The clearing rang with violence, every impact rattling Harold's bones where he crouched behind a toadstool trunk.
The lizard roared, the insect hissed, and their bodies clashed with the raw brutality of titans.
Harold pressed a hand against his chest, willing his heart to slow.
He should have fled.
He knew he should have.
Every second he lingered here was a gamble with his life.
But then a thought struck him.
When he had practiced on the capybara beast, the system had rewarded him with skill progress.
Diagnosis, too, had been listed in his window—but progress there was pitiful, since he could only discover the source of an issue once.
What if… what if this counted?
His throat worked dryly.
He swallowed air, then whispered, barely audible, "Diagnosis."
The window flared.
Diagnosis: Lv. 0 (3.7 / 10)
Still there.
Still waiting.
He peered back at the fight.
The insect drove a serrated claw into the lizard's shoulder, piercing through scale with a wet crunch.
Blood spurted in an arc.
Harold's lips moved before he could think.
"Penetrating wound to the shoulder. Depth… severe. Risk of hemorrhage high."
Ding.
Diagnosis +0.4
Harold's breath caught.
It worked.
The system had recognized his words.
He hadn't even touched the creature.
He had only named the injury.
The lizard whipped its head around and clamped down on the insect's forelimb, teeth sinking into chitin.
The crack of shattering shell rang like breaking pottery.
"Compound fracture of whatever you call those things... leg..?. Multiple fragmentation."
Ding.
Diagnosis +0.5
A thrill shot through him.
He pressed closer to the fungal trunk, eyes fixed on the monsters, heart hammering not with fear now but exhilaration.
The insect shrieked, staggering as the lizard's teeth tore deeper.
Its movements faltered, one limb dragging uselessly.
"Loss of motor function in left appendage. Nerve damage from crush trauma."
Ding.
The numbers kept climbing.
Harold forced himself to focus, his mind sharpening despite the chaos.
He wasn't just watching.
He was learning.
Every contusion, every laceration, every fracture—they were his textbooks now to be studied and reviewed.
The lizard lunged again, raking claws across the insect's thorax.
Green ichor sprayed, hissing where it struck the earth.
"Laceration across the abdominal cavity," Harold whispered quickly. "Possible damage to internal organs. Significant fluid loss."
Ding.
The insect retaliated, slashing downward with its remaining claw.
The blow raked across the lizard's muzzle, carving deep furrows.
One eye burst under the impact, the beast howling in fury.
"Ruptured eye socket. Severe eye trauma. Prognosis… blindness in the left eye."
Ding.
The insect's claw came down again.
This time it pierced the lizard's chest, narrowly missing the heart.
The beast bellowed, blood gouting from its mouth in a spray of crimson.
"Chest cavity penetration," Harold called, breathless. "Cardiac trauma. Reduced cardio function—risk of cardiac failure imminent."
Ding.
His hands trembled.
His voice shook.
But the system recognized every word, every observation.
His experience bar climbed with each injury cataloged.
The battle raged on, both monsters staggering now, their bodies broken in a dozen places.
Flesh tore.
Bones shattered.
Blood and ichor soaked the ground.
Harold's voice grew hoarse from the litany:
"Fracture of lower leg—weight-bearing compromised."
"Penetration of the lung—collapsed lung on the right side."
"Blood filling the lungs—blood loss at critical threshold."
"Heart rate destabilized—cardiac output insufficient."
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
The sounds rang in his skull, faster, louder, until at last—
Skill Levelled Up: Diagnosis → Level 1.
The window flared before his eyes, brilliant in the dark of the fungal forest.
Harold nearly laughed aloud.
His throat was too parched to make the sound, but his chest shook with it nonetheless.
He had done it.
Without laying a hand on a patient, without a single scalpel or stitch, he had learned by seeing.
By naming.
And the system had accepted it.
The battle lurched toward its grim conclusion.
The lizard, one eye blind and chest heaving, sank its teeth into the insect's neck and tore.
Carapace gave way with a crack, ichor spraying in fountains.
The insect convulsed, thrashing once, twice—then fell limp.
The lizard staggered, victorious but ruined.
Its chest gaped open where claws had pierced deep.
Blood poured in sheets, every breath a ragged rasp.
Harold swallowed hard, whispering through dry lips:
"Slowed heart rate, brought on by severe loss of blood. Time of death… immediate."
Ding.
The lizard collapsed.
The clearing fell silent save for Harold's own ragged breathing.
He slumped against the fungus trunk, sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill of the fungal light.
His throat was raw, his mouth a desert, but his eyes burned with fierce light.
"Diagnosis… Level One," he whispered, almost reverent. "I… I'm getting there."
He checked the window.
[Skill Progression Window]
Diagnosis: Lv. 1 (0.6 / 100)
Debridement: Lv. 0 (1.5 / 10)
Splinting: Lv. 0 (0.8 / 10)
Suturing: Lv. 1 (0.1 / 100)
Bandaging: Lv. 1 (0.1 / 100)
The jump was staggering.
From ten points to one hundred.
The climb had grown steeper, just as with Suturing and Bandaging.
But for the first time, Harold wasn't afraid of the slope.
Because now he knew there were more ways to climb it.
He didn't have to harm every patient.
He didn't have to practice only on corpses.
He could observe.
He could learn from the world itself.
And in this brutal, merciless place, there would be no shortage of wounds to see.
Harold rose on shaking legs.
The corpses of the two monsters lay steaming in the fungal glow, a battlefield of lessons carved in flesh.
At first he thought about naming all their injuries even at the reduction of point gain now that they had passed away, only one thing stopped him.
Water.
"Later," he rasped to the corpses. "I'll come back. You've taught me enough for now."
Turning from the clearing, Harold followed the faint sound of the stream again.
His throat ached.
His body swayed with exhaustion.
But in his chest burned a new fire.
The monsters of this world could kill him in an instant.
But they could also teach him more than any textbook ever had.
And Harold intended to learn.