My Divine System Gives Rewards for Losing

Chapter 4: An Unwanted Partner

The forest canopy dripped with the remnants of a passing mist, the air heavy with the scent of damp bark and something sharp—metallic, like ozone. André didn’t stop walking. His boots crunched against the rotted mulch, a sound that felt entirely too loud in the unnatural quiet left behind by the wolves.

Clara emerged from the treeline like a blade sliding from a sheath. She stepped into his path, her movements fluid and predatory, her hand resting habitually on the hilt of her knife.

"Stop," she said. Her voice wasn't an order, but it held the weight of a warning.

André halted, though he kept his posture loose. He tilted his head, giving her a lopsided, weary grin. "You know, for someone who likes to stay in the shadows, you’re becoming a real fixture in my peripheral vision, Clara."

"Cut the crap," she snapped, stepping closer until she was well within his reach. She gestured toward the destroyed crate a few dozen yards back. "I’ve been watching you for hours. You act like a total amateur, you trip over your own feet, and you somehow end up with power that defies everything I know about these woods. What are you? A scout? A plant?"

André sighed, running a hand through his matted hair. "I’m a guy who’s really, really hungry and currently having a terrible streak of luck. That’s it. Why does everyone have to be an agent of some shadow organization? Can’t I just be a colossal screw-up who got lucky?"

Clara stepped into his personal space, her dark eyes searching his face for any sign of a lie. "Luck doesn't manifest orange fire. Luck doesn't open heavy-duty, state-of-the-art security locks with a piece of scrap metal. You’re playing a game, André. I want to know the rules."

"The rules are simple," André said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "I try to do something, I fail miserably, and then the universe decides to compensate for my sheer incompetence. It’s a very specific, very annoying hobby."

"You’re lying," she countered, though her eyes flickered toward his palms, where the faintest orange ember still pulsed beneath his skin. "You’re doing it on purpose. You’re baiting situations to trigger these… skills."

"Maybe I am," André admitted, his tone shifting from playful to suddenly sharp. "Maybe I’m just tired of being a victim in a world that wants to turn me into mulch. If falling down makes me hit harder, then I’m going to be the most uncoordinated guy in this forest. You got a problem with that?"

Clara stared at him, her jaw tight. "I have a problem with dying because my partner decides to trip over a root in the middle of an ambush."

"Partner?" André let out a short, incredulous laugh. "I don’t recall signing a contract."

"You need someone to watch your back while you’re busy being a 'catastrophic success,'" she said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. "And I need to figure out how you’re doing this. It’s not just luck, André. It’s something else. Something dangerous."

Before André could respond, the temperature in the clearing plummeted. The birds, which had been tentatively returning to the branches, suddenly went silent. A low, vibrating thrum began to rattle the loose debris on the forest floor.

André frowned, his playful demeanor vanishing instantly. "Did you feel that?"

Clara’s hand whipped to her knife. "Something’s coming. Something big."

A massive shape detached itself from the gloom ahead. It wasn't a wolf, and it wasn't a Shadow-Stalker. It was a lumbering, hulking mass of corded muscle and chitinous plating—a Grave-Warden. It stood nearly eight feet tall, its face a smooth, white mask of bone-like material, and its limbs ended in heavy, jagged scythes.

"Oh, great," André muttered, his heart hammering against his ribs. "The boss fight. I was hoping for a break."

"Move!" Clara yelled, shoving him aside as the Warden swung a massive scythe through the space where he had been standing. The blow cleaved a trunk in half, sending splinters showering down like shrapnel.

André tumbled into the mud, his internal system flashing a frantic, crimson warning in his vision.

[System Alert: High-level hostile entity detected.]

[Calculated outcome: Immediate termination in current state.]

[Suggestion: Leverage environmental failure.]

"Clara! The ledge!" André shouted, pointing to the unstable ravine edge behind the creature.

"Are you serious?" she screamed, parrying a strike that sent her skidding backward, her arms vibrating from the impact. "That’s a fifty-foot drop!"

