It wasn't fueled by any magic; they kept feeding it to ensure it never died out.

Speaking of magic…

Something had been nagging at him since he arrived in this world.

It wasn't covert, but after spending a night here, he'd become increasingly aware of a subtle discomfort, an absence of something he hadn't realized he relied upon so much.

As he circled the outer edges of the settlement, keeping well away from the forests and unknown terrain, he eventually located a hidden patch of rocky ground that was reasonably concealed from view.

He glanced around to ensure no eyes were watching him, then activated his Armament skill.

Immediately, he felt a familiar drain as five mana points disappeared from his pool.

He paused, standing utterly still, waiting to feel the regeneration tick.

Except this time… it was sluggish.

Timothy frowned and opened his system panel.

And there it was, confirmed in sharp digital text:

[Skill: Mana Control] – Lv 1 (Passive)

Regenerate 0.5MP per minute

Reduces the Mana cost of all skills by 1%.

Provides a chance to counter external Mana manipulation, effective if the opponent's proficiency is weaker than his own

...

Timothy squinted his eyes in understanding a sharp decline of ten percent in his mana regeneration, which was almost negligent Mana regeneration.

Meaning he would gain 1MP per two minutes and the five MP he lost just now, he would regain them in ten minutes.

And his whole Mana pool of 200 would be regenerated in no less than seven hours, and that was solely considering the Mana regeneration skill; that was a whole overnight sleep. Even if he shut down his whole body to focus on mana regeneration, he doubted it would make a difference.

"I'll have to be careful with managing my Mana," Timothy said and checked his full system.

...

Name: Timothy Walter [Evolution Unavailable]

Title: Goblin Slayer, Mount, A Hardworking Man

Trait: Hybrid (Unstable) 2%

Level: 34

HP: 7,900

MP: 200

Fatigue: 40

Strength: 60

Stamina: 100

Agility: 75

Intelligence: 100

Perception: 75

Free Stat Points: 7

[Skills]

King Unknown – Lv. Max

Dash – Lv. 2

Pheromones Passive – Lv. 4

Armament Enhanced – Lv. 1

Tenacity Passive – Lv. 1

Colony Genesis Active – Lv. 2

Force Passive – Lv. 1

Mana Control Passive – Lv. 1

Escape Passive – Lv. 1

[Colony] 6

Black Widow Arachnid (Arachnephora Nyx'Thelan) - [Symbiotic bond]

Silverback Termite (Gray) – Lv. 34 [Evolving: 28 Days]

Silverback Termite (Rex) – Lv. 7

Silverback Termite (Vox) – Lv. 7

Silverback Termite (Pax) – Lv. 7

Silverback Termite (Lux) – Lv. 7

...

Only now did Timothy realize just how skewed his overall stat distribution was heavily weighted toward Endurance. Reflecting on it, he understood that if he continued allocating stat points exclusively to Intelligence, he still wouldn't reach the kind of high Mana output he envisioned.

Not with the way his build was shaping up.

Then, a new thought crossed his mind:

What happens when a stat hits the 100+ mark?

Curious, he decided to test it.

Without hesitation, he attempted to assign points beyond the 100 threshold and was immediately met with a system warning:

[Adding stat points beyond this threshold without maxing out all other stats may/will result in harm to the host. Do you wish to proceed?]

Timothy stared at the notification, debating.

In the end, he declined.

If the system was warning him, then it was for a reason and in this place, risk without understanding was suicide.

With that mystery shelved, he turned his attention back to the immediate concern: shelter.

He began surveying the perimeter outside the fortress, trying to find the most strategic place to make a base.

Of all the four cardinal directions, he still gravitated back toward the very same spot where he'd initially been found.

It wasn't by preference, it was by process of elimination.

The opposite direction led back to where he had first arrived.

The flanks, left and right, were obscured from the Darvani's line of sight.

And while that might sound good in theory, here in this Expanse, isolation was a liability.

He wasn't looking to hide from them, not yet, at least.

The layout of the village revealed something important: it had two entrances directly opposing each other.

That meant visibility and predictability.

Anywhere else and he'd be risking ambush or worse.

