Cade walked west through the wooded wetlands, the sound of his boots sucking softly through the mud. The air here was different—thicker, maybe, or just quieter. His breathing was slow and steady, the swamp's ambient hum filling the empty space where words and noise used to be.
The corpses stayed behind but the weight of them followed.
Seeing those two dead had done something. Not just the gore, not just the blood—it was the stillness that haunted him. The way their bodies had been half-curled, like they'd fallen asleep and never woken up. The way death had clung to them—not loud, not dramatic. Just finality.
He was still alive, somehow, and seeing those two corpses drove home how thin the line was.
Intellectually, he'd known his chances were bad. No Class, no Core, no skills. He was easy prey. But until he'd seen those two—until he'd pulled their bodies out of that tree—he hadn't really felt it.
The thought kept looping back to what the System entity had said:
To manually create a Core, you must refine either your body, your mind, or your soul.
The first two made sense. Training. Learning. He could understand that. But the soul?
How do you refine a soul?
What even was a soul in this new reality? Some metaphysical stat? A resource to be ground down? Or was it still something sacred like people on Earth had thought before the System came?
He didn't know. He wasn't sure anyone did. But if the System acknowledged it—if the word soul had appeared in a message, spoken by something so far beyond human understanding—then maybe it really existed. Maybe it always had.
And if souls existed, what happened to them when the body died?
Cade didn't have answers. Only more questions. And if he was honest with himself, he did want to know. Just not firsthand.
He kept walking, boots sinking into the muck, his mind caught somewhere between the earth and whatever might wait beyond it.
The trees began to thin.
The change was subtle at first—more sky visible between the branches, fewer knotted roots snaring his ankles—but before long, the wooded swamp gave way to a vast open stretch of reeds. Cade paused at the edge of the clearing, his eyes widening.
The area was massive. A sprawling oval of flat land, waterlogged and choked with chest-high stalks. Cattails swayed in a breeze he hadn't felt beneath the canopy. Sunlight poured in here unbroken, turning the reed-tops gold.
And in the center, rising like a monument, stood a tree unlike any he had ever seen.
It dominated the landscape.
A banyan, he thought. At least, that's what it resembled—if a banyan had been stretched upward by the hands of titans. Its trunk alone was thicker than some houses. A maze of aerial roots twisted down from the upper branches like living ropes, some of them thick enough to serve as columns. The crown towered high into the sky, easily forty meters if not more, its upper limbs lost in a tangle of green.
Cade stood there for a long time, silently staring.
He didn't know trees could be that big.
He took a tentative step forward into the reeds, pushing through the dense tangle. The stalks brushed against his armor, whispering faintly as they parted around him. Water sloshed with every step, and though he couldn't see the ground beneath his feet, he felt the same shallow muck give way beneath each boot.
It wasn't easy going, but something about that tree drew him forward. The scale of it felt almost sacred, like it didn't belong in the same reality as the rest of this place. His thoughts of souls and mortality hadn't quite left him, and now—walking toward this living giant—it was hard not to feel like he was approaching something important.
Or at least useful.
If nothing else, it was tall, sturdy, and full of potential high ground.
Cade kept moving, eyes scanning the reeds as he pushed toward the tree's looming base. He was most of the way there when he froze.
There. A rustle. Something moving up ahead.
He dropped low, pulse quickening. This time, he stayed in the moment.
Cade crouched in the reeds, one hand bracing the bow slung across his back to keep it from snagging. The rustling was close now—steady, deliberate, and much too loud to be anything small.
He cursed silently. He'd been so lost in thought he hadn't heard whatever it was until it was nearly on top of him.
Focus, he scolded himself. This place isn't safe. Daydreaming will get you killed.
The rustling continued, drawing nearer. Cade stayed low, heart pounding, eyes scanning the sea of reeds ahead. He couldn't see the creature, not fully, just stalks parting in its wake and the occasional glimpse of something broad-backed moving through the green.
It wasn't charging. It was rooting around. Searching.
Slowly, carefully, Cade turned to look for a way out—and spotted one of the banyan's aerial roots a few meters to his right. It stretched low to the ground, thick as a firepole, then curved upward into the trunk above. It might be climbable.
He crept toward it, moving as quietly as he could. The mud sucked at his boots, and his armor creaked faintly with every crouched step. But the rustling didn't change. Whatever it was, it hadn't noticed him.
Reaching the root, Cade wrapped his hands around it and began to climb.
It wasn't graceful.
His boots slipped more than once and the axe at his hip kept bumping into his leg. But after a few minutes of awkward scrambling, he managed to get high enough—maybe four meters up—to find a decent perch on one of the outstretched limbs.
He straddled it, catching his breath, then looked down.
The creature emerged from the reeds.
It was a boar. A huge one.
Its shoulders would have come up to Cade's waist, maybe higher, and its back was covered in thick, matted hair that resembled the surrounding reeds. No—on closer look, some of them were reeds. Actual plants, sprouting like bristles from the boar's spine, swaying gently with each step.
It rooted through the mud with its snout, tusks tearing small furrows as it searched for something beneath the surface. Unbothered. Oblivious.
From the safety of the tree, Cade watched. That thing would tear me in half if I fought it on the ground.
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But it didn't know he was there.
A thought occurred to him as a smile crept up his face. He always loved the stealth archer archetype and this was his perfect chance. He could snipe it from above and the boar wouldn't even know what hit it.
He hesitated for only a moment, then reached back and slowly unhooked the bow. His legs squeezed the branch as he drew an arrow from the quiver and knocked it. The position was terrible—he was off-balance, hunched over, legs shaking in an attempt to hold on—but he did his best.
He pulled the string back, aimed at the boar's broad side and loosed.
The arrow soared and sailed clear over the boar's back by a good three meters, vanishing into the reeds with a faint fwip.
The boar jerked its head up at the sound and looked toward where the arrow had landed.
Cade winced. Okay. Not exactly a primeval archer here.
Still, it hadn't spotted him. It was staring in the wrong direction so he still had another chance to shoot it while it was unaware.
He took another arrow, aimed lower, and fired again.
This one hit—barely. It struck the boar high in the haunch, embedding in the muscle near its back leg.
The boar squealed, loud and shrill, and spun in place. Cade watched, heart racing, as it sniffed at the air and turned slowly, its beady eyes scanning the reeds.
Cade drew another arrow and aimed for the face this time.
The shot hit—but not well. It thudded into the boar's back and bounced off, deflected by the thick reed-covered hide.
The reeds must act as natural armor, Cade realized. Great.
The boar's gaze snapped toward the tree.
Cade froze.
A second later, it charged.
It moved fast—far faster than Cade would've guessed for something that size. Mud and reeds flew in all directions as the creature barreled forward, straight for the base of the banyan.
Cade fumbled another arrow, heart hammering. He aimed and loosed—but the shot went wide, vanishing into the swamp.
The boar slammed into the tree's roots, rearing up as if it could climb. Its tusks raked bark, its hooves scrabbling at the trunk. It couldn't reach him—but that didn't stop it from trying.
Cade clamped his legs around the limb, breathing hard, another arrow already in hand.
This was going to take more work than he'd thought.
