Eight: A LitRPG Novel of Magical Survival

The sun was well up over the trees by the time I awoke the next day. The Healing Water spell’s runes were the only one for which I didn’t have a reference, so I’d stayed up late the night before, making absolutely sure they were committed to memory.

There was no sign of injury on my leg, not even a scar, and I went through my morning routine without any pain or twinges. Once I was sure everything was copacetic, I dove into the pool. Even though it was summer, the water was frigid. Ikfael’s Blessing helped, but the cold was still a shock. Nothing, however, would keep me from examining the spirit door at the bottom of the pool. The fish fled as I swam down.

I found nothing but stone, gray and unyielding. There was no doorway nor any runes either. If there was magic present, it was too subtle for me to sense. I kicked off the bottom to swim to the surface, refilled my lungs, and swam back down.

As a test, I made a spirit sculpture of me with my hands in prayer. When I let it go, the sculpture shimmered, along with a circle of spirit mana three feet in diameter. My hand immediately shot forward into the passage, but nothing happened. I wasn’t transported or anything like that. While my spirit was willing, the meat containing it held me back. I’d need another out-of-body experience to travel through, which likely wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Previously, it had taken Ikfael three days of preparation and had cost me a magic dagger.

I put away my disappointment and swam back to the surface. I was healthy again, and that would have to be enough. There’d hopefully be other chances to talk to Diriktot. Now that I knew it was possible, I’d look for the opportunities.

I shivered the moment I came out of the water, and lay down in the sun to warm up. I used the time to focus on the days ahead. Specifically, how to reach the point where the runes could be automatically recalled—a part of my mind’s muscle memory, as it were.

My training regimen needed to change. I’d still practice my skills, but the focus would shift to integrating them together: specifically Spear Arts and my new spells. I didn’t foresee any issues with Archery or Stealth, as the movements were familiar enough—I’d just need to practice the new mental components—but the work of holding the spear went slowly. Adding a spell into the mix was asking for trouble. It’d be worth it though, since both Cold Snap and Anesthetic could create openings for a timely thrust.

The impediment to training these spell-spear thrusts was the small size of my mana pool, as well as its slow recovery rate. Each of the spells cost the equivalent of four points’ worth mana to trigger, and it’d limit my practice time.

My mana, with meditation, recovered at a rate of two to three points per hour. Assuming I used up my fifteen mana in the morning, and then gained an additional thirty over the course of a twelve-hour day, that meant I had approximately a total of twelve spell-spear thrusts in me, assuming I did nothing else.

When practicing my qigong movements, I meditated. Was that also possible while holding the spear or drawing the bow?

The answer was yes… and no. If I moved slowly, like in qigong, then yes I could. Not easily, but it was possible. If I moved with anything resembling speed, though, both the mental and the physical components fell apart. I couldn’t coordinate all the moving pieces. Not yet, anyway.

Well, moving super slow was its own kind of training. I’d make it work, even if it took the entirety of my days. Everything on my to-do list would get put on hold, at least for a time. I’d start with two weeks of intensive training and see where that got me.

There were three exceptions to that plan. The first was to tan the deer hide, which was ready for the next step of being turned into buckskin; the second was to replace my broken spear; and the third was to make more arrows.

Plan settled, I pulled the hide out of the stream. It looked ready, but I quickly realized that I wasn’t. There was a stack of bark still needing to be turned into cordage. With a dissatisfied grunt, I sat down to get the job done. Fortunately, my fingers could braid the bark fibers on autopilot. My focus was on circulating my energy. After a couple of hours, I had enough cordage to move ahead.

I retrieved my flint knife and began preparing the hide for the frame by cutting inch-long slits around the edges. Then it was a matter of using the new cordage to tie the hide onto a wooden frame to stretch it nice and taut, pulled evenly on all sides. There was still meat and fat on the skin which needed to come off, so I used the knife as a scraper to flense the hide. I wiped the sweat from my brow and kept at it until all the flesh was removed, though I had to stop several times to tighten the cords and re-knap the knife.

The final product looked pretty good, and matched what I’d done in the past. All that was left was to turn the hide over, so the fur side was up. That way if it rained, the water would run off the fur. It’d stay that way for another four days to dry out.

For the spear, I already had the spearhead, so it was just a matter of finding and preparing the haft. And the arrows? The fall that had injured my leg had also damaged the turkey feathers, and I’d only been able to salvage enough feathers to make a single arrow.

Still, I was undaunted. Like a miser ready to count his coins, I rubbed my hands together. The rest of my time would be spent training.

The next day, I went through my morning routine, practiced magic-integrated spear arts in its afterglow, and then took a break to make the lye necessary for tanning the deer hide. All that process needed was water and ashes from a fire.

