Dawn broke over Meadow's Cross as we slipped away from the village, leaving behind the last traces of civilization and heading into the untamed wilderness.

  The air was different here. Well, much of this new world felt different than the pollution of Earth, but the forests here were even fresher somehow.

  It carried the scent of dew-drenched grass and wild herbs. Birds called overhead, their songs the only thing we could enjoy as we followed a barely visible trail leading toward the foothills that would eventually take us to Solstara.

  [You’ve killed a Large Mole Rat – Level 22!]

  [You’ve earned Experience Points!]

  I adjusted my grip on my makeshift axe after the kill, feeling the vines dig into my palm. The new handle worked well enough against these small fries, but it wouldn’t hold against another serious fight. If we faced someone like Allister again...

  "Something wrong?" Ragna asked, wiping the blood off her club as she caught my frown.

  "Just thinking about my weapon," I replied, showing her the crude bindings. "One good hit and this thing falls apart."

  The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd reached a level where I could probably punch through a brick wall, yet I was wielding what amounted to a sharp rock on a stick. If the monsters didn't kill me, my DIY crafting skills just might.

  Then again, my… this body’s father used this axe in his younger days. Although the handle broke, the blade itself remains fine. It’s better than a normal axe that’ll get chipped every time I use it.

  "You barbarians and your axes," Isolde said, but without malice. She had regained much of her color after we left the village; her strides were longer and more confident. "Ragna told me it used to belong to your father? Well, when we reach Solstara, I'll have the royal smiths fix that for you."

  I tried to imagine the scene. A proud royal craftsman used to forging ceremonial swords suddenly handed a barbarian heirloom and told "the queen says make it stabby again." The royal court was in for some culture shock.

  "If the smiths will listen to the princess who’s been painted as a traitor," I corrected her.

  "They will," she insisted, her jaw set with determination.

  Borric chuckled between labored breaths as he hiked beside us. "The princess doesn't deal in 'ifs,' my friend. It's one of her better qualities."

  We’ll see, I suppose. I shrugged and didn’t push the topic. I really would prefer to get a better handle on this, as my—Thorvyn’s—father used to wield this weapon during his younger days.

  The path gradually narrowed as we climbed higher, the gentle hillside giving way to rockier terrain. By midday, we faced our first real challenge. It was no monster but a narrow ledge carved into the side of a steep cliff, barely wide enough for one person to walk. Far below, a river snaked through the valley, glinting silver in the sunlight.

  "Well, this is... concerning," Borric remarked, peering over the edge.

  I tested the path with my foot, feeling loose stones shift under my weight. "We go single file. I'll lead, then Isolde, Borric, and Ragna at the rear."

  "Why am I last?" Ragna protested.

  "Because if someone slips, you're strong enough to catch them," I explained, already stepping out onto the ledge. "And I'm first because I'm expendable."

  "That's not true!" Isolde said quickly.

  I glanced back, surprised by the vehemence in her voice. "...It's just practical. I can see danger better with my skill [Dragon's Eye], and I'm harder to kill than most. It makes sense."

  Ragna crossed her arms. "Listen, I think pure eyesight-wise, I’m still better since I have a similar eye-related skill. [Dragon’s Gaze]. But sure. Even though my wings don’t let me fly yet, it does help me glide for a bit. I should be able to save anyone if they fall. Including you."

  I laughed but did not say anything.

  The path was treacherous, with sections where the rock had crumbled away, leaving gaps we had to jump across. Each step required concentration, especially when loose pebbles skittered over the edge and disappeared into the abyss below.

  I poured more mana into Dragon's Eye, increasing its [Passive] abilities, scanning for weak spots in the path. "Careful here," I called back, pointing to a particularly narrow section. "The rock's unstable."

  Isolde followed my instructions precisely, her movements measured. Borric struggled more, his breath coming in short gasps as he pressed his back against the cliff face.

  "Don't look down," I advised him. "Focus on the path ahead."

  "Easy for you to say," he muttered, but kept moving.

  We were halfway across when I noticed something odd. The pattern of the rock face had shifted slightly. I blinked, focusing my Dragon's Eye more intently. There—a subtle movement that didn't match the surrounding stone.

  That wasn’t good.

  “What happened, Thorvyn?” Isolde asked, “Why stop?”

  "Well," I tried to maintain my composure. "We're not alone."

  The others froze, instinctively flattening themselves against the cliff. I scanned the rock face more carefully, noticing how certain patches seemed to... breathe.

