Chapter-16 Recovery
Day One
Vergil was, by all accounts, dead to the world.
The bed had practically molded to his shape like an overbearing lover that refused to let go. One leg hung limply off the edge, his face half-buried in a pillow that smelled faintly of old lavender and stale dust. His eyes fluttered open once or twice, only to groan and retreat back into the quiet, aching void.
The pain in his back was a dull throb—constant and persistent, like an annoying neighbor who knocked without mercy but never had anything important to say.
He didn't eat.
He didn't think.
He just… existed.
> [Status: Congratulations! You are currently doing your best impression of a corpse. Keep it up!]
Vergil let out a muffled groan and shifted to bury his face deeper into the mattress.
"Shut up.Let me get some sleep"
[Noted.]
He didn't move again for hours.
---
Meanwhile…
EOutside the Cottage
The clearing behind Elvira's cottage was heavy with tension. The grass had long since been flattened and scorched by repeated trials, the trees at the edge keeping a respectful distance. Eleanor stood barefoot on the cracked earth, her palms glowing with flickering threads of electricity.
The spell was called Volt Lance—a rank 1 piercing spell designed to travel in a tight, linear burst of electric force. It demanded speed, control, and above all, restraint.
So naturally, it was fighting her the whole way.
"You're still choking the flow," Elvira called out, resting on a stone with her cane across her lap. "You're not throwing a tantrum at the lightning, girl. You're inviting it to dance."
"I'm not choking it," Eleanor muttered through clenched teeth, sweat trickling down her temple. "I'm trying to keep it from blowing my damn hand off."
Elvira raised a brow. "Sounds like a you problem."
The magic flared suddenly—too sharp, too wild—and lashed outward with a crackling shriek, splitting the air and blasting a shallow trench into the earth several feet away.
Eleanor flinched and hissed through her teeth, shaking out her stinging fingers.
Elvira gave a tired chuckle. "Congratulations. You missed the tree and the target. Impressive."
"I wasn't aiming for either."
"Ah, deliberate failure. Bold strategy."
Eleanor scowled but tried again. This time, she focused—not on brute control, but channeling. The flow of mana guided like water through stone, letting it hum through her arms instead of forcing it forward. The sparks grew tighter. Quieter.
A lance of condensed lightning, thin and precise, fired forward and buried itself in the bark of a distant tree with a satisfying crack.
Elvira grunted in approval. "Better. Still sloppy, but better. You're starting to listen."
"To the lightning?"
"No, to me."
"…Unfortunate."
---
Back Inside – Later That Night
Vergil hadn't moved. The day blurred into grey. He stared at the wooden ceiling, half-expecting it to collapse just to add to the ambiance.
[Status: Inactive. Mental activity low. Physical activity non-existent. Sarcasm levels: Building.]
He rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head.
---
Day Two
Vergil managed to sit up this time, albeit slowly. His joints crackled like old wood, his muscles flaring in protest. The soreness remained, but it had faded from a screaming agony to a grumpy mutter. Progress.
Tiny, annoying, unwanted progress.
Then—
[DING]
Vergil blinked as a faint interface shimmered in the upper corner of his vision.
'Not another joke'
[Suck your mother]
'OK where did that come from'
[No clue]
He sighed, rubbing his temples. "You're a system, not a sarcastic roommate."
[I can be both. Multitasking is free.]
He stood slowly, pacing the room in quiet, deliberate circles. Testing his weight. His balance. Still sore, but his body moved. That was something.
After a while, he reached into the pouch by the foot of the bed and retrieved a small cloth bundle. Inside were eight Astraylth Crystals, glowing faintly with that pale, star-like light—mana condensed into pure crystalline form.
He waited until Eleanor returned from her evening practice, her hair damp with sweat and her knuckles bruised from spell recoil.
Without saying much, he held the bundle out to her.
She blinked. "...Whats this?"
