Eric lurched awake with a terrified gasp. His ears roared with the sound of his own pounding heart, his fist tightly clenching the hilt of his saber as he quickly scanned the room, before collapsing with a sob, realizing he was safe and sound.

The day before had been close. Too damned close. Only now did he appreciate how foolish it was to put his trust in weapons he used constantly, yet not think even once of checking them for strain, cracks, wear and tear? Besides cleaning and oiling the blade of the saber at his hip and cleaning off the heads of his crossbow bolts after use, he had done almost nothing.

And had nearly perished for his foolishness when first one crossbow jammed, and then his spear shaft cracked while the bayonet tightly fastened to it, which had once been an excellent method of giving muzzle-loading rifles melee application when armies closed, still made for a fragile, if effective spear. And he had been using it on violently jerking animals, and practicing with it constantly.

For all that it might have saved his life, Piercing Strike had been the straw that had broken the camel's back. Or, in this case, the shaft of his weapon, despite the added resilience that special attack had gifted his weapon, echoing as it had the very essence of what it meant to be a spear.

Even so, the forces involved had been too much for the already strained shaft.

But it was the crossbow that truly worried him.

And he was luckier than he had any right to be when it turned out that a piece of debris that any regular inspection and cleaning could have spotted was the culprit that had jammed the trigger mechanism. And it was only after making a very careful read of the entire crossbow manual in regards to proper care and maintenance that he dared take the next steps. Carefully using the stirrup and cocking rope just as the directions said, he released all tension before giving both uncocked crossbows a very thorough inspection and cleaning, assuring that the pulleys were secure without any wobble, and that everything worked just as well as he could hope, at present.

Of course, there was a final step he needed to take before he dare greenlight either of his reverse-draws. And he couldn't quite hold back a smile of relief when several rounds of loading and firing at the targets made it clear that both were operating up to speck once more. Because in addition to the rush he got from using True Shot to tap into the collective wisdom of what felt like a thousand marksmen all somehow sharing the singular second it took to line up and fire an absolute dead-on bolt, the flash of illumination he had received had additionally given him a momentary sense of the crossbow as a whole. And far from detecting hidden flaws, burrs, or pulleys just a whisper away from failing… both crossbows got a perfectly clean bill of health.

And he had to rest up for a good chunk of time before he felt completely himself again, after daring the glorious feat twice in relatively quick succession.

Only then did Eric bother taking his damaged spear out of storage, finding the weapon in just as bad shape as he had feared.

The shaft was well and truly cracked, and the bayonet badly bent. Still, he didn’t think the situation was completely hopeless, though he did make good use of the tools Mr. Smith had left behind, cutting off the snapped portion of the pole before sanding it down and wrapping freshly treated rawhide dipped in glue tightly around what would now be the butt end of his weapon, useful for gripping, weight distribution, and most importantly, keeping the split from progressing up the shaft as he cleaned out the z socket of the bayonet, before experimenting with his own skills, seeing if he could introduce heat at just the right spot to straighten out the bayonet before placing a small copper rod inside the v-shaped bayonet to reinforce the bend sight, sealing it together with a bit of solder, fighting past his dizziness as Heat Surge slowly inched its way to Rank 4, not needing any interface message to tell him that it was beyond inefficient to use the essence of Flame in this way.

But since he had no access to any smithing skills, resources, or techniques, he made do with what he had.

Fortunately, the actual depletion to his Soul Reserves was minute, and he figured Heat Surge was as important to practice as any other skill. Especially since it was magic, magic was awesome, and save for his epically sweet weapon perks, it was the only magical skill he had. Even if it tapped into a pool of potency he sensed might be a bit more perilous to mess with than his Arcane Potential or Spiritual Energy.

He gave a rueful chuckle when he was finally done, determined to make the most out of every ability he had, and quite happy to find himself now up a slightly heavier, slightly shorter spear that should still last, at least for a while.

But it still didn't change the fact that his equipment was starting to wear out, that putting his life in the hands of 2 crossbows alone would likely get him killed, and he was in desperate need of better weaponry and whatever else he could get his hands on.

And thanks to the Rat Queen’s attempts to lure him to his death, he already knew what a monster that final boss would be if he was truly determined to put her down. Eventually.

He took a resolute breath, already knowing what his next step had to be.

He would make use of his sister's map and head for the underground town in the tunnels.

He could only hope that they might have some of what he needed, or at least not attack him on sight.

If that didn’t work, there was always the surface. But weapon perks be damned, just the thought of facing those eight-foot tall porcine nightmares covered in thick chain mail, wielding giant-sized bayoneted muskets that could blow him away like a ten gauge shotgun, or disembowel him just as easily as he could those rats, sent chills down his spine. For all that he hungered to shed some orcish blood.

Underground trade town first, he decided. And if that didn’t work out? He would dare the surface, though only at night. Because he’d be a fool not to take advantage of every edge he could get, and being able to sneak around in pitch darkness that not only could he see in perfectly, but that literally had all hostiles and friendlies glowing like nightlights for him, was definitely the way to go.

But before that…

He took a deep breath before forcing himself to gaze in the mirror once more.

And the almost human-looking face greeting him, now definitely more that of a once-handsome teenager who had gone crazy with flame tattoos than the countenance of a hideous monster, bought tears to his eyes.

As did a powerful physique and perfectly corded muscles that all but glowed with health, and he didn’t regret putting all 3 points in Vitality once again, and not just for the chance to look almost human with a concurrent +1 in appearance, without damaging his Flame Essence.

As much as he wanted to be stronger and faster, to swing that sword like a demon, cleaving through anything, one mistake was all it had taken to nearly cripple him. He had suspected that 20 was the magic number. Because if 20-19 for Vitality meant you only needed 1 hour of rest to recover from any injury, did 20-20 for Vitality mean you needed none at all? And how awesome it was to be proven right. At least to a point.

Now not only did he now have some form of physical damage resistance, though he wasn’t quite sure what that entailed, but he no longer needed to rest for his body to heal.

From what he could tell, upon hitting 20 Vitality, you effectively regenerated at whatever rate would get you back to a full health pool over an hour, exactly the same as if you rested for an hour at Vitality 19. Which, at that moment, for him, meant 1 health point every 14 seconds. An incredible boon when it came to stopping bloodloss or healing a crippling injury before fresh enemies could take advantage and cut you down.

And perhaps just as importantly, he now had the endurance of a Gold medal runner. If foes were getting the best of him, he could now turn around and sprint away at full speed… and keep going at full speed… for as long as it took to either escape, or separate and isolate his opponents enough for him to spin back around and cut them down, one at a time.

And if stronger bones meant that it was that much harder for vicious rat teeth to grind apart bones under his armor, and that viciously bruised muscles would heal in seconds, not hours, then that was a blessing that justified his Vitality focus many times over.

Either way, his odds of survival were suddenly a damn sight better than they had been just 3 Vitality points ago.

Yet in his heat of hearts, he couldn’t deny the real reason why he had devoted so much of himself into boosting that one stat. He could now recognize the face peering back at him through the mirror and not immediately recoil in disgust. In fact, if he squinted, he could even make the argument that his increasingly sleek and powerful body made him look almost appealing.

Almost.

Because of course that was the real reason why he hadn’t even tried to seek out companionship, allies, or just a simple exchange of resources before now.

Not when he couldn’t even stand the sight of his own face.

Now? At least he could stand it.

He just hoped other people would as well.