I'm Groot (1)

There's an old saying: even a temple dog recites poetry after three years. It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lines up with the idea that investing 10,000 hours in something makes you an expert. It doesn't even matter if it's unintentional. In an era where survival is all that matters, plenty of people accidentally become specialists. Even in the wild, far from civilization, it's no different.

Focusing solely on staying alive somehow turned me into this. I had to wonder if the guy who used to struggle against starving wolves was really me. Just moments ago, I'd taken down a massive bear in one ambush hit.

'What's the point, anyway.'

Thud!

I returned to my shelter—also my cave—and dropped the bear on the ground. Its sheer size made the earth tremble just from being set down. I headed inside for a quick check.

A cool, refreshing sensation hit me as soon as I stepped in. The cave had started out empty, but time had allowed me to spruce it up a bit. Animal skulls from my hunts were fixed to the walls, and thick hides carpeted the floor. One wall was covered in countless scratches—marks tracking how long I'd been here. I'd given up on escape at some point, so I stopped marking. Even a rough count put it over three years.

"Tch."

My mood soured, but there was no time for that. I needed to check for intruders. Once, I'd passed out from exhaustion without a care and nearly died from a venomous bug. I'd really thought that was the end.

Thankfully, focusing with my eyes closed picked up nothing. I'd set things up so no monsters, beasts, or even insects could approach. Breaking through meant it had intelligence—a bastard like Porori.

'It's been quiet lately, though.'

After fully adapting to the wild, I'd invade his territory whenever boredom struck. I could never forget the time he shat right on my face. That made us mortal rivals and archenemies.

As I grew, so did he. Confirming no signs of Porori's intrusion, I headed back out. Or tried to—until I spotted the drawing at the deepest part of the cave.

"……"

The cave was dark, but my sharp eyesight caught it fine. Deep inside, on the wall, were 'drawings.' With only bones and stones for tools, they were at a child's level. Still, I knew what they meant.

They were depictions of this world's future, drawn to prepare for my escape—and to never forget. The protagonist attending the academy, facing trials, ultimately clashing desperately with demons. I hadn't drawn the ending. Endings branched too much to bother. Sure, a happy ending would be nice, but look at me now. Seeing the ending? Fat chance—I might live out my days here.

"Hoo."

I sighed in frustration. Part of me wanted to bust out. But it never worked out that way. By design, getting lost here once meant you'd be stranded forever. Magic twisted in every direction, rendering compasses useless. Without special tools, you'd always lose your way.

'But why hasn't a single person come in all that time?'

The academy strictly warned against entering, but forbidden things only make you want them more. Sure enough, students often entered and barely escaped—or vanished entirely. Of course, none had ever reached my area.

'Whatever happens, happens.'

I stroked my chest-length beard out of habit as I stepped outside. Viking-style growth, but who cared—no one to see it. My hair was just as lushly overgrown. Then I shoved the bear hard to start butchering. Its exposed belly really drove home how huge it was.

'Bear meat after so long.'

Muttering to myself, I climbed atop its belly and extended the index finger of my left hand.

Fwoosh!

A blood-red energy surged from my fingertip—like crimson mist spreading ominous vibes. At some point, I'd gained the ability to use 'mana.'

True to fantasy tropes, this mysterious power existed, and mastery determined your strength. Normally, you'd need grueling training to even grasp it. But I'd picked it up by accident. Maybe surviving near-death crises had awakened my survival instinct.

I hadn't known that either.

'Who used red mana again? Can't remember.'

Details had faded. Nothing useful anyway. I pressed the red-mana-charged finger to the bear's chest and stabbed deep through the thick hide.

Squish—

Moving my hand sliced it effortlessly. This was why I didn't bother with tools. Rough bones or stones were inferior to mana. I had plenty to spare—using it all day recovered quickly with good food.

Slice—slice—slice—

My skilled hands made quick work of the butchering. The floor hide was decided: this one. I discarded all organs except heart, lungs, and liver. No clue what else lurked inside—no need to risk it.

The reason? Everything I'd tried proved those three best for mana recovery. Old wives' tales be damned—I'd learned it firsthand.

"Yep."

Splurt!

Raw was the way for max effect. I tore a huge bite from the heart. I'd drained the blood first, so no splatter worries. A quick rinse at the stream fixed any mess.

