Chapter 2: The First Step on a Bloody Path
The corpse of the Fang-Toothed Grazer was Leo's first classroom. Blindness forced a new kind of literacy, one written in textures, sounds, and smells. His hands, now his primary scouts, mapped the creature. The coarse, wiry fur was like steel wool. The hide beneath was tough, thick enough to turn a weak blade. The fangs, when he pried one loose after minutes of straining with his newfound Strength, were serrated and longer than his finger. A natural dagger.
He worked with a grim, methodical efficiency. He had no knife, so he used a sharp-edged piece of slate he found by scouring the ground in an ever-widening circle from the kill site. It was slow, messy work, his hands becoming slick with blood and viscera. But he was a soldier. He'd field-dressed game before. The principles were the same, even if the game was a monster from a world of cultivation.
He ate the meat raw. The thought of lighting a fire was suicidal—a beacon for every predator in a ten-mile radius. The meat was tough, gamy, and sat in his stomach like a lead weight, but it was energy. It was fuel.
As he worked, he listened. His 15 points in Perception, now amplified to an effective 25, painted a terrifyingly vivid picture of the Ashen Abyss. The forest was never silent. It was a symphony of death. The distant screech of something avian and massive. The deep, guttural challenge call of a titan shaking the very air. The skittering of countless smaller things, all claws and venom, moving through the undergrowth. He was sitting in the lion's den, covered in blood, and every lion for miles could smell him.
[Passive EXP Gain: Survival Actions. +5 EXP.]
The system's chime was a welcome sound. So, it wasn't just about killing. Actively surviving in this hellscape granted rewards. Good. Every point mattered.
His immediate goal was clear: find shelter. He was exposed. He needed a defensible position. Using the fang-tooth as a crude tool, he started to skin the Grazer. The hide, if he could cure it somehow, could be a blanket, a cloak, a pouch.
He moved away from the kill site, the coppery smell of blood too strong a lure. He found a massive, ancient tree, its roots forming a gnarled wall against a rocky outcrop. It wasn't a cave, but it was a corner, a place where he couldn't be surrounded. He dragged the hide and a large portion of meat with him, his enhanced Strength making the task merely arduous instead of impossible.
Night fell. The temperature plummeted, and the symphony of the forest changed. The day hunters retreated, and the night terrors emerged. The sounds became more sinister, more silent. The rustles were softer, the growls more resonant. Leo sat with his back to the tree, the rough bark solid against his spine. He held the fang-tooth dagger in a reverse grip, his body thrumming with a nervous energy he hadn't felt since his first patrol in a hostile zone.
He didn't sleep. He meditated. But this wasn't the Qi-gathering meditation of this world's cultivators. This was a soldier's meditation. A conscious, controlled rest where his body shut down in shifts while his mind remained hyper-aware, his Perception stretched to its limit, parsing every whisper of the wind, every snap of a twig.
It was during this vigil that the system spoke again.
[Analyzing Host's combat style and physiological limitations. Conventional cultivation paths are inaccessible. Generating optimal training protocol…]
[Protocol: 'Full-Body Crucible' initiated.]
A flood of information, not of this world, but synthesized from his own memories and the system's analysis, filled his mind. It was a brutal, unforgiving regimen.
"The body is a weapon. Sharpen it. The mind is a weapon. Temper it. There is no Qi. There is only physics. Leverage. Kinetic energy. Efficiency of motion. Your path is not to harness the energy of the world, but to make the energy of your own body infinite."
The protocol was a series of exercises, forms, and killing techniques. It was a fusion of advanced Krav Maga, Systema, and pure, unarmed special forces CQC, optimized by the system for his blind, attribute-enhanced reality. It was designed not for show, but for one thing: the absolute destruction of the target with minimal movement and maximum effect.
The first form was simply called [Kinetic Chain Alignment]. It was about making every muscle, every tendon, every bone a perfectly tuned conductor of force. A punch shouldn't start in the fist; it should start in the balls of the feet, travel up the calves, torque the hips, engage the core, and finally unleash through the shoulder and arm. Most people, even trained fighters, wasted over 60% of their potential power through inefficient transfer. The protocol sought 99.9% efficiency.
