Eight: A LitRPG Novel of Magical Survival

The otter didn’t show up for lunch. I’d expected her to, since she didn’t seem to be the type to miss a free meal.

“These are for you,” I said as I set a couple of catfish filets by the pool.

When she still didn’t appear, I shrugged and went to check the stave I’d scavenged from the ash tree. I’d originally planned to use it for a new spear, but it looked like it’d also make for a decent stickbow. There was a knot in the wood that worried me, but if I cut it right I could bring the knot closer to the middle, to the part of the bow that wouldn’t need to bend. As long as the limbs were able to flex, it’d be all right.

Any sinew for the arrows would need a day to dry, so I started there, slicing the calf’s legs and peeling the skin to expose the membranes underneath. Cutting through the membranes exposed the milky-white tendons inside.

For a moment, I felt real regret for the deal I’d made with Ikfael. A steel dagger that never lost its edge was just so god-damn useful.

With a sigh, I laid out the tendons to dry, then switched to stripping the bark from the ash stave. Some came off by pulling it free, but my new draw knife came in the handy for the stubborn bits. It proved my improvised tools could get the job done. That made me feel a bit better, and I’d feel even more amazing once I learned how this world’s magic worked.

As I began chopping the excess wood from the ash stave, I couldn’t help my smile.

Knapping the flint arrowheads was hard and always had been for me, even when I helped crew Land of the Living Lost. They required such precision to make. At least I had a kid’s body this time around and the nimble fingers that came with it. I only finished two, though, before I ran out of daylight and patience.

The catfish filets still sat by the edge of the pool, so I tossed them out, not willing to eat them myself after they’d been sitting in the sun all afternoon. I bathed in the pool, thinking that would draw the otter out, but that didn’t work either. Huh, I wonder if she’s busy or away.

There was a fire for company, and I lay back to look at the stars. Feeling sore, banged up, and mentally exhausted, it occurred to me that I wasn’t taking good care of myself. Nor was I taking advantage of the System as I should be. Yes, I had to deal with my immediate needs, but there were steps I could be taking to improve my future. I had an adult mind in a child’s body, as well as a lifetime of knowledge, experience, and discipline. Let’s harness that, shall we?

I’d already seen proof of the helpfulness of my attributes and skills. And they did rise under the right circumstances. Well, I wasn’t about to go hunting for more Evil Death Mushrooms, but there were other practices people have used for generations to train their physical, mental, and spiritual selves. I’d even practiced a few myself. They were watered-down versions meant for modern lifestyles, but yoga, qigong, and meditation had deep, deep roots in the ancient world.

What would happen if I spent a month in intensive training, just as a test? That was an interesting question, a very interesting question, and one worth finding an answer for.

The next morning, I wiped away the dew gathered on the tendons and moved them into the sun to speed up the drying process. I went fishing, started a fire, and ate my breakfast, all without the otter. She was still missing, but I set aside one of the perches for her just in case she showed up later.

The air was cool, and a pleasant breeze blew through the Glen. Perfect weather for starting a new morning regimen. I began with stretching and limbering up, getting my body ready. That was followed by physical resistance training: push-ups, sit-ups, squats, pull-ups, wall sits, and lunges.

I discovered that, while I was breathing hard by the end, I still had fuel in my engine for more. It had always seemed like children could play forever, and I was now just like them.

I grinned as I remembered my kids’ adventures in the woods. During the summers, they disappeared the whole day long, only to show up just as Helen and I were sitting down for dinner. It was magical how they suddenly appeared at the backdoor, dirty as a pig’s wallow.

Next came yoga. The studio near my house taught a blend of Vinyasa and Yin styles, which they imaginatively named Yinyasa. The teachers were a really sweet couple named Albert and Karmia. I’d done some bookkeeping for them in exchange for free classes, but nothing I said changed their minds about the name.

