Chapter 4: Ch. 4 – Moderato

Grumbling half-formed swears and curses, wiping off the grime and God knows what else, I got up to survey my victory over the dreaded giant rat horde.

My cocoon was neatly sliced in half from where I started. Relative to my wakeup spot that faced the exit, rat number one was in a pile on the right side of the room with two structurally unsound perforations. Rat two was paste on the left side, having yet to unstick itself from where I chucked it.

Mister Rat was still tied up in a tangle of some good ol’ spider butt rope at the moment. It was the largest by a factor of two, now that I had the chance to look at it, as big as a real world Newfoundland dog or something.

“Alright, let’s see what you say,” I muttered, looking at the triple dots. “Traitor.”

The MAP panel with my basic stats popped up. Tabs to look at other topics had moved to the furthest right edge of my vision. The ribbon of icons wasn’t there before. Recalling the giant mess of things barfed across my eyes the first time I did this, it reminded me of a hotfix. Newbie probably saw the issue before and had the chance to do something about it.

Anyways, on to the info dump!

“Arienna Kestalennetti; level one; class, Bard; background, Raid Boss; race, Arachne,” I read off, pausing to gleam with joy. “Hells to the yeah.”

Thankfully there wasn’t an insane amount of word vomit as far as numerical values and their meanings. Actually, I didn’t see any. I mean, I would have expected things like having ten points in strength to add something to physical attacks and skills, or a higher intelligence or whatever is used for magic to augment that power. Instead, they were just different colored bars.

Great. Subjective readings. I needed numbers, dammit! Ratios, tooltips, plus and minus numbers!

If I had to guess, because of my goal in this life, maybe I had background attributes boosted or lowered to stuff in the zone I was in. The VA announcer said something along those lines when I was spawning in, or close to it. Something regarding a challenge rating which seemed separate to level.

“Okay, so what do we have here?” I said aloud. There was a muffled venomous squeak in response from my only friend at the moment.

Three main categories of stats: Power, Offense, Defense.

It looked like the first one was just broken up into Physical, Magical, and Leadership power. Obviously the bigger the number, the better it was, and-

Hold the phone, Leadership?

Squinting at the term, my second nature gave me an impression that it related to boosting the effectiveness of allies. Could just mean a guild or group of friends, but what if this was the other half of being a Raid Boss we discussed? The general at the head of their army?

I could assemble a big honking group of baddies and sweep over the lands, pillaging and ravaging fair maidens or emasculate puny men! Force the world to submit to my influence, make a nation, forge treaties, and-!

No, bad Ari, stop! One thing at a time! Next world domination speed run could be the diplomacy victory. I wanted my first life to sit on top of the food chain via rite of conquest!

Shivering again in the stale damp cavern air, partly because of being cold and partly of the excitement, my finger scrolled in mid-air like a touch pad where I saw the MAP panel.

Offense. Typical RPG fare. Penetration rating – I stifled a juvenile snort – had to deal with overcoming resistances. Alacrity was that one old fashioned word for speed, therefore its rating had to do with doing things faster. Critical rating made the big shiny numbers and special effects happen more often, at least in games.

What sort of build did I want to go with? I managed to glide around these guys, shrug off bites, then toss them around like squeaker toys easy enough. Did that with my puny human arms too! Magic was a dud for the moment until I discovered the correct system it was locked behind.

Although, considering I had literally said the word ‘Lash’ with murderous intent to whip my dear rodent friend with an improvised sticky rope, there was definitely a verbal component to the World system. Looking over my arms with the kaleidoscope of violet musical notes that drifted into my palms, the other question was whether or not I needed a focus item or reagents. That’s how most RPGs handicapped magic users but also provided a chance to give them an equipment type to upgrade with better quality gear.

I went to rub my forehead in annoyance.

“Ow! Fuck!” I hissed in pain, closing my eyes. The MAP was still there behind my eyelids. So was the small null space in one of my extra eyes, like when you tried too hard to get dust out of one. “Gah, what’s the next thing… Oh, that’s hilarious, I need this against myself.”

