By the time Arthur had finally stopped pacing, the light between the trees had gone from gold to grey, and then to nothing at all. The moon had taken over, spilling pale light through the branches while the forest around him settled into the quiet of night. He hadn't gone home. He'd stayed here in the tree line overlooking the fields beyond his parents' house, watching from a distance, keeping low so no one could spot him. Going back without a plan would be suicide. But now he had one.
It was simple on paper, but it could work. If he couldn't get the old cart back, he would just build another one. Not some shoddy mess of planks lashed together, but something better. Stronger. A cart so solid that even his father wouldn't be able to say anything as he would be too happy with it. His carpentry skill wasn't much, but he had the System now, and he'd seen already how effort turned into progress. The problem was the details. He had no nails. No forge. Not even the faintest idea how to make them. That meant the whole thing would have to be built so every part locked together perfectly, joints so tight they wouldn't rattle loose even on the roughest road.
He didn't know how to do that yet. But a faint thread in his mind, that told him he could figure it out through trial and error if he just kept at it. He'd cut the pieces, shape them, test them, break them, then try again until it fit the way it was supposed to. It was going to take time, and probably more annoyance than he cared to imagine, but it was better than walking back into Harrowfield and asking for his father's cart like a damn idiot.
And while he was here in the forest, he could do more than just build. He could finally start on his sword training. The Sword Prodigy perk had been sitting there in his status screen like an unopened letter, it was time he actually put it to use; if he wanted to leave Harrowfield with Mira he had to be able to protect them and so he needed to get skilled in using a sword. There was a lot he could do out here. A lot he needed to do. Build the cart. Work on his swordsmanship. Hunt to keep himself fed and maybe earn a little coin on the side. If he pushed himself, if he used every hour, he could make it happen. But none of it would start until he had the tools. That meant going back, at least once, and getting what he needed without letting anyone stop him. Only then could he disappear back into the forest and get to work.
Arthur kept low to the ground as he crossed the fields, moving in the shadows where the moonlight didn't reach. The farmhouse was quiet, but the yard was scattered with tracks. His eyes flicked over them without even thinking about it, the information coming as easily as breathing. He could tell exactly how long ago each set had been made. His father's boots were the easiest to see as they were the heaviest and set the deepest in the dirt; likely from less than an hour ago, leading to the house. Mira's smaller footprints, a little older, heading toward the barn. Two of his brothers' tracks, fresh enough that they could still be awake. He could even tell from the stride which prints belonged to who. No one was near the workshop. That was his chance.
He padded over to the side of the building and tried the door. Locked. He cursed under his breath and circled around, running his hand along the wall until he found a small opening low to the ground. It was half-covered in dirt and clogged with old straw, but it was wide enough that if he worked at it, he could squeeze through. He knelt down and began digging, clawing away at the earth until mud stuck under his nails. From the house, he heard a couple of muffled shouts and the sound of something being dropped, but nothing close enough to stop him. He kept going until the gap was wide enough to wriggle through.
He emerged inside and could just make out the shapes of tools hanging from the wall. He grabbed what he needed without wasting time, an axe, a dagger, and a chisel. One by one, he pushed them back out through the hole and followed after them, brushing the dirt off his clothes as he stood. That was when someone grabbed him by the arm.
He twisted, ready to fight, but froze when he saw Mira staring at him. "Where have you been? Father's furious," she whispered.
Arthur clutched his chest. "Don't scare me like that."
Her eyes searched his face. "What happened? Where have you been?"
"Not here," he said quickly. "I don't want Father finding me. We can talk somewhere else."
She hesitated, then nodded, and followed him across the yard and into the cover of the trees. They didn't stop until the house was out of sight. Mira turned to him. "What's going on? I've been worried sick."
Arthur let out a slow breath. "I screwed up."
"How?"
"I took the eggs and milk to Harrowfield, stopped at the well for a break, and Elsie came up to me."
Mira frowned immediately. She didn't look pleased.
"She wanted to catch up and walked me to her father's house. Said no one was home and she'd get the leather while I unloaded everything."
Mira's frown deepened. "Arthur..."
He sighed. "We... did stuff..."
"You did stuff with Elsie?" Her tone made it clear she wasn't impressed.
"Yeah..." he said, shifting awkwardly.
Mira stepped forward and started hitting his arm and shoulder. "Idiot! Absolute idiot!"
"It wasn't my fault!" Arthur protested.
"You fell for her trick."
"What trick?"
"She's supposed to marry Thomel Harte," Mira said. "Old, fat, and more silver than most the village. She didn't want it, so she gave you her maidenhood to ruin the deal. She probably wanted you to get caught."
