(Book 1 Complete!) Side Quest [Isekai / LitRPG]

Raw energy vibrated within Logan, as though his body were a vessel containing untamed power. He hoped the Void affinity was acceptable and that he wouldn't regret it later. Mariv had warned him against assuming an affinity, but the System hadn't given him a choice to decline it, which felt pretty bogus.

"You couldn't even do that right, kid."

He mentally cursed his father before his mind turned back to the monster and how it had leaped from the Adventurers' Guild's roof down to the ground and back up. Energy had pooled at its feet before each leap. Could Logan do the same?

Logan focused on the energy zipping inside him and directed it to his soles.

It responded.

Translucent silver energy like liquid mercury pooled there, and Logan's pleased grin turned into a laugh. It tingled as if he had just hit his funny bone.

When he released his grip on the energy to lessen the ticklish discomfort, though, he rocketed skyward. His shoulder bashed into lumber siding, and he ricocheted towards the cliff wall, where he scraped along it and then hit his head.

After dragging along the mountain's face, gravity took over, and he plummeted. His vision dimmed, and the only things he saw that weren't doubled were three furiously flashing icons in his HUD: a silhouette of a head with swirl near it; a zoom-in of a misaligned arm and shoulder, separated by a double jagged line; and the outline of a blood droplet.

He pushed through the daze and opened his status, drifting directly to conditions.

Conditions:

Concussion: Focus is impaired. Abilities requiring concentration are [25%] less likely to succeed.

Bleeding: You will lose health over time until your wound is staunched.

Dislocated shoulder (left): Limited mobility. Physical attacks with your (left) hand are reduced by [85%] power.

His 17 health ticked to 15, 13, 11…

Logan knew that was bad, but between the blood loss and concussion, he couldn't try to stop the bleeding. His arm didn't respond when he tried to press against it, either, nor did his voice when he tried to call for help.

9, 10, 8…

The upward blip… yes! He had a natural regeneration rate. And he could enhance that with Meditate.

6, 4…

The meditation succeeded, and the sharp pains grew dull and distant. They still existed, but it was as if he was experiencing it through someone else.

2.

3.

1.

3.

1.

4.

2.

4.

2.

5…

Logan focused his breathing like his life depended on it because it did. Cocooned in his meditative trance, he envisioned his blood thickening and coagulating. It seemed to help, but it was still a slow process. He worried that his Meditate might fail at any moment with the debuff to his concentration and he would bleed to death, but then he remembered his Bounty of Silence more than made up for it with its 1.5x modifier. Even with the 25% debuff, he would still have a 100% success rate. The boosted regeneration rates probably played a big part in his survival too. Suddenly he was very grateful to the dead-undead wight.

He observed his wounds with a detached examination. The biggest gash was on his dislocated arm. His side bled too, but not as freely. He felt a little safer at 30% health, so he briefly left his trance and, with his good arm and teeth, ripped off a strip of his shredded shirt. With his recently raised Dexterity, he managed to loop the cloth around his arm and cinch a knot into a tourniquet. The bleeding icon vanished and Logan panted, resuming his meditation. The battle to raise his health quickened in his favor, and once he reached 80% health, the concussion vanished too.

Logan exited his trance, breathing heavily. The strain had taken a toll, and even at full health his shoulder hadn't fixed itself. Leaping in such close quarters was too dangerous, and with only one arm functioning, he supposed he would not be climbing up to fetch that chicken.

He cast an annoyed look up at it, but didn't see it. He scanned higher, then lower, until he saw it strutting at the cliff's base just a couple feet away.

He wasn't going to press his luck any further. Logan propped himself into a seated position. His motion spurred the chicken to action and it hopped onto the first small ledge.

"Absolutely not," Logan said. Still seated and without time to stand, he swiveled his hip and stretched. It was enough to snatch the chicken in his good arm before it could reach the next lip. With one arm occupied and the other lame, he performed the awkward shuffle of rising to his feet once the chicken stopped struggling.

Several notifications flashed and he opened them.

Climbing is level 13!
Climbing is level 14!

Pain Resistance is level 8!
…
Pain Resistance level 12!

For pushing yourself beyond your extent, you have earned a title!
Mold Breaker II
+4 END
You have tested your limits and brought yourself to the brink of death. Experiments such as these are best performed in controlled environments.

Meditate is level 9!
…
Meditate is level 15!

For demonstrating your ability to keep coming back, you have earned a title!
Lizardboy II
+15 WIL
You've regenerated more blood than your body even holds. And then you did it again! Just don't expect to regrow limbs.

Logan stared at the screen unenthusiastically. "It's not like I intended to do that." He also frowned at the quantity of stat points for his Mold Breaker II title. That didn't look right. He opened up his full status for a deeper look.

