100X Returns: Starting with 1,000,000 System Points

Chapter 26: Chapter 26: Ironhide Tuskboars

I broke through the last of the underbrush into the clearing, and the scene resolved itself in the space of a single heartbeat.

A young woman lay half-propped against the base of a broad tree, one leg bent at an angle that spoke of a bad fall rather than a direct wound, a scorched, splintered staff lying just out of reach where she’d apparently dropped it. Emerald hair, disheveled and streaked with dirt, fell loose around a face drawn tight with pain and fear. Robes marked with faint, half-burned arcane stitching identified her clearly enough — a mage, caught somewhere between spellcasting and simply trying to survive, and losing badly on both fronts.

Three massive boars circled her with slow, deliberate patience, tusks longer than any forest boar had a right to carry, hides scarred and mottled with old battle-wounds that spoke of considerable age and considerable violence survived.

I didn’t waste time on introductions. I drew the Wind Iron Sword from Inventory with a thought, the familiar shimmer barely registering against the adrenaline already flooding through me, and let Absolute Appraisal sweep across the nearest creature as I closed the distance.

[Appraising: Ironhide Tuskboar]

A territorial forest beast, notably aggressive when in groups. Hide provides substantial resistance to blunt and slashing damage; underbelly and eye sockets remain vulnerable.

Threat tier: Low-Elite. Pack tactics increase effective danger significantly.

Low-Elite, I registered, even as I closed the last of the distance. Above wolves. Below the orc. Manageable, especially three against one — as long as I don’t let them box me in with her.

"Hey!" I shouted, both to draw their attention and to give the woman some warning that help had arrived. "Over here!"

The nearest boar’s head snapped toward me, small eyes narrowing with the particular fury of a predator interrupted mid-hunt, and it charged.

I met the charge at an angle rather than head-on, remembering Thorne’s old lesson about not matching brute strength directly — sidestepping at the last possible moment, driving my blade across the boar’s flank as it thundered past. The Appraisal’s warning proved accurate immediately; my strike skidded off the thick, scarred hide with barely more than a shallow gash to show for it, the creature barely slowing despite the hit.

Underbelly and eyes, I reminded myself, adjusting my approach as the second boar broke from its position to flank me, the third still holding near the woman, apparently content to let its packmates handle the interruption first.

The second boar came in low, tusks aimed to gore rather than trample, and I fed Qi into the block this time rather than trying to outmaneuver the strike entirely — my blade catching the tusk at an angle that deflected rather than absorbed the full force, the impact still driving a jolt up my arm but nowhere near the bone-jarring pain the untrained version of myself would have suffered a month ago.

I used the deflection’s momentum to pivot low, driving my sword upward into the exposed underside of the boar’s jaw as it stumbled past, the blade finding considerably less resistance there than against the armored flank. The creature screamed, a high, ugly sound, and collapsed sideways, thrashing.

The first boar recovered from its charge and came around again, faster than its bulk suggested it should, and I met it this time with Focused Qi Detonation’s control rather than raw power — a small, precisely-shaped burst aimed directly at its exposed eye rather than the wasteful wide arc I’d used against the horde weeks earlier. The creature shrieked, reeling blind, and I closed the distance while it thrashed in pained confusion, driving my blade through the same vulnerable underbelly the Appraisal had flagged.

It went down in a heavy, final collapse, and I turned immediately toward the third — the one that had held back, guarding its position near the wounded mage rather than joining the attack.

This one seemed to understand, in whatever limited way these creatures processed threat, that its packmates’ deaths meant the calculus had shifted. It hesitated, tusks lowering, small eyes flicking between me and its clearly-injured prize.

I didn’t give it time to decide. I closed the distance fast, Qi flowing clean and gradual through corrected channels, and when it finally committed to a desperate charge, I sidestepped exactly as I had with the first, driving my blade in a clean, angled cut across its exposed throat as it passed. It stumbled three more steps before collapsing, blood pooling dark into the clearing’s churned earth.

I stood amid the three fallen creatures, breathing controlled rather than ragged this time — the fight costing considerably less than Brightwood’s chokepoint had, evidence of a month’s hard-earned growth finally showing itself plainly rather than through numbers on a Status screen.

The mage had gone very still against the tree, watching the entire fight unfold with wide, startled eyes, her injured leg apparently making retreat impossible even if she’d wanted to attempt it.

I sheathed my blade and approached slowly, hands visibly empty, the way Thorne had once approached me back in Brightwood’s square — unhurried, nonthreatening.

"Are you hurt anywhere besides the leg?" I asked, crouching a respectful distance away rather than looming over her.

"Just the leg," she said, voice steadier than I expected given the circumstances, though pain still tightened every word. "Fell wrong, trying to run. Would’ve been considerably worse without you."

"You’re lucky I heard the scream," I admitted. "Was gathering herbs a fair distance off when I caught it."

She studied me for a long moment, something assessing in her expression despite the pain — sharp, evaluating, the look of someone used to reading situations quickly even when badly compromised. "You fought those three like you’ve done it before. Ironhide Tuskboars aren’t standard fare."

I glanced down at the fallen creatures, already turning over how much of Thorne’s careful "control the narrative" philosophy to apply here, with a stranger rather than someone I’d built weeks of earned trust with.

"Got lucky," I said, the excuse settling into familiar, well-worn grooves. "Desperate circumstances tend to bring out more than people expect."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but let it go — for now — the same measured restraint I’d seen from Thorne and the estate town clerk both.

"I should get that leg looked at properly," I said, retrieving a healing potion from Inventory. "This’ll help some, but you’ll want a proper healer for the break itself."

She accepted the potion with a grateful, if still wary, nod, and I settled in to wait beside her, the forest’s earlier oppressive silence finally beginning to ease back into something like ordinary quiet around us.

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