Chapter 4:
Two weeks passed.
The frost in the mornings hadn't yet faded, but Rowan's breath no longer caught in his lungs when he trained before dawn. The field behind the tavern had become his home away from home—dirt beaten flat underfoot, grass cleaved in uneven rows where his blade struck over and over. His little wooden sword was now wrapped with cloth along the hilt, and new calluses had joined the old.
His arms no longer trembled after each session. His lungs didn't burn quite as badly.
And best of all—his stats had changed.
Name: Rowan
Age: 5
Race: Human (Soul-Bound Variant)
Class: —
Level: 3
XP: 51 / 100
[Attributes]
HP: 63
MP: 32
SP: 100
STR: 11
AGI: 13
VIT: 10
DEX: 12
INT: 7
WIS: 6
CHA: 4
LUK: 2
[Perks]
• Soul-Weighted Body (Passive)
• Instinctual Defense (Passive)
• Soul Echoes (Dormant)
[Progression]
Class Unlock: 2 Levels Remaining
Skill Slots: Locked
He didn't smile when the screen appeared again.
But he did breathe easier.
The numbers were small, but they meant something. They meant proof. Growth. Power. Every bug he had crushed beneath his heel. Every bee swatted in the garden. Every swing. It all added up.
He was getting stronger.
Rowan stared down at the small leather pouch he had taken from an old drawer in his mother's kitchen. Inside were a few stale crusts of bread and a thin sliver of cheese. He'd packed them early—before she woke up. He had no plans to return until sundown.
Because today, he wasn't just training. Today, he was hunting.
It was midday when he wandered near the edge of the village.
Not the forest—not yet. But far enough from the usual paths that he heard no voices, saw no wagons. He crept between the trees, brushing aside twigs, eyes scanning low.
That was when the growl came.
Low. Wet. Close.
He turned and saw it: a gaunt black dog, ribs showing, fur matted with burrs. It stood stiff-legged a few feet away, teeth bared.
Rowan froze.
He didn't want to fight it. He didn't even want to be near it. But when he stepped back, it stepped forward. Hackles raised.
Then it lunged.
He swung his sword on instinct. The iron-bound tip cracked against the dog's shoulder. It yelped, stumbled—but didn't stop. Its jaws snapped at his leg. He kicked out, missed, ducked the next charge—then slammed the sword down with all the force he could muster.
The sound was wet. The dog crumpled.
Blood seeped across the roots.
XP +15
The chime echoed in his ears.
He knelt, breathing hard. Then he saw it.
A collar.
The leather was cracked and worn, but the tag was still legible. A name. Duke.
Rowan stared.
This hadn't been a wild animal. It belonged to someone. A pet. A guardian.
He sat down beside the body, hands limp in his lap.
Tears welled up in his eyes before he knew they were coming. Tumbling down his face in large swaths.
He buried his face in his hands and wept until he couldn't anymore.
He used a stick to dig a shallow grave beneath the roots. The dirt was dry and hard, but he didn't stop until the job was done. He set a stone above it. Not to mark it, but because it felt wrong not to.
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He sat by the grave, knees to chest, watching the dark settle in like fog.
The sword lay beside him, still sticky near the hilt.
A rustle in the bushes. A rabbit, maybe. Easy pickings.
He didn't move.
The rabbit sniffed the air, then hopped away.
Rowan's hand twitched toward the blade.
But he didn't reach for it.
He just watched until it was gone.
XP: 63 / 100
He turned away, jaw tight.
Tomorrow.