Heir of the Fog

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A Bag for the Burden

Mareth and I walked together toward the residential region, mostly in silence. The faint light filtering through the fog did little to dispel the biting cold. I thought I should feel relieved to be back within the safety of the ward, but instead, a strange unease gnawed at me.

I felt out of place.

Oddly enough, it wasn't because I had just learned I might be the product of some kind of experiment. That revelation, strangely, didn't unsettle me as much as I thought it would. No, what bothered me more was how alien this place felt to me now, despite being under the protection of the ward once again.

At first, I thought it might be the cold. The chill here seemed sharper compared to the fog—no, compared to the condensed mana I had grown used to. But this discomfort felt like something deeper. Something I couldn't put into words.

"Kara, do the beasts... I mean, the creatures with cores, the ones that utilize mana, do they feel the need to stay surrounded by mana, the same mana the ward blocks out?" I thought with intent.

[Kara]

[No. There is no sickness involved, although their reserves would deplete much faster within the ward due to the lower mana density. The ward does not prevent mana entirely, mana is a fundamental component of Araksiun itself, even sustaining the Obelisks.]

"You said the corruption changed me. That I adapted to it somehow. Could a core have formed during that process? And if so, am I feeling sick because I'm no longer surrounded by the fog?"

[Kara]

[User is malnourished and anemic. No sickness is detected beyond those conditions. Current system senses no core or signs of mana utilization in the user's present state. Furthermore, creatures with cores do not experience sickness from reduced mana exposure. User's discomfort is likely psychological, but a more accurate assessment cannot be performed due to limited analysis tools and lack of knowledge regarding corruption-induced changes.]

Psychological. That made sense. Maybe I really was going crazy, feeling discomfort simply because I wasn't surrounded by beasts trying to eat me.

As we approached the district, I noticed Mareth staring at me. When she saw me looking back, she spoke.

"What you said, about District 95, is it true? Will it really be destroyed in 29 days?"

"Unfortunately, yes," I replied. "But the people can still be saved."

"How? We might be struggling here in District 98, but don't think the others are doing much better. I know a few Chainrunners, and the situation out there is bad. And even if we did, what about the fuel?" she pressed.

The situation being dire everywhere wasn't news to me, but her mention of fuel caught my attention. "The fuel? You mean one of the exports from District 95?"

"Yes. They have a facility there that produces fuel, batteries, actually. Only one other neighboring district makes them, so if we lose District 95, fuel production will be cut in half. Then what? Raw food? Sending Chainrunners into the wild fog to chop down trees while surrounded by beasts? Do you think that's sustainable?" Her concern was palpable.

Fuel. Batteries. I had seen them before in Jharim's forge. He once asked me to replace a few. Strange, tiny things, they didn't burn like wood or coal. Elina had tried to explain to me once that they weren't meant to burn. You just placed them in the forge, and fire appeared.

I never fully understood it. All I knew was that these batteries powered many things, devices, forges, even entire facilities. Losing them would cripple us. Half the fuel for the districts, gone.

Maybe if I had known earlier, I could have done something to stop it. But in the end, even if District 95 were saved, another district with a different critical resource would have fallen instead. All I could do was blame my own weakness, my inability to defend the districts with more than just words.

"About your question to the Captain earlier…" Mareth hesitated. "You were obviously talking about yourself, right? Are you really going out again?"

"Yes."

"Why? Do you want to die? You've seen the beasts. I don't know how you're even still alive, or how your wounds vanished, but you know how dangerous it is out there."

I thought about her words. I did know. I had seen the danger firsthand. And yet, that place inside the fog, surrounded by monsters, felt more like home than anywhere else ever had. Certainly more than the streets of District 98.

"It's my home," I said after a moment. "The place I feel most comfortable. The only place that's accepted me. It's nothing like here, where I starve on the streets every day."

Mareth didn't answer, her eyes drifting over my thin, malnourished frame.

The people here don't know what I know about the fog. They don't understand that the corruption marks them like a beacon, making it impossible to avoid the beasts. To them, the outside world is nothing but terror and death. They've never seen what I've seen. They've never stopped running long enough to notice the beauty hidden within the fog.