"Astraylth stones that we got from our last hunt," he muttered. "Should be enough to push your mana circle closer to second refinement."
She stared at him, then the crystals, then back. "I know what they are.We only got 12 from the last subjugation and dont you need to give them to the guild "
"You're worth more than just sitting at tier one and 4 is more than enough, tommrow I should be alright to move."
A pause.
Then she took them, quietly.
"…Thank you."
Vergil nodded once and turned away, as if the conversation hadn't happened. As if his heartbeat hadn't betrayed him a little in his chest.
That night, just as sleep hovered, the door eased open once more.
Eleanor stepped in with silent steps, her new clothes more practical now—dark leather, storm-thread tunic, sleeves pushed up to the elbow. She didn't speak as she crossed the room and unwrapped a new rapier on the table.
Slender. Elegant. Deadly.
She didn't look at him. Just walked to rhe bed, pulled the covers over herself, and settled into silence.
[Eleanor Valtier – Status: Asleep. Mood: Tired but focused.]
Vergil stared at the rapier in the dark, the soft hum of electricity still lingering in the air like a ghost.
"…At least one of us is productive."
[Would you like to level up your sulking skill? You're only 20 XP away.]
"Fuck you"
He sighed.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, he'd get out of bed for real.
Maybe. Just maybe.
---
Day 3
The sun crept gently through the shutters as Vergil sat up in bed, his joints no longer screaming but still reminding him of the hell he'd crawled out of just days ago.His back still ached from the wound but it was manageable.He rolled his neck, flexed his fingers, and pushed himself up with a quiet breath.
"I can move again," he muttered. "More or less, i should get a a recovery skill so that it can heal my back wound, it was a mirracle that that bastards sword didnt injure my spine but missed it."
The dull hum of the System Interface flickered quietly in his mind, just as it had since his awakening.
[Finally got off your lazy ass]
Vergil groaned softly. "You just can't shut up, can you?"
[I could, but what would be the fun in that?]
After a quick rinse and pulling on a spare shirt, Vergil stepped out and made his way through the early crowd toward Willow & Stitch, the local tailor nestled near the town square.
The bell chimed lightly as he entered.
"Looking for something rugged or refined?" asked the shopkeeper, not lifting her eyes from a half-sewn coat.
"Both," he replied simply.
Fifteen minutes and after paying 2 silver coins, he stepped back out into the open air dressed in a fitted charcoal-gray tunic, reinforced with leather padding around the shoulders and sides. The dark, flexible trousers fit snug under a forest-gray sleeveless cloak with subtle utility loops stitched along the hem. Sturdy black boots completed the look—adventurer-appropriate, modest, but efficient.
[Item Equipped: Adventurer's Field Garb]
Category: Light Armor
Rarity: Common (Enhanced)
Defense: +4
Description: A well-fitted charcoal-gray tunic reinforced with leather padding, paired with durable travelwear. Offers flexibility and moderate protection. Favored by resourceful adventurers who value mobility over bulk.
(Look at you! Almost like a real adventurer now. Just don't get blood on it in the first five minutes.)
"This isn't too bad"
He ducked into a nearby alley, checking to make sure no one was watching. With a flick of mental will, he opened his inventory, materializing his sheathed sword and fastening it at his waist, then pulling out his iron shield and securing it to the sling across his back.
He adjusted the straps carefully.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's get to work."
---
The Adventurers Guild was its usual storm of clamor and motion—steel boots echoing against stone floors, laughter clashing with shouting, and the clatter of armor filling the air like percussion in a chaotic orchestra. Notices flapped on message boards, parchment and ink moving faster than the quills could keep up.
At the front desk stood Elina, the familiar receptionist with amber eyes and an ever-present trace of amusement beneath her composed, professional demeanor.
"Well, look at you," she said, eyes flicking over his new outfit. "Didn't take you for the fancy type."
Vergil gave a subtle smirk. "Upgrade. Figured I'd stop looking like a half-dead vagrant."
