“He’ll be fine,” Jack muttered under his breath, half as reassurance and half as a lie. “Gondel’s got him.”
Forcing his focus forward, Jack forged deeper into the woods, kicking aside branches and snapping twigs with a series of annoyed huffs. Each time he thought he’d found a potential staff, it turned out rotten, split, or more decorative than practical. “Come on,” he grumbled. “Just one usable stick. How hard can it be?”
Nearly an hour of bumbling through the underbrush led him to a sunlit clearing where a massive oak dominated the center. Gnarled and ancient, its bark bore the weight of centuries. Though leafless, the tree pulsed with a strange, quiet gravity.
“Whoa,” Jack whispered, edging closer. “Okay, credit where it’s due. Devs knocked this one out of the park.”
Scanning the ground, his eyes locked on a fallen limb about fifty feet away, straight, solid, and almost staff-like perfection. His chest lifted with a spark of triumph. Finally, Gondel would have to shut up about “crafting responsibly” after this one.
Jack strode toward it, but two things hit him at once: a buzz from the journal at his side, and a low, predatory growl behind him.
Every muscle locked. Don’t panic. Not like with the thugs. He forced a swallow and slowly turned, hands half-raised in surrender.
Three wolves, sleek, midnight-gray, hackles bristling, stood in a tense semicircle. Their eyes burned like living coals, their growls a rolling thunder in the stillness.
Jack’s heart slammed against his ribs. Three? That was at least two more than his nonexistent skill tree could handle. His mouth moved before his brain caught up, producing only a thin squeak:
“N–nice doggies?”
A flicker of text burned across his mind, sharp as neon:
Forest Wolf x3 (Level 2)
…and then, the one that made his stomach drop:
Alpha Forest Wolf (Level 4)
Jack’s mouth went dry. Level four? He only counted three bodies. Where was number four?
The question barely formed before two of the wolves began to prowl closer, hackles bristling, their paws whispering across the grass. The third paced behind them, lips peeled back in a silent snarl. Jack’s chest clenched.
No Petros this time. No heals. If I screw up… game over.
The lead wolf sprang, a blur of fur and teeth.
“Chain lightning!” Jack yelped, thrusting both arms forward like he was hurling dodgeballs.
The spell detonated, wild arcs ripping from his fingertips and lancing the wolves. The first wolf screamed mid-air as the crackle burned through it, the bolt jumping into the next, then the third in a stuttering flash. The first slammed to the dirt only feet from Jack’s boots, smoke curling from its twitching body.
Forest Wolf (Level 2) has died. Experience gained.
Jack barely had time to process the message when the other two staggered upright, snarling, their fur still sparking.
Then something hit him from behind like a freight train.
The world spun as he smashed into the ground, air punched out of his lungs. A paw, massive, pinned his shoulder to the dirt. He gagged on hot, rank breath soaking his neck.
Drool slid down his cheek. Not blood, drool.
A guttural, rasping voice, words twisted through a growl, rattled in his ear.
“You… do… not… be…long… here.”
Jack’s eyes bulged. His brain stuttered. Did that thing just talk?
“New… meat,” it hissed, lips brushing his skin; the sound almost like laughter, guttural and vile.
Jack froze, helpless, a memory flashing of being pinned down in last night’s ambush. Fear clawed at his ribs, dragging him under, until something inside snapped.
“Not… this… time,” he rasped.
He couldn’t move his arms, so he thought about lightning, no, he demanded it. He imagined every muscle as a fuse about to blow.
The world went white-blue.
A shockwave ripped out of him, wild arcs blasting in every direction. The Alpha screamed, flung off his back in a shower of sparks.
Jack rolled onto his knees, gasping. His limbs felt like wet noodles, every vein still buzzing with static.
The Alpha, towering, fur streaked with gray, was already dragging itself upright. Its eyes glared with molten hate, patches of its pelt still smoking. It shook its massive head like the lightning was an annoying fly.
That should’ve killed it, Jack thought, a shiver ripping down his spine.
A growl behind him froze him solid. The other two wolves, scorched, furious, were circling again, hemming him in.
He was surrounded.
Jack’s throat went dry, but he raised his shaking hands anyway. “Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s burn this forest down together.”
Embers swirled overhead, condensing into angry sparks. Fire Rain peppered the clearing, stinging the Alpha as it tried to weave through the burning hail. The beast yelped, charred patches joining the lightning burns, but still it pressed forward.
It lunged.
Jack screamed back, “Earth Shatter!”
The ground split, a jagged seam opening under its paws. The wolf howled, one hind leg caught as the earth clamped back down. In a frenzy, it bit through its own flesh to pull free, blood matting its chest fur as it staggered forward.
Jack gagged, bile rising. “Jesus Christ…”
The Alpha didn’t slow.