But I couldn't blame them. The moment anyone steps outside the ward, countless beasts descend on them. The longest runs typically last an hour at most with constant running, constant fighting.

Once we arrived, Mareth called out for Jharim and Elina. They stepped outside, their faces etched with sorrow, their red eyes betraying tears shed not long ago. Meris followed close behind them.

I instinctively hid, glancing down at the state of my clothes. They'd been useful earlier, convincing the Captain and the others that I'd faced the beasts, but now they were a problem. Both my pants and shirt were little more than bloody rags, tattered and mostly ruined.

I could hear Mareth explaining the situation to Elina and Jharim. Their voices carried a note of confusion; it seemed my absence puzzled them. I decided to act. Removing my shirt, the bloodier, more torn of the two garments. I held it in one hand and stepped forward, hoping to appear less disheveled in just my pants.

Before I could say a word, something collided with me. Arms wrapped around me tightly as Meris began sobbing into my chest, her small fists pounding against me between gasping cries.

"I looked everywhere! I thought you were gone…" Her muffled words barely broke through the sound of her weeping.

Behind her, Jharim and Elina approached. Jharim paused, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, lingering on the cuts in my pants and the stains of blood.

Eventually, Mareth left, returning to the guard post near the district's edge. Meanwhile, Elina wasted no time grilling me, launching into a mix of interrogation and what she described as "teaching me some sense."

But then came the question I'd been dreading.

"Why did you leave? Why go into the fog?"

I had been careful with my words earlier, offering the Captain and the others just enough truth to spur them into sending the message to District 95. But I couldn't lie to Jharim and Elina. Not to them. It wasn't in me.

So I told them the truth. "It's warm there."

Elina's interrogation faltered. Her eyes dropped to my clothes, taking in the ragged state of my shirt. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands before speaking.

"We should wash these… maybe patch them up. Wait, this blood. Are you hurt?"

She began checking me over, looking for wounds, but I quickly answered. "Just a few scratches. Nothing serious."

Jharim, however, didn't look convinced. His eyes narrowed. "That's a lot of dried blood for just scratches." He sighed, his broad shoulders relaxing slightly. "But you're alive. I suppose we can't ask for more than that."

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Elina murmured something under her breath as she inspected my shirt again. I glanced at it. The damage was too severe, there was no saving it, even with her skill.

But what struck me most wasn't their concern for my clothes or even their attempts to find injuries. It was how easily they brushed aside the fact that I had no wounds at all. Not even scratches.

They'd been with me long enough to notice these things. They'd seen me collapse into long sleeps after beatings by other district citizens or the cold itself, only to wake seemingly healed. I wondered if they had quietly agreed, at some point, to stop questioning it. Jharim's discomfort was evident, but he said nothing. For that, I was grateful.

Even though I couldn't lie to them, I chose to omit one thing: my plan to return to the fog later that day. They wouldn't understand. I only hoped I could avoid another long sleep this time. I didn't want to make them worry again.

By afternoon, I was ready. Meris had stored some bread for me, keeping it in hope that I'd return each morning. It was stale, but Kara had been clear: the bread lacked important nutrients. If I wanted to grow, I needed to eat the meat I'd scavenged from the beasts.

Elina had also given me a few changes of clothes, though no coat yet. She promised to find one for me soon.

I considered the idea of crafting my own clothing. If only I could find a way to extract the hides from the beasts more cleanly. Maybe if I could turn their parts into tools or even weapons, I'd be able to harvest the next hides intact.

"Kara, tell me," I thought with intent, "can we make tools or weapons from the beasts' parts?"

[Kara]

[Definitely. These parts are not ordinary animal materials. They're infused with mana, making them far superior to common metals.]

"That's good to hear. But do you think I can do it? I barely have any practice, and the last beast… well, it was mostly a mess."

[Kara]

[User's lack of practice can be overcome with system visual assistance. Additionally, user exhibits an unusual ability to focus deeply on single tasks. This enhances both learning speed and precision during such activities.]

"Good focus, huh?" I mused, Remembering all those times trying to shove the hunger away in order to sleep.

The thought of crafting tools intrigued me. Perhaps this could be a way forward, something to bridge the gap between survival and reclaiming a piece of the world I'd lost.

As I wandered through the district, heading toward the guard post, I spotted those three again.

"Has the captain sent you here for some reason?" Roran asked. Mareth seemed to guess why I had come.

"No. I'm here to register my leave. I should be back soon," I said plainly, not hiding anything this time. According to Captain Norman, they technically cannot stop me; the only thing that might prevent me is parental permission, which, in my case, is not required.

Roran and Kael looked a bit worried. Kael was the first to speak. "Look, kid, I'm not sure what you've seen in the fog, but you really shouldn't give in to madness. You'll end up dead for sure."

"I respect your concern," I replied, "but you heard the captain. I can leave, and it's not a security breach as long as you record it, which you're obligated to do if I request it." I felt bad using the captain's own words against them, but it was simpler to let them think I was reckless than to explain my true reasoning.

After all, the beasts will certainly attack me if they see me, but I can hide, something they can't. Besides, I've learned my lesson about trying to befriend any creatures in the fog. My first encounter was with those three huge dog-like beasts, Diremaws, as the system later informed me, a Tier 1 magical beast that pretty much tried to eat me. My second encounter was even worse, the man in the fog who wanted to destroy the entire district just to get the Obelisk.

Kael looked ready to protest further, maybe to stop me, but Roran stepped in. "I'll register your leave. You can go, but don't stay away too long, and make sure you keep running."

So I left. It felt almost amusing to go through the guard post formally, given that anyone could slip past the ward if they were determined. But doing it officially will simplify things when I come back with supplies. I don't want anyone accusing me of theft.

I had briefly considered dragging the two remaining Diremaw corpses into the district, but each one weighs at least a hundred kilograms, somewhere between one hundred and one hundred forty, in fact. That's a complete impossibility for someone like me to manage alone. I could barely drag those beasts a few meters back to the abandoned shop. Doing so on the main road would take far too long and draw unwanted attention.

My slim, thin build does help me move quietly and quickly, but it also means I lack the raw strength to haul such huge loads. Once I passed the guard post and stepped out of the ward's protective boundary, I veered off the primary road and headed toward the abandoned shop that I now think of as home.

Kara had suggested I use certain herbs to mask my scent so that beasts wouldn't pick it up easily, but I still have to worry about any food smells if I cook or roast more meat. That alone could attract dangerous monsters, so I constantly grab more weeds during my path, the ones Kara identified as optimal to hide my scent.

I saw no creatures during my short run, just a few minutes of sprinting and felt relief when I reached my home, untouched by intruders. While I walked, I conferred with Kara about my plan to bring food from the three Diremaw carcasses back into the district. That could be a sizable amount of meat.

But Kara advised against sharing everything. "You can't feed the entire district," she pointed out. Even this volume of meat would be only a temporary fix. It wouldn't solve hunger in the long run. If I want to make a real difference, I need to grow stronger. She suggested that by eating and developing myself, especially on magical-beast meat, we might have a shot at forming a true human core someday.

Of course, I had thought of Elina, Meris, and Jharim. They had always had so little, yet they still helped me with whatever they could spare. How could I keep this newfound wealth of meat all to myself? After discussing the matter at length, Kara and I reached a compromise: I would share part of the meat exclusively with them, allowing me to hold onto the bulk of it while also giving back to those who once offered me kindness.

Still, the idea of hauling around eighty kilograms of meat in one go was absurd. I could not possibly lift that much, let alone carry it any distance with my bare hands. Sneaking would be out of the question if I tried, and I would have to pass through the guard post again—something that might bring all sorts of complications. Even if I attempted going up the slope directly into the district, avoiding the main road, it would be too risky while lugging such a massive load.

So the first step was to make a bag. That was where Kara's guidance truly shone.

