Lucas moved through the crowded streets, eyes quickly scanning merchant stalls and shops packed tightly along narrow alleyways. The air was thick with the smell of cooked meat, herbs, leather, and oil—comforting but unfamiliar scents mingling in a chaotic blend.
He stopped at a small vendor who sold dried meats, bread, and water-skins.
"What can I get you, young man?" asked the vendor, an older woman with rough hands and a warm smile.
Lucas nodded toward the smoked meat hanging in the stall. "Some of that. And bread."
The woman wrapped his items quickly, handing them over in exchange for a few small coins he'd been given upon registering. He took them carefully, stuffing the provisions into a simple leather satchel slung over his shoulder.
As he moved away, his eyes lingered briefly on a nearby shop window displaying finely crafted weapons and armor. Shining swords, ornate shields, gear far beyond his reach, at least for now.
'Maybe someday.'
Lucas adjusted the lightweight armor he'd received from killing the scorpion. It fit him surprisingly well, flexible yet sturdy. He tested its straps, tightening them until everything felt secure.
Finally, his hand brushed the reassuring weight of the old pocket watch in his pocket. For a moment, his father's face flashed through his mind.
He shook the thought away quickly, tightening his jaw.
He was ready.
Lucas turned, heading toward the massive city gates, determination hardening his features.
Today, he would hunt.
The gates loomed above him, massive and imposing, made from thick slabs of iron-bound timber and guarded by men whose faces were hidden beneath polished helmets. They gave Lucas a cursory glance but made no move to stop him as he passed through the heavy wooden doors.
He stepped beyond the walls, and the world changed in an instant.
The air outside was sharp, almost biting, carrying the distant scent of earth, dampness, and decay. Ahead, the landscape spread out in shades of gray and muted greens—a wide plain bordered by thick, shadowed forests, shrouded partially by drifting wisps of fog.
Lucas inhaled deeply, heart hammering quietly in his chest.
It felt wild. Dangerous. Free.
He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. With a thought, he summoned the Abyssal Reaper. The air shimmered around his palm, darkness pooling into form until the massive, obsidian-black scythe rested solidly in his grip, its weight oddly comforting.
'This is mine,' he thought with quiet satisfaction, gripping the weapon tighter. The blade seemed to hum faintly, eager to taste blood.
Adjusting his armor one last time, Lucas began walking slowly into the unknown.
Every step away from the city walls increased his alertness, every sound causing his grip to tighten, eyes scanning for movement.
He was alone now.
No walls. No guards. Just him and The Crucible.
It felt right.
He didn't have to wait long.
Lucas moved quietly across the uneven ground, senses sharp and alert. The silence of the plains felt deceptive, charged with a tension that warned him to be ready. His grip tightened around the Abyssal Reaper.
Ahead, movement flickered in the tall grass.
He paused instantly, lowering his stance. His heart quickened, but he steadied his breath, waiting.
From the shadows emerged three creatures—low, hunched shapes covered in sleek black scales, moving with sharp, jerky motions. Their eyes glowed faintly yellow, their jaws lined with rows of razor-sharp teeth, each step careful, predatory.
'Nightscale Hounds.'
Lucas raised his scythe slightly, trying to remember everything he'd learned about fighting.
The hounds noticed him, snarling low as they spread out to encircle him.
One lunged.
Lucas reacted purely on instinct, sidestepping and swinging the Abyssal Reaper in a wide, powerful arc. The blade cut deep into the creature's flank, causing it to shriek and stagger aside, wounded but not dead.
Another leapt forward immediately, claws slicing through the air. Lucas twisted, barely avoiding its attack, heart hammering in his chest. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
He spun, repositioning himself, and activated his skill.
"Soulrend."
The blade erupted with dark, pulsating energy, suddenly heavier, hungrier. Lucas swung again, the blade cleanly severing the hound's body. The creature fell instantly, lifeless, the glow fading from its eyes.
Immediately, he felt the backlash—a surge of exhaustion that made his knees tremble, breath hitching sharply in his chest.
'Damn...that took more than I thought.'
He staggered slightly, catching his breath as the two remaining creatures paced carefully around him. His muscles felt heavy, the drain noticeable.