Defense. Okay. Armor rating was straightforward only in that it was a threshold to overcome, but not if it would completely prevent damage. Shield rating was an additional stat that prescribed the chance something would get blocked. Probably got higher with good armor or an actual, y’know, shield. Absorption rating determined how much magic was countered on successful shield proc.

Ermh, proc being the shorthand for when a thing happened under specific circumstances, like when dodging attacks were based on chance, or critical double damage based on chance, or instant kill that had a super low chance – obscure gamer terms, go! Hopefully there was a way to tip those scales in my favor.

“Eh?” I cocked my head. “No difference between elemental damage types?”

Might be a design oversight, unless some other random-number-bullshittery happened behind the scenes in order to streamline how it all works.

Groaning, I pinched the bridge of my nose. Carefully this time! No stabbing out my own eyes, thanks. However, I was tempted to collapse everything, except then that would truly leave me blind to the World’s mechanics.

Flicking back to the window all about fabulous me, my own attributes looked to be a decent spread but with three or four spikes.

Physical Power seemed stupid high compared to my Magic by a factor of two, which was odd for the Bard class I had envisioned during character creation.

Alacrity was good, Penetration too, but my Critical rating was abysmal to my disappointment. Then again, I was just level one with no gear on.

Lastly, my Armor and Absorption were really good but the chance to straight up avoid damage with Shield was low.

Looking again at the bite on my arm, old Ari would probably be in an ER with a savage mauling. Lady Arienna sniffed at the trifling flesh wound that had since begun to close up with my passive healing rate, like any self-respecting monster lady would.

I felt cold again. Everything above the waist was still goosebumps but I couldn’t feel anything except pressure and vibrations in my Arachne half. Well, at least that meant I probably didn’t need a ton of coverings for that part of my body!

“Right, well, let’s see, need to get some clothes maybe,” I encouraged myself. Leaning down, I smoothly cut off mister dire rat from the greater length of rope. He was still struggling in his little ball as I picked him up and put him on my Arachne half’s rear. Eventually with some creative knotwork, he got fastened like a saddlebag atop some of my leg joints and nestled against my spidery butt.

+Enemy subdued. Release enemy?+

A MAP panel with script I interpreted as ‘Yes or No’ materialized to the left of my vision. Growling, I flicked it up into one of my extra eyeball’s field of view away from mine. I fucking hate unexpected notifications and badge alerts. Only marginally better than popup ads.

Regardless, I did hit ‘No.’

Looking at the MAP tabs in the side ribbon menu, more than a few were grayed out or just straight up don’t-touch-me-there red.

However, one did catch my fancy: a blacksmith’s hammer and a fishing pole crossed over each other.

“Any self-respecting MMORPG always has fishing in their list of professions,” I smiled to myself, opening the tab. “What do we have in here?”

The profession list was an A-Z encyclopedia.

It couldn’t fit in front of my face, word vomiting a cascade of MAP windows all across my entire eight eyes of vision. I saw everything from Alchemist to Cesspool Scraper to Farrier to Metallurgist to Farmer to Vegetable Farmer to Tamer to Yeoman to…

I willed everything to close and scrunched my eyes tightly.

“Too much,” I whined, shaking my head plaintively. “Even for me, too much.”

Getting my resolve back, I quickly tried to open the Professions back up and fixate on the stereotypical yet natural side gig for a girl of spider-like persuasion. The MAP filled in the rest of the blanks, selecting the terms.

Tailor. Weaver. Clothier. Seamstress. Outfitter.

I did my best to imagine pulling those five jobs off to the side into their own window. Whoever designed this place put in an entire goddamn civilization without offloading repeat terms, consolidating entries and stuff. True lazy copy-paste job. Definitely something to bring to Newbie’s attention. Maybe I need to get a journal to write all these bug reports and comments down.

Oh god. Am I starting to get into this alpha tester business?

Anyways.

Five choices.

Weaver was too on the nose. Seamstress was more a title for maybe a subclass of the other general ones if not boring as hell. Outfitter could mean anything and everything not related to what I wanted to do. Tailor was the most often name for the job I had in mind.

Clothier?

Silk was a cloth. So were lots of other things. All of which were used to make clothes.

