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STATUS – SAMUEL
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Race: Human - Slave (ownerless)
Age: 7
Condition: Exhausted
LEVEL: 1/100
EXP: 0/100
HP: 300 / 300
Mana: 52 / 52
Strength: 32
Agility: 31
Endurance: 34
Dexterity: 29
Magic: 11
Willpower: 31
──────── Skills ────────
• Pain Tolerance (E) [Level 11/20]
• Healing Water (E) [Level 1/20]
• Martial Artist (D) [Level 14/30]
• Body of Steal (D) [Level 1/30]
• Body strengthening (F) [1/10]
•…
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On the way back to Tarakan, Samuel tested the new power coursing through him.
The world felt lighter. His body felt lighter.
He clenched his fists, focused— and the new skill activated with a faint hum beneath his skin.
[Body Strengthening (F) — Active]
A rush spread through his arms and legs like a second heartbeat, strengthening bones and muscle fibers from within. When he punched a tree, the bark exploded outward in a shower of splinters.
Sam quickly shook his hand, eyes wide. The pain vibrated up to his shoulder, but his grin refused to fade.
Then he checked the evolved form of Stone Body.
───────Body of Steal (D)—————
[Level 1/30]
Your body has endured brutal physical strain, blood loss, wounds and constant impact. Your body begins to harden like worked metal.
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Sam stared at the glowing text hovering in his vision.
"Body of steal…is it possible to resist swords, if the level is high enough?" a thoughtful humm came from him and he clenched his fist, after he decided to get to this level at all cost.
He spent the rest of the journey familiarizing himself with the strange, energizing pulse of mana in his blood. His steps grew faster; his movements sharper. His senses clearer. The world around him felt less threatening…
A week later, the worn-out outer walls of Tarakan rose between the dying trees—crooked stone towers, patched wooden planks, and broken watch posts.
Even from far away, he could hear the noise of adventurers entering and leaving the forest, laughing loudly about hunts and reward money.
Finally the forest thinned out, giving way to an open plain of packed earth and scattered trash. Tarakan stood two thousand steps away like a scar on the horizon.
Sam paused.
He looked down at himself—at the wolf-pelt shorts and small fur vest tied messily around his thin torso.
A wild child.
A stray beast.
No one could recognize him like this… right?
Still, caution pushed him to hide his gathered materials—fangs, claws, pelts—in a thick bush at the forest edge. Only his clothes remained.
And then, shoulders tight, he stepped out onto the beaten path.
He kept his gaze low, avoiding the eyes of adventurers marching past with polished gear and loud voices.
If one of the gang members spotted him… if his former owners saw him… he clenched his fist.
Fifteen tense minutes later, he reached the gate. There were no guards. Only two men with sly grins leaned on the wooden frame—they grabbed weak-looking travelers and shook them down for all coins they had.
Sam's throat tightened.
He quietly pressed himself behind a tall man in rusty armor, walking in his shadow like a rat scurrying between feet. He slipped through while the two extortionists laughed at a crying adventurer.
And just like that— He was inside the outer city of Tarakan.
The smell hit him like a punch.
Rot. Feces. Piss. Old blood.
People sat against cracked walls, limbs missing, skin grey with hunger. Some extended wooden bowls begging for coppers.
Rats bounced between them freely, nibbling at exposed skin. Two gnawed at a corpse left in the corner.
Sam clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt.
He never wanted to see this place again. Never. But he had to.
He pulled his vest tight and slipped into the nearest alley, choosing dark, cramped paths where shadows swallowed him. The deeper he went, the worse the stench became. Mold, rot, waste, and sickness filled the air until it clung to his hair and clothes.
Left.
Right.
Down a narrow crack between abandoned shacks.
Every step took him closer to the slums heart.
Closer to the place where he had lived… and where his chains had first been fastened around his throat.
The deeper Samuel moved into the slum, the more memories clawed their way back up his throat. The corners where he used to sleep curled in straw. The alley where older slaves kicked him just for fun. The broken stone step where he'd once been forced to kneel for hours.
It was all still here.
He ducked behind an abandoned cart and crouched, watching the flow of people. His eyes scanned every face, every scar, even some familiar silhouettes. He moved in the shadow, like a rat.
Where are they? The Slum snakes!?
The men who laughed while he bled and cried.
Were was Henry Tarakan?
His fingers curled slowly, knuckles whitening.
A childish part of him wanted to simply run at them—tear them apart with his bare hands. His new strength thrummed beneath his skin, begging to be used.
But both parts in him knew, with patience came what he wanted.
"Revenge is worthless if I die right after it," he muttered under his breath.
He needed to plan.
He needed to be smart. He knew that the mastermind wouldn't just stand there on the silvery plate. Henry Tarakan was a rat, he was afraid of everything! Sam never saw him standing alone in the slums, there were his loyal guards and slave.
All the time, guarding him.
So he pulled himself deeper into the shadows and thought.
He needed to find the gang's current hideout. People changed places often in Tarakan, but the scum of the slums never rose far.
He listened. He watched.
Around the middle of the night did he lay flat on his stomach on an old roof. He had closed his eyes but listened closely to the voices around him. The few people passing the alleys in the deep of the night.
No intel.
After a while he decided to sleep and continue the next day.
"Tarakan's boys took the east alleys again." He just heard an angry voice, not far away. His eyes shot open and Samuel smiled.
He knew it, there wasn't a day that no one speaks about this hateful gang. He sneaked over the roofs till he looked down on them.
They started to whisper so he needed to hear with full concentration; "they say Tarakans brat is here tomorrow—collecting slaves for the mines."
Sam's heart slowed. His breath deepened.
Henry is actually coming. Isn't that to fast?