Skill Hunter: A LitRPG Adventure, page 28
Rosamund stared at him, her eyes wide. Her jaw worked.
Ike hesitated, then shrugged and nudged the gag down.
“—inside you. Give me what’s inside you. I’m hollow. I need it. I need to have fillings. I need to—”
Ike fastened the gag back over her mouth and pursed his lips. Never mind.
He left the goo to drip down into the pan. Chewing on some wolf jerky, he dug through his pack until he found the jerky he’d bought in town. He waggled it at the forest. “Here, wolfie wolfie.”
Silence. The thick undergrowth didn’t so much as budge.
That was a bit of a long shot, yeah. Ike shrugged and put the jerky in his back pocket. Just in case the wolf showed up again.
44
CAMPING OUT
Days passed. Ike camped out by the edge of the waterfall, slowly recovering his mana using Rosamund’s head. The wolf came around every now and again. It kept its distance, wary of him. A few times, Ike threw it scraps of non-wolf jerky. It ignored them whenever he was around, but when he went back to check a few minutes later, the jerky was always gone. Slowly, it drew closer to him, growing less and less afraid of him.
As he waited for it to grow accustomed to him, Ike also waited for his hand to finish the last tidbits of healing and for his core to fill. It was a slow, quiet life. He spent his days foraging. Every now and again, he’d practice shooting with the shortbow he’d stolen off the bandits, retrieving his arrows after he shot them so he could shoot them again. Once or twice, his efforts yielded him a bird. He chalked it up more to beginner’s luck than actual skill, but either way, the wolf appreciated its half of his dinner those nights.
It was enough to satisfy the System, at any rate. When he checked his skills, Bow Handling appeared on his skill list at Level 1. Another Common skill to add to his list.
The few saplings interspersed in the undergrowth now all bore slash marks from his practice with the River-Splitting Sword. Half of them were bisected, slashed through to their lowly canopies from the final upward strike. He practiced in the brook, too, trying to split the waters, but he was still far from the mastery required to split a brook, let alone an actual river.
Despite all his efforts, the skill stayed at the same level it had from the beginning. Ike had started to expect that. Aside from Common or low-level skills, and putting aside the first few easy-to-get levels, offensive skills seemed to require that they be used in battle in order to progress in level.
Or, in other words… they require me to slay monsters, Ike thought, staring into the fire one night. The why part remained beyond his grasp, even if he knew the what. Was it a special type of energy, like lunam in the Abyss? Did he have to use them “properly” to level them up? The System interface had no answers for him, and no matter how long he gazed into its pale blue light, that never changed.
Orin’s book lacked answers as well. Aside from a few notes on testing out whether stronger monsters yielded better skill progression or not (they did), Orin left the topic mostly untouched.
It makes sense. It’s a practical guide by a hunter for hunters—no, for his own personal use. He didn’t strike me as a philosophical guy, so if he didn’t care, then he probably never bothered to investigate further.
I wonder if there’s more information out there, somewhere?
He snorted. If there were, it was probably locked deep in some noble’s library, where it would never see the light of day. He didn’t have the money or status to make it anywhere near those books. At best, he might be able to make it as a guard, watching the borders of the upper city, but never allowed to enter it.
Not that it matters now. I don’t think I’m ever going back to the city.
Oh well. I guess I have to figure it out myself. Trial and error.
That morning, he packed up and set off. His hand was healed. His core was half full, more than enough to use any of his skills for the day. Rosamund’s head was cooking up more mana and could do it anywhere, not just at the top of the waterfall. He had a hunt in mind. Something that lived close to the Abyss and the Fulgur-Loups but wasn’t too challenging of a kill. If it was too dangerous down in the depths, he could always retreat to the waterfall.
Not that I intend to.
He walked up to the brink. Water cascaded down beside him, splashing over the stones in the center of the cliff. It stair-stepped downward, each step between five and ten feet tall. Little pools collected at each of the “stairs,” the water sparkling and clear. The rock itself was smooth, just like the walls of the valley, but he could easily drop from stair to stair without injuring himself now that he was at Rank 1.
