Silence.

Even the birds had closed their eyes and beaks. Morning dew evaporated under the first shafts of sunlight and buried the ground in white damp. The forest in front of me displayed a peaceful scene where both the nocturnal hunters and their prey enjoyed their sleep.

Tranquility.

Only the dry branches under my feet broke through the stillness with their snaps.

I was on my way into the forest. On my way to find prey.

Yesterday I had laid out some small traps and had to check those early. A trapped animal was also the perfect prey for natural hunters, but I needed my catch to be alive, ready to take a beating. So I had to be faster and check the traps first.

If one thinks of low-level enemies, slimes or goblins come to mind. Sometimes even a skeleton. But not in these woods, according to the villagers. No luck for me. That said, who in their right minds would start with a skeleton first? I wouldn’t.

Hence I turned my thoughts towards four-legged enemies. Wolves or wild boars came to mind, sometimes even bears or giant griffins. A pack of sharp teeth, a thirty centimeter long beak, a paw the size of a human head, or 100 kilogram pure muscle mass. Sounded like a death wish to me.

Therefore, I settled on my preferred prey - hares.

The hero who slew the hare. Didn’t sound like an enthralling story, but it had one major benefit. The hero survived without a scratch. At least most of the time.

For now, I was trapped in this godforsaken village in the middle of nowhere. With no merchant and no doctor. Did my dream include inflammation and sepsis? No need to find out.

And so I marched toward my heroic fight, grabbing a stick with my left hand. Yes. My weapon, a stick. Not even a club, just a normal stick. Its sight enough to weird out Thea. Her laughter still reverberated through my ears.

But even though my clothing and prey got forced onto me, my choice of weapon wasn’t. I picked a stick, knowing full well that it wouldn’t help. No bonuses, no skills, no extra stats. Only my reach improved ever so slightly. But that was what I wanted.

The rules of this world were still unknown to me. The game’s windows were nowhere to be found, the usual commands didn’t work, but I managed to activate a skill. So based on that, weapon quality and damage modifier might also exist. So I picked a weapon without any randomized bonuses. One without any bonus.

Now the inflicted damage depended on my stats alone, mostly my strength. And my strength would grow with each level up. Therefore, my road map became simple. Find a hare, beat it to death, count the number of hits, find another hare, beat it to death, count the number of hits, find a hare, beat it to death, count the number of hits, rinse and repeat. A decreasing number of hits would be evidence of my rising level.

In the game, a new player needed 100 experience points to raise his level from one to two. The lowest slime in the game rewarded 15 experience points, hence the early in-game hours presented one level up after another. A straightforward way to hook gullible players. But a problem for me.

The game didn’t include a hare as an official enemy, so its experience reward was unknown. It could be as low as a single experience point per hare, which turned a fluffy level up into a mind-numbing grind. Worst case, it would award no experience points at all. Damn developers, I want a high reward hare in the next game.

Another problem was the time frame. With fall around the corner, the hares would soon enter their winter rest. No chance to grind hares through the winter. 100 hares, hunted before the first snow, while I still had to chop enough trees. Great. Just great!

Time flies if you have fun. And it seemed cursing was a lot of fun as I soon saw the first trap.

A small pit, disguised with a thin layer of loose foliage. Above, a loop made of brown linen, attached to a nearby tree, with a handful of grain in the middle. Now the curious hare would hobble to the grain, fall into the pit and get tangled until I came to its rescue. At least in theory.

The untouched grain showcased the hare’s absence. Trap one of eight - a failure. The same for traps two and three. Trap four was empty, with the grain missing. Birds? Or a lucky hare? It didn’t really matter though.

The fifth trap had caught a tiny hare, but it had already died. Strangled to death. No experience points for me. At least some flesh and fur. But the sixth one was another failure.

Not what I had imagined.

I was ready to give up when I saw the seventh trap. And a brown hare inside the pit, the strap around its neck.

Another dead one?

No, it twitched.

