Growth
1319 Words
“Bang!”
After the gunshot, Claune slowly lowered the revolver.
Rubbing his sore arm, he settled into a nearby chair to rest.
The golden wall materialized before his eyes.
[Shooting: 786/1000; Level One] (Short-range targets have become trivial for you.)
Without earnest practice, one cannot hope to enhance their proficiency; the golden wall leaves no room for idleness.
Throughout the afternoon, Claune diligently fired off two hundred rounds.
Shooting at the ten-meter target was relatively straightforward, devoid of trajectory calculations.
It merely required alignment of three points: the eye, the front sight, and the bullseye.
Claune initially believed pistol shooting would be simple, but the difficulty far exceeded his expectations.
The recoil was entirely absorbed by his arms, unlike a rifle where much of the force is mitigated by the body.
He could practice no longer; if he continued, he wouldn't be able to lift his arms by morning.
Clenching his teeth, Claune packed away his revolver and exited the underground training facility.
Time was pressing; he needed to procure herbs from other gatherers and commence potion crafting.
Regarding herbalism, he was merely a theorist at present.
“Are you heading home?”
At the entrance to the training ground, Ayru greeted him warmly.
From the enthusiasm displayed, an onlooker might assume they shared an extraordinary bond.
Claune offered a polite smile: “I’ve finished training for today; I’ll return tomorrow afternoon.”
“Great! I’ll be waiting!”
Ayru nodded with a smile, pleased that Claune had purchased a good number of bullets, earning him a few silver coins.
Watching Claune’s retreating figure, Ayru’s expression shifted to one of derision, shaking his head in contempt: “Learning to shoot isn’t just about putting in hours of practice. This kid has ulterior motives; we’ve scoured his home and there’s no money to be found.”
But that was of little concern to him; in fact, he preferred it if Claune came by every day.
Oblivious to the policeman’s thoughts, Claune would only respond with a nonchalant smile, for the joy of showing off is beyond the imagination of ordinary folks!
...
On the eastern edge of Zach Town stood a modest wooden cabin, encircled by a fence, with a patch of cultivated land.
At this moment, Old Hans sat at the doorstep, puffing on a homemade cigarette with a troubled expression.
As a herbal gatherer, he relied solely on foraging in the nearby mountains for a living.
In the past, he would sell his herbs to the town’s only herbalist.
Now that the herbalist had been killed by a malevolent spirit, he found himself bereft of a market.
Although the herbalist’s son survived, Hans had seen the child before and knew he was still quite inexperienced.
Did the boy know how to craft potions?
Unlikely! He would struggle to even recognize the herbs that grew in the mountains.
So what was to become of the herbs he had gathered?
Wait for a traveling merchant who might pass by in a month?
Many herbs need to be processed shortly after being picked, or they lose their medicinal properties.
And those herbs often come at a steep price.
“Old Hans, I’m here to purchase herbs!”
A gentle voice interrupted the elder’s thoughts, causing him to squint at the newcomer.
Wasn’t this Claune, the herbalist’s son?!
“You? Purchasing herbs?”
“Why, are you no longer gathering herbs for a living?”
“Of course I am! What’s the price?”
“Standard! Just like my father.”
“Very fair; come in and have a seat.”
Claune smiled and shook his head: “No need; I must hurry to the next place. Just show me what you have.”
...
In the square room, the experimental table was illuminated by four oil lamps.
Each lamp contained a special herbal extract, casting a bright, pure light instead of the usual dim glow.
On the table, an alcohol lamp blazed brightly, heating a sheet of asbestos upon which a large crucible sat.
Inside, gorse flowers, blood-activating herbs, and dog bones simmered, bubbling with a murky, greenish liquid.
With one hand resting on the edge of the mortar, Claune gently ground the dried goat beans with the other.
When he no longer felt any coarse particles beneath his fingers, he paused.
He sprinkled the ground goat beans into the mixture, then took a glass rod and swiftly stirred until the liquid turned a dark red.
Once the concoction thickened, he extinguished the alcohol lamp and began to stir slowly.
When the heat became manageable, he ceased stirring and allowed the mixture to cool naturally.
Rubbing his slightly swollen head, Claune took a seat to rest.
He closed his eyes, replaying each step of potion-making in his mind.
He had already failed for half the night, uncertain if he would succeed this time.
Yet he felt no urgency; as long as he approached the craft with care, his proficiency in herbalism was steadily increasing.
Success was merely a matter of time.
Moments later, as the swelling in his head subsided, his once-tense nerves relaxed.
He rose and approached the table, lifting the crucible to his gaze.
Inside was a thick, black medicinal paste.
He brought it to his nose and inhaled gently.
A faint, pleasant aroma wafted up to him.
Yes, that’s the scent!
Inexplicably, he knew he had succeeded this time and could finally sleep soundly.
Claune smiled softly; he had finally discovered a means of self-sustenance.
With practiced ease, he transferred the paste into a ceramic jar, scraping every last bit from the dog bone and sealing it with a layer of oiled cloth.
This paste was intended to invigorate and heal the injuries his arms had sustained during shooting practice.
He named this concoction “Tiger Bone Ointment.”
...
As dawn broke, Claune had already washed up, enjoyed a hearty breakfast, and seated himself in his room to begin his visualization of the Golden Light Incantation.
Now, each practice session yielded him three or four points of proficiency.
In the morning, he would need to eat twice more.
By afternoon, he would clock in at the police station for around three to four hours of shooting training.
In the evening, he would wander through the homes of herbal gatherers in town, seeking what herbs he could acquire.
Upon returning home, Claune would apply the Tiger Bone Ointment to his arms and after a hearty meal, begin crafting potions.
This routine continued for four days.
On the fifth day, after practicing the Golden Light Incantation for half the morning, Claune paused, ready to head out.
He had no choice; his food supplies were exhausted!
The golden wall gradually materialized in his vision, and a smile of satisfaction graced Claune’s face.
[Faruk Language: 1756/5000; Level Three] (You have mastered this language.)
[Herbalism: 896/2000; Level Two] (You are well-acquainted with the properties of numerous herbs, significantly increasing your success rate in potion-making.)
[Shooting: 12/5000; Level Three] (You can hit fixed targets at medium to short distances with remarkable accuracy, and you also maintain a high hit rate against moving targets.)
[Golden Light Incantation: 1054/10000; Level Zero] (Your energy is ever-increasing, and your sleep can be somewhat abbreviated; rise and shine!)
[Culinary Arts: 712/1000; Level One] (In addition to cooking rice to perfection, you are beginning to appreciate the intrinsic flavors of the ingredients.)
In just a few days, he had stepped beyond the realm of novice, gaining a modicum of self-defense capability.
Shooting at stationary targets no longer yielded much improvement in skill; he needed to venture into the wild to hunt living creatures.
It was fortuitous, for he also needed to market the potions he had crafted to the primary clients of Claune’s family.
Certain potions required testing on recipients to determine the appropriate dilution ratios.
At times, an overly potent effect could turn out to be counterproductive.
- Writer