Jack, barely upright, raised his trembling arms again, willing the last sparks of energy to coalesce.
“Chain, Lightning!”
The arcs shot out, wider, sloppier, but brutal. The Alpha was mid-leap when the bolt caught it square in the chest.
The detonation lit the clearing like a bomb, and the wolf was hurled backward in a spray of blood and sparks. Jack collapsed to his knees, vision swimming.
Alpha Forest Wolf (Level 4) has died. Experience gained.
Jack’s vision swam, colors smearing together. Mana exhaustion hit harder than any claw, dragging him down like an undertow. His arms went limp, his body folding to the grass.
Through the haze, he saw the remaining wolves, two shadows prowling at the edge of his blurred sight. Their eyes burned, low growls rumbling like thunder in their chests. They didn’t rush in, not yet, just circled, patient, waiting for weakness to settle in completely.
A cracked laugh rasped from his throat, more breath than sound. At least… I took the big one with me.
He rolled to his side, every muscle trembling, the world narrowing to a tunnel of black. He half expected teeth in his neck, the sharp snap of an ending. Instead, the last thing he heard was the low, hungry chorus of snarls, closer now, weaving with the soft rustle of leaves.
Then the darkness took him.
The sunlight slicing through the cottage window painted the interior in gentle gold, though the mood inside was anything but calm. The air was thick with the smell of herbs, sweat, and lingering fear.
Petros knelt on the rough-hewn floor, his breath coming in quick rasps, the warmth in his palms finally dimming. He had just finished channeling the last of his energy into the grandmother. The old woman now stood before him, staring at her hands in wonder as if they belonged to someone else.
“Me arthritis is gone,” she murmured, flexing her fingers, then crouching to test her knees. Despite her years, she moved with a vigor that startled even Gondel. Her voice cracked when she whispered, “Thank you. I… I’ve never felt this limber, not in twenty years.”
Behind her, the rest of the family watched with a mixture of awe and disbelief. The mother, who only hours before had been on the edge of death, now sat propped on a stool, color returning to her cheeks. Her daughter leaned at her side, clutching her arm protectively, as if afraid she might vanish again. The eldest son shifted awkwardly by the door, his injured leg now mended, testing his weight as though expecting it to buckle.
Petros forced a weary smile. He had done it, restored all of them. Healing the mother and child had drained nearly everything from him, dragging him to the edge of collapse. Compared to that, mending the old woman’s joints had been almost… routine. Easier, yes, but still taxing. Fatigue clung to him like a heavy cloak.
“Just… glad I could help,” he said softly, giving the family a slight bow. He could feel their gratitude pressing in on him like a tide, and though it warmed him, it also embarrassed him. He was just a boy fumbling with strange powers, not a saint.
Excusing himself, he stepped outside before the emotions inside could smother him.
The crisp forest air hit his lungs, a cooling balm against the exhaustion burning in his veins. He leaned against the cottage wall, letting out a long exhale. Relief mingled with the euphoric afterglow of healing, an intoxicating mix he hadn’t yet grown used to. Exhaustion with a dash of victory, he thought wryly.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
A faint glow pulsed from his hip. Petros pulled out the journal, flipping it open with a touch of anticipation. Fresh ink shimmered across the page:
Journal Update
Congratulations! You have reached Level 2
Reward: 20 copper coins
Reward: Simple Hooded Cloak
New Skill: Life Surge
Mana Pool: Increased
Attributes: +1 point available
Skill Points: +1 unspent
Petros frowned. “A cloak?” He dug into his pouch, fingers brushing fabric that hadn’t been there before. Drawing it out, he let the hooded garment spill into his lap. It was plain, but solid, with tight stitching and sturdy fabric. Real. He quickly stuffed it back inside, unwilling to face Gondel’s questions just yet.
His eyes lingered on the skill entry.
Life Surge (Lv. 1):
Taps into the caster’s mana pool and life force.
Revives a fallen ally if cast within 60s of death.
Leaves the caster severely weakened; may cause HP drain.
A low whistle escaped him. “Powerful… and terrifying.” He could still see the little girl’s pale face as he’d dragged her back from the brink. This skill didn’t just recognize what he’d done; it codified it, formalized it into something greater. And infinitely more dangerous.
Another flick of the journal revealed his attributes:
Attributes
Strength
Agility
Endurance
Intelligence
Willpower
Skills
Soul Mend (Lv. 1)
Exorcism (Lv. 1)
Spirit Guardian (Lv. 1)
Life Surge (Lv. 1)
Jack had once told him that Intelligence made magic sharper, faster, and more sustainable. With the day he’d just had, Petros didn’t even hesitate. He tapped Intelligence.
A cool rush swept through him, like water sluicing through clogged pipes. His mana flowed easier, more abundant, more his own. He flexed his fingers and let the energy hum. “Much better.”
