sensation after seventeen years of confinement, of being a prisoner in his own flesh. The memory of crutches and the wheelchair felt distant, like a bad dream, a life lived by someone else, a life he had finally, impossibly, escaped.

  Seventeen years... gone. Just like that. A car crash, an earthquake, and suddenly... this. The thought surfaced, unbidden, a stark reminder of the two abrupt ends to his life. He had spent so long defined by his limitations, by what he couldn't do, by the constant pain and the slow erosion of his spirit. Now, suddenly, the cage was gone. He could walk, run, jump, fight. The world had opened up again, vast and terrifying, but into a past he barely understood, a world where his previous life's skills felt both invaluable and potentially useless against the ancient, brutal realities.

  He thought about the System. The Primordial Personal Development System. Unfeeling. Silent. Just data and prompts. It hadn't explained anything, hadn't offered comfort or guidance, hadn't even given him a manual. It had just given him a quest: Kill the lizard. And then given him rewards. Points. A ticket. A knife. It was like a game, yes, a grim, high-stakes survival game, but the stakes were terrifyingly real, the consequences of failure absolute.

  What is its purpose? Why me? Why here, why now? The questions swirled in his mind, unanswered, a constant, low-level hum of uncertainty beneath the immediate need for survival. The System offered no insight into its own motivations or the mechanics of his transmigration. It was a black box, its power immense and its intentions unknown. Was it benevolent, guiding him towards some greater purpose? Malicious, simply toying with him? Or simply indifferent, an automated process that had selected him for reasons he couldn't comprehend? The bland, clinical interface offered no clues, no hint of personality or intent. It just presented objectives and dispensed rewards based on completion, like a cosmic vending machine for survival.

  He kept moving, pushing through dense ferns and tangled vines, using the knife to hack away obstacles when necessary, the sharp blade slicing through the thick vegetation with satisfying ease. The jungle was thick, the canopy blocking out much of the light, creating a perpetual twilight on the forest floor, even though the sun was still technically in the sky. The air was heavy, humid, making each breath feel thick and warm in his lungs, a stark contrast to the air-conditioned environments of his past life.

  He listened intently, straining to hear the sound of water above the myriad noises of the jungle. After what felt like a long time, perhaps twenty minutes of careful navigation, his ears, now sharper, caught it – a faint, distant murmur, the unmistakable sound of flowing water. It was a sound of hope, a promise of immediate survival. He changed direction, moving towards the sound, his pace quickening slightly, a renewed sense of purpose driving him forward.

  The ground began to slope more steeply, and the vegetation changed, becoming lusher, the leaves broader, the air feeling cooler and heavier. The sound of water grew louder, resolving into the gentle rush and gurgle of a stream. He pushed through a final thicket of bushes, their leaves brushing against his face, and emerged onto the bank of a small, clear stream.

  Relief washed over him, a physical easing of tension that made his shoulders slump slightly. Water. Clean, flowing water. It wasn't a raging river, but a modest stream, perhaps a few meters wide, its water clear and inviting. He knelt cautiously at the edge, scanning the water for any signs of life – leeches clinging to submerged rocks, insects larvae, anything that might indicate contamination or danger. The water looked clear, running over smooth, moss-covered stones, sparkling slightly in the dim light that filtered through the canopy. He cupped his hands and brought the cool water to his lips, drinking deeply, in long, desperate gulps, savoring the pure, refreshing taste. It was the best water he'd ever tasted, a simple pleasure made profound by his circumstances, by the sheer necessity of it.

  He drank his fill, feeling the coolness spread through his body, quenching the deep thirst that had built up. Then he splashed water on his face, washing away the sweat and grime of the fight and the trek, the cool water a shock against his skin. He looked at his reflection in the still surface near the bank – the face of a nineteen-year-old, unlined by the years of pain and weariness, but with eyes that held the weariness and knowledge of a man twice his age, eyes that had seen too much and were now seeing the impossible. The contrast was jarring, a constant reminder of the two lives he had lived.

  Okay. Water secured. A major hurdle cleared. Next, shelter. He needed to find a defensible spot before the sun fully set, a place that would offer him some protection during the long, dark hours of the night. A small cave, an overhang, or perhaps a dense thicket he could reinforce with branches and leaves. He looked along the stream bank. It offered some cover, the thick vegetation providing a degree of concealment, but it was also a potential pathway for predators, a natural highway through the jungle. He needed something more secluded, elevated if possible, a place that offered a degree of natural defense, a bottleneck or a vantage point.