Clothier.

Closing all other panels, I tried interacting with Clothier.

+Choose primary profession one of three? Y/N+

Boop.

+Confirmed. Racial bonus applied.+

Neat! That was already part of the system.

I blinked away all the MAP stuff and readied myself. My eight legs tip-tapped nervously, causing Mister Rat to bump and rattle on my Arachne carapace while letting out a set of disoriented growling chirps. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen. Ding-ding noise? Big gong? Drum roll? Unlimited knowledge at my fingertips?

Nope.

Just a sudden crushing wave of fatigue. And a headache like I just shotgunned a case of cheap beers.

“Owwww,” I sighed, putting finger to my temple.

I tried to massage out the stress, yet again accidentally causing two of my six eyes to go glitchy because I poked them.

“Ow! Shit! God fucking dammit!”

Groaning, the migraine subsided eventually. I felt like I knew something at least. Looking at the good amount of silk coiled up in a bundle, I could detect measurements and murmurs of terms I sure as hell didn’t know before today floating around in my subconscious.

Using that telekinesis business from before, I reached out and had made a picture of the silk with my mind. Clenching my fist, I envisioned a shirt while my other hand ran along the material and felt like I was imposing my power on it. Just a plain old tee-shirt for now. But what if I made a tank top. Back to a shirt. Swimsuit top. Bikini? No, not a bikini, I didn’t have that much body confidence yet. Welllll…

By the time I had realized what had happened, I seem to have managed to use up half the material of butt rope. Holding the fruits of my scatterbrained labor up, there was a patchwork quilt of halves of shirts and other tops. Chewing on my bottom lip, there was only one thought.

What a waste of silk.

+Clothier skill improved. ??? produced.+

Wow, thanks World. I raised my bladed forelimb and gingerly cut the abomination from the remaining raw silk. Throwing it over my shoulders like a shawl, it was better than nothing. Running my fingers through the woven threads, I saw that the orange sparkly specks had smoothed out into a peachy hue. Despite the disorderly mess, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride. It was a shit product, but I made this shit.

+Schematics progress updated.+

Huh. Well, considering I was trying to create something vaguely resembling an armor that would go into a chest slot in a game, maybe that’s what it meant.

+Material unlocked. Material tier progress updated.+

Oookay, boop and close.

Sadly, a thought occurred to me. Some spiders had a tendency to… cannibalize their webs once they were broken or not needed anymore. My first ever thing I’d ever made, human or otherwise, and unfortunately it was not that great. The system was perfect but my scatterbrained mess of desires had screwed it up.

There were holes where sleeves might be on one kind of shirt, but combined with empty space where other outfits were supposed to be open. The faint chill crept its way onto my skin once more.

+Would you like to salvage or modify this item?+

Blinking, I immediately looked at the modify option. Taking off the unsightly shawl, I held it in front of me. Both of my fists closed and I visualized holding the length of silk up. The shawl floated in the air in front of me, surrounded in that faint purple glow matching the delicate notes dancing along my arms.

Out of curiosity I let one of my hands point at the item. The act of smoothing out a sheet played in my mind as I drew my finger from one end of the suspended article to the other.

I gasped as ethereal violet scissors began snipping at sections. Needle and thread worked alongside it in reverse, both unraveling and reattaching sections of the shawl of malformed clothes. Next up, a weaving loom started pulling it all back into a clean sheet. The peach color on the silk seemed to drain, pop, then shatter into motes of my orange sparkles. They matched the robust musical patterns swirling over my Arachne body, in contrast to the graceful purple notes along my human half.

I think I was beginning to understand that they were linked to magic somehow. My magic. Pumpkin color-coded to the silk. That meant that whatever I was casting with my hands, purple, was something else. Probably. If the logic held. There was a lot of that missing lately.

Maybe whatever shades of color my silk adopted was a natural dye. Might end up as my calling card if some adventurer earned themselves an item boon from Lady Arienna, the Arachne Raid Boss. Only the finest dungeoneers deserved the finest of orange silky butt-rope gear as reward! The best strategy to retreat was also to drop shiny treasure and beat feet while the adventurers squabbled over who got what.

