Chronicles Of The Crafting Hero

Chapter 4: Low Hp

The forest was dense, a cathedral of towering trees whose branches intertwined to form a thick, almost impenetrable canopy. Long shadows stretched across the forest floor, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. An unnatural quiet had settled over the area, a stark contrast to the frantic energy of the recent struggle. The only sound was the occasional rustle of leaves, a whisper of the wind weaving through the trees.

Tyler stood amidst the stillness, his gaze fixed on the Crimson Wolf. It lay where it had fallen. He reached for his sword, intending to sheathe it in his inventory, but paused. Something felt… off. He checked his inventory, expecting to see his usual four slots. Instead, he stared in disbelief at eight slots—four more than before! The sudden expansion of his inventory was completely unexpected. Then, he saw it: a text box next to the wolf's body, displaying a single word: `EXTRACT`.

"Extract?" Tyler murmured, tilting his head. He looked at the wolf, then back at the text box. The unexpected expansion of his inventory added to his confusion. Hesitantly, he mentally selected the option.

Instantly, the wolf's skin shimmered with a faint bluish light, then vanished as if it had never been there. The underlying flesh and bones were now exposed, glistening in the dim light. Then, the remaining flesh and bones began to shimmer, the same bluish light enveloping them before they too dissolved into sparkling blue dust, identical to the dust left behind by the slimes he'd encountered earlier. The only evidence of the creature was the faint coppery scent of blood lingering in the air.

Tyler stared at the empty space, a profound sense of unease washing over him. He had no idea what had just happened, or what the implications might be. The forest, already unsettling, now felt even more alien, more unpredictable. He was alone, in a world he didn't understand, with more questions than answers. He needed to get to the river.

Amongst his inventory's newly expanded slots, Tyler spotted a new icon: a husk-like image, vaguely resembling tanned leather. He realized with a jolt that it was the wolf's skin—the skin that had been extracted. A thought sparked in his mind: armor. The system had given him the ability to craft armor, and here was the perfect material. But how? He knew how to craft weapons, but armor was a different beast entirely. He wasn't sure where to even begin. Was it a similar process? Did he need a recipe? Did he need additional materials? The questions swirled in his mind, unanswered.

Then, he looked up. The sun had already set, plunging the forest into twilight. Darkness was rapidly descending, and a wave of panic washed over him. He was alone, vulnerable, and still a long way from the river. He couldn't afford to waste any more time. He needed shelter, and he needed it now. With a surge of adrenaline, he grabbed his wooden sword, and started running towards the river, the image of the wolf's skin and the mystery of armor crafting fading into the background as the urgency of his situation took over. He had to reach the river before nightfall completely consumed the forest.

Tyler paused, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind. Should he run? The forest was dark, full of unseen dangers. But the thirst clawing at his throat was a more immediate threat. "No choice," he muttered, his voice rough. "I have to get to that river."

He noticed something else, too. He felt… lighter, less exhausted than he should be. "Is it the system?" he wondered aloud, testing his muscles. His increased strength and agility were palpable. He felt faster, stronger, more capable. He gripped his sword, swinging it experimentally up and down, feeling the familiar weight, the reassuring balance. He was ready.

With a renewed sense of purpose, he started running, his legs pumping, his pace surprisingly swift. "This… this is the right way, right?" he muttered to himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The thought was cut short by a sudden, sharp impact against his shoulder. Something wet and hard slammed into him, sending a jolt of pain through his body.

The impact slammed into Tyler's shoulder, sending him sprawling to the side. He landed hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. He scrambled to his feet, crouching low, his sword held defensively before him. Through the darkness, he saw it: a slime, bigger than the one he'd encountered before, though still roughly the same size as the first one he'd faced in this strange new world.

Before Tyler could react, the slime launched itself at him, its gelatinous form writhing. Instinctively, he swung his sword, a desperate, upward slash. The blade sliced through the slime with surprising ease, cleaving it cleanly in half. The two halves twitched for a moment before dissolving into the familiar blue dust. Tyler stared at the dust, then at his sword, a wave of surprise washing over him. He hadn't expected the sword to be so effective against the slime. He'd assumed it would be more resistant, more difficult to kill. Perhaps the increased attack of the blade had made all the difference. He continued running, his wooden sword held firmly in his hand.

