Having consumed the health potion to accelerate his body’s otherwise agonizingly slow regeneration capabilities he sought distraction.

Time to check whatever had happened on his status.

New Notification Log Entry:

You have slain “Scrambler” Level 9!

His eyes budged.

Level nine?? How’s that possible. Replaying the painful events showed him that it had been mainly a whole lot of luck. Sure, some good positioning and some semi-smart preparations a day ago as well as having a heal potion at hand had been important but they hadn’t been the deciding factor. At least it hadn’t been a monster across past the first evolution. One would have been able to decimate him without even trying. At least that was what he had been told.

He was a bit disappointed by seeing no growth in his status, no change, and still no trait. But it was not unexpected. It was at least good to have confirmation that the monster had died and wouldn’t be an issue in the future.

That left him with another issue to deal with. He couldn’t stay up the entire night. Or at least he shouldn’t be for more than one. He already felt his reaction time slow down. Another encounter would potentially be deadly.

With monster encounters more likely during the night he had a serious issue at hand. He would have to sleep at some point.

Not for the first time, today came the thought of just returning to the village. He knew the consequence of course. But it would be easier, less struggle.

Easier than slowly dying out in the forest. He would have one last day with his family and then spend one night never waking up.

As deaths were concerned it probably wasn’t the worst. Very likely it would be pretty much the opposite.

Independently of what he would do tomorrow he would have to find a solution for now.

Wringing his brain for a battle plan he slowly developed something serviceable.

Should he not return to the village he could potentially spend the day rather close to the zone of civilization while being primarily active at night. He would just have to stay away from cultivated land, don’t approach too rapidly, and with a bit of luck, he would be fine.

And at night, he would have to survive. Options rattled through his mind, each just barely out of reach. Traps around his hide-out – wouldn’t work since he knew of no designs and lacked proper tools. Defensive structures for much the same reasons – a lack of tools and know-how exacerbated by the high visibility.

He couldn’t properly arm himself, that would require access to funds and people. Staying stationary would be an issue.

He could head towards another village, town, or city. A place where they didn’t know him and try to gain entry. A place that executed traitless on sight. That might work if he had miraculously gained the ability to level. When a simple appraisal would give a number on prompt he wouldn’t have to undergo a ritual to determine his status. It all came back to his lack of a trait in the end.

He would have been happy with only the weakest possible trait out there. Even a combat trait would have been fine. But he had been denied any chance at ever participating in civilization again.

The words still drifted in front of his eyes just when he thought of them.

New Notification Log Entry:

No trait could be solidified.

Though they had been dismissed a day ago when either the small clergy of their village or the chief had been notified of the same fact a few hours later. A few hours he had spent gathering as many supplies and tools as he could to secure a survival out in the wilds.

He had been determined to be an infection; a poison that would need to be removed from their community. Only based on the words of the old ones. Based on a religion that had been dead for maybe millennia. Traditions no one knew their origins of and why they were practiced.

A poison. That’s what I need. The thought's origin untraceable but that didn’t change its validity. Poisons leveled playing fields, they always had and always would – unless one was immune.

“Yes,” he exclaimed grinning. He could trap monsters, just less directly than what he had previously thought. It might not kill them, but at least deter them or hinder them from efficiently harming him.

It would be ugly, disgusting, smelly, and gross but it could secure his survival in the short term.

Kids had always been warned of tollkirsch, a berry that looked surprisingly close to garsberry in color and shape, and even smelled similarly. The only noticeable difference being the leaves of the bush they grew on.

Farmers had tried to exterminate them in the cultivated regions of their realm for decades, but the fast growth and unexplainable spread made the task nearly impossible. This was why kids of all ages were taught to distinguish the plant from its more mundane counterpart.

He had, as was more than natural when stalking through the woods for long periods of time, come across a few of the plants and was fairly sure he could even find one strides away.

The dark ended up proving a larger hindrance than he had expected from his previous two encounters. But he had also fought in a clearing and now had to navigate through occasionally hip-high flora.

He stuffed his previously emptied knapsack full of as many berries as he could fit and made sure to not accidentally tear their skin open. Contamination could pose a large potential issue in the future if he ever planned on transporting food in there ever again.

The way back was naturally easier, now that he was more familiar with the terrain. His movements had been irregular which was only logical since he had to locate the plant but guided by the light of the still-burning fire the way back proved fast.

The next part was uncomfortable, to say the least. Kent wasn’t sure how smart monsters were. So, he would have to give them the benefit of the doubt. It would just need a single monster smarter than he expected to ruin the plan.

As someone who had been expected to follow his family’s long tradition of working with plants – especially fertilization of plants – he had never expected to work with monsters. An error that might prove fatal in retrospect. He had never learned of their strength and weaknesses, much less their intelligence, with the few exceptions he could snap up when engaging in social events and festivities.

Determined he grabbed the knife by the handle and plunged it into the scrambler, time and time again.

The work was frazzling and messy but sadly it was the only idea Kent thought might work.

Happy with the number of incisions – totally not due to being disgusted by the work – he stopped.

He still hadn’t formed the plan completely in his mind. There were two options, just spick the creature as a whole with berries or separate the limbs and create multiple baits.

Given his current situation, the second option might be better. He could repurpose them should he move on.

Lacking a serrated knife cause the separation of the four main appendages to be extremely messy – with an already bloodied hand, he couldn’t stomach any more. He continued with the real plan.

He had considered milking the berries, extracting their juices, and rubbing them all over the carcass, but given his lack of understanding of how the poisonous fruit worked he thought it prudent to just plunge each of the incisions he had made with as many berries he could fit.

Filling them up to the brim didn’t satisfy Kent fully. The worry of the berries leaking out of somehow warning the monsters was more than present but there was nothing he could nor would do about that. His hope was in numbers. With several hundred of the berries inside each appendage, it should work out.

The nature of his plan caused some of the body parts to seemingly bulge in several locations, but hopefully, the food supplicants would partake in the service of free meals without minding too much.

With that, it came down to two more decisions. What to do with the bulk of the remaining body. He was completely inexperienced with any type of corpse preparation. Those odd jobs were given to people with traits that increased nimbleness or dexterity. He had been supposed to tread into the footprint of nature mages. Not some type of paltry common worker but the noblest of profession, agriculture.

The primary profession. Supplying food to the people. The noblest of the professions - according to his parents. Kent thought that healers were pretty great too, though he preferred the gritty tiring work of the field just like his father, mother, and their ancestors.

Once completed, he had decided to spread the four poison-spiked appendages out in a half-circle away from the village and rubbed the main carcass with the remainder of berries – making sure to never come into contact with the deadly liquid. Larger leaves had turned out to be completely sufficient to save him from potential contact. While not dangerous on contact the poison lingered and once digested could cause great issues.

He placed the torso and head a way back just far enough so he wouldn’t smell the remains tonight.

Exhausted he sat down by the fire to continue grilling his vegetables. He had considered starving the fire, to draw less attention to him. With bait strewn out around the clearing, it wouldn’t matter as much as he hoped. A warm meal and warmth at night would do him good.

I’m so gonna have to find some more tollkirsch. Was the last thought before he passed out leaving his dinner to burn on the stake.