Aaron stood before the corpse of the slain monster.
He stared at his bent spear.
The metal, twisted by the force of the impact, now formed an unsightly angle halfway up the shaft.
The blade, cracked in several places, still vibrated slightly from the last blow.
He turned it slowly in his hand.
It was the best weapon he had ever owned.
And it was almost dead.
He spun it around, inspecting it from every angle, then planted it in the ground, his gaze fixed on the Titan's corpse sprawled a few steps away.
The creature looked smaller now.
Lying down. Motionless. Drained of power.
A mix of rock, flesh, and wood, lifeless and cold beneath the pale sky of the plains.
Aaron approached.
He placed a hand on the Titan's chest, where plant fibers merged with stone.
The contact was rough, but he still felt a lingering warmth.
The heart no longer beat, but the body wasn't entirely cold.
— You've seen the difference between the forest and the plains, said Noraa, her voice ringing in his mind like a blade brushing glass. You were lucky. One missed strike. A few seconds too late… and he would've had you.
Aaron didn't answer right away.
He was observing the details. The patterns carved into the stone, the plant veins forming almost geometric structures beneath the skin.
This wasn't just a stronger monster than the forest stalkers.
— There's an almost insurmountable gap between each biome, Noraa continued, more serious now. It's not just a step up in difficulty. It's a new world. You're no longer a predator here. You're a tolerated anomaly… until proven otherwise.
Aaron slowly straightened.
His eyes swept across the empty plain around him. No alerts. No fresh blood scent.
Nothing immediate.
— "I went from a pond… to a lake."
His voice was low, calm. Thoughtful.
— And the next step?
Aaron looked to the horizon.
The plain revealed nothing. But it didn't need to. It was waiting.
— "I have to become invisible to the gods. Or capable of slaying them."
Noraa went quiet for a moment. Then:
— What if this Titan wasn't even at the top of its caste?
Aaron froze.
Not from fear.
But from clarity.
He lowered his head, looked at his damaged spear.
Then at the giant corpse behind him.
— "Then I'll have to climb fast. Before they come down."
The return journey was long.
Not because of the distance, but because of the weight he carried.
The weight of doubt — that little whisper Noraa constantly tried to silence, but that sometimes still crept in.
Would he be able to break through this bottleneck?
Would he survive?
What was the point of going on?
These questions never came directly.
They seeped into him like poison into a sealed wound, oozing between breaths, in the apparent calm of the forest.
He had killed a Titan.
But at what cost?
His spear was nearly unusable. His body, battered from the effort.
And more than anything, he had barely defeated his opponent.
Had he been slightly slower or weaker, the corpse abandoned in the plains would've been his.
How long would he have to throw himself into uncertain battles for uncertain rewards?
And more than anything… that cold certainty that this was only the beginning.
A test.
An appetizer.
— This can't go on like this, we'll end up biting off more than we can chew, Noraa whispered. We need to find a solution.
Aaron didn't respond. He merely adjusted the spear against his shoulder.
The shaft creaked slightly under the pressure of his fingers.
The wind stirred the leaves gently around him as he stepped into the familiar edge of the forest.
The shadows, thicker here, felt almost comforting.
The forest was no longer dangerous. It was outdated.
He walked past the tree where he had marked his early days, one notch for every night survived.
He didn't count them anymore.
And at the center… the altar.
Still silent, grey, intact.
He approached slowly, as one might approach a familiar grave.
Because he knew what he was about to see… might not be what he hoped for.
He reached out.
The stone vibrated under his fingers.
BODY: 33
MIND: 12
POINTS: 7560
Not enough.
He already knew that.
He would need tens of thousands of points to hope to break through the bottleneck.
And even then… Would it be enough?
He closed his eyes.
His heartbeat echoed in his ribcage like the drums of a distant war.
Then, a calm, implacable thought rose from within:
— There's no direction but forward. The only variable is your speed.
— "Or your exhaustion. "
The next level cost 12,195 points.
He would have to slay three more Plains Titans to hope to reach level 34.
And he knew: it would change almost nothing.
Each level cost more. Each improvement came slower.
And above all… the more he progressed, the less real power he gained.
No more big leaps. No more breakthroughs.
The system now demanded sacrifices without any guarantee of reward.
And the enemies… were still deadly.
Titans didn't grow weaker.
It was the fights that grew longer, more uncertain, more dangerous.
Every battle could be the last.
One misstep. One move too late.
And it would all end there.
He closed his eyes.
Aaron was sure he could endure this rhythm.
But was that all he could give?
Had he used every second to its fullest?
He opened his eyes again.
He no longer hoped for a shortcut.
Just one thing: to endure.
Day after day. Battle after battle.
Until something gave way. Either the system… or himself.
He rested his hand on the altar and, without hesitation, bought enough food for a month.
Then left without looking back, heading toward the endless plains.…
The wooden spear still vibrated in Anne's hand, buried deep in the blackened throat of the stalker lying in a pit at their feet.
