Bab 30: Traveling and Fighting
Silas pulled the massive fish beast from his ring, the creature flopping heavily onto the rocky surface of the island with a dull, wet thud. Even in death, it was imposing—its thick, glistening scales shimmered faintly in the dimming sunlight, and its grotesque claws were still extended, a testament to its ferocity. Silas eyed it for a moment, taking in the sheer bulk of his latest kill, before kneeling beside it and pulling his knife from his ring.
"Time to get to work," he muttered, his voice low and tired.
The beast's slick, armored hide proved difficult to cut through, each stroke of the blade requiring precision and effort. The sharpness of the knife was enough, but the toughness of the scales turned what should have been a straightforward process into a grueling task. Silas gritted his teeth, his muscles protesting with every motion as he methodically carved away the scales, exposing the dense, energy-rich flesh beneath.
Piece by piece, he stripped the creature of its usable parts. The glistening meat held a faint glow, brimming with spiritual energy that his amulet absorbed eagerly. Each piece disappeared into the artifact with a faint pulse of warmth against his chest, a comforting reminder that the fight and the pain had not been for nothing. The scales and bones he stored in his ring, knowing they might serve a purpose later.
By the time he finished, the fish beast was reduced to little more than scraps and bones. Silas leaned back on his heels, wiping a mixture of blood, sweat, and grime from his face with the back of his hand. The sun hung lower in the sky now, casting long shadows across the island.
"Done," he muttered, letting out a weary sigh. His hands trembled slightly as he set the knife aside, his body sore from the labor and still aching from the wounds he had taken during the fight.
Dropping into a cross-legged position, Silas activated his Diamond Furnace Body Refinement technique. The energy stored in the amulet coursed through his body, igniting the familiar, sharp heat that accompanied the process. It wasn't soothing—it never was—but it was effective.
His wounds throbbed as the energy worked through them, breaking down damaged tissue and rebuilding it stronger. The claw marks on his chest and arms burned fiercely, the pain sharp and constant, but Silas didn't falter. His breathing remained steady, each exhale a deliberate effort to center himself. The pain was the price of progress, and he was used to paying it.
Hours passed as he cycled the technique, his body enduring the relentless process of healing and fortification. By the time he opened his eyes, the sun had dipped below the horizon, the sky streaked with the fading hues of twilight. The deep gashes had closed, faint scars taking their place. His body ached, and his movements were stiff, but he was functional.
"Not perfect, but good enough," he muttered, rolling his shoulders experimentally.
Standing at the edge of the water, Silas stared across the lake, the distant shoreline barely visible in the fading light. The thought of swimming again made his stomach churn, but staying on the island wasn't an option. With a heavy sigh, he stepped into the lake, the cold water biting at his skin.
He swam steadily, his strokes deliberate and controlled. The stillness of the water unnerved him, each ripple a reminder of the danger that had lurked beneath its surface earlier. But no predators appeared this time. The lake was eerily quiet, and Silas couldn't help but wonder if the clawed fish had been the apex predator, keeping everything else at bay.
By the time he reached the opposite shore, his arms and legs felt like lead. He dragged himself onto the muddy bank, collapsing onto his back with a groan. The cool earth pressed against his skin as he stared up at the darkening sky, his chest rising and falling heavily.
"Never doing that again," he muttered, closing his eyes for a moment.
After dragging himself onto the muddy shore and catching his breath, Silas scanned his surroundings, his body still heavy from the swim. The forest around the lake was dense, with towering trees that loomed like silent sentinels in the fading light. His muscles ached, and the claw marks on his chest and arms throbbed with every movement, but he knew he couldn't rest out in the open.
Pushing himself to his feet, he searched the area for a suitable spot to rest. His eyes landed on a tall, ancient tree with a thick trunk and sprawling branches that reached high into the canopy. It was perfect—a high vantage point would keep him safe from wandering beasts, and the dense foliage would provide cover.
Silas approached the tree and began climbing, his fingers gripping the rough bark as he hauled himself upward. Each pull sent sharp twinges through his battered arms, but he ignored the pain. The higher he climbed, the more secure he felt, until he found a sturdy, wide branch near the top. It was partially hidden by the thick leaves, offering a safe and concealed perch.
Settling into the crook of the branch, Silas adjusted the rag covering his amulet, ensuring its faint glow wouldn't attract attention. He crossed his legs and activated his Diamond Furnace Body Refinement technique, letting the energy stored in his amulet flow through him.