Ike grinned. He rolled his arms out and stretched, preparing to descend.
From the corner of his eye, something approached him. Ike turned. His hand went to his sword, ready to draw.
The wolf walked toward him. It moved slowly, its head low and neck outstretched. Silver eyes regarded him, as if waiting for a response.
“You’re coming with me?” Ike asked.
The wolf didn’t give an answer. It sat down, watching him.
It needs a name. Silver streaks in its fur, silver eyes—I can’t call it Silver. That’s already someone else’s name. Er… He twisted his lips, thinking, then tried, “Ful?”
The wolf lay down. It yawned.
Tough crowd. I’ve never named anything before… I’m not good at names. “Fulgur, maybe? What about Loup?”
The wolf sat up. It wagged its tail.
“Loup it is.” Ike tilted his head, checking the wolf’s gender. A girl? Huh.
He glanced at the wolf again. Unable to resist the urge, he stepped closer and raised his hand.
The wolf balked. It backed away, retreating out of his range of attack. Her hackles raised, and she bared her teeth at him.
“Oh,” Ike said, disappointed. He dropped his hand. Backing away, he shook his head. It is a wild monster, after all. I can’t just pet it.
But maybe, in due time…
Ike nodded to himself, a new goal set. He gestured Loup on. “Let’s get moving. It’s time to hunt.”
The wolf stood. She walked up to the edge and gazed over it. Before Ike could worry about her proximity to the edge, she hopped down, bounding from step to step.
I bet she’s hungry. She’s even more eager than I am. Ike adjusted his pack and followed her down, descending into the true depths of the Abyss.
45
DEPTHS
Water splashed. Ike landed on the final step and looked back up. The waterfall towered over him, seemingly unreachably high. He saluted it, saying farewell to his campsite. “Hopefully, I won’t be back.”
Dense, thick forest awaited him. Ike walked the edge of it, searching for tracks and markings from monsters or other animals. There were plenty. Deer hoofprints dug into the mud, alongside something with three thick, fat toes. Small paw prints, too, marked the water’s edge. From the long, slender fingers, they belonged to raccoons, or something like them. Larger paw prints were present as well, without defined claw marks. Ike raised his brows. They could belong to a large cat, a panther, or a tiger. I’ll have to keep an eye out.
No ducks swam in the cool water at the bottom of the waterfall, but webbed-toe marks indicated that they, or something like them, had passed by recently. There were also strange marks, half-obscured or blurry ones that Ike didn’t recognize. But the most important marks were the ones that weren’t present. Shoeprints. Footprints. Aside from Ike’s own, there was no indication that any human had come by the waterfall any time recently.
I really am alone down here. It’s nice. Peaceful.
Loup trotted off into the forest ahead of him, leaving Ike behind. Ike watched her go, then turned back to the tracks. He crouched next to the three-toed track and spread his hand out beside it. The track stretched wider than his fingertips by an inch or two. Vicious claws had torn into the wet mud at the very end of the claws, leaving little tunnels into the ground. He followed the traces until he found a place where the creature had slipped. There, a mark behind the foot suggested a dew claw of some sort.
Ike stood. He turned toward the forest, gazing along the path of the marks. They grew more indistinct as they passed onto hard, dry ground, then vanished into the undergrowth. A path of torn and trampled undergrowth vanished into the forest. Ike entered the path, following the wavering route through the woods.
Loup appeared from the depths of the forest. She looked at him, then at the path. Pausing for a few moments, she sniffed the ground, then loped off into the woods. She pulled ahead of Ike and quickly vanished.
Smart dog.
A pale, fluttering object caught his eye, snarled in a thorny vine. Ike plucked it free. A feather. Fluffy and about as wide as it was long, the down feather stretched from the tip of his middle finger to the base of his palm. Ike tucked it into his pack. If the down’s that big, the bird’s gonna be bigger than I thought. I need to be prepared.