The boar slammed into the tree again, tusks scraping against bark, snorting furiously.
Cade steadied himself, planted both feet on the branch, and loosed another arrow. Another miss.
He hissed in frustration, grabbed the next arrow, adjusted his aim, and fired again.
This one struck the boar just above the shoulder—but barely sunk in. The angle was bad. Not enough force.
The boar squealed again, but didn't stop.
It was ramming the tree now in intervals, shaking the lower branches every time its body slammed into the massive trunk. Cade clenched his jaw and gripped the branch tighter to keep his balance.
"Come on" he muttered under his breath, drawing again. He'd lost track of how many arrows he'd used. At least six, maybe more. Each shot made his arms ache and his fingers sting.
Another shot. This one landed solidly—just behind the boar's front leg.
The boar let out a strangled, ugly sound, stumbling to the side. Blood darkened its side, thick and slow. It tried to turn, tried to rear up again, but this time its movements were jerky. Uneven.
It was hurting.
Cade didn't let up.
Another arrow. And then another. He kept shooting, trying to down the boar. Some of the arrows stuck while far more missed and were lost in the reeds.
Cade was breathing hard now, shoulders burning. Drawing the bow repeatedly was catching up to him. He glanced at the quiver.
Only two left.
He gritted his teeth, aimed again, and waited for the right moment.
The boar reared up, trying once more to reach him, its front hooves scrabbling at the banyan.
Cade released.
The arrow struck low, near the throat.
The boar screamed, stumbled back, and crashed sideways into the mud. It tried to rise again, legs kicking, but couldn't get its feet under it. Blood pooled around its side now, thick and spreading.
Cade nocked the final arrow.
He hesitated.
The boar was still breathing—barely. Its side heaved. Its eyes rolled.
But it wasn't getting up.
The final shot thudded into its flank—not a killing blow, but it didn't need to be. The creature collapsed fully, body twitching. Its squeals faded into rough, wet grunts. Then silence.
Cade sat there, straddling the branch, bow limp in his hands. His fingers were raw, and his arms ached. His heartbeat thudded in his ears.
I did it.
But it didn't feel like victory and there was no System notification confirming the kill. Even though the boar was down, it wasn't dead yet.
He looked down at the blood-soaked clearing. Arrows jutted from the boar's body. He hadn't shot well—hadn't even landed half his shots—but it had been enough.
He slung the bow over his shoulder and clipped it beneath the strap of the now empty quiver.
Time to finish it.
Cade climbed down using one of the banyan's aerial roots, descending slowly as he watched the boar's body for any sudden movement. But it only laid there, twitching and spasming as blood continued to flow from the arrow wounds.
When he hit the ground, his boots splashed softly into the churned-up mud.
He approached the boar cautiously, axe in hand. Blood was everywhere, a wide pool soaked into the reeds. The beast was still alive, but barely—it let out a weak, guttural grunt as Cade neared.
He grimaced. "Sorry," he whispered, and raised the axe.
The first strike landed at the base of the boar's throat with a wet crunch. The second ended it and silence settled over the area.
Then a familiar tone echoed in his ears.
Ding!
You have defeated [Juvenile Reedmane Marsh Boar – Level 5].
You have gained additional experience for killing a creature above your level.
Race: [Human – (H)] has reached Level 3.
+1 to all stats.
Race: [Human – (H)] has reached Level 4.
+1 to all stats.
Two levels. Just like that.
Cade blinked as the System notification lingered in his mind, the last line catching his attention:
You have gained additional experience for killing a creature above your level.
So that's how it worked.
The skinklets hadn't gotten him anywhere—fifteen total kills and not a single level. But now? One kill and two levels. Either he'd been close from before and the boar tipped him over twice or taking down something stronger than you was just that rewarding.
It made sense, in a brutal kind of way. Risk your life, get rewarded accordingly. He glanced down at the boar again, the pool of blood still spreading beneath it.
"Thanks," he muttered under his breath. "You were worth a lot. I'm just sorry I couldn't give you a quicker, less painful death"
Cade stood over the corpse, chest heaving. His hands shook from exertion, but a strange energy stirred beneath the fatigue—a spark of momentum. He wasn't just running anymore. He was finally taking action.
He leaned on the axe and caught his breath. Then he looked at the body again. He didn't want to waste it.
It wasn't just a victory that gave him levels. It was meat and he was hungry.
Cade knelt beside the boar, pulled the dagger from his leg sheath, and began to saw at the thick hide. It wasn't clean, and it definitely wasn't easy, but hunger was a great motivator.
He didn't know how to butcher an animal. But if he could get just a few pieces—something to cook later—maybe it'd be enough to keep going.
He was halfway through carving a chunk from the haunch when something made him stop.
A soft sound. Not from the reeds this time.
The sound came from above him.
Something was moving in the tree.
Cade slowly rose to his feet, dagger still in hand, and looked up.
A thick black shape was coiling down from the banyan's upper canopy. Its movements were fluid as the massive body slithered down the branches.
A snake.
No, not just a snake.
An anaconda. Larger than any he'd ever imagined, easily thick as he was, its onyx scales catching the light with an oily sheen. It moved with eerie grace, wrapping around the banyan's aerial roots as it descended, its head swaying slowly from side to side.
Its tongue flicked out. Tasting the air. Tasting the boar's blood.
Cade held his breath and took one quiet step backward. Then another. The reeds behind him swallowed his form as he crouched and backed away from the true predator approaching.
The anaconda slipped lower and lower until its head reached the boar's body. It sniffed along the arrow-pierced hide, nudged it once with its blunt snout, then opened its jaws.
Cade's eyes widened.
The snake's mouth opened wide and its jaw unhinged. Its lower jaw stretched open until it looked like a glistening pit of muscle and fangs.
Then, slowly, it began to swallow the boar whole.
The black-scaled serpent was coiled around the boar, its head already stretched impossibly wide. Its lower jaw hung open, fangs slick with blood as it worked Cade's kill into itself. The boar's snout had vanished, followed by its head, then shoulders. Wet gulps filled the air—each one dragging the corpse deeper into that obsidian throat.
Cade watched, unmoving, heart thudding so hard it felt like it might betray his position.
He should run. He knew he should run. But the longer he stared, the more a new thought began to form—what if I kill it?
The thought was ridiculously stupid. Suicidal even. And yet back on Earth, he'd watched enough documentaries to know that anacondas were vulnerable during and after a big meal. Their bodies went sluggish from the strain of digestion, their reflexes dulled. They were apex predators—but not invincible.
He bit his lip, watching as the boar's thick midsection was slowly pulled into the snake's distending gullet. The anaconda's body was longer than he'd initially thought, a sinuous shadow sliding in slow waves through the grass. It looked more like a shifting tree trunk than an animal.
Still, the boar had earned him two levels. That snake had to be worth more.
Cade's breathing slowed as he weighed the madness taking root in his mind. On one side, escape—quiet, safe, and slow. On the other, an opportunity. A risk that could provide another tangible step forward.
He needed levels. This Tutorial seemed like it was designed to weed out the weak. And he was weak—still at the bottom, scraping by with scavenged gear and barely a grip on survival. Every edge mattered. Could he even afford to not take the risk?