Still, his chosen spot came with a problem.

The terrain there wasn't elevated like the village's platform. The Darvani clearly understood something about the dangers of staying on low ground.

Timothy suspected the puddle-born creatures, those waterborne monsters from the night had something to do with it.

He had a plan to mimic the elevation, but it would take time. And time wasn't on his side.

Being at the midpoint between the forest and the village made him vulnerable from both ends.

Even if he partially trusted the Darvani to uphold their word, the same couldn't be said for the creatures of the swamp or the unknown horrors the night might bring.

In short, he had until nightfall to build a lair.

And the countdown had already begun.

Without delay, Timothy got to work.

The first step was gathering rocks.

Fortunately, the terrain was rich with them, it was a rocky landscape after all.

The real challenge came in breaking them down into usable chunks.

That, he solved with his machete's blunt side.

One by one, he hauled the pieces over and started assembling them into the outline of a crude shelter.

It wasn't fancy, just a raised, rocky bed about a meter and a half wide, giving him room to lie down or move slightly if needed.

But quickly, he hit a problem.

Without any binding agent, no mud, no cement, no resin, the rocks had no structural integrity.

Stacked loosely, they threatened to collapse with the slightest shift.

He hadn't yet reached his goal: raising the platform enough to matter.

Still, it was a start.

And if nothing else went wrong, he could keep reinforcing it, bit by bit, until it stood high enough to offer some real protection.

The raised platform, while crude, would at least divert water away from him.

As for its durability as a true fortification? That was another matter entirely.

The absence of any adhesive mud, sap, or anything was frustrating.

Even crude earth would've sufficed to hold the stones together better.

But this was the wilderness, and Timothy had no such luxury.

Still, he pressed on until the ground surrounding his makeshift lair was flattened and the platform stood about six to seven inches above the earth.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

By the time he finished, the sun had dipped completely below the horizon, and Timothy was drenched in sweat and filth, an olfactory rival to a skunk, by his own measure.

Thankfully, despite the exertion, his fatigue hadn't peaked yet. He still had energy in reserve.

With nightfall creeping in and an inevitable encounter looming, he decided to rest, if only for a short while.

Sleep was a risk, but so was entering battle exhausted.

He briefly considered summoning termites to stand guard, but dismissed it.

His mana recovery was low, and he lacked biomass to sustain them.

So he chose the only option left: trusting his instincts to wake him in time.

A flawed plan, but it was all he had.

He collapsed onto the rocky bed and let darkness take him.

---

Some time later, under the pale and fractured crescent moon, the wasteland's quiet was broken by the steady plinking of rainfall.

Timothy stirred as cold raindrops needled his skin, soaking him and dragging him out of slumber.

His senses flicked on at once.

The air was chilled, damp.

A storm had begun.

The rain had only just started, there were no pools yet, but he knew what it meant.

This wasn't just weather.

This was the start of another night trial.

He sat up quickly, his muscles stiff but his mind alert.

His platform held for now

The design had worked as intended: water was sliding off, funneled down to the side where he had deliberately graded the ground to drain.

Looking toward the village, he saw no movement.

No Darvani.

No sentries.

Just a curtain of rainfall washing over still shelters.

It was eerie… too quiet.

And yet, it gave him clarity.

Only now did he truly appreciate his high Constitution stat.

Without it, he'd likely be shivering with illness or worse.

But any thoughts of refining his design were cut short.

The rain stopped.

Abrupt and Jarring

Simply Unnatural.

And then Silence.

The true horror emerged.

From scattered puddles that had formed during the downpour, slick figures began crawling into existence.

Translucent at first, humanoid, and eerily identical to the Darvani, except for one thing: no red eyes.

These were mockeries.

Waterborn replicas, brought to life from the very land.

Timothy gripped his machete, watching them carefully.

Most of the puddles were in the direction he had intentionally funneled the runoff, so they began to pool there.

When they emerged, there were many.

He tensed as they began to move.

And then… they charged.

Straight at him.

Timothy held his ground.

Heart steady.

Breathing regulated.

He prepared for the first leap onto the platform but none came