I grinned ear to ear as I undid the mistakes, leaving what was basically an unfurled bolt of fresh silk. Still technically wearable, but now it could be properly shaped.

Closing my eyes, I held my hands over my chest. I had to focus on exactly what I wanted to make this into. Magic was involved and got rid of the need for tools right now, but my mind had to be still. I couldn’t let it scurry back and forth or it would just waste my time and mana.

Mana…

Oh, right. Crap. I looked down at the bars for health and mana. Seemed like this whole ordeal was actually using it up. Not quite running on empty, but pretty low – just barely enough to see a block of blue. I’d probably be fine after a little break. Good thing I was feeling the effects now as opposed to in the middle of a bad situation.

Still, probably should wrap this up.

As much as I wanted to make something long and flowy, I went with something familiar. The traditional oversized mental health day hoodie, complete with big front pocket, that was totally out of place in a fantasy setting!

+Clothier skill improved. Sleeved hooded tunic, Arachne silk, produced. Schematic unlocked.+

Within a breath, a luxurious piece of clothing fell on top of my head. My hands went up to examine the finished product.

So.

Soft.

I almost wanted to smother myself with it. Also, didn’t smell like anything, much like the inside of my cocoon. Did that mean no need for deodorant? I didn’t really have much frame of reference though with my new nose, plus bad body odor usually didn’t exist in a game and might not here. The cliché desire for a good bathing facility hinged upon this question.

Rubbing my face into my new sweater, I let it slip down my front to see how it felt along the rest of my skin. Like a microfiber mesh but better, if that was somehow possible. Stretchy, smooth, the way it caressed my bosom and teased out a tiny gasp when my nipples hardened from the faintest brush-

“W-wait, wha-?” I mumbled, wondering why all of a sudden the prospect of good clothing was making me feel the warm fuzzies somewhere else.

Looking down, seeing was believing.

Exhibit A, my mounds were indeed titillated.

Exhibit B, they were real and matched the settings I had adjusted in char-create. Yay for no more flat-chested Ari!

Exhibit C, they reflected the letter size as well as were quite perky and more than a handful. If I wasn’t worried about getting hit in combat and scarring up like my arm right now, I would have been sad about covering them up in public.

Dammit, I wish I had that investigation popup tool all the other games and comics and books had right now. All I had was this MAP thing that didn’t even work while in a fight. Opening it up again, I mean, I guess it became a test of skill to remember all of one’s moves by rote with no hand-holding. The Traits and Skills tabs were available to poke around in, but fat load of good it did me if I couldn’t determine how best to use them on my environment.

So let me think.

You are reading story Arienna’s Cadence at novel35.com

Magical Analysis Projection.

MAP.

Map, mapping a genome, mapping a labyrinth, mapping a route, mapping a cave system.

Saying MAP seemed wrong, considering the tinge of professional reverence Newbie had used when he told me the actual label for it in Char Create. That left Analysis as something to try, considering that saying ‘Lash’ earlier had snapped things into place.

So far, my only frame of reference was having a will and a word. An image in my mind of what I wanted to happen and then the word that focused the intent. That’s probably why my crafting escapade ended up poorly since I was just daydreaming all over the place, bleeding mana.

So, naturally, I twisted my torso backward and pointed at Mister Rat. I swear there was a glimmer of fear in his eyes as I opened my mouth.

“Analyze!”

I waited a few seconds.

“Analysis!”

A few more. Nothing.

“Analyses?”

For what it was worth, I didn’t feel any exertion. Like, if this was some sort of ability I was fucking up, there was no feedback loop, no mana or health loss. However, glancing down at my bars, I realized the third one had something in it. Maybe a tenth full.

Specifically, the third bar was a tenth full with a flighty shade of pink.

Hmm.

It was slowly but surely going down.

“Should I?” I asked no one in particular. Holding the sweater out from me, I turned so the captive Mister Rat didn’t see my naked front. “No. But…”

I really should figure out one thing at a time. But there were so many things to discover and nitpick!

“For science, I guess.”

