The impending "show of force" demanded by the Academy was a blade hanging over the valley, but Jarine's most pressing need was protein. The Copper-Clawed Hens provided eggs, and the Stonebreaker Turnips were dense with nutrients, but his body—young, and strained by constant manual labor—craved meat. The kingdom's rations were long gone. The valley had meat in abundance, but it was all on the hoof, claw, and fang of the monsters that called it home.
Hunting, for a Farmer, was not about the chase. It was pest control with a useful byproduct. It was the logical extension of the Life-Web: removing destabilizing elements and recycling their energy back into the system.
He prepared not with a bow or spear, but with a planter's intent. He spent 50 of his hard-earned Credits on two new items from the Fauna section:
· Shadow-Tether Moss Spores (Tier 1) – 30 Credits: A fungal colony that grows in low light. When disturbed, it releases a cloud of paralytic, light-absorbing spores. Effect lasts 10-30 seconds.
· Lure-Bloom Bulb (Tier 1) – 20 Credits: A flower that emits a scent mimicking the pheromones of a specific herbivore's preferred mate or food. Adjustable via minor mana infusion.
He chose his target based on the Domain's Pulse: a small herd of Razorhoof Striders that frequented a mineral lick near the leaden river. They were Tier 0.5 creatures—antelope-like with hooves that could slice through scrub and hides tough enough to turn aside casual blows. They were skittish, fast, and their meat was said to be lean and gamey. They were also a primary food source for the more dangerous predators higher up the food chain. Culling a few would not destabilize the valley; it would simply adjust the pressure.
At dusk, he ventured beyond his fence, the Null-Steel pendant a cold weight against his chest. Its effect was profound. The usual prickle of wild, ambient magic against his senses vanished. To any magical tracker or scrying spell, his presence would be a vague blur, a hole in the mana field. He felt eerily alone, cut off from the comforting hum of his own Life-Web, but he was functionally invisible.
He found the Strider path near the riverbank, a track of churned mud and cropped, toxic-looking weeds. Here, in the deep shadow of the blackpines, he planted the Lure-Bloom Bulb. He tuned it with a whisper of mana, focusing on the scent of a succulent river-moss the Striders craved. The bulb pulsed once, then began exuding an odor like damp sweetness and minerals.
Twenty paces downwind, where the path narrowed between two large boulders, he prepared the trap. He scraped away the top layer of duff to expose the dark, moist earth. He sprinkled the Shadow-Tether Moss Spores over the area, then carefully covered them with a light layer of loose soil and dead needles. He then took a length of strong, fibrous vine he'd brought and tied one end to the base of a sturdy pine. The other end he fashioned into a simple, non-lethal snare loop, laying it flat over the spore patch. The goal wasn't to hang the creature; it was to entangle its legs, triggering the spores.
He retreated fifty yards up a rocky outcrop, finding a natural blind. He waited, his breathing slow. This was not the adrenaline-fueled ambush of a hunter. This was the patience of a gardener waiting for a specific weed to emerge.
The moons rose. The valley's nocturnal chorus began: clicking insects, the hoot of distant owls, the rustle of unseen things. An hour passed. Then, a soft crunching on the path.
Three Razorhoof Striders picked their way cautiously towards the river. Their coats were a mottled gray-brown, perfect camouflage. Their heads were crowned with short, spiraled horns, and their eyes gleamed in the low light. The lead Strider, a doe, stopped, her nostrils flaring. The Lure-Bloom's scent had reached her. She let out a soft, eager bleat and trotted forward, the two others following.
They passed the lure-bloom without seeing it, drawn by the promise of the river-moss ahead. They entered the narrows between the boulders. The lead doe's front hoof landed directly in the snare loop and on the buried spores.
Jarine tugged the vine.
The loop tightened around the doe's pastern. She let out a startled cry and jerked back, her legs tangling. The disturbance kicked up the soil, and a cloud of inky, fine particles—the Shadow-Tether Spores—exploded into the air around her head and chest.
The effect was instantaneous and silent. The spores absorbed the scant moonlight, creating a pocket of deeper darkness. The doe's frantic struggles ceased mid-motion. She stood frozen, her muscles locked, her eyes wide and unseeing. The other two Striders panicked, wheeling and bolting back down the path, disappearing into the night.
Jarine gave the spores a full minute to settle. Then, he approached. The doe stood like a statue, only the faint steam of her breath in the cold air showing she was alive. Her flank trembled with the strain of the paralysis. There was no fear in her eyes—the spores seemed to induce a total sensory deprivation.
This was the moment that separated the predator from the farmer. He felt no thrill of the kill, only a solemn practicality. He took his Ever-Sharp Hatchet, positioned it carefully at the base of her skull, and delivered a single, merciful blow. It was quick, clinical, and with minimal suffering. The Life-Web, even muffled by the pendant, registered the sudden cessation of one vibrant, wild life-sign, and the release of its energy back into the local environment.
The work that followed was gruesome but systematic. He field-dressed the carcass with the efficiency his Monster Harvester (Apprentice) skill provided, his hands knowing where to cut to preserve the best meat and intact organs. The hide, though tough, was valuable. The hooves, razor-sharp, could be ground for alchemical reagents. The heart, liver, and kidneys were nutrient-dense prizes. He packed the usable meat into waxed cloth, salted it with precious stores from his kit, and bundled the offal and bones separately—these would go to the compost, or to specific plants that thrived on blood and bone.
As he worked, a new notification appeared.
[Skill Synergy Recognized: Monster Harvester + Botanical Empathy + Domain's Pulse.]
[New Composite Skill Unlocked: Ecosystem Culling (Novice).]
[Effect: You intuitively understand the optimal removal of specific fauna to benefit the overall health and balance of your demesne. Increases yield and quality of materials from culled targets.]
He wasn't just hunting. He was pruning the valley's animal population.
The haul back to the tower was heavy, but the Life-Web welcomed him back with a relieved surge as he crossed the fence-line, the nullifying effect of the pendant lifting. His sentinels thrummed with approval; a competitor for local resources had been removed, and valuable biomass was being brought into the domain.
The next few days were spent in preservation. He built a proper smokehouse from mud-brick and blackpine, using wood from the thorny scrub to create a sweet, dense smoke. He rendered fat for tallow candles and cooking. He treated the hide with tannin from acorns. Nothing was wasted.
That night, he ate his first proper meal of roasted Strider haunch, seasoned with wild rosemary that grew near a Luminous Moss patch. The meat was indeed gamey, but rich and satisfying. As he ate, he felt the energy of the valley itself—the creature that had fed on its tough plants and drunk from its metallic river—cycling back into him, strengthening him.
He had not hunted as a warrior, but as a steward. He hadn't conquered the beast; he had selectively harvested it, using tools that were more akin to gardening than warfare. The Shadow-Tether Moss was a pesticide. The Lure-Bloom was a companion plant. The snare was just a trellis to guide the target.
The Academy wanted a show of force. They envisioned lightning and steel. Jarine's version of force was subtler: it was the quiet, inevitable pressure of a managed ecosystem, where even the predators could become, with patience and the right tools, simply another harvest. He was not fighting the Blackwood Vale. He was learning its language, and beginning to write its rules. And the first rule was: everything here, from the tallest thorn-tree to the swiftest Strider, had a use. Even if that use was to become food, fertilizer, or a lesson in efficiency.