His gaze drifted back to Life Surge. The temptation to invest his point into the ultimate ability clawed at him. To make it stronger. Safer. But the warning in its description gnawed louder. “No sense making a skill stronger when I don’t understand its price,” he muttered, closing the journal with finality.
Almost.
Something tugged at him, and he reopened it to the folded map. His icon pulsed just outside the little cottage, surrounded by five dots: four green, one yellow. He frowned. Who was yellow?
Shaking it off, his eyes wandered north. A single green dot pulsed faintly in a clearing, beneath a sketch of an ancient, ornate tree. Symbols curled along its branches, faint and strange.
Jack.
Petros’ lips curved into a small smile despite his fatigue. “What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?” he whispered, brushing his finger over the tree.
And then, quietly, he made a note to himself. He would find out what those symbols meant.
Petros was about to rejoin the family when Gondel stepped out of the cottage, closing the door with surprising gentleness. The boy startled, fumbling with his map as if he’d been caught with a guilty secret. He crammed the folded parchment into his pouch, not noticing that the glowing yellow dot on its surface blinked out at the exact moment the door clicked shut.
He wasn’t alone. A child slipped out behind Gondel, wide-eyed and silent. The little boy, one of the grandmother’s grandsons, stared at Petros with the kind of awe usually reserved for saints or heroes. Before Petros could stammer anything, the child bolted back inside, vanishing like a spooked rabbit.
“You did well in there, boy,” Gondel said, clapping a warm, paternal hand against Petros’s back. The wizard’s tone carried approval, but his eyes flicked, just once, to the pouch at Petros’s waist. “Ready to move?”
Petros nodded, fiddling with the strap of his bag. He felt Gondel’s gaze linger like a weight, but the older man said nothing more.
They bid the family farewell, the grandmother pressing a sack of provisions insistently into Petros’s arms. He tried to protest, but she waved him off, smiling so hard it seemed her face might crack. Reluctantly, he accepted the gift, hugging the sack against his chest. I wonder if it’ll fit in my pouch…
The thought followed him all the way down the road. The sack was awkward and heavy, jostling with each step. He kept glancing at his bag of holding, the temptation gnawing at him. But the idea of exposing that secret to Gondel made his stomach twist.
They reached the forest’s edge, where a narrow, almost invisible trail branched away from the main road. Gondel halted, eyes sliding to Petros. Then to the pouch. Then back again. His mouth curved into a knowing grin.
“I can’t imagine why you keep wrestling with that sack,” he drawled, tapping his staff once against the earth. “When it’d fit neatly as a song in your dimensional pouch. Unless you’d rather keep up the act?”
Petros froze, every drop of color draining from his face. “I, uh, ”
Gondel chuckled, the sound rough but not unkind. “Boy, I’ve lived longer than most men in three lifetimes. I know a bag of holding when I see one.” He reached out and ruffled Petros’s hair with almost grandfatherly affection. “Don’t worry. If I wanted to rob you, I’d have done it before you knew your shoes were untied. Now, come on.”
Without another word, Gondel strode into the brush, vanishing into his hidden path.
Petros stared after him, cheeks still hot, then looked down at the bag of provisions. With a sigh, he popped open his pouch and pushed. The sack slid through the opening with ease, vanishing into the impossible space inside. The pouch looked no different than before.
“Guess the cat’s out of the bag,” Petros muttered, shaking his head. He trailed after Gondel, still trying to reconcile how casually the wizard had seen through him. Maybe he’s not just some half-drunk conjurer… Maybe he really was the High Wizard.
A coarse, wet drag scraped across Jack’s cheek. Groaning, he tried to shove it away, expecting dirt, blood, or worse, only for his hand to brush warm fur and the hard shape of a muzzle. His eyes snapped open. The forest rushed back into focus: the battlefield, the stench of blood, the ache in every muscle.
Two wolves loomed over him. Massive. Their silver-gray coats bristled in the moonlight, eyes gleaming like polished amber. Jack’s pulse spiked, the taste of iron sharp on his tongue. Instinctively, he lifted a trembling hand, sparks dancing faintly across his fingertips.
But the wolves didn’t spring. They didn’t snarl.
Both sat back on their haunches, tails thumping the earth in short, uncertain beats. Their heads cocked, ears twitching, as if waiting.
“What the hell…” Jack muttered, lowering his hand. The faint static hiss fizzled into nothing.
One wolf trotted forward, circling once before pressing its muzzle insistently into his palm. Jack froze. His brain screamed predator, but the creature only leaned harder, a deep rumble vibrating in its chest that sounded suspiciously like a purr.
The second wolf gave a sharp whine, ears flat, then bounded forward too. In seconds, Jack was pinned to the grass, not by claws or teeth, but by two enormous, slobbering tongues. He barked out a laugh, half in disbelief, half in sheer relief, while the wolves shoved against him like overgrown dogs desperate for affection.