Then, the system display appeared, showing his current HP: 31/33. Two points of damage. He felt a renewed sense of urgency. His defense was low. He needed to reach the river, to find shelter, to rest and recover. But a new wave of doubt washed over him. "Am I even going the right way?" he wondered, his pace faltering slightly. The forest was dark, the path ahead uncertain. He was alone, injured, and desperately thirsty.

As Tyler continued to ran, a strange sound reached his ears—a high-pitched shriek, almost like a pig oinking in distress, but somehow… wrong. It was followed by a heavy, rumbling sound, the distinct thud of large footsteps approaching rapidly from behind.

He glanced over his shoulder, his heart leaping into his throat. There, emerging from the darkness, was something truly bizarre. It resembled a warthog, but grotesquely exaggerated. Instead of the usual two horns, it sported six, curving menacingly from its head. And instead of two eyes, it had four, gleaming unnervingly in the dim light.

"Seriously?" Tyler groaned, his voice laced with disbelief . "A six-horned, four-eyed warthog? Of course. Why wouldn't I run through a dark forest? What could possibly go wrong?" He cursed his own impulsive decision to flee, his earlier confidence replaced by a surge of pure, unadulterated terror. The creature was charging, its multiple horns glinting menacingly in the moonlight, its four eyes fixed on him with unsettling intensity.

Tyler risked another glance over his shoulder. The system display identified the creature: `Hexhorn, Level 8`. Despite his increased agility, the Hexhorn was gaining on him. Its heavy, rumbling footsteps were growing louder, closer. He could feel the vibrations in the ground. There was no time to think, only to react.

Just as the Hexhorn was about to strike, Tyler launched himself to the side, narrowly avoiding its charge. The creature crashed into a large tree with a deafening thud, the impact shaking the ground. The Hexhorn shook its head, momentarily disoriented.

"Now's my chance," Tyler muttered, his heart pounding in his chest. He gripped his sword, his muscles tense. "Distracted… it's distracted!" He lunged forward, thrusting his sword with all his might, aiming for a vulnerable spot. But with a sickening crack, his wooden sword shattered against the Hexhorn's tough hide. The broken pieces fell to the ground.

"Shit," Tyler breathed, his surprise giving way to terror. The Hexhorn, recovering from its momentary disorientation, turned its multiple eyes on him. With a furious roar, it charged. The impact slammed into Tyler's chest, sending him sprawling through the undergrowth, the wind knocked from his lungs. He landed hard, pain exploding through his body. The world swam before his eyes, the sounds of the forest fading into a dull roar. He was injured, weaponless, and at the mercy of the enraged beast.

Tyler pushed himself up, his body screaming in protest. The system display appeared, stark and unforgiving: `HP: 21/33`. Eleven points of damage. The sight of the dwindling numbers intensified his fear. These weren't just numbers; they were a countdown, a stark reminder of his mortality. Each point represented a step closer to death.

The Hexhorn, its multiple eyes gleaming with predatory intent, dragged its feet on the ground, the action like a coiled spring preparing to unleash its power. Then, it charged.

Tyler reacted instantly, straightening up and sprinting away. But the Hexhorn was faster, its massive bulk a blur of motion. A searing pain exploded across Tyler's back as the creature slammed into him, sending him tumbling head over heels. He landed hard, a sharp crack echoing in his spine. He lay there, gasping for breath, his vision blurring, the chilling certainty of death settling over him. He was injured, weaponless, and hopelessly outmatched.

The system display flashed before his eyes: `HP: 14/33`. Nineteen points of damage. He tasted blood, a warm, metallic tang tickling his lips. He’d been hit in the chest, then the back. This was it, he thought, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "So this is how it ends," he muttered, a self-mocking amusement coloring his voice. "Harsh life in the other world, and now this?"

He pressed himself against the rough bark of a large tree, trying to catch his breath.

"This is it", he thought, a wave of despair washing over him. "All that effort, all that struggle, for nothing. I should have stayed put. I should have been more careful. Damn it all! Why did I run through this stupid forest? I'm such an idiot!" He cursed himself, his thoughts a torrent of self-recrimination and regret.

Then, a flicker of hope ignited in the darkness of his despair.