As the moonless night wore on, Leo practiced. Slowly, meticulously. He stood in the root-filled corner and moved through the first stances. He focused on the feeling of his muscles engaging, of his balance shifting. He was his own instructor and his own critic, the system providing silent, data-driven feedback in his mind.
[Kinetic Chain Alignment proficiency: 0.1%. Strength attribute effectiveness increased by 0.1%.]
It was a minuscule gain. It was everything.
A rustle in the bushes, twenty paces away. Different from the nocturnal scavengers. This was deliberate. A slow, placing of weight. A hunter.
Leo stopped moving. He became a statue, his breathing shallow. His Perception focused on that single point.
Click. Click.
The same knife-sharpening sound from the Grazer. But this was faster. Higher pitched. And there were more of them. Not one set of clicks, but three. A pack.
[New Quest: Pack Mentality. Eliminate the Night-Skitter Pack. Reward: 200 EXP. Bonus for no injuries: 50 EXP.]
The system was throwing him into the deep end. A pack. Blind. Alone.
He could run. But running was noise. Running was fear. Running would only make them chase him. And he was tired of being prey.
He was the predator here.
He stepped out from his root-corner. He needed space to move. He needed them to come to him.
He took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly, making a deliberate, soft sound. A wounded animal. A easy meal.
The clicking stopped. They had heard him. They were listening.
He took another shuffling, clumsy step, exaggerating the sound of his foot dragging through the leaves.
It was the invitation they needed.
He heard the rush. Three sets of legs, moving with a skittering, insectoid speed. They fanned out. One came directly at him. One circled to his left. One to his right. Smarter than the Grazer.
The central one lunged first, a black shape in the darkness of his mind, defined only by the sound of its claws leaving the earth and the rush of air.
Leo didn't retreat. He stepped into the lunge, his left arm coming up in a perfect, system-guided block. His forearm met a hard, chitinous limb. Pain flared, but his enhanced Vitality absorbed it. His right hand, holding the fang-dagger, stabbed upward in a short, devastating thrust into the space where the sound of its panting breath originated.
SQUELCH.
The creature emitted a choked screech and went limp.
He didn't wait to celebrate. He used the corpse as a pivot, yanking his dagger free and swinging the dead weight toward the attacker on his left. He heard the second creature collide with the body of the first, its click of surprise unmistakable.
The third was already in the air, leaping for his back.
Leo dropped to one knee, twisting his upper body. He didn't try to look. He felt the displacement of air above him. As the creature passed over, its claws grazing his back, he thrust the dagger upward like a bayonet, putting the full force of his body into it.
He felt the blade bite deep and tear. A hot, foul-smelling liquid showered his arm. The creature crashed to the ground behind him, thrashing violently.
The second creature, now disentangled from its packmate's corpse, charged. Enraged. Reckless.
Leo rose to meet it. He sidestepped its blind charge, his foot lashing out in a vicious sweep that caught its legs. He heard it tumble. Before it could right itself, he was on it. One knee planted on its thorax, pinning it. His hands, gripped together around the hilt of his dagger, plunged down.
Silence.
The thrashing of the third creature grew weaker, then ceased.
Panting, covered in fresh, stinking blood, Leo stood amidst the three corpses. His heart was racing, but his mind was preternaturally calm. The soldier in him was doing a post-combat assessment. Efficient. Two kills with the dagger. One with a combination maneuver. Minimal energy expenditure. Acceptable.
[Quest Complete: Pack Mentality. Reward: 200 EXP. Bonus Objective Achieved: No major injuries. +50 EXP. Total EXP Gained: 250. Total Unallocated EXP: 400.]
[Level Up! Host is now Level 2.]
He allocated the points without hesitation. 200 more into Perception (45). The world exploded into even greater detail. He could now hear the individual heartbeats of the dying creatures, the flutter of moth wings fifty meters away. 100 into Dexterity (23). His body felt lighter, his movements sharper, the neural pathways faster. 100 into Vitality (22). The ache in his forearm from the block faded, and his fatigue lifted.
He stood in the absolute darkness, a blind man in a valley of monsters, and for the first time, a flicker of something other than survival stirred in his chest.
It was anticipation.
He had a path. He had a system. And he had an entire forbidden zone full of experience points.
He retrieved his dagger and found a new, larger fang from one of the Skitterers. Two daggers now. Tools. Weapons.
The first step on his bloody path was complete. The grind had just begun.