The moment Ethan stepped into the Gloomwood, the world changed.
The air grew colder, and the cheerful green light of the newcomer's plaza was swallowed by a canopy of dark, twisted trees.
Shadows danced in his peripheral vision, making him jump at every snapped twig.
A permanent sense of being watched settled over him.
He wasn't just worried about monsters.
That PvP warning meant any person he ran into could be a threat.
Someone might see his evolved sword and decide they wanted it for themselves.
In this world, a single moment of carelessness could get you killed.
He moved slowly, his new sword held ready.
He kept to the thickest parts of the woods, using the trees and bushes as cover.
He remembered Marcus Lee's fatal mistake: arrogance.
Ethan wouldn't repeat it. He would be a ghost. A predator, not prey.
After about ten minutes of careful sneaking, he heard a strange sound.
A rhythmic tap… tap… tap… like a small hammer hitting a rock.
He peeked through a thick bush and saw his first target.
It was a creature that looked like a featherless, scaly chicken, but about the size of a large turkey.
Its skin was a mottled gray, looking as hard as stone. It was pecking at the ground with a sharp, cruel-looking beak.
Ethan used [Scrutiny].
[Stonehide Cockatrice]
Level: 1
HP: 80/80
Skills: [Petrifying Gaze], [Razor Peck]
Note: Its hide is unusually tough, providing high physical defense.
"Eighty HP and high defense," Ethan whispered to himself.
"A normal player with a crude sword would be here all day."
But he wasn't a normal player.
He had the [Sword of Caustic Vengeance].
That Corrosive Wound was the key. He just needed it to trigger.
He waited, his heart pounding a steady rhythm against his ribs.
The cockatrice was alone, busy pecking at whatever it had found on the ground. This was his chance.
He took a deep breath. "Here we go."
BOOM! He burst from the bushes, not with flashy light, but with the explosive speed of a desperate man.
The ground crunched under his sneakers as he closed the twenty-foot gap in a heartbeat.
The cockatrice let out a startled squawk, its head snapping up.
Its beady eyes locked onto Ethan, and for a split second, they began to glow with a faint, gray light.
The [Petrifying Gaze]!
But Ethan was faster.
His blade sliced through the air with a vicious hiss. CLANG!
The sword connected with the creature's stony flank.
The impact sent a painful vibration up his arm, and the blade only managed to chip off a few small pieces of its hide. It was like hitting a brick wall. But it was enough.
A sickly green sizzle erupted from the point of impact. Black smoke, smelling like acid, curled up from the wound.
[Corrosive Wound] has been applied!
-5 HP (Poison)
The cockatrice shrieked, a horrible, grating sound that echoed through the silent woods.
The pain made it forget its gaze attack.
It lunged forward, its beak a blur aimed right for Ethan's eyes.
Ethan twisted his body, barely dodging the attack.
The beak whistled past his ear, close enough for him to feel the rush of air.
He stumbled back, his heart hammering in his chest. This thing was fast.
-5 HP (Poison)
The monster's health was ticking down. 70/80. He just had to survive.
The cockatrice came at him again, this time with its sharp talons. It leaped into the air and swiped at his chest.
Ethan raised his sword to block, but the creature was smarter than it looked.
It feinted, then dropped low, its claws tearing through the fabric of his jeans and digging into his leg.
Pain shot up his thigh. A red -12 HP number floated up from his body.
He gritted his teeth and swung his sword in a wide, desperate arc.
The flat of the blade slammed into the cockatrice's side, sending it tumbling away.
It didn't do much damage, but it gave him a moment to breathe.
-5 HP (Poison)
The monster's health was at 60. His was at 88. He was winning, but it was ugly.
The cockatrice scrambled to its feet, shaking its head.
It was clearly hurt, its movements a little slower now. It let out another angry squawk and charged one last time.
This time, Ethan was ready.
He stood his ground, letting it come to him.
Just as it got close, he dropped to one knee, the world seeming to slow down.
He thrust his sword upward with all his strength, aiming for the creature's softer underbelly.
CRUNCH!
The sound of cracking rock and tearing flesh was sickeningly loud.
The black, poison-laced blade found its mark, sinking deep into the monster's chest.
The cockatrice froze, a look of shock in its beady eyes. It let out one last, pathetic gurgle before its body went limp.
A wave of relief so powerful it almost made him dizzy washed over Ethan.
He pulled his sword free and the monster's body fell to the ground, slowly dissolving into particles of light, just like Marcus Lee had.
A series of blue screens popped up in front of him.
You have killed [Stonehide Cockatrice (Level 1)]!
You have gained 20 EXP!
You have earned 2 Primal Essence!
A loot drop has been generated.
Ethan leaned against a tree, breathing heavily. His leg throbbed, but the wound was already closing, a benefit of the system.
Twenty experience points and two Primal Essence. It wasn't much, but it was a start. It was proof that his plan worked.
He looked at the spot where the monster had died.
A small, glowing object lay on the ground. He walked over and picked it up. It was a simple, coarse-spun piece of clothing.
You have obtained [Crude Linen Robe].
[Crude Linen Robe]
Rank: Crude
Defense: +2
Durability: 40/40
Description: It's itchy and probably smells a little weird, but it's better than getting stabbed in your favorite hoodie.
Ethan couldn't help but laugh, a short, humorless sound.
"A bathrobe. The system really wants me to be comfortable."
He looked at the robe in his hands, then at his Primal Essence counter, which now read 100.
An idea sparked in his mind, a greedy, brilliant thought. This was a piece of armor. It was a new, unique item he hadn't upgraded yet.
That meant its first evolution would be a Critical Evolution.
He put on the itchy robe, feeling the tiny +2 defense boost, and began searching for his next victim.
The hunt had just begun.