Warm light gently stirred Richter from unconsciousness, brushing against his skin like a whisper. For a fleeting moment, he was grateful—the nightmare was finally over. But as his eyes adjusted and took in the unfamiliar forest cave around him, dread coiled in his gut. This wasn’t a dream. This was real.

  When Richter had first stumbled in, the cave had been cloaked in darkness, its details lost to exhaustion and fading light. But now, with morning seeping through the canopy, he saw it clearly. The floor was littered with debris—bones, feathers, torn fur, and patches of stretched, dried skin—signs that this was the bears home.

  But something in the cave didn’t belong—something far too deliberate to be the work of any bear. Etched into the back wall was a strange marking, part of a large, square stone tablet embedded in the rock.

  The tablet jutted subtly from the surrounding stone, not enough to feel artificial, but just enough to whisper of design. Its presence disturbed the natural flow of the cave—not violently, but insistently, like a thought that refused to leave. Richter couldn’t tell whether it had been carved into the rock or if the cave itself had grown to cradle it over centuries. The surface was smooth with age, yet faint, angular etchings crossed its face—symbols or runes, perhaps, though they danced just beyond his understanding. It didn’t feel like decoration. It felt like a message. A warning. Or maybe an invitation.

  He stared, tension winding tighter in his chest. Someone—or something—wanted this to be found. This world had been shaped by the System, every tree, every beast, and every blade of grass born of its intent. So as much as the stone tablet resembled the work of intelligent hands, Richter knew better. It hadn’t been placed here by chance or by any long-dead race. This was the System’s doing—its way of leaving him a breadcrumb. A test. A quest wrapped in ancient mystery, daring him to solve it. And this was up his alley.

  But not yet. The puzzle could wait. Right now, his body had louder needs.

  He had water—thankfully, the pond outside looked pristine, likely fed by a natural spring. That meant it was probably safe, at least by this world’s standards. He'd take the risk. But water wasn’t enough. His stomach twisted with hunger, and though adrenaline and grief had dulled it the night before, the ache was undeniable now.

  Food. He’d need to find some. This was a forest, thick with life. That meant opportunities—berries, roots, maybe small animals if he was lucky or desperate. He wasn’t sure what was safe here. He’d need to be cautious. Identify what he could. But first...

  He would return to the clearing.

  The decision settled over him with quiet certainty. That family hadn’t chosen this fate—hadn’t asked to be torn from their lives and cast into this brutal world. They deserved more than to be left forgotten beneath the blood-stained soil. They deserved dignity. A farewell.

  He would build a pyre—not just to cleanse the remains, but to honour them. To mark that their lives, short as they had been here, had mattered. The System-provided mana flint in his pouch would spark the flame, but it was his own will that would give it purpose.

  Following his breadcrumb trail of marks etched into bark and stone, Richter found the path back to the clearing without trouble. But just as he reached the edge of the trees, he froze.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Three large, black birds had descended on the clearing—scavengers, feasting with grim purpose. Two of them perched atop the bear’s massive corpse, tearing away strips of flesh with sharp, jerking motions. Their beaks glistened with gore, their feathers matte and oily like smoke-stained velvet. The third bird crouched low beside the severed hand, tilting its head with eerie curiosity as it plucked at the stiff fingers, as if expecting them to twitch back.

  Richter’s stomach clenched. The scene was macabre, yes—but also strangely reverent, like the birds were performing some crude, ancient rite beneath the silent sky.

  Richter narrowed his gaze on the nearest bird and activated his [Eyes of the Murderer (Divine)]. Instantly, he felt the familiar surge of energy coil toward his vision—cool, precise, and unnervingly sharp. The world around him seemed to still as the ability took hold, honing his perception into something predatory, unnatural.

  [Duskbeak Scavenger]

  Description: Opportunistic carrion birds commonly found across many regions, particularly near sites of recent death. They typically travel in flocks of 3–5 and are known more for their patience than aggression. Though not natural hunters, they will defend their territory or scavenge aggressively if provoked, relying on rapid flight patterns and coordinated group behavior to overwhelm threats.

  Level: 2

  Class: Beast

  A flicker of surprise passed through him.

  The last time he'd used this skill, it had given him a name, a rank, a level. Nothing more. But this—this was different. The [Duskbeak Scavenger] came with a full dossier. Behavior patterns. Habitat tendencies. Tactical assessment. It wasn’t just identification—it was insight. This skill would be useful.

  The entry confirmed what he already feared—these birds wouldn't abandon a feast like this anytime soon. They were territorial, and they’d defend what they considered theirs. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not here. Not with them. Richter's jaw tightened. He wouldn't let the family's final resting place be desecrated, picked apart by scavengers under a blood-tinted sky.

