The stench of blood in the camp had been mostly drowned out by the smell of burnt wood, but it couldn't fully mask the nauseating odor of rotting pine resin lingering in the air.
Following Kael's orders, the guards worked while covering their noses, hacking off the monsters' claws and stripping away their mimic-skin.
Kael walked over to the corpse he had shot through the face. He didn't need to analyze anything anymore—right now, he needed to recover his ammunition.
He stepped on the creature's head. By firelight, the vertical facial rift was clearly visible. Inside, rows of dense barbs had gone slack in death, coated in viscous yellow ichor.
Expressionless, Kael gripped the arrow shaft and yanked.
Squelch.
A strand of slime came out with it—but that was all. Only half a broken arrow emerged. The arrowhead was badly deformed, and the shaft had completely shattered under the massive impact.
Kael frowned, casually tossed the ruined arrow aside, and moved on to the next corpse. The same. Every arrow was destroyed.
Remaining: 35 arrows. Loss rate: 12.5%.
Still within an acceptable range. But the bow…
Kael returned to the fire and rested the longbow across his knees.
By the flickering light, the damage was shocking. After that burst of force, a clear fracture had appeared along the surface of the yew wood, nearly running through the entire lower limb. The wooden fibers had snapped, pale and jagged, like exposed bone.
A Strength of 2.8 wasn't merely heavy for a mass-produced hunting bow—it was destructive.
The bow was finished. Forget another burst. Even drawing it normally now risked having it explode into fragments.
Kael glanced at the numbers in the corner of his vision.
[ Aether Points: 11.0 ]
He didn't hesitate. With a shift of consciousness, 1 Aether Point was consumed. He didn't wait for any system prompt, directly guiding the energy into the ruined weapon in his hands.
Swallow it, he thought.
The transfer completed instantly. Beneath his palm, the lifeless yew wood suddenly began to pulse with a deeply unsettling sensation.
There was no glow. No visual effects. Kael watched as the blood from his palm was drawn into the wood—not soaking in, but being sucked in, as if by countless invisible mouths.
Then, the change began at the fatal fracture.
The pale, splintered fibers turned a sickly red, softening like wax. Countless tiny crimson threads—microscopic capillaries—sprouted from the fracture, weaving and entangling wildly, forcibly knitting the two broken ends back together.
Hiss…
The sound of flesh growing.
The crack vanished. In its place was a dark red growth, like scar tissue formed after a wound healed. It didn't just repair the damage—it looked tougher, more vicious than the original wood.
Kael's hand froze. Even someone accustomed to all kinds of enhancement effects in games felt a chill crawl up his spine at this sight.
What the hell… Did I just create something seriously wrong?
This wasn't Enhancement. This was Mutation. Had the bow… come alive?
He tested a draw. This was no longer the feeling of pulling on dead wood. The moment his fingers hooked the string, the bow seemed to sense his muscle tension. The dark red "veins" pulsed faintly, actively cooperating with his force.
The timing and resistance matched his muscular expectation perfectly—no adjustment needed. As if the bow had become an extension of his arm, another bone growing outward.
Only then did Kael take a deep breath and summon the system scan.
"Scan."
[ OBJECT ANALYSIS — COMPLETE ]
[ ITEM: LONGBOW ]
[ MATERIAL: YEW / UNKNOWN BIOMASS ]
[ STATUS: ANOMALOUS OBJECT ]
[ BINDING STATE: BLOODBOUND ]
[ REFERENCE SIGNATURE: KAEL ]
[ COMPATIBILITY ]
Primary User: KAEL — Optimal
Secondary Users: REJECTION IMMINENT
[ EFFECTS ]
Bio-Repair: Consumes user's blood to repair structural damage.
Structural Calibration: Adaptive tension alignment.
User-Specific Feedback: Tuned to referenced physiology.
[ LIMITATIONS ]
Calibration locked to reference signature.
Rebinding unsupported.
