“So what now?” Larry asked.

  The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder in the cold lake water, staring at the shoreline. The fel rats were still there—a restless wall of fur and teeth pacing the edge of the water, waiting.

  The quest was finished.

  But survival wasn’t.

  “We could swim to the other side,” Silas said slowly. “Make a run for it.”

  He shook his head.

  “But I doubt those rats would let us,” eh continued.

  Silence settled over them. Each man wrestled with the same ugly truth: while they could dominate them from the water but once they reached on land that was a whole different story.

  Then Arthur spoke.

  “Silas.”

  “What?”

  Arthur’s eyes were fixed on the shoreline, counting again.

  “They’re not forty-eight.”

  Silas turned. “What?”

  “Forty-four.”

  “You sure?”

  Arthur nodded. “Second time I counted.”

  Silas frowned.

  “Count again.”

  Arthur did.

  Meanwhile Larry stood there looking completely lost. Silas gave him the quick version—spawning numbers, patterns, the strange logic this world seemed to obey.

  Larry blinked.

  None of it landed.

  Not surprising. The man had never touched a video game in his life.

  Arthur finished counting.

  “Still forty-four,” he said. “No more. No less.”

  Silas stared at the rats.

  Thinking.

  Calculating.

  “This is a guess,” he said finally, “but when Larry caught the last fish… the spawning probably stopped.”

  Larry scratched his head. “And that means what exactly?”

  Silas’s eyes hardened as he looked back at the waiting horde.

  “It means we go back to what’s been working.”

  Arthur tightened his grip on his sword.

  “What’s that?”

  Silas’s lips curled into a thin, dangerous smile.

  “We kill them.”

  It took time.

  Long, grinding minutes measured in sweat, steel, and patience.

  Arthur led the assault. His sword rose and fell with relentless rhythm, each strike cutting down another fel rat as the shoreline slowly transformed into a battlefield of fur and blood. The creatures never retreated. Even as their numbers dwindled, they kept charging right at the edge of the shore line, driven by blind aggression. And yet never stepped one step into the water. Strange.

  Yet one by one they died.

  Their bodies piled along the muddy edge of the lake.

  When the count fell to a dozen, Silas half expected them to break and run.

  They didn’t.

  The rats kept lunging forward, squealing, throwing themselves into Arthur’s blade as if the only language they understood was violence.

  Then the last one fell.

  Silence followed.

  The three men climbed out of the lake, their skin wrinkled and pale from hours in the cold water. Mud clung to their legs. Blood crusted across their arms.

  Arthur still carried Jen on his back. His strength now was a lot higher than before and Jen’s weight barely felt on him when on land. Thus not a burden.

  None of it mattered.

  They were alive.

  Arthur still carried Jen on his back. With his newly strengthened body, her weight barely slowed him now. What would have been exhausting before felt almost effortless.

  They turned toward the forest.

  The map was gone—ruined by the water—but memory would have to do.

  Fortunately, Larry knew the woods. Silas silently thanked whatever luck had put an experience outdoorsman among them.

  Arthur took the lead. Larry walked behind him. Silas guarded the rear.

  The forest greeted them with smaller threats—horned rabbits and the occasional rat—but compared to the swarm they had just survived, these encounters barely registered. Arthur dispatched them easily, and Silas gathered what he could. By the time they moved deeper through the trees, he carried five dead horned rabbits in one hand.

  Eventually the trees thinned.

  Sunlight spilled across open ground.

  They had reached the edge of the forest.

  All three men exhaled at once, relief breaking from them in ragged laughter and tired smiles.

  The journey back to town was slow. No one rushed. Their bodies were battered—wounds crusted over, clothes torn away until two of them walked half bare-chested.

  But none of them cared.

  They had endured worse.

  Across the grasslands, other survivors still hunted the fleurhorn creatures, though far fewer than during the morning. The frantic energy of early dawn had faded.

  When they finally reached town, the difference was unmistakable.

  The streets were busy.

  People moved with purpose now. Some carried supplies. Others spoke in tight groups, faces showing the first hints of determination.

  But not everyone had adapted.

