Open Season

The morning mist clung to the forest floor as I stepped outside, my new armor clicking softly with each movement. Three days of relative peace had let me settle into a rhythm—mornings spent practicing sword forms against a scarred oak stump, afternoons organizing the spoils of battle, evenings studying the Trapper's Guide by the crystal's pulsing light.

The storage cache had become my most reliable companion. While it failed spectacularly at preserving food (the rotting Lurker meat now buried far from camp), it kept everything else in perfect stasis. I ran a finger along the neatly stacked chitin plates, each one filed by thickness and flexibility. The monster bones hung from sinew cords along the cave wall, their surfaces etched with strange markings that seemed to shift when I wasn't looking.

The Queen's Fang sword slid from its sheath with a satisfying hiss. Morning light danced along its curved edge as I moved through the basic stances the system had burned into my muscles. Twelve days ago I could barely swing a club without stumbling. Now my body moved with precision I'd never possessed before the system.

[Sword Mastery: 14.3%]

The progress was addicting. Each percentage point gained came with new instincts—how to pivot on my back foot for maximum striking power, the exact wrist angle to deflect incoming attacks. I'd even started dreaming in sword forms, my sleeping mind rehearsing techniques I couldn't yet perform awake.

A rustle in the undergrowth snapped me to attention. My blade was up and ready before my conscious mind registered the rabbit-like creature nibbling on crimson leaves. It had too many ears and its fur shimmered like oil on water, but it froze when our eyes met before bolting into the brush.

"Not today, buddy," I muttered, lowering my sword. The armor's set bonus thrummed against my skin, a constant reminder of my growing power. I checked my stats again, the numbers still surreal:

[FELIX SHAW - LEVEL 5]

STR: 90 | CON: 92 | AGI: 91 | LCK: 16

The forest stretched before me, its twisted trees hiding untold dangers—and opportunities. If I wanted to survive the next wave, I needed to push harder. Needed to hunt smarter.

I adjusted my gauntlets, feeling the chitin spikes dig into my palms. The Trapper's Guide had given me three prime targets:

Crimson Stags - Fast but brittle-legged Rockback Turtles - Mobile XP piñatas if you flip them Deathcap Fungoids - High risk, higher reward

My stomach growled, reminding me I'd skipped breakfast again. The last of the smoked Lurker meat waited back in the cave, but I ignored it. Hunger would keep me sharp today.

The Queen's Fang glowed faintly as I stepped beyond the outpost's boundary, the blade seemingly eager for the hunt. Somewhere in the crimson depths, monsters stirred—and I intended to find every one of them.

The morning mist clung to the forest floor as I studied the Trapper's Guide, my fingers tracing the rough parchment. The illustration of the Crimson Stags showed their distinctive spiral antlers, but failed to capture how their eyes reflected light like a cat's at dusk. I'd seen that much during my first encounter.

"Alright, let's make this scientific," I muttered, flipping to the blank pages at the back of the guide. With a charred stick from last night's fire, I began sketching my plan:

Recon - Scout stag grazing patterns (dawn & dusk near the western thicket) Preparation - Reinforce mud pit edges with fallen branches Bait - Use leftover Lurker guts (preserved with salt from cave walls) Execution - Attack from downwind when 2+ stags are trapped

My armor's chitin plates clicked softly as I gathered supplies. The storage cache had organized itself into neat categories:

Hunting Supplies:

3x sinew ropes (Crimson Crawler tendons) 1 jar of preserved bait (Lurker organs + crushed Deathcap spores) 6x bone spikes (Forest Prowler leg segments)

The walk to the mud pit took longer than expected. Summer heat had baked the once-slick surface into a cracked mosaic, but a quick probe with my sword revealed the underlying clay was still viscous. Perfect.

I worked methodically:

Perimeter - Embedded bone spikes in concentric circles Bait Station - Hung rotting meat from a low branch Escape Routes - Cleared two paths back to solid ground (for me)

As the sun reached its zenith, I took cover behind a moss-covered boulder. The wait began.

Hours passed. Mosquitoes with iridescent wings buzzed around my armor's crevices. My knees ached from crouching. Just as I considered giving up, the forest fell silent.

Then - a sound like wind chimes. Antlers brushing leaves.

The lead stag emerged with unnatural grace, its crimson coat rippling like liquid. Up close, I saw the bioluminescent veins pulsing beneath its hide. It sniffed the air, nostrils flaring at the bait.

When its front legs sank into the pit, the effect was instantaneous. The stag's antlers flared bright pink as it bellowed - a sound that vibrated in my teeth. Two others charged to help, just as predicted.

I moved.

My first strike severed a tendon with surgical precision. The second stag wheeled to face me, its hooves throwing up clods of mud. We danced across the unstable logs - it striking with knife-like hooves, me countering with quick slashes.

[Sword Mastery Increased to 15.1%]

By the time the last stag fell, my armor was splattered with glowing pink blood that sizzled where it touched metal. The pit was a ruin of churned mud and broken antlers.

As I caught my breath, I noticed the smallest stag - barely more than a fawn - watching from the tree line. Its eyes held an intelligence that unsettled me. Before I could react, it vanished into the crimson foliage.

The victory felt hollow as I harvested the antlers. Their glow dimmed as I worked, the energy fading to leave behind only brittle bone. Still, the guide suggested dozens of uses - from armor reinforcement to medicinal paste.

My haul for the day:

4x Stag Antlers (75% intact) 2x Venison Haunches (non-glowing portions only)

The walk back to camp was slower, burdened with spoils. My new sword hung heavy at my side, its blade stained pink. Behind me, the pit already buzzed with scavengers.

