Harrow held the gem before his eyes, probing it with his will to uncover its secrets. The small amber crystal resembled the other one he had found, though it was a little bigger, even compared to the other Uncommon rank crystal he received.

  [Would you like to assimilate the skill: Toxin Infusion (Uncommon)?]

  [Y | N]

  Questions surfaced in his mind about the skill, along with an urge to accept the prompt, but he knew he wasn’t thinking clearly enough to make the best decision. Reluctantly, he stowed the gem away. He would likely assimilate the skill later, but only after he had a clearer head. In fact, he would need to find somewhere safe even to attempt it, considering the process left him vulnerable for a short while.

  With that resolved, he turned his attention to the machete. Its effects on him had stirred some suspicions.

  [Viper’s Kiss:

  Replica (Uncommon) | Durability: 14/25

  Description: A machete carved from the bones of a Unary Formation-ranked Viper. Years of exposure to toxins and various compounds have darkened its original bone-white hue to jet black.

  Toxin Affliction: Inflicts Toxin damage on every cut.]

  It wasn’t a relic, but Harrow hadn’t expected it to be. The machete was twice the size of his obsidian dagger, making it a better weapon for combat, though it lacked the life-saving functions of his relic.

  Harrow shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t bound Duskripper. If the man had taken it, things could have gone very differently. Thankfully, that disaster had been avoided.

  Still, one troubling detail lingered in his mind. The voice had referred to the man as a Human Thrall. As far as Harrow knew, a thrall was a creature bound to someone else’s spell, which likely meant the man he had killed had a master—someone stronger and far more dangerous than himself. A warlock?

  That realisation didn’t bode well for him.

  Even after hours of creeping through the cavern system, Harrow found no way out. The tunnels grew wider and more labyrinthine the further he ventured. In the middle somewhere he decided to let go of his food, after filling his stomach with a good chunk and taking another chunk for an emergency.

  Eventually, he decided to rest and reconsider his plan. Finding a large crevice, he rested his belongings, sat cross-legged and began to meditate.

  His essence and [Toxin Tolerance] were still working to neutralise the poison in his system. Over two-thirds of his core was consumed by the battle against the toxin, disabling him to fully utilise his other skills.

  Clearing his mind, Harrow focused all his essence on the task. The poison was insidious, especially considering the blade had merely grazed his shoulder. His left arm barely recovered from the hyena bite, and yet now, was further hindered by the toxin. Not for long...

  He didn’t know how much time passed, but for what felt like hours, he channelled his essence through his body, slow and deliberate, until he finally overcame the toxin. By the end, he was drenched in sweat, even in the cold atmosphere.

  At least the improvement would be useful if he were ever poisoned again.

  [Toxin Tolerance (Uncommon): +7]

  [Skill mastery detected: Meditation (Common)]

  [Would you like to add Meditation (Common) in your skilltree?]

  [ Y | N ]

  Harrow froze in his spot. Is this actually possible? Why did nobody tell me before?

  The reasoning came to him. Nobody had mentioned it because nobody had the option to add more skills to their skill tree. Still, the question remained: should he accept or not?

  After some consideration, he chose to dismiss the option. Although his skill tree was unrestricted, he still had a limited number of skill slots. Harrow preferred to assimilate only higher-ranked skills or those that would be broadly useful to his skill set from now on.

  Yes, skill upgrades were possible, but they required months of relentless effort—not to mention the secret methods necessary to achieve them. Harrow could probably manage an upgrade from Common to Uncommon on his own, but to reach higher tiers, he would need to curry favour with powerful, high-ranking individuals—people he had no connections with.

  He was by no means disappointed, however. If acquiring a skill was possible through practising it, it opened so many avenues. Not that he had mastery over a wide branch of skills.

  Sighing, he shifted to the thrall’s belongings, the ones he hadn't checked: the darts and vials.

  Is it possible one of them contains an antidote?

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  The thought struck him, and he facepalmed. How had he not considered that earlier? It would have solved hours of pain, of carrying around everything while he was impeded by poison internally. Then again, his mind had been scrambled by everything he had experienced. It was not light by any long stretch.

  The Voice of Order revealed the contents of the vials. There were six in total: two large vials of deadly poison potent enough to kill anyone without [Toxin Tolerance], a smaller vial containing a tranquilising agent, an ointment for injuries, one vial of antitoxin, and finally, a minor healing potion.

  Harrow resisted the urge to drink the healing potion. It could completely heal his left arm, but he decided to save it for a more critical injury. Instead, he applied the ointment. It wouldn’t work as quickly as the potion, but it would still stimulate his healing factor. He hoped.

  With all the poison in his possession, it seemed foolish not to take the skill. He disliked the idea of carrying poison wherever he went—it bred distrust. He certainly wouldn’t want to associate with someone who kept toxins on their person.

  But if it was a matter of his survival...

  Harrow let the prompt resurface in his mind and accepted it. He might regret the decision later, but for now, it was purely based on what options were available to him.

  The process wasn’t instantaneous. He endured what felt like hours of searing pain, though it was likely no more than a minute. Eventually, the pain subsided, and a new alert echoed.

  [A memory related to the skill is available.]

