Chapter 66. Picnic
"Mother-loving, son of a—" Adom ducked as fangs snapped shut where his throat had been a heartbeat earlier. "—dung beetle!"
For someone who had lived a couple lifetimes, his curse vocabulary remained... disappointingly tame at times. Something to work on, perhaps, though it was currently low on his priority list of skills to develop.
The Shadowmane lunged again, its wolf-like body moving with unnatural speed. Four glowing yellow eyes tracked his every movement, saliva dripping from jaws that could crush bone like kindling.
Adom's fingers twitched, instinctively forming the first sign of a [Flame Lance] spell. The mana rose within him, ready to be channeled into a devastating blast that would reduce the beast to ash.
He stopped himself.
That would be admitting defeat. The whole point of this exercise was to grow stronger without relying on magic. To build his physical foundation.
The Shadowmane sensed his hesitation and lunged forward, jaws wide.
Adom pivoted at the last possible second, the creature's teeth grazing his shoulder as he spun away. Pain flared where fangs tore through his tunic and scraped skin.
"You caught me at a bad time," Adom growled, backing up to create space. "I was just trying to eat lunch."
The remains of his meal lay scattered where he'd been sitting minutes earlier. He'd just finished hunting a pack of prismatic scorpions—nasty creatures with color-changing carapaces that made them nearly invisible in the right light. The fight had been exhausting but successful.
Then this thing had appeared from nowhere while he was trying to rest.
The Shadowmane circled him, muscles rippling beneath its midnight-black fur. Unlike normal wolves, its shoulders stood as high as Adom's chest, and a ridge of bone spikes ran along its spine. The creature moved with deliberate patience, waiting for Adom to make a mistake.
Zuni watched and chirped from his perch atop John, who stood motionless nearby. Adom had ordered the golem to protect the quillick, not intervene. This fight was his alone.
[Identify]
Shadowmane Alpha (High threat)
A predator that hunts by sensing fear. Capable of short-range shadow stepping.
"Of course you can teleport," Adom muttered. "Why wouldn't you?"
The Shadowmane's ear twitched. Then it vanished.
Adom threw himself forward on pure instinct, [Flow Prediction] slowing the world just so. Just enough for him to see it come. The creature materialized where he'd been standing, jaws clamping shut on empty air.
Adom rolled to his feet and charged before it could recover, driving a gauntleted fist toward its flank.
The Shadowmane spun, meeting his charge with teeth bared. Adom barely managed to redirect his punch, catching the creature's jaw instead of being caught in its maw.
WAM.
The impact reverberated up his arm as Fluid-enhanced metal connected with bone. The Shadowmane's head snapped sideways, but it recovered with terrifying speed, its front paw slashing out.
Claws like curved daggers tore through Adom's thigh.
He hissed through clenched teeth as blood immediately soaked his pant leg. The pain was electric, sharp and immediate. A healing potion would help, but the wounds were deep—this would take time to close.
The Shadowmane pressed its advantage, lunging again. Adom stepped inside its reach—a risky move, but the right one. As the creature's momentum carried it forward, Adom delivered an uppercut to its throat.
BAM.
The strike should have crushed its windpipe. Instead, the creature seemed to partially dissolve into shadow at the moment of impact, the blow passing through with reduced effect.
"That's cheating," Adom gasped as the Shadowmane reformed and whirled on him.
It answered with a growl that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
Adom circled left, keeping his guard high. Blood dripped steadily from his leg wound, leaving a red trail on the forest floor. Bad. If this fight dragged on, blood loss would become a serious problem.
The Shadowmane lunged again, this time feinting right before vanishing. Adom didn't fall for it—he'd noticed a slight shimmer in the air before each teleport. He turned, already bringing his fist up as the creature reappeared behind him.
His timing was perfect. WAM connected with the creature's snout as it materialized, sending it staggering backward with a yelp of surprise and pain.
Adom pressed forward, not giving it time to recover. A straight jab to the chest. A cross to the jaw. Each blow drove the creature back another step, each impact sending shockwaves through its body.
WAM. BAM. WAM.
The Shadowmane tried to teleport again, but Adom had its timing down now. As it began to dissolve, he tracked the shimmer in the air and was already moving to intercept. When it reformed, he was waiting with a devastating hook that caught it just below the ear.
BAM!
Bone cracked audibly. The creature stumbled, disoriented. One of its four eyes was swollen shut, and blood matted the fur around its muzzle.
But it wasn't finished. With a snarl that vibrated through Adom's chest, the Shadowmane launched itself at him in pure desperation. Teeth and claws slashed toward his face.
Adom met it head-on. As jaws gaped to tear out his throat, he drove his fist directly into its mouth.
WAM!
