"Man, this sucks."
"Bear with it, brother."
We were up the moment sunlight crept through the fisherman's home. After thanking him for his hospitality, we couldn't resist asking for his crawfish recipe. Unfortunately, it was a secret family dish. Still, he promised to cook it for us now and then. I guess if I want to figure it out, I better develop my palate.
Luckily, no one had stolen our battle loot overnight. We rounded up the corpses by the riverbank and started field-dressing them one by one. Most of it was my haul—along with the broodmother—since Brynjolf's more… barbaric methods didn't leave much intact.
We extracted fangs and hides from the skales and smaller drakes, but skinning something as massive as a broodmother? That was another level of exhausting.
"Hey. Thanks again for yesterday—I couldn't have done it without you." I said in my mind.
"No problem." my mount replied.
We spent half the day looting the beast. I was getting better at skinning, but compared to Brynjolf's expertise, I could barely hold a candle. At least the experience filled my XP bar up to a quarter.
Once we finished, we returned to our mounts and split the loot. I secured half of the exotic meat on my ox mount's saddle, storing the rest in my system inventory. With our burdens settled, Brynjolf and I rode into Greenshade Forest, seeking shade beneath the towering trees.
"Know how to cook this?" I asked, pulling out a slab of exotic drake meat.
"Hm… no, but we can try."
We dismounted and ventured deeper into the woods. If nothing else, this was a chance to learn something new.
"How do you start a fire, friend?" I asked.
Brynjolf squatted down, picking up a rock and examining it. "Depends. The easiest way? A fire starter kit. A good hunter never leaves without one."
"Right. And if you don't have one?" I asked, helping him gather rocks.
"Then you get creative. I'll teach you both, brother."
We spent a few minutes collecting dry, non-limestone rocks before returning to our resting site. After forming a firepit, we grabbed our axes from our mounts and approached nearby trees, scraping off bark from both greenwood and birch. We also gathered fallen branches and twigs along the way.
"Why are we stripping the bark again?"
"To start a fire. Birch bark makes good tinder. You can also make cordage from the inner bark—useful when you don't have a fire starter. Come, friend."
Once we had a surplus of bark, we sat by the firepit. Brynjolf demonstrated how to extract fine shavings by scraping the inner layers with a knife, then tearing them into strips for better ignition. He also showed me how to cut a small strip of bark to make cordage, twisting and turning it until it formed a sturdy rope.
Then, he pulled out his fire-starting kit—a knife and a rod that looked like flint. With a single strike of the knife's back edge, sparks flew like it was New Year's Eve. That could start a fire with ease.
"Now, you learn the hard way."
With my cordage ready, I took a curved stick, tied the cord around one end, then notched the other end with my knife, pulling the cord through the gap. The result: a bow drill, not too tight, not too loose.
For my spindle, I fashioned a stick into a dull pencil shape. Then, using my knife, I cut a thicker branch in half to serve as a fireboard.
Now, everything was in place.
I laid the fireboard down, securing it under my left boot. With my bow drill in hand, I looped the spindle between the cord, positioning its tapered end into the fireboard's surface. Pressing down with my left palm, I began sawing back and forth, spinning the spindle, building friction—
And then, the real test began.
For several minutes, I went at it as hard as I could, trying to build enough friction—but nothing. Maybe I was going too fast? I slowed my strokes, using gentler movements, but that didn't work either.
Brynjolf chuckled at my struggle. "It's all part of the learning experience."
"I'll get the cooking started, but you won't have any until you start your own fire." he said with a smirk.
"I'll have a fire going before you're done cooking." I shot back, feigning confidence.
I kept my spindle spinning but stole a glance at Brynjolf. Using the branches we gathered and the birch strips he prepared, he struck his firestarter against his blade, sending sparks into the pit. A few embers caught, and with a couple of breaths, smoke curled into the air before flames flickered to life. Then, without missing a beat, he grabbed a few large rocks, setting them atop the fire like a makeshift pan.
Wait—why the hell was I watching him?
I snapped back to my spindle. Still no smoke. My arm ached, the muscles stiffening with every movement. Was I doing this wrong? I had followed Brynjolf's instructions to the letter, but the fire refused to come.