Gently I started nuzzling into my first ever piece of clothing. Definitely still soft, glided over my cheeks and down my collar. Maybe started roving over my bosom a little too enthusiastically, but I definitely felt something begin stirring betwixt my metaphorical nethers. Which, actually, I had no clue where they were, come to think of it.

Then I stopped.

Pink bar had gone up to maybe a quarter.

“The hell? From just rubbing against some silk?” I nervously chuckled. There were so many other questions I had, but either I’d find out myself or end up playing the fool and asking Newbie directly about the third pink bar.

Well, moving on, I figured it best to actually slip the sweater over me and see if I could wear the damn thing. Thankfully it went right over. Peach-colored silk with orange musical notes here and there haphazardly attached, looking like ironed-on decals that had one too many encounters with an overzealous washer-dryer.

Still, protection from minor cold and perhaps even some damage obtained! I was vaguely aware of it becoming snug around my new figure’s curves before loosening to what I wanted out of a lounging hoodie. Maybe it was a magic property adjusting to my preference.

That done, I sighed and began chewing on my lower lip in consternation.

All that was left was the last word.

“Here goes nothing,” I said, turning to point to my prisoner who had managed to roll upside down on my abdomen. “Projection!”

Again, nothing.

“Project?”

Strange white lines began forming an intricate silver glyph in front of my finger. At the same time an outline of the same color traced over Mister Rat. My eyes hurt like I was staring at a floodlight and I tried to cover them, then realized it was my six Arachne ones seeing the outline. Interesting development. Maybe they saw the world more differently than I realized.

MAP popped open a panel with something useful for a change.

+Target is a Giant Dire Rat, level five, subdued. Status: restrained by web, Wanderer quality. Notes: pack leader, elite aspirant, consumption of illusion magic reagent.+

“Alrighty, you are indeed a rodent of unusual size. Imagine that,” I said cordially, reaching over to scratch Mister Rat behind the ears with my arm that had been gnawed on. I got a weak growl in return. He was a bit dirty, fur was rough, but I wonder if a bath would do him good. “That’d explain why you made a decoy and snuck up on me earlier. Though, if you ate something and got that…”

Having the word be Project instead of Analyze or Examine or Investigate was weird. On the other hand, it did make sense. This World was a work in progress project with plenty of placeholders. The triple-dots were tied to a Magical Analysis Projection system. So, in order to learn info about the World you needed to Project the data into a window panel. Coming at this more like an alpha tester debugging the game structure and its underlying code helped to understand… as opposed to being the actual player trying to enjoy things.

I looked over to the first rat I killed.

“Project.”

+Target is a Giant Dire Rat, level three. Status: dead via severely violent lacerations.+

Did the World just call me out? Hey! It was a clean kill!

+Notes: pack follower, pack tactics, revival blocked by leader incapacitation.+

Take out the leader, lock out the abilities of the lackeys. Got it. The fact they might come back begged the question of if they were the same ones. Newbie said something about non-players and non-reincarnated people being a lot more like AI, except for ones bound to a person, but not if every AI construct was potentially the same one. Would they remember me, specifically?

What if this was going to be me at some point? Well, the whole Leader bit, not the being tied up and at the mercy of an Arachne woman part. A gaggle of monsters bound to my will who depended on my well-being to survive.

“Project,” I again commanded, looking at the second rat who was still embedded in the wall.

+Target is a Giant Dire Rat, level three. Status: overkill via exceptionally excessive blunt force trauma. Notes: pack follower, pack tactics, revival blocked by leader incapacitation.+

“Heavy sigh,” I said aloud, carefully rubbing my cheeks this time around. Every time I’ve touched anywhere near my forehead, I’ve stabbed myself in the goddamn eye.

Turning my finger to my chin, I braced for whatever abbreviated info I was going to get.

“Project?”

Same little info blurb, though there were a couple more fields for stats and interactive buttons.