  Between the buildings, small clusters of survivors still huddled together, their expressions hollow, trapped between disbelief and despair.

  Silas and the others reached the tavern just as the evening crowd was settling in.

  It wasn’t packed—not even close—but there were customers. A few tables occupied, mugs clinking, quiet conversations drifting through the room. Different from back when they ate alone at one table.

  They were paying customers.

  That alone told Silas something important. People were adapting.

  But the moment they stepped through the door, the tavern fell silent. Every head turned. The room froze as if someone had cut the music.

  Silas felt the weight of it immediately. Dozens of eyes tracking them like they were some kind of traveling spectacle. Which, he supposed, they were.

  Three men covered in dirt and dried blood.

  Arthur carrying an unconscious girl.

  And Silas and Larry walking in half naked from the waist up.

  Yeah. Not exactly normal tavern clientele.

  Behind the counter, Tiko spotted them and brightened instantly.

  “Well, well,” the tavern keeper said, padding forward with a grin. “Looks like someone survived the woods.”

  Larry stepped up and untied the makeshift sack hanging from his shoulder. The tunic fell open onto the counter, revealing the fish inside.

  Tiko’s grin widened.

  Right on cue, a series of glowing windows appeared before them.

  [Quest Complete]

  [You Have Leveled Up!]

  For a moment, none of them spoke. Arthur blinked. Silas raised an eyebrow. Larry just stared.

  A level up.

  None of them had expected that.

  Tiko began handing out small slips of parchment. One for Silas. One for Larry. Two for Arthur.

  “These,” Tiko announced proudly, paws planted on his hips, “are tavern coupons.”

  Silas looked down at the stack in his hand. Ten of them. Ten free meals.

  “Expiration date?” Silas asked automatically.

  Tiko waved a paw. “Nope. Use them whenever you like.”

  Silas nodded approvingly. That was a much better deal.

  Then Tiko suddenly snapped his fingers.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Oh! Almost forgot.”

  He disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later carrying a small object. He placed it gently on the counter in front of Larry.

  “And this is for you.”

  Larry picked it up. It was a fishing lure. But not an ordinary one. The body looked like a striped orange-and-white fish… except the head was unmistakably feline. A cat’s head. Larry turned it over in his fingers, curiosity lighting up his face.

  “What’s it do?” Larry asked.

  Tiko’s grin turned mysterious.

  “That,” the tavern keeper said, “is something you’ll have to figure out yourself.”

  Larry smiled like a man who had just been handed a new toy.

  Despite the growling in their stomachs, the group didn’t stay. They turned and headed back toward the door. As they stepped outside, Silas noticed it again.

  The stares.

  People inside the tavern were still watching them—some curious, some impressed, some wary.

  Silas led them to the apothecary or the so called ‘clinic’ of this town and straight into the domain of Toko—the apothecary cat.

  The small clinic smelled of herbs, alcohol, and something sharp that reminded Silas of hospital disinfectant. Bottles lined the shelves. Mortars and pestles rested on wooden tables. In the center stood Toko himself, tail flicking lazily as he looked them over.

  One glance at their condition and his whiskers twitched.

  “Hmm,” he muttered. “You lots have been busy.”

  Busy was one way to describe it.

  Unfortunately, healing wasn’t free. The moment Silas heard the price, he knew they were short.

  So he left. Alone.

  A few minutes later he returned from the general store after selling the horned rabbits he had carried out of the forest. Vani, paid just enough to scrape together fifteen bronze coins. Thank goodness he had contingency in case something like this happened. Silas made a mental note for this. Healing was expensive.

  The coins were enough for three treatments.

  Arthur and Larry watched with wide eyes as Toko began his work.

  The apothecary lifted a paw and murmured a quiet spell. A soft green glow spread across Arthur’s arm where the rat bites had crusted and swollen.

  The effect was immediate.

  The wounds closed.

  The torn flesh sealed as if time itself had reversed. In seconds the bite marks vanished completely—no scars, no swelling, nothing but smooth skin.

  Arthur flexed his arm in disbelief.

  “Whoa.”

