The forest thinned by degrees, the oppressive hush breaking into scattered patches of birdsong and shafts of dying sunlight. Kevin trudged through it, his fists raw, his forearms crosshatched with red scratches. Every step jarred sore muscles, every breath caught in his bruised ribs, but his pack pulsed with the glow of notifications. Teeth, tails, meat, and—most precious of all—stacks of rat hides.
He opened his menu as he walked, eager to see what they could do. Sure enough, under Crafting → Armour, a grid with hundreds of stacked hexagons displayed with a new hexagon stack blinking:
Ratleather Crafting Recipes
- Ratleather Jacket (20 hides)
- Ratleather Shoulder Pads (10 hides)
- Ratleather Gloves (8 hides)
- Ratleather Boots (8 hides)
- Ratleather Leggings (12 hides)
Each gleamed faintly, hovering temptingly in his vision. Kevin selected the jacket, heart quickening. A schematic shimmered: a tunic-like pattern stitched from neat panels of hide, sleeves laced, seams oiled. He grinned—then the interface pulsed red.
Crafting Blocked: Required Tools Missing
You must access a leatherworking station (knives, awls, needles, tanning frame) to attempt this recipe.
Kevin stopped in his tracks, bark pressing into his shoulder. “Of course,” he muttered. “I can skin the damn things, but I can’t stitch them with my teeth.”
The AI’s voice oozed mockery. “Awh, can poor little human no ooga booga a vest? Tools are useful. Who could have guessed?”
Kevin shook his head, pushing the schematic away. Fine. Borik would have what he needed. He’d drag these hides back, drop them on the dwarf’s workbench, and learn how to stitch something that wasn’t soaked in his blood.
But his hands itched with curiosity. The herb grid still glowed in the corner of his vision, churning through the unprocessed herbs he had been picking all day and the experimentation slots waiting. He’d already discovered poultices and potions, but what if he pushed it further? He still had herbs left—mintleaf, pinebud, sunpetal—and now plenty of their processed vials and packets.
He stopped at a fallen log, sat heavily, and willed the interface open. Four slots glowed. He dragged in a Mint Poultice, a Minor Vitality Draught, and a pinch of Pinebud Powder. His stomach knotted as the combine arrow pulsed. He tapped it.
The bar filled. Ten seconds. Fifteen. It stretched longer than before, as though the system itself weighed the complexity. Finally, with a decisive chime:
Tier 2 Recipe Discovered: Restorative Salve
Poultice + Vitality potion + Mintleaf shreds → Restores 30 Health instantly and over time.
+15 Alchemy EXP
+15 Player EXP
Kevin’s jaw dropped. The icon that appeared was a jar of thick green paste, gleaming faintly with gold flecks. The tooltip shimmered with a note: Requires 2 of each ingredient to craft consistently.
He laughed under his breath, shaky but thrilled. “So it’s not just herbs. I can… stack the recipes.” Pulling open the grid again he tried another combination: a Weak Stamina Tonic, Mintleaf Shreds, and a Bitter Tea Bundle. The bar filled. Another chime.
Tier 2 Recipe Discovered: Invigorating Elixir
Stamina tonic + Mintleaf shreds + Bitter Tea Bundle → Restores 20 Stamina instantly. Grants +5% stamina recovery for 10 minutes.
+12 Alchemy EXP
+12 Player EXP
A real buff. Temporary, but the first he’d seen. He pushed further, almost feverish. He dragged a Minor Vitality Draught, a Minor Antidote, and a pouch of Sunpetal Flakes into the slots. This time, the bar pulsed ominously, flickering yellow instead of green. Kevin hesitated—but tapped anyway.
The chime was sharper this time.
Tier 2 Recipe Discovered: Purified Draught
Vitality potion + Antidote + Sunpetal Flakes → Restores 20 Health instantly and removes one negative status effect.
+18 Alchemy EXP
+18 Player EXP
Kevin exhaled, sweat pricking at his brow. His bars ticked forward, his Player EXP climbing again, though not enough for another level. His inventory glowed with new icons—jars, flasks, bundles—Tier 2 recipes sitting proudly beside their crude predecessors.
“I wonder…” He muttered with his forefinger over his lip. He dragged three Mintleaf shreds into the slots, a minor vitality potion popping out. He placed the minor vitality potion into the first slot, followed by another two Mintleaf shreds and waited… He waited some more but nothing happened. He dragged another mintleaf into the fourth awaiting slot and the production arrow began to move.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Tier 2 Recipe Discovered: Vitality Potion
Vitality potion + Mintleaf shreds + Mintleaf shreds + Mintleaf shreds → Restores 60 Health over time.
+20 Alchemy EXP
+20 Player EXP
It looks like I can compound the effects of potions and draughts by stacking their component herbs. He had discovered something concrete in the system. Expensive, yes—six Mintleaf per Vitality Potion—but sixty health gain… That felt significant.
He leaned back against the log, laughter bubbling up despite the ache in his ribs. He was filthy, bruised, dressed in shredded pyjamas—but he was building something. Layer by layer, herb by herb, rat by rat.
