Chronicles Of The Crafting Hero

Chapter 3: First Kill

The smaller slime, propelled by some unseen force, launched itself at Tyler with surprising speed and agility. Panic seized him; he reacted instinctively, leaping sideways just as the gelatinous mass slammed into a nearby tree trunk with a loud thwack. The impact shook the tree, causing some leaves to fall, and the sound reverberated through the forest. He landed hard, the breath knocked from his lungs, but he wasn't seriously injured. He lay there for a moment, stunned, his mind struggling to process what had just happened.

He pushed himself to his feet, his muscles aching. The system display, ever-present, updated itself beside the now-stationary slime, which was slowly oozing down the tree trunk: `Slime Level 1`. The numerical designation, stark and simple, offered a chilling perspective on the encounter. The smaller slime, despite its relatively modest size, was still a threat, a quantifiable danger in this strange new world. He had narrowly escaped death, but the encounter served as a stark reminder of his vulnerability. He needed a better plan, a more effective strategy for survival.

As Tyler stared at the slime, still clinging to the tree trunk, it moved again. This time, instead of a direct assault, it seemed to bounce off the tree, launching itself towards him in a surprising, almost acrobatic maneuver. He reacted instantly, his instincts honed by the near-miss. Gripping his makeshift club firmly, he swung it with all his might, mimicking the motion of a baseball bat. The club connected with the slime with a satisfying thwack, and a high-pitched kyuu sound—a clear indication of pain—echoed through the air.

The force of the blow sent the slime hurtling backward, slamming it against the tree trunk once more. This time, however, the slime didn't bounce back. It slumped to the ground, its pulsating movements ceasing, its gelatinous form still and inert. Tyler stood there, his breath ragged, his muscles burning, staring at the defeated creature. He had done it. He had killed it. A wave of relief washed over him, quickly followed by a chilling realization: this was just the beginning.

The slime didn't simply lie there; it began to shimmer, its gelatinous form dissolving into sparkling blue dust that danced in the air, carried away by a gentle breeze. Almost instantly, the system display appeared, its familiar bluish glow a stark contrast to the fading dust: `ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: First Kill`.

Below the achievement notification, his stats were updated:

```

SPECIES: Human

NAME: Tyler Evans

RANK: G LVL: 0

CLASS: Craftsman

HP: 29/30 MP: 0/25

STR: 7 AGI: 7 DEF: 6

STATUS: Minor Bruising (from tree)

SKILLS: Weapon Craft

```

His Strength stat had increased by one point. Tyler stared at the updated display, a wave of surprise washing over him. "So that's how it works," he thought, "my stats grow from achievements. Killing that slime… it actually leveled me up, in a way." He glanced at his level, still stubbornly fixed at zero. "Level zero?" he mused, a frown creasing his brow. "That's… odd. Shouldn't I be at least level one after my first kill?"

The system, with its cryptic updates and unexplained mechanics, remained as much a mystery as the world around him. He had survived another encounter, but the questions surrounding this strange new reality only multiplied.

Just as Tyler pondered the mystery of his level zero status, a new message appeared on the system display, its ethereal glow pulsing gently:

```

You have received the Artifact's Blessing!

New Skill Acquired: Primal Subjugation (Use: 1)

Due to not receiving the Goddess's Blessing, 25% of XP will be removed. Current Level: 0

```

Tyler stared at the screen, his brow furrowed in confusion. A goddess, the Artifact's Blessing… a new skill… Primal Subjugation. The name sounded powerful, primal, hinting at an ability to control or tame creatures. The "(Use: 1)" notation, however, was concerning. It was a one-time use skill. He would only get one chance to use it. He needed to choose wisely.

Then, the second part of the message registered, though the impact was lessened. A quarter of his XP removed. He had gained a powerful skill, but at a cost. His progress, however small, had been reduced. He was still at level zero, but the setback wasn't as devastating as a complete XP wipe. The weight of this new reality still pressed down on him, but the blow was softened. He had a powerful tool, and while the path ahead remained fraught with danger and uncertainty, the journey wasn't quite as bleak. He had to choose his next target carefully. His survival depended on it.

Tyler looked down at the makeshift club, the system display beside it still showing `Attack: 2`. He hefted it in his hand, the rough wood feeling strangely reassuring. He was still at level zero, his XP reduced, but he had a new skill and a weapon. He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves, and stepped deeper into the forest.