[ Current Aether Points: 10.0 ]
The interface dissolved into the air. Kael stared at the weapon in his hands—no longer something that could be called an "ordinary hunting bow"—and fell silent.
Rejection. Bio-repair. The bow had become a parasite. It drank his blood. In exchange, it granted him perfect control.
Fair enough. Kael took out a cloth and wiped the faint blood residue from the grip.
At that moment, a figure blocked the firelight. Kael didn't look up, but his muscles subtly tensed.
It was Jarek—the guard who had been desperately waving a torch earlier, nearly having his throat torn out by a Timber-Mimic. The man looked awkward now. Holding a small jar of grease in both hands, he stood two steps away, not daring to approach.
"Mr. Tom," Jarek said quietly, his back unconsciously bent. "This is deer fat. I saw you cleaning the bow earlier… in this weather, wood gets brittle. A bit of oil helps."
Kael lifted his head and glanced at him. His gaze was calm—like looking at a stone by the roadside.
Jarek instinctively held his breath. Carefully, he placed the jar on a clean rock beside Kael's hand, making sure not to brush even the corner of Kael's clothing. The moment he set it down, he retreated quickly, like he was fleeing a predator's territory.
Kael picked up the jar. Crude container—but useful. He began slowly oiling the bow.
The atmosphere shifted. No more whispers. Eyes kept drifting toward him—then snapping away the instant Kael looked up. They pretended to focus on the fire.
"I've walked this road for ten years," Varn finally said, tossing another log into the fire, his brow tightly furrowed. "Never seen anything like that."
The guards nodded, lingering fear etched on their faces.
"Those were Timber-Mimics, right?" another guard asked quietly. "I've heard bard stories. Aren't they supposed to live deeper in the mountains? And… why did they look so strange?"
"And so fragile," Jarek added, gesturing vaguely. "That thing shattered when it hit a tree. The stories say they can tear bears in half."
"Maybe they were starving," Varn guessed. "Damn world—now even monsters are mutating."
Lina, sitting opposite and sharpening her sword with a whetstone, stopped.
"They weren't starving." She looked into the fire, its glow illuminating the hard lines of her profile, seeming to agree with Kael's earlier assessment.
"When Tom dissected one of them earlier, I took a look too," she said, pointing at the remains. "Their bones were hollow—like reeds. That structure is good for speed. Nothing else."
She lifted her gaze through the flames, locking onto Kael.
"I've seen you shoot before. At the Blackwood outpost range," Lina said, unconsciously using honorifics now. "Back then, I thought you were a good archer." She paused, touching her left shoulder guard. "But those shots just now… that was something else entirely."
"One arrow passed right by my pauldron," she said quietly, a trace of lingering fear in her voice. "The pressure from it stung my face. I didn't even react before the monster behind me was already dead."
The camp fell silent. Lina set the sword across her knees and leaned forward slightly—a posture reserved for addressing someone above her.
"Mr. Tom," she said carefully, "someone with your skill would normally be treated as an honored guest by a lord, or earn enormous bounties in the mercenary guild. Why are you in a refugee caravan like this… traveling north under an alias?"
The mood grew delicate.
Then—
Thud.
Kael shifted his posture. The heavy bundle on his back struck the rock behind him. The sound was dense. Solid. Not wood. Not hollow.
Jarek, staring into the fire, startled and glanced sideways.
Even during the fight, that rectangular object wrapped in layers of rough canvas had remained tightly bound to Kael's back. The canvas was stretched taut over it. The shape was massive and rigid—like an unpolished gravestone, or a dead lump of iron.
Jarek found himself staring. Then he felt it. A gaze.
He snapped his head up and met Kael's cold eyes. His whole body stiffened. Cold sweat broke out instantly. In the wasteland, staring at a powerful person's belongings was an invitation to die.
"S-sorry, Mr. Tom!" Jarek stammered, waving his hands. "I didn't mean to pry—just… that sound was so heavy. Carrying something like that… it must be exhausting, right?"