  He decided to follow the stream for a short distance, reasoning that human settlements or at least signs of human activity were often located near water sources. He moved along the bank, the sounds of the flowing water a comforting presence in the otherwise wild and unpredictable environment. As he walked, he kept an eye out for anything unusual – signs of human presence like cut branches, worn trails, discarded items, or ancient structures that might hint at past habitation, anything that didn't fit the purely natural landscape. He was still wary of encountering people unexpectedly, especially without understanding their language – a potentially dangerous situation in an unknown era.

  He didn't find any immediate signs of civilization, but the jungle itself seemed to press in on him, a vast, indifferent entity teeming with unseen life. He heard rustles in the bushes that he couldn't identify, the snapping of twigs that might be a small animal or something larger, something with teeth and claws. His senses were heightened, his body coiled with a low level of tension, ready to react to any perceived threat. This world was beautiful, a vibrant tapestry of life, a riot of green and brown and the sounds of unseen creatures, but it was also dangerous, a constant reminder of his vulnerability as a soft, fleshy human in a world ruled by ancient instincts and natural weapons.

  He came to a section where the stream curved, and the bank rose more steeply, forming a small embankment. At the base of the embankment, partially hidden by thick vines that hung like curtains, was a small overhang, a shallow indentation in the rock face. It wasn't a full cave, not deep enough to completely conceal him, but it was enough to provide cover from rain and a degree of protection from the sides, a solid rock wall at his back. It wasn't perfect, it wouldn't offer complete security from a determined predator, but it was the best he'd seen so far, and the light was fading fast, the shadows lengthening into deep purple and grey, the golden light of sunset quickly giving way to the encroaching darkness.

  This will have to do. He climbed the embankment, using his hands and feet, testing his strength and agility on the uneven slope. It felt good, effortless, the muscles in his legs and arms responding instantly, finding purchase on roots and rocks. He reached the overhang and ducked inside. It was dry, thankfully, the ground relatively flat, covered in a layer of dry leaves that provided a thin, rustling mattress. He used his knife to clear away some leaves and debris, creating a small, clear space to lie down, pushing the detritus to the edges of the overhang.

  He sat down, leaning against the cool rock wall, feeling the solid stone at his back, a small measure of security. He watched the last rays of sunlight filter through the trees, the light fading rapidly, the jungle sounds changing as day transitioned to night. The chirping insects of the day were replaced by the calls of nocturnal creatures – the mournful hooting of unseen owls, the rapid, rhythmic chirping of geckos, the incessant buzzing of unseen things that seemed to grow louder in the darkness, the occasional distant howl or cry that sent shivers down his spine, sounds that spoke of a food chain he was now a part of. The rustling sounds seemed closer, more frequent in the darkness, every whisper of movement in the leaves outside the overhang making his senses prickle. The air grew cooler, heavier with moisture, the humidity of the day giving way to the chill of the tropical night.

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  He was alone. Completely, utterly alone. The weight of that realization settled over him, heavier than any physical burden he had ever known, far surpassing the limitations of his paralyzed body or the crushing weight of the mall's debris. A thousand years separated him from everything he knew, everyone he loved, the entire world he had called home. Not just a change of scenery, but a complete severing from his timeline. His family, his friends, the familiar comforts of modern life – hot showers, readily available food, instant information, medical care, the internet, electricity, cars, planes – all gone, irrevocably lost to the chasm of ten centuries. The shared history, the cultural touchstones, the slang, even the nuances of the language he spoke would be alien here. Replaced by this: a prime body that felt both miraculous in its capability and alien in its sudden perfection, a silent, inscrutable System whose purpose was a mystery, and a primeval jungle teeming with unknown dangers, a world where survival was a brutal, moment-to-moment struggle, where a simple cut could be a death sentence. He was an anachronism, a ghost from the future, stranded in the deep past with only the raw power of his restored self and the cryptic aid of a digital entity.

  He thought about the 10 points in his inventory. Not enough for the first aid kit or the combat manual. He could get a couple of energy bars, or some water tablets. He already had water for now, and he hadn't found any indication of it being unsafe, though purification would be a good idea long-term, a necessary precaution in a world without modern water treatment. The energy bars... he was hungry, a gnawing emptiness in his stomach, a dull ache that reminded him of his physical needs, but the hunger wasn't debilitating yet, not enough to override his caution about spending his limited points. He decided to hold onto the points for now, unsure what future challenges the System might present, what other necessities he might encounter, or what might appear in the Shop later. Resources felt precious, a limited currency in this new, unpredictable world, and he needed to be strategic about their use.