Gritting my teeth, I tried again, experimenting with different stroke speeds. Slow. Fast. Medium. Nothing. Maybe I wasn't strong enough. Maybe I wasn't skilled enough. A hunter, a warrior—hell, even a decent traveler—should be able to start a fire. So what did that make me?
Then, a new scent hit me.
The sound of sizzling meat filled my ears, the rich aroma of drake steak wrapping around me like a damn spell. My stomach clenched, hunger gnawing at me like an impatient beast. The juices hissed against the hot rock, and for a moment, my focus wavered. I could almost taste it.
I wanted it.
But I didn't deserve it.
Not yet.
Damn it, no. I refuse to be useless.
I forced my focus back to the task, tuning out the hunger, the exhaustion, the aching in my arm. My strokes became steadier, more deliberate. I wasn't just grinding wood anymore—I was carving my own damn will into this fireboard.
Seconds blurred into minutes. My grip faltered. My breath came in ragged bursts. I was on the edge of surrender when—
There.
A thin wisp of smoke curled into the air, faint but unmistakable.
My heart pounded. I lifted the fireboard, careful not to scatter the embers, and poured the smoldering charcoal into a bundle of birch strips and shavings. Lifting it up, I blew into it—once, twice—until flames burst to life, hungry and wild.
Brynjolf gestured for me to add it to the fire. I did, feeding the flames until they crackled and danced alongside his.
"Good work, my brother."
"Thanks."
Brynjolf had already finished searing the drake steaks by the time I had finished. I sat beside him, borrowing another pair of utensils from his camping kit. I cut it straight from the hot rock with a knife, and ate it with a fork.
I tore off a chunk of the drake meat and bit down—tough as hell, like chewing on old leather. It had a smoky, slightly burnt taste from cooking over the fire, with a hint of something… off. A little fishy, a little gamey, like overcooked bird mixed with dried-out eel, if that makes sense. The outside was crispy and bitter, while the inside was chewy and dry, barely holding any juice.
But then, underneath all that roughness, there was something else—a deep, rich savoriness that clung to my tongue. It was faint, almost hidden beneath the burnt edges, but it was there. Thick, heavy, and strangely addicting. Like the way broth lingers in your mouth after a long sip, except… warmer, fuller. I couldn't explain it, but it reminded me of the "umami" savoriness that I had with this world's chicken stew.
I swallowed, the aftertaste lingering—char, salt, that weird metallic tang, and that strange, lingering umami, like the ghost of magic itself.
"Not bad," I muttered, stretching my sore jaw.
Brynjolf laughed. "You'll be chewing that 'til morning."
He wasn't wrong. But whatever that strange flavor was, it had me reaching for another bite.
Half an hour later, we'd finished eating, and my jaw felt like it had been through a battle of its own… but damn, it was worth it. On top of a decent health and stamina regen boost, the meal granted me a 15% chance for a critical strike and 15% extra critical damage. That was insane! I only just noticed that my XP bar had climbed to the halfway mark—guess all that camping experience paid off.
Eager to put my new buffs to the test, we packed up and rode toward the mining site. The entrance was a gaping cave mouth, reinforced with wooden beams and columns. A group of miners stood outside, scratching their heads, looking frustrated. Brynjolf and I dismounted and approached them.
"Hey. Something wrong?" I asked.
"Yeah—wait a second." One of the miners squinted at us, studying our faces.
"Marcus? Brynjolf?"
"Huh?"
We stared at him for a moment before realization struck.
"Andrew!" we both called out.
He was one of the laborers we'd worked with back in Graywatch. We exchanged firm handshakes, grins breaking across our faces now that we recognized each other.
"Andrew, my brother, what's going on here?" Brynjolf asked.
Andrew filled us in. The Knights of the Six had finally been properly stationed at Graywatch, Hollowbourne Fields, and the Crawfish River—areas we had just helped secure. With the region stabilizing, the workers figured it was safe to return to the mines. But when they got here, they found the place overrun by kobolds—rat-like humanoids that had taken up residence inside. To make matters worse, a massive rock elemental was blocking the deeper tunnels.
"Gotcha," I said, cracking my knuckles. "We'll handle it."
