My spear was utterly destroyed. As ironic as it was for a weapon that had been crafted from salvaged metal, what was left of my trusty polearm was unsalvageable.

It was yet another problem that plagued many small towns that were far from viable mines when it came to tool production, and one that I was intimately familiar with as an ex-farmhand. When tools went through wear and tear it was possible to work them still, polishing out nicks and doing your best to preserve them. Eventually though, my parents had been forced to periodically replace their salvaged tools, often offsetting the cost by selling back the broken tools to be melted for thin sheet metal.

The core of the issue was that every time metal was reforged, that is to say melted and recast, the integrity lessened, making it less viable to use. For things like hoes and axes it would often just slow down efficiency as it progressed. When it came to reforging weapons there was a real risk attached however. Each time a weapon was demolished and needed to undergo extensive repairs, the warrior wielding the weapon assumed more and more risk. There was no telling when a spear would give out or a blade snap off the end of a sword.

Before Brook and I had left the overgrown cabin I gave my spear one last appraisal, knowing what I’d find. The Broodmother’s aerial dive had pile driven the shaft so hard that half of it was lodged in the floor and ground below it while the other half was crumpled like a nail that had been repeatedly smashed with a hammer at a bad angle, bending this way and that.

There were multiple factors that prevented me from carrying the retired spear with me to sell as scrap. Namely it was stuck fast and unwieldy even if I managed to free it like some sort of predestined leader of men. On top of that, I had no way of knowing how close the next settlement would be or if they even purchased scrap. I’d heard of towns that rebuild with brick using tools they forged from nearby mines. If that was the case then trying to sell them what was essentially trash would not pay for the effort to lug it that unknown distance.

Still, the loss of my spear was felt every minute that we traveled and brought us to the circumstance Brook and I found ourselves in now. Every night while Brook set up camp, I took Sophie out and looked for small game trails to set up snares. Some days yielded more catches than others, but even with our foraging nuts and tubers we were not what I would call ‘Food Secure’. So when, on our sixth day of travel since the instance, Sophie happened upon what looked like deer tracks, Brook and I elected to take a break. We’d been traveling nonstop for a while and both of us were tired so we would have camped soon anyways.

We’d had a few chats what to do about hunting, neither of us really comfortable with the idea of Brook throwing her knives. There was always a chance that the beast wouldn’t go down with the knives and would run off with her means of defense. Still, we had to eat.

It was noon and we decided we were going to take an early day and try to track down and take down this deer. There was a suitable clearing for our bags not too far back so from there it was all a matter of tracking down the deer. We proceeded through the brush before we found the sole buck lounging not too far from a small brook.

Not a miniature Brook, of course, but a small trickling of water passing beneath the trees. The entire hunt was pretty anticlimactic if I am being honest. I captured it with an [Entangling Roots] and Brook took out its eyes with her knives and let it bleed out. I tried to expedite the whole process with the sword I’d gotten but every time I got close the buck started flailing. I dragged the buck back to camp while Brook cleaned herself up in the brook after refilling our waterskins.

Since we decided to make a semi-permanent camp this time I took the time to properly dress the deer and skin it. The hide would be worth something with winter setting in soon and we managed not to mangle the deer when we took it down. Luckily the trees around the glade we’d stopped in were thin and closely placed enough for me to stretch the hideout between them. With that out of the way I started making areas to smoke the deer meat so that it would last longer, and collected firewood for the cooking fire.

All in all it took a couple hours to get thing situated before I could start cooking our early dinner. It was when I was trying to coax the cooking fire into fruition that Brook finally walked back into our clearing. I had been a little concerned about how long it was taking her, but she had Sophie with her and the brook wasn’t so far that I wouldn’t have heard her yelling for help.

What I didn’t expect was how distracting she was going to be walking back into the clearing.

“I’m back, Luke. Did ya miss me?” The voice was behind me, but I was busy battling the kindling to catch so I didn’t turn around. Instead I just grunted to acknowledge that I heard her, a technique I picked up from my frequently mute father. It wasn’t until she slowly walked past me toward where the bag was lying that I noticed her completely.

I muffled a less-than-manly yelp when I struck my hand with the flint I’d been striking against the steel. Brook slowly passed me in a state of very-undressed. Her long auburn hair cascaded down her back, wet and clinging to her skin. That’s right, her skin. Instead of getting dressed again, she slipped on shorts that looked like they’d also taken a wash in the brook and wrapped up her breast with cloth. Were the cloth not so dingy and far removed from the white gauze it started life as, I’d probably be able to see through it. Not that she was leaving much to the imagination.

Naturally as I was taking this in, she happened to look over her shoulder with a smirk. I realized quickly that I was both leering at her, and sucking on the finger that I’d hit with the flint subconsciously.

“Like what you see there, Luke? Here I thought I’d be able to dry my clothes without being assaulted by your eyes. Tsk tsk tsk.”

Insert non-committal grunt as I forcefully redirect my attention back to tending the flame. Smooth, real smooth Lucas. Once it was clear that I was done rising to the bait, figuratively and hopefully literally, Brook stopped teasing and started helping set the campsite. I finally got the campfire lit so that I could start making dinner, and used a flaming branch from there to ignite the smoking pits for the leftover meat. We weren't likely to move out for a couple days so I decided to leave foraging for fruit and nuts for the next day.

That night as I lie down to sleep with a belly full of venison and legs sorer than they’d ever been before, I spent a lot of time thinking about what was next. I decided it would be easiest to make a goal of immediate goals, as the endgame of “Become powerful mage” was just too vague and abstract for me to feel like I was making progress. I’d left my home almost two weeks ago and felt like I was getting nowhere.

1. Find a Nerfsite and increase Aether saturation/ Become powerful mage

2. Learn how to talk to other people, specifically girls. Specifically Brook, probably.

3. Unlock those spells I made progress toward fighting the broodmother

4. Increase Int attribute for more mana

5. Unlock [Basic Swordsmanship] /Find trainer?

6. Craft a bow from the drying sinew and ?wood?

7. Find another town or city to resupply

a. Travel rations

b. Survival gear

c. Clothes for winter / barter off hides and pelts from hunting

d. Magic items?

Good enough for now. With the list set I could start mentally crossing things off and make it feel like I was progressing. I thought about adding “Fuck Brook” to the list, naturally, but just the thought made my face flush so I mentally erased that. I spared a quick glance over where she was sitting at the fire on watch to make sure she hadn’t read my mind. The fire was at her back as she gazed out into the forest, casting shadows and shapes. Naturally her clothes had dried off a while back and she’d gotten dressed again, antagonizing slowly. I really couldn’t tell if she was genuinely interested in me or if she was just messing with me because she thought it was funny.

Naturally I assumed it was the later, and that was a large reason why I hadn’t tried to make any moves. With that little mental exercise done, I rolled over to sleep. I didn’t have too much time before I’d be awoken to stand watch and I wanted to get as much rest as I could.