Chapter 11: Intelligence…
Blanche found herself back in the warehouse. Great…
A mission window popped up, as if to remind her just how much her life had changed—or rather, gone completely off the rails—while she let out a long sigh.
Stats gained:
Strength +2
Agility +2
Speed +1
Wisdom 0
Intelligence 0
Skill: Drain – Level 1
She read the “0” in Intelligence twice, then a third time—this time with a murderous glare—just before the window shifted:
Level 2 – Survival Assessment in a Hostile Environment
Objective: Survive
Duration: 24 hours
Reward: TBD
"Twenty-four hours? Seriously?!" she burst out, outraged, as the window vanished without the slightest concern for her despair.
Blanche closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again. If she had to spend that much time here, she might as well start by figuring out what “here” actually meant.
She moved toward the large entrance where the orc had appeared. A glance at her outfit stopped her cold. She looked down at her dress.
Or rather… what was left of it.
Torn up to the hip, exposing her entire thigh—and even a glimpse of her underwear on the right side. The top didn’t even close anymore. An outfit as indecent as it was useless. Who had she been, in that other world, to wear something like this?
When she finally reached the door, the fresh air, the azure sky, the suns, and the biting winter cold hit her like a blessing. But she froze.
The suns? Plural? Why had she assumed there would only be one?
Eyes wide, she took in an endless snowy plain, bathed in the light of two suns. One dazzling, the other smaller but warmer, illuminating a massive gas giant suspended in the sky. A marvel of ochre and pink hues. Beautiful. Unsettling.
She slowly circled the warehouse. There was no way she was staying there—but leaving without supplies was even less of an option. Especially dressed like this.
Methodically, she searched every locker, keeping an eye on the door. She found a canvas bag with a hook, two thick blankets, a long rope, scissors, a rusty scalpel, a few medical supplies—gauze, suture kits—taking only the essentials.
That left the lockers crushed against the orc’s corpse. Thanks to her newfound strength, she managed to move them. Jackpot: a tarp and some matches. But no food. No water flask. Nothing.
She grabbed her long, sticky hair, clumped together with sweat, fear, and grime. Way too long. She quickly braided it with a piece of wire, then tied it into a tight bun.
Then, using the largest blanket, she fashioned herself a cloak, tying it at the waist with a piece of string. The rest went into the bag. She slipped the only usable scalpel into her vest pocket.
Ready, she cast one last look at the warehouse. Her gaze lingered on the orc’s corpse, its axe still embedded in it. She turned back.
She dropped her bag and struggled to pull the axe free. After a long effort, she managed to yank it out. The orc’s skull burst open onto the floor. She barely avoided the weapon’s recoil.
The axe felt lighter than before. She was stronger. The stats, apparently, weren’t just for show.
She wrapped it in an old sheet taken from a bed, tied it tightly with rope, then wedged the handle between her back and her bag before setting off.
The cold immediately attacked her bare legs. The blanket wasn’t long enough to cover her completely. Without a word, without looking back at the grim building, she walked toward the forest.
How long did she walk? She didn’t know. The silence, the cold, the fatigue—it all weighed on her. Until she looked up and saw… a bird.
Flying freely, alone, in a winter sky. A bird. And her stomach growled.
How long had it been since her last meal? Since Fenrir? Since… this world?
She murmured, hesitant:
"Drain."
The bird dropped instantly, dead.
Skill acquired:
Flight – Level 1
Drain – Level 2
"Seriously? " she said, stunned, then laughed. Flying? Finally some good news!
She kept walking, legs heavy, until she reached the fallen bird. But she wasn’t alone.
A smaller female nudged the body of her companion with her beak, as if trying to wake him.
Blanche felt her chest tighten. But hunger… reality…
She whispered again:
"Drain."
Wisdom +1
Not glorious—but useful. She tied the two birds to her blanket, one on each side. She must have looked ridiculous, walking unevenly. But at least she had something to eat.
She walked on, for a long time, until she finally reached the forest’s edge. There, she stopped, struck by the beauty of the place.
The conifers were gigantic, some nearly touching the clouds. Sheltered beneath them, she set down her things and began gathering wood—or rather, massive pine needles. Some were dry enough to start a fire.
She set up a makeshift spit, wedged the axe between her thighs to cut the birds. She didn’t know how to gut them, so she settled for the legs and wings. Not ideal—but she didn’t have the luxury of being picky.
A bit of fire, a bit of burnt but warm meat. She ate in large bites, not caring about the taste. The heat seeped into her bones.
Once full, she destroyed the fire, covered the remains with snow, and laid the bodies side by side. Impossible to dig in the frozen ground.
The second sun was slowly setting.
She tied the axe to her bag, tightened the rope, and began to climb. The ground wasn’t an option. Survival came first.
Branch after branch, hauling her belongings up each time, she climbed slowly, clumsily.
Strength +1
Intelligence +1
About twenty meters up, she settled against the trunk, crawling onto a wide, stable branch. The wind howled. The snow spared her—but not the cold.
Using the tarp, she built a makeshift shelter. She tied the rope to the branch, then to her legs. She wrapped herself in the blankets, leaned against her bag, secured the axe. She was filthy, exhausted, shivering.
But alive.
Her throat burned with thirst. She tried not to think about it.
Then sleep took her—sudden, deep. Only the wind, roaring through the treetops, served as her lullaby.