Skill Hunter: A LitRPG Adventure, page 29
Apparently satisfied with whatever it had seen, the beast turned headlong again. It stalked into the clearing, the master of its surroundings. Two stunted wings shuffled on its back. An upturned tail flickered at the rear. Cream- and dun-colored feathers offset a bright red nub at the top of its head.
Ike held his breath. No way.
The giant chicken let out a loud b-kawk! and headed toward its nest.
Ike leaned forward. He caught his breath, preparing to lunge. It might be a giant chicken, but it’s as serious a fight as any monster I’ve faced. I can’t become careless.
Reaching its nest, the chicken settled in. It shuffled its rear feathers around, pleased with itself, then turned around to preen its wings a bit. At last, it closed its eyes and sat down in its nest.
Ike lifted up onto his toes. He caught his breath. Now!
47
BEWARE OF GIANT CHICKEN
As the chicken settled down to sleep, Ike’s eyes widened. He lifted onto his toes and lunged.
Branches snapped under his feet. Leaves crackled. Vines tore. The chicken startled from its doze and jumped up, whirling to face Ike.
I could have waited until it was fully asleep, but this is a scouting run, after all. I won’t learn much if I face a helpless opponent. One that’s tired, on the other hand… I’ll take that advantage. Ike closed in on the chicken, raising his spear.
The chicken charged directly at him. Its beak gleamed in the moonlight as it lifted its head high.
Ike rolled to the side. The chicken struck the earth behind him. Before he could punish it for its mistake, it whipped around to face him. Bits of dirt still clung to its beak as it chased him down again. This time, Ike juked left and right, checking the chicken’s turning skills. The chicken dug in its claws and threw itself after him. Its large body lagged the turn a little, but its head and its feet remained on point.
It's a bit heavier than a normal chicken—just a little bit—so it corners slower, Ike noted. He whirled around and feinted at it with his spear.
The chicken didn’t so much as flinch. It lifted its beak high, preparing to strike him down from the heavens.
Spinning back around, Ike leaped to the grass. The chicken’s blade-like beak slammed into the ground behind him, close enough that the debris from the strike bounced off his skin. He rolled back to his feet and kept running, into the forest.
Something that large has an advantage in open spaces. Let’s see how it does in the tight spaces between trees.
Ike crashed through low bushes and vines. Behind him, the chicken charged after him. He glanced back. The massive, fluffy beast plowed through the undergrowth without a thought of hesitation. Branches snapped on its mighty chest. Vines tore around its vicious legs. It uprooted bushes as it passed.
Ike ducked around a mid-sized tree. The thing was about as big around as his bicep at its widest, not tiny, but not huge either. That oughta slow you down.
The chicken lifted its mighty claws and jumped at the tree. The tree swayed. Its roots cracked, trunk creaking from the forces applied to it.
Ike stared, wide-eyed. No way.
The tree rebounded. Dropping back to earth, the chicken shook its head and jumped at the tree again.
SNAP! The tree’s roots broke through, and it plummeted to earth. Ike jumped to the side, barely ducking the canopy. As the branches and leaves rained down, he slid behind a large tree.
The chicken stalked forward. Head first, then body, it stepped over the mid-sized tree. It tilted its head left, then right. A big golden eye with a big round pupil scanned the forest. It let out a quiet b-gawk and stepped forward, crunching freshly fallen branches under its feet.
A rustle. It snapped around, facing the large tree Ike had ducked behind. Striding forward with urgency, it turned the corner and looked around the tree.
Nothing. An empty space.
Confused, the chicken stepped forward. It lowered its head to sniff the ground. Short wattle trembling, it looked left and right again.
Ike dropped out of the tree, his spear held in both hands. The chicken lifted its head, but too late. The barbed spearhead pierced through the back of its neck and bore it to the ground, pinning it through to the earth. It struggled, its body spasming a few times.
Ike wiped his forehead. He pulled his sword out and sliced the chicken’s head at the neck, cutting it clean off. It fell to the side, eyes empty, beak open. Dead.