He gripped the scythe again, jaw tight. He couldn't afford mistakes now.
But even through the exhaustion, Lucas felt something else.
Power.
He steadied himself, lifting his weapon, ready to finish what he'd started.
Lucas stood quietly, breathing hard as the last of the creatures finally fell at his feet, their bodies limp and still. The fight had drained him far more than he'd expected, each swing of the scythe costing him precious energy.
Yet, as he watched the lifeless bodies scattered across the grass, he felt a quiet pride.
He'd survived.
He moved carefully toward the first fallen hound, kneeling down beside its corpse. With a knife borrowed from a vendor in town, he cautiously sliced into the creature's chest, working methodically until something small, dark, and gemlike glistened under the creature's ribs.
Lucas carefully plucked the Soul Core free.
It was small, perfectly round, and dark as obsidian, pulsing gently in his palm.
He stared at it, feeling a faint warmth through his fingers.
'This is it. My first Soul Core.'
He hesitated for just a second, then brought the core up to his lips, consuming it in one quick motion. Instantly, a rush of cool, potent energy flowed through him, easing some of his exhaustion.
He sighed softly as the system flickered before his eyes:
[Soul Core absorbed: Nightscale Hound]
[Soul Level increased: +2]
[Current Soul Level: 1 (2/1000)]
Lucas closed his eyes briefly, savoring the newfound strength. It was slight—but noticeable. It made him hungry for more.
He stood, brushing his hands clean, eyes flicking toward the other fallen creatures. More cores waited, more strength. More power.
But as he moved forward to harvest, he reminded himself to be careful. There were many fights ahead—and each core had to count.
Time lost meaning as Lucas moved further across the open plains, tracking groups of creatures carefully, striking only when sure he had an advantage. Each fight was brutal, taxing, but he adapted quickly, learning from each encounter.
He discovered patterns in their movements, weaknesses in their attacks. Slowly, his swings grew more precise, his dodges smoother. Each use of Soulrend still left him drained, trembling and gasping, but he grew more strategic, careful to activate it only when absolutely necessary.
By the late afternoon, he had gathered several additional Soul Cores, some consumed immediately, others tucked carefully into his satchel to be sold later.
[Soul Level increased: +2]
[Current Soul Level: 1 (16/1000)]
He paused after another intense fight, leaning against a twisted tree, breathing deeply as sweat ran down his face and neck. His muscles ached, his body protesting the effort he'd put it through.
He stared at the Abyssal Reaper in his grip, its blade now stained dark from battle. Despite the fatigue, it felt natural in his hands—like an extension of himself.
Lucas glanced upward, noticing for the first time how far the sun had dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows over the plains.
Night would fall soon.
He adjusted his satchel, satisfied with the day's work, and began the slow walk back toward the city walls. Each step felt heavier than the last, but he couldn't deny the thrill of satisfaction coursing through him.
He'd survived.
He'd hunted.
He'd grown stronger.
And this was only the beginning.
Darkness fell gradually across the plains, the daylight fading until stars emerged one by one above him. Lucas lifted his gaze, momentarily caught by the unfamiliar constellations, tiny points of light shining coldly in a deep, violet sky.
In this region, he realized, time flowed naturally. Day gave way to night, just as it would back on Earth.
It felt oddly reassuring.
Ahead, the city loomed—a beacon of civilization in a wild, dangerous world. Torchlight flickered warmly along the stone walls, casting long, dancing shadows onto the worn cobblestone road leading up to the massive gates.
As he approached, Lucas felt exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight, his legs aching from the day's endless battles. Small scratches and wounds stung against the cold night air. But beneath the pain lay quiet triumph.
He'd done it.
He had stepped beyond the walls, faced the monsters, and returned alive.
The guards at the gate acknowledged him with a brief nod as he passed through, their eyes unreadable beneath helmets. Inside, the city's noise enveloped him—the distant hum of conversation, the clinking of tavern mugs, the low murmur of a living, breathing community.
Lucas exhaled deeply, pausing just inside the gate to glance back at the plains.
He knew he'd return there soon, stronger, more confident.
But tonight, it was enough just to survive.
With a tired yet satisfied expression, Lucas slipped quietly into the crowded streets, blending into the warmth and noise of the city once again.