"Wait," Misaki said as they walked away from the altar. "You said there would be blood. You made me terrified about needles and ritual knives. But all I did was touch a piece of hide."
Lyria's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "The dungeon beast hide has microscopic needle-like protrusions on its surface. They're too small to see, but when you press your hand against it, they puncture the skin and draw minuscule amounts of blood. That blood interacts with the residual magical properties in the hide, which then reveals your affinity through color change."
Misaki looked down at his palm. Sure enough, there were dozens of tiny red dots across his skin, barely visible. "So you weren't lying. Technically."
"Technically," Lyria agreed, clearly pleased with herself. "The fear made the test more effective. Strong emotions help clarify the affinity reading."
"You enjoyed that way too much."
"Perhaps." She glanced up at the sky, where Ulth'rk was climbing steadily. "But playtime is over. You have work to do. The farm awaits, and Millia doesn't appreciate tardiness."
Misaki checked his system interface. [Current Time: 3rd Hour of Day Cycle]. He'd been up for nearly twenty hours straight between the night shift watering, the affinity ceremony, and now this. But the system also showed his stamina at acceptable levels—apparently the chakra stirring in his solar plexus was providing more endurance than he'd normally have.
He ran toward the farm fields, where Millia stood with her arms crossed and an impatient expression.
"You're late," she said.
"By five minutes," Misaki protested.
"Five minutes is five minutes. Time is harvest lost." But she handed him a basket anyway, her stern expression softening slightly. "Your technique improved yesterday. Let's see if you can maintain it. Five baskets minimum today, and try not to get hit in the groin by the starc plants."
"I make no promises," Misaki muttered, pulling on the work gloves.
The work went smoother than the previous day. His body had begun to adapt to the physical demands, and more importantly, he'd learned the rhythm of the plants. The starc came up with careful side-pulls, the redcooil pepper yielded to the twist-and-pull technique, and he managed to avoid most of the painful snap-backs that had plagued him before.
The system interface provided helpful guidance:
[Harvesting Efficiency: 47%]
[Skill Development: Basic Farming +2]
[Stamina: 73/100]
By the time the sun reached its peak—though "peak" on Vulcan meant hanging low and enormous rather than directly overhead—Misaki had filled five baskets with quality produce. His back ached and his hands were sore despite the gloves, but there was satisfaction in the completed work.
Millia inspected the harvest with her usual critical eye, checking each starc tuber for damage and each pepper for proper ripeness. "Acceptable. Twenty copper." She counted out the coins. "You're improving faster than most. Come back tomorrow if you want more work."
Misaki pocketed the coins, feeling the weight of his growing savings. Twenty from today, ten from the night watering shift, twelve from yesterday—he was up to forty-two copper total. Still short of the thirty-three needed for basic tools and lumber, but getting closer.
He was considering what other work might be available when Lyria appeared, slightly out of breath as if she'd been searching for him.
"There you are. I have a job for you, if you're interested."
"I'm listening."
"The medical department needs someone to gather herbs from the forest edge. Specifically sha'rell dawn bloom, sha'shu for potion bases, and sha'tyum for digestive remedies. It's simple work—I'll give you illustrations of what to look for—but it requires going beyond the village perimeter." She paused. "Ten copper, paid on behalf of the medical department. And you'll be going with an experienced team, so it's relatively safe."
Ten copper for herb gathering versus the backbreaking labor of farm work. The choice was obvious.
"I'm in. When do we leave?"
"Now. Wait here, I'll get the collection bags and reference materials."
Lyria disappeared into her hut, and Misaki took the opportunity to check his status. His stamina had recovered to 89/100—the benefits of enhanced vitality and the stirring Manipura chakra. The minor wounds on his hands from farm work were already healing faster than they should.
Lyria returned with a leather satchel and several cloth bags. "The herbs are marked with small wooden tags showing their illustrations. Collect a full bag of each type. The team is waiting at the east gate."
The "team" consisted of four people. Misaki recognized Vellin immediately—the hobbit-race scout leader he'd read about in the lore bible. She stood barely four feet tall but carried herself with the confidence of someone who'd survived countless dangers. Her equipment was immaculate: a short bow, a quiver of arrows, several knives, and what looked like trap-disarming tools hung from her belt.
