Eight: A LitRPG Novel of Magical Survival

In my previous life, I’d brought the time to skin a deer down to fifteen minutes, but that was in an adult body and with a deer hanging from a tree. It was more of a hassle doing it on the ground, and involved a lot of shoving the carcass around to get the job done. I was pleased with the result though. Hardly any hair got on the meat.

I carved out the tenderloins, the backstrap, and the quarters. There was a good amount of meat on the neck too, so I stripped as much as I could, along with any other stray bits. I was cutting the head free when I felt a hint of cool air coming from the antler. It was chilly to the touch.

Huh. Now, wouldn’t that make for a cool spearhead?

I needed the buck’s brain anyway—the emulsifying agents in it could be used for the tanning process—so I used the dagger to chisel the antler free of the skull. It left a decent-sized hole, and I went to get the pot helm to pour the brain inside.

I put the hide in the pool, just outside my cave. It needed to stay there for a couple of days before the tanning process could begin. Then, once all the meat was butchered—and fat and sinew saved—I dragged the rest of the carcass away to the same spot I’d left the innards. Later, when I needed the bones, I knew where to come to get them.

Back at the Glen, I rinsed myself off and moved the meat to the back of the cave where it was coolest. I was just about to go build an improvised smoker when I had a crazy idea. In a few stories I’d read, heroes performed miraculous feats by filling objects with qi. Could I do the same? I went to go get the antler and sat beside the meat.

“Here goes.”

I closed my eyes and focused my attention on the qi flowing through my meridians. My mind then directed a small amount to cross the boundary of my skin into the antler. The antler felt more solid as a result, but it didn’t grow any colder. I tried adding more qi, but the result was the same.

Am I micromanaging the process too much? It was a real possibility, so instead of moving the qi directly, I tried holding the intention of activating the antler’s power.

The qi didn’t respond. Time passed—enough for a nearby songbird to run through his whole repertoire before flying off. I was just about to give up when something twitched, a muscle I hadn’t realized existed. It wasn’t physical. Not mental either, at least not in the way we think of intelligence. It was instinctual, a function of will.

The muscle twitched again, and I felt like a toddler using a spoon for the first time. It was awkward and clumsy, but the antler flared with cold. I dropped it before my hands froze to its surface.

The key was using mana, not qi.

Cold air radiated from the antler and chilled the whole back of the cave. Depending on how long the charge lasts, I may not need to worry about smoking the meat. Okay, yes, a spear that froze its targets would be amazing, but a working refrigerator—that was even cooler, and more likely to keep me alive long term.

I stacked rocks around the deer meat and filled the gaps with straw and mud. I then used the largest and flattest of the stones as a door. Altogether, it took about an hour to assemble the refrigerator, and the antler continued to radiate cold the entire time. I placed it inside with the meat, planning to check it often to see how long the charge lasted.

I’d left the tenderloins and heart out. They were our reward for all the hard work we’d been doing. I started a fire and grilled the tenderloins whole. The heart, I sliced thin, so it’d be easier to chew.

Both tenderloins and heart were delicacies, and I didn’t risk them on the fire for long. I ate mine when the insides were barely warmed through. The juices ran down my chin, and man, oh man, there was nothing better. Yes, I would’ve killed for some salt, but fresh tenderloin and sliced deer heart were the food of love when I was growing up.

The otter agreed—her eyes nearly rolled up inside her head after the first bite.

After lunch, I sat back by the fire. The Glen was safe, the deer was butchered, and the meat safely stored. Everything time sensitive was settled and—

Woob woob woob. The otter fell asleep.

There was nothing that needed doing, and I could open my notifications without worry. There were two:

That’s weird. The mention of paths made me think of RPG classes or jobs—and I was curious to see if I was right—but when the System tells you to wait, you wait.

Wait, did that notification just clear its throat?

Who? What? It can’t be Diriktot, can it? The god speaking through the System?

Then who are you?

The System is sentient? Or maybe you’re an agent of the System? Like some kind of machine angel?