The System rewarded risk.
He couldn't stop thinking about it. It was insane but the longer he contemplated it, the more the pieces began to line up. He could ambush it while it was vulnerable by cutting the back of the neck as it was stretched from swallowing the boar. In one quick swing he'd sever the spinal cord and that would be it.
He gripped the haft of his axe tighter. He just needed this one shot. And if he failed? Then the snake would feast twice today.
Cade stayed low in the reeds, breathing shallow through his nose as he crept a few paces forward, his eyes never leaving the anaconda.
The boar was halfway down now. Cade could see the massive bulge in the snake's throat shifting inch by inch as muscular contractions dragged the carcass deeper. The snake's body ballooned out unnaturally around the kill—its scaled skin stretched tight and slick with swamp water.
That was the moment to strike. He knew it.
The creature's lower body was still coiled loosely, tail weaving through the grass, but its head and upper neck were occupied—busy, focused, vulnerable.
He gripped his axe. The weapon felt different, lighter than before. He rolled his wrist, noting the improved balance. The haft still had weight, but it no longer dragged at him with every movement. Maybe that was the result of two more points in Strength. Or maybe it was just the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.
Still, the axe was clumsy. Its blade wasn't made for precision. The weapon was brutal, meant for splitting skulls or hacking through limbs.
He inched around the side, careful to stay downwind. The creature didn't seem to notice him. Its focus was entirely on the meal.
Cade narrowed his eyes at the engorged neck. The stretched skin glistened in the light, paper-thin in spots. Between the armor-like rows of black scales, thin lines of exposed flesh pulsed.
There. That was the target. If he could land a clean blow—right between those stretched scales—he might be able to sever its spine.
His hands were trembling slightly as he shifted his grip on the axe. His stomach was tight with a noxious mix of adrenaline and fear. Before he could chicken out he reminded himself that he got two levels from killing a single boar. How much would this giant snake give him?
You're not going to survive this place by hiding. You level, or you die. That's the deal.
Cade flexed his fingers once more. He crouched. Waited. The boar's hind legs were nearly gone now, only its hooves sticking from the edge of the snake's maw.
It was time.
Cade crept forward in silence, each step deliberate, each breath shallow and controlled. His boots slid across slick patches of wet earth, but he kept his balance. The axe hung low in both hands, blade angled behind him, the way he'd seen people hold baseball bats.
The snake's massive body twitched once as another pulse of muscle dragged the boar deeper. The hind legs were gone now. Only the swollen bulge halfway down the throat marked where the corpse was lodged.
Closer. Just a few more steps.
Cade's heart thudded in his ears—loud and distracting. He pushed the noise down, focused on the dark gleam of the snake's stretched neck. Between the rows of obsidian scales, he could see the skin drawn taut and pale from the strain of swallowing something just a bit too large.
He surged forward without any further hesitation.
Cade brought the axe up with both hands and launched himself at the snake's neck, just behind the swollen bulge. He came down with all his weight behind the swing, the axe arcing in a wide crescent of motion.
The blade struck home.
A wet, meaty CRACK echoed through the clearing as the steel edge bit deep between the snake's scales, driving into the exposed flesh. Cade felt the vibration of impact travel through the haft into his bones—then the sudden give as skin and muscle parted under the blow.
Hot blood gushed from the wound. A thick, pressurized spray that hit Cade across the chest and face like a burst firehose. It was hot, coppery, and strangely oily making the boar's own blood feel thin in comparison.
The anaconda convulsed violently.
Its body snapped back in a whip-crack motion, and Cade stumbled away, barely keeping his footing in the churned mud. The head reared up—boar halfway down its throat—and let out a soundless gape, jaw stretched grotesquely wide.
It wasn't dead. Not even close.
The wound was deep, but not fatal. The axe had torn a wide gash just behind the head—but the creature's hide was thick, and its spine hadn't been severed.
The black serpent thrashed, writhing in pain, and Cade felt his stomach plummet.
Shit.
He took a step back, boots squelching in the mud. The snake spun in place, tail lashing out in a wide arc. Cade saw the thrashing and he knew that one hit hadn't been enough. Not nearly enough.
The anaconda's body spasmed, scales rippling as it writhed from the pain. Cade raised the axe, ready to swing again—but the tail was already whipping toward him.
He barely saw it before it hit.
THUD.
The impact was like being struck by a battering ram. The air vanished from his lungs as the serpent's tail slammed into his ribs, lifting him clean off his feet. His vision blurred. He hit the ground hard, skidding across the mud and crashing a few meters away.
For a second, he couldn't move. Couldn't think.
Then the pain hit.
"Fuuuck—" Cade gasped, clutching his side. A bright red System message flared in the corner of his vision.
[HP: 34/100]
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He was down to a third of his health. From one hit.
He stared at the number, blinking. Trying to breathe.
It was at this moment that he knew, he fucked up.
Across the clearing, the snake was twisting violently, its long body crashing through the reeds and trees like a bulldozer. The boar's body had stopped descending—Cade could see its hind legs sticking out of the serpent's jaws, limp and dripping with mucus.
Then, with a series of wet, hacking convulsions, the snake began to regurgitate the boar.
Its throat bulged upward, muscles spasming unnaturally. In seconds, the boar's body began to slide free. The corpse landed in the mud with a wet slap, a lifeless heap of red and gray.
Cade pulled himself upright, leaning on the axe for balance.
Then the snake turned to face him.
Its head lifted.
They locked eyes and time stopped. A cold shot of something primal ripped through Cade's chest.
Fear.
Not normal fear. Not panic or nerves. This was worse. Deeper.
Every part of his body screamed to run, to flee, to hide—but he couldn't move. His muscles locked. His legs turned to lead while his arms trembled.
The axe slipped from his hands and fell uselessly to the ground.
He tried to scream, to do something, but nothing came out. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, growing louder and louder until it was all he could hear.
The snake watched him. Silent. Still. Tongue flickering once…twice…
Cade's mind spiraled. Why did I attack it? he thought. Why did I think this was a good idea?
The boar had made him cocky. Two levels. Not necessarily a clean kill but an easy one. He thought he could do it again.
But this wasn't the same. This was a mistake. A mistake that was about to cost him everything.
The serpent moved with terrifying calm.
Its obsidian-black body slid across the mud in smooth, sinuous curves, massive weight disturbing the flattened reeds as it closed the distance. Cade still couldn't move. His body remained locked in place, frozen not by magic but by something more ancient—primal submission. A response burned into the nervous system of prey facing a true apex predator.
The snake's head stopped just inches from his face.
Its tongue flicked out again, brushing Cade's cheek. The touch was soft, dry, like twin threads of silk. His muscles twitched uselessly.
The creature loomed over him, unblinking. Its onyx scales gleamed in the scattered light. There was no malice in its eyes. No emotion at all. Just hunger and instinct.
Then the bulk of its body began to slide past.
Cade barely felt the first loop wrap around his thighs—until it tightened.
The next loop coiled over his waist. Then his chest. Then his upper arms, pinning them tight against his ribs. Each wrap of thick muscle constricted harder until Cade could feel his ribs straining beneath the pressure. His hands were trapped against his sides, his right wrist jammed near the dagger strapped to his thigh. Useless.
