Excerpt 5

  (Page 432, Section 6)

  While not the most dangerous of pests, delroaches are certainly among the most relentless. They cause significant harm to residents, farms, and animals alike. Unlike most insects, they aggressively drive off smaller critters—bees, butterflies, and even pollinating birds—making pollination and small-game hunting a nightmare for farmers and foragers.

  If you spot one delroach, chances are there are a thousand more hiding nearby. And if left alone, they'll multiply in a matter of days, overrunning entire fields and livestock pens. Their swarms, especially at night, can grow so vast they blot out the moonlight in suffocating darkness. At least during the day they sleep, clustered in the shade, and can be avoided or—if you're brave—exterminated.

  What makes them especially troublesome is their thick, chitinous exoskeleton, which deflects most physical attacks. Worse, they possess a natural camouflage that renders them nearly invisible to most races—only those with enhanced senses can spot them before it's too late. They're not easily baited or smoked out, either.

  The most reliable solution? Hire a professional—preferably someone like me, an exterminator trained to eliminate them group by group. Of course, if you’d rather not pay, you can always clear out every patch of greenery around your home and hope they migrate somewhere else. But fair warning... they usually come back.

  Source: Dangerous Pests – Exterminator Evluis

  Excerpt 5 End

  Hassan scanned the grass, searching for delroaches, but nothing stood out—even with his enhanced senses, now far sharper than they’d ever been in his human life. The tall blades swayed gently in the breeze, rustling with a soft hiss that somehow made the silence feel even louder.

  Maybe they’re lower to the ground...

  Crouching low, he brushed aside clumps of grass, inspecting the bases of several stalks. The earth was cool beneath his feet, slightly damp, but there were no signs of movement. His ears twitched, catching every whisper of grass blades brushing together, every faint click in the distance. Still, nothing.

  Just when frustration began to bubble up, a subtle shift in color caught his eye. One blade, halfway up, glinted faintly—a sheen of something not quite natural. A patch of darker green, slightly glossy. Definitely not part of the plant.

  Something clung to it.

  Heart pounding with a mix of readiness and tension, he reached for the delroach—then froze. The memory struck him hard: a blinding sting, like white-hot needles driving into his flesh.

  Not this time...

  He pulled his hand back and glanced around. Maybe there was something he could use for protection. Clothing? Nothing. Tools? No luck. Not even bark or thick leaves anywhere nearby.

  Fine. Grass it was.

  He carefully plucked a thick blade from the ground, eyes constantly scanning to make sure no other delroaches were hiding nearby. Satisfied, he crept closer to the bug and tried to wrap it.

  But it wasn’t going to be easy.

  The grass was dry and coarse under his fingers, warmed by the midday sun. The bug clung stubbornly to the blade like a tick refusing to let go. He grunted and pressed down, awkwardly shifting his weight forward until finally—rip—the creature detached with a faint tearing sound.

  It didn’t react.

  No writhing. No buzz.

  Weird… but good.

  He didn’t waste a second. With shaky fingers, he wrapped it in layer after layer of grass, twisting the bundle tight. Then he brought his foot down—once, twice, five times—each stomp heavy and desperate.

  But instead of silence, a low, droning buzz rose from the bundle.

  Peeking through the strands, he saw it wriggling inside.

  Still alive!?

  Panic crawled up his spine. Still clutching the bundle, he dropped to the ground and fumbled through the thick grass for a rock, cursing under his breath. His hand brushed past weeds, dirt, dry stalks—until finally, it closed around a jagged stone roughly the size of his palm.

  Clutching it tightly, he slammed it down onto the bundle.

  His swings were wild and awkward. He gripped the wrapped bundle tightly in one hand, trying to keep the delroach trapped, while pounding down with the rock in the other. But his new muscles refused to cooperate—one swing came dangerously close to smashing his own fingers, while another landed harmlessly in the grass with a dull thud.

  But he kept going. Blow after blow, he struck the bundle as best he could.

  Eventually, the buzzing slowed… then stopped.

  Please be dead...

  He finally paused, breathing hard. The bundle of grass was torn and fraying at the edges.

  Oh no.

  No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the delroach burst out with a furious hiss, its wings unfurling like knives.

  Hassan froze, horror tightening his chest. Then instinct kicked in—he ran.

  But he wasn’t fast enough.

  The delroach stung him once, twice, again and again. Each bite sent searing jolts of pain through his nerves, like being stabbed with burning thorns. He tripped and crashed into the dirt, loose rocks scraping his skin as he rolled in a panic, desperate to shake the bug off.

  Big mistake.

  The wild movement had clearly caught another’s attention.

  A second delroach darted in, bit him once, then quickly retreated—probably deciding he wasn’t worth the trouble, unlike the first, which seemed bent on vengeance.

  Gasping and trembling, stung in half a dozen places, Hassan finally stopped flailing. He stood frozen, teeth clenched, every muscle tight with restraint.

  He didn’t want to attract even more of them.

  Time crawled. His body burned in every spot he’d been bitten. And then—finally—the delroach flew off, buzzing lazily like it had simply lost interest.

  Hassan let out a breath of relief and slowly crumpled into the grass, checking the ground carefully before allowing his full weight to settle. The blades itched against his skin—coarse and uneven—but he didn’t care. He just needed to stop moving.

  The pain throbbed beneath his skin—deep, angry pulses of heat that refused to fade. He lay there, motionless, eyes wide, heart still hammering as the adrenaline drained out of him.

  I hate these things...

  He wasn’t going to deal with another delroach anytime soon—that much was certain. He just wasn’t ready. Not physically. Not mentally. The last one had shrugged off every blow and still flown away like nothing had happened, completely unharmed. The memory of its buzzing wings and those burning stings still made his skin crawl.

  Maybe fire... That seemed like the next best option.

  He already knew how to make fire. All it took was spinning a dry stick between his palms against a piece of softwood. Friction would generate heat, form an ember, and with the right tinder and a steady breath, it would ignite into flame.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  He’d learned the technique before—had even practiced it more than once. But now... it felt impossible.

  He glanced down at his hands—small, weak, and unsteady—then swept his gaze across the landscape. Just grass. Endless, wind-rippled grass.

  This body wouldn’t cut it. His arms lacked endurance, his grip was unsteady, and after just a few minutes of effort, he’d likely collapse from exhaustion.

  Worse, there wasn’t a single piece of wood in sight—only grass. And even if he somehow managed to start a fire, being surrounded by so much grass—even if it was green—meant there was no guarantee he wouldn’t end up setting himself ablaze along with everything else.

  Now that would be painful.

  No, fire was off the table—for now.

  He sighed, eyes drifting to the clouds overhead. Peaceful as they looked, he knew staring wouldn’t get him anywhere. He needed to refocus.

  Two choices stood before him: explore or train.

  But logic told him one thing clearly: training required fuel. Food came first—then training.

  He needed food. And water.

  He looked around—just endless, swaying grass. The only thing surrounding him was tall grass, endless and swaying. Technically, it was organic matter. Technically, that meant food. But the idea of chewing on raw grass didn’t sit well with him, even if he was a Zamongarai now. Still, his biology had changed. Maybe his taste buds had too.

  Only one way to find out.

  Hassan crouched down, grabbed a thick clump of grass, and pulled it free using his body weight. The roots tore from the earth with a soft snap of soil and tension. He stared at it for a moment before hesitantly sticking a few blades into his mouth.

  He bit down.

  Or at least, he tried to.

  He winced as his gums met nothing but air. No resistance. No crunch. He had no teeth.

  Seriously...

  He groaned inwardly, already knowing what that meant.

  Right. Of course. He hadn’t chewed anything since arriving here. The only thing he’d had was the paste his caregiver had given him.

  If I can’t chew... I’ll have to make paste.

  He began searching the ground nearby, parting clumps of grass and pushing aside dry stalks until he found two small, decently shaped stones. One slightly rounded, the other flat. Primitive, but they’d have to do.

  He placed the grass between them and began grinding. It was harder than he thought—his grip kept slipping, and his coordination was still clumsy. But he kept at it, pressing and mashing until the grass fibers broke down into a rough, sticky paste.

  It smelled like fresh earth and crushed leaves. Not awful, but not exactly appetizing either.

  He took a small bite.

  It wasn’t bad. Mild, slightly sweet, earthy, and fibrous. The grit of dirt ruined it a little, but that could be fixed. Cleaner grass. Cleaner rocks.

  Well, grass would have to count as food—for now.

  Now came the bigger problem—water.

  He glanced across the landscape. Flat. Grassy. Nothing but endless green in all directions. No rivers, no hills, no signs of flowing water. The only feature that stood out was a distant line of trees on the horizon.

  The only survival advice he remembered was to go downhill to find water. But there was no downhill here.

  Still… trees needed water to live. That much was true on Earth, at least. It might be different here, but it was the best lead he had.

  He picked a direction and began walking toward the trees.

  #####

  Half an hour passed. Maybe more.

  He wasn’t sure.

  It barely felt like he was any closer. The trees seemed just as far away as when he’d started. Were they farther than he thought? Was he that slow? Or were the trees just massive?

  Probably all of the above.

  At this rate, it’d take him a day. Maybe more. But what other choice did he have? He needed water.

  Then he paused mid-step.

  Wait… could I really die from just one day without water?

  Wouldn’t the system remove thirst the next time he returned?

  The thought quieted the creeping worry in his chest. If the system could reset him, maybe this wasn’t a life-or-death problem after all.

  He let out a long breath, tension draining from his shoulders. If I’m making the journey anyway... might as well use the time.

  He could train as he walked—both physically and mentally.

  Mental Manual, problem one:

  If you have 534 gold coins and make a 30% profit, but must pay 10% of that profit in taxes, what is your total gold now? Round down.

  His brow furrowed in thought as he trudged through the tall grass, trying to keep the numbers in his head steady with each uneven step.

  And, of course, he’d eat along the way—though only clean grass. Definitely clean grass.

  And so, he continued toward the distant trees—or rather, he walked, stumbled, rested, trained, and, of course, ate some fresh grass paste—one awkward step at a time.

  #####

  Five long hours passed before Hassan finally paused his training. His body throbbed with fatigue, every limb heavy and unresponsive. His throat was dry, his muscles burned with the slow ache of overuse. He’d pushed himself hard—harder than he should have.

  Worse, he’d gotten careless near the end.

  Several fresh bite marks stung across his arms and shoulders, sharp reminders of his fading focus. The delroaches hadn’t been aggressive—they rarely were unless provoked—but even brushing too close was enough to earn their wrath.

  He collapsed to his knees and let out a long, slow breath. The sky above had begun to shift into cooler tones. The brightness of day was fading, slipping into early evening. The warmth was draining with it, replaced by a slow, creeping chill in the air that wrapped around him like a warning.

  Before doing anything else, he opened his system panel—and was met with a pleasant surprise.

  #####

  Attributes:

  Physique: 0.11 → 0.12

  Mind: 10.49 → 10.50

  Soul: 9.53 → 9.57

  Talents:

  Human Intelligence (Rank 3: 14%) – Expand

  Human Soul (Rank 2: 85% → 86%) – Expand

  Zamongarai’s Physique (Rank 0: 11% → 0.12%) – Expand

  Zamongarai’s Sense (Rank 1: 90% → 91%) – Expand

  Zamongarai’s Soul (Rank 0: 21% → 23%) – Expand

  Vessel Control (Rank Unknown) – Expand

  Skills: Physique Manual (Basic: 1%), Mind Manual (Basic: 2%)

  System Training Space – Time remaining until reset: 0 hours, 40 minutes, 43 seconds – Current Mode: Tutorial

  #####

  As expected, his attributes and talents had progressed through training—but what truly lifted his spirits was the quiet, satisfying increase in his skills.

  The Mind Manual had increased by a full 2%, and even the Physique Manual had risen by 1%. It wasn’t much, but it was progress—real, tangible progress. The small win tugged a faint smile from him.

  Maybe this won’t be as difficult as I thought.

  Of course, he knew that early momentum was often deceptive. The kind of progress that came easy at first might slow down sharply later. His current body was too weak for real strength training, too unstable for any real precision work—but still... progress was progress.

  He exhaled through his nose, slow and steady, brushing aside the creeping doubts.

  Night was approaching. Soon, even with his enhanced vision, he wouldn’t be able to spot delroaches—and getting attacked again would be anything but pleasant.

  Comfort first. He could walk and train more later.

  He glanced around. It wasn’t especially cold yet, but the temperature would drop as the night wore on. Still, he wasn’t in real danger. Even if things got unbearable, he could always leave the system space.

  That thought helped him relax—if only a little.

  The area around him was as barren as ever. No shelter, no trees, no wood, cloth, or even shade. Just dirt, tall grass, and a few scattered stones. Primitive materials, and not much to work with.

  Still, he made the effort. He tore up long strands of grass, working with quiet determination. Before touching each clump, he checked it carefully, eyes scanning for any sign of delroach movement.

  His hands slowed the longer he worked. Fatigue wasn’t sharp anymore—it had dulled into a low, continuous weight pressing on his muscles, his mind, his will.

  After nearly an hour of effort, he finally sat back with a sigh.

  The dirt was too dry to shape. The rocks were clumsy and refused to stack. The grass was flimsy—too scattered to weave into anything worthwhile. It all fell apart under his fingers.

  It’s not enough. I can’t build anything.

  He accepted the truth. He wasn’t going to create a shelter. But the grass was long enough. If he gathered enough of it, maybe he could cover himself—block out some of the chill, the wind, the feeling of being so exposed.

  Not for survival. Just for comfort.

  He lay down, curling into himself slowly. His limbs ached with every motion. The effort from earlier training and the recent failure weighed on him more than the temperature ever could.

  Sleep sounded like a blessing.

  But it didn’t come.

  The ground was uneven, littered with tiny bumps and ridges that jabbed into his side no matter how he adjusted. The grass itched. His skin prickled. And the silence—deep, stretching, absolute—was somehow worse than noise.

  He tossed and shifted, then stilled.

  A sound broke the stillness.

  A soft hiss—low, steady, and unmistakable.

  His eyes snapped open. He sat up quickly, scanning his surroundings.

  Ahead, a single delroach crept through the grass—nearly invisible beneath the dimming sky. Its body shimmered faintly, blending with the gentle sway of the blades around it.

  It wasn’t coming toward him. Just passing by.

  Hassan stared for a moment, then lowered himself back down.

  Not worth the trouble to move. As long as it keeps going...

  But the hissing didn’t stop.

  Another sound emerged. Then another. Louder. Closer. Soon, it wasn’t just one. It was two. Then three. Then—too many to count.

  The air filled with the soft, sinister buzz of movement all around him.

  Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he lay frozen, his breathing shallow.

  Was that... a swarm?

  The sound intensified, like whispers in the grass, layered and overlapping.

  Don’t move. Don’t breathe.

  He focused on staying perfectly still. His muscles tensed, locked in place. Maybe they wouldn’t notice him. Maybe they’d pass by, uninterested.

  At first, it worked.

  Then—he felt them.

  Tiny legs, thin and sharp, crawled across his skin. The sensation was light, but unbearable. Goosebumps surged across his entire body as more and more delroaches began crawling over him.

  Each movement was agony—not from pain, but from instinct. Every part of him screamed to thrash, to scream, to swat them away.

  But that would only make things worse.

  He was done. There was no way he was spending the night like this. He’d return to the comfort of the tent back in the real world.

  His thoughts turned inward, reaching for escape. He hoped that the next time he entered the system space, it would be daytime—it had to be. There was no way he could make it through the night with this many delroaches crawling over him.

  But before he could leave this nightmare behind, there was one last thing he needed to do.

  The Soul Manual.

  He had to learn it before he left. The thought lingered, steady and insistent, as dozens of legs shifted across his skin.

  Just learn it now... then get out of here.