He swallowed, then cautiously added a guess, trying to cover his rudeness: "Is that… a Sin Marker?"
In certain ancient southern cults, penitents dragged heavy iron slabs to atone for their sins.
"Carrying something like that for hundreds of miles…" Jarek's eyes filled with a mix of pity and fear. "Your sins… must be heavy."
Kael's hand stopped midair. He glanced at the bundle.
Sin? No. That was The Monolith.
A block of iron. Absurdly dense. No edge. No finesse. A heavy blank meant to crush everything through sheer mass—sleeping beneath the canvas, waiting for the day his Strength grew enough to wield it with one hand.
But in their eyes, it had become a symbol. That was good. The deeper the misunderstanding, the greater the awe.
Kael patted the heavy bundle.
Thud.
The sound was low and solid, like striking a steel anvil.
"Not a sin marker," he said flatly. He didn't unwrap it. Just ran his hand over the rough canvas, a hint of cold humor in his tone.
"It's my coffin fund."
"The most valuable thing that dead big shot owned… is in here."
Everyone froze. Then Varn and Jarek exchanged glances, their tense shoulders relaxing instantly.
Stolen goods. And judging by the weight, likely an unrefined rare metal block—or some valuable raw ore. No wonder this kid refused to let it go, even in battle.
In times like these, nothing was more believable than greed.
"Carrying something that heavy like treasure…" Varn grinned, pulling out a flask and handing it over with both hands. "Your back must be iron. I'd have ditched it to save my life."
"Worth half of Blackwood," Kael said calmly, lying without blinking. "Assuming I live long enough to sell it."
That explained everything.
"I killed someone I shouldn't have," Kael added, staring at the firelight dancing over his fingers. "Down south. He wanted me dead, so I struck first. Not just a capital crime—collective punishment. So I had to disappear. Completely."
Silence lingered. Then Varn let out a long sigh.
"Shit. I knew it," he muttered, but the wariness was gone. "In this fucked-up world, anyone with real skill gets forced into becoming a monster."
The guards' gazes toward Kael changed. If he killed for money and survival, then he wasn't a mindless butcher—or some cursed freak. Just a ruthless man trying to live and get rich. Like them.
"To the guy who shouldn't have been killed," Varn said, shaking his empty cup at Kael. "Hope he's really dead."
Lina looked at Kael. As a seasoned warrior, she instinctively felt something was off about that bundle—the shape was too regular for raw ore, and that unsettling presence…
But she quickly averted her gaze, regretting her earlier curiosity. At this distance, if this man wanted to kill, she wouldn't even have time to draw her sword. In a lawless wilderness, prying into a strong person's secrets was suicide.
She slid her sword back into its sheath quietly, almost afraid to make a sound.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Tom," Lina said, lowering her head. The probing edge was gone from her voice—replaced by absolute submission to power. "I spoke out of turn."
"Whatever happened in the past…" She paused, her gaze lingering on the heavy iron slab behind him, then shifting to his hands—
She didn't finish the thought. She just exhaled, the tension leaving her shoulders. "I'm glad you're with us."
She stood up and brushed the dust from her knees. She didn't tell him to rest. She didn't wait for permission.
She simply picked up her sword and walked to the edge of the firelight—directly between Kael and the encroaching darkness of the forest. It was the windiest spot, where the stench of rotting resin was strongest.
She sat down on the cold stone, her back to him. She was facing the danger so he wouldn't have to.
She drew her sword and laid it across her knees, her posture rigid and alert. She wasn't just taking a shift. She was positioning herself as his wall.
"I'm not tired," she said softly to the darkness.
It was the only invitation she dared to offer.
Kael neither refused nor thanked her. He set the heavy flask aside, leaned back against the tree, and pulled his hood low over his face.
The lie had worked. In a group full of sinners, sometimes admitting you were a "criminal" wasn't just safer— It earned respect.