There were countless ways to craft a simple bag, but with only the ruined hide from the first Diremaw and minimal tools, I had to be resourceful. Naturally, I relied heavily on Kara's suggestions. I began by collecting sinew from the beast's body. Using one of the Diremaw's own claws—sharpened by repeatedly scraping it against stone—I sliced strips of tendon from the corpse. The process was messy and made me grimace more than once. Then, with a fragment of bone and the claw's tip, I scraped off residual bits of fat and flesh. I stretched the sinew strips on the floor of my makeshift shelter, leaving them to dry for a full day.

Meanwhile, I needed to clean and soften the rest of the hide. It was badly shredded and riddled with punctures, so I soaked it in water I had drawn from a nearby well, letting it sit for several hours. Off to the side, I rendered some of the Diremaw's fat, storing it in a cracked clay pot I had found in the ruined shop. Periodically, I stirred the fat with a thin stick to keep it from solidifying into lumps.

Using one of the creature's canine teeth—it was sharper than I ever expected, yet slippery as ice when I lost focus—I tried carving a rough, circular shape out of the hide's largest intact section. My fingers throbbed from gripping such an unwieldy "knife." More than once, I cut my hand on its jagged edges. The hide itself was tough, but I massaged the Diremaw's fat into it while it was still damp, hoping to loosen the fibers.

By the end of that first day, my hands felt raw, and every muscle in my arms quivered with fatigue. Handling razor-sharp monster parts with no gloves or proper tools frayed my nerves, but I reminded myself that each little scratch or slip was a lesson learned.

The next morning, I retrieved the sinew that had dried overnight. It felt stiff and rigid, like old rope. At Kara's instruction, I soaked it briefly in water again to soften it enough for sewing. While it soaked, I laid out the hide I had cut the day before. In my mind, I imagined folding it in half, matching the edges, so it would become a simple pouch.

Following Kara's detailed advice, I took another sharpened claw and punched small holes around the hide's perimeter, roughly half an inch apart. Each motion caused my hands to throb, but I pressed on, determined to make something serviceable. I then threaded the softened sinew through these holes in a crude cross-stitch pattern. Occasionally, I paused to wipe sweat from my forehead or to pluck out a stray bone splinter pricking my palm.

Gradually, a large leather bag of sorts began to take shape. The Diremaw hide was substantial enough that, once folded and stitched, it could hang across my back. With leftover scraps, I tried crafting a few smaller pouches for delicate items or for meat that needed to remain separate. The sinew was not of the best quality—it tore easily if I tugged too hard, but at least it held the hide together.

Nothing about my creation looked pretty. The seams were crooked, and the "drawstring" on top was just another piece of sinew passed through extra holes, allowing me to cinch it shut. In places, old bloodstains speckled the hide. Yet Kara continuously corrected my errors, guiding me to focus on functionality rather than neatness. It amazed me how much she seemed to know about tanning and stitching, all with the most basic of tools.

I found myself wondering who had designed such an artifact as Kara and how they had managed to fill her with such extensive knowledge. Only days ago, I felt uneasy about having her in my mind, but by then I was relying on her for every step. Without her guidance, I doubted I would have even stripped the sinew correctly.

Altogether, the bag and additional pouches took two full days to complete in the fog. By the time I finished, my hands were covered in shallow cuts, my arms ached in every muscle, and my clothes were spattered with blood—some of it mine, some of it the Diremaw's. Still, I could not help a flicker of pride, knowing I could now carry more supplies than what my bare arms allowed.

Satisfied with my work, I packed some of the meat into my new bag. I separated the heart and the core, intending to study them later, and left them in my makeshift home for the time being. With the rest, I managed to load around twenty kilograms of meat, which was far more than I could have hoped to move otherwise.

I took a deep breath and hoisted the bag across my shoulders. It felt heavier than I had anticipated, but I told myself it was manageable. I steeled myself against the possibility of danger, monsters in the fog or suspicion from the district guard, then prepared to head back toward the district.

I intended to share these spoils with Elina, Jharim, and Meris, just as Kara and I had agreed.

And maybe, by doing so, I could finally begin to make a real difference.