The numb lock on his body loosened for the briefest instant, just long enough for panic to sharpen and for him to realize he couldn't breathe.
He tried to twist, to struggle, but the grip was absolute. His chest was being squeezed tighter and tighter, as if iron bands were closing around his ribs. His heartbeat was loud and thudding in his ears.
The snake didn't squeeze quickly. That would be too easy. It was slow and deliberate.
Cade's face twisted as panic welled again. He couldn't feel his fingers. His vision wavered.
Above him, the snake raised its head once more. That tongue flicked again—lazily this time—as if it was tasting his fear. Savoring it.
And Cade thought, It knows it's already won.
Cade's lungs burned.
Each second stretched out—longer, tighter—as the coils wound like iron bands around his torso. His ribs creaked. Vision swam. Sparks flickered at the edges of his sight. Somewhere in his mind, he registered that this was it. This was how he would die. Not with a dramatic last stand or defiant final words. Just crushed slowly and quietly, not even able to muster a whimper.
But even as his body failed him, his mind screamed No.
He couldn't move—but he raged against it. Against the stillness. Against the helplessness. A fury welled up inside him, white-hot and defiant. Not like this. He refused. Not crushed and broken in the dark, forgotten in a swamp and food for some overgrown snake. His will pushed back against whatever it was holding him, clawing and howling in silent rebellion, refusing to give the System or the snake the satisfaction of watching him die caged in his own flesh.
And then—something snapped. Not a bone or tendon.
The paralysis affecting Cade's body broke.
He jerked violently but the coils still held him fast. The snake was trying to crush him, not pin every joint in place. His upper arms were pinned, but his wrists and forearms were free.
He twisted hard toward the pressure, forcing his right shoulder down and wrenching his elbow an inch lower. Pain flared white-hot across his ribs as the serpent tightened in response, but one loop slid just enough. Barely enough.
The dagger.
His fingers clawed blindly for the leather sheath strapped to his thigh. His vision blurred. Pressure mounted in his skull like it was about to burst. Then his fingertips brushed the hilt. He grabbed it and ripped the dagger free.
A hiss of effort escaped his clenched teeth with the last of his breath.
The snake's skin was iron-hard—thick onyx scales layered like armor. He slammed the dagger into its side, but the blade skittered harmlessly off a scale. The pain in his chest screamed louder. Another squeeze and his ribs might collapse.
Cade gritted his teeth and shifted the dagger's tip—angled it downward—pressing until he found soft give between the ridged plates.
He drove the dagger in with every ounce of strength he had left.
The serpent spasmed, a deep convulsion pulsing down its body. The blade sank deep, all the way to the hilt. Cade twisted it as the snake's scream wasn't sound, but motion, a full-body shudder that nearly snapped his spine.
Then the coils loosened. Just slightly. Just enough that Cade gasped in a sudden inhale, he felt breath rush back into his lungs.
The snake recoiled, dragging itself backward, the dagger still lodged in its side. Cade collapsed to his knees in the mud, coughing, sucking air in ragged gasps.
He couldn't move for a second. He could barely think but he was somehow still alive.
Cade staggered to his feet.
His chest throbbed with each breath—sharp pain radiating from ribs that felt bruised—but he pushed through it, half stumbling as he turned toward the snake.
It was writhing.
Slow and furious, the creature twisted its enormous body, churning up thick reeds and mud in a wide radius. The dagger was still buried in its side, the hilt protruding at a crooked angle. Blood, black and slick, oozed in pulses down its glistening scales.
Cade's eyes dropped to the axe on the ground.
He dove for it.
The moment his fingers closed around the haft, the snake's head snapped back toward him.
It surged forward.
Cade lifted the axe and brought it up in a rising arc—a desperate uppercut-like motion that met the oncoming strike with everything he had. The axe blade slammed against the underside of the serpent's jaw.
CRACK.
Not the snake this time.
The axe.
The metal head split apart—shards of the blade snapping clean off, ricocheting into the mud as if they'd struck solid stone. The spike on the reverse side remained, but the chopping blade was gone.
The impact deflected the snake's momentum just enough. Instead of sinking fangs into Cade's face, the head veered, crashing past his shoulder and slamming into the ground beside him with a thud that sent vibrations through his boots.
Cade reeled.
He looked at the ruined axe in his hand. The spike gleamed.
His heart pounded as he turned to face the snake again. The great body was already twisting back around, the head lifting, preparing for another strike.
Its eyes locked on him.
Cade didn't have time to think. His grip tightened on the haft.
He knew what was coming next.
The snake lunged again. Its mouth opened wide, fangs gleaming, eyes locked on Cade with a mindless, ancient hunger. There was no hesitation in its movement—no doubt, no fear. Just speed, power, and inevitability.
Cade didn't dodge.
He stepped in.
Both hands gripped the haft of the ruined axe, the spike now pointing down like a war pick. His body moved out of desperation. The snake came in low, its head level with Cade's chest.
He raised the weapon high and brought it down with every ounce of strength and weight he had—just as the serpent surged forward.
The spike met flesh with a wet crunch.
Straight through the left eye.
The force of the impact—a collision of momentum and raw mass—was catastrophic. Cade was thrown off his feet as the snake's body slammed into him. He hit the mud hard, air blasting out of his lungs again as several hundred kilos of scaled muscle collapsed atop him.
For a moment, Cade couldn't breathe. The weight was crushing, smothering. He kicked, writhed, clawed his way out from underneath the coils, slipping and gasping as panic nearly overtook him.
His hand scraped against something smooth and hard protruding from the snake's body.
The dagger.
He gripped it. Yanked it free from the snake's side.
With the blade in hand, Cade scrambled clear of the body and spun to face it again, panting, trembling, eyes wide.
The snake didn't move.
Its head was twisted at an unnatural angle. The spike had pierced straight through its eye socket and into the skull. The haft still jutted out like a flagpole planted in flesh. There was no flicker of breath. No twitch.
Only stillness.
System notifications began flooding his vision in a glowing cascade, but Cade ignored them. His heart was still hammering. His arms still raised, dagger trembling in his grip.
He stared for a long moment, waiting for the serpent to move.
It didn't. The battle was over. Somehow, impossibly, he had won.
Cade stood trembling in the wreckage of the fight.
The field was silent now, save for the distant call of some bird in the distance. The crushed reeds, the churned mud, the massive corpse—it all seemed unreal. Like it belonged to someone else's battle.
His legs gave out first.
He collapsed into the wet earth. His hands were shaking. His breath came in short, uneven bursts that didn't quite satisfy the ache in his chest. Every part of him screamed fatigue. And yet, strangely, he felt good. Not in the physical sense—his body was a bruised, bloodied mess—but something deeper. Something harder to describe.
He was alive. And more than that he felt proud of what he had just done.
He hadn't felt this in years—maybe not since he was a teenager or even before that. It wasn't just relief or adrenaline. It was pride in himself. For surviving. For standing his ground. For not breaking.
For killing that monstrous snake.