+Target is Arienna Kestalennetti, level one Bladeweaver Arachne, Bard. Status: alive, poisoned by crude Bladeweaver silk resin. Secret status: Wanderer stance. Notes: resurrection sickness in effect. Secret notes: Wanderer stance attributes adjusted to match elite challenge rating of zone, Wanderer stance name set as ???.+

Elite aspirant on Mister Rat must mean an evolution stage or something, going by collectible monster game wisdom. Either that meant we were on equal footing or I had basically clubbed some baby seals – which, uh, is an idiom for punching way, way down far as skill and gear.

Wait, what if they wouldn’t have attacked if I didn’t strike first? If my stats had been boosted, could they have picked up on my power and GTFO’d? Then again, morality of the situation notwithstanding, I was top dog in the monster hierarchy.

I did what I wanted.

That was so cool to think, I couldn’t help but grin and bounce on the balls of my taloned spider feet. This was gonna be so fun! Though, I needed to figure out what the Bladeweaver business was about. It looked like I could expand the terms, so naturally I went to my race.

+Arachne are an overwhelmingly female Monstrous race bearing a near-human upper half and a large spider-like lower half. Their size typically rivals if not surpasses similar ‘Taur Monstrous races. They are not to be confused with Driders, who have an explicitly Elven ancestry. In times of peace, Arachne find themselves the center of high praise for excellent textiles, magical expertise, and warm dispositions.+

I wrinkled my nose. I mean, maybe, I guess? Doesn’t fit me to a tee, but then again I had no idea what a real Arachne was like or if they existed outside in the Dimensions that Mister Dwarf said existed outside these walls.

+The Cataclysm’s initial devastation created by magic has earned Arachne a black mark due to the involvement of their most powerful Spellweavers. They are blamed for equally either having not done enough to help or having contributed to the cause. At present, they are viewed with coldness if not outright hostility by the various Human, Demihuman, even some Monstrous factions.+

That was sad. Also meant that I’d have to be prepared for a fight at every encounter. And, y’know, vague enough for me to justify kicking the tar out of anyone who got in my way until something more concrete was put down for lore.

+The Arachne have always reproduced slowly. They invariably require capturing the male of a different species in order to fertilize their egg or eggs, which are then implanted in a female surrogate. However, some Arachne choose to carry to term an-+

I tapped on the entry, collapsing it. Cheeks started burning red. That was a complete about-face.

“R-right, subrace, l-let’s go,” I whispered shakily, pressing on the subrace entry but looking down at the pink bar again. It was nearly empty again. “Don’t tell me this has H-game mechanics.”

+While their arachnid features do not tend toward the mystical or graceful builds of their cousins, Bladeweaver Arachne enjoy bonuses to their martial prowess. The overall build is thicker, armored, each leg ending in sharpened chitin hard as steel. Their forelimbs are dedicated to melee combat, the natural chitin sharpened to a razor’s edge, which at adulthood begin to rival the reach of spears and the deadliness of low tier enchanted swords.+

Natural armor, natural magic weapons. I’m a tanky slicey spider girl. Who eventually will play music. Menacingly. Muahaha.

+Bladeweaver silk rivals low grade mithril in its toughness when used as a component in armor. Proper thread made from it bears a sharpness unfit for most tools and instruments if used without precautions.+

Okay, so what did that mean? I just up-jumped the game progression with a hoodie that was like mithril if I had high enough skill? I could make thread out of it too.

Unlesss… Huh. Idea. Sharpness. String. Thread. Ribbons were made from thread. My Bard job had a focus on music and performances. Including dance.

I’d always had two left feet, but maybe I needed eight to finally overcome that hump.

+A byproduct of processing Bladeweaver spider silk produces a resin that can be used in alchemy, primarily for aphrodisia. Lower quality products aren’t able to remove all of this resin and, due to the almost imperceptible chafing of the residual sharpness against the wearers skin, sometimes affects the wearer.+

Wait. Wait, wait, wait, I literally can make horny clothing? Just because it was considered shitty by arbitrary crafting rules?

“Project,” I commanded, touching my top. Maybe making a bra was a bad idea until I got a different cloth that didn’t have the chance to make things a bit more spicy than they needed to be during a fight.

