Chapitre 7: The Holy
Time left until forced return: 4y 364d 22h 7m 12s
I zip around the clearing in a steady sprint, the air biting at my skin but doing nothing to slow me down.
Behind me, a few of the less-drunk survivors are awkwardly trying to follow my lead. They're clumsy, their movements uncoordinated, and the sight makes me shake my head. The knowledge of the Status window has spread, thanks to Jim, but the group's lack of enthusiasm is almost disappointing. If I was hammered and someone told me that I now had superpowers, I would either think them mad or go mad with happiness myself. Then again, the fat man's corpse—dragged by me and Jim to the edge of the clearing—probably isn't doing much for morale.
They'll get over it. At least, they'd better. Survival doesn't leave room for hesitation. I shoot a glance toward Jim, who's still hovering near the others, trying to calm the group down. Bleeding heart. I had to practically beg him to let me take the dead man's shoes, of all things. Like, what was the guy going to do with them? Walk to his own funeral? Of course, I didn't say that to Jim, but the point stands.
The thought earns a quiet chuckle from me, but I don't slow down. My focus snaps back to the task at hand as my legs pump harder, the burn in my muscles starting to creep in. Endurance is holding strong, though, thanks to my Constitution stat. It's ridiculous how much more stamina I have now. The difference isn't just noticeable—it's game-changing.
Still, part of me regrets putting one of my points into Mana. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but without knowing how to actually use the damn stuff, it feels like a waste. For now, I push the thought aside and keep running.
The effort has already paid off. My Dexterity stat bumped up from 8 to 9 after a while, and the improvement is obvious. I'm faster now, not just in terms of speed but in the way my body moves—smoother, more precise. The increase feels almost surreal, like upgrading a character in a game, except the changes are happening in real time.
I want another point.
The thought keeps me moving, my feet pounding against the dirt as I force myself to focus on something else—anything to keep my mind occupied. My thoughts drift back to my Status window, analyzing every little detail that stands out.
The "Floor 1" label catches my attention again. It's interesting, to say the least. If this really is structured like a game, then there must be more floors—probably a lot more. The question is how we move between them. Are there specific requirements we need to fulfill? Some kind of event or trigger? Maybe we'll be forced to move after a certain amount of time.
Could that "Five years till forced return" stuff be related, maybe? That feels off. I shake my head slightly, dismissing the idea. We haven't been to another floor yet, so there's no logical place for us to return to. The only place that makes sense to return to is Earth.
To what, a half-forgotten fucking life?
I grit my teeth, the thought leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. Discipline stirs and the voices in the pit quiet down. Dwelling on that won't help.
...There's also the "Class" option. I can't pick one yet, which means there's probably a requirement I haven't met. Maybe it's tied to leveling up more, or maybe there's something specific I need to do to unlock it. Either way, it's something to keep in mind.
The more I think about it, the clearer it becomes that this system knows a lot about me. Too much, really. Every stat, every ability—hell, even my thoughts feel like they're being cataloged. If someone is watching us, it wouldn't even have to be a person. It could just be some kind of automated system, quietly recording every action, every decision, every mistake.
The idea sends a shiver down my spine and Madness cackles a bit, but I force it down. Doesn't matter. What matters is getting stronger.
Speaking of strength, though, even the process of leveling up feels... strange. I get how it works in games—kill monsters, gain experience, level up—but being trapped in this situation makes me want to dig deeper, to actually think about it logically.
One possibility is that leveling up is just a reward handed down by the entity or system running this whole schizo-world. Like a cosmic trophy for killing a goblin. Maybe the system assesses my actions, decides I meet the criteria, and boom—stat points magically granted.
Another option, though, is harder to ignore. What if the stat points come directly from the goblin itself? It dies, and something—its life force, energy, essence, whatever—transfers to me. That makes it less of a reward and more of a... transaction.
The soul, though? I don't think—or rather, I hope—that wasn't part of the deal. If it was, wouldn't I have felt something? Something like the Soul Well-induced bloating.
Hmm, no use dwelling on it now, Reason insists and Discipline agrees.
So I force my focus back on the present.
Requirement #1... I need to go hunting. No rest for the weaklings, or however the saying goes. Literally all of the game-like Isekais I remember reading (and it's oh so funny that I remember those but not my own fucking name) were competitions in all but name, so it was safe to assume that every moment wasted was another wink towards death.
For a moment, I consider grabbing Jim. Having a shotgun-wielding buddy in the goblin-infested woods sounds pretty damn appealing, but... no. I shake my head. What I need right now is privacy. Testing out the ins and outs of my Fleshcrafting skill isn't exactly something I want an audience for. I've got a sinking feeling it's going to be ugly. Hopefully, I'm wrong, but I seriously doubt it.
As my legs keep pumping, my body surges forward with a small burst of speed.
Dexterity: 9 → Dexterity: 10.
The change is subtle, but mid-sprint, it's impossible to miss. My feet hit the ground with more precision, each stride longer and smoother than the last. It's like my body's engine suddenly shifted into a higher gear. I'm faster now—not just faster, but lighter, more controlled.
The voices cheer and I grin despite myself.
All hail the holy Grind. Its holy light shall purge the sin of weakness.
Without slowing, I veer toward the edge of the clearing where my wooden spear lies half-buried in the grass. My hand snatches it up in one smooth motion, the wood cool against my palm.
I don't even glance back at the others. My gaze locks on the tree line ahead, and I take off, the forest swallowing me whole.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone