Eric stumbled back, collapsing to the soil and groaning as post battle shakes from adrenaline and certain peril overwhelmed him, along with the sudden hot spike of agony from fragile flesh torn open in the desperate frenzy of combat. His eyes squeezed tightly shut as Agda’s cry for her child touched his heart, the joy in her sob making it almost worth the pain.

  Even as he shuddered and squeezed down agonized tears, feeling like he was going to vomit as the hot stench of sizzling lupine flesh and rank matted fur nearly overwhelmed him, fearing the agony that heaving would cause as his guts roiled.

  And why the hell was he this fucking weak? He hated being mortal, hated how fragile his body was even in victory. He hated not instantly healing up and being nearly superhuman, so beyond the pale that pain no longer registered as anything but a tingle, so of course he could fudge Willpower as high as he liked.

  But right now? Now he was very much a desperately wounded youth who could so easily be put down by the hard-eyed man even now eyeing him with rifle recocked and loaded.

  And Eric could sense the man so acutely, his Perception spiked up along with the exquisite grace of the warrior he once had been, and his ability to react, his reflexes… beyond mortality’s pale. Yet there was a reason why certain stats were in hard brackets in the momentary flash he had had of his pseudo character sheet. He knew he risked hurting himself badly, if he dared battle as if his Quickness was 30 and not a far humbler 18 right now. And Strength and Vitality had had no chance to fully manifest in any physiological chance. It had been only seconds.

  His muscles, bones, and ligaments had yet to strengthen and reinforce themselves. But at least they now had glorious potential as Eve, his mentor and mistress, infused him with power and potency that followed her code even if it somehow broke the rules of this Shadow realm. Yet that didn’t seem to matter, for she was Gold existing in this tiny pocket of the universe with Conceptio’s clear consent, and Eric had earned two precious levels with almost triple the standard payout, thanks to his titles and attribute boons.

  Boons which had allowed him to survive the fight.

  Boons which did nothing to stop his current weakness and very frail mortal body. Because even if neurons could be rewired in the blink of Eve’s eye, Finesse, Perception and Quickness all shooting up, the actual slow and fast-twitch muscles would need a full week of devouring savory meat or other sources of protein at a rate that won’t overwhelm his mortal kidneys, metabolism, and bowels.

  Though whether he will still be mortal once his Strength and Vitality ascend past 20 was anyone’s guess.

  Eric took a ragged breath, forcing himself to speak through his pain. “I guess it’s your move… sniper.”

  This earned a snort. “Don’t be a fool,” the man snapped, a heartbeat before his gun belched white smoke and fire once more.

  The air rang with a distant yelp.

  Agda’s father gave a satisfied nod. Somehow Eric could sense that, even as he curled up in a ball of his own misery.

  “There. The scout’s dead. Now the rest of his pack won’t know for certain what happened, even if we’re burying bodies.” The man sighed. “I’m burying bodies. Come, boy. Let’s get you back to bed. Agda will tend to your wounds as soon as she’s seen to Emily.”

  How strange it was, Eric reflected while trying to keep from curling up in a sobbing ball of misery, dreading the thought of spewing his guts out on the bloody soil, that the stumbling walk back into the cabin was the most grueling ordeal he had experienced since arriving into this realm, both humbled by how weak he truly was, sobbing at one point, shamed as he was to admit it, and carried in the arms of a mortal like the broken boy he was.

  How exactly Agda’s father had managed to maneuver Eric so effortlessly down the steep steps into the basement, or root cellar, was beyond him, yet when he next dared open his eyes when the last of the desperate desire to float away on a fever dream while spewing bloody bile finally left him, he was back in the same bed he had dared slip out of just a few hours ago, actually feeling on the mend.

  “Alright, Eric. This might hurt a bit. You have to be brave now.”

  He blinked, forcing his eyes to focus on a concerned looking Agda, her silken blond curls once more properly secured by a fresh bonnet, soft blue eyes gazing into his own. “Eric?”

  He forced a grimace. “It’s alright. Do what you AAGH fuck, that hurts!”

  “Language,” Agda tutted, though her word was gentle. “Oh, you managed to rip yourself open again. Not the entire injury, thank goodness, but you’re bleeding and as fragile as glass right now, so please be still. I need to sow you back up.”

  Eric’s eyes widened. “Wait seriously?”

  This earned a wry smile. “Yes. Now be still,” she said, as a half-delirious Eric noted that she was washing her hands in water that smelled of soapy lye before padding them dry on what looked to be bright clean linen. Next she opened a glass jar with a copper lid filled with strong spirits within which were what looked surprisingly like surgical needles and filaments.

  “What is that?”

  “Needle and thread, of course. Though the thread’s actually made from sheep intestines, and the needle’s so fine that only the dwarves could make it, and boy do they sell even their smallest trinkets for a pretty penny. Or food, really. Especially mushrooms. Anyway, please be still. Unless you wish to have my father holding you down. And then we’ll have to wait for him to finish burying the bodies and washing himself off proper.”

  She then turned, heart in her eyes, gazing at the cradle now holding a contentedly sleeping baby. “Thank goodness Emily went to sleep so easily. With how terrified she was of the wolves, I was afraid she’d be crying all night. But I guess she’s plumb tuckered out.”

  She then gazed at him with such warmth that Eric felt something far sweeter than any pain could take away, even as her fingertips gently brushed his cheek.

  “Thank you, Eric. From the bottom of my heart.”

  Eric forced a cheeky grin. “Thank you for stitching up my sorry—ouch! What the—”

  “Hold still!” She snapped.

  Eric winced and did just that, biting his lip, and sobbing under his breath. “Where’s my 146 Willpower? I need my fucking 146 Willpower. This shit hurts!!”

  “…And done. Quit sobbing, Eric. It hurt me worse delivering my Emily. Now let me put some fresh liniments on… there. How do you feel?”

  Eric gazed up at the vision of warmth and motherhood and healing before him, delirious with pain transformed to relief. “I feel better. So much better. The linement… it’s soothing the burning pain, thank god.”

  She flicked his ear. “Don’t take the lord’s name in vain.” She then gently squeezed his hand, before gently sponging almost his entire body. “There. Now you’re clean. And comfortable, I hope?”

  Eric gave her a sheepish smile. “I am. Much more than I was… Agda?”

  He blinked at her heaving shoulders as she finished putting away her herbs, liniments and surgical supplies. When she turned around he saw the red in her eyes, yet her smile lit up the room.

  “You didn’t hesitate, freeze up, or flee. When you saw my father fighting desperately for my baby against a pack of feral wolves, monsters that would have eaten my poor—” She rubbed eyes hot with tears. “You charged in with your spear like a knight of old. A character from my mother’s stories… no matter your injuries, you fought like a hero.”

  Eric swallowed as soft blue eyes pinned his own, feeling absolutely nothing like the cocky madman drunk on triumph and power that had seduced a vampire queen, just days ago. Right now, he felt like the boy he remembered being. The madness of the past year now almost a fever dream.

  “Like a prince protecting his charge.” She gently claimed his unresisting hand, pressing it against her cheek. “Thank you, Eric. From the bottom of my heart.”

  He took a shuddering breath, at perilous risk of falling into those gentle blue eyes. “You’re welcome,” he whispered.

  She bit her lip, lowering her gaze, squeezing his hand with her own. “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  He flushed under her no nonsense stare. “Lastborn son…”

  “Oh. That.”

  She flushed. “Yes. That.”

  He took a shuddering breath. “Maybe?”

  “Eric…”

  “Yes, Agda. It’s true.”

  She stared at him for long moments, her look utterly unreadable to him. “What are the chances that a wayward girl like myself, fallen so far from Spring’s promise… would find her root cellar inhabited by a faerie prince?”

  She shook her head as Eric’s heart pounded. “Prince of Mother Russia’s undying queen. A faerie so great and terrible that any invader of our homeland will be frozen to death with the first winter snow.”

  Trembling fingers stroked his cheek. “And her son lies before me, even now. Dressed in my liniments. Wild eyes dancing with ice and fire who could so easily claim my heart. A prince so fay and terrible, who fights like a warrior out of legend. A hunter of wolves. A hero of men. Here, in the root cellar of a girl who fled her heritage along with her family. Eager to start a new life in a world less cold and bitter than the one we left behind.”

