Part I: The Five-Minute Crucible
The words of The Mist stuck in Ume's mind like glue, it's either get it right or game over. So Ume was extra cautious and mindful.
I hide a poison that only moves slow,
I have many eyes, but nothing to show.
I am protected by a terrible cover,
But a hungry root is my only true lover.
Five minutes. All she had was less than 300 seconds. And that was before the Weeping Creeper was approaching, which, though sluggish, was still covering the distance between them. The timer was an external pressure, but the internal one—the searing, cold fear of The Shared Pain—was the real thing. She had to solve the riddle and defeat the creature perfectly, or Hara would pay the price if she gets a small wound also.
Her corporate mind, honed by years of deciphering veiled threats in shareholder agreements and finding loopholes in rival contracts, seized the puzzle. She couldn't care less about the crazy man who she encountered —a young man who was now frantically trying to escape through the sticky marsh mud, only succeeding in attracting the Creeper's focused, creepy gaze. He was someone not that important to her, just a fleeting distraction Ume had no moral obligation to protect. Her only obligation lay motionless with no idea what in the world was happening, whether he was going to live or die.
She began the internal breakdown, her consciousness moving at a terrifying speed:
"I hide a poison that only moves slowly." This was the simplest part, a literal description. She put all her mind on and all she could think right now was how to get rid of that creep. And suddenly, she remembered the creeper's description, which she happened to read when Hara was developing the game. The Creeper's thick, slick carapace exuded a highly corrosive, slow-acting venom. It didn't rely on speed, but on persistent, debilitating toxicity. This implied its main defense was patience.
"I have many eyes, but nothing to show." Its numerous eyes were dull, unreflective, and unblinking. They registered light and movement, but lacked the depth and focus of genuine intellect. This wasn't a sapient creature; it was a biological automation. Its eyes provided no strategic insight into its thoughts or intent.
"I am protected by a terrible cover." The carapace. Thick, nearly impenetrable to a crude wooden club, let alone Ume's bare hands. This confirmed her absolute need for a precision strike. Battering it would only waste the precious time provided by The Chest and invite retaliation.
"But a hungry root is my only true lover." This was the inflection point, the truth Ume had to unlock. A root implied foundation, core, or weakness. Hara had often discussed the concept of "core truth" in his game design—that every creature, however fantastical, must have a logical weakness tied to its fundamental nature.
A hungry root. Roots seek sustenance. The Creeper, a creature of rot and decay, was bound by its need to feed on rich, decaying matter. Where was the connection to this life-giving, life-sustaining function located? Not in the eyes or the armor.
It is the point of consumption, the point of intake, the vulnerable point required for its continued existence.
Ume recalled a conversation Hara had muttered while debugging the Weeping Marsh fauna tables: "If you want to kill a Creeper instantly, find its ventral intake. It's disgusting, but it bypasses the entire defense layer. It's their root and their hunger all in one."
The realization hit her not with a flash of triumph, but with a cold, terrifying clarity. The riddle wasn't just about the monster's vulnerability; it was a test of system lore, a challenge to prove she understood the foundational logic of Orchid Slug.
"The Vulnerable Core," Ume articulated thought, her mind snapping the pieces together. "The spot where its survival mechanism—its hunger—requires a lapse in its defense."
A soft, clear chime resonated only in her mind. The bronze lock on the Creeper shimmered, then dissolved, replaced by a momentary, pulsing light.
Riddle Solved!
Part II: The Necessary Sacrifice
The Weeping Creeper was now less than six feet from the frantic young man. The man, whose face was slick with sweat and mud, finally landed a desperate, glancing blow with his wooden club on the Creeper's carapace. The club bounced off harmlessly with a wet thunk.
"It didn't work! Help me, please! What is this thing?" the young man shrieked, backing right into Ume's personal space.
Ume ignored him, her gaze locked on the list of available features presented by The Chest:
1. Weeping Creeper's Toxic Carapace (Defense)
2. Weeping Creeper's Sluggish Toxin (Offense)
3. Weeping Creeper's Vulnerable Root (Weakness Insight)
The choice was immediate, devoid of hesitation.
Toxic Carapace? Useless. It would not prevent her from being hit, only reduce the effect, and any effect meant pain for Hara.
Sluggish Toxin? Equally useless. She couldn't fight with her fists, and acquiring the ability to slow the monster wouldn't kill it. It would merely delay the inevitable moment of contact.
Vulnerable Root (Weakness Insight). This was the only option. She didn't need strength; she needed knowledge—the precise angle and location to bypass its terrifying defense completely.
"I choose... Vulnerable Root," Ume stated in her mind, her resolve cold and absolute.
A pulse of raw, digital energy—not harmful for her but entirely different—surged through her skull. She didn't gain power, but her perception shifted.
The Creeper's thick armor, visible only seconds ago, now seemed to possess a single, faint, shimmering section on its underside, just where the neck met the thorax. It was a membrane, not carapace, an exposed 'ventral intake' pulsing with a sickly green glow—the life-force of the creature.