Teeth shattered. The creature howled in agony, thrashing its head to free itself from the brutal counter.
Adom didn't relent. His other fist hammered into the creature's exposed throat. Then its eye. Then the soft spot behind its jaw.
BAM. WAM. BAM.
Each impact drove the creature further into the ground. Its struggles weakened. Its growls turned to whimpers.
Still Adom continued, something primal taking over as he straddled the beast and rained blows upon its skull.
WAM. BAM. WAM. BAM.
Blood and brain matter spattered his face and chest. Bone gave way beneath his gauntlets. The creature's body twitched, then went still.
Adom delivered one final blow, driving his fist through what remained of the Shadowmane's skull into the ground beneath.
Silence fell over the clearing.
Adom remained there, straddling the corpse, chest heaving. Blood—both his and the creature's—covered him from head to toe. His leg wound throbbed painfully, though the bleeding had slowed thanks to Healing Factor. Various cuts and scratches covered his arms and torso.
He pushed himself to his feet, legs shaking with exhaustion. When he looked down at his hands, both gauntlets were slick with gore, the enchanted metal humming faintly as it processed the battle energy.
A notification appeared in his awareness:
[White Wyrm's Body has reached level 11!]
Your body now has a little more than twice the resilience of a normal human. Muscles, tendons, and skin are more resistant to tearing and puncture. Your bones are also less prone to breaking.
[Healing Factor has reached level 3!]
Your healing rate is now 6 times faster than a normal human's. Wounds close rapidly, broken bones mend in days rather than weeks. Your body optimizes itself during rest.
[Your Mana Pool has increased from 702 to 705!]
Your capacity for holding magical energy has expanded significantly. Recovery rate increased to 6.7 units per hour. Channels have strengthened, allowing for more powerful spell casting with less strain.
[Boxing Mastery has reached level 12!]
Your strikes now carry perfect weight transfer from foot to fist. Footwork has become instinctively efficient, allowing you to maintain optimal positioning.
[Flow Prediction has reached level 8! (Active -> Full Passive)]
Your ability to predict movement has become nearly instinctive. You can often sense attacks from outside your field of vision and anticipate movements more efficiently.
"Hell yeah," he wheezed, a grin spreading across his blood-spattered face.
Rest had never felt so good.
His muscles burned with fatigue, the pleasant ache of hard work that promised growth. Every part of him felt simultaneously heavy and somehow more responsive, as if his body was already adapting to the stress he'd put it through.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensations within. The notifications hadn't been wrong—he could actually feel his body repairing itself, knitting flesh and replenishing blood at a rate that would have seemed impossible before.
After countless hours spent poring over medical texts in the academy's library, Adom had developed a better understanding of where his healing abilities stood. A normal human body repaired soft tissue damage through inflammation, blood clotting, and cellular migration—processes that typically took days or weeks. Bone healing was even slower, with complete remodeling taking months.
But at now six times normal speed? The implications were staggering. Minor cuts closing in minutes instead of hours. Broken bones mending in days rather than weeks. Even major organ damage could potentially heal without intervention.
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Adom prodded the wounds on his thigh, wincing at the touch. The bleeding had stopped, but the deep punctures remained angry and raw.
"Time to test a theory," he muttered.
He reached into his pack and removed a small green vial—a topical healing solution Biggins had brewed himself. The old dragon had turned out to be one hell of an alchemist, claiming his potions were "adequate by draconic standards," which apparently translated to "exceptional by everyone else's."
That was not hard to believe after he experienced the mana increasing chocolates Biggins had offered to him and Sam back then.
Adom's theory was simple: if his natural healing was already accelerated, a healing potion should have amplified effects. The stimulants in the solution would trigger processes already working overtime.
He uncorked the vial, the sharp medicinal smell making his nose wrinkle. With a steadying breath, he poured the viscous green liquid directly onto the claw wounds.
"Son of a—" Adom hissed through clenched teeth as liquid fire seemed to spread across his leg. The sensation was like strong alcohol on an open cut, but multiplied tenfold.
Seriously. It hurt like a bit-
"Owww!"
The solution hissed and bubbled on contact with his wounds, wisps of white smoke rising from the damaged tissue. The scientific explanation was straightforward, if unsettling—the accelerated cellular activity generated heat, the rapid division and multiplication of cells consuming oxygen and nutrients at such a rate that the surrounding tissues actually steamed.
Adom watched in fascination as the deep punctures visibly closed before his eyes. The edges of torn flesh drew together, new skin spreading across the wounds like ice forming on a pond. Within minutes, only faint pink scars remained where deadly claws had torn him open.
"Works better than expected," he murmured, running his fingers over the newly healed skin.
According to his own theories, as [Healing Factor] continued to develop, Adom would eventually reach a point where external healing aids became unnecessary. His body would simply repair itself with incredible speed, regardless of the damage.
And then there was the other implication—one that Biggins had mentioned almost casually, as if it weren't potentially life-altering.
Aging was, in essence, a failure of cellular repair. As the body grew older, its ability to replace damaged cells diminished. But with an ever-increasing healing factor? That process might slow, stop, or even reverse.
Immortality. Or something close to it.
For most people, the prospect of endless life would be cause for celebration. But Adom had already lived a whole lifetime. He had already watched friends age and die while he continued on. He had already felt the particular loneliness of being the one who remained.
The thought of potentially outliving everyone—again—sat like a stone in his stomach. Would he watch Sam grow old and die? What about his soon-to-be born little sister? Would he attend her funeral decades from now? Would he form connections knowing they would inevitably be severed by time?
This thought was... breaking something in him.
A small weight landed on his thigh, disrupting his spiraling thoughts.
Zuni stood there, head tilted curiously. The quillick's ears twitched as he studied Adom's face, apparently sensing his companion's melancholy. Then, with deliberate movement, Zuni flipped onto his back, presenting his surprisingly fuzzy belly. It was a posture Adom had never seen from him before.
"What's this?" Adom asked, the weight of eternity momentarily forgotten. "Since when do you want belly rubs?"
Zuni chirped insistently, tiny paws batting at the air.
Adom smiled despite himself and obliged, running his fingers through the soft fur of Zuni's stomach. The quillick squirmed in apparent delight.
Then it happened.
A sound Adom had never heard from Zuni—a high-pitched, trilling noise that rose and fell like... laughter? It was unmistakably an expression of joy, bubbling and bright, remarkably similar to a child's giggle but in a register that seemed almost musical.
"You're laughing," Adom said, wonder replacing his earlier heaviness. "I didn't know you could do that."
Zuni responded with another peal of quillick laughter, the sound light and contagious. Adom found himself chuckling in response, the morbid thoughts of eternal loneliness temporarily banished by this small moment of connection.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Adom's stomach let out a gurgle so violent it sounded like a small animal was trying to escape.
"Right," Adom said, pressing a hand to his complaining stomach. "The other downside to healing this fast."
Hunger. Massive, relentless hunger. His accelerated healing consumed energy at an alarming rate, burning through reserves like a furnace through kindling. The more he healed, the emptier and weak he felt.
He carefully removed WAM and BAM, setting the gore-covered gauntlets aside for cleaning later. After wiping his hands on a cloth from his pack and rinsing them with water from his canteen, he reached into his inventory and pulled out yesterday's purchase—a sandwich from Old Mari's. Perfectly preserved and still smoking.
The baker had recently expanded beyond her famous pies to include sandwiches, and Adom had been eager to try one. It was wrapped in waxed parchment that crinkled as he unwrapped it with reverent care.
The bread was crusty brown on the outside, golden and soft within—Mari's special loaf with seeds baked into the crust. Between the generous slices lay thinly sliced roast meat, still faintly pink at its center, glistening with its own juices. Melted white cheese clung to the meat in strings, and a layer of green herbs and some kind of tangy red paste completed the creation. The smell alone was enough to make Adom's mouth flood with saliva.
"Lunch interrupted is lunch still deserved," he muttered, taking a massive bite.
The flavors exploded across his tongue—savory meat, sharp cheese, the bite of the herb paste, all brought together by bread that managed to be both hearty and delicate. He closed his eyes, focusing entirely on the sensation.
Zuni chittered impatiently at his feet.
"Right, sorry," Adom said through his mouthful. He dug into his pack again and pulled out a small pouch of mixed nuts, sprinkling a handful on the ground for the quillick. Zuni pounced on them immediately, stuffing his cheeks with alarming efficiency.
John remained standing at attention nearby, scanning the clearing for threats while his companions enjoyed their improvised picnic.
Adom took another enormous bite of sandwich, then reached for his second canteen. Inside was apple juice from Law's orchard—gifted by Ben. The juice was cloudy amber, unfiltered and honest.
He took a long swallow. It was perfectly cold despite the warm day, preserved by a minor cooling rune on the canteen. The juice washed away the coppery taste of blood that lingered in his mouth, replacing it with crisp sweetness that made him forget, for a moment, that he was sitting in a dungeon covered in monster gore.
[+7 Mana]
Apparently, his body appreciated the replenishment as much as his taste buds did. Adom took another swig.
"You know," he said to Zuni, who was picking through the nuts for his favorites, "some days I miss just sitting in the library reading. But I guess this isn't so bad either."
The quillick looked up briefly, whiskers twitching, before returning to the serious business of determining which nut deserved to be eaten next.