Ethan's spear rested by his side, but his hands didn't tremble anymore. The encounter with the wounded Zarnathi had burned away any illusions left—this place wasn't just a wild forest filled with beasts. It was a world of people, civilizations, lives that were being torn apart the same way humanity was. He shoved that thought aside before it could sink too deep. He couldn't help anyone else if he couldn't even keep himself alive.
The system's faint overlay still hovered in his vision, waiting for him to do something with the meager points he'd earned so far. His eyes lingered on the Tech Tree, the branching lattice of glowing runes and symbols that hinted at possibility.
Primitive Tools- Shelter Basics- Traps-Defensive Constructs.
The line shimmered faintly, each node costing points he barely had.
He clenched his jaw. He couldn't afford trial and error. Not here. Not when a single mistake could cost him his throat in the night. The memory of silence in the forest, the dragging steps, the whispering fear of the Zarnathi—it was enough to make the decision for him. He selected the next branch.
[Technology Unlocked: Spike Walls]
[Cost: 2 Tech Points]
[Remaining: 4 Tech Points]
A stream of information surged through his mind—not like a voice, but like memory he hadn't lived. Methods of cutting logs to a sharpened taper, the right angle to drive them into the ground, the spacing that made them hold even against a charge. It was rough, simple, but efficient.
He exhaled slowly. "Good. That's something."
Ethan rose to his feet, gripping one of the longer branches from his pile. The system's instructions pulsed faintly in the back of his mind, guiding him. He crouched low, dragging the sharpened end of a branch through the dirt, carving a rough line several meters out from the base of his shelter. That line would serve as his perimeter—a place to anchor the wall.
Every two meters along that line, he pressed a marker into the ground, knowing those spots would become clusters of spiked defenses. Not a continuous barrier yet, but enough to slow and funnel anything that approached. It would have to do until he gathered more wood.
From the pile, he sorted through the branches. The straighter, sturdier ones he set aside, shaping them into crude spears. Each had to be balanced, stripped of knots, and sharpened to a lethal point. The rest he carved down into stakes—shorter, rougher, meant to be driven into the dirt at angles. Sweat beaded across his brow as he worked, the stone blade rasping against the wood in steady, repetitive strokes.
Time blurred into the rhythm of labor. Stake after stake piled beside him, the beginnings of a defensive line. Each time he drove one into the soil, angled outward, it felt like claiming another sliver of security. The spears he leaned carefully against the cliff wall, separate from the stakes. Weapons for survival, but also trade if it came to that.
By the time the suns shifted higher, the rough outline of his defense had taken shape. Jagged wooden teeth, spaced out along the perimeter, enough to trip or bloody anything that came near. Crude, temporary, but a start. Tomorrow, he could expand—link the gaps, thicken the line, make this place more than just a shelter.
No more weaving flimsy shelters and hoping. Now he could build something that had a chance of holding. He pulled himself up, dragging a log from the pile of wood he'd gathered the day before. The work was grueling—shaving down one end to a jagged point, testing the balance, then wedging it deep into the dirt with the help of a stone he used as a hammer. The first one leaned awkwardly, but the second drove true. By the third, his rhythm steadied. Strike. Drive. Pack dirt around the base. Repeat.
Hours bled away in sweat and aching muscles. By midday, he had a rough half-circle forming around his shelter—ugly teeth of wood jutting outward like a broken jaw. Not nearly enough to seal himself in, but enough to funnel anything that came toward him into a choke point. It wasn't much, but it was the start of a wall.
He stepped back, wiping sweat from his forehead, chest heaving. His hands stung with blisters. But when he looked at the jagged row of spikes, pride flickered beneath the exhaustion. It wasn't safety, but it was closer.
[Spike Wall Construction +20 XP]
[Progress: 20/200]
The notification pulsed, and for once, he didn't mind the system reminding him how little he'd done. Because now he had proof—every motion, every drop of effort mattered.
Still, the work gnawed at him. The walls would take more wood than he had, more time than the day allowed. And nightfall wasn't forgiving.
He forced himself to switch tasks before the suns dipped lower. He grabbed the sharpened stone and began to dig just outside the barrier line, scraping dirt away with steady, repetitive strokes. The soil was stubborn, tangled with roots, clumping against his hands, but the pit slowly formed. Shallow, uneven, but deep enough that a spike angled within might catch a careless step.
Twenty minutes passed in a haze of gritted teeth and sore arms. His shoulders ached, dirt caked his nails, and sweat dripped into his eyes. But when he looked down at the hollow, a grim satisfaction settled in. The trap wasn't finished, not yet, but the bones of it were there.
Once satisfied with the scattered defenses, Ethan turned his attention to the spears he'd set aside. Water, food, and resources—those were what he truly lacked. He thought carefully about his needs and pulled up the trade menu.
