The night had passed in a blur of laughter, teasing, and too much ale, but morning came fast—and harsh.
Jace groaned awake, blinking against the thin slant of sunlight leaking through the thick curtains of his new room. Compared to the broom closet he'd first stayed in, this one was practically a royal suite—a large feather bed. A small hearth still glowing with embers. A heavy oak chest at the foot of the bed for his gear, and no random pile of almost sticks, Torak, in front of his bed, or a mountainous pile of rock, Patch, in the corner.
All thanks, apparently, to his “bardic talents” of the past two nights and the massive influx of coins he’d unwittingly brought into the tavern. The barkeep had shoved a key into his hand with a wink and declared him "an investment." He also upgraded the rest of his party to better rooms. One for each of them.
Jace sat up slowly, rolling his shoulders. His muscles protested the movement, sore from the last few nights of chaos.
The whelpling egg was on the nightstand, nestled safely inside his pack.
It pulsed faintly, a soft glowing rhythm like a heartbeat. It was warmer than he remembered, the thin cracks running along its shell glowing faintly like veins of molten green.
Jace reached out instinctively. He hadn’t forgotten what it needed.
Willing out some of his soul fragments, he channeled them into the egg. The moment he did, he saw the wispy trail of shadowed mist—and the egg absorbed it greedily. The pulsing glow deepened, and for a second, Jace swore he felt something stir inside. A twitch. A movement. A whisper in the back of his mind he couldn’t quite hear.
“Easy there, buddy," Jace muttered under his breath, half amused, half unnerved. "Breakfast is served."
Whatever was inside, it was growing—and not just in size.
He didn’t know what would hatch from it yet, but deep down, he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be anything ordinary. He rubbed the egg gently and placed it back in its pack and slung it over his shoulders.
After gathering the rest of his gear, he strapped on his new mantle, adjusted his belt, and headed out into the hall. He didn't hear the rest of his party, so he assumed they had already left or were still passed out. He wondered if he should wait, but decided to just head for the Guild, the morning air crisp against his skin.
By the time Jace arrived at the Adventurers’ Guild, the first light of dawn had painted the city streets in soft oranges and pale blues. Early merchants bustled about, setting up colorful stalls with fruits, baked goods, trinkets, and odds and ends. The scent of roasting meats, freshly baked bread, and spiced tea filled the cool morning air, mingling with the sharp tang of horse sweat and the creak of wagon wheels over uneven cobblestone.
The Guild itself was already buzzing like an upturned beehive. Adventurers gathered in knots near the contract boards, their laughter and arguments blending into a rough music of ambition. Some haggled loudly, others merely sharpened blades, the rasp of whetstones cutting through the din. From somewhere deeper in the hall came the rhythmic pounding of hammer on metal—a blacksmith already at work.
It felt alive. Tangible. Like he had stepped into the heart of a living legend.
Jace spotted his group near the front.
“There he is!” Nyra called out, waving him over with a broad grin. “Figured you’d oversleep after last night’s performance.”
Jace groaned as he approached, rubbing his forehead. “I’m never drinking with you guys again.”
Sylas smirked wickedly, stretching like a cat. “That’s what they all say. Then the next night—boom. Singing about cabbages in front of a hundred people.”
Patch’s runes pulsed lightly, an amused rumble escaping his chest. “Your vocal performance received high approval ratings, again.”
Torak clicked his mandibles thoughtfully. “Your ballads were… adequate.”
Jace threw up his hands in defeat. “Just adequate, Torak? I think I vaguely remembered you singing along too?”
“You were inebriated, and vagaries do not count.” Torak chittered in what almost sounded like laughter
“Well, glad to know my pain is your entertainment. What brought you all here so early?”
Before anyone could answer, a massive shadow loomed over them.
Garrik had arrived, his fur still damp with morning dew, golden eyes sharp and unblinking. His mere presence made the noise of the Guild seem to fade into a background hum.
“Glad to see you lot can at least follow simple instructions,” Garrik rumbled. “We’ve got a long day ahead. Transport has already been arranged for your assessment. Move out.”
Jace looked at them, but they all just shrugged, except for Sylas, who had a big grin on her face.
“Oh, we get to ride in style instead of hoofing it?” She rubbed her hands together.
“You lot aren't the only ones I've got to assess today.” Garrik almost growled as he ushered everyone out the door.
They boarded a sturdy wooden cart, drawn by two massive golden-feathered warks. The creatures rumbled softly, their thick talons scraping against the cobblestone as they pulled the cart southward. Their feathers shimmered faintly in the morning light, catching the sun like burnished gold.