"Good call." She reached under the desk and began flicking through a small stack of bounty scrolls. "So, what can I do for you today?"
"I'm here to turn in my last subjugation," he said, placing four E-rank Astralyth Crystals onto the counter.
Elina inspected the crystals briefly before nodding. "Solid haul. That's five silver." She slid the small pouch across the polished oak surface.
Vergil pocketed the coin. "Also looking for another E-rank mission. Preferably involving something with healing traits."
Elina raised a brow. "That's oddly specific."
He shrugged, his voice casual but purposeful. "I'm studying regeneration behavior. Low-risk target, high observation value."
"Huh." She rummaged briefly, then slid a worn parchment his way. "Lucky timing. Regenerating beast has been spotted near the Mistwood Trail. Locals say they've wounded it more than once, but it just keeps crawling back. No fatalities yet—mostly nuisance reports."
Vergil's eyes scanned the page. The name Verdant Goremire stood out in messy ink.
"Sounds like just what I need," he said.
"Try not to get eaten," Elina quipped.
"No promises." He turned, adjusting the invisible weight of the shield on his back and the sheathed sword at his waist.
Outside, the afternoon sun filtered through scattered clouds, casting soft gold on the cobbled streets. Vergil took a breath and let his mind wander into strategy.
Healing skills... passive regeneration... something to enhance focus.
He wasn't built for overwhelming force or destructive magic—at least, not yet. If he was going to face that demon again, he'd need to survive first. Sustain. Endure. Adapt.
"First food," he muttered to himself, "then I'll grind as many Astralyth Crystals and useful skills as I can. I need to hit at least 45 in my core stats before I even think about squaring off with that thing…"
He glanced to the side, as if expecting someone—or something—to be watching.
One step at a time.
He tightened the strap across his chest, the weight of his goals heavier than any sword, and stepped forward.
Before heading out, Vergil veered toward a quiet side street near the town square, where the scent of dried herbs and roasted grains filled the air. A humble provisions shop stood tucked between a blacksmith and a tailor, its weathered sign reading "The Forager's Bundle."
Inside, the air was cooler, filled with the earthy scent of dried meats, packed rations, and travel gear. An older man behind the counter gave him a nod, barely lifting his eyes from the ledger he was balancing.
Vergil grabbed a few essentials:
– Dried wolf jerky
– Two packs of graincakes
– A pouch of dried fruit
– Three water flasks
– Minor wound salve (basic healing ointment)
The shopkeeper tallied it with a grunt. "That'll be 2 silver."
Vergil paid without a word, tucking everything into his inventory with a mental swipe. He'd grown used to being quick and quiet about his system's capabilities—it was too strange to explain, too dangerous to flaunt.
Outside, the sun had dipped lower, warming the horizon with orange streaks. He passed through the town's southern gate, boots crunching against the gravel path as the wind picked up slightly.
The dirt road eventually gave way to the beginning of the Mistwood Trail—a narrow path where trees grew dense and tall, their canopies overlapping to cast shifting shadows on the forest floor. A low mist clung to the ground like breath in cold air, whispering between his steps.
He kept a steady pace, alert. The ambient magic in the Mistwood was low but wild—strange rustlings echoed from deep within the underbrush.
"Focus and sustain," he reminded himself.
A single good skill could change everything.
Hand resting lightly on the hilt at his waist, shield strapped on his back, Vergil walked deeper into the forest.
The air shifted.
It was subtle—too subtle for the average adventurer to notice. But not for Vergil.
His body tensed.
A creeping sensation, like a phantom breath on the back of his neck, stirred deep within his instincts.
Primal Awareness activated.
He moved instantly, instincts overriding thought. His body dropped low and twisted just as a mass of wet, meaty limbs crashed through the foliage where he'd been standing seconds earlier.
Too close.
The Verdant Goremire lunged forward in a grotesque blur of motion, gaping maw wide, claws dragging a furrow through the forest floor.