  Eric chuckled softly, and winced from the pain. “I’m just a guy born and raised in New York, and elsewhere… who fell through a root cellar after taking an injury, grateful to wake up in the care of a beautiful apothecary in his hour of greatest need.”

  His words made Agda flush, but all she said was, “Get some sleep, Eric. I’ll waken you when it’s time to eat.”

  Eric smiled at the warmth in her words, closing his eyes long enough to put her at ease as she softly kissed his brow and then left, crooning a soft lullaby to her daughter as she adroitly ascended up the stairs.

  Only then did Eric focus on both the still throbbing pain, the tingling sense of healing, and the flow of golden streams of spiritual energy through his meridians, vibrant once more, after Eve had bestowed her gift, somehow piercing the veil that had left him in the shell of his original self.

  Only now… “I’m so much stronger than I have any right to be with those two ranks taken, even if the muscle mass will take a week to grow. And I feel like I’m starving for sustenance even now,” he whispered to himself. Fortunately, the reblossoming of his mind had been near instantaneous, as was now just a bit faster and quite a bit more graceful and perceptive than when he had first stumbled up the stairs he wouldn’t dare again until he had at least somewhat healed his wounds.

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  But what he chose to focus on at that moment was the glorious flow of spiritual energy he could feel trickling through his dozen primary meridian channels and countless already cleared periphery ones as well. The massive blockages a true mortal suffered, had been cleaned… save of course for the 4.12% plaque he had accrued since achieving perfection. And considering the massive boon a certain wolf had granted, he thought it a more than fair trade.

  Yet all that aside, even if he couldn’t ascend any further as a cultivator through sheer meditation, one truth that remained was that cultivating, cycling his Qi, could only be a good thing right now. It wasn’t about ascending ranks along a path that required peril… no. It was about rejuvenating himself. And even if his body in this odd enigmatic colonial realm was by and large mortal, he could still improve his lymphatic and blood circulation with the cycling, and that could only help his healing.

  Or such was his hope, anyway. And if any further benefit occurred? He would be both surprised and profoundly grateful.

  Inhale. Exhale.

  Focus on the beating of his heart.

  Deeper.

  No longer in the root cellar smelling of potatoes, herbs, fever sweat and hope…

  Now one with his body and the golden flow of spiritual energy trickling through his meridians or perhaps, in this time and place, his lymphatic system.

  The Winds of his breath fueled the fires of his metabolism, his life, rejuvenating and repairing the Wood comprising the cells of his frame.

  Rejuvenating him, reinvigorating him as Eve’s blessing manifested in better organized alleles and telomeres, more streamlined organelles as his mass stayed the same but rapidly increasing Vitality left its mark on cells that were now operating far more efficiently. That of an athlete in his prime. Almost, but not quite hitting 20. No. Definitely human, by the time his focused breathing became the soft susurrations of slumber… but definitely far closer to 18 as liniments blessed by a young woman of once noble bloodlines infusing healing arts with a mother’s gratitude and a young woman’s adoration worked to heal and soothe so many wounds as injuries forgot their painful bite and fully restored flesh awakened once more.

  Aggravated Injury has ameliorated to Light Wound.

  Congratulations! Your effective Vitality is now 18.

  Additional slow & fast-twitch muscle fibers recruited.

  Effective Strength is now 15.

  Effective Quickness is now 20.

  You are feeling famished!

  He wasn’t exactly sure when he had fallen asleep, opening his eyes to find himself feeling oddly refreshed and incredibly hungry, belly growling with the need for sustenance and lots of it.

  His nostrils flared. Even the scents of raw potatoes was making him ravenous, especially with the fresh medley of floral and citrusy scents that permeated Agda’s herbal and liniment collection.

  Yet before he could figure out a polite way to make himself known, soft voices that a remarkable 18 Perception picked up so clearly trickled through the imperfectly sealed cellar door latch.

  “He declared himself.”

  “He was distracting the wolf so it wouldn’t tear out my throat, Father.”

  “That may be, and I owe him a blood debt. We both do. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a prince eager to claim his throne.”

  “Father…”

  “Hush, child. We both know the stories around our Winter Queen. How she once ruled the old world entirely. And you know how.”