The AI sniffed. “Look at you. From boxer-clad buffoon to apothecary rat butcher, unfortunately still boxer-clad… Only just though...”
“Hey! Quit looking!” Kevin gasped, stretching his shirt down over his nethers. He smirked, wiping dirt from his cheek with the back of his hand. “Yeah, well… if I can turn this into armour and stockpile a few of these tier twos, maybe next time it’s not rats.”
“Have you even considered a weapon? A shield maybe? You can’t just punch everything forever you know…” The AI condescended.
Kevin sat slouched against the fallen log, one arm draped across his knee, the other absently rubbing the bruises along his ribs. The forest whispered around him, the leaves rusting in the gentle evening breeze, twigs snapping under foot of what he knew were more rats that he had little energy to deal with. His eyes lingered on the glowing menus, but his thoughts were far behind them.
A shield, he mused. Not just a plank of wood, but a wall, something heavy enough to plant in the dirt and let the world break itself against. He imagined standing firm, rats clawing, wolves snapping, blades biting, and all of it crashing against him like waves against rock. He could be that — not quick, not elegant, but immovable. Constitution already carried him further than he deserved; many times his health had dived below fifty—the original extra ninety health being long gone at that point—with a shield in his hand, maybe he’d last longer than anyone else in here. Maybe longer than he should.
But then the other thought crept in, sour as rot: What’s the point of standing still if everything else keeps moving? A shield stopped blows, but it didn’t win fights. He needed more. A weapon, yes, but also… what? Healing, maybe. Spells, if Mistress Anwen’s warnings hadn’t scared him too far from them. He remembered the way she’d spoken of failure — blindness, madness, death. Did he have the patience for that? The mind? Or was he destined to keep hammering away with fists and desperation?
His mind turned to the classic RPG’s he had played as a child. Small swords, daggers, hand axes, they were never as satisfying as the larger, heavier weapons—Claymores, Great Axes, Great Hammers… Hammers, now there’s an idea. He thought of it for a moment, staring up at the rapidly appearing stars and dual moons… A great big shield isn’t all that different from a hammer now is it? And what’s better than a shield? Two shields? He laughed out loud. Maybe it was possible, though he hadn’t really seen that option before in any RPG games.
He considered the word the AI had tossed so casually: Dungeons. The way Garric’s voice had shifted when he’d asked. Whatever lay ahead, it wasn’t rats forever. Wolves. Ogres. Worse things than teeth. Things that wouldn’t care if he’d stockpiled herbs or stitched hides into armour. His rat-leather tunic might buy him a few more breaths, but eventually something bigger would come along and take them back.
Kevin dragged his palm over his face, smearing sweat and grime. “What the hell am I supposed to be?” he muttered. Back home, he hadn’t been anything at all. A headset, a script, a hollow body filling a chair. Here, at least, he had the illusion of choice. Tank, fighter, spellcaster, crafter — the roles stacked in his head like discarded costumes. He could pick one. He could pick none. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe the only build that counted was alive.
His mind wouldn’t stop. What else don’t I know? The AI had hinted at locked menus — classes, factions, even something called a Soul Vault. Words with weight, but no explanation. Did everyone get the same? Did other groups unlock different things? Was there even a limit to how much one person could learn, or would the world just keep peeling layers away until he drowned in them?
He thought of Jess. Of his mother. Were they here, fumbling through the same choices, staring at the same empty menus, making different mistakes? Had his father been pulled in too, somewhere out there in the forest or a dungeon, building himself into something Kevin would never recognize? If he even would recognise him already? He wondered how many had taken the offer of a completely different form, a Dragonkin—he was sure that would come with some sort of fire breathing power—a Naga—slithering almost silently, perhaps that would lend to a rogue-like build. It was surprising how quickly his mind had gone to strategy.
His grip tightened on the rat hide in his lap until his knuckles whitened. “If I’m going to survive this,” he whispered, “I need to pick something and stick to it.” The words felt heavier than they should. A vow, almost. Not to Garric, or the AI, or the goblin with too many teeth — but to himself.
Kevin lifted the rat hide, staring at the ragged edges as though it might already be stitched into the future he was imagining. His pulse steadied, thoughts aligning like tumblers in a lock. Two shields. Not just defense—but offense, too. The heft alone would turn each swing into a crushing blow, every block a wall the world would have to climb. He wouldn’t need a sword to carve a path, just patience and stubbornness.
The thought settled deeper, heavier, until it no longer felt like an absurd joke whispered to the stars. It felt… inevitable.
“Two shields,” he murmured. “My own way. No blade, no axe, no spell I don’t understand. Just shields. Hold. Endure. Break them by standing longer than they can.”
The AI made a sound halfway between a scoff and a stammer. “That’s not a build. That’s just being stubborn in the face of things… You think you can kill your enemies by out staring them? You will bore them to death, only if you’re lucky…”
Kevin’s lips curled into a tired smile. “Maybe… But it feels right.” For once, the voice didn’t immediately fire back with ridicule. Just silence.
Kevin leaned his head back against the log, eyes tracing the dual moons overhead. “Let the rest chase glory. I’ll outlast them.” He exhaled, long and slow.