TravelingDreamer

Chapter 25: Surprises Will Never Cease

Added 2024-05-01 20:34:04 +0000 UTC

After a long soak in the bath, Sami's words about my apparent age came back to me, so I took out a mirror and stared. By this point, surprises should have lost their edge, but they hadn’t. The face looking back was even younger than it had been when I left Earth—mid-twenties at most. And with how much younger I’d always looked compared to my peers, I could easily pass for twenty or even younger.

My eyes and hair were changing too. I’d always had a unique eye color—a light gray with a purple undertone—but now the purple was more vibrant and pronounced. My eyes also glowed slightly. Not much, but it wasn’t a trick of the light. They glowed. My hair used to be light blond, almost bleached, but now it was closer to silver than blond. The changes were so drastic, I didn’t know what to make of them.

After shaving, I examined my skin more closely. It looked smoother than ever. I used to have some acne scars, but now they were gone. I focused on all the changed parts and cast Diagnose on myself. Everything was fine. More than fine, actually. I was a young, healthy male.

I took out a full-length mirror, undressed, and examined my body. The changes continued there. I used to have a slight potbelly, my wife called my pasta baby. Now I had a six-pack. It wasn’t large or cut like a bodybuilder’s; I was always slim. But now I had clear muscle definition. My shoulders were broader, my arms and legs were more toned, and I thought I might be taller, though I wasn’t sure. I didn’t bring a measuring tape. An oversight.

Still, almost no body hair. Oh well, you can't have everything.

I lay in bed thinking about all the changes. The Vitality description talked about looking young. I opened and re-read it:

Vitality
Physical: This Trait determines your energy, vigor, and activity level, as well as your longevity and physical appearance—how young and vibrant you look.
Mental: This Trait reflects your sense of aliveness, engagement with the world, and enjoyment of life. It encompasses your sense of wonder and excitement, with higher levels making you feel younger and more vibrant.

I lingered on the part about the mental aspect. Did I feel more alive? Maybe. Younger? Sort of. More vibrant? In a way, yes. But it wasn’t youth in the traditional sense. My body hadn’t rewound to some golden age, and I wasn’t overflowing with reckless energy. It was something quieter, something subtler. I just felt lighter. Like some heavy pack I was carrying had finally been set down. The constant weight of grief and pain had dulled. Not vanished completely, but no longer wrapped around me so tightly I could barely move. There was space now. Space to breathe, to think, to just be.

That thought stayed with me as my eyes grew heavier. And just before sleep pulled me under, I realized it didn’t really matter why. I felt what I felt. Trying to explain it or dissect it wouldn’t make it more real. It was already real.

The breakfast looked like oatmeal, smelled faintly of nuts, and tasted better than anything I’d had in days. It was sweet, warm, and had a gooey texture that somehow worked. After finishing the meal, I approached the innkeeper. "Thank you for your service during my stay," I said, handing him three coppers as a tip.

He took the coins reflexively and stared at them. His confusion was evident. It was as if the concept of a tip was completely foreign to him, which I found quite amusing.

"It's called a tip," I explained with a smile. "Just a way to show appreciation for excellent service."

He commented, "You island folks must be rich if you give your money away willy-nilly."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Only to deserving people for exceptional service."

He looked pleased as he took the tip. "Do you have more of those 'rich folks' coppers' to change?"

"Actually, I do," I replied.

His eyes widened with excitement as he produced another ten gold and forty silver coins. I handed him twenty-eight pouches filled with copper. He started counting the first five pouches, his fingers moving quickly.

After a moment, he just took the rest and said, "I'll return the pouches shortly."

I waved my hand dismissively. "You can keep the pouches."

He shook his head firmly. "Those leather pouches look real fancy; you can sell them for many coins."

I smiled, unsure how to explain that it wasn't genuine leather but PU leather, so I just let it go.

Outside, I took out my bike, connected the trailer, Stretch hopped in, and we rode to the location of the jurbers. It took me five hours to reach the area, so before looking for them, we had lunch. Stretch ate twelve burgers and looked like he could eat more.

I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw he was changing too. He was taller. Before his torso reached my mid-thigh, but now it reached my pelvis. He was stockier and looked less "stretched." His paws looked bigger, and his fur, which used to be mottled with white, gray, tan, and black, had smoother transitions between shades of light and dark gray with a lighter white belly. I Diagnosed him, and his body was in top condition.

I identified him:

Stretch
Adult Bushland Dog
Progress to awakening 34%

Scratching his neck, I asked, "We are changing, huh, buddy?"

He wagged his tail furiously and slobbered all over my face.

After lunch, I looked into my Storage and sighed, flipping through my options for something that could count as armor. I’d read about proper gear in the books, but somehow it never occurred to me to actually buy any. Shaking my head in exasperation didn’t help. I was still armorless. After a moment of mental rummaging, I threw together a passable solution. Skinny jeans went on first, then a pair of thick leather pants that creaked with every step. I added a heavy flannel shirt, the kind that trapped heat like an oven, and topped it off with a leather-armored motorcycle jacket. The second the zipper closed, sweat broke out across my skin. My back prickled, my shirt clung, and I felt like a roast in a slow cooker. Still, better sweating than getting bitten.

Just to be safe, I snapped on a full-face motorcycle helmet. The visor fogged instantly, and I had to crack it open to breathe. I summoned my staff and glanced at Stretch. He tilted his head, ears twitching, then gave a slow shake of his head. I didn’t imagine it; he actually shook his head like he was disappointed in all of my life choices. From where I stood, I couldn’t see his eyes, but somehow I got the feeling they were rolling hard.

We set off through the tall grass and patchy shrubs, full of insect buzz and damp earth. Five minutes in, Stretch froze. A low growl rumbled up from his throat, his hackles bristled, and his ears pinned back. His gaze locked on something ahead.

That was my signal. I followed his line of sight and tightened my grip on the staff.

A blur of fur and fangs exploded from the undergrowth. The first jurber launched at my leg, jaws snapping shut so close I felt the rush of air. My staff cracked across its skull with a sickening crunch, and the thing dropped limp, its body skidding through the dirt.

Another shot at me from the side. I pivoted fast, my foot slipping slightly, but the staff moved on instinct. The impact jarred my elbows as the second jurber hit the ground.

Before I had time to catch a breath, the air filled with snarls and rustling brush. Two more came from opposite sides. I barely saw them before I was swinging again, my arms burning already from the speed of the strikes.

And then they were everywhere.

Over twenty, maybe more. A living tide of snarling teeth and twitching muscles. They darted in, snapped at my legs, and retreated like piranhas. Growls echoed, snarls tangled with the whirling noise of motion. My helmet rattled with every strike of my staff.

Pain bit into my calf, hot and sharp. A second later, another dug into my thigh. The jacket held up better than expected, but the pants didn’t. Some jurber teeth got to my skin, the wounds more like gouges than full punctures, but still enough to hurt.

I gritted my teeth and kept moving. Each strike sent shockwaves up my arms, but I kept moving in a tight circle, trying to keep them in front of me. Every hit took down another, but they kept coming. Fast, relentless, and utterly brainless.

Off to the side, Stretch was a whirlwind. His jaws clamped down on one, then he spun to tear into another. His growls mixed with the screams of dying jurbers, and even as I caught glimpses of blood on his legs, he didn’t slow. He limped once, then lunged again like he hadn’t noticed.

It felt like the kind of fight that would never end. My arms were rubber. My breath came in ragged bursts. The scent of blood and sweat hung thick in the air, and I tasted dust every time I gasped.

Then the last one fell, twitching once before going still.

I stood and heaved, blood dripping down my shin, my shirt sticking to my back, and my hands clenched so tight around the staff it took effort to loosen my fingers. The ground around us was littered with twitching limbs and crushed skulls.

Stretch trotted over, his tail wagging like nothing happened. Blood smeared his fur, and a few shallow gashes marked his sides.

“Good boy,” I said, kneeling beside him.

He nudged my shoulder, panting with a doggy grin, like it had all been a fun workout.

I pressed my hands to his wounds and let the healing magic flow. His skin knit together, the wounds fading as if they had never been. A Clean spell took care of the blood. When I was done, I leaned into him for a second.

I checked my health to understand how the numbers worked, but it wasn't enlightening. My legs hurt, and I could feel I was bleeding, but the numbers showed 2980/4200. It made little sense.

What else is new?

