Chapter 4

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Reaching level 20 gave him something he hadn't felt in a long time.

Hope.

Not just the blind kind—the desperate kind that clung to survival. But the real kind. The kind that made him believe he could do more than survive. That maybe, just maybe… he could control this world instead of being crushed by it.

The energy that came with the level-up still echoed in his bones. This time, it wasn't just a rush—it was a roar, subtle but deep, like the low rumble of distant thunder waiting to become a storm.

He stepped outside the cave and felt the wind on his skin. The breeze was lighter now, or maybe he was heavier—stronger. For a moment, he simply breathed, letting the air fill lungs that now expanded more easily, like his entire chest had opened wider.

He looked down the rocky slope that led toward the beach.

Time to test it.

He started with a light jog.

Except… it wasn't light. His legs moved faster than expected, the terrain flashing by beneath him. His feet crushed twigs and stones like paper. His calves fired like coiled springs, his stride long and effortless. The path he once trudged down slowly in fear, he now cleared in seconds.

Then, without thinking, he sprinted.

The world blurred. His feet kicked up clouds of sand and pebbles. His hair whipped behind him, and for the first time in this world—he smiled. The ground couldn't keep up with him. He didn't just run—he glided across it, hitting speeds close to 64 mph.

But strength? That was next.

He found a thick fallen tree—old, bark rough, probably ten feet long and rotted halfway through. He grabbed the trunk with both hands, crouched slightly, and lifted.

It came up.

Not easily. Not like a feather.

But like it was finally possible.

He stumbled at first, finding his center of gravity, arms straining but holding firm. The bark cracked under his grip. Muscles across his chest and back locked together like steel cables. He heaved the log over his shoulder—then tossed it.

It flew three body lengths away before crashing into the underbrush, splitting open with a loud crack.

He stood there, breathing heavy, sweat running down his brow—not from exhaustion, but exhilaration.

His strength wasn't just noticeable—it was measurable. He felt it every time he moved. His body could lift up to 1,260 pounds now, and that power flowed through every part of him—from the tight corded muscle in his forearms to the solid trunk of his thighs.

He punched a nearby boulder, half as tall as him. A dumb test. But he did it anyway.

His knuckles struck stone—and the surface cracked.

Not shattered, not cartoon-like destruction—but a clean, deep fracture ran along the rock's surface. His hand stung. But it didn't break. That alone told him everything.

The version of him that landed here wouldn't have dented a tree, let alone cracked stone.

His recovery was something else entirely. Before, injuries took weeks to heal. Now, with proper rest and nutrients, he could recover from deep wounds in hours. Scratches faded in minutes. Bruises melted away by the time he noticed them.

He exhaled hard, chest rising and falling like the tides below.

Maybe now… he could fight smarter threats. Maybe even build more than just a fire pit and stone tools.

He wasn't invincible. He knew that. He'd almost died too many times to fall for that lie.

But now? He could finally play offense.

He wanted to try things. To build, to test, to craft more complex tools. Maybe even improve his shelter, or create traps. He thought of making salves and mixtures using berries and herbs—but that part scared him. He'd seen animals collapse from a single bite of the wrong plant. He didn't want to risk testing anything on himself… not yet.

The real problem was that he hadn't moved much from his area. Not because he didn't want to—but because of what he saw out there.

This world wasn't just dangerous—it was alive in ways Earth never was. Creatures didn't just exist here… they dominated. And not just dinosaurs, either. There were massive beasts—some he recognized from ancient Earth, others completely foreign. Everything was bigger, stronger, faster.

He'd seen raptors stalking the trees, their claws clicking on stone like knives. Carnos and stegosaurs thundering through the underbrush. Trikes with horns like spears. Brontos that looked like walking mountains. And even bears—huge, muscular, and alert like ancient titans. Lions too, not the lazy kings of the savannah from back home, but something closer to the true wild—silent, calculating, relentless.

Even so-called "normal" animals weren't safe. Crabs the size of large dogs. Rabbits that moved like blurs. Bears that could tear smaller trees apart like twigs. These weren't domesticated creatures from a zoo or forest—they were untamed, raw, and primal, like Earth's ancestors come back to life.

And he wasn't ready for them. Not yet.

He stuck to the low-level creatures. Bugs—some easy, some not. Dodos, still his most reliable prey. Small crabs, the medium ones only when he was desperate enough to risk injury. Rabbits were nearly impossible to catch. Not because of power, but sheer speed. And even then, they were often surrounded by bigger predators that made every approach a gamble.

Only the smallest trees could be chopped. The rest were too powerful—roots like stone, bark thicker than bone. Even bushes fought back at times, hiding thorny vines or poisonous insects.

But with the recent surge of energy, his mind had cleared. Sharpened.Memories, once fogged over by time and trauma, began to surface—useful ones. He started to recall things from his teenage years, back when he was all over the place—curious, energetic, always trying something new. Back then, he was obsessed with survival shows and games. The 100The Walking Dead. Dozens of isekai stories where survival meant more than just food and water—it meant thinking, adapting, learning.

They had sparked something in him. Inspired him to dig deeper. Watch survival videos. Learn how to make tools. Start fires. Craft traps. Build. Not because he thought he'd ever use it—but because it fascinated him. Because it felt cool back then. Now it felt necessary.