He paused for a moment, reaching into his bag. He drew out the spearhead Silver had loaned him back during the owl fight. He’d taken it out of the owl’s body and kept it, despite Silver grumbling about how he ought to destroy a flawed product like it. As he walked, he kept his head on a swivel, looking for downed branches and small saplings—anything good, straight, and sturdy that would make for a spear shaft. In the shade of an old hardwood tree, he found one. He bound the barbed head to the spear with the wolf’s tendons. Even though he didn’t need to conserve everything any longer, the way he had in the resource-limited desert, there was no reason to discard the materials he’d worked so hard to procure.
Loup walked up just as he was softening the tendons. She sniffed the material, then looked at Ike, a confused expression on her face.
Ike showed her the tendons. “Remember your packmate that fell into the Abyss? They died when they hit the ground. I’m making use of what remained.”
Loup opened her mouth. Ike held steady, prepared to defend himself if he needed to. Instead, she carefully pulled one piece of the tendons out of his hands. Dropping back to all fours, she vanished into the forest with the tendon.
Ike watched her go, then shrugged to himself. After all, death is always present in the forest. It’s not as if she’s never seen a packmate die. Especially if she’s a higher rank and therefore longer-lived than the rest of her pack. For a monster like her, who lived in the wild, there was nothing strange about losing a packmate. Nor was it his fault that the other wolf had died. There was nothing to be afraid of, as long as she properly understood the situation.
He came upon a pine tree. Kneeling, he checked the roots and lower body for resin. The bird’s claw had slashed open the root, and nodules of resin collected over the root. Ike collected the resin, peeling the pale-gold substance off of the tree. An ant was stuck in one edge, and a few pine needles clung to it here and there. He tucked the pine resin into a dirty scrap of cloth and grimaced as it stuck to his hand, unwilling to release him. He wiped it off onto the cloth, then wiped his hands on the cloth, but the sticky sensation didn’t fade. He shook his hand a few times, hoping the air would help, but it did nothing.
He looked at his hand. Dirt and pine needles already stuck to his skin, the sticky stuff picking up scraps of whatever he touched. He kneeled again and wiped it off in the dirt, then lifted it. The sticky parts of his hand had turned black from the filth, but the stickiness remained. He made a face. I guess this is how I live now.
As he walked, whenever he came across a pine tree, he checked it for resin. The cloth slowly filled up, and his hands grew stickier and stickier. By the time he was ready to make camp for the night, he already had more than enough.
He ate the last of the wolf jerky that night, resisting the urge to make a face. Putrid, gamy flavors spread across his tongue. Staring into the fire, he made a silent vow: I’m eating that damn bird for dinner tomorrow. I don’t care how big it is. It’s dinner.
Ike swallowed the tough meat, then leaned forward, checking the pan. The resin had already melted to a pliable state, so he grabbed his spear and the tendons and fixed the tendons in place with the resin. He held it in place as the resin set, securing the spearhead firmly to the staff. It wouldn’t snap off or break mid-battle. It would hold exactly as he needed it to.
With the size gap between me and my prey, I need a pole arm to help even the balance. He tried out a few thrusts, then set it in the ground by his tent, spear point aiming at the sky. If I were a better archer, I could rely on that, but Bow Handling LVL 1 isn’t going to be enough to take down this beast.
He sat back down, munching on the bitter greens he’d foraged. As he flicked a bug off a broad leaf, the saplings opposite the fire suddenly shifted.
Ike jumped up. He reached for his spear.
Loup paced in, her head low. She licked her chops, clearing the last of the blood off them, then settled down in the clearing to sleep.
“When I hunt, I share my kills, but you just eat it all yourself, huh?” Ike muttered, disappointed.
Loup opened one eye. She yawned, big and wide, then settled in again.
Ike shook his head. “Rude.”
46
TASTY FOOD
That morning, Ike set off, following the tracks yet again. Loup woke up as he was packing up, gave a great yawn, and vanished off into the forest with no explanation. Ike watched her go, then shrugged and walked on. She would come back.