That’s such a cool turn of phrase. I can never remember who first came up with it first.

Wait. How do you know that? How are we having a conversation about philosophy? Oh my god, you’re me!

I… uh… I’m not sure how to answer that.

You just typed the word sigh.

I heard a soft chime. That’s lovely.

You’re clearly me. I’m convinced. So what do we do next? What do I need to know before I look at my path options?

The notification winked out, and I was left speechless. System-Me had really given me a lot to think about, but the question that I kept coming back to was, “Am I really that snarky?”

The otter snorted in her sleep and turned over.

I rubbed my face and gathered the stray thoughts wandering in my head. “Notifications.”

When I focused on each of the paths, more details appeared:

Well, that certainly was a list of options, and now I had a decision to make—the most important decision if the games I’d played in my previous life were any indication. Whether it was called a class, job, or—as in this case—path, it implied a structured progression through a series of skills, abilities, and powers. As such, whichever path I chose would define how I interacted with the world.

It wasn’t clear if the System allowed people to change or hold multiple paths, so I went into the decision-making process assuming the answer was no. I hated the idea of counting on something that later turned out to be false.

So, my options:

I knew I didn’t want to live alone forever, and immediately discarded Half-Pint Hermit.

I gave Hobby Spiritualist more consideration than it probably deserved. It was an uncommon class, which in games often meant more interesting powers. I was also fresh from a spirit journey to unlock my mana, one where I also got to experience a deeply felt encounter with my wife and grandparents. Yet, as much as I understood the power spirits have over the material world, I couldn’t see how the path would keep me alive, especially in the short term.

Both Wild Child and Survivalist probably could, but neither sounded like me.

I never dreamt of being Tarzan, and that mattered. It was a lesson I’d learned early in my gaming life. Flavor was just as important as the numbers, otherwise you got stuck with a powerful character that you hated playing. That ruled out Wild Child.

Survivalist sounded like a good base builder. It’d be great for… well, survival… but then I’d be trapped in one place. This was a whole new world, with new horizons to pursue. I didn’t want my path to get in the way of exploring it.

There were lots of stories about spearmen wandering the world in search of adventure. Lazy Spear also included practical skills, so it’d be good for survival. A part of me hoped it was the spear’s equivalent of drunken kung fu, with the spear randomly swinging to ‘accidentally’ knock out opponents. I really dug that idea.

As for Novice Hydromancer, there was only one thing to say: magic. My attributes were already heavily skewed toward the magical side of things, and I imagined they’d give me a headstart on the power curve. That was something I’d probably need, given how dangerous this world appeared to be.

Young Forester reminded me of the classic fantasy ranger, a hybrid melee-magic class focusing on nature. They were certainly iconic, but what caught my attention was the line about the heart being one with the land. That was the goal my grandfather had given me to work toward in my previous life, and I wondered if System-Eight was giving me a hint.

I grabbed a piece of charcoal and made a quadrant chart. Each of the paths included a mix of four key elements: survival, combat, magic, and spirit. I plotted them and saw that Young Forester was the most central: the path that offered the most from each quadrant.

It wasn’t all guesswork either. At least I hoped not. I counted on System-Eight to provide clues for parsing the information he provided, so I could arrive at a smart decision.

I sighed and leaned back to look at the sky. There were still some dark clouds on the horizon, left over from yesterday’s storm. They drifted southwesterly, and I wondered what was to be found in that direction. All I knew about this world was the town gate I’d been driven away from and this glen. Well, a few more things than that, but in terms of geography? The people? Cultures and civilizations? Nada, nothing, zilch.

As much as I loved the woods, I didn’t want to spend all my time there. Which, ironically, was why I chose Young Forester. It had the most generalized skill set, and that was what I needed to deal with the unknown.

Yes, okay, I was planning on choosing the spear, but still, I would’ve liked to be the one to do it. Really, I had no idea I was this annoying. It didn’t stop a wide grin from spreading across my face though.

Yes, this is awesome. I’m on my way now, for real.