“You two were trying to eat me an hour ago,” Jack said between gasps of laughter, wiping his face. “Now you want belly rubs?”
The absurdity hit him so hard he nearly cried. After the fight, after the exhaustion, this was the last thing he’d expected.
Slowly, Jack rose to his feet, brushing dirt and fur from his tunic. He raised one cautious hand. Both wolves sat instantly, backs straight, golden eyes locked on him.
“Stay,” Jack tried.
They stayed.
He exhaled a shaky laugh. “Guess we’re friends now.” Fishing through his pouch, he pulled free two stale biscuits from breakfast. “Good boys,” he said softly, tossing the food. The wolves caught them mid-air, devouring the treats in seconds.
Watching them lick their chops, Jack’s grin widened despite himself. Something inside his chest, something knotted tight since this world had swallowed him, eased. For the first time in too long, he didn’t feel like prey.
Relief faded into curiosity. Jack pulled out his journal, the runes along its spine glowing as lines of text unfurled across the page like living fire.
New Quest: Defeat the Forest Wolves to collect the branch
Forest Wolf x3 (Level 2)
Alpha Forest Wolf (Level 4)
Forest Wolf (Level 2) has died. Experience gained.
Alpha Forest Wolf (Level 4) has died. Experience gained.
Forest Wolves see you as the new Alpha.
You have bonded with Forest Wolf (Level 2).
You have bonded with Forest Wolf (Level 2).
Quest Complete: Defeat the Forest Wolves to collect the branch
Reward: 70 copper coins added to pouch
Reward: Simple Hooded Cloak added to pouch
Experience gained.
Level Up! You are now Level 3.
Skill Points: +1 (Total: 2 unspent)
Loot Forest Wolf (Level 2)? [Yes / No]
Loot Alpha Forest Wolf (Level 4)? [Yes / No]
Jack blinked. “…New Alpha?” He glanced at the wolves lounging beside him like overgrown house pets. Their panting grins seemed to confirm it.
“Sure. Why not,” he muttered, circling Yes with a mental flick.
Text scrolled again:
25 copper coins added to pouch
Simple wolf hide added to pouch
47 copper coins added to pouch
Uncommon wolf hide added to pouch
Alpha Forest Wolf Core added to pouch
At the last line, his heart skipped. “Alpha Forest Wolf Core,” he whispered, fishing through his pouch. His fingers brushed something warm, disc-shaped, humming with life. He drew out a crystal, faintly pulsing, a subtle aura thrumming up his arm.
“A monster core,” Jack breathed.
The journal flared open again:
Monster cores are concentrated magic essences dropped by creatures level 4 and above. Potency varies by strength.
Basic beasts yield lesser cores.
Elite/Alpha beasts yield more powerful alpha cores.
Uses: ability enhancements, crafting currency, and advanced recipes.
“Nice.” Jack let out a low whistle. Monster cores that could soup up his lightning? That was next-level loot. Carefully, he stashed it.
A soft rustle drew his gaze. He pulled the quest reward cloak free from his pouch, a simple hooded garment, dark green, sturdy but comfortable. He swung it over his shoulders, the weight settling across him like a promise. For the first time, he looked the part of… something more than prey.
Hefting the oak branch from the clearing, he gave it an experimental thump against the ground. Solid, straight, dense enough to serve as a weapon. A grin tugged at his lips. “Yeah. This’ll make a sweet staff.”
He started toward the road, using it like a walking stick, but a sharp whine stopped him. The wolves padded after him, eyes glowing with something almost… protective.
Jack raked a hand through his hair. “What do I do with you guys?”
One nosed his hand, licking his fingers with sloppy devotion. Jack sighed, scratching its ear. “Alright, ground rules: no scaring villagers, no tearing out throats unless they deserve it, and if you get hungry, find a deer, not the baker. Deal?”
Both wolves wagged their tails. One even barked, short and sharp, like an answer.
Jack snorted. “Guess that’s a yes.” He wagged a finger at them. “Stay out of sight near the road. We’ll figure this out.”
By the time he reached the main path, the wolves had melted into the underbrush, shadows at his flank. Their presence lingered at the edge of his awareness like unseen bodyguards.
Jack dropped onto a fallen log, cloak rustling in the breeze. For the first time since arriving in Aerothane, he felt something strange, a flicker of command, of belonging. Yesterday, he’d nearly been wolf chow. Today… he had a pack.
He pulled the Alpha Wolf Core from his pouch, watching its glow dance between his fingers. “Not a bad day’s work,” he said with a crooked grin. “Not bad at all.”
Lightning hummed faintly at his fingertips, the wolves’ eyes glowed from the tree line, and Jack, scrappy, battered, grinning, was ready for whatever came next.