As Michael sat at the simple wooden table, the room's dim candlelight flickering, he couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling that had crept over him. The manifested window in front of him, glowing like a system in a video game, displayed information about the rabbit meat stew he was eating.
*Rabbit (Common)*
*Agility +0.01*
*Strength +0.005*
*Integration: Failure*
Michael's spoon clattered against the bowl as he set it down, surprise and shock evident on his face. He stared at the glowing window, his mind racing. "I can grow stronger from eating meat?" he whispered to himself, his voice quivering.
The realization was both exciting and bewildering. A new stat window had appeared in his mind, detailing his newfound abilities:
*Name: Michael*
*Age: 10*
*Spiritual Energy: 0*
*Agility: 0.6*
*Strength: 0.4*
*Intelligence: 1*
*Dexterity: 0.6*
*Will: 1*
*Wisdom: 1*
The hope of harnessing this newfound power was overshadowed by the realization that he needed coins to eat stronger animal flesh, particularly the flesh of monsters. He knew that witcher apprentices in the school ate monster flesh and were trained in a multitude of skills. The road to enrollment in the Witcher School seemed insurmountable, with the deadline fast approaching.
After dinner, Michael approached his parents with questions about the world and its history. His father, wiping his mouth with a cloth, offered a partial explanation. "You know, Michael, this world isn't what it used to be. It's seen countless wars, and things have changed over time. Witchers, once a proud and powerful order, have become scarce."
His mother chimed in, "The Witcher Schools were established in various cities to combat monsters from other realms, but they've dwindled too. Nowadays, they're not as prominent as they once were."
Michael's inquisitive gaze met his parents. "But why? What happened to the Witchers?"
His father sighed, his face lined with sorrow and uncertainty. "It's a long and complicated history, my boy. Much of it is shrouded in mystery. But remember, our world has faced upheavals, and the monsters have grown stronger. The schools remain, though they're not what they once were."
The information Michael received was fragmented, leaving him with more questions than answers. As he pondered the challenges of becoming a Witcher, he realized that there was much more to discover about this world and its history. His journey was just beginning, and the mysteries it held were waiting to be unraveled.
The following day, determination etched on his young face, Michael ventured into the city's dark and perilous streets. Memories of the thugs who had robbed and killed him, their faces etched in his mind, guided his steps.
The hideout of the thieves, a gang that preyed on the vulnerable, lay in the heart of Novi-Victoria. Michael reached the place and hid in an alley, covered by the darkness of the night, he watched from the shadows, meticulously tracking their movements and habits, while anxiety gnawed at his insides. He saw their despicable personalities as they whistled, beat up, and harassed all they saw.
"uncivilized animals!" Micheal couldn't help but mutter to himself.
The gang was reveling in the inn next door, their raucous laughter and drunken shouts muffled but audible. Even the guards stationed at the hideout's entrance seemed careless, dozing off or lost in their revelry.
With each step, Michael's heart pounded in his chest. His palms were clammy, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He was just a normal person from modern earth, never facing any hardships, but now he was in the den of animals in the body of a child, and he felt the weight of his inexperience.
Inside the hideout, the thieves that stayed there were carefree and intoxicated. The dimly lit room reeked of alcohol, and the stolen loot was strewn carelessly on tables. Michael, driven by desperation, clumsily gathered what he could find, not with the expertise of a seasoned thief, but with the trembling hands of a frightened child.
He watched in silence, heart in his throat, as he reclaimed his stolen coins. His yellow wallet, gifted to him by his mother a year ago lay on a table, seemingly forgotten by the gang. His hands shook as he picked it up. The act was swift, ungraceful, and fraught with fear.
As he made his escape, the thieves remained oblivious, lost in their drunken stupor. They wouldn't discover the theft until it was too late.
With every step he took, his mouth curved slightly into a small smirk, which turned into a wide smile before he started laughing loudly as he ran home. People walking around stared at him like an idiot, but he did not care.
"I have the coins with a little extra!" He said, clenching the loot in his pockets.
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