4:12 remaining. The timer was short, but the insight was total. She knew how to kill it. Now she just needed the means.
The man beside her was a disaster. He swung his club wildly, forcing the Creeper to momentarily shift its weight, but in doing so, he only exposed himself more fully. Ume realized she couldn't rely on him to maintain a useful position.
"Wait! Don't move!" Ume commanded, her voice suddenly sharp and commanding, the tone she used when a subordinate had grossly misinterpreted a quarter-end report.
The man froze, startled by the sudden, authoritative voice. "Wha—what?"
That hesitation was all Ume needed. Her eyes darted to the ground. Half-submerged in the thick, foul-smelling mud, she spotted a piece of debris: a shattered piece of what looked like old server housing, its edge sharpened to a jagged, deadly point. A shrapnel weapon.
Ignoring the young man's confused stare, Ume plunged her hand into the cold muck, retrieving the razor-sharp digital shard. She felt the rough edge bite into her palm, a microscopic cut—but not deep enough to register as trauma to the system. No spike for Hara.
"When I tell you to run," Ume in
structed, her eyes never leaving the Creeper, which was now coiled to strike the young man, "run straight forward, into the swamp. Don't look back."
"Run? But—"
"Now!" Ume roared, using a volume she reserved for only the most dire emergencies.
The sound shocked the man. He instinctively obeyed, turning to flee with a clumsy, panicked splash. That movement was the final, critical piece of Ume's strategy. As the man bolted, the Creeper, focused entirely on its escaping prey, lunged forward with unexpected speed, stretching its vulnerable underside directly toward Ume's position as it attempted to seize the retreating figure.
Part III: The Cost of a Flawless Victory
Ume didn't run. She didn't hesitate. She moved with a short, brutal burst of force, stepping forward into the exact space the man had been.
She used the momentum of her entire body, driving the jagged metal shard forward and upward, aiming with the absolute, unclouded precision granted by Vulnerable Root (Insight).
The shard found the pulsing membrane. It was a soft, sickening schlick—not a crunch of bone or armor, but a catastrophic violation of the creature's core. The Creeper didn't roar or collapse; it short-circuited. A high-pitched, digital shriek tore through the air, and its entire body spasmed, dissolving not into blood, but into shimmering, sickly green motes of light and smoke.
It was instantaneous. A flawless execution. Ume stood in the smoking spot, breathing heavily, the smell of ozone mixing with the stench of sulphur.
Hara's health bar remained blissfully flat. No pain.
The young man, having only run a few feet, turned back, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and disbelief. The monster was gone.
"You... you killed it," he stammered, his club hanging loosely. "How? I—I barely hit it."
Ume looked at him. He was useless. He was loud. He was a potential liability. Compassion was a luxury she had forfeited the moment she made her vow.
"You moved," Ume said, her voice dry and cold, devoid of any warmth. "I took advantage of your panic to find its exposed flank. That is all."
She didn't wait for his response. Her eyes were already scanning the immediate vicinity. The defeated Creeper had left behind a small pile of shimmering copper coins and, more importantly, a Memory Fragment.
It was a shard of glowing, dark glass, humming faintly with digital energy. Ume knelt, her ruined silk dress sinking deeper into the mud, and picked it up.
Memory Fragment Acquired: [Weeping Creeper's Toxin Resistance - Rank E]
The Fragment felt cool and solid in her hand, a tangible reward from this terrifying digital void.
She knew from Hara's brief explanations that these were the keys to progression, the necessary components to build her own defenses.
The young man stumbled closer, his gaze fixed on the fragment. "What is that? Can I have it? I need it, I was trying to fight—"
"No," Ume interrupted, her voice a low, firm wall. She rose, dwarfing him not by height, but by sheer, frozen intensity. "You are untrained. You panic. You attract attention. You are a risk."
She pointed with the bloodless hand still clutching the shard of server housing. "The next hub, the first place you will find safety, is called The Fallow Spire. It is that way, due east. Go now. Go alone. And if you see me again, you did not see me."
His face cycled through confusion, offense, and fear. Finally, the fear won. He didn't argue, simply mumbled, "I... I understand," and turned, splashing rapidly away toward the east, his club dragging uselessly in the mud.
Ume watched him go until the sound of his clumsy movements faded. She had saved herself. She had secured her first Fragment. She had survived perfectly. But she had also discarded a potential ally and spoken with a cold, calculated cruelty that chilled her to the core. This was the necessary calculus of The Shared Pain.
She stood alone in the putrid, digital marsh, the weight of Hara's life on her conscience heavier than any weapon. She had won the first battle by embracing the ruthless pragmatism of her old corporate life, but this time, the currency was not money; it was human safety.
Ume took a deep, shuddering breath, the toxic air a reminder of her reality. She stored the Memory Fragment in an unseen inventory slot and, with the cold resolve of a woman who has already lost everything she valued, started walking toward The Fallow Spire, the shards of digital server housing still clutched in her hand.
Her true journey had begun.