  "What is it?" Ragna whispered from the rear. If she were indeed in front of us, she might have noticed before I did. I only noticed them because once I got closer, text floated over their heads.

  [3rd Ascension]

  [3rd Ascension]

  [3rd Ascension]

  There were three of them, almost blending into the rock. "Gorge Striders," I said, recalling descriptions from the book, Guides to Monsters of Solstara. "They're camouflaged against the rock."

  As if responding to their name, three massive insectoid creatures suddenly detached from the cliff face, their segmented bodies perfectly mimicking the color and texture of the stone. Each was roughly the size of a large dog, with multiple jointed legs and two powerful hind limbs built for jumping. Their compound eyes glittered in the sunlight as they clicked mandibles dripping with venom.

  "Don't make sudden moves," I warned. "They're territorial, but not necessarily aggressive unless provoked."

  "And what constitutes 'provoking' them?" Borric asked nervously. As if in answer, one of the Striders clicked its mandibles more rapidly, edging closer to Isolde.

  "I think existing on their cliff might count," I muttered.

  Funny how that works. In my world, simply existing provoked student loan officers. Here, it provokes giant insect monsters. The specifics change, but the principle remains.

  The lead Strider suddenly leapt, crossing the distance between us in a single bound. I swung my makeshift axe, connecting with its carapace. The creature screeched and scrambled back, but I felt the axe handle splinter slightly from the impact.

  "They're moving to surround us!" Ragna shouted, her club already in motion as another Strider launched toward her.

  Isolde pressed her back against the cliff, her hands raised in a casting position. "I can try to distract them," she offered, blue energy gathering at her fingertips.

  The air shimmered as three translucent copies of Isolde appeared, floating in the air just off the ledge. The Striders hesitated, their compound eyes tracking the illusory targets.

  "It’s one of my spells, [Mirror Image]," she explained, her voice strained with concentration. "It won't last long."

  “Good enough,” I used the momentary distraction to plant my feet firmly on the ledge, making my body a living shield between the creatures and the others behind me. "Ragna, protect Borric! Isolde, stay behind me!"

  The largest Strider recovered from its confusion and charged, its mandibles clicking furiously. I dodged the initial strike, but the ledge gave way beneath my foot, forcing me to grab the cliff face to avoid falling. The creature lunged again, and I barely managed to block with my axe.

  "Damn it!" I cursed as I heard the binding vines snap. The obsidian head held, but just barely. One more hit and I'd be weaponless.

  This was more difficult than usual because this wasn’t a fair fight. I couldn’t use my Skills here since they were mostly melee, and using them might risk breaking out foothold. If only we had a long range attacker, things would have been easier.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Borric, any ideas?" I called, looking for options.

  To my surprise, the merchant had pulled himself up straighter, his eyes scrutinizing the Striders with newfound intensity. His expression had changed—sharper, more focused, like he was reading invisible text.

  "I got a new skill recently, [Merchant's Eye]," he said, his voice suddenly clear and authoritative. "Their joints… between the third and fourth segments, those are the most valuable part in their bodies, and it seems that's their weak point!"

  The System's skills worked in mysterious ways, so a Merchant could not only see the price of things, but also their weaknesses…? Anyhow, I needed every advantage.

  "Ragna—the joints!" I shouted, repositioning my grip on the failing axe.

  She nodded, swinging her club with precision at the nearest Strider. The impact made a sickening crack, and the creature stumbled, green ichor leaking from the damaged joint.

  Meanwhile, Isolde's illusions were fading, and the Striders had begun to ignore them. But instead of cowering, the princess stepped forward, her face set with determination. Her hands traced a complex pattern in the air, blue light trailing from her fingertips.

  "Alright guys, I think I got this. Cover me," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "I need two seconds."

  I held my ground, angling my body to intercept the approaching Strider, ensuring it would have to go through me to get to her. "Whatever you're doing, make it count!"

  The princess completed her gesture, and a wave of blue energy shot from her palms. It wasn't just an illusion spell like last time—it was an attack.

  The glittering energy slammed into the nearest Strider, crystallizing around its wings, lifting it off the ledge and sending it plummeting into the abyss below. Isolde's eyes widened at her own power, a surprised laugh escaping her.

  "I did it!" she exclaimed, looking at her hands in wonder. "This is—I mean, I've used it before, but I thought with how weak the poison made me, it’d fail,” she laughed. “Guess I'm not just a porcelain doll anymore, huh?"

  This was the first time I’d seen something like this, and it was wonderful.

  "Less talking, more zapping!" Ragna called, grappling with another Strider.

  Isolde composed herself quickly, her royal and Academic training overcoming her surprise. She began another casting motion, this one more confident than the last.

  I had an idea after seeing Isolde. I turned my attention to the remaining Strider that had cornered Borric against the cliff face. The merchant was pressed against the rock, his dagger held in a surprisingly steady grip despite his fear.

  "Storm Call!" I shouted, channeling elemental energy around me. Lightning crackled in the air as a localized tempest formed, the wind howling around us. I did my best to keep the energy under control, not to spread it too much and hurt my allies. Or the terrain. I waved my hand forward, guiding the energy toward the insect. Thankfully, it worked. The Strider hissed as electricity arced across its carapace, driving it back from Borric.

  "Now, Borric!" I yelled.

  The merchant lunged forward with unexpected agility, driving his dagger into the exact spot he'd identified earlier. The Strider screeched and thrashed, nearly knocking Borric off the ledge. I grabbed his collar just in time, yanking him back to safety as the creature lost its footing and followed its companion into the chasm.

  The final Strider, seeing its brethren fall, chittered angrily but retreated, blending back into the rock face until it disappeared completely.

  We stood frozen for several moments, catching our breath and listening for any signs of further attack. Only when I was certain the danger had passed did I lower my weapon.

  "Everyone all right?" I asked, scanning our group.

  Ragna nodded, rolling her shoulder where one of the Striders had struck her. Borric was pale but uninjured, his hands trembling slightly as he resheathed his dagger. Isolde looked tired but strangely invigorated, her eyes bright with newfound confidence.

  I examined my axe and frowned.

  The binding was completely shredded, the obsidian head now held to the handle by little more than hope and friction. "This won't last another fight," I said, showing the others.

  "I meant what I said," Isolde replied, stepping closer to inspect the damage. "When we reach Solstara, I'll have the finest smiths fix that for you, or craft you a weapon worthy of a dragon slayer. Or both, actually."

  I laughed. "You'll have bigger concerns than my axe when we reach Solstara."

  "Fulfilling my promises is never a small concern," she countered. "Besides, what kind of ruler would I be if I forgot those who helped me in my darkest hour?"

  "A practical one," I muttered, but couldn't help smiling at her earnestness.

  “Oh, come on, Thorvyn. You think of me as too heartless,” she feigned a gasp as both of us shared a laugh. She added, “Once we get off this cliff, give your ax to me. Now that I see my mana is returning well, I should be able to give it a better patch than vines.”

  “I’m curious to see how, Princess.” I agreed, while Ragna and Borric watched our exchange with raised eyebrows.

  ****

  We continued along the ledge with renewed caution, finally reaching wider ground as the sun began its descent toward the horizon. The encounter had taken more out of us than anticipated, and by mutual agreement, we decided to look for shelter before nightfall.

  Fortune favored us when Ragna spotted a shallow cave set into the hillside, partially concealed by thick brush. It wasn't large, but it offered protection from the elements and potential predators.

  "Home sweet home," Ragna declared, dropping her pack with a dramatic sigh. Ragna wiped green ichor from her club, although there barely were any. "Finally, some peace. Those were tough bugs.”

  "Arachnids, technically," I corrected without thinking.

  She turned to me, eyebrow raised. "A-rack-what? They dead now. That's what matters."

  Isolde pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. "She's not wrong. And Thorvyn, I’m surprised you know that term."

  “You and your prejudice, Princess. Insulting.”

  “I- I didn’t mean it like that…” her expression suddenly fell.

  As we set up camp, Borric took inventory of our supplies, arranging them meticulously on a flat rock. "We have enough food for three more days if we're careful," he reported, his merchant's precision evident in his assessment. "After that, we'll need to hunt or forage."

  "We can help with that," I offered. "Hunting was a daily necessity on the island."

  "And I know which plants are edible in this region," Isolde added. "Part of my education included wilderness survival, though I admit I never expected to need it quite so practically."

  I raised an eyebrow. "They taught the princess how to forage?"

  She smiled wryly. "Your words wound me, Thorvyn. Did you really see me as some useless, Damsel Princess? Ah, and a damsel is someone who-”

  “Oh, I know what a Damsel in Distress is,” I said, making her pause.

  “Right. I also saw you read that guidebook. A barbarian who can read…” she paused, quickly clearing her throat. “Forgive me for my prejudice. As I was saying, I’m not that useless. Trust me on this.”

  “Uh-huh, is that so?” I asked, trying to spite her playfully.

  She almost fumed but maintained her composure. “My father believed rulers should understand every aspect of their kingdom, including its wild places. Knowledge of the land was as important as knowledge of court politics, he said."