  He gripped the knife again, its presence a small comfort in the growing darkness, the cool metal grounding him slightly. It was a tool, a weapon, a tangible link to the bizarre power that had brought him here. He was Raven Kyle Lacson, a man who had died in a mall in the 21st century, reborn in his prime in the 10th century, with a silent System and a basic survival knife. It was a ridiculous premise, straight out of a web novel, but it was his reality now.

  As the last light faded completely, plunging the jungle into deep, absolute shadow, the System interface flickered into existence again, its sterile, blue-white light a sharp contrast to the natural darkness, a digital intrusion into the ancient world.

  [Objective Initiated.]

  [Designation: Survival Module [Local Identifier Code 003].]

  [Objective: Survive one full nocturnal cycle (Night).]

  [Parameters: User must remain in a state of biological function until local dawn.]

  [Potential Reward Parameters: [Code indicating reward type/tier - Low].]

  Raven stared at the prompt. Survive the night. It was almost laughably simple, a task so fundamental it felt absurd to have it presented as a System objective, yet in his current situation, terrifyingly difficult. The System, in its unfeeling logic, had quantified the most basic human need: staying alive until morning in a hostile environment. He focused on the "Low" reward tier, mentally accessing the potential rewards, wondering what minimal compensation the System deemed appropriate for simply not dying in his sleep.

  [Potential Reward Parameters Decoded:]

  [Reward Type: Points, Basic Perk, Item.]

  [Points: 5.]

  [Basic Perk: ???.]

  [Item: Level 1 Stamina Candy.]

  Points. And a basic perk. And an item. A perk and an item. That was new. He wondered what kind of perk he'd get for simply not dying in his sleep. Something related to survival, probably. He thought back to his limited survival knowledge, the kind you picked up from TV shows and childhood camping trips, the kind that felt woefully inadequate now.

  Okay, System. Challenge accepted. Just... survive. The thought was grim, a promise to himself as much as an acknowledgment of the System's objective.

  He settled down deeper in the small shelter, pressing his back against the cool rock wall, the knife held loosely but securely in his right hand, point outwards, a meager defense against the unseen dangers of the night. The sounds of the jungle night intensified – the chirps, the buzzes, the clicks, the rustles, the occasional distant howl or cry that sent shivers down his spine, sounds that spoke of predators and prey moving in the darkness. Every sound seemed amplified in the darkness, every shadow seemed to shift and writhe just beyond the edges of his vision. His senses were on high alert, straining to detect any approach, any sign of danger.

  Sleep was elusive. Despite his physical exhaustion, his mind raced, a whirlwind of thoughts and anxieties, replaying the events of the day, grappling with the impossible reality of his situation. He thought about the monitor lizard, the desperate fight, the feel of the makeshift branches in his hands, the sickening crunch as he landed the final blow. He thought about the mall, the sudden, violent end to his old life, the panic, the crushing darkness, the feeling of helplessness. He thought about his old life, the quiet resignation, the slow decay of his potential, the years spent confined by his body. And he thought about this new life, the vibrant body that felt both miraculous and alien, the terrifying uncertainty of the future, the silent, inscrutable System that had brought him here.

  He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard, leaf-covered ground, but comfort was a luxury he couldn't afford. The air grew colder as the night wore on, the humidity settling deep in his bones, a damp chill that seeped through his thin clothes. He shivered, pulling his arms closer to his body, trying to conserve warmth. He needed fire. Desperately.

  Fire. The most basic, yet most crucial, survival tool. Warmth, protection, a way to purify water and cook food. His Boy Scout knowledge, rudimentary as it was, offered theoretical methods: friction, hand drill, bow drill. He had the knife, maybe he could fashion a spindle and a fireboard from the surrounding wood. But finding dry tinder in this humid jungle, especially in the dark? And the sheer physical effort required for friction fire, the repetitive motion, the sustained pressure, especially when exhausted and in the dark... it seemed daunting, perhaps impossible right now. A single spark, a small flame, felt like an insurmountable challenge.