Silence fell immediately after the creature's death — a tense, almost anxious silence. No breeze. No birds. Only the faint creak of leaves beneath their dirty boots.
Roy, a few steps away, was breathing heavily. He had blood on his cheek — not his own — and stared at the carcass as if waiting for it to rise again.
— "It's over," Anne said, out of breath.
Roy didn't answer immediately. He stepped forward slowly, his own wooden spear in hand.
He drove it one last time into the monster's ribcage, out of habit.
Only then did he straighten up and exhale, relieved.
— "One per day," he said, almost like a mantra. "Fifteen days. Fifteen monsters."
Anne nodded silently. She looked at her hands, dirty, trembling. She hadn't had blisters for a week — the skin had hardened. So had her body. She still wasn't fast. Nor agile. But she held on. That was already a lot.
— "We're getting good," she tried, a faint smile on her lips.
Roy shrugged, wiping the blade against the worn leather of his jacket.
— "We're getting… efficient." He paused. "But not good. Not yet."
They retraced their steps, following the paths they had carved themselves between roots, rocks, and dried blood trails. The forest, by now, felt almost familiar. Not safe. But known.
Knowing that when they returned tomorrow, their trap — the pit they dug — would be gone. Almost as if this world was trying to tell them that no matter what they did, it was all useless.
Tomorrow, they'd have to wake up early, spend three long hours digging a deep enough hole so a monster couldn't escape instantly. Wait for one to fall in, then kill it.
Then repeat the next day, and the next.
They reached their shelter — a patchwork of branches, logs, makeshift tarps and stones, set into a dip in the terrain that shielded them from the wind. It wasn't a real camp. Just… a place where they hadn't died.
Anne collapsed against a stump. Roy sat beside her, wincing slightly from the soreness. He tapped his flask, shook it: still a bit of water.
— "I didn't think we'd make it," he admitted, almost in a whisper.
— "Me neither."
Anne stared at the flickering flames they maintained each night.
— "I thought we'd last three days. Maybe four."
— "I gave us two," Roy smiled. "But I didn't say so. Didn't want to scare you."
They chuckled softly, for a moment. Like a breath of relief.
Then silence fell again, heavier this time. Not from fatigue. But from absence.
Anne turned her eyes to the woods. Where Aaron had left, exactly fifteen days ago. Without looking back.
— "Do you think he's still… out there?"
Roy closed his eyes for a moment. He pictured the one-armed man, his steel spear, his hard, almost icy gaze.
— "I think if he were dead… we'd know."
— "Because the world would have changed?"
— "Because even death would've had to fight."
They stayed quiet for a while. Only the fire spoke.
— "I wonder what he's thinking," Anne whispered. "Where he is. What he's becoming."
Roy stared into the flames.
— "He's out there somewhere… doing what he does best. Surviving. Growing. Understanding."
— "And us?"
He looked at her.
— "We hold on. One day at a time. We stay alive until we know what to do."
Anne nodded slowly. The dark circles under her eyes betrayed the toll of the days, but there was also in her gaze a new clarity. A kind of maturity born of battle.
— "Do you think he'll come back?"
Roy didn't answer. He cast one last glance toward the woods, where dusk was slowly swallowing the foliage.
— "Maybe. But if he does… he won't be the same man."
Silence settled in the shelter before Roy spoke again.
— "There are still 15 days left before the countdown ends. Fifteen days before another group arrives here…"
Anne turned her eyes to the glowing embers. The reddish light reflected on her face, highlighting the lines carved by exhaustion. Fifteen days. Fifteen days of respite — or of reprieve. Hard to say.
— "Do you think they'll stand a chance?" she asked softly.
Roy shrugged, then winced as he held his ribs. A lingering pain from yesterday's fight.
— "Not without help. Not without someone like Aaron."
Anne closed her eyes for a moment. She thought of him. His hard voice. His calculated coldness. His power, most of all. She no longer knew if what she had felt for him was fear or respect. Maybe both.
— "And us?" she whispered. "Could we help them?"
Roy looked at her, for a long time. The fire crackled between them, like a boundary.
— "We're barely surviving. Every monster is a battle. We don't have enough strength, enough points. Not enough of anything, Anne."
She lowered her head.
— "I know. But I can't stop thinking about it."
Silence thickened. Then Roy sighed.
— "Then we get ready. Every day until the next group arrives. We learn. We adapt. We get stronger. And if, on that day, we're still alive… then maybe we can do something."
Anne looked up at him. He had spoken in a calm, steady voice, but in his eyes, there was a spark. One she hadn't seen in days.
— "Fifteen days, then," she said, a tired smile on her lips. "Fifteen days to be someone new."
— "Fifteen days to become survivors."
They sat there, watching the flames, each lost in their thoughts.
Night fell, and with it, the world closed in around them.
But in the heart of the forest, two fires still burned.
Not very brightly.
But enough to endure.