Jace leaned back against the rail, eyeing the large, golden yellow birds. They looked identical to the ones he knew so well. It brought a big goofy smile to his lips.
The cart rattled gently beneath him as they left the city behind. The air grew fresher, tinged with the scent of damp earth, wild grass, and distant pines.
“So,” Jace asked after a moment, his curiosity getting the better of him, “what’s adventuring actually like?”
Nyra shrugged, her ears flicking lazily. “Depends on the day. Could be hunting giant boars for a farmer. Could be dodging traps in a crumbling ruin. Could be killing things that really, really don’t want to die.”
Sylas groaned. “Or cleaning out latrines. Gods, don’t remind me of that contract.”
Torak nodded gravely. “Sanitation is the foundation of civilization.”
Jace snorted. “Yeah, nothing screams ‘hero’ like scrubbing goblin outhouses.”
Nyra smirked. “You’ll miss it once you’re fighting things that can actually eat you.”
Hours passed. The cart rolled through dense forests of crimson-barked trees whose tops shimmered faintly with bioluminescence. Strange, crystal-winged butterflies flitted overhead, scattering prismatic reflections across the ground. They passed towering cliffs and sprawling meadows before finally reaching a small grove—the Everbloom Fields.
It looked like something torn from a dream.
Silver-blue flowers stretched out in endless waves, their petals catching the light in delicate, shifting hues. The air was cool and carried a sharp, fresh scent like mint and rain mixed. Strange insects buzzed between the blooms, leaving glittering trails of pollen behind them.
A massive six-legged beast with curled antlers lumbered along a distant ridge, its fur glistening with morning dew. It stopped to munch lazily on the top branches of a tree, utterly unbothered by their arrival.
Jace stared at the beast in awe. He still wasn’t used to this world. Every time he thought he had a handle on it, something new reminded him: This isn’t Earth anymore.
“Everblooms,” Garrik barked, hopping down from the cart with ease. “Delicate. Valuable. You need five bundles each. Don’t crush 'em.”
Jace blinked. “This is the assessment?”
Garrik’s golden eyes narrowed. “Patience, rookie. Survival ain’t just about killing things. It’s about discipline. Care. Not stomping around like some brainless ogre.”
Jace grumbled under his breath but got to work.
The flowers were surprisingly resilient, their stems slick and cool under his fingers. He moved carefully, slipping each bundle into a small pouch tied at his belt. Around him, the others worked methodically, already gathering their shares.
Jace knelt low, plucking a delicate bloom, when he caught sight of the horizon again. Those towering cliffs. The shifting forest. The strange creatures dotting the landscape like living myths.
Ever Bloom Gathered
This world is insane, Jace thought again, carefully plucking another Everbloom and tucking it into his satchel. And somehow… it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be.
He paused, admiring the way the silver-blue petals shimmered under the strange light, like they were woven from moonlight itself. He smirked and muttered under his breath, “Honestly, I could just take in this view all day.”
Torak, crouched nearby and methodically harvesting his flowers, tilted his head, mandibles clicking thoughtfully. "That is an inefficient method of consumption."
Jace huffed a small laugh, shaking his head as he pulled another Everbloom free. “I wasn’t being literal, Torak.”
Patch, ever helpful, rumbled, “Clarification appreciated.”
Sylas snorted from across the field, stuffing another handful of blooms into her pouch. "Don't encourage him, Patch. We'll come back from the dungeon and find Jace trying to sauté scenery."
Torak considered that seriously for a moment. "If survival necessitates it, alternative food sources should not be dismissed."
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Jace shot him a look. "Good to know, buddy. You can have the trees. I’ll stick to roasted meat and beer."
Nyra grinned as she finished tying off her last bundle. “And here I thought today was going to be boring.”
Their laughter drifted up into the crisp morning air, a brief moment of lightness before Garrik’s sharp bark cut across the field.
Patch rumbled beside him, the light from his chest runes pulsing in what Jace was starting to recognize as mild amusement.
The group moved steadily through the fields, the soft crunch of grass underfoot blending with the occasional flutter of crystal-winged insects overhead. Every so often, a cool breeze would carry the minty, sharp scent of the flowers through the air, tickling Jace’s senses.
When they regrouped, Garrik gave a small approving grunt, arms folded across his massive chest. His sharp yellow eyes swept over them like a hammer looking for cracks.
“Good. No idiots here.”