Well, whatever they called it, the combination of active and soft poses really opened up the tight places in my aging body. My new young body didn’t have any of those troubles. My muscles felt elastic, and there were no hitches or aches, nor any groans or gnarly knots to unwind. I almost cried from the sheer pleasure of moving without pain.

It was an easy transition from yoga to Baduanjin-style qigong.

There had been a debate at the yoga studio about whether Baduanjin was really qigong. I didn’t know enough about the history to participate in the discussion, but I’d followed the conversation closely. History was one of my hobbies—I had quite a few as a widower and empty nester.

The argument on one side was that the movements in Baduanjin were closer to Shaolin martial arts than Taoist qigong. Supposedly, they were preparation for martial arts practice and nothing more. The movements didn’t need qi in order to be effective for what they were designed to do.

The other side, which included the teacher Karmia, argued that “Yi leads qi.” In other words, the mind, yi, guided the flow of internal energies, qi, and while the movements were perfectly fine when performed as physical exercise, they became real qigong when yoked to an alert and discerning mind.

Karmia was always asking us to imagine we were doctors performing surgery. Or that we were riding a motorcycle along a cliffside road in the fog. Or jumping from river stone to river stone with a baby in our arms. The imagery was to help us focus, and that focus was used to direct the qi where it needed to go.

Neither side of the argument was convinced by the other, but that was okay. We all usually ended up at the pub afterwards.

Unlike in my old life, though, I was able to clearly sense my qi. Sure, I’d felt it before in Karmia’s classes, but not as strongly. A part of me had always wondered if it was all just wishful thinking, but not here. Here, the sensations were real and present, the qi sliding through the meridians with ease.

I felt like I was cheating. Yi leads qi, indeed.

Afterward, I sat in meditation. The whole time, the energy flowed through my body in waves. Each time a wave crested, my muscles, ligaments, and bones absorbed the extra qi. My body felt nourished. No, it was more than that. My mind was nourished too, and there was even a tautness to my spirit. The three aspects of my being felt aligned. It was giddy and intoxicating, even better than a runner’s high—not that I’d done much running.

My plan was to spend the morning on this routine, focus on projects and survival needs during the middle of the day, and finish in the evening with skill practice and experimentation. I had initially expected the schedule to make for a long and grueling day, but now I wasn’t so sure.

I wasn’t afraid of work. My youth had been spent in hard, physical labor—construction, carpentry, and set and prop design. I had the necessary discipline, but thought I’d need to rebuild the stamina. If training was this enjoyable, though, it’d make the process so much easier.

I sat for a while, luxuriating in the qi still thrumming through me, but then hopped up, kicking myself. This mental state was precious. My mind was alert, relaxed, present—it was the perfect combination for making things. I ran to where I’d knapped the flint arrowheads the previous day and worked on the last three.

The process was still challenging, but the arrowheads were finished more quickly and appeared more sharply made. I nodded to myself. Whatever I practiced after the morning routine would strongly benefit from its afterglow.

There was fish again for lunch, a bass this time, and I boiled a handful of beans to go with it. The flavor was similar to fava beans, but more earthy and intense. I didn’t see any abnormal conditions appear in my Status after eating a couple, so I finished the rest and had a plum for dessert.

The beans were a big deal. I’d been worried about being able to keep food long term—like over the winter if necessary—and dried beans could help fill the gap.

After lunch, I checked on the tendons. They’d turned a filmy, translucent yellow and were hard to the touch. I took them over to a flat section of stone and used a rounded rock to pound them. As I hammered, fluffy white fibers separated out, and I pulled them apart until the tendons were completely separated into fibers.

I popped one of the fibers into my mouth and chewed. Just a bit, as I didn’t want the glue to come out of the sinew. Then I wrapped it around a stick to test if it’d hold.

The rest of the day was spent just like that: tillering the bow to make sure the top and bottom drew evenly, spending forever to make sure the arrow shafts I was making were straight and smooth, braiding the rope that would become the bowstring, cutting the turkey feathers to make arrow vanes, and so on.