The other three were loggers—burly men with axes strapped to their backs, there primarily to cut and haul Rulwood but serving as muscle for the expedition.
"Sky-faller," Vellin said, her voice surprisingly deep for her small stature. "Stay close, don't wander, and if I tell you to run, you run. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good. Let's move."
They left through the eastern gate, where guards nodded them through with casual waves. Beyond the cultivated fields, the land transitioned quickly into forest—the massive Rulwood trees rising like pillars, their dark bark absorbing the amber light of Ulth'rk. The undergrowth was thick with ferns and bushes, and the air smelled of earth and growing things.
Vellin led them along a well-worn path, her eyes constantly scanning the surroundings. The loggers spread out in a protective formation, their hands never far from their axes.
Misaki found the first sha'rell plant within ten minutes—a low-growing herb with distinctive dawn-colored petals that seemed to glow faintly even in the forest shade. He carefully harvested the leaves according to the illustrated instructions, placing them in the designated bag.
"Good eye," one of the loggers commented. "Most newcomers walk right past the sha'rell. It blends into the undergrowth."
They worked their way deeper into the forest, finding clusters of herbs growing in shaded alcoves and near the bases of older trees. Misaki filled the sha'rell bag, then started on the sha'shu—a moss-like growth that clung to tree bark and had to be carefully scraped off without damaging the plant.
The work was peaceful, almost meditative. The forest sounds created a constant background symphony: birds calling, insects buzzing, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze that somehow penetrated even this deep into the woods.
Then, abruptly, it stopped.
The silence was so sudden and complete that Misaki froze mid-reach toward a sha'shu cluster. Every sound—every bird, every insect, every rustle—had ceased as if someone had flipped a switch.
"Don't. Move." Vellin's whisper was barely audible, but the command in it was absolute.
The loggers had stopped as well, their hands now gripping their axes, eyes scanning the forest with sudden alertness.
Vellin tilted her head, her entire body still except for the slight movement as she turned her ear toward the deeper forest. Her hand moved to her bow with glacial slowness.
Then Misaki heard it—a sound that made his blood run cold.
A low, rumbling growl that seemed to come from everywhere at once. It resonated in his chest, making his ribcage vibrate. The sound was wrong—too deep, too powerful, like standing next to a diesel engine.
"Vro'gath," Vellin breathed. "Bear. Big one, from the sound."
Misaki's mind immediately went to the entry he'd read in the lexicon. Vro'gath: 900 to 1,888 kilograms. Eleven feet tall on hind legs. Aggressive territorial predator. Hide is valuable but extremely dangerous to harvest.
One thousand eight hundred kilograms. That was nearly two tons. Eleven feet tall. The largest grizzly bears on Earth maxed out at maybe 800 pounds standing eight feet tall. This was something else entirely.
"We have two options," Vellin said, her voice steady despite the tension in her frame. "Fight or run. Fighting a Vro'gath with four people—three of whom aren't combat class—is suicide. But running might trigger its chase instinct."
"How far are we from the village?" one of the loggers asked.
"Four hundred meters. Maybe five minutes at a sprint."
"Can it catch us?" Misaki asked, his engineering mind already calculating based on the mass and probable muscle structure.
"Yes," Vellin said simply. "But it's slower than us in a straight line. The problem is if it cuts us off or if we tire before we reach safety."
Another growl, closer this time. Through the undergrowth, Misaki caught a glimpse of movement—something massive and dark, pushing through ferns that stood taller than a man.
"We run," Misaki said, the words coming out with certainty. "I read the entry. It's huge, probably over a ton. Even if we could hurt it, killing something that size would take too long, and one hit from it would be fatal. We run, we hope it's not hungry enough to chase us all the way to the village walls."
Vellin looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Smart. On my mark, we move. Don't stop for anything. Drop the herb bags if you need to—they're not worth your life. Ready?"
The loggers shifted their grips on their axes. Misaki let his satchel slide off his shoulder, keeping only the lightest bag.
The undergrowth ahead exploded.
"RUN!"