"Trust me!" André scrambled to his feet, but instead of running away, he charged straight toward the creature’s legs.

"You’re going to get yourself killed!" Clara lunged forward to intercept the Warden, her blade darting in to strike at the creature’s joints. It was a frantic, desperate dance. She was fast, but the Warden was a tank, shrugging off her strikes with minimal effort.

André reached the Warden’s flank. He didn't have a plan, not really. He just had the reckless, stupid urge to be a distraction. He lunged at the creature’s knee, not to cut it, but to tackle it. His boot slipped on a patch of wet moss—the most clumsy, pathetic maneuver imaginable.

[Processing failure...]

[Detection: Deliberate loss of balance in proximity to structural weakness.]

[Reward generated for: Tactical sacrifice.]

[Skill Acquired: Kinetic Anchor (Passive)]

[Description: Your body has become an immovable point of failure. Stability increased by 200%.]

The Warden slammed into him, expecting the boy to be crushed into the dirt. Instead, André hit the ground, and his body suddenly felt like it was bolted to the bedrock. The creature’s momentum carried it over him, its balance completely thrown off by the unexpected solidity of the human it tried to brush aside.

"Now, Clara!" André yelled, his voice strained as he pushed against the creature’s massive ankle.

Clara didn't hesitate. She saw the opening—the creature, caught off-balance, stumbling toward the crumbling edge of the ravine. She vaulted off André’s hunched back, her knife gleaming in the fading light. She didn't aim for the chest; she aimed for the exposed soft tissue behind the Warden’s knee.

Her blade sank deep.

The Warden shrieked—a sound like grinding metal—and collapsed, its weight shifting heavily toward the abyss. The ground beneath it groaned, the rotted earth giving way. With a final, desperate thrash, the creature tipped backward, sliding down into the darkness of the ravine. A dull thud echoed from the bottom, followed by silence.

André lay on his back, panting, his lungs burning. His hands were shaking, and he felt a strange, vibrating numbness in his legs from the Kinetic Anchor skill.

Clara stood at the edge of the ravine, her chest heaving, the knife still clutched in her hand. She stared down into the darkness for a long moment before turning back to look at the boy in the mud.

"You are absolutely insane," she breathed, her voice trembling.

André sat up, wiping blood and mud from his face. He let out a shaky, hysterical laugh. "I think that’s the third time you’ve said that today. Starting to think you’re running out of insults."

Clara walked over to him, her expression unreadable. She looked at the crater in the dirt where he had stood his ground—a physical testament to something impossible. She sheathed her knife, her eyes lingering on him with a new, terrifying intensity.

"You didn't trip," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "You planted yourself. You knew exactly what you were doing."

André shrugged, his lopsided grin returning, though it felt weaker this time. "Let’s just say I’ve got a very reliable, very annoying teacher in my head. And it has a strange sense of humor."

Clara looked toward the dark woods, then back at André. She didn't offer a hand to help him up; she simply stood there, a silent, formidable presence.

"You’re not going to hide it anymore, are you?" she asked.

"Hard to hide something that literally glows in the dark," André said, finally standing up. His legs were still solid, rock-steady. "Look, Clara. I don’t know who you are or why you’re out here. But if you’re planning on sticking around to see what other ridiculous messes I can cause, I suggest you get comfortable. It’s going to be a long night."

Clara stared at him for a beat longer, then let out a sharp, genuine laugh—the first one André had heard from her. "I’m not going anywhere, Mahesa. I’ve never seen a train wreck this interesting."

"Glad to hear it," André said, picking up his spear. The interface shimmered in his vision, a soft golden glow. "Because I have a feeling the next failure is going to be even more spectacular."

He turned and began walking into the deepening shadows, his footsteps heavy and purposeful. Clara didn't hesitate. She stepped into his stride, keeping pace exactly half a step behind him, a shadow following an enigma into the dark.

"So," she said, her voice losing its edge. "What’s the plan for when you don't trip?"

André glanced back at her, his eyes glinting with a reckless, dangerous light. "Then I’ll just have to make it look like I did."