Gathering Task Complete!
Assessment Progress: [Updated 1/3]
Jace blinked as the notification faded, a small surge of pride welling in his chest.
Nyra smirked, resting her fists on her hips. “Glad we passed your ‘don’t stomp the flowers’ test.”
Garrik snorted, his muzzle twitching into what might have been a smirk—or a grimace. It was hard to tell with werewolves. “Don’t get cocky. The easy part’s over.”
He straightened from where he leaned against a nearby stone outcropping, the muscles in his shoulders rolling like storm clouds. He jerked his thumb toward the dense, crimson forest looming ahead.
“If you lot are done gawking, we have work to do. Rat warren’s on the other side. Stay sharp.”
The playful banter drained away almost instantly.
The group tightened ranks as they crossed the field, heading toward the tangled, gnarled treeline. Jace adjusted the strap of his satchel, his new cloak whispering against his legs with each step. The closer they got, the darker it seemed—like the forest itself was swallowing the light whole.
As they passed beneath the canopy, the world changed.
The temperature dropped sharply, the sun filtering through in broken shafts of deep gold and ghostly violet. The trees here weren’t just large—they were monstrous, their bark slick with moisture and curling with phosphorescent vines that pulsed like a heartbeat. Strange plants lined the undergrowth, their leaves quivering whenever someone brushed too close, closing up like shy sea creatures.
The smell was the next assault—wet earth, rotting foliage, and something else.
Something rancid.
Movement caught Jace’s eye—a flash of fur darting between twisted roots. He turned just in time to see a small, fox-like creature scamper out of sight, its fur shifting colors like living camouflage. It paused to lock eyes with him—three golden pupils blinking in eerie synchronization—before vanishing deeper into the undergrowth.
“What the hell was that?” Jace muttered, tightening his grip on his hammer instinctively.
"A Vexlin," Nyra replied without missing a beat, weaving between a set of claw-scarred trees. "Little tricksters. They love shiny things. If you see one, double-check your belt pouches."
Sylas tapped her hip where a fresh pouch now hung. "Lost a full set of lockpicks to one of those furry bastards last year. Didn’t even notice until I needed ‘em."
“Got ya. Treat them like I do, Sylas. I can do that.”
Sylas' smile fell, looking suddenly appalled.
Jace shook his head, smiling. This world was madness. Living plants. Shadeshifting animals. Everything felt like it had teeth, claws, or sticky fingers.
The forest thickened. The air grew heavy, humid, and harder to breathe.
And then the stench hit him.
He gagged immediately, covering his mouth with the crook of his arm.
It was like rotting meat and burning sewage had a lovechild—and that child lived here.
The clearing ahead was a battlefield of decay. The ground was riddled with burrows—some freshly dug, others collapsed into twisted sinkholes. The trees were stripped bare in places, their bark chewed to pulp. Scattered bones—small animals, birds, and the occasional ominous humanoid remains—littered the soil like offerings to some vile god.
"Smells like someone set fire to a sewer," Jace muttered, his voice muffled against his sleeve.
Nyra nodded grimly. “Dire rats. They mark their territory with their filth.”
Torak unsheathed his four curved blades in one smooth, fluid motion. His antennae quivered with anticipation. "Prepare for engagement."
Garrik cracked his knuckles loud enough to make Jace wince. “At least ten rats each. No exceptions. No excuses. Bonus points if you manage to kill the broodmother. And no getting bitten—those little bastards carry plague faster than a drunk spreads bad decisions.”
“Wait, why only ten?”
“Because Dite Rats breed notoriously fast. You are here to just cull the herd. It's far enough away and would take way too long to exterminate the brood.” Garrik spoke nonchalantly. “Plus, rat warrens like these extend far and wide. Unless we managed to stop the broodmother herself, she would just just use the tunnels and wind up somewhere far less safe. Better to keep the warren here and under watch.”
The moment Garrik finished speaking, a low, throaty growl sounded from the largest burrow.
Jace didn’t hesitate. He called forth his summoned weapon—his bone warhammer—and felt its comforting weight settle into his grip.
"Let's do this," he growled.
The first rat lunged from a hole near his feet, teeth bared in a savage hiss.
Jace swung instinctively, his hammer connecting with a sickening crunch. The creature crumpled, twitching once before going still.
Another two erupted from a nearby burrow. Jace shifted his stance, pivoted, and slammed the hammer down like a judge’s gavel. One rat splattered. The other clamped its yellowed teeth into the leather of his bracer, thrashing violently.