  [Would you like to accept the memory?]

  [Y | N]

  Curiosity got the better of him, and he accepted without considering the consequences. A sharp current surged through his mind, forcing a groan from his lips.

  Suddenly, he was in a dim chamber with heavy stone walls. A fire torch cast flickering light across the space, leaving the corners in shadow. Before him lay a collection of weapons—arrows, darts, daggers, and a familiar machete—along with three large vials. A thick, acrid smell rose from the open vials.

  Before Harrow could process his surroundings, his body moved on its own, drawing the machete and dipping it into one of the poison-filled vials.

  It took him a moment to realise that the memory had placed him in the body of someone else—likely the man he had killed. The potbelly and the machete confirmed it, even though Harrow couldn’t see the man’s face.

  Harrow didn’t have time to confirm that, as his attention darted to something more interesting. A surging force of intense energy pushed through his arms, flowing into the machete.

  As his eyes locked onto the energy, an intricate interweaving of threads revealed itself. The threads made contact with the liquid toxin dripping from the weapon and incorporated it into the dark machete. All the toxins were absorbed into the blade, leaving behind only a faint residue of smell.

  The man continued the process of infusing toxin from the remaining material, fully demonstrating the mechanics at play before a splitting pain impaled Harrow's mind. The next moment, he was abruptly expelled from the strange vision.

  His chest heaved as he jerked upright, wiping a line of sweat from his face.

  [Skill gained! Toxin Infusion (Uncommon): +1]

  Huh, who knew I’d glimpse the past of someone I killed? he thought. Thankfully, the memory contained nothing heavy that could weigh on his heart.

  The memory had been brief and solely related to the skill. Still, it provided enough insight into how to use it. With that, he began his preparations. Starting with the darts, he dipped the arrowheads into the half-filled vial.

  Then he willed his new skill into action. A fiery wave of essence threaded through his arm, pushing into the bolt. Whatever happened next, he could take no credit for it. The weapon absorbed the transparent liquid coating its surface, leaving nothing behind.

  [Toxin Infusion (Uncommon): +2]

  Well, this certainly makes things easier, he thought, now certain he’d have to spend time exploring alternative applications of the skill.

  Careful not to poke himself with the bolt, Harrow set the toxin-infused one aside and picked up another. He repeated the process, taking care to avoid contact with any of the toxins. Not all were purely paralysing, and although he carried antidotes and possessed Toxin Tolerance, he wasn’t eager to put them to the test.

  [Toxin Infusion (Uncommon): +3]

  Harrow had coated only half of his bolts when a disturbance ahead drew his attention. What alarmed him were the echoes of men’s voices shouting in the distance.

  Setting aside his work, Harrow stood and summoned [Cloak of Night]. With his system purged of toxins, he had no trouble covering his body and blending into the darkness. Even so, he moved out of the crevice. Remaining there would be disastrous if they found him and attacked, leaving no room to withdraw.

  Harrow mounted up the cold wall with the blowgun loaded with a dart. [Cloak of Night] still cloaked him in shadow, and he was careful not to make any disturbance. People rarely looked up while walking, and even if they did, they wouldn’t notice him through the shroud of darkness he wore. Unless they had a keen eye skill.

  Once secured, he focused his ears on their conversation.

  A voice crackled loudly, “That dumb sucker Mason just had to die out here. We can’t even eat that toxic bastard.”

  “I hope a beast got him,” said another voice, this one tentative. “If so, we still can find his belongings. But if it’s one of those forestfiends, there’ll be nothing left to collect.”

  Were they talking about the man I killed? Harrow wondered. How did they find out so soon? It hasn’t even been a couple of hours.

  Harrow narrowed his eyes, peering down the pathways. He could sense them drawing closer, though they hadn’t yet entered his line of sight.

  Whatever the case, he readied the blowgun, nocking a toxin-infused dart. He had never used it before and didn’t know if it required any expertise. The mechanism seemed simple enough.

  “Master should’ve let us sacrifice that fat mugger when we had the chance! One of us might’ve reached Formation!”

  “Shut your trap, Daem!” the second voice snapped, followed by the sound of a slap.

  “You hit me!”

  “Keep your voice down! You’ll attract trouble,” the second man hissed. “Do I need to remind you why we need to hurry? If it gets dark before we find him…”

  Two figures finally came into view, creeping along the path. They were not even bothering to check their footing, much less look up.

  “What if it wasn’t a beast?” Daem asked, his voice dropping.

  “What else could it be other than beasts?” the second man snorted. “You think there could be more of those elves?”

  “Or someone else. Mason was asking to get killed, but if someone’s after the elves... We need to warn the master.”

  “He’ll beat us bloody if we fail at the task he had given us....”

  The men’s voices grew fainter as they moved away. Harrow kept his eyes trained on their retreating forms.

  Sucking in a deep, frigid breath, he jumped down. Now I’m sure we’re thinking of the same guy.

  They wouldn’t find any of his belongings—not everything, at least. Harrow had only left behind the bloody kaftan.

  Quickly, he finished his toxin infusion, meticulously gathered his supplies, and disappeared from the spot. He needed to put as much distance between himself and them as possible—perhaps even make some progress before something else tested its luck against him.