"Wrong prey," Vergil growled, hand igniting with stored mana.
"Ember Spark!"
A flare of crimson light surged from his palm. The flame slammed into the creature's distorted face with a violent burst, flames licking across its fungal flesh. Smoke curled into the mist as the Goremire shrieked, its regeneration already struggling to seal the scorched tissue.
Not wasting time, Vergil narrowed his eyes.
"Analysis."
A thin shimmer of light flickered in the corner of his vision. Text scrolled before his eyes like a silent whisper:
---
Name: Aberrant Beast
Level:10
Species:plant
Stats
Strength: 37
Constitution: 35
Dexterity: 29
Intuition- 7
Magic Power: 5
Mana Capacity: 8
---
Passive skills
Regenerative Core (E): Regenerates injuries slowly. Rapid regeneration is possible, but drains stamina over time.
Active Skills
Rotlash (F): Extends a rotten tendril to strike or bind targets at mid-range.
Spore Mist (F): Releases a cloud of mild spores to obscure vision and cause minor hallucinations.
Limb Burst (F): Sacrifices one limb to violently rupture, releasing acid in a short radius.
Burrow Ambush (F): Burrows into soft terrain and leaps out to ambush prey.
Vergil clicked his tongue. "You're tough… but you've got obvious weaknesses, lets see how long you last."
He raised his shield, embers still smoldering in his palm. The monster was already trying to repair its face—but its clawed limbs trembled from exertion.
That healing comes at a cost.
Vergil tightened his grip on his sword.
"Let's see how long you last before you fall apart."
The Verdant Goremire hissed, a guttural gurgle oozing from its melted jaw as the flames crackled across its malformed face. It lunged again, this time faster, more erratic.
It's desperate now, Vergil noted, shifting his stance.
The monster's Rotlash lashed out—two putrid tendrils slamming toward him with whiplike speed.
Vergil's foot slid back over the mossy earth, eyes sharp.
"Quick Guard."
His shield surged up just in time, the tendrils slamming against the metal with a wet snap. One coiled, trying to yank his arm wide—but he twisted, letting the force pull him into a low spin.
"Feral Charge."
He rocketed forward from his lowered stance, slamming his shoulder into the Goremire's core. The beast reeled back, sludge splashing from its ruptured body as it gurgled in fury.
Its body twitched. Then, with a low groan, Spore Mist erupted from its back—thick green vapor engulfing the clearing, obscuring everything in a miasma of rot and illusion.
"Damn it," Vergil muttered, covering his nose.
Phantom shapes danced in the mist—illusions brought on by the spores, whispering, flickering images of things that weren't there.
But Vergil had suffered worse.
Keen Focus and primal Awareness both activated at the same time.
His heart slowed. His mind cleared. He focused only on sound, movement, and mana traces.
There—low to the left. Just a breath out of sync with the illusion.
He slid his hand over his blade.
"Swift Counter."
As the Goremire emerged from the fog, claws raised, Vergil's blade moved like a whisper through flesh. A clean cut traced its way along the beast's shoulder as it shrieked.
The monster sacrificed its shredded limb, the joint swelling grotesquely before detonating in a spray of acid.
Vergil jumped back, hissing as flecks of the corrosive substance grazed his side, sizzling faintly on his armor.
"Tch… that was too close."
It was nothing fatal, but enough to make him cautious.
The Goremire was breathing heavily now, its regeneration slowed, the mist thinning as it lost stamina. The flame damage from earlier still flickered weakly across its face. One leg twitched, half-reformed and shaking.
"You're running on fumes."
Vergil tightened his grip on his sword and whispered,
"One more dance, then."
The Verdant Goremire staggered, leaking corrupted fluid from half-healed wounds. Its regeneration was faltering—too much damage, too fast. It let out one final, distorted shriek and reared back for a desperate charge.
Vergil stood firm, breath steady despite the ache in his side.
