Chương 26: The First Hunt

This is it. The thought rang through Caleb as he stood before Deadfall's main gates. Morning mist still clung to the ground, giving the land beyond the walls an ethereal quality. The guards on duty barely glanced his way. They leaned on their spears with backs slack against the gatehouse wall, their conversation continuing uninterrupted by his presence. Just another hopeful heading out to test themselves against the green depths. Nothing noteworthy about that.

Beyond the gates, the packed earth of Deadfall's streets gave way to a muddy track that wound toward the forest. Caleb paused at this threshold, looking back one last time. The Hearthsong Inn's distinctive slate roof stood above the other buildings in the distance, a point of reference for warmth and safety in this frontier settlement. Then he turned to face what lay ahead.

The air changed at the edge of the forest, the town's scents of wood smoke and commerce yielding to the rich odor of damp earth, decaying leaves, and the pleasant tang of pine. The Virethane Forest rose before him, its treeline dense and unbroken, trunks packed close from ground to canopy. Towering Sitka spruce and western hemlock disappeared into a canopy so dense it created its own twilight. Moss draped like a cloak from every branch. It was a silent green ocean of wood and shadow.

He took his first step onto the sodden path north, his boot sinking with a soft squelch as the ground fog parted around his legs. He moved deeper, his hand eventually bracing against the slick, lichen-covered bark of a spruce to negotiate a dip in the trail. Ferns, beaded with dew, brushed against his pant legs leaving streaks of cold moisture. The sounds of the village vanished, replaced by the thump of his own heartbeat in his ears and the rush of each breath.

With every step, the only other sounds were the drip of condensation from impossibly high branches and the occasional crack of settling wood. Or the sigh of wind through the boughs. The quiet was a pressure against his eardrums, amplifying every rustle of his clothes and the sucking sound of his footsteps in the mud. The spear in his grasp helped ground him. The cuirass pressed into his diaphragm as he breathed, a persistent signal of the limited protection it offered.

He thought of Evelynn, safe in another world he could never return to. Of Katie and Jack, impossibly distant. The grief was a constant ache, yet a burden he had learned to endure. Because now he had new responsibilities, like Leo's desperate need for a protector. He couldn't afford to wallow when others depended on him. And not when he was an adventurer with a sanctioned contract and a job to do. He just needed to not die. Simple.

Okay, we've got a three-mile commute to the project site for Operation Kill-A-Gob, he told himself, forcing his mind into comfortable patterns. Current time: approximately an hour past dawn. ETA at current pace: forty-five minutes. Environmental hazards: moderate to deadly. The mental framework helped. It reframed the wilderness as a problem to be solved, instead of a scary monster hunt. The project kickoff meeting had officially begun. Agenda item one: Don't Get Eaten. He'd worry about the deliverables later.

He observed his surroundings aggressively, striving to capture every detail. He knelt, his eyes locking onto a series of prints in the soft soil. The sight triggered a memory as if it had happened a moment ago: Meriel's touch leading a young Thal's eyes to a matching print. Her calm, steady voice sounding in his ear.

"Three toes, spread wide like a fan. That is a fernhorn, little sprout. Always look at the depth. The forest tells you its stories if you know how to listen." He stepped over a fallen log thick as his torso, its surface carpeted with what looked like dark, rubbery ears growing directly from the rotting wood. Another thread of knowledge from Thal's mother identified it: woodear fungus, an F-tier spirit herb known for its minor Stamina restoration properties.

He stored the location away mentally as a future harvesting opportunity. Assuming he survived the current project. The path curved around a massive root buttress and Caleb had to press himself against the damp bark to squeeze through. The tree's trunk disappeared into the mist above, its circumference easily the size of a wagon. How old was it? Centuries? Millennia? In his world, this would be a protected landmark with guided tours and a gift shop. Here, it was just Tuesday. A branch snapped somewhere to his left.

Caleb froze, both hands gripping his spear tightly. His Mana-enhanced perception swept outward, feeling for any sign of aura or energy. There, ten yards away, moving parallel to the path. Too small for a predator. Probably. He waited, counting breaths. The presence moved on, whatever it was uninterested in him. When he was sure it had gone he leaned against a trunk coated in moss, clenching his spear in both hands. Ok, that was a little too scary. Time for some on-the-job training.

Finding a small clearing, he replayed Captain Hatch's demonstration in his mind providing a complete sensory record of the event. He could feel the memory of Hatch's Stamina pooling in his legs and the explosive release. Caleb took a ready stance on the sodden ground, mimicking the captain's posture. He concentrated inward, reaching for the energetic warmth of Stamina suffused throughout his muscles and tendons.

With his Intent, he tried to gather that energy, pulling threads of it from his arms and torso and concentrating the flow into his legs. When he thought he'd gathered enough, he stepped forward. And lurched. His right foot shot a few feet in an uncontrolled spasm that nearly sent him sprawling into the mud. The sensation felt like triggering a violent knee-jerk reflex. Well, that could have gone better, he thought, catching his balance. He replayed Hatch's demonstration along with the captain's explicit warning.