  Richter formed a quick plan and activated his skill again, focusing on the other two scavengers. One registered as Level 2, the other as Level 3. The highest one, he assumed, was the leader—or at least the most dominant. They were still several levels beneath him, but levels alone didn’t guarantee safety. There were three of them, and he was outnumbered.

  More importantly, they had home-ground advantage, a coordinated behavioural pattern, and no fear. The System’s description hadn't called them hunters, but it had emphasized their pack instincts. If he struck one, the others would react instantly. A clean kill might send the rest fleeing—but if he failed, he'd be swarmed.

  He tightened his grip on his staff. He’d need to be decisive. One wrong move and he wouldn’t just be scavenging the dead—he’d be joining them.

  The most logical plan was to eliminate the highest-level bird first. If he could strike hard and fast—drop it before the others had time to react—there was a good chance the remaining two would flee. Fear was often the best deterrent, especially for creatures driven by instinct.

  From their build—slim bodies, long wings, sharp movements—and based on the System's description, he pegged them as agility-focused rather than tough. The bear had been a brute, relying on raw strength and overwhelming durability. These birds, by contrast, would rely on speed, flight, and timing. If they scattered, he’d lose the opportunity entirely. If they coordinated, he could get overwhelmed.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Still, he had a trump card. His new Unstable Mana Lance had pierced through the bear’s thick hide with ease, and that had been a creature built like a siege engine. Compared to that, these scavengers were exposed nerves and hollow bones. If he landed the first shot cleanly, this would be over before the others could even react.

  Richter still had several questions about his new Unstable Mana Lance skill, but now was the perfect chance to test one. He remembered there being a slight delay between forming the spell and releasing it—almost like holding tension in a drawn bow. That delay gave him control. But what if he could hold that tension longer? Stack it? What if he could conjure a second lance and fire them both in tandem? A double strike could catch the flock off-guard, giving him the clean kill he needed before they could scatter or retaliate.

  The most optimal approach would be to launch the first lance at the dominant bird, then immediately fire the second at one of the others before they could react. If he timed it right, he might take down two targets before any of them had a chance to scatter—killing two birds with two lances, as it were. It was risky—too risky. He wasn’t sure if he had that level of control yet. Maybe with practice, he could manage two simultaneous shots. But now wasn’t the time for experiments. He’d focus on securing one clean kill. Precise, deliberate, and fast. That would be enough—for now.

  He could still test something else—another strategy that had been lingering in the back of his mind. It wouldn’t take much focus, and if it worked, it could give him a tactical edge. The soulbound dagger—the same one born from blood and grief—might prove useful in ways he hadn’t yet explored.

  Richter formed the first lance in the air before him, letting the mana swirl and condense into a glowing spear of volatile energy. He stayed calm, keeping his breathing steady as he anchored the spell in place, hovering just inches from his outstretched hand. Holding it there required focus—a delicate balance of pressure and control.

  Without hesitation, he began forming a second. The moment he split his attention, the strain hit him. His thoughts blurred at the edges, like fog creeping across a mirror, and his concentration stretched taut, ready to snap. But he didn’t falter. He pushed through the pressure, shaping the second lance beside the first. Both hovered midair, trembling with unstable potential.

  With the spells suspended and ready, he summoned the soulbound dagger to his hand. It appeared with a faint shimmer, the air pulsing around it as if disturbed by the memory of violence. Its presence grounded him, familiar and sharp.

  He was ready.

  The twin lances screamed through the air, blazing with raw mana as they tore toward the unsuspecting Level 3 bird. It had no time to react—just a flicker of movement before impact.

  In the same breath, Richter pulled back and hurled the dagger. He had never practiced throwing it—hadn’t even considered its aerodynamics—but it was worth the attempt. The blade wouldn’t be lost, and if it hit, even better. He aimed for the closest scavenger—the one crouched over the severed hand—its head tilted, oblivious to the strike about to come.

  The Level 3 bird’s body exploded in a burst of feathers and charred flesh as the first lance struck true, erasing in an instant. The second lance sailed past its mark, disappearing into the trees beyond—but it didn’t matter. One shot had been enough. He had overthought the moment; the spell didn’t need precision when it had that kind of raw, destructive power.

  You have slain [Duskbeak Scavenger Level: 3], gain bonus exp for slaying a foe of a higher level.

  The dagger hadn’t flown clean. It spun awkwardly through the air, end over end, before striking the intended bird—but with the hilt rather than the blade. The impact knocked the scavenger back slightly, more startled than injured. Still, it had landed, and that was enough to disrupt its feeding.