Turning to the chicken, he smiled and patted the headless corpse. “I’ll eat well tonight.”
The headless corpse jumped up and slashed at him with its claws.
Startled, Ike staggered back. Blood streaked down his chest, and pain surged into him. The chicken charged, claws still going wild. Its wings flapped, and its tail flared. Ike lifted the spear, barely holding off its wild charge. What the hell? I killed it!
He tightened his grip on the spear, then, all at once, slashed with the handle. The force of the slash threw the chicken back. It landed on its heels and immediately charged again. Ike jumped to the side, avoiding its charge. It didn’t turn to follow him, nor did it respond to his actions. Instead, it ran on and smashed into a tree in front of it. It fell back again, only to jump up and run on. It vanished into the forest.
Ike stared after it. What the hell was that?
A moment later, he startled and sprinted after the chicken at full speed. That’s my dinner running away from me!
His paltry legs couldn’t keep up with the chicken’s speed. Ike grimaced, checking his mana. It was already being drawn to heal his wound. Can I afford to use Lightning Dash? Usually, he wouldn’t hesitate, but in the Abyss, chasing a headless chicken… It was a waste of mana, pure and simple. Maybe I’ll just let it tire itself out, then catch up afterward.
Even as he was considering his options, a bolt of gray charged out of the forest. It tackled the chicken to the ground by the neck and held it there, shaking its head vigorously. The chicken’s neck snapped, and for the second time, it stilled.
Ike slowed. He stood on his tiptoes to get a better look. Is that…?
Loup stood there, crouched over the chicken. She looked at him, then backed away, lowering her head.
Ike grinned. It is. He jogged over, waving a hello. “Loup!”
Loup flicked her ears toward him and walked toward him, greeting him with a sniff. He went to pat her head, then snatched his hand back. Right. She doesn’t like that, and I like my hands.
Standing over the chicken, Ike raised his spear. He plunged it down, stabbing the beast in the heart just to be sure. If it could survive without a head, maybe it could survive without a neck, too. But even a mighty chicken monster ought to die from being pierced in the heart.
He jerked the spear free, the barbs tearing the flesh on the way out. The chicken’s lifeblood leaked out, staining its feathers and the forest floor. Ike grabbed the chicken by the ankles and dragged it back toward the clearing. Time to roast some chicken.
48
ROAST CHICKEN
The chicken turned slowly on a spit, roasting over a bonfire of deadwood Ike had found easily in the untouched forest. He’d crafted the spit out of the fresh green tree the chicken had downed. It had taken all his Rank 1 strength to cut the green wood apart and shape it properly, but in the end, the results were worth it. A golden-brown chicken turning on a spit, roasting in its own juices.
He turned the spit manually, but it wasn’t much effort for a Rank 1. The chicken was seasoned with the last of his salt and nothing. He wished he had some herbs, or maybe some fruit to squeeze over it, but after days of wolf jerky, roast chicken alone sounded fantastic. A few plants Orin had indicated as edible in his book were being roasted alongside the chicken. Most of the wild plants Ike had come across so far tasted bitter, but with the chicken juices running down the spit, they ought to be imbued with a little extra flavor.
Loup sat beside him, watching the chicken cook with hungry eyes. She’d been ready to eat the chicken raw, sitting eagerly alongside Ike as he’d plucked it. To stave off her hunger, he’d tossed her the gizzards, but those little treats had been forgotten now, by the look in her eyes. She whined and leaned forward, only held back by the flames.
“Just a little longer,” Ike assured her.
She looked at him, then sighed dramatically and plopped her head down on her paws.
Ike glanced over at the pile of feathers almost as tall as him and sighed. Plucking the chicken had been an exercise in strength and boredom alike. Every inch of the body was covered in feathers, and every feather was stuck fast. There was only so much pulling and plucking he could do before he was thoroughly done for the day.
But the end results were worth it. A big whiff of roast chicken welled over Ike, and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes to savor the scent. He nodded to himself. It’s ready.