He moved cautiously, his senses heightened, his eyes scanning the undergrowth, the trees, the shadows. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. He was acutely aware of his vulnerability, of the dangers that lurked unseen in this strange new world. He walked slowly, deliberately, trying to avoid making any unnecessary noise, any movement that might attract unwanted attention. His survival depended on his vigilance, his caution, his ability to anticipate and react to the threats that surrounded him. The forest, once a place of simple beauty, was now a battleground, and he was a lone warrior, armed with nothing but a stick and his wits.

The sun beat down relentlessly, the heat oppressive even in the dappled shade of the trees. Tyler, despite his earlier adrenaline rush, felt the weight of exhaustion settling over him. His muscles ached, his throat was parched, and a persistent weariness tugged at his limbs. Yet, his breathing remained steady, his senses sharp, a testament to the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He looked around, the dense forest stretching out in all directions, a seemingly endless expanse of green. The thought of escaping this place, of finding civilization, felt increasingly daunting. He was likely still very far from safety.

He glanced down at his makeshift club, the system display flickering into existence beside it. He considered placing it in his inventory, but a question lingered: how? As he stared at the club, a faint bluish glow emanated from it, and in an instant, it vanished from his grasp. He looked down at his empty hand, then at his inventory. One of the slots now displayed a small icon of a stick. He blinked, surprised. Then, a new text box appeared on the system display:

```

Four more sticks are needed to craft a Wooden Sword.

```

A wave of surprise washed over him. Crafting? A wooden sword? The implications were significant. It meant that he could improve his weapons, make them stronger, more effective. But it also meant that he needed to find four more suitable branches. The task seemed daunting, but the possibility of a better weapon, a more reliable means of defense, fueled his determination.

Tyler looked up at the tree he was resting beneath, its branches thick and strong. He carefully selected four branches, similar in size and sturdiness to the club he'd already used. Before placing them in his inventory, he methodically snapped off smaller branches from each, shaping them roughly into the form of his previous club. This way, he reasoned, they would be more easily usable as weapons if needed.

One by one, he placed the prepared branches into his inventory slots. As soon as the final branch disappeared into the inventory, a system window popped up, its familiar blue glow illuminating the shaded area:

```

Craft Item? (Y/N)

```

Without hesitation, Tyler mentally selected 'Y'. The window disappeared, replaced by another:

```

Crafting Wooden Sword...

```

A faint whirring sound, almost imperceptible, filled the air as the crafting process began. Tyler watched, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension swirling within him. This was his first crafting attempt in this strange new world, a crucial step in his ongoing struggle for survival.

The system message appeared: `Item Craft Complete`. A wooden sword materialized in the air above him, shimmering briefly before falling gently into his outstretched hand. It resembled a katana in its overall shape, though clearly crafted from wood, not steel. He examined it closely, surprised by its surprisingly high quality. The craftsmanship was surprisingly precise, the wood smoothly finished, the hilt comfortable in his grip. It was heavier than he expected, a solid weight that felt reassuringly substantial.

He tapped the blade lightly against his palm, the impact surprisingly firm. He could easily imagine the pain a harder blow would inflict. He examined the edge, noting that while blunt, it was still undeniably sharp, capable of inflicting serious damage. He looked again at the sword, and the system display appeared beside it: `Attack: 5`. A significant upgrade from his previous makeshift club. A wave of relief washed over him, quickly followed by a surge of cautious optimism. He had a better weapon now, a tool that would significantly improve his chances of survival.

Tyler thought of his inventory, and the system display obligingly showed his four slots. He stared at it, his eyes widening in surprise. The four slots, previously occupied by the wooden branches, were now empty. "No way…" he muttered, a dawning realization spreading through him. "Those sticks… they're gone. They were used to make this…" He hefted the wooden sword, feeling its weight again. It suddenly made sense. The surprising quality, the weight, the sharpness of the blade… it wasn't just magically conjured; the system had combined the materials he'd provided to craft a superior weapon. He still didn't fully understand how the system worked, but he was starting to grasp its basic mechanics.

The realization, however, was quickly overshadowed by a more pressing concern. He was tired, hungry, and thirsty. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a gnawing emptiness in his stomach. "Food and water," he murmured, the words a stark reminder of his immediate needs. He started walking, his gaze scanning the forest floor, his senses alert. Then, he saw it. A flash of black fur, a quick movement in the undergrowth. A rabbit. A black rabbit, its eyes gleaming in the dappled sunlight, darted out from behind a bush before disappearing back into the dense foliage. A flicker of hope ignited within him. Food. He might just have found his next meal.

