"I can't believe it's been three months already," said a boy with dirtied golden hair that hung nearly to his shoulders. "Isn't it crazy?" he asked the boy sitting across from him—this one with dark gray hair, but the same face as him.
"You're the one that's crazy," Shaka answered. "You got me killed three times yesterday outrunning that Yellow Heart."
"So what? No matter how many times you die, I can bring you back to life. Aren't I the best cleric?" Roland said, proud of himself.
"Cleric my ass. I'm just your fricking clone. Also, stop talking to yourself and figure out what your next step is. It's high time you got done with this baptism."
"But I'm having so much fun here. I'm free of all my duties. I haven't been at peace like this in over fifteen years."
"You're three years old. What fifteen years?"
"Ugh, whatever. Talking to myself is getting old. I gotta really get the hell out of here," Roland said, dismissing his clone.
It was high time he went over everything he had learned over the past three months and figured out how to leave this place and get back to the castle. While it was comfortable here, he did want to become king one day. The very idea of it made him happy, so in this life, he wanted to pursue his desire. He wanted to be in charge of his own life, not some person high up.
He then went into his house and took a look at all the shimmering crystals decorating the shelves he had made. There were two different colors, and if one looked closer, it was clear that some of them didn't shine as strongly as the others.
The white ones had come from the weakest monsters he had killed—some even without traps. There were also the yellow crystals, which had come from monsters far stronger than Roland, ones he had defeated using underhanded tricks and his clones to distract the prey while he stabbed them from behind.
"So, I can absorb crystals to increase my mana capacity. The yellow ones give me slightly more mana, from what I can tell, and Yellow Heart monsters are stronger, so I guess that makes sense.
Also, this kind of sucks, but I'm incapable of stealing more than one gift. The gift of the wolf is the one I've been holding onto, but yesterday I figured out that I can make this gift disappear and replace it with another. I figured this out after my thirtieth kill, when I sensed a soul-like presence permeating the air for around ten seconds after killing my prey.
And thankfully, I've had one of my dutiful clones tracking a certain bull-like creature for the past day, slowly luring it toward me. I think its gift will be better suited for someone like me, since I've barely survived every single ambush so far."
Wearing dark green leather pants made from the hide of a lizard-like monster—lined on the inside with bull leather for warmth and comfort—and the black shirt he had made a while ago, Roland stepped out of his tent. He walked forward until he was about five meters from the grim forest, raised his left arm, waved it, and screamed,
"Come get me, you furry little bi—"
He wasn't able to finish the sentence before the black bull switched targets and charged straight at him. Before it could reach Roland, it tripped on a line of twine and fell uncontrollably. Before it could get up, two swords struck it, and a stone bullet drilled straight through its skull.
The bullet came from Roland; the swords came from his clones. One clone aimed for the neck, the other for the heart. With nearly three months of practice, Roland had become quite good at coordinating with his clones and aiming his spells. Swordplay wasn't his strongest point, but it was enough to land hits on unmoving targets.
"Ahh, you bulls are so dumb, I swear. Falling for the oldest trick in the book. You trip the target, and then you do the stabbing actions. Y'all gotta educate yourselves a little."
While Roland was talking smack, the trap itself was something he had designed after realizing that the pit he had used to kill the first bull wasn't always effective. The older and more talented bulls could see the mana permeating the area, and once, a bull had even fallen into the pit and survived—its spikes breaking and only small fragments lodging into its body.
So instead, he came up with this approach.
Now, however, it was time to banish the beloved gift of the wolf and take Mana Sense, as he had dubbed it.
Sitting down cross-legged, he closed his eyes and focused on the condensed energy he could feel coming from the bull. He began to absorb it, just like he did with crystals. This time, however, there was resistance. The wolf's gift fought back, but with effort, he managed to pull in the bull's energy and expel the weaker energy residing in his heart—the one belonging to the wolf.
Opening his eyes and taking a deep breath, he felt as though the world had become more colorful, though he couldn't quite place why.
"It's so weird. What I just absorbed can't really be called mana, but it's definitely something similar, so calling it energy works for now."
"Man, it's cold out," Shaka said.
"Yeah, it really is. That's why I've been hunting so many monsters—gotta preserve food, you know," Roland answered. "Since you're my best friend and all, could you go get some wood? I'll even give you some helpers."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it, Sir Roland. I will not disappoint," Shaka said, acting tired even though he had just been spawned in.
Suddenly, his eyes widened in horror. He pointed forward and asked,
"Who is that boy over there?"