Chapter 2: Wolves, Pitcher, Physics
The growl arrived before the wolf did—low, wet, impatient.
Ellie stood motionless on the moss, stainless-steel milk pitcher raised in a two-handed grip like a child pretending to be a knight. The forest smelled of pine rot and copper. Somewhere overhead, birds had apparently decided silence was safer than song.
The first wolf stepped into a shaft of green-tinted light. Lean, gray-black, ribs faintly visible under fur. Yellow eyes locked on her. It was not curious. It was evaluating lunch.
The System text refreshed itself, calm as a weather app:
[Objective: Survive the next 60 seconds]
[Enemies detected: Dire Wolf (Lv. 3) × 1]
[Pain dampener: 40% active. Good luck.]
Ellie tilted her head 3.2 degrees. "Dire Wolf. Marketing term. Means bigger teeth."
The wolf lunged.
Muscle memory from exactly zero fights kicked in anyway. She sidestepped—barely—left foot sliding on damp leaves. Claws raked air where her ribs had been 0.4 seconds earlier. The pitcher swung on pure reflex.
Metal met skull with a dull thunk.
The wolf staggered, surprised more than hurt. Ellie stared at the dented pitcher. A thin smear of blood decorated the rim.
[Critical hit! –7 HP to Dire Wolf]
[Improvised weapon proficiency +1]
"Physics still works here," she noted. Voice flat. Almost approving.
The wolf recovered faster than she calculated. It circled, snarling, testing. Ellie pivoted to keep it in front. Bare feet registered cold mud, sharp twigs—irrelevant data.
A second growl answered from the right.
Two more shapes melted from the underbrush. Smaller, hungrier. Pack.
[Enemies detected: Dire Wolf (Lv. 3) × 2]
[Time remaining: 38 seconds]
Ellie exhaled once—short, precise.
She hefted the pitcher again. "Tutorial's budget must be low."
The first wolf charged again. This time, she didn't sidestep. She stepped into the lunge, dropped low, and drove the pitcher's spout upward under its jaw like a piston. Teeth clacked shut an inch from her nose. Hot breath washed her face. No fear spike. Just olfactory input: blood and wet fur.
The wolf yelped, recoiling. Ellie followed through with a second swing—overhand, full torque. The base of the pitcher cracked against its temple.
[Critical hit! Dire Wolf defeated]
[+42 EXP]
[Level Up! Level 2 reached]
[HP restored. +5 to all stats. New skill unlocked: Basic Analysis (passive)]
The other two wolves froze mid-step, ears flattening. Pack math recalculated: one down, small hairless thing not running, metal stick apparently lethal.
They hesitated.
Ellie did not.
She pointed the dented pitcher at the nearer one. "Your friend's skull is concave now. Statistically, yours will match."
The wolves exchanged a glance that—had they been human—would have been called oh shit.
They bolted.
Leaves swallowed them. Silence returned, broken only by Ellie's steady breathing and the drip of wolf blood from the pitcher's rim.
The System chimed softly.
[Objective complete: Survive 60 seconds]
[Reward: Tutorial Zone Ω-7 access granted]
[Bonus: First combat victory. +10 System Credits. Title earned: Barefoot Brawler]
Ellie lowered the pitcher. Looked at the dent. Looked at the dead wolf sprawled ten feet away, tongue lolling, eyes already glazing.
She nudged it with her toe. No twitch.
"Hm," she said.
Then, because the forest was still watching and she had no better plan, she started walking toward the faint path of trampled undergrowth the wolves had come from.
Barefoot.
Pitcher in hand.
Blue text trailing her like an unwanted notification.
Somewhere ahead, human voices drifted—distant, rough, laughing.
Ellie kept walking.
She had a feeling the next tutorial would involve people.
People were messier than wolves.
Because she had survived wolves, humans were just another problem set.