That was when the wyvern came fully into view and the terror twisted into something else. Pity. It wasn’t the towering, menacing predator I’d expected from the scream and the descent. Its massive body limped as it dropped lower, casting wide shadows through the clearing, but I could now see it clearly.
The right wing was all but ruined, a tattered hollow shell, as if something had burned or torn right through the membrane, leaving it unable to fly properly. Arrows jutted from its fnks and neck like broken toothpicks from an overstuffed pincushion. One eye was shut, the lid crusted with frost and blood, while gashes ran across its jaw and chest where scales had been shattered.
This wasn’t a hunt. This was a desperate, final flight. Before I let the arrow loose, habit kicked in. Always check the stats. Always.
I focused my vision on the creature and activated the skill, a fsh of magical code blinked into my view like a heads-up dispy from a game interface.
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Description: Ice and easy does it. Its low health makes it vulnerable to low-level identification skill. Aren’t you gd to use me? Aren’t I just the best skill ever? Then keep leveling up and upgrade your identification skill so you know more monsters and people’s levels, stats, and skills, you zy fox!
There was no time to admire the neat stat blocks. But then, as always, the commentary from the Identification skill kicked in, because apparently someone thought it was funny to program it with personality.
“…Seriously?” I muttered, mid-crisis.
The sass was comforting in a weird way, like my own subconscious throwing a towel at my face and yelling, “Focus up, nerd.” But the words stuck with me, low health. Sixteen hit points out of thirteen thousand. I didn’t need to fight this thing. It wasn’t attacking me. It was barely hanging on.
The glowing arrow trembled against the bowstring, its violet light pulsing with an eerie rhythm that matched the rapid beat of my heart. I could feel the hum of magic traveling down the length of the bow, resonating with my fingers like a heartbeat not my own. It wasn’t just power, it was intention, an ancient force just waiting for permission to be unleashed. But I didn’t move. Not yet.
My eyes stayed locked on the wyvern’s single remaining eye, its gaze unwavering despite the flicker of pain that danced in the golden depths. Sixteen hit points. I didn’t even need to try. The arrow would hit true, effortlessly. A light breeze or a poorly aimed rock could probably kill it at this point. But that wasn’t the question anymore. It wasn’t about can I? It was about should I?
The wyvern’s posture spoke volumes. It wasn’t preparing to attack or roar or even defend itself. It just floated there, like a mountain beginning to erode under its own weight. Its head tilted ever so slightly, not in confusion or challenge, but in resignation.
The movement reminded me of someone too tired to lift their head from a pillow, someone who’d been flying for far too long. The arrows lodged in its fnk trembled as it breathed, slow, bored breaths that were clearly numbered. Its ruined wing drooped uselessly behind it, dragging along the earth with a sickening crunch of torn cartige and ice. For all its monstrous appearance, this wyvern didn’t feel like a boss battle, it felt like a broken story, limping toward a quiet epilogue.
I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with cold forest air. The voice in my head, the one that had pushed me to draw the bow, again and again was silent now. Not gone, but resting. It had said what it needed to say, and now the choice was mine. There was no urgency in its absence, only crity. The words had never been about violence, I realized. They weren’t an order. They were a request. A nudge. A hand extended into a moment I didn’t know I was about to shape. The weight of that truth settled on me as gently as falling snow, and I adjusted my grip.
I pulled the string back. Not with fear, not with panic, but with stillness.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. My voice wavered but didn’t break. “If it helps... you were really cool.”
And then I let go.
There was no blinding fsh, no sonic boom. Just a line of violet light cutting cleanly through the air, like a single note pyed on a perfect string. The arrow struck the wyvern between the eyes, not with a bang, but a breath. A sigh.
Its body tensed for a heartbeat, then rexed, its wings folding in like the petals of a withered flower. It exhaled once more, a low, soft sound, not pained, but relieved and sank to the earth. A soft thud, like someone ying down after a long, long journey. For a moment, the entire forest seemed to pause. Even the wind refused to stir.
(-18 Magical Attack)
I didn’t move. The silence after was thick and sacred, the kind of silence that demanded reverence, not words. No fanfare, no golden EXP banners, no triumphant music. Just… quiet. And stillness. And a sense of something ending the way it was meant to.
[+44 Dragon Essence]
The words blinked into my vision, pale and subdued compared to the usual colorful game-like notifications. My eyes narrowed. Dragon Essence? That was new. Usually, it was XP, loot drops, the usual RPG fanfare. But this… this felt different. I dismissed the screen with a blink and returned my bow to the inventory with a flick of my wrist. As I did, the violet glow surrounding my cloak slowly dimmed and vanished, like a spell winding down. My cloak returned to its usual shadowy fabric, and I quickly adjusted the hood to conceal the telltale tuft of a fox ear peeking out. One gentle tug, and I was just another traveler again. A nobody. Hopefully.
Then, rustling. Loud, chaotic rustling.
The sound of boots on damp soil snapped my head around. Twigs snapped. Branches swayed. And then came the voices, rushed, breathless, urgent.
“Whoa! There it is!”
“It’s down! Is that a—was that the wyvern?!”
A group of adventurers stumbled into the clearing, their gear clinking and weapons half-drawn. They looked more winded than ready, their faces flushed from what must’ve been a frantic chase. One of them, a stocky guy with crumbs on his shirt, still held half of a sandwich in one hand, blinking as if unsure whether this was real.
The girl at the front had an axe taller than she was, her face set in a look of fierce awe. They stopped cold when they saw me, eyes drifting past me to the wyvern, and then snapping back like I was the glitch in the system.
“…Did you do that?” the axe-girl asked, voice low and uncertain.
I gave a small nod, flicking my cloak around my shoulders for dramatic effect. “Yes. Hello. Rhythm gamer. Part-time human girl. That was me.”
They stared. Hard.
“Holy crap,” Sandwich Guy muttered. “She soloed a wyvern.”
The supposed leader, a nky guy with an overcompensating cape and the kind of eyes that said “I didn’t sign up for this,” stepped forward. He gnced at me, then the corpse, then back. “That thing’s been wrecking every vilge on the east side of the foothills for days. We were tracking it since yesterday. You… killed it?”
“Well,” I said, voice casual despite the lump in my throat, “it was already pretty much done for. I just helped it the rest of the way. Gently.”
The axe-girl squinted, taking a step closer. “You don’t have a scratch on you. What level are you?”
I scratched the back of my neck, sheepish. “…Five.”
A beat of stunned silence.
“LEVEL FIVE?!” they all shouted at once, like a barbershop quartet of disbelief.
Sandwich Guy inhaled the rest of his food in shock and immediately began choking, doubling over with a dramatic wheeze. The leader looked like he was considering a full system reboot.
“Beginner’s luck?” I offered, smiling weakly and shrugging.
They didn’t ugh. They just stared, like I’d kicked over a statue of the goddess of logic. I could practically see the equations swirling around their heads. This wasn’t just unexpected, it was impossible. The math didn’t math. But somehow, I had done it.
I cleared my throat and gestured toward the wyvern’s body. “So… loot rights? I get first pick, right? Finder’s fee?”
The leader blinked and nodded slowly, like he was only now catching up. “Y-Yeah. Of course. You earned it.”