He realized he had a sword in his inventory, but he didn't pull it out. Instead, he felt the warm trickle of blood rolling down the side of his lip, tasting the metallic tang. One eye squeezed shut against the pain, his vision blurring. His jacket, once relatively clean, was now smeared with dirt and grime; his jeans fared no better. He saw the Hexhorn, a blur of motion, charging straight at him.

A wry smile stretched across his lips. "Come on, then," he rasped, his voice strained but defiant. "Hit me. Hit me already. Let's get this over with." He extended a hand towards the charging beast, a gesture of almost mocking defiance.

The Hexhorn was unstoppable, its massive body a blur of motion. Just as its snout was about to connect with Tyler's outstretched hand, a shimmering blue light erupted from his hand. The Hexhorn, seeing the sword materializing, desperately tried to stop, its legs skidding against the ground, but it was too late. With a desperate heave, Tyler drove the blade deep into the Hexhorn's nose. The creature shrieked in agony, a sound both horrifying and strangely satisfying, before collapsing to the side with a heavy thud.

Tyler let out a long, shaky sigh of relief, breathing heavily. The tension draining from his body, he looked down at the fallen beast. Next to the corpse, a familiar text box shimmered into existence: `EXTRACT`.

Tyler groaned, a low, guttural sound of pain escaping his lips as he used the tree trunk to lever himself to his feet. His back screamed in protest, but adrenaline and relief warred with the agony. He looked down at the fallen Hexhorn, its six horns now oddly peaceful in death. "Extract," he muttered, the word barely audible above his ragged breathing.

The Hexhorn's skin shimmered with a faint blue light, detaching itself from the underlying flesh. it vanished, seemingly absorbed into his inventory. The remaining bones and flesh, now exposed, pulsed with the same blue light before dissolving into sparkling blue dust, which then dissipated into thin air, as if swept away by an unseen wind.

Tyler checked his inventory. Another husk-like icon had appeared, identical to the one he'd received from the Crimson Wolf. He now had two hides, enough material to potentially craft something substantial. The thought of crafting armor, of protecting himself from future encounters, sparked a flicker of hope amidst the exhaustion and pain. He needed to find shelter, to rest, and to figure out how to turn these hides into something that could save his life.

Tyler, leaning heavily on the tree for support, muttered, "I wonder if I can craft..." He then thought, "Craft armor", and the system responded with a prompt: `Craft Armor? (Yes/No)`

He mentally selected 'Yes'. The system responded with a single word: `Crafting...` A faint whirring sound, almost imperceptible, emanated from the system display, as if some unseen mechanism was whirring into action. A progress bar, barely visible, seemed to fill slowly. The whirring continued for what felt like an eternity, then abruptly stopped.

`Crafting Complete.`

A new icon appeared in his inventory, resembling a simple, sleeveless tunic. It wasn't quite a t-shirt, but it was close. A surge of relief washed over him.

Tyler mentally selected the newly crafted armor. A shimmering light enveloped his upper body, and the sleeveless tunic materialized. It was a curious garment, a blend of deep red and brown, reminiscent of the colors of the Crimson Wolf and the Hexhorn. It fit perfectly, surprisingly comfortable against his skin. The material felt like supple leather, yet surprisingly warm; the inside was lined with a soft, red fur. The three buttons down the front were neatly sewn, and the entire garment felt precisely crafted, tailored to his exact size. He felt a wave of warmth wash over him; the chill that had been clinging to him since his encounter with the Hexhorn was gone. It was sleeveless, but the material felt surprisingly protective, a welcome contrast to the vulnerability he'd felt moments before.

The system display suddenly appeared, and Tyler gasped. His defense had increased dramatically. A notification flashed: `Defense +20`. His defense had been boosted by a massive 20 points! He stared at the number, utterly astonished. This simple-looking tunic offered incredible protection. He touched the leather-like material of the armor, marveling at its unexpected properties.

Then, another text box appeared, this one reading: `Regular Clothing`. Tyler blinked, completely taken aback. "Regular clothing?" he muttered, incredulous. This wasn't just regular clothing; it was a marvel of design, a blend of old-world craftsmanship and modern functionality. The simple, three-button design was both practical and strangely stylish, a fusion of eras and aesthetics. He couldn't believe something so effective, so protective, was considered merely "regular clothing" by the system.