I was watching the mixture boil down when I heard thunder roll in from the east. I hiked to the top of the Glen, and saw a thick mass of dark clouds approaching. They flashed with lightning, and water poured down onto the valley below, a curtain of rain moving toward the Glen. I licked my lips in anticipation, and ran back down to drag the deer hide’s frame into the cave. Then I dashed outside and danced from foot to foot as I waited.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long—the clouds were fast moving. The lightning eventually crashed down on the area surrounding the Glen, and the thunder rumbled through me, from the top of my head down into my feet. Rain fell like a heavy blanket.

Grinning, I picked up my spear and practiced in the most magnificent of thunderstorms, the qi and mana spinning through me like a dynamo. The storm lasted all day and into the night, and I stuck with it—going hungry, except that it didn’t matter, not while I bathed in glory. It wasn’t until after the storm had moved on that I realized I was ravenous.

I paced while the meat grilled, and when that wasn’t enough, I grabbed my spear for more practice. There was too much energy for sense, and I couldn’t slow down. I needed to move, move, move.

When the meat was done, I tore into it like an animal and ate a full pound of venison. Then, I jumped up and ran outside to swing the spear around some more.

My breath heaved from the exertion. I thrust and cast Cold Snap. The water on the ground iced over—and I slipped.

“Oof!”

I laughed at my own antics and rolled onto my back to catch my breath. The trees glistened with moonlit raindrops. Sopping wet and exhausted, I held still long enough to admire the view. Then I got up to train some more.

The morning was crisp and clear, all the clouds having spent themselves the day before. A few stragglers lingered, but the sky was robin-blue for miles around. The Glen was as fresh as the day, washed clean by the rain.

My muscles ached, and my spirit too, like it’d been stretched past comfortable. My will felt stronger though. Not a lot, but enough to notice the difference. Checking my Status didn’t show any rank ups in attributes or skills, but I took comfort in knowing that the spear and the spell runes were both becoming more familiar.

The plan today was simple: bring the hide back outside to dry, go out into the forest to restock my supply of squash and beans, and oh, keep training. There was nothing more encouraging than that feeling of a skill starting to improve.

The morning went to plan, but after lunch I heard a cacophony from the birds downstream. A flock of them scattered into the air and flew over the Glen. At the time, I’d been trying to get used to the feel of fighting while wearing all my gear.

What was left of my shirt, a ragged tank-top, was under my armor. Three arrows—two orange, one brown—hung from my right hip, while two stilettos were fastened to my left. The scabbards for the stilettos were new and reinforced. My bow was strung and gripped in one hand. I held the spear in the other.

I hiked up to the top of the waterfall to check on what had spooked the birds. They tended to scatter only when there was something afoot.

Three baboons made their way upstream. They moved cautiously like scouts in enemy territory, their heads swiveling back and forth as they approached the Glen. More birds broke for the sky, and I saw a fourth baboon peer from the branches of a maple tree. Farther downstream, the foliage shook as yet two more baboons appeared.

I gulped. Did the storm spook the local wildlife? The Glen had also been invaded the last time it stormed, but that was just one creature, the unideer.

A massive baboon, ten feet tall and built like a linebacker, batted aside the shrubbery. He followed behind his troop.

My heart sank. I’d been so proud to finally learn the Healing Water spell. I was also working hard to become proficient in protecting myself. Yet here I was again, with no way to tackle a situation on my own. The only sensible thing to do was to wait for Ikfael—

My breath caught. If she returned now, she’d be ambushed by the baboons. I had to warn her.

I quickly shaped a spirit mana sculpture of a large baboon surrounded by six others. They were nothing more than vague shapes, the equivalent of stick figures, but I made them look menacing.

From the top of the waterfall, I tossed the sculpture down into the pool below; the monster baboon must’ve sensed it, because he charged upstream, screaming, the ground thumping with his steps. The rest of the troop hollered as they followed after him. They tore into the Glen.

I didn’t see what happened next, because I ran upstream, though I didn’t go far. The area ahead was still unexplored. The only section of the forest I knew well, besides Ikfael’s territory, was to the south, where I’d seen the monster turkeys and the horrible plant creatures. I swung around to make my way there via the deer thicket. I might as well make things difficult, just in case the baboons were able to track me.

The thicket lived up to its name. The branches scraped against my face and arms as I passed through. I tried to move quietly, but it was impossible with so many bushes and leaves rustling. I heard several animals take off running as I moved through the area. Fortunately, they ran away from me, not toward.

On the other side of the thicket, I turned west again to gain some height and keep an eye on my back trail. If there were baboons following, I wanted to know. Yet, all I saw was doe returning to the thicket. She didn’t have any weird horns or coloring; the creature was just as ordinary as any deer I’d seen.

After about an hour, I took a breath and sighed it out. Safe, at least for now. What about the Glen though? Depending on how long the baboons stayed, I was temporarily or permanently evicted. And even though Ikfael was safe, she was trapped on the other side of the spirit door. Unless Diriktot helped. Would he? Could he?

I waited another hour to make sure my backtrail was clear, and then headed to the Glen. That was the only way to find out the answer to those questions.