Chương 12: Choices

He sprinted toward the monster, mana burning hot in his veins. He abandoned the safety of the rocks and cut across the open ground, boots slipping on churned soil. The Wyvern's remaining eye flicked toward him. Its jaws opened. He didn't have time to charge a full spell. Not the spear nor the wall. He reached for the nasty, desperate option he had been avoiding. [Blood Bolt]. He hadn't scribed it often.

Most people only needed one mistake with bloodwork to start losing fingers, so Ivan had practiced the pattern half to death before ever letting it touch a cut. He ripped his palm across a jagged stone as he ran. Pain flared in his mind. Blood welled up, slick and warm, running down his fingers. He grabbed it with his will and fed it into the forming pattern. Blood was mana-rich. The System had always known that. Most sane mages used crystals or reagents. Ivan was apparently done being sane.

The spell didn't form outside him. It formed in his veins. It lurched through him, wrong and internal. Power ran up his arm, through muscle and bone, and gathered in his injured hand. The blood on his skin started glowing dark red. He thrust his arm forward and let it go. The bolt that left his hand was thick and viscous, more like a lance of liquid glass than lightning. It arced in a slight curve as if it had weight, then buried itself in the ragged wound Rys had opened under the Wyvern's throat.

He didn't aim for flesh. He aimed for structure. [Architecture of Mana] flared, ripping the Wyvern's internal pattern into view for a heartbeat. He saw the flows of power around its acid gland, the reinforcing loops along its spine, the dense knot of energy around its heart. He drove his bolt straight into that knot. The Wyvern spasmed. Its entire body seized in place, every muscle locking. Wings jerked taut, tail going ramrod straight.

The glow in its chest stuttered, then flickered wildly as the foreign mana contaminated its core. For a breath, the entire beast hung there, trembling. Ivan didn't waste it, even when his arm screamed as if it was being ripped off! He closed the last few steps and drew the shortsword he'd taken off the slaver leader. The blade was simple steel with a minor durability enchantment. Against a Wyvern's scales it was a toothpick. Against soft tissue, it would do.

He aimed for the gap where Rys had torn tendons and his blood bolt had split bone.

"Stay down," he growled, and drove the sword in with both hands. The resistance lasted an instant. Then the blade punched through, sliding along the path his spell had opened. Hot blood washed over his hands as he cut deeper, sawing through whatever he met. Something hard gave way. The tremor running through the Wyvern's body intensified, then abruptly cut off. The weight slumped.

For a terrible moment, Ivan thought he would be crushed under it, but the body flopped sideways, collapsing into its own acid-scarred crater. The remaining wing twitched once, then lay still. For a second, the ridge had no sound except Ivan's breathing. Ivan staggered back, chest heaving. His hand throbbed, the cut now a deep gash. His vision pulsed at the edges in time with his heartbeat. A faint notification blinked somewhere in the corner of his sight, but he ignored it for now.

Rys pushed herself to her feet a few paces away, teeth bared. Her left shoulder hung at a wrong angle, but her eyes were bright. She must have leveled up. Her arm was fixing itself slowly.

"Well," she rasped.

"That was… stupid."

"You're welcome," Ivan said, voice rough. She laughed once, a breathless bark.

"You look like shit, darling."

"So do you."

"Like a match made in hea-" Ren peered from behind a boulder, face pale and streaked with dirt.

"Is it… dead?"

"Unless it has a second heart and the System a sense of humor," Ivan said, "yes." He wiped the shortsword on a patch of uncorroded hide and slid it back into its sheath with hands that trembled more from mana backlash than fear. The System finally forced itself into focus. [You have slain Wyvern – Level 57] [Human (F) has leveled up!] [Human (F) has leveled up!] [Human (F) has leveled up!] If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. …

[Human (F) has reached Level 27.] [Inscriber of Principles has leveled up!] [Inscriber of Principles has leveled up!] [Inscriber of Principles has leveled up!] …. [Inscriber of Principles has reached 25.] More windows floated up, edged in faint gold. [Race milestone reached: Human (F) – Level 25] [Class milestone reached: Inscriber of Principles – Level 25] [You've gained skills.] Ivan closed his eyes for a moment and let his head hang. He loved this.

"Hey." Rys stepped closer, her good hand catching his arm before he could sway too far. Her grip was warm and steady despite the blood staining her fingers.

"You didn't die," she said.

"I am… somewhat impressed."

"That's the best compliment you've given me so far."

"Don't get used to it, darling." She released him and rolled her injured shoulder with a grimace. Bone creaked. With a low, focused growl, she grabbed her own arm and yanked. Something snapped back into place. Whatever the system was doing apparently was too slow for her. Her face went white for a heartbeat, then the color returned.

"Ren," she called.

"Come down. Bring the packs. And do not step in any of the puddles unless you want to melt." Ren scrambled down, avoiding the hissing patches of ground with exaggerated care. For a while, the ridge was all scraping claws, glass stoppers, and the wet business of not wasting a Wyvern. Ivan siphoned Wyvern blood into flasks, mixing it with neutralizing agents from his dwindling stash to stabilize the conductivity. The smell was sharp and metallic, tinged with the sour bite of acid.

