Adrenaline Junkie [Book 2 Complete]

The ground gave a sharp groan as massive, overgrown roots tore free from the soil. Dirt sprayed in every direction as Henry ripped a tree from the earth, its wide trunk cradled against his shoulder like a ladder. Beside him, another equally thick tree was lifted off the ground and hoisted beneath his opposite arm.

His boots thudded heavily against the grass from his weight, yet the grace of his movements remained unchanged. With every step he took, he felt the weight on his shoulders seemingly begin to lessen.

Is this how it feels not to look over your shoulder constantly? Henry asked himself.

It had been almost a week and a half since both he and Camilla went off-planet to escape the undead war that had struck the planet they were teleported to.

The almost complete log cabin in the distance – a small but sturdy square box, nestled in the center of an open valley in between three grass hills, ringed by tall trees and a freshly constructed fence outlining its boundaries. Smoke curled weakly from a chimney still under construction, and bundles of thatch leaned against one of the exterior walls, waiting to be laid down.

Henry's beard hung rough and untamed across his jaw, peppered with flecks of bark and dust. The bags under his eyes were still there, but they'd lightened after finally being able to properly sleep over the past day or so.

Two pouches bounced lightly against his left thigh as he moved, their contents clinking faintly as they'd been restocked after having run dangerously low over the past couple of days of massacring his way towards Camilla and the Guild Tavern.

His armor was made out of boiled leather and reinforced with overlapping metal iron plates on his shoulders and chest. It was the same set he'd worn during the Group Tutorial – armor he'd been forced to remove under threat of arrest from the dwelfs, since only the Dwelven military were permitted to wear metal on their planet.

After teleporting to the furthest planet he could reach that was marked to support human life, he hadn't had much money left to his name. But the first thing he bought, with what little remained, was a stash of human baby food from a shop one of the receptionists had recommended, as he wasn't risking running out of those and having to deal with a whole new set of problems.

He reached the cabin and carefully placed down trees beside his Carpenter's Table stationed which stood against the log cabin's rear wall. The wood thudded heavily into place, sending a few loose shavings skittering across the packed earth.

Lifting one of the logs onto the table and gripping his hatchet with the other, he began shearing bark from the trunks with swift, precise strokes. Strips of bark curled away with each strike, revealing smooth, pale oak wood beneath.

The sun hung low behind the trees, casting long shadows that stretched across the grassfield and brushed the outer fence. Henry reached into one of the cabinets on his Carpenter's Table and pulled out a large glass bottle, about a quarter full, of Orc Blubber Oil. The oil would strengthen the wood, make it both water-resistant and fire-resistant, and give it a bit of shine.

Setting his hatchet aside, he ran a hand over the freshly exposed grain, feeling the smooth ridges beneath his boiled leather gloves. Satisfied, he rolled the logs to the side, began notching and chipping them for fitting, and methodically rubbed the oil into the surface, working it in with practiced efficiency.

Once he'd shaped both oak logs to his liking, he slung them up onto his shoulders with ease and leaped upwards, landing solidly on the flat, almost completed rooftop.

He moved across the roof, stepping around a few stacked planks and coils of rope until he reached the two log-shaped gaps in the frame, the final openings to be filled before the roof would be truly sealed.

Kneeling down and placing one of the logs beside him, Henry adjusted the other log into position, letting its weight settle into the notch with a dull, satisfying thud. As he reached for the second log, a soft sound caught his attention – faint, high-pitched giggling from inside the cabin.

He turned his head a little and looked down through the gap.
Camilla, nestled in her crib below, was wriggling in delight at the view of her wooden toys dangling above her head. When her eyes caught his through the open frame overhead, her smile grew wider and she let out another excited squeal, tiny fists and feet waving wildly in the air.
And with that, his anxiety and concerns that had reared their heads over the course of the morning and afternoon vanished.
Henry took slow breaths, his tension ebbing from his shoulders as a faint, tired smile pulled at the edges of his lips. "Hello, my little flower," he murmured to himself, eyes growing soft.

He shifted the second log into place, adjusting it into place, though his attention kept wandering back to his daughter wriggling excitedly in her crib. Caught up in her excitement, he eventually caught himself making ridiculous faces just to coax even more giggles out of her.

It wasn't until late afternoon sunbeam flashed off the edge of one of his daggers, which was on a table below, and strayed into his eyes that he remembered what he had been doing up here. He let out a low laugh and a headshake, stepping back to the last log and bringing it into a bit more precise alignment.

With the logs secured in place, Henry rolled his shoulders once and stepped back, casting one final glance down at the rooftop before making his way toward the edge. He crouched, balanced, then dropped down with a thud that rattled the dirt around the cabin's base.

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Crossing the short yard, he pushed open the thick oak door. Its hinges gave a faint creak, more from the wood shifting against itself than any sign of disrepair.

Warm air greeted him as he stepped inside, carrying the faint, lingering scent of Orc Blubber Oil soaked into the wood. The interior was sparse but purposeful: wooden plank flooring underfoot, a few tables of varying sizes scattered throughout the cabin, and two bedrooms with simple bed frames – both still lacking mattresses as he'd yet to purchase some from the town nearby.

The only real place of comfort, in his opinion, could be found in the living room, where a reinforced crib sat nestled in one corner, padded generously with plush mattresses and colorful blankets.