With both hands, he manhandled the spitted chicken off the rack. It was too large for him to brace either end, so he lifted it like a spear, gripping it by one end. His arms trembled, his core shook, and his legs quavered. Ike staggered a few steps from the fire, then slammed the chicken-stick into the ground. It stood upright, a strange flagpole for his camp.
Loup crept forward, licking her lips.
“Wait. Let me check.” Ike grabbed a drumstick from the chicken. Twisting and wrenching, he freed it from its joint with an earsplitting crack-pop. The drumstick was comically large, almost as big around as his torso and about as long. Ike grabbed the meat, then flinched back. “Hot, hot, hot…”
Loup dashed forward and tore a big bite off the drumstick. She ran away a few paces but then dropped it, making spitting faces and licking her lips.
“I told you it’s hot,” Ike said, shaking his head at her.
She went to pick it up, then flinched back. Again, another flinch. At last, she settled down to a hunker, watching the hot meat with big, confused, hungry eyes.
Ike chuckled under his breath. He turned the drumstick, checking where Loup had taken a bite.
Cooked to the bone. The chicken was good to eat.
And not only cooked, but cooked. Crispy golden skin peeled back to reveal juicy, pale flesh. Beads of juice welled up along the lines of the muscle. A savory aroma wafted up, tempting Ike to dive in right then, just like Loup had.
He hesitated one moment, then did it anyway.
Hot chicken, fresh and juicy. There was a gaminess to it, but compared to the nearly-rancid wolf meat, he barely noticed it. The skin broke at a touch and made a crunchy contrast to the juicy, soft meat. He took a bite, and another, and another. It singed his mouth, but he ignored the pain and pressed on anyway. Tears welled up in his eyes.
After bitter vegetables and rancid jerky, I finally have something delicious to eat!
Orin’s book flew up in his estimate, from a helpful guide to a godlike item. That one little note shone like gold in his mind’s eye: Delicious. Indeed, it was. More delicious than anything he’d ever eaten in his life. He made a mental note to check the book later for anything else marked Delicious. He might be roughing it in the wild, but there was no need to suffer. He could eat good food as easily out here as back in the city—maybe even easier. After all, he doubted he could have afforded leg of giant chicken in the city, but here he was, eating it nonetheless.
As he ate, warmth flowed into his body. It collected in his stomach, but also in his core. The Red Jungle Fowl had been a monster, after all, its flesh was imbued with mana. Eating the meat replenished his hunger and his mana alike. The volume of meat to amount of mana was high; he’d probably have to eat the whole chicken to get as much mana as one night’s worth of Rosamund’s head. But the mana felt better. Cleaner. Clearer. More delicious.
That last one might be the meat, not the mana, Ike thought, chuckling aloud to himself.
Loup looked up. She tilted her head.
“Nothing, it’s nothing.” Ike took another bite from the chicken, and his teeth hit something hard. He recoiled, making a face, then peered into the chicken. Did I hit bone?
A Skill Orb gleamed back at him, buried in the meat of the drumstick.
Ike’s eyes widened. Holy shit! I struck gold!
49
GOLD LEG ORBS
Ike stared at the Skill Orb for a moment, struck dumb. Realizing he was just sitting there like an idiot, he wiped his mouth, stood up, and walked over to pick it up, carrying the giant chicken leg with him. He turned the orb around in his hand, taking a good look at it. It glowed with a faint green light. The entire orb was translucent, but not perfectly so. In its depths, the translucence grew thicker, until the center became opaque. The thickening of the translucence wasn’t perfectly centered, either, but slightly off-center. It jabbed out into the round orb like an exploding star, rays of less-translucent orb piercing almost to the surface.
Ike frowned. I’ve never seen that before. When it comes to Skill Orbs, the more perfect, the better, right? In that case, could this be an imperfect skill?
He tilted it around in his fingers, then frowned deeper. What does it mean for a skill to be imperfect? All the skills he’d found so far had been clear, or had even distributions of translucency. Or I didn’t have time to notice, he amended, thinking back to the Salamander and the conditions under which he’d acquired that orb.