  Agda’s voice hitched. “Sons and daughters of such exquisite beauty that no ruler from Venice to Cairo could resist marrying their firstborn children to her heirs. Her descendants pulled the strings of the Romans, the Byzantines, Ottomans, and countless other nations and empires. Yes, Father. I know the stories as well as anyone. Grandmother made sure of that.”

  Eric froze at those words, heart hammering, caught off guard to hear his mother spoken of so casually, realizing only then how old her tale truly was… how deeply she had permeated Earth’s culture, putting her pawns into play.

  “Good, my daughter. Then you know better than to flush at the mention of his name! Nothing is more perilous than surrendering your heart to a faerie, let alone a faerie prince.”

  “I… yes, Father. You are right. I know you are.”

  “Good.” The older man sighed. “I’m not ungrateful, Agda. But after what we were forced to endure… the end of our own family’s bitter tale…”

  “I understand, Father. Just as I understand that my Emily sleeps safely, only thanks to a guardian we had no right to expect or even hope for.”

  “Agda...”

  “Please finish your stew and get some rest, Father. I know how tired you must be after tending to your duties and keeping us safe. I’ll see to our benefactor while you do so.”

  “Have a care, my daughter. The spear tells us everything we need to know, and after Rasputin’s wiles, we dare not risk any more folly than we already have.”

  “I won’t play the fool, Father. Not again. I swear it.”

  His only answer was a grunt a flushing Eric heard even where he convalesced.

  Eric soon found his world brightened by warm blue eyes and a heartfelt smile, Agda presenting him with a clay bowl filled with hearty stew and day old bread that though a bit dry, still tasted absolutely delicious when soaked in the broth. His eyes did brighten at the diluted beer she bade him sip as well, enjoying the infusion of herbs as well as the more classic bitters.

  “It’s good,” he declared.

  She nodded. “A mild table beer, fit for the youngest waif or the oldest grandmother. And better to drink tonight until I can bless the wells on the morrow and make sure that our lupine guests did naught to foul the water,” she said, brushing his cheek with a reassuring touch once he had finished his savory repast. “Now please don’t fret. I’ll be careful while touching the… heaven’s grace!”

  Eric blinked. “What’s wrong?”

  Wide eyes looked up from his bandages to stare intently into his own.

  He felt his cheeks flush under the regard of such a pretty girl. Even if care and responsibility had given her a certain weight behind her gaze, she was no older than him. He swallowed, feeling more than ever that his imposing confidence and prowess of just days before was more dreamlike than real.

  His heart skipped a beat when she leaned in closer. For just a moment he was so tempted to—no. He knew better. “Agda?”

  She swallowed, looking suddenly flustered, straightening herself before shaking her head. “How?”

  “How what?”

  “I thought... After the strain of taking on those beasts, and you had looked so…” She blinked. “But I suppose none of us were thinking completely clearly, were we? Perhaps you just needed the liniments, my strongest liniments, to coax the last of the swelling down… the blood more the province of wolves than man, so thank goodness I cleaned it all off thoroughly!”

  Eric frowned. “Agda, what are you saying?”

  She stiffened, before taking a shuddering breath.

  “Eric?”

  “Yes?”

  “How do you, um, feel?”

  Eric frowned at that. After what he had been through, what kind of—

  His thoughts froze, turning to look up at her in wonder, a relieved smile gracing his cheeks.

  “Agda?”

  “Yes?”

  “I feel, well, wonderful!” He gave a soft, awed chuckle. “No pain at all. Not even a twinge! I feel like I’ve been training all month for a track and field meet before taking a full day to rest and be at my peak. Because now I’m so filled with energy that I could burst!”

  Agda’s cheeks flushed, lips curving in a bemused smile. “I can tell.”

  “Sorry?”

  Then he looked down at the perfectly normal reaction of vibrant health and good blood-flow, the pants he had borrowed being far less discrete than bluejeans in his current supine position.

  His cheeks flushed the equal of her own. “Sorry, it’s just that I’m—”

  He blinked, clearly haven’t gained that much in Quickness or Perception because he was totally caught off guard looking for excuses when her soft lips caressed his own.