The familiar heat spread through his body, sharp and unrelenting as it worked on his lingering injuries. The deep ache in his muscles and the tightness in his chest burned under the strain of the technique, but he bore it silently. The steady rhythm of his breathing kept him grounded as the energy cycled through him, breaking down and rebuilding his body with every pass.
After hours of cultivation, Silas opened his eyes, his body still sore but significantly improved. The claw marks on his chest and arms had faded to faint scars, and the stiffness in his shoulders had eased. He leaned back against the trunk, letting his head rest against the bark as he allowed himself a moment to relax.
The night was still, the sounds of distant animals and rustling leaves the only interruptions. Silas pulled his legs up onto the branch, folding his arms over his chest as he closed his eyes. Exhaustion tugged at him, and for the first time in what felt like days, he allowed himself to sleep.
When he woke, the sky was painted with the soft hues of dawn, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the canopy. Silas stretched carefully, his joints popping as he shook off the remnants of sleep. The forest below was quiet, the shadows retreating as the morning light grew stronger.
Climbing down from the tree, Silas landed lightly on the forest floor, feeling refreshed despite the challenges of the previous day. The distant silhouette of the pagoda still called to him, and he set off toward it with renewed determination, his steps steady and purposeful as he moved through the thick woods.
Silas pushed himself to his feet, the ache in his body a constant reminder of the grueling journey behind him. The forest stretched before him, its towering trees and dense undergrowth casting dappled shadows across the earth. Each step he took pressed his bare feet into the soft, cool soil, the texture rough but grounding. The sounds of the forest filled the air—the distant trill of birds, the rustle of leaves stirred by an unseen breeze, the faint creak of branches swaying under their own weight.
The distant outline of the pagoda loomed ahead, its silhouette growing more distinct as Silas trudged onward. The structure seemed both majestic and ominous, a monolith rising from the earth like it didn't belong.
As Silas drew closer, voices broke the tranquility, stopping him in his tracks. He froze, his body tensing instinctively, and crouched low, slipping into the cover of the trees. The tone was sharp, dripping with mockery and malice. Silas crept forward, his movements deliberate and silent, until the scene unfolded through the brush.
A woman knelt on the ground, her shoulders hunched and trembling as her quiet sobs carried on the air. Her clothes were torn and dirty, hanging from her thin frame like rags. Dirt streaked her face, mingling with tears that dripped onto the earth below. She looked utterly defeated, her voice shaking as she whispered, "I surrender."
Standing over her was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, his posture casual but threatening. He gripped a bat, the wood worn and splintered as though it had seen plenty of use. His grin was wide and malicious, and his dark eyes gleamed with twisted amusement as he looked down at the woman. The glint of a ring of holding on his finger caught Silas's attention immediately—a marker of power, of resources, and of someone who had been through a mini-pagoda.
"You're lucky you've got merits," the man sneered, tapping the bat lightly against his shoulder. "If the system didn't penalize me for killing or harming you, you'd already be my pet." His voice dripped with venom as he laughed menacingly.
Silas's expression remained neutral as he watched from the shadows, though his fingers twitched slightly, itching for his staff. In the old world, he would have sent Axle to take care of a scumbag like this without hesitation. But now? His focus was on the ring and what it represented—merits, power, and likely a fair amount of loot.
Not even a month in, and I'm already getting warped, Silas thought grimly, shaking his head at the realization.
The man finally stepped back, giving the woman one last disdainful glance before turning and walking away, his bat swinging lazily at his side. The woman remained where she was, her sobs quieting into hiccuped breaths as she pressed her forehead to the ground.
Silas waited, extending his senses to ensure there were no others nearby. Satisfied that the man was alone, he stepped out of the shadows, his movements deliberate as he began following the figure at a measured pace.
The man's gait was casual, almost cocky, as though he didn't have a care in the world. The bat swung rhythmically with each step, and his ring glinted in the faint sunlight filtering through the trees. Silas summoned his bo staff from his ring as he moved closer, the familiar weight of the smooth wood grounding him.
When he was close enough, he spoke, his voice calm but firm. "Surrender."
The man stopped mid-step, turning slowly with a wide grin. His gaze landed on Silas—shirtless, shoeless, with scars crisscrossing his body like a patchwork of pain and survival. His eyes flicked to the plain wooden staff in Silas's hands, and the grin widened into a mocking laugh.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" he sneered, gripping his bat tighter. He rolled his shoulders, his confidence radiating like a shield. "Coming out here, looking like a wild man with a stick? You think you're gonna scare me?"