"Thanks, I knew we could count on you two. Stay safe."
With a final fist bump, Brynjolf and I stepped into the mineshaft.
The path was still dimly illuminated, but as we ventured deeper, the space around us tightened. The narrowing walls pressed in, a sensation that made me uneasy. As a fighter, I relied on footwork, weaving and dancing around my opponents—but here, my movements felt caged.
It wasn't long before we spotted three kobolds chipping away at ore deposits with their pickaxes. I inspected their level, and all of them were level 5. Wasting no time, I launched forward, boots pounding against the dirt.
The kobolds turned, startled by my sudden charge. I closed the gap in an instant, my left fist snapping out in a quick jab that cracked against a kobold's jaw. As it reeled, I stepped in hard, my right foot already pivoting—then drove a right straight into its face. The impact felt different. Heavier. Stronger. The kobold tumbled backward, rolling twice like a ragdoll. A quick glance at its HP bar—down to 60% in one hit.
A critical strike?
I didn't pause to admire it. The second kobold swung its pickaxe, but I cut it off mid-motion with a sharp left jab to the head. Using the momentum, I stepped into a crushing overhand right, sending it squealing as it stumbled back. Without missing a beat, I smoothly switched my stance to southpaw—right foot forward, left foot behind.
Then I launched a left uppercut straight into its chin.
The kobold flew through the air before slamming into the cavern wall with a sickening thud. Another critical hit. Its HP plummeted to 45%—all from a three-punch combo.
Beside me, Brynjolf made quick work of the last one, cleaving through its arm with a brutal axe swing before finishing the job without hesitation.
That left two still. They stood frozen, wide-eyed, gripping their pickaxes like they might actually do something. I couldn't help but spin my right arm, as if warming up. Was it sadism that made my blood rush? Or just the thrill of seeing how much damage I could dish out with these food buffs?
"They're gonna hurt like hell today, these knuckles o' mine." I muttered, my voice low and deliberate.
I walked toward them, letting the words sink in.
Then I beat them to death.
Fists flew, crashing into their bodies with relentless force, dribbling them against the cavern walls like a damn tennis ball. They barely had a chance to react before their HP hit zero. By the time I was done, my XP bar was filling up nicely at the bottom of my vision.
Without a word, Brynjolf and I pressed forward.
The next chamber held three more kobolds. Two were chipping away at ore deposits, but the third—purple-furred and standing a bit taller—barked orders in a guttural, dog-like language I couldn't understand.
Didn't matter.
I took off in a sprint, closing the distance in a blink. The nearest kobold barely turned before my right hook smashed into its skull, sending it hurtling into the wall with a heavy thud. No chance to recover—I pinned it there with a relentless barrage. Left hook to the body, Right hook to the head, Left uppercut to the ribs. Then a brutal left uppercut to the chin, launching its head back—followed by a crushing right straight that cracked the cavern wall behind it.
Critical hit.
Its HP dropped to zero instantly.
Meanwhile, Brynjolf bulldozed into the second miner. Before it could even lift its pickaxe, he cleaved through its arm, then finished it with two vicious overhand slashes.
One left. The purple one.
I locked eyes on the purple-furred kobold. Level 6 Kobold Overseer.
It raised its crude stone rod, chanting in a rough, guttural tongue. The ground trembled. Chunks of rock tore free from the cavern floor, pulling together in front of it—merging, shaping—until an earth elemental loomed before us, nearly filling the entire tunnel with its massive form.
I hesitated.
Brynjolf didn't.
With a furious roar, he lunged forward, axes flashing as he swung a diagonal strike at the golem's torso—only for the unthinkable to happen.
His blades barely cut a few centimeters deep. For the first time, Brynjolf could not hack through something with his axes.
The elemental retaliated instantly, its massive fist slamming into Brynjolf's torso, sending him stumbling backward.
Then the overseer shrieked.
A second tremor ran through the cavern as six more kobolds burst from a freshly dug tunnel behind us, their beady eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight.
Shit.
"Brynjolf! I'll handle the overseer and the golem—keep our flanks secure!"
"Understood!"
Facing the earth elemental, I charged forward.
As I closed the distance, the overseer screeched and thrust its rod toward me. A strange weight settled over my body—I could feel my movements sluggish, my limbs heavy.
The fuckin' rat cast a slow spell on me!
The elemental's massive fist came swinging. Normally, I'd have dodged it with ease, but now—
FUCK!
The punch slammed into me, sending me hurtling into the tunnel wall. Pain exploded in my ribs as I coughed from the impact. Is this karma?
I landed on my feet, gritting my teeth through the pain. I only had seconds to think. That damn kobold was going to keep slowing me, meaning I'd keep getting hit. And if Brynjolf's axes barely scratched this thing, then my punches wouldn't do shit either.
…Unless I used the right kind of striking.
Which martial art thrives on taking hits and returning the punishment tenfold?
I shifted my stance.
Taking inspiration from one of the greats—Rodtang "The Iron Man" Jitmuangnon—I squared up, my left heel lifting slightly off the ground as I adjusted into a solid, ironclad Muay Thai stance.
Alright, big guy. Let's see if you can hit harder than I can take.
I marched forward, unfazed as the overseer cast another slow spell on me—not that it made much difference. At this pace, I was already moving like a juggernaut.
They say Muay Thai is the art of eight limbs—fists like swords, elbows like hammers, knees like maces, and shins like axes.
A massive punch crashed into me, staggering me back a few steps. My vision swam for a moment… but it didn't hurt.
I stepped in without hesitation, my left hand gripping the elemental's rocky torso. Twisting my entire body, I drove a diagonal right elbow into its core, the impact reverberating through my arm. Thud.
Another punch came. I raised a long guard to absorb the hit, but the sheer force still sent me stumbling—yet still, it didn't hurt.
I surged forward again, this time grabbing hold with my right hand, twisting into a diagonal left elbow strike with every ounce of power I had.
I gritted my teeth, locked in this brutal exchange, trading blows for blows. The elemental's attacks battered me, my body screaming in protest, bile rising in my throat from the accumulated damage. But I won't give in. I won't give up!
And with every strike, my elbows chipped away at the same spot—over and over again like a hammer. I will break it before it breaks me.
The elemental struck my long guard again, the sheer force ripping the plating off my gauntlets. My arms were completely numb... but I still stepped in.
Gripping its rocky torso, I twisted into a lateral right elbow strike. A sharp crack rang out—a critical hit. Fissures spiderwebbed across its stony chest.
The golem staggered, stunned. Now's my chance. I pivoted hard, driving a lateral left elbow into the same spot. The impact shattered its torso, revealing a glowing blue marble—the core.
I saw it wind up for a massive right hook. Too slow.
Pivoting instinctively, I launched a right straight counter. Even slowed, my fist struck first. A sharp crack emerged, and the core shattered.
Straight punches beats looping hooks every time.
The elemental collapsed into a pile of lifeless stone.
I turned to the Kobold Overseer. It cowered, taking hesitant steps backward, its free hand frantically casting slow spells to keep me at bay. It was trying to escape.
Until—
A blur sliced through the air.
Its arm flew off, severed at the joint, the enchanted rod tumbling from its grasp. The kobold let out a shriek. I glanced back—Brynjolf stood there, bloodied but victorious, six dead kobold miners at his feet.
I turned forward again, breathing heavily, my chest rising and falling in quick bursts. Rage flared in my core, spreading with each exhale. My scowl deepened.
Then—I broke into a sprint.
The overseer barely had time to react before I seized the back of its neck and yanked it down into a tight clinch, breaking its posture. It thrashed, but I held firm.
Left knee to the stomach. Right knee to the ribs.
Still gripping its neck, I yanked it sideways and drove a crushing right elbow across its jaw. The kobold cried out in agony.
I wasn't done.
Alternating knee strikes pummeled its stomach until its body went slack. I hooked my right foot behind its leg and swept it off balance, shoving it to the ground.
I followed— sitting on its stomach in a full mount.
Then came the elbows.
Hammering down on its head. Again. And again. And again. Until its HP drained to zero.
Only when the life left its body did the fury begin to fade. My breath steadied, my fists uncurled.
Then, a vibration from my compass in my pocket.
A notification flashed after, across my vision:
"Level 10! Character Build Unlocked. Story Chapter Unlocked."