Arthur winced. "That's not good."
"No, it isn't."
"Well, as it turns out, I was caught," he said sheepishly. "Her brothers chased me into the forest. I beat them and ran."
"You beat them?" she asked, looking at him like she wasn't sure she'd heard right.
"Yes."
"The Tanner brothers?"
"Don't sound so surprised."
"It's just... you've never been in a fight in your life."
"They didn't give me much choice."
Mira shook her head. "Then why are you out here? Why haven't you come home?"
"I can't," Arthur said. "I left the cart at the Tanners' and if I show up without it, Father will kill me."
Her eyes widened. "What are you going to do?"
"I've got a plan. Don't worry."
"What is it?"
"I'm going to stay in the forest until I can remake the cart."
She slapped him again. "Fool. Madman."
"Stop it. It'll work. I can live out here just fine."
"I was feeding you a week ago," Mira said flatly.
"It'll be fine. Trust me."
"Then I'm coming with you."
"No. Father won't bother looking for me, but he'll tear this forest apart to find you."
She didn't like hearing that, but she knew it was true.
"I can bring you food every day," she offered.
"And what will you say when they ask where it's gone?"
Mira stayed quiet. Arthur stepped closer. "It'll be okay. I'll be fine. I'll see you soon."
Her eyes filled, and she grabbed him in a tight hug. "Be careful."
He hugged her back. "I'll miss you."
They stood there for a moment before he pulled away, gave her one last look, and disappeared into the forest. Arthur pushed deeper into the forest, the darkness closing in around him. It wasn't smart to be out here at night, not with wolves roaming these parts, but he didn't have much choice. Every step he took, he kept his eyes on the ground, reading the earth without thinking about it. Most of the tracks he saw belonged to rabbits, deer, and the odd fox. He did find some wolf prints, but they were faint and dry, a few days old at least. That was something, at least for tonight.
He kept walking for hours, letting the sound of the wind through the branches guide him further from the farm. The cold crept in, and his legs started to ache, but he wanted to be far enough away that even if someone came looking, they wouldn't stumble across him by accident. Finally, when his shoulders felt like they were carrying stones, he stopped to look around for somewhere to hole up. A massive boulder sat ahead, roots snaking over it like they'd been there for centuries. At the base, there was a shallow alcove just big enough for him to crawl into. It wouldn't keep out the cold and it definitely wasn't comfortable, but it was better than sleeping out in the open where anything could wander past. Better that than anything else, he thought, already moving toward it.
__________________________________
[New Quest Received]
ALONE IN THE WILD
Description:
You've walked away from your home, your family, and the only shelter you've ever known.
The forest will keep you alive or kill you. Whether you walk out stronger or never walk out at all is up to you.
Objectives:
– Survive in the wild
– Hunt and kill an animal
– Raise [Cooking] to 10/100
– Raise [Carpentry] to (Apprentice)
– Raise [Swordsmanship] to 20/100
– Build a replacement cart
Rewards:
– +1 to all stats
– +2 Otherworld Tokens
– Character Template
– Random Sub Skill
– 100 XP
Failure:
– Death
– Banishment from Harrowfield
_________________________________
Arthur stared at the quest text in front of him like it had just spat in his face. 'Nearly a hundred points in carpentry? Was the System trying to kill him? That alone would take days, maybe weeks, and that was without counting everything else. Hunt and kill an animal, raise his cooking, swordsmanship, build an entire cart from scratch. Sure, easy. Just a nice relaxing holiday in the middle of the godsdamn forest!'
He rubbed his face and sighed. Well, there wasn't much point whining about it. It was there now, and if he wanted to avoid dying or getting banned from Harrowfield forever, he was going to have to figure it out. At least he knew what tomorrow was going to look like; get up early, start cutting wood, and maybe try to put some kind of plan together before the wolves or starvation got to him. The day's weight hit him all at once, settling into his bones. His eyes were already closing before he'd even stretched out in the alcove. He shifted until he was wedged as comfortably as the rock would let him, pulled his arms in tight for warmth, and let the darkness take him.
...
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Arthur swung the axe into the tree again and again, the head biting into the wood and sticking there just long enough to make him wrestle it free. His arms ached, his shoulders burned, and his back felt like it was ready to give out. He'd been at this for hours, and all he had to show for it was a cut that was only halfway through the trunk.
He leaned against the handle and reached for his water skin, tipping it back until the last few gulps slid down his throat. It wasn't much, and it reminded him of the obvious; he was going to need to find a river or stream soon. If he didn't, this would be the last tree he ever tried to cut down. His stomach gave a low growl, reminding him he hadn't eaten since yesterday. Still, he set the water skin aside and shook his head. No. Not yet. The tree came first. He wasn't going to stop until it was down, even if it took him the rest of the day.