  Larry leaned closer, equally stunned.

  “Now that’s something you don’t see in the office break room.”

  Larry himself didn’t need treatment. Tim had guarded him during the fishing, and when things went bad the fisherman had bolted for the lake fast enough to avoid the swarm.

  Jen, however, was another matter. Toko had already treated her wounds, but she still hadn’t woken up. The apothecary checked her pulse calmly before shrugging.

  “She’ll wake,” he said. “Shock does that sometimes. Let her rest.”

  He gestured toward the door.

  “You can bring her back later if needed. But for now—sleep will do more good than anything I can cast.”

  With that settled, the group headed back to the inn.

  Halfway through their sloven walk, something caught Silas’s eye.

  Passing by the center of town. A clock drew his gaze. It was the second time he had paid attention after the first was just an acknowledgment of being an ordinary clock tower. But this time he noticed something different.

  Beneath it was a number—large, glowing faintly.

  The digits shifted every few seconds.

  Silas stopped.

  “What’s that?” he asked one of the cat nearby.

  The answer made him blink.

  “That,” the cat said, “is the number of people currently inside the town.”

  Silas stared at it again.

  164

  So that’s how many of us made it here…

  He turned and rejoined the others. The road stretched quietly through the town. A few survivors passed by, each wrapped in their own thoughts.

  No one spoke for a moment.

  Then Larry broke the silence.

  “So… what now?”

  Silas checked the coins in his hand.

  “After selling the rabbits,” he said, “we’ve got five bronze left.”

  He exhaled.

  “Not even enough for a room at the inn.”

  Arthur rubbed the back of his neck.

  “We have to go out again… don’t we?”

  His voice carried the weight of someone who already knew the answer.

  Larry immediately shook his head.

  “Nope.”

  He folded his arms.

  “Not doing it.”

  The fisherman glanced toward the distant forest.

  “We almost died out there,” he said flatly. “That’s enough adventure for one day.”

  Silas looked at him. Larry had always been a strange guy back at the office. Slow-paced. Never rushed. Always moving at his own rhythm. The bosses hated that. But there was one thing everyone knew about Larry. He never messed up his work. He might take his time. But he always finished it.

  “You do know we have to level up in this world if we want to survive, right?” Silas said.

  Larry nodded calmly.

  “I do.”

  He glanced sideways at Silas, completely unfazed.

  “And I’m level three now.”

  Silas blinked.

  “Wait… what?”

  That didn’t make sense. As far as Silas could remember, Larry hadn’t fought a single creature the entire time they were in the forest. No sword. No spell. Not even a thrown rock.

  Yet the man was standing there claiming level three.

  Silas frowned, gears already turning. Team experience? Like in a video game? Maybe just being nearby when monsters died gave everyone shared experience. That was the most logical explanation.

  “But how?” Silas asked.

  Larry answered with a single word.

  “Fishing.”

  Arthur looked up immediately.

  “Wait—seriously?”

  “No reason to lie.” Larry said it casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  Silas, on the other hand, felt something inside his skull crack. If production classes could level up without fighting—

  He raked both hands through his hair, gripping it for a moment as he silently fought down a surge of frustration. If he had known that earlier…

  Maybe he would’ve picked something different. Maybe he wouldn’t have nearly died getting chewed on by rats. He forced himself to breathe. Calm down. When he looked up again, both Arthur and Larry were staring at him like he’d just glitched out.

  “You okay there, bud?” Larry asked, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

  “I’m fine,” Silas said quickly.

  Then he shifted the conversation before his brain spiraled again.

  “Even so,” he said, “what are you planning to do for money?”

  Larry rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  “No clue yet.”

  Then a slow grin spread across his face.

  “But considering this entire town is run by cats…”

  Larry chuckled. “I doubt selling fish will be a problem.”

  Silas had to admit—that was a solid point.

  Still, it was clear Larry had already settled into his own rhythm in this strange trial world. The man had always worked like that back in the office. Quiet. Independent. Doing things his way no matter what anyone else thought.

  So arguing with him would be pointless.

  Larry looked between the two of them.