With a sigh, I facepalmed and shook my head. I had the mana dart spell I once used on Earth to heal the rider, and had forgotten it ever since. It would have been better if I had baited them to come out and shot them from afar. The books even mention mages being compared to artillery. I had to make a list of all the ideas I got from those books and practice implementing them. What was the point of calling it "research" if I never used what I learned?

After undressing, I healed my legs, cast Clean on myself and my clothes, and inspected the damage. The leather pants had small tears in several places, but the jeans underneath only had a few holes. I’d need to fix that. An idea came to mind, so I checked the Skills and Spells list and found one called Mend. After a short deliberation, I bought it. That left me with forty-eight ability points.

The red dot was blinking rapidly, like it was jumping and shouting, "Check me! Check me!"

Level 1 Jurber defeated
Level 1 Jurber defeated
Level 1 Jurber defeated
Level 1 Jurber defeated
Level 1 Jurber defeated
Level 1 Jurber defeated
Level 1 Jurber defeated …

Of course, there was no other information. What did I expect?

I walked up to the first jurber, cast Diagnose, and got a BIG surprise. Honestly, the surprise didn’t even surprise me anymore. At this point, I was used to them popping up from every direction like weeds. Maybe the mental aspect of my Strength stat was finally kicking in.

The jurber wasn’t a real animal or creature. It had something resembling anatomy, but it was mostly polluted mana held in a loose shape, and it was already dissipating. I could actually see it breaking down, bits of it unraveling and drifting into the air like smoke pulled by an invisible breeze.

For a second, I considered looting it the traditional way, but the idea felt pointless. There was no flesh, no bones, no organs—just unstable energy coming apart in front of me. That plan clearly wasn’t going to work.

Maybe collect the mana?

I switched gears. Instead of trying to take something physical, I channeled my mana outward, wrapped it around the dissolving form like a cocoon, and started compressing. The mana within the jurber felt wrong. Tainted. It clung to my senses like oily smoke, thick and foul, and something deep inside recoiled from the contact. Disgust rose in my throat, sharp and instinctive, but I held the structure firm.

While that part of my mind focused on maintaining the bubble, I split my thoughts and brought up the mental image of a spirit coin. I didn’t know exactly how it worked, but figured if the concept was clear enough—something compact, solid, and mana-based—maybe this polluted energy could be forced into that shape.

The image of a coin stayed firm in my mind. I kept pressing down, pushing inward, guiding the compression. The mass shrank and twisted under the pressure, and the filth within it seemed to resist, almost writhing against the shape I was forcing on it. Still, I kept going. It felt like the mana folded in on itself, tighter and tighter. My mind began to strain. The pressure in my thoughts built until it felt like trying to squeeze a stone down to a grain of sand using only willpower. I kept going until it reached a point where it simply would not compress any further.

Then I let go.

A tiny crystal dropped to the ground at my feet, green-gray and glowing faintly. It looked nothing like a coin, but it definitely wasn’t mana smoke anymore.

I identified it:

Polluted Earth Mana Crystal
Inferior quality
Unstable

I tried to diagnose it, but met strong resistance. Shifting focus, I reached out to sense its mana and recoiled almost instantly. It was filthier than it had been in jurber form and unstable, barely holding together. The moment I touched it, the breakdown accelerated. Whatever I had done was speeding up its dissipation.

I ran over to the next jurber and repeated the process, but this time, I partitioned my mind into three parts: One to wrap in mana and compress, one to hold a picture of a mana crystal—I gave up on the coin idea—and one to cast Clean and Purify on the mana intermittently. It was more challenging, and I got a killer headache, but I persisted until I got the crystal. Before even identifying it, I wrapped it again in mana and tried to create a shell around it to stop the dissipation. The layer idea didn’t work, but the crystal absorbed some of the mana, and it felt like I could add more mana into it. I shrugged and added mana into the crystal with the precise intention of cleaning and stabilizing it until it felt "full," and I couldn't add any more.

My red dot was blinking.

Yay!

You have learned to harvest Mana Crystals

Again, not a Spell or a Skill, but learned.

Why?

I stomped the ground in frustration. It's not fair! I want a spell—a one-cast deal! I want to think "loot" and get cool stuff!

After a few minutes of mental griping, I identified the crystal.

Earth Mana Crystal
Medium quality

At least it was progress.

Now, I tried something else; I created a mound of five jurbers and repeated the process. It was even more challenging and took much more concentration, but I managed. Identified it: