The first thing Leo became aware of, after the wonder of having a face and hands, was the breeze. It was a gentle wind, whispering across the plains, and it felt… different. It was no longer just a pressure against his form; it was a sensation. Cool, subtle, tracing the lines of his new body. And with that sensation came another, more pressing one.
The breeze was touching all of him.
He looked down. The handsome, human body he had crafted was complete in every anatomical detail, and it was entirely, starkly naked. The sun felt warm on his skin, the grass tickled his feet, and a sudden, hot flush of something entirely new washed over him. It wasn't fear or sadness. It was a sharp, cringing embarrassment. His cheeks, following the human blueprint's involuntary responses, grew warm and tinged with red.
He quickly crouched, his movements surprisingly clumsy in this new form. "Sage! Clothes!" he thought, the communication frantic.
[The acquired blueprint did not include data on manufactured textiles,] [Sage] replied, its tone as neutral as ever, though Leo could almost sense a flicker of… amusement? Was that possible? [However, the principle of material construction is within your capabilities.]
Right. He wasn't a human who needed to sew. He was a slime who could shape matter. He focused, pulling trace minerals and earth-energy from the ground. The particles swirled around him, knitting together not into rough stone, but into a soft, dark grey, linen-like material. He formed simple trousers and a tunic, the fabric solidifying onto his body. It felt strange and weightless, a part of him yet not. But the embarrassing exposure was gone, and with it, the flush in his cheeks receded. He took a deep, steadying breath—a human gesture he found surprisingly calming.
He began to walk again, and every step was a discovery. The pride he felt in his new, contained form was a quiet, warm glow. He saw a field of wildflowers, their colors vibrant, and felt a simple, uncomplicated happiness at their beauty. The memory of the dead villagers surfaced, and the sadness was sharper now, more personal, tied to the face of the mage, Akari, and her terror.
Then, a new thought emerged, dark and bitter. The ones who had done this… the monsters. They hadn't just been threats. They had torn apart lives, caused that terror. A low, simmering anger began to burn in his chest, a clean, righteous fire. He was here to atone, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel rage at the destruction.
He was no longer an emotionally placid entity. He had a brain, a human brain, and it was flooding with a cascade of feelings he had no name for, all vying for attention. He was good—the desire to help, to protect, was his core. But the potential for evil, for cold, calculated use of his power, sat in a dark corner of his new mind, a shadow he recognized and chose to turn away from.
He crested a hill and saw a scene of ongoing chaos. A merchant caravan was under attack by a swarm of Killer Rabbits. Men with spears were being overwhelmed, their screams punctuating the air.
Before, he would have simply raised his staff and erased the threat. Now, he felt their panic as his own. He felt a fierce, protective pride in stepping forward to intervene.
He didn't use the staff. He wanted to test his control, to use this new, precise vessel. He raised a hand and focused his Terrakinesis, not to move a mountain, but to perform delicate, brutal work. The ground beneath the rabbits erupted in a thousand tiny, sharp stone spikes, each one perfectly aimed. It was efficient, lethal, and required a fraction of the power he had used against the Titan.
The rabbits were impaled. The caravan was saved.
The merchants stared, not at a slime, but at a handsome, stern-faced young man in simple clothes who had just saved them with a gesture. Their fear was mixed with awe and confusion.
"Thank you, sir!" one of them stammered. "Are you a mage from the capital?"
Leo looked at them, at their grateful, human faces. He felt a smile—a real, genuine smile—touch his lips for the first time. It felt strange and wonderful.
"No," he said, his voice a rich, calm baritone that was also new. "I'm just… a traveler."
He accepted their thanks, his human heart feeling full. He had done good. He had connected. And as he walked away, he forgot the specifics of the ant queen's chitin, the exact sound of the Gloom Bruin's roar. His past, both immediate and from a life before the forest, was a blur. The system's erasure held, a perfect, impenetrable wall. But he didn't need those memories now. He had a new face, a new purpose, and a storm of new emotions to guide him. He was learning what it meant to be, or at least to appear, human.