It was early evening by the time I was done, but by the end, I had a bow and five arrows tipped with flint arrowheads.

I was anxious to test the bow, but my stomach complained of neglect, so I threw together a medley of squash, beans, and wild onions. The day had been a long one anyway, and even with a child’s endless energy, I needed rest. If only the food tasted better. The beans and onions were okay, but the squash was just so bland.

Still, my efforts were bearing fruit. I was getting used to this world and finding ways to survive in it. With spear and bow, I’d be able to hunt and diversify my diet even more. There’d also be hides for clothing and blankets, and bones for utensils, needles, and other tools.

I had a safe place to stay, and even more importantly, I was going to learn magic soon, which would further improve the odds of surviving.

But… is surviving enough?

Deep down I knew it wasn’t, but being in the woods, forced to live moment to moment, helped to ground me. It made the circumstances of my death and new life real, and provided a space to figure out my own head before I plunged into whatever accounted for civilization in this world. People complicated situations, and I needed to settle myself first before encountering them for real.

Plus, you know, the whole being-chased-off-by-town-guards thing. I still needed to figure that out, but once I did—and I acquired hides to trade and the means to protect myself—I could hopefully meet with people on my own terms. Otherwise, I’d just be an eight-year-old kid, easily preyed upon.

Well, not easily, but it’d likely be an uphill battle standing up for myself. Many societies on earth didn’t exactly go out of their way to protect orphans. I couldn’t necessarily assume the same about this world, but again, the gate guards’ behavior didn’t offer much hope.

So survive in the short term, and once I have a handle on that, reach out to the people living east of here to see if they can be reasonable. If nothing else, it’ll be useful to be able to trade for real tools. And salt. I’d kill for some salt.

Dinner helped me catch a second wind, and I picked up the bow to see if I’d made it well enough.

The limbs held when I pulled the bowstring back. My guess was that it drew about thirty pounds. In other words, thirty pounds of force were needed to pull the bowstring back.

The problem was that it wasn’t a smooth draw, and pulling the bowstring back needed a lot more force over the last few inches. It was like riding a bicycle up a mild hill, and then suddenly encountering a steep incline. My archery buddies would’ve said that the bow ‘stacked’ badly.

Drawing the bow was just within my abilities, although it did shake at the end, until I got to the final part of the shooting stance. Once there, the stance helped distribute the load across the bones in my arms and back to ease the demand on my muscles.

The only way I knew to lessen the amount of force needed was to shave down the limbs, but that would also drop the bow’s poundage. Thirty pounds was already on the low side. Forty was usually the legal minimum required for deer, which was what I was hoping to hunt. Not that I had to worry about laws exactly, but a weak bow risked wounding a deer without killing it.

There was nothing for it—I’d just have to suck up that it’d be hard… and train my Strength.

When I tested the arrows, the first flew wide, above the hunk of wood that was my target. The second arrow went left. It’d been a couple of months since I’d last gone hunting, so it was no surprise my form was rusty.

I released the third arrow, and it thunked into the wood. I grinned—the familiar motion was familiar, even in a new body.

The next time, I remembered to exhale as I drew. I emptied my mind, and the arrow produced another satisfying thump. I drew and shot again. Another thump followed.

So: three hits, two misses.

The bow shoots better than expected, but the arrows aren’t very good. It’s gonna be tough getting the shafts true without better tools.

The fletching was fine, but the shafts weren’t what they needed to be. Although, the orange-fletched arrows were… good? The orange vanes somehow made up for the poor quality of the shafts.

I practiced for half an hour before stopping. My back was already sore from the exercise earlier, and my arms were burning from struggling against the way the bow stacked. I was satisfied though. I’d had a couple of traditional bows back home, and shooting with them was like spending time with an old friend. This bow was still new—we were still getting to know each other—but we’d be able to work together, I thought. There’d be some chance involved because of the poor quality of the arrows, but the bow shot well enough to go hunting. The plan for a future in this world was coming together.