I Acquire Overpowered Traits Just By Taking Damage

"A creature that cannot die? Who can breathe underwater without spells? Whose wounds close without the help of healers?" the man in the purple cloak of the priests shouted to a gathered crowd.

It was clearly night, yet my immediate surroundings were oddly bright. It did not take long for me to realize I was surrounded by fire. My hands were tied behind a pole. I was being burned at the stake.

I looked around. The place was familiar. It was the courtyard of my father's manor. The people were familiar too. I saw my father and mother staring at me with disgust. My siblings were sniggering, whispering, and laughing among themselves. The servants looked afraid. Sir Roland was there as well, standing much nearer. He seemed to hold the torch that lit the flames at my feet. His face was hard to read.

"He is a demon! A wielder of forbidden magic! He has no place here!" the priest thundered.

I was burning, afraid, and betrayed. But as always, I was silent in my suffering. Tears ran down my cheeks as I searched for a sympathetic soul among the sea of blank faces and found none.

I was unwanted. Why had I even returned here?

I opened my eyes and saw the wooden bars of the roof, holding the thatch in place. My body was drenched in sweat, and so was the pillow beneath my head. My chest thumped loudly.

I looked around. It was just a dream. No room in the manor would be this small or so poorly furnished. It was the lodging I had paid forty copper for in the port town. Still, it had given me a long and undisturbed sleep. The window showed it was already dark outside. I had gone to sleep late in the morning.

I left the bed with a sigh. The nightmare and the silence that followed reminded me how alone I truly was. At least in the manor, I had Sir Roland and a few friendly servants. Here, I had no one but myself.

The heavy feeling did not last. The thought of my newfound powers and what I intended to do lifted my mood. The last of my melancholy faded as I made my way down to the tavern below.

The Wanton Whale, unlike the Screaming Seagull, catered mostly to commonfolk. Here there was no polite silence, but the lively ruckus of laughing, cheering drunkards.

At the center of attention, a bard strummed his lyre, singing a song filled with innuendos. Laughter followed every line.

I wasn't fond of vulgarities, but the energy was infectious, and I found myself smiling as I wove between crowded tables. The place was packed nearly to capacity — a far cry from the quiet hall I had entered hours earlier.

I went straight for the exit. I was a little hungry, but it could wait. I would eat later, when fewer people remained, and after I had carried out what I planned for the night.

I could walk on water. I had discovered it while studying the contents of the blue sheet of light yesterday.

[Trait: Surface Strider]

[Condition Met: Achieve complete current resistance and maintain balance for 6 hours of water exposure]

[Effect: User can move atop any liquid surface as if it were solid ground. Surface tension will not break under your weight]

That meant that instead of swimming, I could simply walk my way to the deeper sea. I would only need to dive once I reached the desired distance. The problem, of course, was the attention it would draw. Perhaps some water mages could float, but certainly not with the same ease as I. And people would wonder at the sight of someone in commoner's clothes doing something so magical.

Such a display would make too much noise, and for someone hiding his identity, it wouldn't be wise. But at night? That was different. With my [Low-light Vision], even pitch-black darkness was only dim, like a cloudy day.

Outside the tavern, the streets were empty. The flicker of torches, the whisper of the breeze, and the music of insects filled the silence.

The tavern lay close to the shore. I slipped away from the streets and the sight of those still awake.

After winding through back alleys, I finally left the cobblestones behind and reached the sand. The bright moon was a concern, so I moved farther from the harbor, away from any sleepless sailors' eyes.

When I found a secluded spot, where only trees and waves kept me company, I decided to test the trait.

It felt different from my other abilities. My wounds healed on their own, my eyes pierced the dark without effort, and my senses sharpened instinctively. But to walk on water, I suspected, would require a conscious decision. If it happened automatically, submerging would be impossible.

So I decided to experiment.

I removed my boots and approached the lapping waves. My feet sank shallowly into the wet sand. I waited curiously. As the wave returned, water swallowed me ankle-deep.

As I thought.

When the water receded, I lifted one foot and set it down again as the wave rose — this time with a vague desire to see it float.

It was an oddly satisfying feeling: both the coolness and the supple solidity of water beneath my sole. Like stepping on jelly.

Grinning, I waded deeper until the water reached my calves. Then, with deliberate motion, I climbed onto the surface, lifting one foot and then the other. Just as described, I stood atop the water.

I chuckled. The thrill and the cold night wind sent butterflies through my stomach. The sensation reminded me of the first time I stopped to admire the otherworldly beauty of the night sky.

It felt too good not to be forbidden.

Growing confident, I began to run, leaving ripples in my wake.

I did not stop until I remembered why I had come.

Still afloat, I fetched the piece of paper tucked into my waist. The Fishweed plant was easy to memorize. Its leaves were slit at the edges, resembling open fish mouths.

I looked down and saw the barren seafloor. Only fifty meters from shore, it was still shallow. I would need to go farther. But first, I realized I'd have to return and strip naked — or else come back to the tavern drenched.

I didn't mind. Only the heavens would see my nakedness, and they had already seen the worst of me.