Name: Logan Vitali
Race: Human, Exalted Kin (Masked)
Level: 5
Trait: Measured Touch
Heritage Boon: Forked Gambit, Core Cracker
Affinity: Void

Health: 136/136
Stamina: 250/250
Mana: 294/294

Stats:
STR: 21
END: 32
DEX: 40
AGL: 18
INT: 30
PER: 36
WIL: 47
CHA: 6

Free Points: 4

Skills:

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Analyze (Common), level 14
Climbing (Common), level 14
Crafting (Uncommon), level 3
Gauntlet Mastery (Rare), level 5
Heat Resistance (Uncommon), level 5
Meditate (Uncommon), level 15
Null Pulse (Epic), level 1
Pain Resistance (Common), level 12
Running (Common), level 10
Stealth (Common), level 9

Titles:
Giant Slayer III (+8 END, +5 STR, WIL)
Intrepid Explorer II (+5 INT, PER, WIL)
Lizardboy II (+15 WIL)
Mold Breaker II (+4 END)
Monster Slayer I (+4 END, DEX, INT)

Talent:
Missing

His other Rank II titles had given him 15 bonus points. Why was this one so low? "That's messed up."

Perhaps he was being ungrateful, though. He had just gained an Epic skill.

He sighed as he scanned his new shirt, already torn and bloodsoaked. His tender shoulder throbbed, but his skin didn't show as much as a scar. If not for his Bounty of Silence boosting Meditate's regeneration rate, he didn't think he would have survived that battle against his bleeding condition.

He was over these chickens. It was getting late, and he needed to find someone who could help with his arm. He would backtrack to the front gate, try to manage holding two chickens in one arm, and then close out the quest. 70 copper coins was plenty. He didn't need 80.

When he reached the gate, the guard ogled him.

"Are you alright?" He readied his spear. "Is it monsters?"

"No, no monsters. And I'm fine thank you. I… cut myself falling on a rock." He wasn't about to tell anyone that he had absorbed a monster core and learned an epic-level skill, and promptly managed to nearly kill himself trying to chase a chicken.

The guard cocked a brow. "That's a mighty lot of blood to get falling off a rock."

"It was a really sharp rock," Logan said with a shrug and what he hoped was a disarming smile.

The man nodded and apparently decided if Logan was fine, he didn't need to meddle further. Logan was touched that he asked once more if Logan was okay before Logan parted ways with him.

Standard adventurers wandered the streets, which was fine with Logan. In fact, few people were out at all. Logan made it all the way to the chicken coop without having to suffer all the wide-eyed stares at his bloody garb. Even when he passed through the merchant square, nearly all the peddlers had already packed up or else were in the process of doing so.

When he reached the chicken coop, though, Liorna was nowhere to be seen.

He tried jiggling the door handle, but it was difficult to manage holding two chickens in his one functioning arm. It was locked, anyway.

Logan blew at his hair and shook his head. He peeked into the fenced area behind the coop and saw the hatch at the back was open.

He wasn't about to take these birds to the inn, so he took a chance and tossed them over the fence.

They flapped to solid footing and darted up a wooden ramp into the coop. He checked his quest marker, and sure enough, it showed 7 of 8 chickens had been returned.

"I guess if everybody else is retiring for the day, I should too." He would collect his pay tomorrow.

He made his way to the inn, injured arm cradled close to his chest to prevent it from jostling. He was just a few doors away when someone small bumped into him, sending a fresh wave of pain up his shoulder.

Pain Resistance is level 13!
Pain Resistance is level 14!

He inhaled sharply, steadying himself before looking down.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" the woman said quickly, her wide eyes darting to his face, then to his arm. She fidgeted with her hands. "Could you help me find my amulet? I lost it somewhere nearby, and it's really important."

Logan hesitated, his initial frustration tempered by the earnestness in her voice. "I wish I could help," he said, "but I'm not exactly in the best condition to rummage in the dark right now." He shifted his arm slightly, grimacing. "You might have better luck asking someone from the Adventurers' Guild tomorrow."

The woman nodded, though her expression held a flicker of disappointment. "I understand. Thank you anyway."

Logan gave a small nod and continued toward the inn, exhaling as he stepped through the door. No way was he taking on any more quests tonight.

Or tomorrow.

He wasn't going to join the Adventurers' Guild, and Mariv would have to find some other champion to save his Waterwoods.

After he collected his money and paid his debt to Senna, he would buy proper clothing and see if that stable offered chartered rides to other towns. Ones with reliable defenses against monsters.

The inn was cozy and warm, its low-beamed ceiling and stone walls lit with the amber glow of oil lamps hung on iron hooks. Spiced stew and fresh-baked bread scented the air, mingling with the faint tang of wood smoke from the wide hearth at the far end of the room. Long wooden tables filled the main space, scarred and worn from years of use, as patrons sat nursing tankards and sharing laughter.

The innkeeper stood out with his big belly and soiled apron, and he welcomed Logan and ordered a serving girl to bring a meal and room key. Logan eased himself into a seat at a table away from the others.