  “So you guys are heading out again, huh?”

  “Don’t really have much of a choice,” Silas said.

  Larry nodded once, accepting the reality of it.

  “Well,” he said with a shrug, “good luck then. I’m heading back to the tavern. Figure I’ll see if Tiko wants to buy my fish if I catch more of them.”

  The three men shook hands. Then Larry pulled them both into a quick, rough hug—the kind men gave when they’d just survived something that should have killed them.

  Then he walked off toward the tavern, already thinking about fishing lines and profit margins.

  Silas watched him go.

  Had to admit… the guy was pretty cool.

  Most people would cling to a group after nearly getting eaten alive. Larry just shrugged, found his angle in the new world, and went to work.

  Then something clicked in Silas’s mind. “Oh, damn,” he muttered.

  “What?” Arthur asked.

  “We forgot to tell him about status attributes.”

  Arthur turned halfway down the road. “Should I go get him?”

  Silas shook his head. “He’s not leaving town today,” he said. “We’ll catch him later.”

  His eyes drifted toward Jen, still unconscious on Arthur’s back.

  “Right now,” Silas added, “we need to figure out where to park our sleeping beauty.”

  Leaving her outside wasn’t an option. Even in town. So they headed to the inn.

  Huni, the innkeeper, wasn’t thrilled about the arrangement at first. The cat squinted suspiciously at their battered clothes, their empty pockets, and the unconscious girl.

  But after some negotiating—and the realization they were the inn’s first customers—Huni relented.

  Jen got a room. Payment… later.

  Once she was laid gently onto the bed, Silas and Arthur stepped back out into the receding daylight.

  After leaving Jen in her room.

  A few minutes later they stood side by side at the northern gate of town. Beyond it stretched the grasslands. And the fleurhorns.

  Silas wasn’t worried this time. Yesterday he had fought alone. Now he had Arthur. That changed the odds.

  Across the field, a fleurhorn grazed lazily, completely unaware that its day was about to get significantly worse.

  Silas approached slowly, murmuring the familiar chant under his breath.

  Three more steps.

  Two.

  One.

  Electric Jolt.

  Lightning cracked through the air. The fleurhorn stiffened, toppled sideways, and hit the grass with a dull thud.

  Dead.

  Silas dusted his hands.

  “One down.”

  With his improved status attributes and his trained spell, Electric Jolt, the overall power was enough to kill it in one go. A better spell compared to Fireball for a quick and easy kill. Low cast time. High output. And the pink wool intact and not burnt.

  They moved across the grasslands like quiet hunters.

  Another fleurhorn.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Within a short time four carcasses lay scattered across the field. Silas wiped sweat from his brow and looked at the growing pile. Then he sighed.

  “Okay,” he muttered.

  New problem.

  He grabbed one by the horns and tried dragging it. The thing barely moved. Silas stared at the four bodies. Then at his hands. Then back at the bodies again.

  “Yeah,” he said flatly. “That’s not happening.”

  Arthur returned not long after. He wasn’t empty-handed. Four fleurhorns materials. All his.

  At first Arthur had tried to stick close and fight beside Silas, but Silas had waved him off.

  “Try it alone,” he had said. “These things aren’t fel rats.”

  And they weren’t.

  Compared to the screaming swarm in the forest, the fleurhorns were practically training dummies.

  Silas suspected the rat horde had done something important to Arthur—burned away hesitation, forced him to adapt fast. A brutal baptism by teeth and claws.

  Now the man moved differently.

  More confident.

  More decisive.

  Silas noticed the spoils tucked under Arthur’s arms: rolled fleurhorn hides and a bundle of horns tied together with strips of leather. From the looks of it, Arthur had done well.

  “Not bad,” Silas said.

  Arthur grinned. He then helped Silas with his fleurhorns

  Skinning them took longer than it had with Larry. Much longer. Arthur’s knife work was still clumsy, but he improved with each attempt.

  Silas could see it happening.

  Experience. Slow. Messy. But real.

  Eventually the two of them hauled the goods back into town and stopped by the general store.

  Vani examined the hides through his monocle with the seriousness of a jeweler inspecting diamonds.