"You should've died the moment you showed your face."
With one sharp motion, he raised his hand.
"Ember Spark."
A thin, concentrated thread of flame ignited between his fingers. He snapped it forward—and the spark arced like a miniature comet, slamming directly into the monster's gaping wound.
Fwoosh.
The flame erupted inside the Goremire's chest cavity.
Its body convulsed violently, a horrible choking gurgle escaping its maw as smoke and fire belched from its back and throat. It thrashed twice… then collapsed, limbs twitching.
The Verdant Goremire's body writhed as it let out a final, guttural wail, blackened flesh still smoldering from the Ember Spark lodged deep inside its ruined chest. Smoke curled from between its jaws as it dropped forward, twitching once before falling still.
Vergil stepped forward, glancing at the scorched corpse with a cold stare. His breathing was steady, though the dull ache in his limbs reminded him he hadn't walked out of that fight untouched.
He raised his right hand slowly.
From his palm, the shadow began to ripple.
Black mouths—long-toothed, glistening with some formless hunger—burst forth from his hand, writhing and opening with glee, as though the taste of death called to them.
Their hiss was low and layered in countless voices. No roar. No scream. Just the sound of hunger.
Vergil watched as they surged toward the half-charred corpse.
"The corpse was damaged too much," he muttered, expression flat. "So the stat points wont be much."
The black mouths began to feast, ripping through flesh, shadow melting bone and miasma alike. There was no blood—just a slow unraveling of the monster's form until not even ash remained.
Not a trace.
Just the wind.
---
[Authority of Predation – Activated]
Target: Verdant Goremire (E-Rank) – Consumed.
+5 Strength
+2 dexterity
Skills Acquired:
Regenerative Core (E-) – Slowly heals minor wounds over time. Uses stamina to fuel regeneration.
Spore Mist (F+) – Emit a cloud of spores that distort enemy perception. May cause minor disorientation or hallucinations.
Rotlash (F) – A whip-like strike formed from corrupted tendrils. Inflicts a minor decay status.
Limb Burst (F) – Sacrifice a limb to create an acidic burst around you. Limb can regenerate slowly over time.
[The skill burial adaptation is not compatible with the host and has been converted to evolution points]
---
Vergil exhaled as the shadow receded back into his palm, the black mouths vanishing without a sound.
Already, he could feel the faint pulse of something new coursing through his veins—a subtle thrum beneath the skin, like his body was waking up.
The ache in his shoulder dulled. Not gone. But fading.
He looked out toward the misty treeline. His expression hardened.
"One monster down. Too many more to go."
Then he turned, walking with a quiet but focused stride, disappearing into the forest with the last trails of smoke curling in his wake.
---
The Mistwood Trail twisted ahead, the sun bleeding faint golden strands through the thick trees. Verdant moss clung to every root, every stone, and every breath of wind felt thick—damp with rot and the scent of fungal life.
Vergil moved low through the brush, cloak pulled close, senses sharp.
Primal Awareness flared again.
He didn't wait. His body moved on instinct.
The second Verdant Goremire lunged from a patch of brambles, its maw wide, tendrils slithering from its mouth like black vines.
Ember Spark flew from Vergil's palm before it could even screech—a flash of flame catching it mid-leap. The beast shrieked, rolled, and snapped wildly through the undergrowth.
Vergil's sword slid free in a breath. He dashed in, ducked under a flailing vine, and slashed low across its knees, dropping it hard.
Another Ember Spark, point-blank. Straight into its face.
The body twitched. Stilled.
One down.
---
Two more fell not long after. One tried to ambush him from the canopy—Vergil ripped it from the trees with a precise Spark, then burned its spore sack mid-air.
The third tried to retreat when it saw what happened to the others.
It didn't get far.
---
The shadows peeled from Vergil's hand again—those same black mouths, silent and ravenous. They consumed everything: bone, fang, spore, and ichor.
Each time, his muscles thrummed a little more with weight, his skin hardening against the cold.