He took another bite of chicken, thinking. At the end of the day, it came down to a simple choice: absorb the skill, or not. Absorbing it was a risk. He didn’t know what the skill was. He hadn’t encountered harmful or negative skills yet, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. There was darkness to everything in this world. He’d seen enough of it under his uncle’s thumb to be sure of that.
On top of that, the skill might not mesh with his current setup. It was a low risk; in the worst case, he’d simply not use it. Then, though, he wouldn’t be able to sell the skill later. He’d be wasting money.
Assuming I ever get out of the Abyss, that is.
The biggest risk, though, was that he didn’t know what imperfect skills would do to him. Would it simply be a weaker version of the usual skill? If that was all, he was fine with that. He could level it up, maybe find more copies of it, and raise its strength. But if it only activated sometimes or activated more slowly, that could be deadly. In a battle where life and death were decided in a matter of seconds, a slow skill, let alone a failed skill, could be the end of him.
On the upside, more skills were always good. And for all he knew, the star pattern was a good or neutral thing, and the skill inside was in perfect shape.
He rolled it around in his hand a few more times, considering. Money could be ignored outright. He’d rather have a skill that might let him survive to tomorrow than maybe one day have a few more gold in his pocket. Even if it didn’t mesh with his build, he could always use it somehow, for something. He hadn’t encountered negative or harmful skills. If they existed, he knew nothing about them. There was no point fearing something that might never come to pass. Not knowing if imperfect skills would harm him somehow… that was the point that truly gave him pause.
If not right now, then maybe when I go to rank up, it will. Who knows? Maybe that’s the difference between upper-city mages and lower-city hunters. Hunters can’t pass Rank 3 because we all have too many imperfect skills, while the rich mages can afford to buy all the perfect skills off of us.
Pinching his chin, Ike considered his options for another few moments. He chewed at the chicken leg, tearing the last of the meat off, then tossed the bone to Loup. Taking a big chunk of chicken with him, he walked over to his pack and crouched.
Rosamund’s head sat atop the pack. Her jaw worked, though whether she was shouting nonsense or simply cursing his name, Ike couldn’t tell. He lowered the gag.
“—and when I get back to the city, my father will—”
“He abandoned you,” Ike reminded her.
Rosamund’s mouth shut. Her eyes widened, and the veins at her temples stood out against her head, but she said nothing more.
He cleared his throat. “Right. Sorry about that. You know, I was thinking about something you said recently. That slumrats can’t pass Rank 3.”
“Rank 2,” Rosamund corrected him quickly.
Ike blinked, taken aback, then nodded slowly. Right. That is what she said. I internally adjusted the number upward because of my encounter with Orin. “Right, right. So… why would that be?”
“Because of the filth you live in,” she spat.
Ike raised a brow.
Rosamund barely needed the encouragement to continue. “The mana in the slum’s air is tainted. It’s poisoned. Even if you practice in the lower city, you absorb poison as you absorb mana. You’re doomed from the start. The higher you rank, the more poison you absorb, and the quicker you die. A higher rank’s extended lifespan only staves off the poison. Compared to an upper city Rank 2, your Rank 2s die pitifully early.”
“Good to know,” Ike said. A small, vindictive part of him cheered. Uncle is destined for an early death!
At the same time, he felt a queasiness that he’d even think that. He’s family. Even if he’s a shithead, he’s family. I shouldn’t want him to die. And, weaseling its way in, a jaded voice murmured, Yeah, early for a Rank 2. Gods only know how many hundreds of years we’d have to wait.
“You seem unworried about your impending early death,” Rosamund commented.
“Well, that’s because I have perfect skills,” Ike said.
Her eyes widened, and her nostrils flared. “Perfect skills that you stole! They were mine. My skills, you filth-sucking, thieving bottom feeder! You should be chewing on trash imperfect skills like all the rest of your filthy brood, not dining on fine perfect Unique skills!”
“So perfect skills extend one’s lifespan?” Ike wondered aloud.