He tightened his grip and went back to work. Each swing jarred up his arms, each crack in the wood spurred him to keep going. Sweat rolled down his face and stung his eyes, but he kept chopping, the gap in the trunk growing deeper, the creak of strained wood starting to echo in his ears. One more swing, then another, and then with a sharp, loud crack, the tree groaned and leaned. He stepped back quickly as it tipped, crashing down through the undergrowth with a heavy thud.
Arthur stood there for a moment, panting, watching the branches settle. He'd done it. His first tree.
[Skill Unlocked: Lumbering (3/100) (Novice)]
A small smile tugged at his mouth. At least it was a start. Arthur sat back against the fallen trunk for a while, arms resting on his knees. His breathing finally started to even out, and when his heartbeat calmed enough for him to think clearly again, the dryness in his mouth came back into focus. The water skin was almost empty, and if he didn't refill it soon he'd be back to square one. Finding a river wasn't hard if you knew what to look for. Most animals in the forest needed to drink daily, so if you found a cluster of different tracks heading in the same direction, you could follow them straight to a water source. It was Tracking 101. With his own skill level, it wasn't even a challenge.
He pushed himself up, wiped his palms on his trousers, and started walking. The forest floor told him more than enough; hoofprints from deer, small pawprints from rabbits, the distinct three-toed scratch of pheasants. They all curved gently eastward, over a stretch of mossy ground and then through a patch of fallen leaves. All he needed to do was follow. Half an hour later, the trees started to thin, and the steady trickle of running water reached his ears. He stepped out from behind a thicket and found the river, a slow but steady flow that cut through a low bank lined with smooth stones. He crouched down, slipped his tunic off, and dunked it in the water, scrubbing his face and neck with the cold river until his skin prickled. He splashed his arms, his chest, washing away the sweat and grime from hours of work.
When he'd finished, he bent down and drank deeply from cupped hands, then filled his water skin to the brim. The cold felt good all the way down. He moved a little farther along the bank, dropped himself into the grass, and lay back with his arms behind his head. His muscles burned, but the cool air off the river helped. He could've stayed there for an hour if he let himself, but time was ticking, and the cart wasn't going to build itself.
With a low groan, he pushed himself up. "Better get back to it," he muttered. "Long way to go."
He grabbed the water skin, slung it over his shoulder, and was about to head back when a sound stopped him. Rustling, close by, just beyond the brush. He pulled the dagger from his belt, the one he'd taken from his father's workshop, and turned toward the sound. "Alright," he called. "Whoever's there, get out. Now."
Silence.
Arthur's grip tightened around the handle. He took a step forward, his eyes narrowing, waiting for whatever was in there to make its move.
A moment later, the leaves parted and a girl stepped out, brushing a few twigs from her hair.
Arthur blinked. "...Myrna?"
She froze, her eyes wide for a second, before looking down and mumbling, "S–sorry..."
Arthur sheathed the dagger and took a few steps toward her. "What are you doing out here?"
"I was... g–gathering," she said, her voice catching on the first word.
Arthur tilted his head slightly. Myrna Tiller. He knew her well enough. Not a close friend, but she'd been around most of his life. He and Mira had played with her when they were younger, mostly because no one else did. She was the kind of person people tended to ignore, unless they wanted someone to tease. Myrna wasn't tall, actually, she barely came up to his shoulder and she was carrying more weight than most girls her age. It gave her a large chest and a rounder figure, but not in the flattering way, and people often made fun of her for it. Not him and Mira though.
She had a cute enough face, with a button nose and light freckles scattered across her cheeks. Her brown hair was tied into two short pigtails that swayed when she moved, and she kept worrying one of the ties between her fingers as she stood there.
Arthur smiled, trying to put her at ease. "It's nice to see you. You've come out pretty far to gather."
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "It's... it's autumn," she said a little hesitantly, "and the gathering spots closer to the village... they've been wilting." She glanced down at the small basket in her hands, as if embarrassed by how little she'd found.
Arthur decided to look a little closer.
[Observe]
__________________________________
────────────────────
STATUS MENU
────────────────────
Name: Myrna Tiller
Class: Gatherer
Heritage: Crownlands
Age: 16
Level: 4
Unallocated Stat Points: 0
Title(s): [None]
────────────────────
COMBAT ATTRIBUTES
────────────────────
Strength: 2
Dexterity: 3
Constitution: 5
Intelligence: 9
Perception: 3
Luck: 2
────────────────────
PERKS
────────────────────
[Homely]
You lack conventional beauty by local standards and rarely draw romantic attention at first glance
[Kind]
You tend toward warmth patience and empathy in your dealings with others
[Sharp Smell]
Your sense of smell is far stronger than most allowing you to detect faint scents identify plants or food quality quickly
[Intelligent]
You learn and adapt faster than most and can apply knowledge to new situations with ease
[Shy]
You avoid the center of attention and often keep thoughts to yourself unless prompted
[Overweight]
Carrying more weight than average reduces stamina and agility but adds minor natural padding against cold and minor blows
────────────────────
SKILLS
────────────────────
[Cleaning] (12/100) (Apprentice)
[Cooking] (15/100) (Apprentice)
[Sewing] (9/100) (Novice)
[Gathering] (18/100) (Apprentice)
[Reading] (6/100) (Novice)
[Stealth] (5/100) (Novice)
[Herbal Insight] (Unique)
— You can instinctively identify the medicinal, poisonous, or culinary uses of most plants with just a glance or a sniff
────────────────────
BACKGROUND
────────────────────
Myrna Tiller is the only daughter of Jory Tiller, a bent-backed thatcher, and his wife, Alisse, who weaves baskets for trade. The Tillers live on the fringe of Harrowfield in a small, drafty cottage ringed with drying herbs and bundles of reeds from the marsh. Myrna spends most of her days foraging in the woods and along the riverbanks, gathering herbs, berries, and edible plants to help feed her family or barter in the village.
Though clever and capable, Myrna is a quiet, lonely girl. Her weight and plain looks have kept her apart from most of the village's youth. Boys rarely notice her except to mock her, and girls often forget she's there at all. She's long grown used to keeping her thoughts to herself and working alone.
Mira and Arthur were among the few who showed her kindness when they were all children, sharing food and company without judgement. Myrna never forgot it, and as the years passed, she grew fond of Arthur in particular. Lately that fondness has turned into a quiet crush, the kind she keeps to herself but cannot quite hide in the way she follows him from a distance when she can, watching him work or talk with others. She hasn't dared speak her feelings aloud.
_____________________________
Arthur blinked as the details flashed past his vision, the background making a few things click into place. She wasn't exactly here by chance then, or at least not entirely.
He glanced back at her, still standing there in the shade of the trees, clutching her satchel to her chest like a shield. "Well," he said, "you could've picked an easier spot to work. This is a fair way from home."
She gave a small nod but didn't answer, instead glancing past him toward the riverbank. The way she kept fidgeting, shifting her feet, and avoiding his eyes reminded him of when they were kids. She'd always had that awkward, quiet energy, like she was constantly working up the courage to say something but never quite made it there.
Arthur thought about asking why she was really here, but decided against it for now. Instead, he gestured toward the river. "Want to refill your water while you're here?"
She hesitated, then nodded again, stepping past him.
Arthur watched her go. He watched her crouch by the bank, scooping water into her water skin, but his thoughts weren't really on her anymore. They were stuck on one detail.
Unique Skill.
What the hell was a unique skill?
The System didn't usually answer him when he asked questions, he'd usually have to look it up himself but it seemed this time was different. As the reply came almost instantly, the cold text slotting itself into his vision.
[Due to player obtaining a Legendary skill from an Otherworld Token, balance alterations to the world were implemented.]
[Alteration Made: Unique Skill System]
[Certain individuals across the world now possess unique, one-of-a-kind abilities that give them an advantage in specific fields or situations.]
Arthur's stomach sank. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. "How many people?"
[Unique skills have been distributed at random across Westeros, Essos, and Sothoryos.]
[Total Unique Skills: 50,000,000]
"Fuck!" Arthur blurted.
Myrna jumped, nearly spilling her water skin into the river, and turned to look at him wide-eyed.
"Sorry," he said quickly, raising his hands a little. "Wasn't at you."
She nodded slowly, still clutching the skin tight, but her gaze lingered on him like she was trying to figure out what exactly had just happened. Arthur looked away with a grimace in his face. If this was the punishment for pulling something as simple as a tracking skill, he didn't even want to imagine what the hell the System would do if he landed something bigger.
Fucking Nightmare Mode.
(AN: So Arthur is on his own now and is gonna focus on grinding and getting stronger. Also I've made a mistake when writing this. Perks aren't the right name for wbat they have it should be traits, honestly that would work so much better, however. I am way too far into things to care about one word. So yeah it's gonna stay as perks. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter)
Support for more.
Patreon.com/captainalfie78works