His mind was sharper now. He could remember more. Piece together skills. Visualize the steps of crafting, like faint muscle memory guiding his hands.

He wasn't just stronger now. He was clearer.

And with that clarity came the desire to try again.

To build something better than a cave.

To stop surviving and start living.

He had already learned how to make fire and craft basic tools. But now—after the last surge of energy—his memories sharpened in a way they never had before.

He wasn't just recalling random flashes anymore; he was understanding  them. The survival knowledge he used to enjoy in his teens—those hours spent watching shows like The 100, The Walking Dead and reading isekai or survival stories, playing games like ARK: Survival Evolved, and watching survival videos on YouTube—suddenly felt alive in his head again.

Back then, it was just interest. Curiosity. Fun. He liked the thrill of watching others survive. He liked learning how they survived, even if he didn't think he'd ever need it.

Now, with his mind sharpened by whatever strange energy ran through him, those memories weren't just trivia—they were instructions. Skills. Answers.

For the first time since arriving in this brutal world, he wasn't learning through pain and failure. He was actually learning from himself. From who he used to be.

Time passed again.

It took him five months to reach level 30.

With every day, his strength and speed continued to evolve—but it was his recovery that made the real difference. Injuries healed quickly—sometimes overnight. What used to take weeks now took hours. The moment his body stopped bleeding, he was back on his feet, moving like nothing had happened.

This meant no downtime. No hesitation. No fear of re-injury.

It meant more hunting. More progress.

Dodo birds, bugs, small lizards—what once required focus and caution, he now handled effortlessly. He didn't need to fight them one at a time anymore. If there were four or five? He could take them all. Their small groups were no longer a threat, but an opportunity.

Even compies—creatures that once stalked and overwhelmed—were now manageable. He could chase down and eliminate two or three at once. Not a whole pack. Not yet. But close.

He'd gotten faster. His legs moved like a machine—each step powerful, each dash perfectly balanced. His precision had improved. His strikes landed harder and faster. The speed at which he hunted now made his previous pace look laughable.

But hunting wasn't all he did.

With survival becoming easier, he found himself with something rare: time. And with time came curiosity. And with curiosity came practice.

He started experimenting with tools—refining shapes, sharpening edges, testing the durability of materials. He carved. He crushed. He even began sketching designs into the dirt with sticks, just to visualize things. Some were failures. Others? Small victories.

They weren't perfect, but they were his. And each one was better than the last. He wasn't just surviving anymore. He was building something.

Finally, reaching level 30 let the energy course through him again.

It wasn't just a boost—it was a rush of power that wrapped around every inch of his body like a second skin. He felt stronger. Faster. Sharper. It came just in time

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The creatures around him had been getting stronger, smarter. He could feel it in how they moved, how they stalked, how they watched. It was like they were evolving alongside him.

For a while, it scared him—he thought they might eventually catch up. He thought he'd stay at the bottom of the food chain forever.

But now… Now he felt like he could do more than just survive.

The familiar beach wind brushed against him as he stepped out into the open. The sun hung low, casting golden light across the sand and trees. The towering forest loomed nearby, its ancient trunks like the legs of sleeping giants. He didn't waste time. He had to test what this level really gave him.

He crouched low in the brush, eyes locked on a group of compies that had been scavenging around a dead crab. Before, it would've been a difficult chase. Now? He darted out like a bolt.

They barely reacted before two of them were already down. A third screeched and tried to run, but he was already there, tackling it to the ground with a snap. Blood smeared his arm. He looked down, barely breathing heavy.

Even the dodos, which once required full attention and planning, were now nothing more than walking supplies. He could take down four, five, maybe more if they clustered up.

Every muscle in his body felt forged in pressure. His speed had climbed again—from 64 mph to nearly 138 mph. His strength too—once around 1,260 pounds—now closer to 2,580 pounds of lifting power. He had added more raw force even before the energy doubled him. It was getting ridiculous. But it felt right.

And yet, he knew he couldn't let that power make him reckless.

So when he spotted a lone raptor in the distance, he didn't charge in. He crouched behind a fallen log near the edge of the forest and waited, scanning the tree lines, the shadows, the sand. No movement. No calls. No scent of others.It was alone.

He moved silently, each footstep calculated. The raptor didn't notice him until he was nearly on it.

It turned with a shriek, claws slashing. He ducked under the first swipe and slammed his shoulder into its ribs, sending it tumbling. But it was up fast, snarling, eyes wild.

The fight was brutal. Claws tore into his arms, leaving shallow but bloody cuts. He dodged and weaved, using speed more than strength—until the moment came.

He caught its leg mid-leap and spun, using the creature's own momentum to slam it into a tree. The crunch of bone was sickening. It tried to rise, but he grabbed its snout with both hands and drove it back down with a final snap. Silence. His breathing was heavy now. He was cut—nothing too deep, but he'd feel it for the next few hours. Still, he won.

He stood there for a long moment, staring down at the body. He had done it. Alone. He had fought something that once nearly killed him—and won.

And that meant one thing: the menu just got bigger. He wasn't invincible. But he wasn't prey anymore either