He'd been inches from death—paralyzed, crushed, and suffocated. But he didn't give up. He fought and won.
He let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob, and leaned forward, forearms on his knees. The wind stirred the reeds around him. His vision swam, not from pain, but from everything catching up all at once.
Somewhere in the corner of his vision, System notifications poured in. A lot of them.
He didn't open them right away. He needed to catch his breath and the System could wait.
Only after he sat there for another minute, just breathing and reveling in the feeling of victory, did Cade open the first notification.
Ding!
You have defeated [Lord N'zhal, Devourer in the Reeds – Level 7].
You have gained additional experience for killing a creature above your level.
Cade stared at the notification.
The boar had been level 5. This snake—no, Lord N'zhal—had been two levels higher than that boar. Such a small level gap but it was orders of magnitude more dangerous.
And it had a name. A title. Lord N'zhal. This thing hadn't been just a monster—it had been something more. Something designated a Lord by the System.
Cade closed the notification and the next one appeared.
Ding!
Race: [Human – (H)] has reached Level 5.
+1 to all stats.
Only one level?
He blinked, confused. After all that—after nearly dying multiple times, after killing a Lord—he got one level?
Another notification slid into place without his prompting.
You have reached the experience limit for your current grade. Evolution available. Evolve now? (Yes/No)
Warning: You will not be able to gain additional racial experience until you evolve.
Cade squinted at the message, and a single, elegant thought bloomed in his mind:
What the actual fuck.
He leaned his head back and groaned. "So I was one level from capping out?" he muttered. "How much experience did I waste from that snake?"
He didn't know how the System handled overflow—if it saved experience past the cap or just shunted it off into the void. Either way, it felt like a kick in the dick. He had a feeling that the fight would've given him multiple levels if he hadn't been stopped at five.
Thanks for the heads-up, System.
He eyed the evolve prompt again, uneasy. What would happen if he said yes? Would it be instant? Would he pass out? Go into a magical coma or some kind of glowing cocoon? He had no idea what evolving a race even meant. There was a warning, too—he wouldn't gain any more experience until he evolved. That implied it was important, even necessary if he wanted to progress further.
But Cade was standing in the middle of a mangled battlefield, soaked in blood and reeking of death. This was not the place to gamble on a transformation he didn't understand.
"Nope," he muttered. "Not yet."
He mentally selected No, and the message vanished. The damage was already done—he missed out on who knew how much experience—but he'd deal with that later. For now, he just wanted to survive long enough to get to "later."
Another notification blinked into view, and this one was something entirely new.
Ding!
You have gained a Quest.
Tutorial Quest: Lords of the Swamp
You have slain one of the eight Lords who hold dominion over this quadrant. These lords have been elevated by the System to enforce territorial balance. Their presence is no accident. Each Lord exists to contest, to consume, and to rule.
Now that one has fallen, the balance begins to shift.
Recover their Cores. With each defeat, the swamp loosens its grip—and with it comes the chance to carve out a foothold for humanity.
But beware: the remaining Lords will not remain idle. With every passing day, their strength deepens.
Objective:
Defeat all eight Lords of the Swamp.
Retrieve each Lord Core.
Progress:
Lords Defeated: 1 of 8
Cores Obtained: 0 of 8
Cade stared at the glowing notification in silence, his breath slowing.
A quest.
Finally, his status menu had always had a spot labeled "Quests," but it had just said N/A before. Now that space was filled.
And it wasn't some fetch mission or kill rats in a basement starter task. This was real. It confirmed that the snake he killed—Lord N'zhal—wasn't just a lucky find or a singularly strong monster. It was something the System had put here on purpose. A guardian. A gatekeeper. A test for the participants of the Tutorial.
The implications were heavy. He had defeated one of the eight regional bosses in this swamp zone and without even knowing it.
He felt another twist of regret at the thought of the wasted experience. Lords were apparently meant to be taken down over time, as they grew in strength. The quest even warned about that.
Which meant if Cade had waited if he'd hesitated like he wanted to and came across this thing later, he probably wouldn't have survived.
Still, the fact that he managed to beat one, even if barely, was a great accomplishment.
However, he might not have been so lucky if the snake had actually taken him seriously.
Cade cast his mind back to the fight—remembering the moment he struck first, the heavy spray of blood, and the ease at how Cade was flung meters away with just a swipe of its tail. He remembered the way N'zhal had paralyzed him with a look and then slowly approached. That gaze—the way it had paralyzed him with pure fear—wasn't just intimidation. Then it coiled around him with lazy confidence, almost amused. It hadn't treated him like a threat and took its time constricting. That gave Cade the chance to break free from the paralyzing fear and grab for his dagger.
Cade glanced at his still trembling hands. The Lord had underestimated him and it was dead because of that mistake.
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Cade clenched his jaw, taking the lesson to heart. Every fight from now on, every enemy—he'd assume they could kill him. Because they probably could, he still didn't have a class or profession after all. But still, he wouldn't let one moment of overconfidence cost him his life.
His eyes returned to the quest screen. It listed "Lords Defeated: 1" and "Cores Obtained: 0."
So the core was still inside the snake. Somewhere in the massive, blood-slicked corpse.
He pushed himself up to his feet, still shaky, and made his way over to N'zhal's body. The immense serpent lay half-curled in the mud, its glossy black scales partially caked in mud, its massive head forever frozen in that final strike. The haft of the broken axe jutted out from its ruined eye socket.
Cade approached slowly, wiping a smear of blood from his jaw. He eyed the snake's midsection, trying to guess where the core might be. If he were the System, where would he put the core of a Lord?
"In the middle, probably," he muttered.
With a grimace, he gripped the dagger and started cutting.
The dagger wasn't ideal—it was small, and the snake's scales were hard, but Cade had learned from earlier. He didn't try to slice through the scales directly. Instead, he found the thinner lines between the armored plates and carefully worked the blade in, prying and slicing and sawing.
The work was slow, messy, and exhausting.
The snake's hide was thick, its flesh dense. Cade's arms were sore, his breath coming shallow and uneven. But he kept going. Cutting deeper. Pulling away warm flesh. Searching.
When he couldn't stand the viscera anymore he willed the rest of the notifications to come up. The System obeyed and another notification appeared.
And this one wasn't about a kill, or a quest, or a level.
Ding!
You have gained new Titles!
A Brutal Welcome — First Tutorial participant to defeat a Regional Lord.
+5 to all stats
+5% to all stats
Coreless Conqueror — Kill a creature with a System‑designated nobility title in single combat without the benefits of a class or profession.
+15% to all stats
Passive Skill Gained: [Unbroken Will] — You are immune to the leadership aura and effects of Nobility from Lord or lower-ranked creatures.
He was wrong, it wasn't just one title, it was two. Cade's arms went limp, the dagger still lodged in the flesh of the snake as he stared at the script.
First participant to defeat a Regional Lord.
His brain locked up for a few seconds.
"Holy shit," he whispered.
His eyes scanned the bonuses again. The stat boosts alone were incredible. +5 to all stats was already beyond generous—it was more than some of his starting stats had been. But the real treasure was the +5% to all stats. That kind of multiplicative boost would only grow more valuable as his stats increased over time.