Tomorrow - the Rockback Turtles.

Dawn revealed the Rockback Turtles already in motion—if you could call it that. From my vantage point atop a boulder, I watched the nearest specimen take twenty minutes to cross a clearing I could sprint in ten seconds. Its "shell" wasn't just rock-like—it was literal sedimentary stone, layers of shale and limestone fused to its spine with crystalline growths that sparkled in the morning light.

I'd been observing them for three days between hunting smaller prey. Three key discoveries:

Dietary Habits - They exclusively grazed on blue-leafed shrubs near thermal vents, carefully avoiding the crimson rhubarb-like plants that grew nearby. Defensive Posture - When threatened, they'd retract all limbs and sink into the earth, becoming indistinguishable from actual boulders. Weakness Window - Every six hours, they lifted their bellies to excrete steaming waste, revealing fleshy undersides for exactly 47 seconds (I'd timed it).

The rhubarb leaves were my best lead. I collected a bundle, using my knife to avoid touching the milky sap that had melted through a beetle's carapace yesterday. The Trapper's Guide confirmed:

[Deathbloom Leaves]

Extreme toxicity to rock-dwelling species

Causes: Mineral dissolution, paralysis

"Alright, Boulder," I whispered to the nearest turtle. "Let's play a game."

Phase One: Bait Preparation

I mashed the leaves into a paste using flat stones, mixing in:

1 cup sulfurous water (from their favorite vents) 2 tablespoons crushed acrid berries (for scent masking) A pinch of luminous stag blood (just because)

The resulting green sludge smelled like rotten eggs and burned my eyes. Perfect.

Phase Two: Delivery System

Their grazing pattern was predictable. I placed leaf-wrapped poison packets along their path, then used a long stick to smear more paste directly onto blue shrubs they'd eat next.

Then came the waiting.

Hour 1: The lead turtle sniffed a contaminated shrub... and bypassed it.

Hour 3: A younger specimen nibbled a poisoned leaf packet—and immediately sneezed out a chunk of its own shell plating.

Hour 5: Success. The alpha turtle consumed three tainted shrubs in a row.

The effect took twenty minutes. First, its movements became jerkier. Then its stone plates began sloughing off like wet sand, exposing patches of grayish skin beneath. When it tried to retract, its back legs refused to cooperate.

Phase Three: The Kill

I struck during its next waste cycle. The creature couldn't fully lower its armored skirt, leaving a gap just wide enough for my sword.

One thrust upward into soft viscera.

A twist to maximize damage.

A frantic backflip as the turtle's death throes sent half-ton stone plates flying.

[Rockback Turtle Slain: +110 XP]

As I harvested the rare minerals from its crumbling shell, I noticed something unsettling—embedded in the rock layers were fossils of smaller creatures. This turtle had been growing its armor for centuries.

And I'd killed it with salad.

The fungal horror squatted in a clearing like a rotten pumpkin the size of a minivan. Moonlight glistened off its mucus-covered tendrils, each one pulsing as it absorbed nutrients from the carcass of some unfortunate rodent-like creature. The stench hit me first—a cocktail of wet compost and spoiled meat that made my eyes water even from thirty yards away.

My new stats hummed beneath my skin like live wires as I crouched behind a boulder:

[Felix Shaw - Level 7]

STR:175 | CON:200 | AGI:150 | LCK:18

The numbers meant nothing until I flexed my hand and felt the grip of my sword creak in response. I could probably flip a car now. Wouldn't help against that thing.

Observation Notes:

Movement - Glides on a carpet of self-produced slime (speed: ~1 mph) Attack Pattern - Spits caustic fluid every 90 seconds (after visible sac inflation) Weakness - Central "cap" trembles before attacking (telltale vulnerability)

I'd brought every advantage I could muster:

Layered Armor - Stag-hide over chitin to absorb acid splashes Improved Sword - Edges coated in Rockback mineral dust (increased hardness) Distractions - Two gourds of luminous stag blood (for misdirection)

The plan was simple:

Provoke an attack Dodge Strike the retracting fluid-sac Repeat until dead

The execution nearly killed me.

First throw landed short. The Fungoid didn't react.

Second throw hit dead center. The entire mass shivered like disturbed gelatin before its surface puckered—

"Shit!"

I dove sideways as a stream of black fluid shot past, splattering on a tree trunk. Bark dissolved instantly, revealing smoking heartwood beneath. My enhanced agility saved me—the old me would've lost a leg.

The Fungoid's sac hung exposed for exactly 3.2 seconds as it retracted. I lunged, sword flashing—

THWACK

The blade sheared through the wrinkled membrane. Yellow pus geysered out, spraying my reinforced boots. The creature screamed in a sound like tearing wet cardboard.

Then it got smart.

Instead of retracting, it kept the damaged sac expanded, using it as a shield while tendrils snaked toward me through the grass. I backpedaled, barely avoiding a whip-like strike that would've shattered bone.

Phase Two: The Dance

For twenty minutes we circled—it conserving ammunition, me waiting for another opening. When it finally spat again, I was ready:

Roll under the stream (sizzling drops kissed my shoulder) Plant a gourd of stag blood in its path Strike the sac as it retracted

The luminous fluid distracted it just long enough. My sword found its mark three times in rapid succession—

—before the entire mass collapsed inward like a deflated balloon. The clearing fell silent except for the drip-drip of dissolving vegetation.

[Deathcap Fungoid Slain: +200 XP]

As I harvested the strangely beautiful spore clusters from its remains (blue veined with gold), the forest seemed to exhale around me. Somewhere beyond the trees, something much older took notice.