The triumph of reaching Grade 1 curdled into ash in Kael's mouth as the notifications faded. Razor's choked gurgles from the toxic river below were a grim counterpoint. His thigh burned where the serrated blade had kissed flesh, blood soaking his worn trousers. The deep exhaustion wasn't just physical; the system's relentless analysis during the fight, the *Advanced Combat Analytics* that had burned 3 Energy per minute, had scraped his mind raw. **ENERGY: 6/100.** A sliver. He needed sanctuary.
He limped towards the Warrens' edge, avoiding main thoroughfares. Every shadow felt hostile, every muffled sound a potential threat. The system, usually silent unless prompted, flickered a warning: **ENERGY RESERVES CRITICAL. REGENERATION INHIBITED BY ACTIVE TRAUMA AND STRESS. SEEK SECURE LOCATION.**
Sanctuary was a crumbling water tower on the border between the toxin district and the marginally less lethal Rust Quarter. Kael had claimed its hollow base months ago, reinforcing the entrance with scavenged sheet metal. He barricaded himself inside, the familiar scent of damp concrete and old iron offering scant comfort. He tore a strip from his ruined shirt, gritting his teeth as he bound his thigh. **VIT CHECK PASSED (13). BLEEDING: STANCHED.**
Only then did he allow himself to truly look at the system's revelations.
**ABILITY MANIFESTATION PROTOCOL: ENGAGE? (Y/N)**
Kael hesitated. Manifesting an ability was a defining moment, a path chosen. Most discovered their elemental affinity or unique power through stress or training in adolescence. He was late, shaped by the Crucible's cold hand. What would it make him?
*Later,* he decided, exhaustion overwhelming curiosity. *First, survive tonight.* He focused on the **Skill Acquisition Interface**. A new, complex sub-menu unfolded in his vision, listing potential skills categorized under hypothetical abilities: *Fire, Water, Lightning, Wind, Earth...* and more esoteric branches like *Kinetic Redirection, Spatial Awareness, Psionic Dampening.* All greyed out, locked behind the manifestation of the relevant ability. The only active section was **General Combat Skills**.
**AVAILABLE SKILLS (GENERAL COMBAT):**
* **Dodge Proficiency (Lv. 1):** Enhances evasion reflexes. Cost: 50 EXP
* **Power Strike (Lv. 1):** Amplifies force behind a single melee attack. Cost: 50 EXP
* **Pain Suppression (Lv. 1):** Temporarily reduces debilitating effects of injury. Cost: 75 EXP
* **Energy Sense (Lv. 1):** Basic detection of nearby energy signatures (combatants, active abilities). Cost: 100 EXP
* **First Aid (Lv. 1):** Basic wound treatment efficacy improved. Cost: 50 EXP
Kael had **5 EXP** remaining after leveling. He couldn't afford even the cheapest skill. The cost felt exorbitant, a reminder that the Crucible demanded blood and sweat for every scrap of power. He closed the interface, the blue glow fading, leaving him in near darkness. He focused on his breathing, willing his pounding heart to slow, letting the deep ache of his muscles and the sharper throb of his thigh dominate his awareness. Slowly, the **ENERGY** counter began to climb: **7... 8... 9/100.** Regeneration was agonizingly slow under stress.
He spent the next two days in the tower, rationing stale bread and fetid water. He stretched, testing his injured leg, pushing his VIT to its limit. He replayed the Razor fight in his mind, the system offering detached commentary when prompted: **INEFFICIENT FOOTWORK AT 00:47. OVEREXTENSION ON COUNTER AT 01:12. ENERGY EXPENDITURE HIGH DUE TO UNNECESSARY EVASIVE MANEUVERS.** It was brutal, clinical feedback, stripping away any heroic illusions about the desperate struggle. By the second evening, his **ENERGY** had crawled back to **65/100**, and his thigh, while stiff, could bear weight without screaming. The hunger for EXP, for progress, was a gnawing beast in his gut. He couldn't stay hidden forever.
**Targeting Parameters:**
* **Priority:** Low-risk engagements. Minimize Energy expenditure. Maximize EXP yield relative to threat.
* **Avoid:** Groups larger than two. Suspected Ability users. Enclosed spaces.
* **Focus:** Isolated predators, low-tier enforcers, common thugs.
The Rust Quarter offered grim hunting grounds. Kael stalked the edges of scavenger markets and rundown hab-blocks. His first target was a lone pickpocket, swift-fingered but physically unimpressive, terrorizing a street vendor. **THREAT: VERY LOW. EST EXP: 30.**
Kael didn't announce himself. He flowed from a shadowed doorway, his cudgel (now reinforced with scavenged iron bands) cracking against the pickpocket's wrist. A cry of pain, the stolen coins scattering. Kael swept the man's legs and drove a knee into his diaphragm. **COMBAT RESULT: VICTORY. ENERGY: -5. EXP: +30. TOTAL: 35/600.**
It felt hollow, almost cruel. The system noted dispassionately: **EFFICIENCY IMPROVED 12% COMPARED TO PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT VS. SIMILAR THREAT.**
The next day yielded two encounters:
1. **A drunken brawler** harassing patrons outside a synth-ale den. **THREAT: LOW. EST EXP: 30.** Kael used the environment, tripping the man over a low wall. A swift kick to the head ended it. **ENERGY: -8. EXP: +30. TOTAL: 65/600.**
2. **A pair of rustlers** trying to steal scrap metal from a guarded yard. Kael intervened as the watchman was overwhelmed. **THREAT: LOW (x2). EST EXP: 60.** He used his agility, keeping them separated, taking them down with precise strikes to joints and pressure points identified by Basic Analysis (1 ENG/min). **ENERGY: -25. EXP: +60. TOTAL: 125/600. LEVEL 5: 125/600.**
He returned to the water tower, body aching less than his conscience. He was becoming efficient violence. **ENERGY: 32/100.** He slept fitfully, haunted by the pickpocket's startled yelp.