  Maybe... maybe just a small one? Just for comfort? The thought was tempting, the image of a small, flickering fire pushing back the oppressive darkness and the unseen dangers. He considered trying, risking the noise and the light it might attract. But the potential consequences were too high. In his current state, vulnerable and exposed, a fire could draw unwanted attention from predators, or worse, from hostile humans. It felt like a risk he shouldn't take on his first night, not when his only defense was a knife and his own senses. Safety first. Survival first.

  He lay there, listening to the sounds of the night, his body tense, his mind racing, every nerve ending screaming with hyper-awareness. He didn't sleep. Not really. He drifted in and out of a shallow, hyper-aware state, a light, restless doze where every snap of a twig, every distant call, every subtle change in the jungle's symphony, pulled him back to full alertness, his hand tightening on the knife. The jungle was a vast, ancient symphony of unknown life, and he was acutely aware that he was just another potential player, or more likely, prey, in its ancient, brutal rhythm. His body was physically capable, but his mind was exhausted by the constant vigilance, the unending stream of sensory input, the sheer psychological weight of his isolation and the unknown.

  The hours crawled by, marked only by the subtle changes in the sounds of the jungle, the shift in the air, the slow, almost imperceptible movement of the stars through gaps in the canopy. The deepest part of the night, the darkest hour before dawn, felt like an eternity. He felt the cold most keenly then, a deep chill that seeped into his bones, a constant, uncomfortable presence. His stomach growled, a low, insistent reminder of his hunger, a physical ache that added to his discomfort.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a subtle shift occurred. The deepest black of the sky began to lighten, a hint of grey filtering through the dense canopy. The nocturnal sounds began to recede, the calls of the night hunters growing less frequent, replaced by the first tentative chirps and calls of the morning birds, a new symphony beginning. The air grew slightly warmer, the damp chill lessening. Dawn. He had survived the night. He had faced the darkness, the unknown, and the psychological weight of his situation, and he had endured.

  He pushed himself up, stiff and sore, his muscles protesting the lack of true rest, but alive. The System interface flickered into existence, its sterile light appearing in his vision as the first rays of sunlight began to paint the jungle in shades of green and gold.

  [Objective: Survival Module [Local Identifier Code 003] Status: Complete.]

  [Reward Dispensed: Points, Basic Perk, Item.]

  [Points Awarded: 5.]

  [Basic Perk Acquired: Grit & Guess.]

  [Item Acquired: Level 1 Stamina Candy.]

  Raven stared at the perk name. Grit & Guess. It was exactly the kind of quirky, two-word name he'd half-jokingly anticipated, a name that felt both accurate and slightly absurd. It fit. His survival so far had been less about expert, textbook knowledge and more about sheer determination ("Grit") and improvising with what he had, making educated guesses based on limited information ("Guess").

  He mentally accessed his Inventory, checking his updated status.

  [User Inventory:]

  [Points: 15]

  [Item/Equipment Exchange Ticket: Level 1 (x1)]

  [Basic Survival Knife (Tier 1): (x1)]

  [Level 1 Stamina Candy: (x1)]

  His points had increased to 15, a small but welcome increase. He now had enough for the Basic First Aid Kit or the Basic Combat Manual from the Level 1 Shop, or he could save towards the Level 1 to 2 ticket upgrade, which required a significant 50 points. He also had a new section listing his acquired perks:

  [User Perks:]

  [Grit & Guess: (Basic)]

  [Description: User possesses an innate ability for improvisation and resilience in challenging survival situations, often finding unconventional solutions through tenacity and educated guesswork. Provides a minor cognitive boost when faced with immediate environmental survival problems.]

  An innate ability... a minor cognitive boost. It wasn't a flashy combat skill or a direct stat increase to his attributes, but it was something. A System-acknowledged knack for figuring things out when the chips were down, for making do with limited resources and knowledge, for not giving up. It felt... appropriate, a reflection of the resilience he'd developed over seventeen years of living with disability, a resilience now being tested in a brutal new way.

  He dismissed the interface, the sterile light vanishing. The sun was now fully rising, painting the jungle in vibrant shades of green and gold, the morning mist rising from the damp ground. He had survived his first night in the 10th century. He had a knife, some points, a quirky new perk, and a stamina candy. The language barrier was still there, a massive, looming obstacle, the vastness and unknown dangers of the ancient world still daunting, but he had taken the first steps. He was surviving. And the System was watching, waiting for his next move.