It needs to work as a controlled detonation, not a sustained charge. The logic felt wrong to his limited understanding. Why not just flood the muscles with Stamina and keep them empowered for the duration, like a fully charged battery? He tested his theory, focusing his Intent on creating a sustained concentration of Stamina in his legs. He commanded the Stamina from his entire system to converge into his lower body, holding it there.

While his arms and chest felt oddly empty, his legs grew unnaturally dense and hot, vibrating like overloaded engines. He took a step like he'd seen Hatch do. The world blurred. It worked! He shot forward a full ten yards in a controlled surge of speed. [New Ability Gained: Dash (F) - Novice] [Your proficiency with Stamina Channeling (F) has increased to Practiced] A fierce grin cut across his face. See? Much easier! His triumph was short-lived. Searing fire erupted in his calves and thighs.

The muscles, moments ago coursing with power, seized violently. He cried out as his legs buckled beneath him, crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs. The pain was excruciating: a deep, grinding agony as every fiber in his legs locked into an unforgiving cramp. His control over his Stamina broke, the energy dispersing back through his body. He lay there gasping, frantically massaging his lower body through the worst charley horse of his life.

He worked his thumbs deep into the rigid tissue, trying to force it to release. Minutes passed in slow torment before the anguish finally subsided into a throbbing ache. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. He pushed himself up to lean against a tree, his legs still trembling with the aftershocks as he laughed at the sheer foolishness of his decision. He had a crystal-clear memory of Captain Hatch's serious warning and had ignored it entirely.

You just haaaad to test it, didn't you Foster? At least he'd learned something. [Savant of the Mind] connected the fiery pain to his flawed premise. He'd treated his legs like a battery to be filled, but the result felt more like an engine redlining until its pistons seized. The energy had to be ignited and vented in a single, controlled burst. Leaving it there overtaxed the tissue, burning it out from the inside. The concept of controlled release and return reminded him of something from his childhood.

Eight years old on a sunny afternoon, holding a bright red yo-yo. He remembered the satisfying schwish as he threw it, the string unspooling as the plastic disk descended. He felt the faint tug on his finger as it reached the end of the string, and knew the exact moment to flick his wrist and bring it spinning back to his palm. His Impartments seized the analogy. The flow of Stamina was the yo-yo. It had to rush in, suffusing the muscles completely, just like the yo-yo reaching its lowest point.

That moment of full saturation was the window to act. And just as the yo-yo began its return trip instantly, he had to retract the Stamina just as quickly. One uninterrupted motion. In, act, out. He hauled himself shakily to his feet, his legs still unsteady. Took his stance again then visualized the yo-yo. With his Intent, he gathered the Stamina from his arms and torso, channeling it into his legs. He felt them become supercharged as the energy permeated the muscles: the yo-yo hitting the end of its string. Now.

He pushed off, and as his body moved he released the energy, letting the Stamina recede back out to its natural state, diffused throughout his body. The technique worked, and he moved forward. Two yards. He stopped, standing perfectly balanced. The technique felt right, free of lurching or pain, just... insufficient. He tried again, pushing harder this time, and managed three. It was like a yo-yo that went down and came right back up, the motion complete but falling short of his goal. What was he missing?

He'd done a basic "down and up" trick, but a full [Dash] must require something more. Ohhhhh, I know what I need to do! The "sleeper." The trick where the yo-yo spun at the end of the string, seemingly defying gravity. That was the key. The sequence needed to be in, sustain, out. He had to inject the initial burst then hold it for the entire duration of the movement, all while preparing to pull it all back the instant the movement was complete so it didn't damage him. Mind, body, and energy had to work in concert.

He took a deep breath and gathered the concentration of Stamina into his legs. As he stepped forward he maintained the systemic draw, pulling a continuous, fine thread of energy from the rest of his body to sustain the motion. The world around him became a green-and-brown smear. For a single, exhilarating second, he was pure momentum. Then, his lead foot planted firmly on the path ten yards away.

The instant the movement ended he released the mental hold, allowing the concentrated energy to flow back out, re-saturating his entire system. He stood perfectly still, breathing steadily, his body left with only the quiet hum of exhausted muscles and the hollowness of somewhat depleted energy reserve. [Your proficiency with Dash (F) has increased to Practiced.] A wide smile spread across his face.

He spent the next few minutes practicing, each attempt a little smoother, a little more precise, until the burn in his legs and the dip in his Stamina told him to stop. This was a limited resource to be deployed tactically. He continued his walk toward the quarry, the new Ability a small but significant part of his arsenal. Forty minutes later the forest began to change. The undergrowth thinned. The mighty spruces, or at least their Veraxian equivalent, gave way to younger growth.

Through gaps in the canopy he caught glimpses of jagged grey stone jutting upward. The old quarry. Caleb approached the edge of the forest cautiously, using a thick maple trunk for cover. The trees ended abruptly, as if someone had drawn a line and declared "no further." Beyond lay a rough clearing of trampled grass and scrub brush, maybe fifty yards wide. Past that rose the quarry proper: a massive horseshoe of carved stone faces, each one showing the bite marks of picks and chisels.