Chew—chew—chew—

The chewy heart was exquisite. Eating like this reminded me of my first time. My left arm's recovery dragged longer than expected, and bugs alone couldn't sate hunger anymore. I'd resorted to raw animal corpses like a caveman. Heart was the part then. I'd barely choked down the vomit.

Parasites? Screw that. Starving to death, I'd shove anything in. Worrying would've killed me already.

"Urp."

Its size filled me up on organs alone. Plenty of moisture too—no extra water needed. After, I cut edible parts for smoking. Humid and hot—had to preserve them.

Meaning smoke them. I'd prepped for this. Worried about other beasts smelling it? No issue. Most monsters and animals knew this was my turf. Intruders got instant punishment—prime protein source.

Snap!

I flicked my finger at dry firewood. The tiny spark lit it right up. No more slaving over fire-starting—just snap and done. Hard-earned skill.

Smolder—smolder—

Large chunks of meat browned beautifully in the smoke. Probably an hour or so. Nothing else to do, so I tilted my head up to check my status after ages.

Time had boosted my stats plenty. As I recalled, 140 was high in Soul World. 120 was doable with time; 130 if you grinded the world. But 140 started hell, 150 was top-tier elite territory. 160? Give up clean.

150 overflowed already—greed was pointless. Sure, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you could gripe ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my starting stats were all 10, power creep much? Nah, not inflation. Perfect guides hit 120 easy in the academy. I'd just survived into strength.

Other origins started around 50. Blank slate me got naked at 10.

'Not totally naked, I guess.'

Sackcloth was mercy. Without it, tears. Anyway, hardware was freakishly high from daily survival. Skip the 0 Faith—no daily prayers cursing gods left room for minus?

'Traits matter more than physical stats...'

First trait, Wild Instinct—effect still unknown. Separate from enhanced senses; it gave uneasy hunches. Avoid those, stay unscathed.

Rest came from survival. Useful bunch, but Berserk nagged.

'Losing reason...'

Elite monster trait: Berserk. Meet conditions, lose all reason, rampage. For me, near-zero vitality—post-hunt or ambushed into crisis.

Normally, you'd escape calmly. Me? Instant feral smash. Post-rampage: wasteland surroundings, HP/mana bottomed. Nonstop freakouts maxed it out.

Thank Tenacity for blocking it now.

'Going berserk means no other options.'

I eyed other traits. Steel King like Indestructible but faster regen too. Weak Poison Resistance: self-explanatory. Digestion turned food to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠energy. Dexterity from solo crafting.

'Skills are limited.'

Only two, both hunt-focused. No real weapons—just stone axe/spear I made. Useless. Ambush from stealthing sensitive foes; Throwing for escapes. Plenty for survival. Fought barehanded often, like slicing hide with mana.

'Red Mana maxed on acquire.'

Like that from first awakening. Normals: blue. Demons/devils: varied. Red? Unheard. Details fuzzy anyway. Story intact thanks to drawings—useless if trapped forever.

'Regen rocks.'

Self-explanatory: fast wound healing. Hunt injuries spelled doom without. Once, Porori shredded all limbs. No regen then? Dead or crippled.

Someone might question: shouldn't Regen be trait, not ability? Traits passive, abilities active control.

'If Berserk were active...'

Why I hated the trait-locked bomb. Useful but risky. No clue on more gains—my ceiling felt hit. To grow: hunt Porori or escape. Both stalled.

'Game had more for him, right?'

Soul World mascot—must've. Fighting him grew me too. Lately quiet, stalemate. Ex-sleeper who daily shat in my cave. Silence worried.

'New predator? Wild Instinct would've pinged.'

But nada. Musing on Porori, I didn't neglect the smoking meat. Priorities: food over squirrels. Almost done.

As I went to bite the golden-brown smoked bear meat—

Flutter flutter!

Birds burst skyward from afar. My keen ears caught it. Forest birds rarely panicked without 'stimulus.'

'Monster?'

Instantly, a thunderous roar shook the forest. Echoes meant big boy. I paused mid-bite, setting meat down. Beasts and monsters aplenty here—line meaningless in this woods.

Still, ignoring bred hassle. Handle quick. Booming voice: adult specimen.

See? Great pipes...

"...Huh?"

I blinked, staring toward the sound. Not a monster roar. A scream—pure, 100% human scream. Zero wild edge. Desperate human wail.

'What the?'

Grabbing my still-bloody stone axe, I stood. That scream fanned dying hope's embers.

'For real?'

Expectation and doubt warring, I plunged into the forest.