The forest had grown quieter with the passing day, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
Zane moved through the undergrowth like a low-budget ninja. Not because he was particularly stealthy, but because bruised ribs, cracked pride, and borderline starvation made him cautious by necessity, not by choice.
His fingers brushed over the bark of a gnarled tree, pressing close to it, eyes scanning the clearing ahead.
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: You are currently within 20 meters of a living being. Based on movement rhythm, it's not a monster. Most likely: Human. Possibly hostile.
Zane didn't respond. He crouched lower.
Ahead, in the shade of several entwined trees, a single figure sat near a low fire, stirring something within a steel flask set atop enchanted stones. The boy's robes were crisp—clearly not someone who had been rolling through the dirt like Zane had. He moved with careful precision, adding crushed herbs to a mortar while humming to himself.
Zane narrowed his eyes.
An alchemy student.
One of the many non-combatants who had entered this survival trial with the arrogance of knowledge and the protection of their teams. But this one was alone—for now.
From the scattered placement of supply bags and empty potion vials, it was obvious his teammates had either gone scouting or were setting up a temporary base nearby.
Zane's eyes shifted to the half-prepared potions on the ground.
That's not food… but if I can grab something useful, maybe even something to trade later...
He reached into his tattered satchel, pulling out a half-shredded scarf, wrapping it around his lower face. Not for intimidation. Just habit. Just survival instinct.
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: This disguise is statistically pointless. Your fashion sense was already unrecognizable.
Zane ignored it.
His breath was calm now. Not steady like a warrior's. More like someone used to avoiding fights. Someone used to slipping through crowds without being noticed.
He crept around to the rear of the small camp, keeping to the thicker grass. The alchemy student was too focused—his attention glued to the potion's changing color. Zane could hear him mutter something about "stabilizing agents" and "field fermentation rates."
The perfect moment.
Zane pounced—not with grace, but with calculation.
His hand clamped around the boy's neck from behind while his other forearm wrapped around the alchemist's arm, twisting it behind him and forcing him to the ground in a single, jarring motion.
The student thrashed but didn't scream, instinctively trying to reach for a pouch at his side.
"Don't," Zane hissed, voice low, guttural.
The boy stilled, his breath shaking. "W-Who—? You—do you know who I—?"
Zane pressed harder. "Not interested. I just want your—"
Something slipped.
A capsule rolled from the student's belt, cracked against a rock, and exploded into a thin cloud of violet gas right in Zane's face.
His eyes widened. He released the alchemist instantly, staggering backward and waving at the fumes.
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: ALERT. You have inhaled a fast-acting neurotoxin.
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: Cross-referencing with physical condition… Training adaptation detected. Immune response active. No effect.
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: Congratulations. You are now resistant to low-grade alchemical poisons. You may still die, just not as embarrassingly.
Zane coughed once. Twice. Then stopped.
Nothing happened.
No numbness. No dizziness. No death.
The alchemy student, still half-pinned under Zane's knee, turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "That should've… paralyzed you."
Zane looked at his hands, then at the faint fumes still hanging in the air.
"Nope," he muttered. "Just smelled like burnt raisins."
The student moved suddenly, trying to twist away.
Zane, still dazed by the lack of reaction, grabbed the first thing nearby—a flask half-filled with thick orange paste—and smashed it over the kid's shoulder.
The boy howled in pain, more shocked than hurt, and flopped onto his back.
Zane didn't waste time. He pulled the student's belt free, tossing it aside, and disarmed him of every vial and capsule within reach.
"I warned you," Zane said, coldly. "Should've just stayed quiet."
The alchemy student's voice trembled. "Y-you attacked me!"
"You were alone," Zane said, wiping sweat from his brow. "I needed supplies. And you... looked punchable."
He stood slowly, checking the contents of a now-unsealed pouch. Dried herbs. A flask of clean water. A loaf of flatbread, not even moldy.
Jackpot.
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: Congratulations. You've acquired:
– Basic Field Rations
– Two Unlabeled Potions (Color-coded: Green and Gray)
– Ten gold-leaf filtered herbal extracts
– One alchemist with a grudge.
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: Inventory space updated. Would you like to tag the stolen potions as 'Acquired via Resource Redistribution' for tax reasons?
Zane said nothing.
He looked down at the still-breathing student. "Stay down. Don't scream. I don't care who you are."
Then he turned and vanished into the woods again.
---
Ten minutes later, crouched beneath the roots of an ancient tree, Zane chewed the flatbread in silence. It was dry. He didn't care.
His hands no longer trembled.
The ache in his arms was still there, but now it felt manageable. Like his body had accepted the pain as a roommate who paid rent late, but at least washed the dishes.
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: Physical condition improving. Muscular resilience enhanced. Poison resistance unlocked. Combat instincts: developing.
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: Statistically, you now have a 13% chance of surviving this trial without sheer luck. Previously: 4%.
Zane exhaled. Then let out a quiet chuckle.
He hadn't won a battle. He hadn't defeated a monster. He hadn't even used magic.
But for the first time, he'd walked away from a confrontation without bleeding, screaming, or crawling.
He didn't need to be strong yet.
He just needed to stop being weak.