A week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. In my new life, that was apparently all it took to become someone no one recognized including myself.
I used to avoid mirrors. Not because I was afraid of ghosts (although, in this world, you never knew), but because the reflection had always been the same: sunken cheeks, spindly arms, the haunted eyes of someone who'd lost every race before she'd even started. Now, I barely fit my own skin. My arms real arms, with honest-to-gods muscles flexed whenever I stretched. My legs felt sturdy, not like the awkward broomsticks I'd shuffled around on. I could do a full set of push-ups and not see my ancestors.
All of which had, predictably, made my family act even more deranged.
It started with my mother "casually" counting the potatoes every morning and accusing the neighbor's dog of grand larceny. My father sniffed my breath after every meal like I was a soup thief. Riven, for his part, began locking his snacks in a box and whispering spells of "protection" over the pantry. (He accidentally hexed his own underpants. It was a good day.)
This morning, I came downstairs and found all the bread hidden in the laundry basket.
"Looking for something, Arielle?" my mother had said, brandishing a carrot like a weapon.
"Not unless you've started seasoning those with a conscience," I replied, snatching an apple from my pocket.
They all stared at me, waiting for some confession. I just shrugged. "Idiots," I announced. "Absolute, world-class, premium-grade idiots."
Their glares could have curdled milk.
I left the house whistling.
The forest had become my real home. Out here, no one cared if you did magic, or if you were the family embarrassment. Here, you just had to run faster than whatever wanted to eat you which, after a week of fighting, was less of a problem. The monsters had started to get the memo: Arielle, "the useless," was off the menu.
Today, I was hunting something bigger. Rabbit was fine for a snack. I was aiming for dinner.
The system chimed as I crept between ferns, the late-afternoon sun slanting gold and green through the leaves.
[Host, you are now tracking a Tier-2 Forest Stag. Estimated EXP yield: high. Danger level: moderate. Antlers: stylish.]
I grinned. "You hear that, System? We've upgraded. From bunnies to Bambi."
[I'm impressed. Seven days ago, you could barely scare a salad.]
"And now," I whispered, eyeing the movement in the clearing ahead, "I am the terror that stalks the undergrowth. Or… you know, the bush with a grudge."
[Host: Arielle]
Level: 4
EXP: 55 / 200
HP: 55 / 55
MP: 41 / 41
Strength: 13
Agility: 9
Intelligence: 7
Willpower: 13
Charisma: 4
Magic Affinity: Fire – Level 3
Techniques: Fireball, Flame Dart, Ember Dance, Shape Fire, Fire Shield, Fire Lash
Status: Hungry (again), Jacked, Slightly Arrogant
The stag was a majestic creature, antlers wide as my outstretched arms, coat shining silver-brown. I almost felt bad for what I was about to do. Almost.
I crept closer, channeling my magic. Level 3 fire felt like liquid power, simmering under my skin. I summoned a Flame Dart, aiming just behind its foreleg enough to wound, not incinerate.
With a breath, I released.
The dart zipped through the air, sizzling as it went. The stag reared, let out a furious bellow, and charged. I dodged behind a tree as its hooves thundered past, barely missing me. The adrenaline hit was like a slap of cold water. My heart pounded.
[Remember your training. Use Fire Shield! And try not to get antlered. That would be embarrassing at your level.]
"Working on it!" I called, summoning a crackling dome of orange light around myself just as the stag spun and lunged again. Its antlers clanged against the shield, showering sparks. I poured more magic into the barrier, sweat beading on my brow.
The stag circled, pawing the ground. For a moment, it looked almost… impressed.
"Sorry, friend," I muttered. "This is just dinner. Nothing personal."
I dropped the shield, darted left, and snapped my wrist in a sharp motion—Fire Lash crackling out like a flaming whip. The stag jumped, but I managed to catch its hind leg. It stumbled. I pounced, hitting it with a well-placed Flame Dart to the shoulder.
With a last, proud snort, the stag collapsed in a swirl of embers.
I approached, panting, and laid a hand on its still-warm fur. "Thank you," I whispered, meaning it. Even in this brutal world, you had to respect what you took.
A glowing window popped up:
[Tier-2 Forest Stag defeated!]
+45 EXP, +2 Strength, +1 Agility, +1 Willpower
Loot: Venison, Antlers
Bonus: First Big Game "Venison Victor!" +5 EXP
I grinned, hefting the stag over my shoulder with a strength that, a week ago, would have sent me straight to the afterlife. I started to prepare a firepit, my mouth already watering at the thought of a feast.
As the meat cooked, sending savory smoke drifting through the trees, the system chimed in with its usual wisdom.
[Look at you, Host. From starving orphan to apex predator. If only your family could see you now. Oh, wait they're still hiding bread in the laundry.]
I burst out laughing, startling a squirrel out of a nearby bush. "I'm living proof that idiots can't keep you down forever."
[Indeed. But, as your all-powerful (and moderately sarcastic) system, it's my duty to remind you: you're outgrowing this dump. If you really want to develop, you'll need to leave the village. Bigger monsters. Bigger rewards. And dare I say bigger idiots to outsmart.]
I poked the fire thoughtfully, watching the flames lick the edges of the roasting venison.
Leave? The idea both thrilled and terrified me. Out there was the world dangerous, wild, and, most importantly, free. No more staring at the back of my mother's wig. No more dodging Riven's petty spells. No more pretending to be less than what I was.
Just me, my magic, my wits, and the endless road.
But not yet. Tonight, I would savor victory. Tomorrow, I would make plans. For now, there was meat to eat, muscles to flex, and a week's worth of petty gloating to dream about.
The sun dipped low, staining the world gold and red my colors, now and always.
I sat by my fire, chewing venison and plotting. The next chapter would be written in my own hand, and I couldn't wait to see what burned.