Asher Blackwood crouched low in the underbrush, his breath steady despite the pounding in his chest. The forest around him was a tangle of ancient oaks and thorny vines, the kind of terrain where a single misstep could mean a broken ankle or worse. At twenty-two, Asher had spent most of his life in places like this—wild, unforgiving woods on the outskirts of Eldoria's border towns. He wasn't born strong, but he'd clawed his way up through endless hunts, scraping by as a freelance tracker for merchants who needed protection from beasts.
His fingers tightened around the grip of his flintlock rifle, a crude but reliable piece he'd traded for after a lucky haul of pelts last year. Guns weren't common in these parts—most folks stuck to bows or blades—but Asher had seen what a well-placed shot could do. It gave him range, and in a forest full of obstacles, range meant survival.
A low growl echoed through the trees. Asher's eyes narrowed. It was a dire wolf, bigger than the usual pack strays, its fur matted with scars from old fights. These creatures didn't "drop" treasures like in old tavern tales; they were just hungry predators, flesh and bone like everything else. Kill one, and you got a pelt if you were quick enough to skin it before scavengers showed up.
He glanced inward, focusing on the faint glow in his mind—the soul ledger. Every person in this world had one, a personal tally etched into their spirit from birth. It wasn't some magical gift from gods; it was just there, like a heartbeat. Asher willed it to appear, and the ethereal display flickered before his eyes:
**Vitality: 18**
**Strength: 15**
**Agility: 22**
**Endurance: 17**
**Mana: 10**
Skills:
- Marksmanship (Rifle): 45%
- Trap Setting: 38%
- Stealth Movement: 52%
- Close Quarters Combat (Dagger): 31%
No fancy levels or classes to pigeonhole him. Asher had built this through sweat and risk. His agility came from dodging roots and branches during chases, strength from hauling kills back to town. Mana was low—he'd never bothered much with herbs that boosted it, focusing instead on what kept him alive in the wild. Survivability was his edge.
The wolf prowled closer, sniffing the air. Asher had set a simple snare earlier, baited with rabbit guts, but this beast was smart. It circled wide, yellow eyes scanning the foliage. Heart racing, Asher raised his rifle slowly, using a gnarled tree trunk for cover. The forest's irregular ground was his ally—rocks and fallen logs provided footholds for quick escapes.
Crack! A twig snapped under the wolf's paw, and it lunged toward the bait. Asher fired. The shot echoed like thunder, the bullet grazing the wolf's shoulder. It yelped, blood spraying, but didn't drop. Instead, it charged straight at him, faster than he'd anticipated.
"Damn," Asher muttered, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and drawing his dagger—a short, curved blade perfect for slashing in tight spaces. He rolled sideways, using a mossy boulder as a pivot to launch himself onto a low branch. The wolf slammed into the spot he'd just vacated, jaws snapping empty air.
Agility surged through him as he balanced on the branch, then dropped down behind the beast. He slashed at its hind leg, drawing a deep gash. The wolf spun, snarling, and swiped a paw that clipped his arm. Pain flared—vitality dipped in his ledger, a mental twinge reminding him he wasn't invincible.
Endurance kicked in; he ignored the burn and darted back, weaving through vines. The wolf pursued, but Asher was in his element. He leaped over a root tangle, grabbing a hanging vine to swing around a tree trunk. Mid-swing, he kicked off a rock outcrop, gaining height. The beast followed, but slower now, blood loss weakening it.
Spotting his earlier trap, Asher baited the chase toward it. "Come on, you mangy mutt," he growled under his breath. The wolf lunged again—and its front paw caught in the snare. Wire tightened, yanking it off balance.
Asher didn't hesitate. He closed in, dagger flashing. A thrust to the throat ended it quick and clean. No glory, just survival. Panting, he wiped the blade on the fur and checked his ledger again. Stealth Movement had ticked up to 53% from the evasion. Small gains, but they added up.
As he skinned the pelt—worth a few coins in town—a rustle in the bushes made him freeze. Out stepped a figure: lean, with a bow slung across her back and eyes sharp as a hawk's. "Nice kill, stranger. But you're on my turf."
Asher tensed, hand inching toward his rifle. She was no beast, but humans could be deadlier. "Turf? This forest belongs to no one."
She smirked, stepping into the light. Freckles dusted her nose, and her leather armor was patched from hard use. "Name's Elara. I track for the local guild. You?"
"Asher Blackwood. Freelance."
Her eyes flicked to the wolf carcass. "Freelance, huh? Risky. Word is, bigger threats are stirring—rumors of a wyrm nest in the eastern crags. Guild's offering bounties."
Asher grunted, rolling up the pelt. He wasn't one for groups, but bounties meant better herbs, maybe even ones to boost his mana or endurance. "Might check it out."
Elara laughed. "Suit yourself. But lone wolves end up like that one." She nodded at the body and vanished into the trees.
Asher watched her go, a spark of curiosity igniting. The world was vast, full of dangers and opportunities. His ledger was a map to strength, but he'd need allies, herbs, and more hunts to push it further. The wyrm nest? That could be the next step.
Little did he know, it would drag him into something far bigger than a simple hunt.