Tyler followed the Rabbit into the bushes, his new wooden sword held ready. He'd barely taken a few steps when a high-pitched shriek pierced the air, a sound of distress that sent a shiver down his spine. It was a cry for help, but it came from the rabbit. Tyler paused, confused. He'd never interacted much with rabbits, but he was fairly certain they didn't shriek. At least, he hoped not.

Pushing aside the undergrowth, he burst into a small clearing. His breath hitched in his throat. A reddish-brown dog, its fur matted and stained with blood, was already devouring the rabbit. The sight filled Tyler with a mixture of revulsion and a sudden, chilling understanding. This wasn't just a normal forest; it was a world teeming with predators, a world where even seemingly harmless creatures could become prey. And he, armed with only a wooden sword, was squarely in the middle of it all. He had to decide what to do next, and quickl.

The dog, its fur the color of dried blood, continued its gruesome meal. The system display, ever-present, identified the creature: `Crimson Wolf, Level 15`. Below that, the remains of the rabbit were identified: `Shadowclaw, Level 6`. The stark contrast in levels—a fifteen to a six—explained the swift and brutal end of the rabbit.

Tyler felt a tremor run through him, a wave of cold fear washing over him. He had faced slimes, but this… this was different. The raw, brutal violence of the scene was visceral, unsettling. The Crimson Wolf, its jaws clamped around Shadowclaw's neck, was tearing into the rabbit's flesh with savage efficiency. He could see the rabbit's skin being ripped apart, its teeth bared in a silent scream. The air was thick with the coppery tang of blood, the sounds of tearing flesh a sickening symphony of death. He was no longer just facing individual creatures; he was witnessing the brutal reality of this world's food chain, and he was a very small, very vulnerable part of it. He had to get out of there.

The Crimson Wolf, mid-meal, paused, its head lifting slightly. Its bloodshot eyes, narrowed in suspicion, locked onto Tyler. The realization hit Tyler with the force of a physical blow. He was seen. He turned and ran, his legs pumping, his heart hammering against his ribs. He glanced back over his shoulder. The wolf was pursuing him, its speed terrifying. It wasn't just running; it was hunting. Tyler felt a surge of panic; the wolf's speed was incredible, blurring the background as it closed the distance. He felt as if he were standing still, the wolf a relentless predator closing in for the kill.

The wolf launched itself, its jaws snapping shut just inches from Tyler's head. He reacted instinctively, leaping to the side, rolling to avoid the attack. He scrambled to his feet, his breath ragged, his muscles screaming in protest. The wolf, undeterred, lunged again. This time, Tyler reacted more deliberately, raising his wooden sword to block the attack. The wolf's jaws clamped down on the blade, its powerful teeth sinking into the wood with a sickening crunch. The sound of splintering wood was followed by the sickening feeling of the sword breaking apart in the wolf's jaws. The weapon, his only defense, was gone. He was completely vulnerable.

Tyler watched, momentarily stunned, as the Crimson Wolf began to struggle, its powerful body convulsing slightly. It looked as if it were choking, its jaws working frantically. Then, with a heave, it vomited a chunk of splintered wood onto the forest floor.

Realization dawned on Tyler: he couldn't outrun the wolf. He needed to find a way to escape, to put some distance between himself and the predator. His eyes scanned his surroundings, searching for an escape route. He spotted a sturdy tree nearby, its branches thick and strong. With a burst of adrenaline, he scrambled towards it, leaping to grab a low-hanging branch. He hauled himself up, his muscles burning, his grip tightening around the rough bark.

He kept climbing, his gaze fixed on the wolf below. The creature circled the tree, its eyes never leaving him, a low growl rumbling in its chest. Then, to Tyler's dismay, the wolf settled down at the base of the tree, its body slumping against the trunk. It closed its eyes, and began to sleep.

"No…" Tyler whispered, his voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. "It's… it's waiting for me. It's just waiting for me to come down." A wave of despair washed over him. He was trapped, perched high in the tree, with a hungry, level fifteen predator sleeping patiently at its base. He was safe for now, but his escape was far from certain. He was exhausted, hungry, and utterly alone, with a long, terrifying night stretching ahead of him. He was trapped, and he didn't know how he was going to get down.