With a snarl, Jace ripped his arm free and drove a summoned bone spike clean through the rat’s neck.
"Three down," he muttered, heart pounding, sweat already beading at his brow.
Around him, the others were locked in their own battles. There was barely any time to breathe, much less issue commands and rally.
Nyra was a storm of shield and sword, battering rats aside with brutal efficiency, her armor flashing between strikes like a living fortress.
Sylas moved like smoke, her daggers flashing in and out of existence as she Shadow-Stepped between rats, leaving trails of blood and broken bodies.
Torak was a machine of death, his four arms moving in perfect rhythm. He bisected rats, impaled them mid-leap, and used the dead bodies of one to block the attack of another.
Patch stood calm amidst the chaos, roots exploding from the earth with each pulse of his glowing runes, trapping and crushing clusters of rats with terrifying ease.
Jace ducked another lunging rat, pivoted, and brought his hammer around in a brutal backswing, shattering the creature’s spine.
"Nine," he panted, counting under his breath.
Another rat clamped onto his boot. Jace stomped hard, feeling the satisfying crunch underfoot.
The final few came in a wave, gnashing and hissing.
Jace fought through them with grit and fury, swinging, dodging, and weaving between snapping jaws. Blood was spattered across the ground. His muscles screamed, but he didn’t stop—not until his hammer crashed down on the fifteenth rat, silencing its shriek with a wet, final impact.
Reaper's Touch Activated
+15 Souls Fragments Reaped.
Breathing hard, Jace wiped a hand across his forehead.
And then the ground rumbled.
From the largest, foulest burrow in the clearing, something emerged.
It was a rat—if rats could be bear-sized, with patchy, mange-ridden fur, claws like sickles, and a maw dripping greenish saliva. Its glowing, sickly-green eyes locked onto them, and it let out a shriek that rattled Jace’s teeth.
A notification blinked across his vision.
[New Threat Detected: Dire Rat Broodmother- Corrupted]
Warning: Mutated. Enhanced aggression and resilience.
Jace took a step back, heart hammering against his ribs.
"...Yeah," he muttered. "Definitely not just flowers and singing today."
The beast charged.
“Garrik?” Sylas yelled as the last Dire Rat attacking her fell.
“What happened to that Broodmother…” Jace could hear the confusion and hesitation in the werewolf's tone.
Jace’s stomach twisted sharply, a primal warning blooming in the hollow of his gut.
He could feel it—that wrongness.
It rippled off the creature in waves, sour and heavy. His soul, the Soulreaver core inside him, recognized it instantly.
The very air around the broodmother seemed to recoil, thickening like soured milk, the scent of blood, bile, and rot curling into Jace’s nostrils. The dire rat—if it could even still be called that—was monstrous now. Its matted fur was stretched tight over swollen, pulsing muscles, and beneath the thin patches of hide, veins glowed with a sickly, radioactive green light. Every labored breath it took rattled like broken glass dragged over stone.
The forest around them seemed to fall deathly still.
Even the ever-present hum of unseen insects faded into uneasy silence.
Garrik’s voice cut through the tension, low and grim. His muscles coiled, claws flexing outward in a deliberate show of readiness.
“Fall back,” the werewolf growled, the realization dawning in his voice. “This one’s corrupted.”
Jace swallowed, his hammer clutched tightly in his grip. His pulse hammered in his ears as that pull within his chest grew stronger.
The broodmother’s corrupted essence spilled into the clearing like ink bleeding into water—a wrongness that tasted like static on his tongue. And yet, something inside Jace craved it. Hungered for it. The very threads of the corruption called to his core like an ancient, whispered song.
‘Soulrend.’
The world tilted.
The broodmother staggered back, its eyes flashing red for the briefest instant before dulling into sickly green. Black mist poured off its body in sluggish, curling tendrils, drawn inexorably into Jace’s waiting core.
Their gazes locked.
For one breathless heartbeat, they saw each other.
The monster and the reaver.
The corrupted and the soul-thief.
The broodmother shrieked, a sound that rattled the marrow in Jace’s bones, and lunged.
But he was already moving.
With a twist of his wrist, he called forth a Deathbolt, the magic snapping into existence with a visceral crack of energy.
The sickly green blast roared forward, slamming into the broodmother’s chest like a battering ram. The creature howled, skidding backward in the churned dirt, gouging long furrows with its massive claws as it struggled to stay upright.
Opportunity.
Jace didn’t hesitate.
