Chapter 40: How to loot after almost die in a forest
The taste of blood in my mouth had already become a habit. The air reeked of burnt wood, rotten sap, and something metallic that could be magical—or just my imagination trying to dramatize. Every breath felt like I was inhaling soot. I stepped over soaked soil, dead leaves, and shattered branches, like the forest had turned into a cemetery around me. Everything there wanted to swallow me.
My body trembled, but my hand still held the pickaxe tight. The fingers, rigid, ached as if carved from bone. I could barely feel my right arm. My left burned with the slash from the previous creature, though it wasn’t bleeding too much—yet. My breath came out like I was spitting steam. Hot. Shallow. Furious.
Magic pulsed in my bones—weak, but stubborn. It was time to end it. I needed to finish this. For her. For me. For my reputation. Not necessarily in that order.
And so I advanced.
The first bastard came at my flank, fast as a snake. I spun, felt my shoulder pop, and on reflex, hit with the curved end of the pickaxe. It let out a grunt, flew like a broken branch, and landed squirming. The others hesitated—for just a moment, but they did.
I stared them down, covered in sweat, dust, and what may or may not have been the vital fluids of some cursed tree.
"What are you waiting for? A motivational speech?"
They didn’t answer—of course—but gave me something better: a reason to keep swinging. One charged straight in, low, aiming for my leg.
I shifted my weight to the side, spun the pickaxe like a staff, and buried the blade into its trunk. The thing shrieked, and I used the momentum to kick what was left of its face as far as possible.
That’s when I felt it.
The fragment.