  "Wise man," I commented, meaning my words. She smiled as we continued chatting.

  As night fell, we built a small, sheltered fire and gathered around it. The exertions of the day had left us hungry but oddly satisfied. We'd faced the challenge of wilderness that we were growing accustomed to at this point, and overcame it together as usual.

  The fire crackled between us as we rested our weary bodies. The day's journey had been long, but for once, no immediate danger threatened.

  Ragna stretched her arms above her head. "We make good team. Princess thinks, Thorvyn fights, I hit things, and Borric..."

  "Gets dragged into mortal danger against his will?" Borric supplied helpfully. I watched as he confidently prepared our meal, his movements more assured than they had been days ago. He’d reached Level 12 after the fight against the Striders, and the growing power suited him—he carried himself differently now, with purpose rather than fear. Beside him, Isolde practiced small magical gestures, tiny motes of blue light dancing between her fingers as she refined her control.

  "No!" Ragna shook her head vigorously, disagreeing with him. He wasn’t a weakling. "You bring... what's the word? The spirit of trade!"

  "Commerce?" Isolde offered.

  Ragna snapped her fingers. "Yes! Com-merce spirit. Very important."

  Borric sighed dramatically. "I'm touched. Truly."

  "She means you complain the most professionally," I translated.

  Ragna nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! That!" Our laughter echoed through the small cave, a brief moment of lightness in our increasingly complicated journey.

  The merchant rubbed the back of her head and smiled. "I must admit, I never imagined myself fighting monsters on a cliff face. My daughter would hardly believe it."

  There was an old philosophical concept called 'antifragility'—the quality of gaining strength from disorder and challenge rather than merely resisting it.

  I think that's what's happening here. We're not just surviving these obstacles; they are transforming us. Like how–

  “Yeah, crazy to think. Our Borric's gotten all brave and stabby,” Ragna said, as if reading my mind about Borric. That man was much more than the trembling coward who’d lost to pirates.

  'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.' That famous saying was from Nietzsche. I always thought that was simplistic—some things that don't kill you just leave you damaged. It wasn’t the case here.

  "Nowhere close to you two, but thanks guys," Borric commented dryly.

  Isolde giggled and waved me over with a spark in her eye. “Let’s drop this topic, and…” “May I see it?” she asked, palm up.

  I shuffled across, half-wondering what magic trick she had planned for my poor ax. I passed it over, and she winced at my vine-job. “Aw. How have you been holding it?”

  “Our skin’s tougher than normal people,” I said.”

  “Yeah… Anyway, this right here is hanging on by hope and spit,” she muttered, settling the ax across her knees. One hand clamped the shaft; the other hovered, fingers twitching while she drew a slow breath. “Allow me to fix that.”

  A soft blue glow oozed from her fingertips, sliding over the vines. They pulsed once, then stiffened, turning glassy and hard—like someone had dipped the whole handle in clear quartz. When the light faded, the ax looked brand-new, except you could still see the vine texture frozen inside the crystal.

  “Okay, try that,” she said, handing it back.

  I raised an eyebrow. “What’s your Class again?”

  “Mirror Sovereign,” she replied. “Basically a Mage specializing in Mirror magic.”

  “Mirror is a vague word. Is the crystal-looking stuff glass or something else?” I asked, but she just gave a helpless shrug. It was just magic. I gave it a test swing. Rock solid. Nice balance, too. “Well, damn. That’s miles better than jungle twine.”

  Isolde smiled. “Quick patch job, not a masterpiece. Should last until we find a real smith. I hope this Princess has done satisfactory work?”

  “She has,” I did a dramatic bow.

  Across the cave Ragna elbowed Borric. “Royal arts and crafts. Think she can fix that butter-knife you call a dagger?”

  Borric smiled awkwardly. “Might be kinder to let it die.”

  Isolde shot them a grin. “Hey, you never know. Princess of many talents. Give it to me, I can at least coat its edges to make it sharper.”

  The fire popped, we traded a few more laughs, and I settled back with my upgraded ax. The moment of levity was a needed balm, a reminder of the bonds we were forging in this trial by fire.

  But as the laughter died down, Borric's earlier words returned to my mind. ‘We have enough food for three more days if we're careful,’ he'd reported.

  Three days. The thought settled like a stone in my gut. We were still deep in the wilds, with leagues to go and no guarantee of safe passage. Our newfound confidence felt fragile against the simple, brutal math of survival.

  Most of all, we were running out of time.

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