He triggered ‘Soul Step.’
The world blurred, slowing to a syrupy crawl as time fractured around him. It almost looked like the inverse of the world he knew.
He sprinted forward, flanking the monster’s wounded side just as the skill ended—and as reality snapped back into full speed, he emerged from the mist like a phantom.
With a roar, Jace swung his hammer overhead.
The bone weapon crackled with raw energy, and when it connected, it struck with the force of a falling star.
CRACK!
The broodmother’s skull split wide, the sound wet and final. Its body collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs, thick black smoke pouring from its ruined chest as the corruption unraveled.
The mist twisted around Jace, coiling lovingly against his core before melting into him, cold and invasive, but not unwelcome.
A flood of strength surged through his limbs, setting every nerve alight. He had his system show only the important info, instead of blasting his sense with a whole page of it.
The mist soaked into him with a chill that left his bones aching. Power, yes—but it felt wrong, like drinking from a poisoned well.
Hunting Task Complete!
Assessment Progress: [Updated 2/3]
Error Soul Fragments are Corrupted…
Error Resolved…
Corruption Cleansed
XP forfeited…
+10 Soul Fragment Reaped.
You have gained +10 to Dexterity accumulated.
Soulreaver Core Progression Activated.
Soulreaver Core: 35/100
‘You're going to eat good tonight, Ghosty.’ Jace chuckled inwardly as he checked the rest of the notifications.
Skill Rank Up: [Deathbolt] (Rank 2)
– Your mastery over necrotic magic deepens. Deathbolt now strikes with greater force, dealing increased damage and briefly destabilizing the target’s soul on impact, weakening resistances for a short time.
Skill Rank Up: [Deathbolt] (Rank 3)
[Data anomaly detected...]
[Deathbolt evolution incomplete...]
[FORCE PROGRESSION.]
Deathbolt now tears into soul and body alike, dealing heavy corruption damage. Leaves behind lingering soul decay, suppressing healing and regeneration effects. Corruption residue destabilizes weakened targets over time.
Warning: Containment protocols offline. Visual manifestations may occur.
...Monitor for further anomalies.
‘What’s going on?’ He thought as he watched the blue message box glitch out and in. Then it came back, but it displayed his skill rank differently than before. He wanted to ask Nyra about it, but with Garrik nearby monitoring them closely, he was afraid to say anything. It would be something he would have to bring up to his party later.
The next notification caused him to falter a bit.
[New Skill Acquired: Warhammer Mastery (Rank 1)]
“That’s new.” He muttered. He hadn’t gotten any skill masteries with any weapons yet. ‘Well, maybe using a severed part of an undead as a weapon doesn’t count towards any type of mastery? Maybe it's due to using a bone weapon that's more weapon than bone?’
Jace staggered slightly, panting hard, the warhammer still gripped tight in his bloodied hands.
He could still feel it—the echo of the broodmother’s soul burning inside him. A residue of power, bittersweet and addictive.
The clearing was silent.
Every eye was on him.
Garrik’s wolfish gaze narrowed, golden irises slitted in wary calculation. His body was tense, muscles rigid beneath his armor, as if expecting Jace to suddenly turn that power on them.
"...Not even a Bronze rank should have been able to do that," Garrik said, low and unreadable.
[Jace]: So, uh... if you're still here after reading about me smashing rats into wet stains, congratulations. You’re officially more committed than I am most mornings.
[Garrik]: And if you thought that was rough? That was the warm-up. The dungeon’s next. Try not to blink. You might miss when he dies.
[Jace]: Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, Big Bad Wolf.
[Garrik]: I believe in results. Not hope. Results are less disappointing.
[Jace]: (muttering) Remind me again why I agreed to star in a story where my main job is "designated monster chew toy"?
[Garrik]: You didn't agree. You stumbled in, broke everything, and now you're stuck like the rest of us.
[Jace]: Sounds suspiciously like the author's life choices too.
[Garrik]: (snorts) Author's just trying to make sure you bleed artistically.
[Jace]: Oh good. I’ll be sure to scream in iambic pentameter when the dungeon eats me.
[Garrik]: Save the poetry. Swing harder. You're going to need it.
[Jace]: (to the readers) Anyway—thanks for surviving another chapter with me. Don’t forget to leave a Follow, a Favorite, or hell, even a Review. Might just convince the author to keep me alive a little longer. Rate the emotional trauma on your way out. Or don't. Garrik’s judging either way.
[Garrik]: Always.
How are we feeling after today's chapter?