Camilla sat in the crib next to the smoldering hearth, her tiny hands reaching up to grab the carved animals dangling over the top of her crib. She laughed, and Henry's face relaxed as he watched.

Then his gaze shifted slightly, and he paused. "Good afternoon, Alyndra."

Beside the crib stood an older elven woman, posture straight, hands clasped neatly in front of her waist. Her dark green dress, simple and pressed, was in the style of an old-world maid's uniform, sleeves long and collar high. Wrinkles curved along her ageless face in a way that didn't quite match the rest of her, but more striking than anything was the thick black thread sewn through her eyelids.

She bowed slowly and deeply, as if welcoming a lord into his keep. Despite the clear absence of sight, there was not a hint of hesitation in her movement.

Henry still wasn't entirely sure how she could see – if what she could do to somehow always sense where he was could even be called that. She moved with the kind of awareness that made it easy to forget her eyes were shut at all.

Maybe it was a skill she had that allowed her to detect presence or motion. Or maybe some sort of inborn ability that elves have to somehow detect wind currents or something like that.

What mattered was that she was here to help him care for Camilla.

When he'd first begun building the cabin, he'd known it was only a matter of time before he'd have to head back out again. Missions, hunts, trade. Things that couldn't be done with a baby strapped to his back. Alyndra had been the answer to that problem.

When he first arrived on the planet he was currently on, waiting just outside the Guild Tavern, was Alyndra holding out a letter for him that had been stamped with a familiar lingering trace of mana – Ragnar's Dark-Flame. The letter informed him that she would be able to take care of Camilla while he was away. He'd also learned through the letter that she was and still is a devout follower of Ragnar's wife.

Ragnar had saved his daughter, and that action alone earned him his gratitude for life.

She was stronger than he was, of that, he had no doubt, as she claimed to be at peak D-Grade. And if it ever came to that, she would gladly lay down her life for Camilla, as it had been a duty entrusted to her by her goddess.

"…Did she cause a fuss while I was out?" he asked, keeping his voice low as he moved toward one of the side tables to grab a warm baby bottle.

The elf straightened with practiced grace, turning toward him slightly, tracking his position.

"No," she said softly. "The little one has been calm all morning. She likes the warmth."

Henry nodded slowly, sparing one last glance at the stitches. Then he turned fully toward the crib.

Henry stepped over to the crib, his movements cautious despite the confident weight of his armor. Camilla kicked her legs and reached up toward him with a tiny, excited coo.

He slipped an arm beneath her, lifting her gently. She squirmed in the crook of his raised elbow, her head lolling slightly. He adjusted, trying to find a natural way to support both her head and the bottle, but the angle was off – the bottle tilted too far, and she turned her face away with a small whimper.

"Support her shoulders more," Alyndra said calmly, stepping slightly closer but keeping her hands folded. "And tilt the bottle at a 60-degree angle. The young miss doesn't like bubbles in her milk."

Henry blinked. "Right." He adjusted, trying again – this time cradling Camilla a little higher and lifting the bottle at a higher angle.

Camilla latched on instantly and began drinking, eyes fluttering closed in sleepy contentment.

A slow and tired smile crept onto Henry's face as he watched her, the lines under his eyes softening before the familiar dings of the System echoed within his head.

A hum echoed in the back of his skull - subtle at first, then slowly expanding outward, like a ripple spreading across still water. The air in the cabin shifted, just barely. Mana curled and pressed against the grain of the oak walls. He felt the familiar tug of layered enchantments settle fully into place - the final stage of the home's defense wards.

Outside the perimeter, traps - both magical and mundane - stirred to life. Threads of mana lit faintly along the inner edge of the wooden fence before seeping into the wood as they armed themselves.

*Your Profession has reached Lv 91 – Points allocated, +4 Free Points*
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*Your Profession has reached Lv 96 – Points allocated, +4 Free Points*

Henry's senses twitched faintly with each trap activation.

Camilla gurgled happily, milk dribbling slightly from the corner of her mouth. Henry wiped it with a cloth, his smile slowly fading away.

"She's safe," Alyndra said, her voice low and even.

He nodded. "Yeah."

Henry lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss atop Camilla's forehead. She, in return, gave a tiny sigh, halfway between a coo and a snore, still latched to the bottle.

With a tenderness that didn't match his scruffy appearance, he ran a rough hand over the fine wisps of her dark hair, smoothing them down as her eyes fluttered shut completely.

He passed her carefully back into Alyndra's arms.

"She'll sleep for a while," the elf said, already adjusting Camilla into a position of perfect support. "I'll keep her close."

Henry nodded, already stepping toward the small rack by the door.

First, he grabbed the two pouches and strapped them securely to his thighs – the left holding tools and utility gear, the right stocked with throwing knives, oils, wire, and other supplies. Then came the leather rig for his back waist – he slid the twin daggers into their sheaths with practiced motion, just above the curve of his pouches.

Finally, he reached behind his shoulders and felt the hilts of his twin short swords still crossed in place, the familiar weight giving him a sense of security.

A soft exhale escaped his lips.

With one last glance at Camilla – now safe, fed, and content – Henry pulled open the oak door and stepped outside.

He had only a few hours left to track down a D-Grade Geckobear with pearl-colored eyes and return its corpse to the guild to complete the quest he'd accepted using his Guild Membership Card.