A living hare, its feet on the ground, in a weird mix between standing and hanging. I see, its size allowed it to survive until now. Maybe I should dig smaller pits for future traps?

I slowed my steps, trying to be as quiet as possible. No need to scare it off. Any further running attempt might kill it.

But the branches under my feet still snapped and alarmed the hare.

Which… did nothing?

No, it rolled its eyes and watched me. Too exhausted for another attempt, waiting for its inevitable death. Just like me in my hospice bed.

“I’m sorry, little thing.”

One swing, one hit, one scream.

Another swing, another hit, an even more desperate scream.

A struggling animal, afraid of death.

Something I never saw or heard in my city life. To me hares were like rabbits, cute pets for tender strokes.

Not dirty, snarling animals, screaming for their life. It knew. It understood. And it feared.

A third swing. A fourth one. And the fifth.

The screams trailed off. The forest was silent again. But not tranquil.

Too weak to complain, but still alive. Its eyes fixated on my every move.

The last swing. Six for a hare. For a handful of experience points.

But why were its eyes still open? Was it watching me? Would it bite me? Hunt me? Eat me?

Deep breaths. Calm down. Only a dead hare. But its eyes were looking at me.

I tried to scream against the pressure on my chest.

But my stomach was sucking itself in.

Should I run back to safety?

Where was safety?

Where was I?

Why was I here?

I have to…

I need to…

STOP!

Don’t think.

Just breathe!

Deep breaths.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

And in.

And out.

Alright.

Calm down.

The hare was dead. I had killed it. And I was alive. No need to panic. Deep breaths.

Minutes crept by before my boiling mind quenched.

Today I learned another thing nobody had taught me in school. How hard it is to kill an animal. And even after success… it didn’t feel great. Those cries would haunt me tonight.

One trap left, but I turned back. I had killed my first hare. And I had earned my first experience points. Enough for today.

The bloody stick lay on the floor. I must have dropped it. Nevermind, I would make a fresh one tomorrow.

So I left, with two hares in my hands.

Back through the tranquil forest, awaking under the rising sun. Back to the village and Thea’s hut.

“Two hares? Hmm? Okay, I’ll take care of them while you are out.”

That was all? I didn’t expect a medal, but some astonishment would have been nice. But I only got Thea’s lukewarm answer.

“That’s great, isn’t it? Now we can eat some meat and use the fur for some warm clothes.”

I boasted. Anything for a reaction.

“It’s great. Well done.” Deadpan, no emotion. “I’ll take them to auntie. She’ll gut them if you give her the small one’s meat.”

What was with her? No enthusiasm, no gratitude. From the girl who would share stories about an additional stripe of linen? In high spirits nonetheless.

“Thanks. But we got two on the first day. Everyone should lay some traps!”

“We… don’t go into the woods, anymore.” Was that sadness in her voice? “Anyway, eat your breakfast.”

And off she went.

Weird reaction. Did she dislike me killing the hares that much? And why was nobody else using traps when even an amateur like me came back with game?

Hmm… whatever. No need to think about it.

I gobbled down my breakfast, grabbed my ax and started another exhausting day.

Checking traps in the morning, chopping trees at noon, setting up new traps in the evening. One day, two days, four days, ten days, twenty days, thirty days. My daily routine became a never-ending trot.

But that changed after 32 days.

I found myself once more above an exhausted hare. The 21st animal I would kill with my own hands.

One strike. Two strikes. Three strikes. Four strikes.

And that was it.

I had killed 20 hares - small, big, starveling, fat - with six strikes each.

But the 21st one only took four.

I laughed.

This was the best.

Skill existed inside this world. And now I proved that levels and experience points existed. Five points per hare, a baby’s step towards more strength. But a leap towards a better future.

Now I could train my skills. Or at least the one skill I had. And I could level up through hunting.

I would become strong enough to leave this village, visit Gladford, and travel the world. Would I find cities and characters from the game? Would I grow and learn my old skills? Or would I finally meet her? I didn’t know. An unknown future lay before me.

But now, after a long time, I began to enjoy this dream once more.