  The first rays of sunlight felt like a physical weight lifting from his shoulders, a tangible easing of the tension that had held him captive all night. He was stiff, sore, and profoundly tired, the lack of restful sleep combined with the physical exertion and psychological stress of the previous day and night leaving him drained. The adrenaline from the fight had long since vanished, replaced by a deep, bone-weary fatigue. Every muscle protested as he pushed himself fully upright, a symphony of aches and stiffness. His stomach growled again, a sharp, insistent pang that reminded him of his body's fundamental needs. He needed energy, and he needed it now if he was going to continue moving, searching, and surviving.

  He remembered the Level 1 Stamina Candy he'd received as part of his reward for surviving the night. It was an item, something tangible in his inventory. He mentally focused on the item, accessing its parameters again.

  [Level 1 Stamina Candy: (x1)]

  [Parameters: A small, surprisingly chewy candy. Pop it in your mouth and suck slowly for a gradual, slightly-faster-than-normal restoration of physical energy (+50% on top of normal stamina recovery rate for 1 hour). Tastes vaguely like artificial fruit punch and regret. Manufactured by "Xylar's Exotic Edibles & Interstellar Snacks (Beware of Tentacles)".]

  Artificial fruit punch and regret? Manufactured by "Xylar's Exotic Edibles & Interstellar Snacks (Beware of Tentacles)"? He snorted softly, a puff of air that felt dry in his mouth, the absurdity of it all striking him again. Only the System, or some incredibly bizarre, sketchy alien outfit it was connected to, would manufacture something that tasted like an abstract negative emotion and came with a warning about tentacles. It was so utterly divorced from his reality, yet here it was, a potential source of energy. But the "restoration of physical energy" part was exactly what he needed right now. He was running on fumes, and he couldn't afford to be physically depleted in this environment.

  He mentally willed the candy into his hand. A small, brightly colored object, wrapped in a clear, slightly crinkly plastic, materialized in his palm. It was a small, rectangular candy, perhaps the size of a modern cough drop, its color a vibrant, unnatural shade of red. He unwrapped it, the plastic making a surprisingly loud crinkle in the quiet morning air, the sound seeming to echo in the stillness.

  He popped the candy into his mouth. It was, as the description promised, surprisingly chewy, almost like a gummy bear, but with the initial hardness of a hard candy. His teeth sank into it, a strange, resistant texture. The flavor hit him immediately – a blast of intensely artificial fruit punch, sickeningly sweet and vaguely chemical, like cheap candy from a forgotten childhood. And then, beneath the cloying sweetness, there was... a faint, lingering aftertaste that he could only describe as a conceptual flavor of regret. It wasn't a taste he could pinpoint to anything specific, not bitter, not sour, but it carried the distinct emotional weight of missed opportunities, poor decisions, and the life he had lost. It was bizarre, unsettling, and strangely fitting.

  As he sucked on the candy, letting it slowly dissolve and release its strange flavor, a subtle warmth began to spread through his limbs. It wasn't a sudden, jarring jolt of energy like a strong cup of coffee or an energy drink, but a gradual, pervasive easing of the stiffness and soreness that had gripped him. The dull ache in his muscles began to recede, replaced by a low thrum of renewed vitality, a feeling of his body quietly, efficiently, regaining its strength. It felt like his body's natural recovery rate had been given a gentle, consistent boost, the +50% on top of normal recovery manifesting not as a sudden surge, but as his body simply working more efficiently, shaking off the exhaustion faster than it should, like a battery charging at an accelerated but steady pace. The gnawing hunger didn't vanish, but the debilitating fatigue began to lift, the heavy weight on his limbs lessening. He felt his posture straighten, his shoulders relax slightly, the tension draining away.

  Okay. That... actually works. The absurdity of gaining energy from a candy that tasted like regret and was made by a company with "Tentacles" in the name wasn't lost on him, but the effect was undeniable. He felt more alert, more capable of facing the day, the fog of exhaustion clearing from his mind. The strange flavor of artificial fruit punch and regret lingered on his tongue, a constant reminder of the System's bizarre nature and the life he had left behind.

  He continued to suck on the candy, the strange flavor a constant reminder of the System's bizarre nature. He had survived his first night in the 10th century. He had a knife, some points, a quirky new perk, and a stamina candy that tasted like artificial fruit punch and regret, courtesy of Xylar's. The language barrier was still there, a massive, silent wall, the vastness and unknown dangers of the ancient world still daunting, but he had taken the first steps. He was surviving. And the System was watching, waiting for his next move. The language quest still hung in his mental display, a silent imperative. He needed to find people. And he needed to understand them.