"Logan!" Senna approached and punched him on the shoulder, which made him grimace. After a moment, she registered his pain and the state of his clothing. "Whoa. What happened to you?"

"Fell off a rock," Logan said. He looked over her shoulder, but nobody else had separated from the main cluster with her. "You said your team was here, right? Any chance there's a healer who can set a dislocated shoulder?"

Senna chuckled. "Healing won't fix that." The serving girl came by, delivering the meal, and Senna whispered something into her ear. Moments later, the woman returned with two small glasses of clear liquid and set them down with a smile before bustling back to the kitchen.

"Drink these," Senna instructed, nudging both toward him as she swung into the neighboring seat.

"What is it?" Logan eyed the liquid suspiciously.

"Something to dull the pain while we fix that shoulder."

He hesitated, then sighed and swilled both glasses. The liquid burned going down, and he coughed, his eyes watering. "Are you sure this isn't—"

Senna didn't wait for him to say poison. She grabbed his injured arm, and before he could pull away, she yanked it forward and up with a sure hand. There was a sharp, jarring pain followed by a loud pop as his shoulder snapped back into place.

Logan hissed through clenched teeth, but that alcohol worked fast. It dulled the worst of it, leaving him woozy and disoriented.

She patted him on the back. "Now you're adding that to my tab. Go, sleep it off. You can meet the others another night."

Logan nodded groggily, and the room swayed. Senna laughed and left him, joining two others who cast arched brows in Logan's direction.

He rose and made his way upstairs to a washroom, splashing water on his face and rinsing the blood from his skin as best he could. His shirt was beyond saving, but at least his arm moved freely again, if sore and swollen.

When he finally stumbled into bed, he succumbed to his drink-induced daze.

"Seriously?" his father snapped, arms crossed as he stared down at the crumpled certificate on the table. "Third place?"

Logan stood awkwardly in the hallway, still wearing his track jersey. "There were twelve of us. I beat most of them."

"Yeah? You know who came in first?" His father raised a brow, already knowing the answer. "Toby Hastings. Kid's out there getting scholarships and you're collecting participation ribbons."

Logan's jaw clenched. "I trained just as hard. I gave it everything."

"Then maybe you need to start asking why your everything never seems to be enough."

The lights in the hall flickered and Janie was suddenly storming through their apartment, clattering dishes into the sink.

"Come on, Janie, talk to me."

She whirled around, waving a stack of unpaid bills in one hand. "You quit another job, Logan. Without telling me. Again."

"It wasn't a good fit," he muttered.

She threw the papers down on the counter. "Was the last one a good fit? Or the one before that? How about the warehouse job you left because your supervisor didn't 'vibe' with you?"

He flinched. "I just—I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"That's the problem!" Her voice cracked. "You don't know, but I'm the one stuck picking up the pieces. How long do you think I can keep pretending this is fine?"

He didn't answer and she laughed before going to the bedroom and slamming the door. Logan stood frozen, but when he turned, three former bosses now filled the room.

"Brilliant, Logan! You're up for promotion!" Dan's voice boomed. That had been a good day, until his father laughed at Logan's new title. The next morning, Logan had put in his resignation to Dan's surprise.

"Where are those tax forms?" Joanne's tone was clipped. She had trusted him with the office's finances, but the dull, tedious work had driven him to walk out before she could fire him.

"We're gonna miss your elbow grease here at Sizzling Stan's," Chris added, holding a dirty apron.

Logan stumbled backward, bumping into the counter. When he spun around, he wasn't in his kitchen anymore. The air felt colder, heavier. He was at the funeral home.

His buddy John stood before him, his face a mask of grief and anger. "You couldn't even make it to the funeral, Logan? He was our friend."

Logan's throat tightened. "I—I meant to—"

"You always mean to, but you never do."

The room spun, and Logan stood before a mirror. His reflection stared back at him, but it wasn't him. It was some twisted, shadowed version. Its eyes glowed faintly purple, like the sheen around the monster core.

"You'll waste it," the reflection whispered, its voice like scraping metal. "The power. The chance. The life you were given. Just like always."

Logan recoiled, slamming his fists against the mirror, and the world shattered.

Logan woke in a sweat, trembling. He lay in the four-post bed at the inn.

The dream fragments clung to him, sharp and cutting. His father's dissatisfaction. His girlfriend's frustration. His bosses' disappointment. His friend's accusation.

He used to joke about being a jack of all trades, though never when his father was in earshot. But deep down, he knew the truth: he was the guy who never stuck with anything long enough to matter.

Yeah, Logan had faults. But maybe it would've been different if his father had ever just said good job. If, instead of cutting him down, he had let Logan believe third place was something worth building from.

Every time Logan found something he might've been good at, the old man's voice was there to shame him out of it.

Logan's jaw tightened.

Screw him.

Not this time.

Today, he was going to find chicken number eight.