Level One God

I jolted awake, banging my helmet-clad head on the tree above me as I tried to sit up. The metallic ring did a good job of washing away the haze of sleepiness.

For a split second, I thought I was back home. Back in my world. I worried that I was late for work and had overslept.

The sound of the forest pulled me to the now—to here, wherever “here” was.

The wind whispered through the canopy of leaves high overhead. Unfamiliar animals screeched and clicked in every direction. I could still hear the trickle of running water from the stream down in the gulch.

It would almost have been quaint and comfortable if I had proper clothes and food in my belly. That, and if I hadn’t been stabbed and mauled by creatures.

I survived four near-death encounters in one day, found water, and even made it through the night without getting murdered in my sleep. I was damn near proud of how I’d handled myself thus far.

I started following the river again as I drank more refreshment potion. I discovered I could simply smash the bottle when it was running low and wait for the cooldown to get back a fully reloaded bottle. It was amazing. The potion of refreshment also tasted like minty soda.

The effect was like a long rest in a bottle. Any soreness or fatigue I felt melted away as the drink settled in my stomach.

It was like I’d just woken from a night of perfect rest instead of an outdoor nap with branches and leaves digging into my skin. I was alert, energized, and almost wanted to hit the deck and pound out a few push-ups.

So far, I knew this much about my Alchemist’s Kit: the bottle respawned full, no matter what I tried. I could dump the whole thing out or leave a single drop inside. Breaking the bottle seemed to always revert it to the amount I’d originally brewed after a cooldown of roughly five minutes.

The next test was whether I could replace the potion inside. If not, I might have just permanently locked my powerful “weapon” into a recovery potion. Not ideal, but I guessed it could be worse. I could’ve accidentally brewed a potion of aggressive hiccups or something. Being able to replenish myself so often would at least be kind of cool. Maybe I could take up marathon running, or charge people money for a sip on busy roads.

I made a mental note to start focusing on gathering ingredients again as I traveled. If I saw any more pink flowers, I wanted to stock up. I knew what I could make with them now.

I thought I remembered something on a survival show about streams leading to civilization, generally. I just couldn’t remember if it was smarter to follow with or against the stream. But going against the stream would mean going back toward whatever had carved a fiery path through the forest. That made my choice easier, at least.

I thought about what types of potions I hoped to be able to make as I walked. If I could make another potion in the Alchemist’s Kit, a healing potion would probably be the most exciting. It would mean my stab wound, cuts, bruises, and scrapes would probably all stop bothering me.

But as nice as a healing potion would be, I also could use something with a little offensive power. I had the tiny knives from that tomte, but I might as well be punching enemies with my bare hands because the blade was so ridiculously short. A bottle of acid, though? Or something explosive? That would be more up my alley.

Despite keeping an eye out, I hadn’t found any more plants or mushrooms that looked like potion ingredients. Either the gulch was too rocky, or I’d just been lucky to find two ingredients so quickly yesterday.

After a few more hours and several close calls with creatures moving in the nearby shadows of trees, the terrain finally leveled out and the river widened over a bed of smooth stones. I knelt at the water’s edge. I’d already drank my refreshment potion down to the last drop and stuffed a corpse finger inside the bottle in preparation.

I gave the bottle a little wiggle, watching the white fungus rattle inside. I wondered if the amount of the ingredients impacted the quality of the potion. I had so many questions about this thing.

I knelt down in the stream, took a few sips of water again, just for good measure, and then filled the bottle.

Like last time, nothing happened until I closed the stopper. The reaction was immediate once the bottle was corked, though. The water bubbled, but this time it took on a blackish green color.

I held it up to the fading sunlight, watching the tendrils of green snake around in the black liquid, almost like they were alive.

[Potion. (Common)?]

I looked at the liquid and decided I wasn’t going to risk even a drop of that touching my skin, even if it might mean getting more information. Instead, I tapped out one drop out on a nearby rock. The liquid hissed as soon as it made contact, bubbling and popping angrily.

I jumped back, watching until it settled and spread an oily film in all directions. The air around the rock shimmered, and a bitter smell filled the air.

Alright, then. I was going to take a wild guess and say that would hurt. It looked like some kind of poison.

The fresh liquid swirling in my kit also meant I could replace the potions in my bottle. There was just one last thing to test for now.

I aimed—much more carefully than last time—and chucked it as far as I could toward the trees. It caught a tree trunk and exploded in a hissing burst of liquid and glass. Even from a few dozen feet away, the smell was horrible. Chunks of bark peeled and fell off the tree like old paint, clattering to the forest floor and shriveling with gouts of steam.

A quick check of my inventory revealed the Alchemist’s Kit was there again, and the icon showed it filled with black and green liquid. However, I still couldn’t see any information about the potion inside.

I dusted off my hands and smiled. I had something that felt pretty damn deadly at my disposal now. Considering it had a cooldown of roughly five minutes, I’d need to make sure I didn’t miss if the situation was life-or-death, but it was better than nothing. It was progress.

Hell, yeah. I am doing pretty damn well for myself out here.

I fiddled around, prompting the system as I walked and tested various things, like whether I could summon multiple items simultaneously. I couldn’t. There was something like a global cooldown of about a second. The items always appeared just a touch above my hands, for some reason, meaning I had to catch them, or they’d tumble to the ground. Annoying, but not that big of a deal.

I found an interesting quirk: I couldn’t put the clothing I’d stolen from the gnome in my inventory. I even tried putting my hands on a random tree and willing it into my inventory, along with some water I had cupped in my hands.

I was puzzling over the peculiarities of that when I heard a voice. I ducked behind a tree surrounded by thick bushes. I summoned the Alchemist’s Kit to my hand to be safe. It was amazing how much better I felt about my odds of surviving an encounter when I knew I could throw this at any attackers.

I waited for a long while and didn’t hear the voices again. Eventually, I decided the coast must be clear. I put away the Alchemist’s Kit, and then I considered stashing my helmet, too. If people were near, I might not want to reveal that I was carrying something so valuable. The tomte seemed ready to kill me over the helmet, and there was no telling what other people or even other tomte would do. I’d just have to be extra alert for razorclasps while I had it stashed and out of sight.

Before I pulled the helmet off, I caught a glimpse of movement.

The figure was small, wearing a bright red hat, and familiar.

I inspected him as he darted from one bush to another.

[Cursed Tomte, Level 11] “Tomte are notoriously trusting of strangers. Their long history is riddled with stories of great empires falling because a tomte king or queen trusted the wrong person. To solve this, they often employ a special breed of tomte called a cursed tomte to help them learn to be more paranoid. Cursed tomte, when tamed, are considered an essential part of any tomte royal court. Even relatively well-to-do tomte families will splurge on a cursed tomte of their own.

Unfortunately, cursed tomte have minds of their own and sometimes wander off. They find each other, form wild packs, and create strange cultures all of their own. Generally, it’s not advised to interact with, be seen by, or even look in the general direction of a cursed tomte clan.

At least, I think that’s all true. Don’t quote me on it.”

I quickly scanned the information. Before I could pull off my helmet and hide it, the bushes and branches all around me rustled in unison. Twigs cracked and whispered, demented giggling filled the air.

I spun, taking in the sight of six cursed tomte surrounding me.

Oh, shit.