+Target is a sleeved hooded tunic, Arachne silk. Status: hood down. Notes: Bladeweaver silk, made by Novice Clothier Arienna Kestalennetti.+

Okay, that was a little funny if it saw I had the hood down. Unless there was some mechanical effect. Damn. I hoped it was just cosmetic. Sometimes you just wanted to snuggle into something soft and warm, hide under the hood, turn the brain off and not have to worry about if it was the one stat point between being overpowered and a weakling.

A little more concerning my name was attached to the item. For some reason having it be traceable to me gave felt wrong.

Out of curiosity, I looked over at my cocoon. It occupied about a third of the far wall, strands attached to the ceiling, the ground, the walls.

“Project,” I enunciated carefully, pointing at the thing that I came to this world in.

+Target is an Arachne Queen aspirant’s cocoon. Status: active. Secret status: bound to Arienna Kestalennetti. Personal notes: tracking available, lair influence available. Addendum: you own this land claim structure. Addendum: territory size tiny, caverns, available for claim.+

Land claim? Territory?

+Warning: territory size tiny, caverns, is uncleared. Land claim unavailable.+

Did Newbie compress both sides of the Raid Boss background into one, or is this the original?

My head hurt.

“Okay. Enough reading.”

I looked back at Mister Rat. He had been doing his damnedest to wriggle free out of his confines, only managing to keep getting stuck in the webs. Stooping down I grabbed the other half of the Bladeweaver butt-rope, looping it diagonally across my chest. Though, I looked at the smoothly cut ends. All I needed to work this stuff was wiggle my fingers over it. Soft threads, wiry strands.

“Well, I don’t have any wood to make handles or anything. Although…”

It wasn’t like I didn’t have other materials sitting right in front of me. Well, rat two was still stuck to a wall and rat one was bleeding all over the floor. Bone, hide, leather, sinew, and, uh, other processable bits was from animals. I don’t think that I’d need to get a profession per se to harvest that sort of stuff.

Actually, no, I would. Same way I had no fucking clue how to sew and shit before learning Clothier. I dreaded opening up the Profession tab again, but I tried to get the right idea in my mind as the MAP windows started opening up.

Skinner. Leatherworker. Forester. Woodsman. Butcher.

Forester?

I pulled that one out of the Profession encyclopedia.

+Forester. Specializes in the collection of lumber products and processing animals primarily for crafting purposes.+

That was new. Live streaming patch? Maybe how I was supposed to use it to begin with?

+Choose primary profession two of three? Y/N+

And le boop.

This time I knew that the headache was coming. I could feel my instincts start to kick in as I realized how much damaged I had actually done to the poor rats. The rat one’s hide was damaged, yes, though the bones of its torso area were all broken despite being still inside. Probably from throwing it aside after stabbing it.

Looking over at rat number two, hanging around on the wall still, I glowered when my new brain knowledge told me there was nothing salvageable. Zero durability. Nada materials. Zilch potential.

How dead something was made affected the quality of things you could get from it. Made sense.

Out of curiosity, I looked at Mister Rat. He stopped his struggles when he saw the weird smile on my face. You know the kind, the freaky hungry goofy smile animé characters sometimes get.

He was a hundred percent harvestable in his current state. All the choice bits at the highest quality. Or would be, assuming he died a clean death.

“Chreep?” he squeaked with wide eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry Mister Rat, I’m not going to hurt you right now,” I calmed him, giving him scritches behind a giant leathery ear. Unsurprisingly, the touch of a strange half-woman half-giant spider wearing a hoodie who brutally killed his friends and captured him for unknown purposes, did little to calm him.

I started shaping my silk bundle into the same kind of whip I used to capture Mister Rat and trotted toward the exit out of my room. Doubting I would want to capture anything else in this place, my fingers set to splitting and working the end of it into those supposedly dangerous Bladeweaver threads. Just enough to be able to have them all go this way and that, maybe wrap around a target.

“The cat’s out th’ bag, he knows to zig and zag,” I hummed, forming little knotted tails inside the many threads. “Zig and zag, zag and zig…”

+Clothier skill improved. ??? component created. Schematic progress updated.+

Looking back fondly at the cocoon for a moment, I started making my way into the caverns.

I had a territory to clear!

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