Despite the surprising boost to his defense, the pain in his back and chest remained a sharp, persistent reminder of his recent ordeal. Then, a realization struck him. He remembered leveling up to level 2 earlier, the pain he'd felt before the level-up, and the subsequent healing. He'd healed automatically upon leveling up! A surge of understanding washed over him. To heal further, he needed to level up again. And to level up, he needed to fight.

Slimes. Slimes were the easiest targets he knew. They were relatively weak, and provided a relatively safe way to gain experience. He started walking, cautiously, his senses heightened, careful to avoid detection. He moved slowly, silently, his new armor providing a sense of security he hadn't felt before.

Then, something caught his eye. Embedded in the ground, something shimmered with an almost ethereal light, catching the moonlight like a diamond. But upon closer inspection, he realized it wasn't a diamond; it was metal. The ethereal shimmer wasn't from a single object, but from scattered pieces across the ground. As he approached, he saw it was metal—scraps of metal, some gleaming brightly, others rusted and corroded. A surge of relief washed over him. Metal meant people. It meant he wasn't alone. The rusted and aged state of the metal didn't diminish his hope; it only added to the mystery. The creatures he'd encountered so far—the slimes, the Crimson Wolf, the Hexhorn—were unlike anything his ever seen. He'd begun to fear he might be the only human in this strange new world. But the presence of this discarded metal suggested otherwise. There were others. There were people.

He began digging carefully in the soft earth, unearthing more pieces. The discovery filled him with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

He unearthed the pieces: a rusted, broken fragment of a sword blade, a dented and corroded helmet, and a metal shoe, gleaming silver despite its age and wear, reminiscent of the knight's armor he'd seen depicted in movies from his old world. The shoe, in particular, caught his eye; it was remarkably well-preserved, its silver surface still shining despite the rust and decay around it.

As he examined the pieces, a familiar blue shimmer enveloped each one. To his surprise, the metal fragments vanished. He checked his inventory; a single new icon appeared, depicting something that looked like a broken, tattered version of the sleeveless tunic icon Underneath the icon, the text read: `Metal Scraps`. He frowned, considering his options. "Can I craft anything from this?" he muttered to himself. The system responded instantly: `Craft Weapon? (Yes/No)`

A slow smile spread across Tyler's face. "Yes," he said, "Craft weapon." The familiar whirring sound of the crafting process began, but this time, the progress bar filled far more quickly. In less than half a minute, the crafting process completed. He checked his inventory. A new icon appeared: a simple image of a sword.

He mentally selected `Equip`. Instantly, a sword materialized in his hand. It looked… underwhelming. Blunt, rusted, and clearly showing signs of significant wear and tear. He examined it closely. The system display confirmed his assessment: `Rusted Sword. Looks blunt and rusted. Won't last very long.

He checked his inventory. A new icon appeared: a simple image of a sword. Instantly, the sword materialized in his hand. It looked… underwhelming. Old, rusty, and clearly blunt. The system display confirmed his assessment: `Rusted Sword. Blunt. Can be used as a stick. Attack: 26.`

Tyler stared at the attack stat, surprised. Twenty-six? That was surprisingly high. He ran a finger along the blade, feeling the surprisingly hard metal beneath the rust. It was far denser and more durable than his previous wooden sword; despite its bluntness and rusty appearance, it would be far more effective as a weapon. Even as a makeshift club, its weight and density would make it significantly more powerful than his previous weapon. He had a feeling this rusty sword, despite its flaws, would serve him well.

Groaning with the effort, Tyler climbed up a tree, using the rough bark to pull himself upward. "Almost there," he muttered, his breath catching in his throat. He reached the top, his breath ragged, and scanned the horizon. "The river," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "I'm heading the right way." In the distance, he could make out the dark ribbon of the river. "If I had a watch," he grumbled, "it'd probably be around 7 PM. Getting dark fast."

Then, something caught his eye. A faint plume of smoke rose into the night sky. "Smoke?!" he exclaimed, a surge of hope coursing through him. "That

means... people? Maybe a village? Finally!" The possibility filled him with a renewed sense of purpose and determination.

He scrambled down the tree, his movements quicker now, fueled by the promise of human contact. "Almost there," he muttered, his legs burning. "Just a little further..." But his relief was short-lived. As he reached the forest floor, a flash of black fur caught his eye. "What the—?" he breathed, his voice laced with apprehension. Another black rabbit. This one, however, seemed different, somehow… unsettling. He felt a prickle of unease.