The Freljord's cold was as unforgiving as ever.
There were no blizzards today—not even falling snow—but the temperature still sat below freezing.
In a small patch of forest, loosely packed with trees, every trunk was shrouded in white.
A large shadow darted between the trees, weaving through the snowy undergrowth with impressive speed and agility.
Behind it, another shadow followed—smaller, steady, and unmistakably human.
The beast's breaths came out in ragged puffs of white fog, hooves digging into the snow.
The human kept pace, not quite as nimble but relentless.
He bent down mid-stride, snatched up an apple-sized rock from the snow, and—after only a moment's aim—hurled it forward.
The force behind the throw split the air with a sharp whoosh, the stone cutting a clean line straight toward the fleeing creature.
The beast's ear twitched.
It jumped—fast, but not fast enough.
The rock smashed into its thigh.
With a pained roar, the creature's legs buckled.
It crashed into the snow, tumbling through frost and slush, leaving a long, jagged trail where it fought to stay upright but failed.
The man slowed to a stop a short distance from the creature, his leather boots crunching softly over the snow.
The beast staggered back to its feet, trembling, but its eyes remained locked onto him with a ferocious glare.
The beast is a Druvask.
It's dark, wiry hair clinging to its thick frame, though most of its fur was white, meant for blending into the Freljord's snows.
Its build resembled a warped blend of wart-hog and hairy rhinoceros, with horn-like tusks jutting from both its cheekbones and upper jaw.
White breath steamed from its nostrils as it let out a low, guttural growl.
The man's gaze sharpened.
Slowly, he hovered his right hand over his belt—right above a thumb-sized purple orb embedded into the leather.
With a flicker of light, a spear materialized in his hand.
The weapon was crudely made.
The shaft was rough wood, unevenly carved, but the spearhead was jet-black and coldly reflective.
Man and beast stared each other down.
The Druvask pawed the ground, snow scattering beneath its hooves.
The man didn't move.
He waited, posture steady, eyes focused on the creature.
A cornered beast was always the most dangerous.
The last time he underestimated one, it had nearly punched a hole straight through his stomach.
So he waited—breathing slow, grip firm.
After a tense silence, the Druvask's patience snapped.
With a furious bellow, it charged.
The man's mouth curled into a smirk.
He stepped aside, rolled through the snow, and as the Druvask rushed past, he drove his spear into its flank. The black spearhead sliced in deep.
The creature shrieked, staggering.
The man roared, braced his feet, and heaved upward.
The spear tore through muscle as he lifted with all his strength, flipping the massive Druvask onto its side.
Its pale underbelly was exposed.
Before it could thrash upright, he pressed one knee down on its neck while forcing the spear deeper with the other hand.
The Druvask bucked wildly beneath him, muscles bulging under its fur—but the man didn't budge.
His free hand rose.
A crimson flame erupted across his palm—sharp, concentrated, then settling into a tight red sheath that wrapped his entire hand.
Without pause, he plunged his hand straight into the Druvask's gut.
His hand slipped in cleanly, the flame cutting through hide and fat like a heated blade.
A ring of fur around the wound caught fire, sputtering and charring black.
The Druvask convulsed, eyes snapping wide in shock.
Its limbs stiffened.
Its body jerked once… twice…
Then fell still.
The man exhaled.
He pulled his hand free; the thin layer of flame still clung to his skin, burning away the mixture of blood and viscera until nothing remained.
"Good job," a voice echoed inside his head. "That was a very impressive hunt. Like I said—practice makes perfect."
The man sighed. "I'd still rather tame one of these. Druvasks look so cool… well, except this one."
He glanced down at the fallen creature. "This one's too small."
The voice responded with a dry and unamused tone. "Well, you did try—and look where that got you. The first one nearly poked a hole through your stomach."
"That Druvask was almost twice the size of this one," the man retorted. "And look, I get it. Learning to hunt my own food is great and all. But is it really necessary to hunt these guys?"
"These Druvask are the best food you'll find around here," the voice replied. "You said you wanted to limit using SP on rations. Plus, you get to hone your combat skills against beasts. Win-win, as far as I see it. The alternatives are trying to trap hares—which I'm not even sure live in these parts. Elnuks which I doubt you can find one in the wild—or eating Yetis, which I don't even want to imagine the taste of."
The man let out another sigh. "Points taken."
The man, of course, was Edison—and the voice in his mind is Guide.
It had been a little more than three weeks since he'd left Hearth-Home.
He looked at his handiwork again.
The Druvask he'd hunted this time was smaller than the last one, but the fight had been the smoothest of the three so far.
Edison looked at the blood still oozing from the Druvask's wound.
He crouched beside it as flames flickered to life around his hand once more.
He pressed his palm against the gaping hole in the Druvask's gut.
A sharp, wet sizzle filled the air.
He winced at the smell, the misture of burnt hair and seared flesh was not pleasant.
After a few moments, he pulled his hand away. The blood had stopped completely; the flesh surrounding the wound had blackened into a crisp, charred state.
"Good enough," he muttered.
With a short huff, he heaved the Druvask onto his shoulder.
The past few weeks had made him realized just how strong he'd grown.
