The grin stayed on Kenji's face for a full minute, a stark contrast to the visceral mess smeared across the ancient tree trunk. The coppery scent of blood and the ozone-tang of released energy filled his nostrils, a combination that was both horrifying and intoxicating.
Kinetic Echo.
The name formed in his mind, a perfect label for the impossible thing he had just done. He hadn't just thrown a rock; he had echoed the force of his own movement, amplifying it into something monstrous.
The pro-gamer in him immediately began to deconstruct the ability, running the numbers.
Resource: Kinetic Energy. Generated by: Movement. Impact. Expended by: Amplified attacks. No visible mana bar. No cooldown timer. Need to gauge limits empirically.
His stomach growled, a painful cramp that shattered his scientific reverie. Right. Food. The rabbit was gone, rendered into an inedible paste. The failure was a setback, but the power was a revelation. He could work with this.
He spent the next few hours in a cycle of exhausting experimentation. He'd chosen a sturdy, thick-barked tree as his target and practice dummy.
His first dozen attempts were failures. He'd throw a rock with all his might, focusing on that internal well of energy, but nothing would happen. The stone would thud uselessly against the bark. The energy would flicker and die, unused.
He switched tactics. Instead of trying to force it out, he tried to listen for it. He focused on the feeling of his muscles moving, the impact of his feet on the forest floor, the recoil through his arm when he threw. He started small, not with throws, but with movements.
He shoved against the tree. A faint warmth built in his shoulders upon impact. He held onto the feeling, then shoved again, trying to push the warmth out with the motion. Nothing.
He kicked a rock at the base of the tree. The jolt of the impact traveled up his leg. There it was—a tiny spark of energy. He kicked another rock, harder. The spark was bigger. He focused, and on the third kick, he willed that spark into the rock as it connected.
THWACK.
The sound was noticeably sharper. The rock didn't shatter the tree, but it chipped a small piece of bark away instead of just bouncing off.
A notification didn't pop up in his vision, but he felt it in his soul: [Kinetic Echo - Proficiency: Beginner].
"Yes…" he whispered, the sound raw in his throat.
The process was agonizingly slow. His new body tired quickly. His muscles screamed in protest. His stomach was a hollow, aching pit. But Kenji "Spxrrow" Sato was no stranger to the grind. This was just a different kind of XP farm.
He learned the rhythm of it. Generate energy through repetitive, impactful motion. Feel it pool inside him, a warm, humming reservoir. Then, on the next motion, release it at the precise moment of execution.
By the time the sun began to dip below the canopy, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, he had managed two things:
1. He could, with about 70% reliability, enhance a thrown stone to hit with the force of a powerful sling shot, enough to stun a small animal.
2. He was utterly, completely spent.
Just as a wave of dizziness threatened to overwhelm him, he saw another Skitterer emerge from its burrow. This was it. No room for error.
He moved slowly, his body protesting every step. He bent down, his muscles trembling, and picked up a smooth, heavy stone. He took a deep breath, focusing on the residual energy from his movements. The reservoir was low, but it was there.
He didn't just throw. He went through the entire motion—a wind-up, a step, a shift of his weight. He felt the energy flow down his arm, into his hand, into the stone. At the exact apex of the throw, he released it.
FWOOM-CRACK.
The rock didn't just fly; it vanished. There was a blur of motion and a sickening thud. The Skitterer dropped instantly, its skull crushed. Clean. Efficient.
A wave of exhaustion so profound hit Kenji that he almost collapsed. But beneath the exhaustion was a thrill of victory purer than any world-first raid clear. He had done it. He had provided for himself.
He used a sharp-edged stone to clumsily skin and gut the animal, his mind supplying the knowledge from countless in-game crafting tutorials. He built a small fire using the age-old method of frantic friction and sheer, desperate willpower, enhanced by a tiny, focused kinetic pop that finally ignited the tinder.
As the rabbit cooked over the flames, the smell of roasting meat nearly brought tears to his eyes. He ate every last scrap, the greasy, gamey flavor tasting better than any five-star meal.
The following days fell into a brutal, exhausting rhythm. Wake up. Hunt. Eat. Train. His entire existence became a loop of generating and expending kinetic energy. He learned to channel smaller amounts into his legs for increased speed and agility, leaping across streams he couldn't have crossed before. He practiced enhancing his punches against trees, his knuckles becoming raw and bloody, then slowly toughening.
He was no longer just surviving. He was farming. He was grinding his level, even if he couldn't see the stats. His body grew leaner, harder. The softness of his new form was being carved away by struggle and purpose.
One afternoon, a week into his new life, he heard something new. Not the sounds of the forest, but the unmistakable creak of wagon wheels and the coarse laughter of men.
Human voices.
His first instinct was pure, unadulterated hope. People. Civilization. A way out of the endless grind.
He crept closer, using his enhanced agility to move silently through the undergrowth. He saw them: three rough-looking men with a covered merchant's wagon parked on the narrow game trail. They were passing a skin of wine between them, their voices loud and boisterous.
"—easy coin, I tell you. The frontier towns are desperate for strong backs. They don't ask questions."
"Aye, and the guards look the other way for a few silvers. We'll be rich by the season's end."
Kenji's hope curdled into ice in his stomach. He knew this quest line. He'd completed it a dozen times. The Missing Apprentices. It wasn't a merchant wagon. It was a slaver's transport.
He began to back away, his heart pounding. But it was too late. His foot snapped a twig.
The laughter stopped.
"What was that?" one of the men grunted, his hand going to the cudgel at his belt.
"Probably just a beast," another said, but he stood up, his eyes scanning the tree line. They fell directly on Kenji.
"Well, well," the man said, a slow, ugly smile spreading across his face. He was big, with a broken nose and a scar running through his lip. "Look what we have here. A little lost lamb."
The other two stood, their expressions shifting from relaxation to predatory interest. They fanned out, blocking the path.
"Looks strong enough," the first man said, taking a step forward. "He'll fetch a fine price at the mines."
Kenji's mind, which had been frozen for a second, snapped into a state of hyper-clarity. This was a PvP encounter. And he was flagged for combat.
The leader lunged for him, his hand outstretched to grab Kenji's tunic.
There was no time to think. Only to react.
Kenji didn't throw a punch. He didn't have the strength to take down three men with brute force. Instead, he brought his hands up in a desperate, cross-armed block—a perfect parry stance he'd used a thousand times in-game.
The man's thick wrist slammed into his forearms. The impact was jarring. Pain flared.
And deep within Kenji, the kinetic energy from the blow—the man's own strength—was absorbed, converted, and pooled into his core. The reservoir, already half-full from his morning training, surged to overflowing.
The man grinned, thinking he had him. "See? Easy—"
Kenji didn't let him finish. He didn't know what would happen. He just knew he had to let it out. He unleashed the entire stored energy reserve not as an attack, but as a pulse, a concussive wave of pure force emanating from the point of block.
KABOOM.
It was not a clean sound. It was the sound of bone and cartilage shattering.
The slaver's grin vanished, replaced by a mask of stunned agony as his arm bent backwards at a grotesque, impossible angle. He was thrown off his feet as if hit by a giant's fist, crashing into the side of the wagon with a sickening crunch before slumping to the ground, unmoving.
The forest fell silent.
The other two slavers stared, their faces pale with shock and terror.
Kenji stood there, his arms still raised, his own hands numb. He looked from his hands to the broken man lying in a heap, then to the two others who were now drawing rusty swords, their hands shaking.
The thrill of victory was gone. In its place was a cold, hollow horror.
This wasn't a game. That wasn't a respawning NPC.
And he had just killed a man.