It was far larger than he expected, easily three hundred yards across at its widest point. The floor was a chaotic maze, but its most dominant feature was an overgrown spine of waste rock. This "spoil ridge" rose like a craggy earthen wall, effectively bisecting the quarry floor and isolating the southern tip from the rest of the pit. Rusted mining carts lay overturned like dead beetles. Sections of narrow-gauge track emerged from the grass only to disappear again, a skeleton of industry consumed by nature.

Decaying tools lay scattered where they were dropped: hammers, picks, a wheelbarrow with a tree growing through its rusted bottom. He didn't know what had happened here, but it looked like they had abandoned it in a hurry long ago. There was also a silence that differed from the forest's living quiet. It was dead air, an absence where not even the buzz of insects or the rush of a foraging squirrel broke the hush. It felt wrong. Expectant, even. Movement caught his eye.

Far to the north, at the base of the eastern wall where shadows pooled despite the morning light, was a cave, partially hidden by a rockfall. As he watched, a figure emerged. The feral goblin moved on all fours, its gait mixing the worst aspects of human and animal locomotion. Even from this distance Caleb could see the unnatural length of its limbs and the way its spine curved wrong. It was naked, carrying nothing. It paused at the opening, scanning the northern sector before it disappeared back into the darkness.

Where there's a cave and one, there's likely more. Caleb retreated deeper into the treeline, then began circling the quarry's perimeter. His knowledge of [Stealth] guided his movements as he placed his foot to avoid dry twigs and used wind direction to stay downwind. Every fifty yards he stopped to observe and document, cataloging every detail. [Your proficiency with Stealth (F) has increased to Practiced.] He made an observation post on a small rise to the east.

It was covered in sword ferns and offered clear sightlines of the southern sector while providing concealment. Setting down his pack, he pulled out the oilcloth parcel Cassia had provided. He ate some of the smoked meat and dense travel bread mechanically, leaving the small pot of preserved fruit for later. His eyes never left the quarry as he worked to assuage his hunger, turning the quarry into a mental map.

Over the next few hours as Cinder joined Aurum in the sky, patterns began to emerge through moments of heart-stopping panic. Once, a pair of goblins broke from the main group, their chittering conversation growing louder as they snuffled along a route that would take them just feet from his fern-covered hiding spot. Caleb flattened himself against the damp earth, slowing his breath to a crawl and feeling the vibration of their steps through the soil.

They passed without noticing, but the close encounter had likely taken a few years off his life. He remained motionless long after they were gone, letting the adrenaline drain away. The close call was a reminder that he needed to be surgical. He didn't want to fight more than one at a time. Most activity centered on the cave mouth at the far northern end, but one particular goblin caught his attention. It was smaller than the others and possibly younger or weaker.

It bore fresh scratches on its hide, wounds possibly inflicted by its own pack mates. When the others emerged, it retreated. When they ate, it waited. Classic outcast behavior. More importantly, it had a routine that took it away from the safety of the den. Every twenty to thirty minutes, the smaller goblin would leave the main group. It skittered along the base of the east rock-face, moving away from the cave until it disappeared behind the massive spoil ridge in the south.

This mound completely screened that area from the main den's line of sight, creating a pocket of total privacy. Caleb shifted his position to see behind the ridge. There, in the isolated southern cul-de-sac, a spring-fed pool had formed in a deep depression. The goblin was isolating itself to drink in peace. To reach that pool it had to put a massive wall of earth and stone between itself and its kin. It was a trek that rendered it blind and deaf to the main pack… and them to it. He could do this.

He would descend into the southern pocket before the goblin's next run and wait behind the pool. The giant berm would act as a sound barrier, dampening the noise of the struggle and allowing Caleb to secure the kill without reinforcements. He checked his equipment one final time. Speartip, honed. Cuirass straps, secure. Healing potion, accessible. Everything was in place. The smaller goblin was stirring near the cave and beginning its shuffle toward the ridge. Right on schedule.

Caleb rose from his concealment and advanced on the ambush point, moving down into the southern pocket and tucking into his hiding place. He noted a slight vibration in the spear shaft and consciously tightened his grip until the tremor ceased. His heart was an insistent drum against his ribs, but he controlled his breathing, mastering his fear. The goblin rounded the spoil ridge and reached the pool, lowering its grotesque head to drink. Caleb settled into position behind the boulder, spear braced and body set.

He knew the pattern. The creature would remain vulnerable, lapping at the water for roughly thirty seconds. He wouldn't wait that long. He needed to strike while it was blind to the world. Fifteen seconds, he decided. Let it settle in and feel secure. Then I'll end it. He drew a slow breath and began the countdown. Fifteen. The quarry and forest had gone silent around him, as if the Virethane itself was watching.

Waiting to see if this strange newcomer would join the ranks of predators or become just another set of bones scattered across the quarry floor. Twelve. He tightened his fist around the spear shaft. Eight. The goblin shifted, its claws scraping against the rock. Caleb tensed, ready to attack. Five. The creature raised its head, water dripping from its needle teeth. Three. It turned.