Six months of physical labor in Hearth-Home, his Hyper Adaptability, and the Primordial Flame had refined his body far beyond normal limits.
His strength wasn't absurd, but if he really tried, he was pretty sure he could lift a small car over his head.
So hoisting a Druvask this size was barely a challenge.
After half an hour of trudging through snow, Edison reached the edge of the forest. A wide river flowed nearby—so wide it stretched nearly half a mile across.
Crossing it the first time had taken considerable time and effort.
His camp sat right at the forest's edge.
A crude shelter rested there, made from logs stacked in a zig-zag pattern and topped with layers of branches.
Beside it lay a large fire pit, now nothing more than faint, glowing embers with faint smoke rising from it.
Two weeks ago, following the map, he'd reached the river which is a major landmark.
The waterway cut across nearly all of the Freljord.
If he followed it north, it would eventually lead to a great lake that split into multiple streams—one of which would lead to the Frostguard Citadel.
But going downstream would guide him to Naljaag, his current goal.
He would have continued his journey… if not for the blizzard.
Nearly eight days ago, a storm had rolled in—freezing and blinding.
He'd been forced to take shelter at the forest's edge, and there he'd built this temporary camp.
That was also when he encountered his first Druvask.
It had charged him while he was dragging logs and dead branches out of the woods.
He'd managed to wound it—slamming his hammer straight into its face—but when he tried to tame it afterward, the beast had nearly punched a hole through his stomach.
It fled into the blizzard, leaving him bleeding and unable to persue.
When he returned to camp that night, he had spent 100 SP on a hunting spear.
A normal-grade weapon, cheap by the system's standards—but the weapon was sharp and sturdy—and that was all it needed to be.
The next few days had been spent tracking and hunting.
As Guide liked to phrase it, "It'll help sharpen your senses."
Edison hadn't argued too much. After all, he had said he wanted to eat food that wasn't bought with SP.
He stepped to the riverbank and, with a heavy thud, lowered the Druvask off his shoulder.
Then he drew his hunting dagger—the same trusty blade he'd received from his starter survival package—and got to work.
First, he stabbed into one of the Druvask's main arteries and pushed the upper half of its body toward the river's edge, letting the cold water carry away the draining blood.
After that, he slit open the belly and pulled out all of it's organs.
Once the gutting was done, he cleaned the carcass thoroughly and began skinning it.
An hour later, the beast had been reduced to neat piles of meat and hide—though the process was still messy, smelly, and unpleasant.
Edison carried everything back to camp.
When he reached the treeline, he was immediately greeted by Snubby.
She burst out of the shelter, hopping excitedly toward him.
But halfway there, she froze.
Her tiny nose twitched and her eyes widened with alarm as the awful scent of blood and guts clinging to Edison —hit her full force.
Snubby let out a uncomfortable squeak, shuffled backward, then spun around and bolted straight back into the makeshift shelter.
Edison sighed. "…Yup. Fair enough."
Then he got to work.
First came the meat. He dug a deep pit in the snow and buried the chunks inside to keep them chilled and fresh.
Next came the disgusting part.
He retrieved the Druvask's brain—soft, squishy, and unpleasant—and dropped it into a 'wooden bowl,' which was really just a foot-long chunk of log he'd hollowed out with his dagger.
Using a stick, he smashed the brain until it turned into a thick, sticky goo.
He spread the hide across the snow.
Taking a deep breath, he scooped up the brain paste with his hands and smeared it across the inner side of the hide, working it evenly into the flesh.
When that was done, he carried the treated hide over to the firepit and stretched it above the pit using four thick branches as supports.
Edison reached down and touched one of the fading embers.
A pinpoint of flame sparked at his fingertip.
He flicked a few pieces of charcoal into the pit, then let the ember ignite them.
After a short burn, the flames died again, leaving the charcoals glowing red-hot.
Smoke rose steadily, curling upward and saturating the hide with its scent.
This would soften the hide, and turn raw skin into soft, supple, durable leather—high-quality and even washable once fully finished.
"Wow, you actually got it working this time," Guide said, sounding genuinely impressed.
"Well, second time's the charm," Edison replied with a small grin, admiring the setup.
Guide hummed. "Not gonna lie, I am impressed. Maybe it's your Hyper Adaptability, but you've gone from clueless to 'competent hunter' in a week."
Edison sat down beside the pit, stretching his sore arms.
"It was a good idea to buy that Druvask hunting manual. It's dirt cheap, but it even explains how to field dress one properly."
"I only recommend you the best things for your current situation," Guide replied smugly. "And I'm never wrong."
Edison chuckled. "Yeah, thanks."
Why go through all this effort?
Simple—he was about to visit a human settlement. And as far as he knew, the people of Freljord didn't use anything resembling currency.
He needed something valuable to trade and Druvask meat and hide are premium goods.
He'd even bought a leather bag to carry everything.
He certainly didn't want to whip out his inventory orb in front of strangers.
And besides—Guide insisted that the best way to experience a new culture was to live it.
And what better way to experience the Freljord's rich culture than to hunt giant beasts in deadly cold?
Plus… he could trade all this for ale. Or mead. Or whatever people in this frozen place brewed.
And now he was getting excited just thinking about it—his first real interaction with the people of this world.