[Initiating Trade Offers…]
• 1 Spear → 1 Gallon of Water (x2)
• 1 Spear → 1 Bundle of Wet Clay (x1)
• 1 Spear → 1 Portion of Edible Meat (x1)
The glowing script hovered before him, suspended in silence. Nothing changed—no confirmation, no result. Just waiting. Ethan closed the menu with a thought and pushed it aside. He couldn't waste time staring at it.
Instead, he turned his focus to the defensive line he'd scratched into the dirt earlier. With his sharpened stone in hand, he began digging the ditch. The soil fought him every step of the way—dense, tangled with roots, stubborn against his crude tool. His arms burned, sweat stung his eyes, and dirt gathered beneath his fingernails. But little by little, a shallow trench began to stretch along the marked path, outlining a protective ring around his shelter.
By the time the suns had shifted lower in the sky, he had managed only part of the perimeter. It wasn't deep, not enough to trap or slow anything serious yet, but it was progress. He leaned on the stone tool, panting hard, and then the system's hum rippled in his mind.
[Digging Skill Leveled Up: 0 → 1]
[Effect: Slight intuition toward weak soil spots. Technique improves very marginally.]
Ethan blinked, surprised, and let out a breath. It wasn't much, but he could feel it already—subtle, like the earth gave the faintest hints of where it wanted to yield. Nothing obvious, just instinct, a nudge guiding his hands toward softer patches.
Still, the ditch wasn't his only task. He needed water storage. His gaze shifted to the clearing's center. That's where the basin would go.
He carved downward, aiming for depth over width. The ground here was harsher than the ditch—layers of compacted dirt and stone that refused to give easily. His crude stone edge scraped again and again, tearing up earth by the handful. Each layer felt like a fight. His shoulders burned, his back ached, and blisters began forming in the creases of his palms.
But his new intuition helped. When he pressed against stubborn patches, he'd pause, shift slightly, and find the softer earth that surrendered with less resistance. It wasn't a miracle, but it saved him from wasted effort.
Minutes stretched into hours. Ethan grunted through clenched teeth, muttering under his breath as he clawed deeper. "Two meters. Gotta hit two meters… pit first, walls tomorrow. One step at a time."
Finally, the pit yawned before him, wide enough for him to crouch inside and nearly twice his height deep. His arms trembled from exhaustion, but he didn't stop until he was satisfied.
Then the trades finalized.
[Trades Completed]
2 Gallons of Water Acquired
1 Bundle of Wet Clay Acquired
1 Portion of Rabicoon Meat Acquired
[Inventory Updated]
Spears (2/10)
Water (2 Gallons)
Wet Clay (1 Bundle)
Rabicoon Meat (1 Portion, Edible)
(4/10 Units Occupied)
Ethan crouched at the edge of the pit and pulled the clay from his inventory. The bundle landed in his hands heavy and damp, sticking instantly to his fingers. He dropped down into the hollow, pressed it against the dirt walls, and began spreading it with both palms. The clay smeared unevenly at first, clumping too thick in some places, falling away in others.
He gritted his teeth and muttered while he worked, smoothing it layer by layer. "Dry first… then water… tomorrow, finish the spikes, fix the ditch… gods, I'll need more wood. Always more wood."
The more he worked, the more he noticed how the soil responded differently beneath the clay. The walls held firmer in some spots, weaker in others. And then—
[Digging Skill Leveled Up: 1 → 2]
[Effect: Noticeably improved intuition for unstable soil. Weak patches appear lighter in color. Technique improves slightly more.]
Ethan froze for a moment, staring at the pit wall. The soil wasn't glowing—not exactly. But his eyes picked up on differences in shade, as if the weaker patches of dirt were a touch lighter than the rest, their flaws exposed. It wasn't just instinct anymore; it was vision sharpened by the system.
He pressed more clay into the lighter patches, sealing them first, then smoothing the rest until a rough lining coated the basin. It wasn't pretty, but it was functional. A shell that could, in time, hold the water he had fought so hard to secure.
Breathing hard, Ethan climbed out and sat on the edge of the pit. His hands were caked in mud, his arms sore to the bone, but when he looked at the crude reservoir, pride flickered in his chest.
"Tomorrow," he muttered again, eyes on the half-finished wall of spikes. "Tomorrow, I finish it. One piece at a time."
The basin wasn't ready yet, but it was there. And so was he.
That was enough for now.
He sat back against one of the half-finished stakes, breathing hard. The suns were dipping toward the canopy, shadows stretching long across the clearing. He didn't need the system to remind him what that meant—but it did anyway.
[Warning: Nightfall approaches. Predatory activity will increase.]
His jaw tightened. He remembered last night too well—the silence, the movement, the knowledge that something stronger than him had been out there in the dark.
He forced himself upright, checked the position of his spear, and tightened the bindings around the shelter's entrance. The spike wall wasn't finished, the pit wasn't ready, but it would have to do.
Tomorrow he could finish. Tomorrow he could make this place a fortress.
If he lived through tonight.