  Richter bolted, boots tearing across the earth as he created distance between himself and the clearing. The birds were momentarily stunned—uncertain. They hovered at the edge of instinct, weighing their options. Would they flee now that their leader was gone, or turn and strike in retaliation? Flight or fury—that was their choice. And Richter wasn’t going to wait to find out which they picked.

  They made their choice. With shrill caws, the remaining birds launched into pursuit, weaving through the trees in sharp, erratic bursts of flight. As Richter glanced over his shoulder, he noticed one lagging behind—its movements jerky, its wings faltering. That had to be the one struck by the dagger. The blow hadn't been fatal, but it had done more than startle—it had wounded.

  They were closing in fast—seconds away, at most. Richter had to act. He summoned the soulbound dagger to his hand once more and dropped flat to the forest floor in one fluid motion. The move was abrupt, not telegraphed. The birds, flying at full speed and expecting a moving target, overshot him entirely, their wings slicing through the air just above his back as they shrieked past.

  Richter sprang to his feet as the birds arced wide, struggling to realign their flight paths. The dense forest canopy and narrow gaps between trunks disrupted their momentum, forcing them into clumsy loops as they tried to circle back toward him.

  Richter summoned a mana lance, but this time his focus shifted to the injured bird—the one still struggling to keep up. It was wounded, slower, and more likely to fall with a single hit. He didn’t need a flawless display of power; he needed to tip the balance.

  He launched the lance and the dagger in tandem, both spell and blade screaming through the air toward the faltering scavenger. The mana lance missed by inches, slicing through the space where the bird had been a heartbeat before, vanishing into the forest beyond. But the dagger—it didn’t miss.

  The soulbound blade struck the scavenger square in the chest, burying itself deep. The bird let out a shriek that turned into a choking gurgle as it tumbled from the sky, wings flailing uselessly. It crashed through the branches and slammed into the undergrowth, twitching once—then going still.

  The same dagger that had failed to kill it before had found its mark. And this time, it had finished the job.

  You have slain [Duskbeak Scavenger Level: 2], gain bonus exp for slaying a foe of a higher level.

  "Yes!" Richter gave a quick fist pump, a grin tugging at his lips—not for the kill, but for the throw. Landing that shot, especially under pressure, felt like a small but hard-earned victory. The dagger hadn’t just struck—it had answered him.

  Richter was blindsided, his body hurled backward as he slammed into a tree with bone-jarring force. Pain exploded in his ribs—a white-hot flash that stole his breath. He’d hesitated, and the final bird had taken advantage. Its beak had raked across his side, tearing through flesh before veering off. By the time he staggered upright, the scavenger was already wheeling through the air in a wide arc, lining up for another pass.

  The bird was lining up for its next strike as Richter forced himself to steady. The hit had carved a brutal chunk out of his HP—he couldn't survive another like it. He could drop again, let the bird overshoot—but his body screamed from the last impact. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get back up. No, this had to end now. He had one chance to stop it before it hit again.

  As Richter summoned the mana lance, the pain didn’t just distract him—it fueled the spell. Mana surged wildly, pulled in by instinct and agony. The lance began to grow, swelling larger with each passing second. He tried to release it, to fire before the bird closed the distance.

  But it didn’t go.

  Instead of stabilizing, the spell expanded, the spear shape distorting into an unstable orb that pulsed with blinding intensity. It drew in more and more energy, bloating with chaotic light. Richter’s eyes widened. He’d lost control.

  The explosion came with no warning—a thunderous flash of white light that shattered the air. The blast hurled Richter across the forest like a ragdoll, his body slamming into a tree with a force that left him gasping.

  His vision swam. His health bar clung to life, a sliver of red.

  The spell had nearly killed him.

  But the notification pinged through the haze:

  You have slain [Duskbeak Scavenger Level: 2], gain bonus exp for slaying a foe of a higher level.

  [Level Up: Healer Level 2 Achieved]

  [Level up: Human Level 1 Achieved]

  New Stats Allocated:

  Richter pulled out a health potion, his hands trembling from exhaustion and pain. It was the second day in a row he’d come within a breath of death—another moment where survival meant choking down one of these bitter, glowing lifelines. He hated how familiar the motion was becoming.

  As the potion worked its way through him, warmth returned to his limbs, dulling the pain just enough for movement. He pushed himself upright, limping over to the fallen scavenger. It wasn’t much, but meat was meat. “Dinners sorted,” he muttered, hoisting the limp bird with a grunt. He turned toward the clearing. There was still one more fire to light.