---
[Authority of Predation – Activated]
Targets: Verdant Goremires (E-Rank) x3 – Consumed.
[User has gained 2 strength, 1 constitution and 1 dexterity]
[User has levelled up)
---
New Skills Acquired:
Regenerative Core (E-) ×3
Limb Burst (F) x3
Rotlash (F) x3
Mire Body (F):
Takes reduced damage from piercing attacks; vulnerable to fire.
Fungal Resilience (F+):
Resistant to poison and disease effects.
Vergil leaned against a mossy tree, hand flexing as his new power settled. He could feel it—a deeper endurance now, wounds knitting faster, his lungs burning less with each breath and his physical stench soared as it sat in the 30s along with Constitution.
He pulled a dried ration from his inveotry chewing while scanning the misty horizon.
His thoughts flickered to the grotesque puppet watching the village days ago… and the demon it served.
Not yet.
But step by step, he was building toward that day.
'Time to combine some skills'
"Combine the 4 regenerative cores"
"Combining skills...combination successful
Greater Regenerative Core (D+)
Constant passive regeneration of wounds, including deep gashes, broken bones, and internal injuries over time.
Can accelerate regeneration drastically in battle, allowing lost flesh or fractured limbs to heal within moments — at the cost of stamina and energy drain.
Stamina efficiency improves, meaning less energy is consumed per burst compared to the E-rank version.
Minor resistance to bleeding, poison, and infection, as the body naturally purges harmful substances faster.
"Finally, I got what I was after, it even reduced the stamina cost"
"It's already healing my back" he said as the wound on his back closed up, leaving no mark, but his stamina was draining rapidly"
'It does take a lot of stamina, since it's only a D+rank skill'
"Next combine weak toxin resistance (E-) and fungal Resilience (F+)
'It will take too long to improve passive skills, since they require a long time or require me damaging my body, its better to combine them"
Combining skills... combination sucessful
Toxic Resilience (E)
Grants passive resistance to mild poisons, toxins, and fungal infections.
Reduces the duration and effects of:
Toxic gases
Venoms
Spore-based diseases or hallucinogens
Slightly improves the body's ability to detoxify over time, reducing internal damage from ingested or inhaled contaminants.
Especially useful in swamps, dungeons, or against venomous beasts and fungal creatures.
"That's all for now," Vergil muttered, closing his skill window with a flick of thought. "Would've been nice to get a movement skill… something like Shadow Dash. But this'll have to do."
"But what to do with mire Body, it could be useful if I get a skill to combine it with to cancel out the weakness to fire, but as of this moment using fire is my strength"
"Conver mire Body into evolution points"
[Mire Body has been turned into 10 F rank evolution points]
He opened his status screen and gave a brief nod.
"Allocate all remaining points to Constitution."
[3 Stat Points Allocated to Constitution]
A subtle pressure rippled through his body—like tension being quietly rewired. His breath came easier. His footing felt more grounded. Muscles responded with sharper efficiency, and even the lingering soreness in his joints dulled slightly. It wasn't dramatic, but it was real.
I can feel it… The change is small, but it adds up.
His eyes narrowed, vision tracing the quiet curve of the Mistwood trail. The fog swirled with secrets.
Still… that demon... it wasn't serious during our last fight. It didn't even tap into its true strength. That wasn't a battle—it was a warning.
He clenched his fist slowly, watching veins pulse with faint energy beneath his glove.
If we fought again right now, and it came at me with full force… my odds would be maybe thirty percent. If that.
He exhaled through his nose, the weight of reality pressing down again.
And that's assuming it's alone. If it's protecting something stronger—guarding a gate, a relic, a master—then I'm walking into death.
He stared down the path ahead, mist rolling like waves over the earth.
I need more skills. More strength. .
But time was never a luxury in this world.
Still, step by step… he would close the gap.
And when the time came, he would be ready.
Or he would die trying.