The tracks he followed were a few days old but well-worn. The creature likely used the water hole multiple times, passing back and forth along this path. Wherever it led was probably a common place for the creature to stay.
Or anyway, that’s what I hope, Ike thought, as he pushed aside a thick, leafy bush.
On the other side, he came out into a small clearing. A bunch of leaves and branches had been torn up and placed in a corner, knitted into a messy sort of nest. A nest big enough, he couldn’t help but notice, for him to curl up in.
Ike grinned. He backed into the forest, not wanting to reveal himself too early, and crouched down. Okay. I found its nest. What’s my move here?
Crouching there, he recalled the land birds he’d seen back in the slums: chickens. They had one attack pattern, exactly one. They’d lock their eyes onto their prey, then charge at top speed and jab down with their beaks. Even if a cat was stalking the same mouse, the chicken would charge right in front of it, mindless of the possible danger. To their credit, Ike had often seen the stalking cat balk, startled by the chicken’s headlong rush.
The image of the caught mouse, flayed open by a razor-sharp beak, flashed through his mind. He grimaced. That won’t be me. Instead, he called to mind a golden-brown roast chicken. Yes. That’s my future. Delicious monster bird. My tongue will suffer no longer!
He checked Orin’s book again. Red Jungle Fowl, the entry read. A sketched claw mark and a few down feathers tucked into the pages made up the majority of the entry. There was little information on the beast itself, except for perhaps the most important note of all: delicious.
Ike stared at that word again. I’m so tired of disgusting wolf jerky. I want delicious, juicy, luscious meat. And if the beast dropped a Skill Orb, he wouldn’t turn it down. It was an earthbound bird, so flight was out of the question, but it was doubtlessly a strong runner. Something like a leg-strengthening skill or a running skill would merge well with his current build. Some kind of slashing attack or sharpening skill wouldn’t go amiss, either.
A straight-line rush attack. If it has the same attack pattern, I should be able to take advantage of it. But I don’t know it has that same pattern. Ike hefted his spear, then turned back into the woods. Leaving the fowl’s path behind, he picked his way through the forest. When he came up on the nest, he hunkered down to wait.
I can treat this first one as a bit of a scouting run. I’ve found its nest. It’ll come back here. All I have to do is wait.
The day passed on. For a while, Loup lay there beside him, sleeping. At midday, she yawned wide, then climbed to her feet and shook herself.
“Heading out?” Ike asked quietly.
She glanced at him and flicked her ear, then trotted off into the forest, off to hunt rabbits or whatever struck her fancy. Ike didn’t stop her. If the fowl had a good nose, it wouldn’t come back with a wolf around. But, as an Abyss-dweller, it might not know the scent of humans. Another advantage.
Sitting completely still, he waited there. The wind rustled the leaves, shaking the dappled sunlight over the forest floor. Ike watched it, holding his spear close. As he sat there, he found himself slowly falling into a doze. Ike shook his head, forcibly snapping himself out of it, only to start nodding again moments later.
Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fall…
He jerked awake to twilight and a shifting, quiet forest. Ike blinked, trying to figure out why he’d woken. Hazy twilight clung to the trees and bushes. The scent of fresh pine filled the air from his resin-smeared spear.
Silence. Nothing cried. Nothing chirped. Nothing sang. Only the whisper of leaves on the wind.
Ike wiped his eyes and sat up, alert. He leaned forward, resting a few fingers on the ground, lifting the spear in the other. His sword hung from his belt. Activating Sensory Enhancement, he held his breath and listened to the forest.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
He leaned forward. His eyes opened wide, staring into the clearing through the saplings and thick vines. His fist tightened on his spear.
A beast stepped into the clearing. Taller than Ike, its head bobbing on a long neck, it strode out of the trees. Abruptly, it turned its head broadsides, surveying the clearing with one eye. A big, bulky body lagged a second after the head, catching up only for the head to escape ahead again. Thick thighs moved large, scaly legs. Each foot was tipped with razor-sharp claws, a dew claw held high at the back of the foot.
