"Trees," I grumbled, kicking a root that had the audacity to cross the road. "It's been four days. Nothing but trees. Does this Kingdom have a vendetta against open spaces?"
Clement walked beside me, his stride irritatingly serene despite the mud caking his sandals.
"We walk the spine of the world, Brother Aaron," he intoned. "The Belgica Region is named for the Belgica Forest-a Restricted Area far to the south. But its vitality is so potent it bleeds northward, infecting the soil all the way to the border."
He gestured to the towering pines that walled us in. "These trees are merely the children of that ancient wood. The closer we get to the war, the wilder the land becomes."
"Restricted Areas and magic soil," I muttered, rubbing my stomach. "Great. Can we eat the soil? Because the jerky is running out."
My stomach gave a violent, hollow lurch.
It wasn't just hunger. It was a systematic failure.
Since the lightning strike, my body had changed. My Alloy Flesh-the mixture of Mana and Vitality fused into my muscles-was heavy. Moving my legs felt like dragging anchors. Every step burned calories I didn't have.
I felt cold. Not shivering-cold, but engine-cold. My muscles were seizing up, turning stiff because I couldn't generate enough internal heat to keep it pliable.
I'm rusting, I realized. If I don't get fuel, I'm going to lock up.
"I need meat," I whispered. "Real meat. Something with a soul and a lot of fat."
Clement looked at me, concerned. "The rations are meager, yes, but fasting cleanses the-"
"If you say 'spirit' one more time, Clement, I'm going to eat your shoes."
That night, the convoy stopped in a clearing that smelled of damp rot. The Sergeant posted sentries, but they were lazy-Rank 1 grunts who stared at the fire instead of the darkness.
My 'Understanding' picked out their blind spots instantly. Their attention was a cone of white particles focused on the warmth; the woods behind them were ignored.
I slipped away.
I moved stiffly, my joints popping, but I made it past the perimeter. I was fifty yards into the brush when a twig snapped behind me.
I spun around, dropping into a crouch, ready to fight.
Clement stood there, holding a small wooden symbol of his god.
"A pilgrimage of sustenance?" Clement whispered, not looking the least bit guilty. "The Architect does not forbid the hunt."
I sighed, lowering my guard. "You're loud, Priest. Keep up or go back."
"I shall accompany you," Clement said, stepping over a log. "Someone must perform the last rites for whatever poor creature crosses your path."
We went deep. Too deep.
The trees here were thicker, their bark dark and gnarled. The ambient mana in the air was denser, agitated.
I picked up a vibration.
Thump. Thump. Snort.
A dense cluster of white particles was moving through the undergrowth ahead. It wasn't a deer. The particles were packed tight, radiating a jagged, aggressive red aura.
"Stop," I hissed.
Clement froze. "What is it?"
"Lunch,"
I stepped into a small clearing. The brush exploded.
A boar the size of a beer barrel charged out. It had tusks like daggers and hide that looked like slate rock. Its eyes glowed with a faint, feral red light.
Clement gasped, stepping back. "Brother Aaron! Retreat! That is an Iron-Hide Boar. An Early Rank 1 Beast!"
He fumbled with his holy symbol. "Beasts are stronger than men! You need a squad of Mid-Rank 1 soldiers to bring that down! We have sticks!"
"I don't have a stick," I said, stepping forward. "I have hunger."
The boar saw me. It scraped the ground, lowered its head, and charged.
It moved fast. A blur of muscle and violence.
My mind-sharpened by 'Understanding'-saw the trajectory.
Dodge left, my brain commanded. Slip the tusk. Strike the flank.
I tried to move.
But my body betrayed me. My legs were heavy, sluggish from the cold and the lack of fuel. I pushed off, but instead of a graceful slide, I stumbled.
Thud.
The boar slammed into my thigh.
It should have shattered my femur. It should have sent me flying into the trees.
But it didn't.
I slid back two feet, carving grooves in the dirt. The impact rattled my teeth, but... nothing broke.
The boar squealed, confused. It felt like it had run into a statue.
I looked down at my leg. My trousers were torn, but the skin beneath-the dense, heavy alloy of flesh-was barely bruised.
I'm not agile anymore, I realized. I'm an anvil.