  “Hm,” the cat muttered.

  He pinched a section of leather between two claws.

  “Not as clean as the ones your fisherman friend prepared.”

  Silas nodded. Fair enough.

  “Still acceptable,” Vani added.

  Coins clinked onto the counter.

  More than before. Considering they got eight set of fleurhorns materials.

  Afterward Silas bought the cheapest set of new clothes he could find. Walking around half-naked had lost its novelty hours ago.

  Then they returned to the inn.

  Silas rented a room—and paid for Jen’s as well.

  Arthur protested immediately.

  “I’ll split it.”

  Silas shook his head.

  “You already helped skin those hides,” he said. “Call it even.”

  Arthur didn’t argue further.

  From there the day slowed into something almost… normal.

  They washed.

  Rested.

  Checked on Jen.

  She was still unconscious.

  That worried Silas, but there was nothing they could do except follow Toko’s advice.

  Let her rest.

  Night fell.

  They ate at the tavern.

  Then returned to the inn.

  One thing bothered them both.

  Larry hadn’t rented a room.

  They checked Jen once more before heading to their own rooms. She still slept peacefully.

  Silas finally collapsed onto the bed, his head sinking into a feather pillow. He stared at the wooden ceiling.

  His mind refused to quiet down.

  Two days ago he had been celebrating a successful deal at the office.

  A bonus.

  No arguments. A peaceful office that he had been yearning.

  Just another good day in the corporate world.

  Now he was here.

  Killing creatures to survive.

  Just like his ancestors must have done thousands of years ago. The thought sat strangely in his chest. Then something clicked in his mind.

  Silas suddenly sat up.

  “Oh.”

  A minute later he was outside.

  Night had swallowed the town. Torches burned along the streets, casting warm pools of light against the dark. As he passed the tavern, a loud crash echoed from inside.

  Probably a brawl.

  Silas kept walking.

  Not his problem.

  At the northern gate he stopped.

  The cats guarding the entrance watched with open curiosity as the human suddenly began stretching—arms, legs, shoulders.

  Then he started jogging.

  Not outside the walls.

  Inside them.

  He ran along the inner perimeter of the town.

  Steady pace.

  Even breathing.

  Silas hadn’t done this in a while.

  Running had always been his thing.

  He hated weightlifting.

  Sports weren’t his talent.

  But running? That he could do.

  Back in high school he had been overweight. The doctor had told him bluntly that things wouldn’t end well if he kept going that way.

  That warning had stuck.

  So he ran.

  At first it was miserable. His lungs burned. His chest felt like it might explode. The next morning his entire body had ached.

  But he kept going.

  One day at a time.

  Focus on the present.

  Eventually the pain faded.

  The rhythm remained.

  Over the years he had even finished a couple of marathons.

  Now he ran for something different.

  Not just health.

  Clarity.

  Freedom.

  But tonight there was another reason.

  A theory.

  Arthur had grown stronger by assigning points to physical attributes.

  Silas had dumped everything into Intelligence. And he realized if there was something to compensate his one sided status in another way, a theory just came up. As he figured RPG logic might suggest something else. Well to be fair though, he got it from one of those manga he read back in the days. Ludicrous to based on, but he had to try.

  The theory was stats might increase through use.

  So he ran.

  Harder.

  Faster.

  Sweat soaked his back.

  His breathing deepened.

  He pushed the pace further.

  Pain crept in.

  Then grew sharper.

  His lungs burned.

  His legs screamed.

  This wasn’t a jog anymore.

  It was a test.

  Still nothing happened.

  No notification.

  No window.

  Silas lost track of time.

  The sky remained black above him as he continued circling the town.

  His vision blurred.

  His arms and legs felt numb.

  But he kept running.

  One more lap.

  One more stretch.

  Just run.

  His body finally gave up.

  His foot caught the ground wrong.

  Silas crashed forward onto the dirt.

  He lay there, chest heaving, every muscle screaming.

  For a moment he thought the theory was wrong.

  Then a window appeared.

  [You have gained Vitality +1]

  Silas smiled.