From his perch, Tyler scanned the horizon. The forest stretched out before him, but it wasn't endless. "There's water," he breathed, a whisper of relief escaping his lips. "A river... and ponds. Not too far... maybe two kilometers or so." He felt a surge of cautious optimism. It wasn't insurmountable. Two kilometers was a long way, especially given his exhaustion, but it was achievable. "I can do this," he muttered, a newfound determination hardening his resolve. "I just need to get down from here, and then..."

He paused, his gaze drifting back to the sleeping wolf. "That's going to be tricky," he murmured, a frown creasing his brow. He needed a plan, a way to get past the wolf without becoming its next meal. He couldn't outrun it. He needed to be clever. An idea began to form in his mind, a risky plan, but perhaps his only chance.

He started breaking branches from the tree, carefully selecting sturdy ones, similar in size and shape to the ones he'd used before. He snapped off smaller branches, shaping them roughly into the form of his previous club, preparing them for his inventory.

After breaking more branches and adding them to his inventory, Tyler realized he now had enough materials for two wooden swords. He selected one of the newly crafted swords and, using the other as a makeshift knife, carefully began to peel away the wood at the end of the blade, sharpening the point. He worked meticulously, his movements precise and deliberate, hoping to create a sharper, more effective weapon. "I hope this works," he muttered, his breath catching in his throat. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the forest floor, and the urgency of his situation pressed down on him. He needed shelter, but the dense forest offered little in the way of safe havens. He had to get down from the tree, and he had to do it quickly.

A plan formed in his mind, risky but necessary. He gripped the sharp wooden katana, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He aimed the blade downwards, focusing on the wolf's eye. This wasn't just about letting the sword fall; this was a calculated strike.

With a deep breath, he launched himself from the branch, his body a projectile aimed at the unsuspecting beast. The katana, held firmly in his grip, followed his trajectory. He felt the impact—a sickening crunch as wood met bone—and the wolf's howl of pain echoed through the trees.

The crimson wolf thrashed, its body convulsing as it struggled against the embedded sword. Tyler, landing hard but keeping his footing, braced himself. He drove the katana deeper, the wood splintering slightly as it tore through the wolf's eye socket. The wolf's struggles lessened, its breathing ragged and shallow. Then, silence.

A wave of relief washed over Tyler. He pulled the katana free, the wood stained crimson. The wolf lay still, its lifeblood staining the earth. The familiar blue glow of the system display appeared before him. He blinked, momentarily distracted, then stared in disbelief at the message:

```

LEVEL UP! You have reached Level 2!

```

His stats had been updated:

```

SPECIES: Human

NAME: Tyler Evans

RANK: G LVL: 2

CLASS: Craftsman

HP: 33/33 MP: 29/29

STR: 11 AGI: 11 DEF: 10

STATUS: Minor Bruising

SKILLS: Weapon Craft, Armor Craft

Everything had increased by four points! His strength was now eleven! He was stronger, faster, more resilient. He had acquired a new skill: Armor Craft. The possibilities were suddenly vast. He could craft weapons, and now, he could craft armor. His chances of survival had just increased dramatically. The journey to the river was still long and dangerous.

A thought struck him: the wolf. Level fifteen. He, a level zero, had killed it. "But… how?" he murmured, a frown creasing his brow. "Shouldn't I be at least level four or five now? I killed a level fifteen beast!" He pondered the discrepancy, then remembered the Artifact's Blessing, the removal of 25% of his XP. "That's it," he realized, snapping his fingers. "My level was cut. That's why I'm only level two. If not for that, I'd probably be much higher." The realization was unsettling. As Tyler continued his trek, the system display suddenly shimmered into existence, announcing a new achievement:```

ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: The Impossible Kill

You have slain a creature significantly higher in level than yourself, demonstrating exceptional skill.

```

Below the achievement notification, his stats were updated:

```

SPECIES: Human

NAME: Tyler Evans

RANK: G LVL: 2

CLASS: Craftsman

HP: 33/33 MP: 29/29

STR: 13 AGI: 11 DEF: 10

STATUS: Minor Bruising

SKILLS: Weapon Craft, Armor Craft

```

His Strength had increased by another two points, bringing it to thirteen. He had not only survived a deadly encounter but had also been rewarded for his bravery. He pulled another wooden sword from his inventory, feeling the reassuring weight of the weapon in his hand.