  Agda lurched back, eyes wide, as if unable to believe her own daring. Her cheeks were now a bright rosy red as she stumbled back to her feet. “Forgive me, I don’t know what—I have to go check on Emily. I’m so sorry, Eric. Help yourself to more stew upstairs if you’re still... I have to go.”

  She darted for the cellar stairs before Eric could think of a single thing to say.

  “God in heaven, why am I such a fool? Faerie prince or not, what was I thinking?”

  Eric winced, pretending he couldn’t hear a thing. His thoughts were whirling. Should he chase her? Make sure she was okay? Should he stay right where he was, pretty sure he knew what would happen if he sprung out of his too comfortable cot to reassure her that everything was okay?

  He closed his eyes and sighed as the cellar door closed behind her.

  “What can I do? Even if my life of two days ago feels like a dream, I was just with Natasha… and once I leave, will this place seem like a dream? And what the hell would that do to Agda if she dares to fall for me, and I disappear like that other asshole? And what if I end up leaving something behind?”

  He shook his head, castigating himself. “No. I’m not an asshole. I’ll stay right where I am, meditate til first light, smile and pretend that nothing happened, and get the hell on with my mission.”

  True to his word, he did just that, taking comfort in the warm glow of Spiritual Energy he could feel cycling through his meridians, delighting in the sense that at least some of his much-abhored plaque was actually wicking away, without him employing any perilous techniques at all.

  It was a revelation that abruptly jolted him to full wakefulness. “Wait, wait! If this realm weakens Silver-Tier plaque like it does our physiques… is this the secret to perfection? Just cultivating in here, where it has such a weak hold, assuming we’re willing to risk a temporary state of near mortal weakness that could so easily kill us if we’re not careful?”

  He flashed a wry smile at the thought, even if a tiny corner of him wanted to flee back to the safety of the high-powered power-gamer dream that was his life. Yet what he also felt strangely content here in this time and place, and maybe Agda and her family had grown on him, just a bit.

  He wouldn’t mind seeing what he could do to make sure they were in a good place before he slipped out of their lives just as he had slipped in. And even if a tiny part of him could fantasize about the slice-of-life dream of just heading upstairs and sliding right into Agda’s bed and trying out the life of a farmer, assuming he could win over her father… no.

  Too much was in play.

  Maybe one day.

  But as he knew all too well when almost slipping into a slice-of-life fantasy in Arcadia, no matter how gentle and welcoming the current realm was to that dream… the wild peril and madness of the world beyond still had to be tamed, or they would all pay a terrible price.

  And after Song had dared to threaten his sister…

  Eric’s gentle serenity turned to furious resolve.

  He would get what he had ultimately come here for, and he would put that asshole down for good.

  But what if Song had the root cellar exit covered with snipers?

  What if Eric would be trapped in his mortal body even upon reemerging? What if he needed a full night’s sleep back in the surface realm for his body to ‘reset’ to it’s idealized state?

  His heart fluttered in his chest, all too easily able to imagine just how screwed he would be if he was forced to flee from beings dozens of times stronger, faster, and more perceptive than him, praying he could hide for as many hours as he needed to recover while Bronze-Tier elites were on the hunt for his fragile mortal self.

  It was all he could do to suppress the runaway bout of worry, focusing on what he could change right then and there. Savoring the feel of all his plaque burning away in a realm that seemed eager to claim it all as a gentle mist.

  He sighed with suprised relief when he felt so much plaque lifting away like a scab, freshly healed skin, or meridians, revealed underneath. He couldn’t stop grinning, reveling in the wondrous feel of a body whole and healthy and already Stronger, healthier, and more graceful than he had ever enjoyed under all the months and years training under Vincent… without any steroids at all.

  But that didn’t change the ache inside him that wouldn’t be denied as he eventually surrendered to it and gracefully made his way up the stairs, another old skill coming to the fore as he moved without making sound at all.

  Congratulations! 4.12% Plaque has been reduced to 2.51% without consuming any elite treasures or Silver-tier fruit. How remarkable!

  You have successfully recalled a Hunter’s Grace! Your coordination allows for a Stealth of Rank 8!

  You have FAILED to sneak past the waiting hunter!