[-Thirst of the Battlefield:
The higher your desire for battling is, the faster you can think in a fight (Evolvable)]
Thirst of the Battlefield, what an unusual skill, Osirs thought as he read the short description from the system.
"So this skill allows me to think faster in a fight, huh?" But as he said this, he noticed another thing that was written there.
"Evolvable? What does that mean?" he said in confusion. But just as he wanted to think more, his mind suddenly ached.
The pain was so intense that he dropped his sword and held his head. But even as he clutched it, the pain didn't lessen, no, it became much more painful than before. So much so that he had to kneel on the ground and take deep breaths.
"Haaa... haaa... haaa..." Breathing slowly, Osirs gradually managed to endure the pain. Then he suddenly thought this must be an aftereffect of the skill.
"So the skills have some kind of flaws?" he asked himself, then let out a small chuckle, tinged with sadness.
But then he heard that weak growl again, pulling him back to reality. He looked toward the sound and finally saw where it truly came from, the white fox's baby.
Osirs didn't have to search far. Just a few meters behind where the white fox had been resting, under a tree, there was a small cave, no, more like a hole that might fit both his hands together.
He crouched down and looked inside.
The small space wasn't really a cave. It was more like a burrow. Inside lay a tiny white-furred fox, its little ears twitching adorably, just like the big white fox's had been before.
But this one was too small to even scratch him.
So Osirs asked himself what to do with this newborn white fox.
Leave it? Or take it with me? Those were the options.
After a few moments of thought, he decided...
He would take it.
"Maybe I can tame it. If not, I can just give it to someone in the village… or kill it, take its fur, and sell it for something."
With these thoughts, Osirs reached toward the small hole and gently grabbed the newborn white fox by its scruff. The sleeping fox suddenly woke up and tried to resist, but alas, Osirs's strength was far too much for it to overcome. All it could do was growl in protest, weakly and without results.
The newborn white fox was now in his hands. Judging by its size and frail body, it clearly hadn't lived long. Its little legs weren't even strong enough to walk properly.
"Hehehe," Osirs chuckled at the small white fox and smiled.
"Don't worry. From today onward, I'll train you to become strong, so strong that maybe, one day, you'll actually be useful!"
With that, he held the little fox in both hands and began his walk back to the village. But with every step, he was reminded just how much his legs hurt.
Still, he could only grit his teeth and endure the pain, hoping he would heal with time.
During the walk, nothing happened, aside from occasionally stroking the frightened fox's small head to calm it down.
Eventually, he arrived at the village.
As soon as the villagers saw him covered in injuries, many of the adults grew confused and concerned. Even though Osirs insisted he was fine, they refused to let it go and quickly dragged him to one of the village healers, Raviere.
Raviere examined him carefully and gave him a special ointment that would dull the pain and speed up the healing process. She even checked over the white fox for any injuries.
Luckily, there were none.
That relieved Osirs more than he expected. If the fox had been sick or injured, it might have been something he would regret bringing back.
Finally, he made it to his small wooden house. He collapsed onto the hay that served as his bed, placing the small white fox beside him.
The little fox curled up in the hay, lying down peacefully next to him.
But when it landed on the hay, it tried to stand up and flee. Like before, it couldn't even take one step and fell back onto the hay. This made Osirs chuckle a bit, and as it heard his chuckle, the small white fox shuddered and curled into a ball out of fear.
That made him chuckle again, but as he entertained himself with the little fox, a sudden thought came to his mind.
"How can I train now?"
As he thought about it, his eyes widened and he froze in place.
"What should I do now?" he asked himself helplessly. After all, he couldn't even stand without feeling pain in his legs, so how was he supposed to train in this condition? Impossible. He had to wait until he healed, or his wounds might reopen and hurt even more.
"Life is really tough, huh?" With that thought, he laid back on the hay and closed his eyes, focusing his mind on what he had learned during the fight.
In that entire fight, he had only won by exploiting the fox's weakness, its love for its baby. Without that, he would have died. His performance had been sloppy. He couldn't even defeat a beast properly, so how could he expect to win against a human?
Slowly, his thoughts began to drift, wandering from one idea to another. He analyzed each one and either committed it to memory or discarded it.
After a long time, a low growl and a small bite woke him from his thoughts. Osirs opened his eyes to see the little white fox biting him and growling, which left him confused for a moment, until he realized what had happened.
He'd been too lost in thought, and the small fox had grown hungry.
So he stood up, gently picked up the white fox in both hands, and walked toward a small food storage chest.
This food storage chest was the kind every villager used to keep their food fresh. It could preserve things like meat by freezing them, allowing the food to be stored longer before being eaten.
Osirs took out a small piece of meat and went over to the fireplace. He lit a fire, and once it was burning steadily, he placed the meat on a small metal stick and rested it over the flames to cook.
He sat quietly, enjoying the warmth of the fire, with the small white fox curled up on his legs. It seemed the little fox liked the fire too, or maybe it just liked the smell of the cooking meat.
Osirs's thoughts began to drift as he watched the flickering flames, dancing and unpredictable. Then suddenly, an idea struck him.
"If I could move as fast and unpredictably as the flicker of a fire, that big white fox wouldn't have had the chance to land a hit on me…"
His eyes widened instantly.
He had realized something.
Footwork.
Footwork was the key to becoming stronger. Fast, unpredictable movement. That's what he needed.
"Hehehe," Osirs chuckled softly, pleased that he had finally found something he wanted to pursue. At the same time, the meat was finally cooked and ready to eat.
He took the metal stick from the fire, cut the meat into small pieces, and let the small white fox eat. He ate some too.
The meat tasted just as good as always. After finishing the meal, he laid down on the hay with the white fox curled up next to him and drifted off to sleep. It was already night, after all.
Night passed, and the day arrived.
Osirs opened his eyes and immediately checked his legs and other wounds. They were nearly healed, and he could move without any pain.
"This special ointment really does help," he thought as he examined his recovering body. Then he looked around, searching for the small white fox.
It seemed the fox had tried to escape again, but hadn't made it far. It lay curled up on the ground, sleeping peacefully only a few meters away from him.
Osirs stood up, walked over, and gently picked up the fox in his hands. That motion alone was enough to wake it.
The fox gave a low growl, but quickly noticed the piece of meat near its mouth, the one Osirs had left for its breakfast. It began to eat, and Osirs sat down to eat his own share as well.
Now, with a full stomach, he walked out of his wooden house, the small white fox in his hands and his sword resting on his hip, ready for training.