He nearly ruined one flask when a stray drop ate through the lip before the stabilizer took hold. Rys carved out the acid gland with disturbing familiarity, humming under her breath. She had no proper tools, only her claws and a small knife, but she worked with the efficiency of someone who had done this before.

"You've harvested a Wyvern prior to this," Ivan observed.

"Once." She set the pulsing gland into a sealed jar, the glass fogging faintly around it.

"Back home. With help. It was stronger than this one though. Took six of us and a very angry earth spirit. The loot was… good."

"Here I thought we had a unique first date." She flashed him a toothy smile.

"This is better since it's just us sharing." Ren watched them with wide eyes.

"You two are scary."

"That's the idea," Ivan murmured. By the time the sun dipped lower, the worst of the gore was dealt with. They dragged what they could not use to the far edge of the ridge and let it tumble down into a ravine where scavengers would take care of it. Rys flopped down on a relatively clean rock and leaned back, tilting her face into the wind. Her hair fluttered around her, and for a moment she looked less like a half-starved prisoner and more like some fox goddess surveying the world from her mountain.

"Well," she said, eyes half-closed.

"I will admit it. That was fun."

"That is not the word I'd use," Ivan said. He sank down onto a smaller stone, careful to keep his bleeding hand elevated. Maybe because it was a self inflicted injury, the Level Ups hadn't completely healed it. Or maybe something else.

"Terrifying. Exhausting, maybe. A little idiotic. Profitable, though."

"That last one is the only one that matters." She peeked at him through her lashes.

"You did well, young man." He snorted.

"Don't sound so surprised."

"Oh, I knew you were dangerous. I did not realize you were also suicidal in such an intelligent way." Her lips curled.

"Very rare combination."

"Thank you, my lady priestess." She let her gaze linger on his wounded hand.

"That spell you used. The red one."

"It's called [Blood Bolt]," Ivan said.

"It's usually a last-ditch spell. Bad cost-to-performance ratio, even if people argue with that after it saves their life. Good effect, but bleeding on purpose is not my favorite hobby."

"You shoved your mana into its heart and made it stop," she recalled.

"That is not a normal Scribe trick."

"Normal Scribes don't pick fights with Wyverns," Ivan said.

"We all have our quirks."

"Mm." She smiled slowly.

"You keep collecting them, I might even start respecting you."

"High praise."

"Do not let it go to your head." Ren collapsed on the grass beside them, limbs splayed.

"Are we done fighting dragons now?"

"Wyverns," Ivan and Rys answered in unison. Ren groaned into the dirt.

"Whatever. Can we just fight rabbits for a while?" Ivan considered it. His body felt like it had been hammered. His mind, however, hummed with a sharp and jittery focus.

"Maybe," he said.

"After I deal with this." He looked at the glowing prompts still hovering at the edge of his vision. They waited patiently, as if the System had all the time in the world.

"Problem?" Rys asked.

"Milestones," Ivan said.

"Race and Class. The System has granted me new tricks."

"Oh right," she said.

"You crossed Level 25 in your race. I'm assuming in your Class too? What are the choices? I'll recommend you the best ones." What if I told her I didn't get any choices, since I'd already received Skills before when I got this achievement? The System had granted him skills at random. [Human (F) – Level 25 Milestone reached.] ▣▣▣▣▣ [Instinct of the Prey] For thousands of years, you were hunted. The shadows have teeth, and the wind carries the scent of death.

While others lost this primal fear to the comfort of civilization, you have sharpened it. You know when eyes are upon you. You feel the killing intent before the arrow is loosed. You are the prey that overcame it all to become the greatest hunter that this planet has ever seen. Effect: You gain a general danger sense when a foe at least ten levels above you focuses lethal intent on you, even if they are hidden or invisible. Agility increases by 15% while retreating from such foes.

▣▣▣▣▣ That was decent in effect, but Ivan liked the description more. The greatest hunter on the planet. Not to brag, but he was part of that race. No complaints. Another window unfolded as he shifted his focus. [Inscriber of Principles – Level 25 Milestone reached.] ▣▣▣▣▣ [The Living Vellum] To a typical Scribe, the world suffers from a lack of surfaces. Paper burns, wood rots, and stone crumbles. The world doesn't cooperate.

But as the Inscriber of Principles, you turn to the only surface you can truly control – yourself. You etch the principles of power into your own skin, and therefore turn your body into a living grimoire. These runes do not fade; instead, they wait, hungry and filled with power, ready to be unleashed at a thought. Effect: You may permanently inscribe up to three spell circuits onto your body. These can be pre-charged with Mana during rest and then cast instantly without drawing in combat. ▣▣▣▣▣ That was…

pretty crazy, wasn't it? A [Mage] at least had the excuse of being a real mage. Ivan had the physical weaknesses without the proper job title. Worse, technically. He was an office worker. This skill was a treasure vault! He could strengthen his body using spells…! Rys watched his face as he read, her expression thoughtful.

"Any that you like? Looks like big decisions," she murmured.

"Yeah," Ivan said.

"Feels that way. I already chose them."

"Hmm? Hey! You should have asked me, I'd have advised you," she crossed her arms.

"I don't like you." He laughed a little and sat there on the ridge above the shattered corpse of a Wyvern, his bleeding hand finally returning to normal, as he weighed what kind of monster he wanted to become.