The boar backed up for another charge.
"Aaron!" Clement screamed. "Run!"
I didn't run. I widened my stance. I dug my boots into the earth.
Don't dodge, I told myself. Catch.
The boar charged again. This time, I didn't try to be fast. I waited.
When the beast was a foot away, I dropped my weight. I slammed my hands down, grabbing the boar by its thick, muscular neck.
CRACK.
The sound wasn't the boar hitting me. It was the sound of my grip.
My fingers sank into the Iron-Hide like it was dough. The density of my muscles clamped down. The boar's momentum hit me, but I absorbed it, shifting my internal weight to ground the force.
I stopped a charging Rank 1 beast cold.
The board thrashed, squealing in terror. It realized too late that it hadn't found prey; it had found a trap.
"My turn," I grunted.
I didn't use a technique. I didn't use a sword. I simply squeezed.
I exerted the pressure of my flesh.
Snap.
The boar's neck broke with a sickening crunch. The beast went limp instantly.
I dropped the carcass. It hit the ground with a heavy thud.
I stood there, panting. I wasn't winded from the exertion; I was winded from the hunger. The fight had burned the last of my reserves.
Clement stared at me, his mouth open. He looked at the dead boar, then at my unbroken leg.
"The Architect's mercy," he whispered. "You... you crushed it."
"Fire," I rasped, dragging the heavy carcass by a leg. "Now."
We roasted the boar over a smokeless pit fire Clement claimed was a "holy technique" (it was just dry wood and good airflow).
I didn't wait for it to be gourmet. I tore into the meat while it was still sizzling.
It was tough, gamey, and tasted like iron. I smiled as if it was the best thing I had ever eaten.
As the meat hit my stomach, my body reacted instantly. My 'Understanding' allowed me to manually trigger digestion. I felt the Vitality explode from the food-a rush of warm, sticky white energy.
It flooded my bloodstream.
Now, I thought. The Sintering.
I stood up.
"Brother Aaron?" Clement asked, holding a rib bone. "Shouldn't you rest?"
"No time," I said. "Fuel needs fire."
I dropped to the ground and started doing pushups.
Not normal pushups. I focused on the internal fiction. I rubbed my dense muscle fibers against each other, grinding them like millstones.
One. Two. Ten. Fifty.
My body temperature began to spike. The 'cold' in my joints evaporated. Steam began to rise from my shoulders again, venting into the cool night air.
Inside, I watched the map.
The new Vitality from the boar was just rushing into the "gaps" in my alloy-the places where my muscles were still just soft human flesh.
The heat from my exertion acted as the kiln.
Fuse, I commanded.
I felt the fibers snap together. The loose "webbing" of my Early Rank 1 muscles tightened. The gaps filled in. The structure became a dense, consistent fabric.
I moved faster. Squats. Burpees. Shadowboxing against the air.
I was a machine turning calories into structure.
An hour later, I collapsed onto the grass, sweating and steaming.
I lay there, looking up at the stars. I felt different.
The heaviness was still there, but it wasn't a burden anymore. It felt... integrated. I clenched my fist. The air popped in my palm.
I looked inward. My muscle density had increased significantly. I wasn't patchy anymore. I was solid.
Mid-Rank 1.
I had taken the step.
"You are a strange creature," Clement murmured, kicking dirt over the fire. "You eat like a wolf and train like a zealot."
"I'm about to be a soldier," I said, sitting up. I felt warm. Powerful. "And I plan on surviving."
The convoy finally crested onto the final hill.
Below us, the forest opened up into a massive valley. And in that valley sat the Forward Base.
It wasn't a camp. It was a city of war. Thousands of tents, wooden palisades, and siege engines surrounded a central stone keep.
To my eyes, it was blinding.
The air above the base was a chaotic storm of mana. I saw thousands of Rank 1 and Rank 2 auras. I saw the bright beacons of numerous Rank 3 officers. And near the keep, I felt the oppressive, heavy gravity of something Blue.
"Behold," Clement whispered, clutching his symbol. "The grinder."
I looked at the massive gates swallowing the line of new recruits. I felt the density of my new body.
I was just one piece of meat in a very large stew.
"Let's go," I said. "I'm hungry again. And thirsty."