And then there was Coreless Conqueror.
A fifteen percent increase across the board.
He couldn't even wrap his head around what that meant. He'd been grateful just to survive the fight, now the System was stacking his status page. The whole thing felt surreal. Overwhelming but at the same time not overbearing. With as difficult as the fight had been, Cade felt like he had earned these titles, they weren't just handed to him by the System.
He reread the passive skill.
[Unbroken Will] — You are immune to the leadership aura and effects of Nobility from Lord or lower-ranked creatures.
Cade blinked at the words, then slowly smiled. "So that's what that snake did."
That moment—the paralyzing stare—it hadn't been a spell. It hadn't been a stat effect or poison. It had been part of the snake's Nobility, some kind of innate dominance exerted by the System. And Cade had resisted it, if only barely. But now if it happened again he wouldn't even flinch.
That was huge.
He paused for a moment, still kneeling beside the snake's massive corpse, and took stock.
The first title made sense now. No one else in the Tutorial had killed a Regional Lord yet. Probably because most people were still grouping up, playing it safe, and waiting it out. Avoiding danger while sticking together.
Cade had done the opposite.
And now? Now the System was rewarding him for it. Risk equaled reward. The proof was staring him in the face. Well not literally, it was more like on the screen that projected directly into his mind.
Still, the thought nagged at him. These kinds of titles didn't come easy. Coreless Conqueror? That sounded like the kind of achievement you only unlocked under the harshest circumstances, in which he happened to find himself. This also begged the question—had anyone done this before? Across all the past Tutorials? This was the 111th integration so he didn't think he would be the first.
Why were the rewards so absurdly good? He shook his head. That was a rabbit hole for another time. Right now, he had a core to find.
Cade looked back down at the cut he'd been carving into the snake's flesh. His arms were slick with blood up to the elbows, and his hands were cramping from the effort. But now he had a new problem.
He didn't want to stop.
If the titles were additive then he just received +20% to all of his stats. That was, he couldn't even put words to it. Stupid. Insane. Game-breaking. It was enough to make him wonder how much stronger he was right now, in this moment, than he had been just yesterday.
But then again, stats weren't everything. One mistake—one misstep in that fight—and he would've been the one to die instead of N'zhal.
His new titles didn't mean he was invincible.
Still, he couldn't help but grin as he returned to carving. Not because the work was any easier, but because he was doing it as someone the System had finally acknowledged.
And as he dug deeper into the serpent's corpse, he felt something—faint, subtle. A buzz in the air. Not like electricity, exactly. Not like Sasesh's magic either. Something more fundamental. Denser.
He paused, dagger frozen halfway through a strip of fibrous muscle.
That buzz.
It was coming from deeper inside the body. From one place in the center of the belly. He narrowed his eyes. That had to be the core.
"Almost there," he muttered to himself.
And as he reached deeper the buzzing intensified. Not loud, not painful—just a constant, low hum that tingled through his bones and whispered against his skin. It was like static building in the air, like the pressure building before a storm.
It wasn't like when Amanda used mana to heal his wounds. Not exactly. That felt looser, like warmth bleeding off a fire. This was denser, weightier. It radiated from deep in the snake's ruined mass, calling to him without words.
Cade gritted his teeth and pushed forward.
His dagger scraped over bone, muscle, and thick sinew. He couldn't carve like a butcher with clean swipes—he had to wedge and pry and stab just to make a few inches of progress.
Blood soaked his arms up to the elbows now. It pooled at his knees, thick and dark and reeking of iron and the beginnings of rot. His knuckles were raw, his fingertips numb.
Still, he didn't stop.
He followed the buzz like a beacon, cutting toward the source. The vibrations grew stronger until they thrummed through the blade of his dagger. He stabbed forward again and—
Thunk.
Something hard. Not bone nor metal but something else.
Cade drew in a breath and carefully widened the incision, peeling back layers of wet tissue. He reached in and felt it: smooth, round, and unnaturally warm. The source of the hum.
The moment his fingers closed around it, a new System prompt flashed before his eyes:
Would you like to claim Lord N'zhal, Devourer in the Reeds' territory as your own? (Y/N)
Cade blinked, sweat dripping down his face and his arm still halfway inside of the beast. "What?"
His first reaction was hesitation.
He looked around at the bloodied reeds, the muddy mess of a battlefield, and the still-warm corpse of the anaconda he'd nearly died fighting. Could this place be his now? What did that even mean?
Half a dozen questions followed: Would claiming the land make him a target? Would monsters know it was his? Would he have to defend it? Would it change? Would it become safe?
Or was it a trap?
He held the core tighter and pulled it fully out of the corpse. He saw it was a black sphere. No bigger than a large marble, but it was dense like it was made of a heavy metal. It reminded him of that one time he held a block of pure tungsten.
Cade marveled at the jet-black sphere but he didn't know what the right answer was. Today had already been one long string of gambles, was it worth taking the risk on another?
When he put it that way, how could he refuse? He narrowed his eyes and, silently, chose Yes.
The next notification hit like a slap to the face.
Error. A System Core is required to claim territory in the Tutorial. Claim attempt failed.
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Cade said with an exasperated grunt.
The buzz vanished instantly. The System message flickered out, and he was left standing in knee-deep viscera holding what now felt like an over-glorified rock until a new System message popped up.
Tutorial Quest: Lords of the Swamp
Progress:
Lords Defeated: 1 of 8
Cores Obtained: 1 of 8
He sighed, shaking his head. "Well at least the quest has progressed."
His fingers curled protectively around the core. It was warm and jet black—darker than the snake's onyx scales. It felt important. Powerful. Even if he couldn't use it to claim territory now, who knew what else it could do?
Carefully, Cade wiped it off and slipped it into one of the inner pouches on his armor, the tightest one he had.
With the core obtained he gave the snake's corpse one last look. Even in death it was massive and terrifying. He turned and began trudging back toward the banyan tree, the weight of the core pressing lightly against his ribs with every step.
By the time Cade made it back to the base of the banyan tree, the adrenaline had worn off and exhaustion had fully caught up with him. Every muscle throbbed with fatigue. His shoulders burned from pulling the bow back, then swinging the axe, and finally carving into the snake's body to harvest its core. His fingers were stiff from dried blood and crusted grime, and his ribs twinged every time he breathed too deep. His whole body hurt in a way that he had never experienced before.
He'd wiped what he could from his face but the scent still clung to him—mud, blood, and whatever musky stink the serpent had left behind. His skin felt stretched too tight, scraped in too many places. Even the wind against it felt sharp.
Cade collapsed at the base of the massive banyan tree and let his back fall against the gnarled trunk. He let his body sag there, shoulders slumped, his legs sprawled out on the mud and flattened reeds. A ring of ruin from his fight with the boar and then the serpent lay in front of him.
The serpent had claimed the banyan as its den, and if Cade had to guess, no other predator in the swamp had dared come near it while Lord N'zhal lived.
With Cade feeling a modicum of safety, that meant it was time to see just how far he'd come. He opened his status screen.