Silas didn't flinch, his grip on the staff tightening slightly as he watched the man's every movement. The wildness in his own appearance didn't bother him; if anything, it served as a warning. Scars told a story, and Silas was about to write this man's next chapter.
Silas tightened his grip on the bo staff, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the man before him. The bat-wielding thug sneered, still laughing at Silas's appearance, but his confidence was about to shatter. With a sharp breath, Silas released his killing intent, letting it roll off him in a suffocating wave.
The man's laughter choked off mid-sound, his sneer faltering as confusion and fear flashed across his face. His grip on the bat tightened reflexively, his knuckles whitening as he instinctively took a step back.
"What… what the hell is this?" the man stammered, his voice trembling. He glanced around as though expecting the forest itself to come alive and attack him.
Silas didn't answer. Instead, he moved, a blur of motion that barely stirred the leaves around him. In an instant, he was upon the man, his staff striking with a force that echoed through the clearing. The first blow connected with the man's ribs, a solid thud that left him gasping for air and stumbling backward.
The man managed a ragged wheeze, his mouth opening as if to protest or shout for help, but Silas was already following up. Pivoting on his heel, Silas swung the staff in a brutal arc, its momentum carrying it toward the man's head.
CRACK.
The impact was sickening. The man's head caved slightly under the force, his body stiffening for a moment before collapsing in a lifeless heap. The bat fell from his fingers, rolling to a stop against a patch of dirt. Silas stood over the corpse, his chest rising and falling steadily as he examined his work.
"Too easy," he muttered, his voice devoid of emotion. "Just a bully."
Behind him, the woman gasped, scrambling to her feet. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears, her trembling hands clutching at the torn remnants of her clothes.
"Th-thank you—" she began, her voice shaky and uneven.
Silas turned his head, fixing her with a glare so sharp it cut her off mid-sentence. His cold, piercing gaze silenced her instantly, and she took a faltering step back, her mouth hanging open as though the words had been stolen from her.
"Please," she whispered, sinking to her knees. Her tears flowed freely now, her entire body trembling. "Please let me have my things… I'll serve you. I'll do whatever you want, just… please…" She broke into sobs, her forehead touching the ground as she begged.
Silas's patience was razor-thin. He released another wave of killing intent, sharper and more focused this time, and it hit her like a physical blow. She froze, her body rigid with terror, and let out a strangled whimper. Then, as if her fear had overtaken all bodily control, she collapsed backward, a dark stain spreading across her tattered clothes.
Silas's expression didn't change. She was a liability, and liabilities got people killed. He turned his attention away from her entirely, crouching by the dead man's body. Pulling the ring of holding from the man's finger, Silas sifted through its contents.
Most of it was junk—mundane supplies, low-tier beasts, and scraps of materials—but one item caught his attention. A knife, sleek and well-crafted, rested in the inventory. Silas pulled it out, testing its weight and balance in his hand. The blade was sharp and sturdy, far better than the one he currently carried. It would make an excellent tool for skinning.
As he inspected the knife, a faint rustle behind him made his body go cold. Without hesitation, Silas rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a strike from the woman. She had recovered a dagger from somewhere, her face twisted in a mix of fear and desperation as she lunged.
The blade sliced through empty air where Silas had been. Rising to his feet, Silas glared at her, his killing intent crashing down like a tidal wave. Her movements faltered immediately, her breath hitching as her arm wavered.
Before she could utter a word, Silas moved. His staff struck her stomach with a forceful jab, the impact doubling her over as she let out a choked gasp. She staggered, her knees buckling, but Silas didn't stop.
With a smooth motion, he brought the staff down hard on the back of her head. The dull thud reverberated through the clearing as she crumpled to the ground, her body limp and lifeless. Her dagger slipped from her fingers, landing harmlessly in the dirt.
Silas stood over her motionless form, his chest rising and falling as he stared down at her. A faint flicker of irritation crossed his face as he exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
"I shouldn't have let her stay so close," he muttered to himself, his tone calm but edged with frustration. "If she hadn't been so slow, that could've gone badly."
He turned back to the man's ring, tucking the knife into his own inventory before standing. Without another glance at the bodies, Silas adjusted his grip on the bo staff and walked away, the forest swallowing him in its quiet embrace
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone