Chronicles Of The Crafting Hero

Chapter 2: A Coward's Escape

The throbbing in his head was a dull ache, a minor inconvenience rather than a searing pain. He looked around, his gaze sweeping across the endless expanse of trees. The forest was dense, the canopy overhead blocking out much of the sunlight, creating a dim, almost oppressive atmosphere. He could hear the chirping of birds, a sound that felt oddly out of place in this unsettling environment. The air hung heavy and humid, noticeably warmer than it had been in his apartment.

A trickle of blood rolled down his forehead, a thin crimson line tracing a path through his eyebrow. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, looking at the blood on his fingers with a detached curiosity. His face remained etched with confusion, his brow furrowed in thought. "How the hell did I get here?" he muttered, the words hanging in the air, unanswered.

He took a tentative step forward, then another, feeling the soft give of the grass beneath his feet. The sound was surprisingly loud, each step a distinct shhh against the quiet hum of the forest. He was still disoriented, still grappling with the absurdity of his situation, but the immediate panic had subsided, replaced by a cautious curiosity. The forest, despite its strangeness, held a certain allure, a silent invitation to explore. The question of how he'd arrived remained unanswered, but the pressing need to understand his surroundings began to outweigh the lingering fear.

The impulse to call out for help, to shout for someone, anyone, was almost overwhelming but he stopped himself. What if calling out was a mistake? What if it attracted something dangerous? The thought sent a fresh wave of unease through him. Maybe it was better to remain unseen, to observe before acting.

This was his worst nightmare, he realized. He'd always been terrible with directions, prone to getting lost even in familiar places. He remembered one time, as a child, getting separated from his family at a crowded amusement park. The panic, the overwhelming sense of isolation, had been terrifying. Now, he was truly lost, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by an alien landscape. The nervousness gnawed at him, a persistent, unsettling feeling that burrowed deep into his gut.

Maybe this wasn't real, he thought. Maybe it was all a dream, a bizarre, vivid nightmare. He hadn't woken up yet. The thought offered a sliver of comfort, a potential escape from the terrifying reality of his situation. He slapped himself hard across the face, the sting a sharp contrast to the numb feeling of disbelief. The pain was real. This wasn't a dream. He was truly, terrifyingly lost.

He stood for a long moment, contemplating his options. Trees. Endless trees in every direction. North, south, east, west – it all looked the same. He wasn't even sure he was still in the same city. There were no forests this dense anywhere near his apartment; the closest thing was a small, manicured park several blocks away. The thought sent a fresh wave of unease through him. He was truly lost, utterly and completely disoriented.

He turned south, a seemingly arbitrary choice, but one born from a desperate hope. If he walked south, surely he would eventually stumble upon some sign of civilization – a road, a house, a person. Anything that could help him. He took a deep breath, preparing to start walking, when a dark bluish glow shimmered into existence before him. The system. It pulsed gently, its presence a stark reminder of his strange, new reality. His immediate concern for survival was momentarily overshadowed by the mystery of this game-like interface and the questions it raised about his current situation. Where was he? And what was this place?

A dark bluish glow shimmered into existence before him , a translucent panel floating in the air. He stared, his mouth slightly agape, as he read the information displayed.

```

SPECIES: Human

NAME: Tyler Evans

RANK: G LVL: 0

CLASS: Craftsman

HP: 29/30 MP: 0/25

STR: 6 AGI: 5 DEF: 6

STATUS: Minor Bruising (from tree)

SKILLS: Weapon Craft

INVENTORY: (Click bottom-right corner to access)

```

A wave of confusion washed over him. The layout, the stats… it was strangely familiar. The terms "Strength," "Agility," and "Defense," the numerical values assigned to them, triggered a vague memory of video games, though he'd never been much of a gamer. The presentation felt oddly… structured. This wasn't just some random, inexplicable transportation; this was something else entirely. But what? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He was somewhere else, somewhere strange, and this… this interface… it was a mystery he desperately needed to solve. The immediate priority was survival, but the enigma of the status display was a close second. He was in a strange place, and he had no idea what to expect.

"This is insane," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "Completely insane. I'm losing it, aren't I? I'm just… cracking up." He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture clumsy and frantic. "It's all in my head, isn't it? This whole thing? I'm just stumbling around my room, hallucinating. This forest, these trees… it's all a figment of my imagination, a grotesque joke my brain's playing on me. I'm a failure, a piece of trash, and now I'm paying the price. This is my breakdown, my descent into madness." He laughed, a hollow, humorless sound. "Serves me right."

He shifted his weight, taking a step to the side. The system display remained fixed in his vision, moving with him, unwavering. He moved to the left, then to the right. The display followed, its ethereal glow a constant presence. "See? I told you," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I'm crazy. This isn't real. It's one of those things, right? The brain just… makes things up when it's breaking down. A hallucination. A delusion. A really, really vivid delusion." He paused, staring at the persistent display. "But… but it's so real, isn't it? Too real. Too detailed. Too… persistent. It's not just a hallucination, is it? Or is it?" He squeezed his eyes shut, the fear a cold knot in his stomach. "What is this place? What is happening to me?"

"Well," he muttered, a flicker of defiance igniting in his eyes, "if I am in my room, hallucinating this whole thing… then there's no harm in being a little foolish, is there?" He paused, considering the implications. His brain wasn't exactly known for conjuring up elaborate fantasies; he wasn't the type to get lost in daydreams or video games. This… this was beyond anything he could have imagined.

He stared at the system display again, his chin resting on his hand as he focused intently on the words. He read aloud, his voice barely above a whisper, "…INVENTORY: (Click bottom-right corner to access)." He hesitated for a moment, then, with a shrug, he focused his attention on the bottom-right corner of the display. He mentally clicked, expecting nothing.

And then, he saw it. Four inventory slots appeared, neatly arranged in a grid. Empty inventory slots. He frowned, tilting his head. "Four? Why only four?" he murmured, his voice laced with confusion.

Before he could ponder the limited inventory space, a sound cut through the air. It was a rustling, a low, almost imperceptible sound, but it was definitely there, breaking the unnerving silence of the forest. His head snapped up, his eyes darting around, searching for the source of the noise. The feeling of unease returned, amplified by the mystery of the inventory and the sudden sound. He wasn't alone.

The rustling sound intensified, evolving into something far more unsettling. It was a repulsive, almost slimy sound, like the squelching of mucus or the writhing of some unseen, gelatinous creature. Then, it came into view.

A slime. A pulsating mass of what looked like water and mucus, almost translucent, yet undeniably alive. It was roughly the size of two footballs combined—a bizarre, unsettling shape that seemed to defy the laws of nature. Tyler's brain struggled to process the image. It wasn't the colour that was shocking; it was the wrongness of it. The way it moved, a sickening, slow-motion fluidity that seemed to ignore the constraints of solid matter. The unsettling combination of organic and inorganic, the way it pulsed and shifted, sent a jolt of pure terror through him. He started to shake, his body wracked with a mixture of fear and disbelief. He couldn't even comprehend what he was looking at. It was… alive? Water and mucus… alive?

And then, the system display updated, a new line appearing beside the image of the creature: `SLIME LEVEL 3`. The simple words, the numerical designation, somehow made the creature even more terrifying. It wasn't just some bizarre natural phenomenon; it was… a creature, a being, with a defined level, a quantifiable existence within this strange, new reality. The implications were staggering, overwhelming. He was not only lost in a strange world, but he was also confronted with something utterly inexplicable, something that defied his understanding of the natural world. The realization sent another wave of fear through him, colder and more profound than before.

Tyler remained frozen, his eyes fixated on the slime, his body trembling. Then, almost imperceptibly, the amorphous mass shifted. A small, rounded protrusion formed at the top, a rudimentary head, lacking eyes or any discernible features. Yet, in that instant, Tyler knew. It had noticed him.

A new sound emanated from the creature, a strange, almost musical kyuu, a sound that somehow managed to be both unsettling and oddly melodic. And then, it moved. The slime, which had been slowly oozing to the side, began to head towards him, its movement accelerating. The repulsive squelching sound intensified, growing louder as the creature closed the distance.

"Yeah, no shit," Tyler muttered, his voice tight with fear. "I'm not sticking around for that." He turned and ran, his legs pumping, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He glanced back over his shoulder, his heart pounding in his chest. The slime was still moving towards him, but the distance between them seemed to be growing. He was getting away. He was escaping. For now. The thought offered a small measure of comfort, a fragile hope in the face of overwhelming terror. But the image of the creature, its unsettling form and unnerving sound, remained burned into his mind, a chilling reminder of the dangers that lurked in this strange, new world.

He ran, his lungs burning, his legs screaming in protest, but adrenaline pushed him onward. Just as he thought he might collapse, the system window, which had vanished as soon as he'd started running, reappeared, its ethereal glow momentarily distracting him. A message flashed across the screen: `ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED`.

Beneath the achievement notification, another message appeared, mocking and blunt: `Coward's Escape`.

Tyler gritted his teeth, ignoring the sting of the insult. His eyes scanned the rest of the updated status display:

```

SPECIES: Human

NAME: Tyler Evans

RANK: G LVL: 0

CLASS: Craftsman

HP: 29/30 MP: 0/25

STR: 6 AGI: 7 DEF: 6

STATUS: Minor Bruising (from tree)

SKILLS: Weapon Craft

INVENTORY: (Click bottom-right corner to access)

```

His agility had increased by two points. A small victory in the face of overwhelming terror. The system, with its mocking achievement and stat update, was a constant, unsettling reminder of this bizarre new reality. He was not only lost and hunted, but he was also, somehow, playing a game. The thought sent a fresh wave of unease through him, but the adrenaline-fueled flight continued, the need to escape overriding all other thoughts. He had to get away from that slime. He had to survive.

He stopped running, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body slick with sweat. He coughed, a harsh, rattling sound, and sank to his knees, his hands resting heavily on his thighs for support. He remained crouched for a moment, catching his breath, the exertion leaving him weak and trembling. Then, slowly, he straightened, sighing, and looked back.

He had never run that far before in his life. The thought, fleeting and almost inconsequential, crossed his mind:

"Maybe it's the system". He shrugged it off, dismissing it as a fanciful notion. But the uneasy feeling remained. If there was one slime, there were likely more. Many more. The image of the creature, its repulsive form and unnerving sound, haunted him. This wasn't just some random encounter; it was a serious threat. And a strange, unsettling sense of determination, a resolve he hadn't felt in years, began to bubble up inside him. This was a fight for survival, a terrifying struggle against the unknown, and he had to win. The thought, though terrifying, also filled him with a strange, unexpected sense of purpose.

He stumbled, his legs unsteady, and a wave of thirst washed over him, a burning dryness in his throat. Then, a chilling realization struck him: he had no food, no water. If night fell, the temperature would plummet, and the creatures—creatures like the slime—would likely become more active, more aggressive. He was alone, injured, lost, thirsty, and utterly unprepared. Panic threatened to overwhelm him again, but he fought it down, focusing on the immediate need for survival. He had to find something, anything, to defend himself.

His eyes scanned his surroundings, searching for anything that could serve as a weapon. He spotted a sturdy tree nearby, its branches thick and strong. He approached it, his movements cautious, and with a grunt of exertion, he ripped off a thick branch, snapping it from the trunk with a satisfying crack. He then stripped away some of the smaller branches, shaping it into a crude but serviceable club.

As he held the makeshift weapon, a small box of text appeared beside it, floating in the air: `Attack: 2`. A simple numerical value, yet it sent a jolt through him. It wasn't just a stick; it was a weapon, a tool with a quantifiable level of effectiveness. The realization, though unsettling, also brought a flicker of hope. He wasn't completely helpless. He had a weapon, and he had the system, a mysterious guide to this strange new world. He felt a surge of adrenaline, a mixture of fear and determination.

He gripped the makeshift club, the rough wood a comfort in his hand. Staying here, fighting his way out of this forest, seemed like the only option. But what then? He would return to his cramped apartment, to the crushing weight of his failures. He'd search for a new job, struggle to make ends meet, and his friend, relieved to be free of the burden of his presence, would likely move out, leaving him alone in that tiny, suffocating space. The thought was a bitter pill to swallow, a stark reminder of the life he'd left behind. Was this new reality, however terrifying, truly worse than that?

As he stood there, lost in thought, a terrifying sound ripped through the air, a low, guttural roar that seemed to shake the very ground beneath his feet. He looked up, his eyes widening in fear, as a colossal shadow crossed the sky. High above, something immense was rising, a creature of immense size and power, its form vaguely reptilian, dragon-like. It moved with terrifying grace, its silhouette a stark contrast against the bright sky, before disappearing into the distance, leaving only the lingering echo of its roar and a profound sense of dread. The encounter with the slime had been terrifying, but this… this was something else entirely. This was a threat on a scale he couldn't even begin to comprehend. His fight for survival had just become exponentially more difficult.

"Fuck," Tyler breathed, the word a raw expression of disbelief and terror. He dropped the makeshift club, the rough wood clattering against the forest floor, as the enormity of his situation crashed down on him. He wasn't hallucinating. He wasn't in his apartment. He wasn't losing his mind. He was in another world, a world teeming with dangers he could barely comprehend. He'd thought the slime was bad, a terrifying encounter, but that… that thing in the sky… that had looked like a dragon. The slimes might have been unsettling, but this was a whole different level of threat. This was real, and he was in mortal danger.

He picked up the club again, the rough wood suddenly feeling inadequate, pathetic in the face of such overwhelming power. As he straightened, preparing to face whatever might come next, he saw it. A slime, smaller than the one he'd encountered before, was heading straight towards him, oozing through the undergrowth with its characteristic sickening fluidity. The kyuu sound, that unnerving, almost musical squelch, was closer now, more menacing. His escape had been short-lived. The fight for survival had begun again.