STATUS
Name: Cade Whitehollow
Age: 26
Race: [Human (H) – lvl 5]
Health Points (HP): 82 / 190
Stamina Points (SP): 87 / 180
Mana Points (MP): 190 / 190
Statistics:
Strength: 18
Dexterity: 16
Endurance: 18
Vitality: 19
Wisdom: 15
Intelligence: 19
Willpower: 24
Titles: [A Brutal Welcome], [Coreless Conqueror]
Quests: Tutorial Quest: Lords of the Swamp
Race Skills: [Unbroken Will]
He stared at the numbers, letting them burn into his mind. He could still remember his first readout from not even a full day ago. Everything had been 7s and 8s. Now? Now, he'd nearly doubled some of them.
Not from training or practice but from killing and surviving. From clawing his way through two impossible fights.
He exhaled sharply. He had grown more today than during both days he'd spent with the others combined.
And he'd almost died multiple times. The bruises and split skin were a reminder of just how close he'd come.
Cade's eyes scanned his Dexterity stat—16. That caught his attention. Something wasn't adding up.
He started doing the math. Base Dex had been 4, and each level of Human [H] gave +1, bringing it to 9. The title A Brutal Welcome added a flat +5 bonus, so that made it 14.
So why was it showing as 16?
Then it clicked. The percentage boosts. A Brutal Welcome gave +5% to all stats and Coreless Conqueror added another +15%. If those were additive, that meant a +20% bonus on top of the flat numbers.
Twenty percent of 14 was 2.8. 14 + 2.8 = 16.8 yet his Dexterity sat solidly at 16.
The System must have rounded down. But still, +20% was no joke. If he ever got a stat to 100? That would be a +20 bonus just from these two titles alone.
He let that realization settle in. The swamp around him was quiet. Wind rustled through the reeds and water burbled somewhere close, hidden behind the thick clusters of growth that hadn't been affected by the recent battles.
He was alive and, according to his stats, he was stronger than elite athletes and smarter than most geniuses.
But he didn't feel like a superhuman.
Cade lifted his hands and flexed his fingers. They still trembled from exertion. He didn't feel like someone who could punch through a wall or leap across rooftops.
He glanced toward the serpent's body. The corpse was half-submerged in muck, the massive form coiled into a lazy sprawl like it had just fallen asleep. The broken axe still jutted from its skull.
Curious, Cade pushed himself up with a groan and limped over. His boots squelched through the churned earth, and he gripped the haft of the weapon, yanking it free.
It slid out with a wet, sucking noise. The blade was cracked and useless but the spike was still intact.
He turned it over in his hands. It was still heavy—but not nearly as heavy as before. He could swing it now with just one hand. That shocked him. Before, it had taken everything he had to control it. Now? It moved like an extension of his arm.
That was proof. He was stronger.
So why didn't it feel different?
Maybe the System did something. Recalibrated his body. Smoothed the change so that it didn't feel too dramatic. The gap between baseline human and superhuman was sanded down to a manageable state.
One of his favorite protagonists from a webseries he used to follow would've called it System fuckery.
Cade chuckled under his breath, the sound low and cracked. "Yeah," he muttered, slinging the ruined axe over his shoulder. "System fuckery."
There were still a thousand questions running through his mind.
But he was stronger. He had a quest. He had loot—though he wasn't sure what to do with it.
Most importantly?
He had survived.
Cade trudged back to the banyan and dropped back down with a groan. The tree didn't creak. Its massive trunk was like leaning against a wall of living stone.
He let his eyes drift closed.
He was so damn tired.
His thoughts started to fuzz around the edges. The wind brushing the reeds became a lullaby, and his heartbeat slowed to a faint patter in his ears.
Finally, finally, he could rest—
You have reached the experience limit for your current grade. Evolution available.
Evolve now? (Yes / No)
Warning: You will not be able to gain additional racial experience until you evolve.
Cade's eyes snapped open, and he groaned, dragging a hand across his face. "You've got to be kidding me."
He mentally jabbed No and tried to settle back in.
You have reached the experience limit for your current grade. Evolution available.
Evolve now? (Yes / No)
Warning: You will not be able to gain additional racial experience until you evolve.
He sat up halfway, squinting into the empty clearing. "System, are you screwing with me?"
Silence.
No reply, not that he'd expected one.
Cade exhaled through his nose, scowling. "Fine."
He hit Yes—and the world exploded into white.
There was no falling or sound. Just a deep uncomfortable pressure surrounding his body, pushing in from all directions.
Cade floated in an endless white expanse. Not a void—this wasn't empty. It felt dense, full, like being submerged in gelatin made of light. The air, if it even was air, pressed in from every direction. Moving his limbs felt like trying to swim through wet concrete.
The buzzing started softly—like static against his skin.
Then it deepened. Crawled beneath his skin, through veins and marrow, into his lungs, his gut, behind his eyes. Every inch of him buzzed. Every cell vibrated like a tuning fork struck by some invisible force.
He tried to scream, or speak, or even think a full thought—but the sensation swallowed it all. There was no pain. Just intensity. A fundamental wrongness that stretched into something unbearable.
And then—
Nothing.
The buzzing stopped. The pressure vanished.
Cade blinked.
He was back.
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His spine was against the banyan tree. The broken axe was still lying beside him. The wind still teased the reeds.
But a new System notification hovered in front of his face, waiting.
Cade blinked several more times, waiting for his vision to adjust, half expecting the world to shimmer again and pull him into another System dreamscape.
But nothing changed.
He looked up and the artificial sun was still in place, exactly where it had been before. He listened but there were no signs of creatures nearby. No rustling aside from the lazy wind.
Had it even taken any time at all? Had he gone anywhere? Or had it all happened inside his head?
He rubbed at his arms, remembering the sensation of the buzzing in his bones. It hadn't felt imaginary.
His attention returned to the glowing prompt still floating in his vision.
Congratulations, you have evolved your race from Human [H] to Human [G].
+1 to all stats per level.
Skill selection available:
[Identify] – Analyze the nature of objects, items, or creatures.
[Survival Instinct] – Grants a heightened awareness of danger.
[Meditation] – Enter a trance that severs awareness of the outside world to accelerate stamina and mana recovery.
Cade sat up straighter, scanning the lines, his tired mind sharpening with focus.
Human [G]. So the letter had changed. A rank-up. He figured [H] was probably the starting point, which made [G] the next rank up. If the pattern held, the progression would go [F], [E], [D] and maybe all the way to [A]? Or even beyond?
The stat line caught his attention next. +1 to all stats per level. He frowned. That was the same bonus he'd gotten at the [H] grade. Maybe it was the minimum the System offered. Did that mean later ranks gave more? +2 per level? +5? He didn't know.
It didn't answer the question he wanted most: how many racial levels would it take to evolve again?
Still, a racial evolution had to be a good thing. If nothing else, it meant progress.
His attention shifted to the next part of the screen.
Skill selection.
Cade leaned forward, interest piqued. Aside from the quest, this was easily the most game-like moment the System had given him so far. A choice of skills, something he got to pick.
He eyed the options one at a time.
[Identify] was first and it was immediately familiar. It was the same skill everyone else in his Tutorial group had been given by default. Nadean had used it constantly, calling out creature levels or materials like it was second nature.
He remembered how badly he'd wanted it back when they were all together.
With it, he could figure out what was safe to eat, if gear or items were magical, or maybe even learn creature stats before going toe-to-toe with them.
Still, a small knot of resentment twisted in his gut. He had to earn the skill the others got for free.
But bitterness wouldn't help him now. It was a powerful utility skill, no denying that.
He moved on to the next option.
[Survival Instinct].
The description was vague—heightened awareness of danger—but Cade figured it had to be passive. "Instinct" didn't exactly scream "active ability." That could be useful. No—very useful. Especially here, in a swamp where everything either wanted to eat you or infect you.
A passive danger sense? That could mean the difference between walking into a predator's ambush or slipping away with time to spare.
He bit his lip. That one was tempting.
[Meditation] was last.
Another classic. Enter a trance, shut out the world, and regenerate mana and stamina faster. Cade's eyes narrowed. The stat recovery part was great—his stamina still hadn't recovered from the back-to-back fights, and mana, while untouched, felt like it would matter more eventually.
But the part that bothered him was the cost: "severs awareness of the outside world."
So, he'd sit there like a lump while recovering? Blind and deaf to the world?
One hungry creature, and his life was over without him knowing what hit him.
He exhaled through his nose and mentally dismissed [Meditation] from the running. The risk was just too great right now.
That left two.
Between [Identify] and [Survival Instinct], the latter was probably the smart pick. Surviving the swamp would be a lot easier if he could feel danger coming.
But…
Cade hesitated.
He wanted an active skill. Something he could trigger, test, learn the mechanics of. [Identify] wasn't flashy, but it was something he could use right now. Experiment with and learn from.
And knowledge was survival, wasn't it?
He made the call and mentally, he selected [Identify].
Pain bloomed behind his eyes like someone had just pinched a nerve deep in his skull. Sharp and sudden but gone in less than a second.
He blinked rapidly, vision swimming.
You have gained [Identify (lesser)] – Analyze the nature of objects, items, or creatures.
"Lesser?" Cade muttered. He squinted at the screen. The System hadn't said that part before.
He reread the text, frowning.
What the hell did lesser mean? Was there a greater version? A way to evolve or rank up a skill?
If so, how?
More questions. It seemed like he always had more questions. But for now, he had a skill.
He turned his head, scanning the clearing for something to test it on.
Cade's eyes drifted toward the broken axe lying beside him. It was the easiest target. He didn't even have to get up.
He focused on the battered weapon, willing the new skill to activate. "Identify," he said aloud, just to test it.
Nothing.
No screen. No buzz. No response.
Okay, so it wasn't verbal at least not just verbal.
He tried again, this time thinking the word Identify with focus, pushing the intent toward the axe, commanding it to show him more information.
The notification bloomed instantly in his vision.
Broken Battleaxe — A starter-issue battleaxe granted to a participant in a Tutorial of the 111th Integration. The axe head has been broken and now requires repair.
Requirements: Tutorial participant.
Cade exhaled and slumped a bit.
"That's it?"
He wasn't sure what he'd expected. Secrets? Stats? Hidden properties? At least something more than what he could already tell just by looking at it.
Still, it worked. The skill worked.
He spent the next hour slowly scanning everything he could see from where he sat, letting his body rest while his mind stayed active. The feeling of exhaustion slowly giving up ground to Cade's growing wonder and excitement.
Common Reeds — Tall, hollow wetland plants prevalent throughout the swamp quadrant. Useful for cover, cordage, simple thatch, and crude shafts.
That tracked.
Cattails — Broad-leafed marsh plants with brown seed spikes, prevalent throughout the swamp quadrant. Roots are edible if cooked; the expanded fluff can serve as tinder and insulation.
"That seems pretty useful," Cade murmured. He made a mental note to collect some later. Dry tinder in this hellhole could be the difference between warm food and cold stomach cramps.
Next, his gaze fell on the hulking corpse lying half-coiled in the reeds. The body of the serpent Lord N'zhal.
He hesitated for a second, then activated [Identify].
Corpse of Lord N'zhal, Devourer in the Reeds — Level 7
A slain apex predator. Its onyx scales are exceptionally durable, and the hide would make excellent armor in the hands of a skilled leatherworker. The meat is edible, even raw.
Cade blinked.
That was unexpected. He wasn't planning to start gnawing on raw snake meat but it was good to know in case he couldn't get a fire going. More importantly—this told him something about the System. When Nadean had identified the crayfish, she said the meat had to be cooked. But here? Even eating the snake raw was fine.
He wasn't sure what made the difference. Species? Level? The Lord designation?
He didn't have enough data to guess. But [Identify] had confirmed something useful, and that meant it was already worth it.
Next up was the boar. The one that Cade had shot with arrows and eventually killed before N'zhal slithered down from the tree's crown.
Corpse of Juvenile Reedmane Marsh Boar — Level 5
Camouflaged by reed-like bristles that double as natural armor. Their meat is usually laden with parasites; while technically edible, it must be thoroughly cooked before consumption.
"Now that sounds more like what I expected."
Cade frowned, comparing the two descriptions.
Why did the boar have parasites but the snake didn't? Something about reptiles? Or was it that Lords were immune? Or maybe just this particular one?
Again, he felt like [Identify] didn't give him enough information.
But now he had another question to add to his growing list.
Finally, he turned his gaze toward the banyan tree itself. It was massive and ancient looking. The trunk soared above the reeds, its aerial roots curling down like thick ropes.
He activated the skill.
Blackflake Bastion Banyan — Level: ??
A vast aerial-root fortress. Former lair of Lord N'zhal, Devourer in the Reeds.
Cade read the text twice, then a third time.
"A tree with a level?"
The System hadn't given him a number. Just a couple of question marks. That probably meant its level was way above his own.
Or maybe it wasn't hostile, and the System treated it differently?
It had a name, too. Blackflake Bastion Banyan. That couldn't be a coincidence. Not when N'zhal's scales were so dark they looked like polished obsidian.
Was the serpent born here? Mutated by this place?
Or did the System somehow pair monsters with terrain like a video game boss arena?
Cade let out a slow breath and leaned back again, eyes drifting up the vast trunk.
The banyan towered above everything else around this area of the swamp. Its branches vanished into the thick canopy high overhead, a woven tangle of roots and limbs that looked more like a fortress than a tree.
Blackflake Bastion Banyan — Level: ??
The name stuck in his mind.
Blackflake Bastion. It wasn't just flair. The System didn't seem to just name things willy-nilly. If it named something, there was surely a reason.
Cade narrowed his eyes at the twisting branches. The massive serpent—Lord N'zhal—had made its home here. That alone was telling. This wasn't just the tallest tree around, it was important somehow.
Was there something hidden up there?
Treasure? Shelter? A vantage point? N'zhal had claimed the tree for a reason after all.
Cade stood, stretching slowly. His muscles complained but he was feeling better after sitting down for a while. He picked up the broken axe and put it into the holster on the side of his armor.
"I need a view to get a better lay of the land," he muttered. "And maybe I'll find some answers up there."
Then, with a glance toward the tangled network of roots and low-hanging vines, he started to climb.