Night descended upon Ragnar's clearing, cloaking his rudimentary cabin in darkness punctuated by the crackling of the small fire he'd managed to ignite. Hunger began to gnaw at him, a persistent emptiness in his stomach reminding him of his new reality: no stocked refrigerator, no pantry with supplies. He had built shelter, but his larder was desperately bare.

  He lay down on the bed of branches and leaves he had hastily arranged, a meager comfort to his rumbling belly. He consulted the System interface, the luminous windows contrasting with the surrounding gloom. The five attribute points he had gained upon leveling up awaited allocation.

  After a moment's hesitation, he decided to invest three points in Strength, sensing that physical power would be useful for tilling the land and, evidently, for hunting. The remaining two points went to his Constitution, hoping to improve his resilience and health.

  Despite the improvement in his statistics, hunger persisted. A new tutorial then appeared, as if the System had anticipated his needs.

  Ragnar read the tutorial attentively, his stomach protesting at the mention of meat. A wild boar… Level 5. That seemed dangerous for a Level 2 “peasant.” But hunger was a powerful motivator. He stood up, gripping the axe. The forest behind his property stretched into the darkness, a mass of shadows and whispers. He had no hunting experience, but he would have to improvise.

  Trusting his rudimentary sense of direction and the hope of spotting a silhouette or a familiar scent, Ragnar ventured into the woods. The darkness was dense, only partially illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering through the canopy. Every snap of a branch, every distant hoot made him alert.

  After about twenty minutes of silent walking, he perceived a strong, earthy odor, mixed with a slight acridness. The scent of a wild animal. He slowed his pace, his senses on high alert. Moments later, he spotted a dark mass in the distance, between the trees. A boar. It was rooting for food, its low grunts breaking the silence of the night.

  Ragnar’s heart beat faster. This was his chance. He stealthily moved between the trees, using the shadows as cover. His movements were clumsy, but focus and hunger guided his steps. The boar, engrossed in its meal, didn’t seem to notice his presence.

  In a few moments, Ragnar found himself just a few yards from the beast, its imposing bulk faintly outlined in the darkness. He raised the axe, his muscles tense. This was it. He focused his energy, visualizing the power of his new skill.

  “Vigorous Strike!” he thought.

  He brought the axe down with all his might, the blade sinking deep into the boar’s flank. The beast let out a hoarse cry and collapsed onto the ground without even having time to react. A notification appeared immediately:

  Ragnar stood motionless for a moment, panting, realizing what he had just done. He had killed a creature of a higher level than himself. The adrenaline faded, replaced by a mixture of relief and a strange pride.

  He approached the boar. It was enormous, weighing at least a hundred kilograms. How was he going to get it back to his cabin? To his own surprise, when he grabbed the beast by its hind legs and lifted, it felt surprisingly light. The strength he had gained from the System was very real. He dragged the boar through the woods, his fatigue largely offset by the prospect of a hot meal.

  Back at his cabin, he built a larger fire and set about butchering the beast, a gruesome but necessary task. He used his axe with increasing clumsiness but eventually obtained several pieces of fresh, red meat. The smell of it grilling over the flames was the most delicious he had ever encountered.

  He ate ravenously, savoring every bite of the wild meat. The hunger, that persistent torment, finally subsided. A feeling of primal satisfaction washed over him. He had survived. He had found his own food in this hostile new world.

  With the remaining meat, he decided to smoke it for preservation. He built a rudimentary structure above the embers, suspending the boar pieces to dry slowly under the heat and smoke. The night stretched on, lulled by the crackling fire and the enticing aroma of curing meat. Ragnar finally fell asleep, his belly full and his mind a little more at peace. This peasant life might not be so “shitty” after all. It was hard, demanding, but it offered him a form of control, an autonomy he had never known before. And in this strange world, autonomy might be the most precious skill of all.

  Sunrise painted long shadows across Ragnar's clearing, the scent of smoked meat pleasantly lingering in the air, a testament to his previous night's success. After a simple breakfast of roasted boar, Ragnar set a new goal for the day: to visit the central market of Valenbois. He needed fertilizer to prepare his land and some basic equipment, like sacks or a rudimentary cart, to transport his future harvests and other materials.

  He left his newly built cabin, closing the rough wooden door with simple satisfaction. The path to the village traversed a portion of Lysiane’s vast lands. Along the way, he encountered other villagers going about their morning tasks. Some nodded in friendly greeting, perhaps recognizing the newcomer or having heard of his arrival. Ragnar returned their greetings, feeling slightly more integrated into this community.

  As he approached the main Valdios farm, he spotted Lysiane. She was no longer wearing her usual work clothes but a simple linen dress in a soft color that highlighted her figure. Her blonde hair was partially pinned up, leaving a few strands to frame her radiant face. She was talking with an older man near the stable but turned when she noticed Ragnar.

  “Good morning, Ragnar,” she said with a warm smile that lit up her face. “Are you going to the village?”

  A slight fluster overcame Ragnar at her appearance. He found her even more… striking than the day before. “Good morning, Mistress Valdios. Yes, I was planning to go to the market. I need to buy some supplies to start working my land.”

  “Fertilizer, probably, and maybe some tools,” Lysiane guessed. “The Valenbois market is quite well-stocked; you should find what you need. I’m going there as well. If you’d like, you can accompany me. The cart is already ready.” She gestured to a small wooden cart pulled by a docile horse, loaded with a few sacks and baskets.

  Ragnar accepted with pleasure. Lysiane’s company was agreeable, and she undoubtedly knew the market better than he did. They walked side by side, the horse pulling the cart at a leisurely pace. Lysiane told him about the various merchants he might find, the local seasonal produce, and any potential bargains. She also gave him some advice on the quality of fertilizers and the most useful tools for a beginner.

  During their journey, Ragnar noticed the extent of Lysiane’s lands. Cultivated fields stretched as far as the eye could see, a testament to her hard work and prosperity. He felt fortunate to have such a helpful and influential neighbor.

  As they approached the bustling center of the village, Lysiane pointed out the different stalls. “The tool merchant is near the fountain, and the best fertilizers are sold by an old woman named Elara, at the far end of the market. Tell her you’re from me; she’ll give you a fair price.”

  Ragnar’s attention was briefly diverted by a group of young men who watched them pass with mocking smiles. One of them muttered something to his companions, and they burst out laughing. Lysiane noticed his gaze, and her expression hardened slightly.

  “Don’t pay them any mind, Ragnar,” she said sharply. “They’re idlers who have nothing better to do than judge others.”

  Ragnar nodded, feeling uneasy. He still felt the weight of his outsider status. Lysiane’s protective presence was comforting.

  Arriving at the heart of the market, Lysiane helped him find the right merchants and negotiate prices. He bought a large sack, a sturdy spade, a new hoe, and a quantity of fertilizer that, according to Elara’s advice, should suffice for his first hectare. Lysiane insisted on helping him load his purchases into the cart.

  “If you need any help plowing your land, don’t hesitate to ask me,” Lysiane offered with sincere kindness. “My men can give you a hand. Helping each other is important in Valenbois.”

  Ragnar was touched by her generosity. “Thank you very much, Lysiane. Your help is invaluable to me.” He felt a debt growing towards this strong and benevolent woman. His arrival in Valenbois, though chaotic, seemed to be taking a more positive turn thanks to her. The prospect of working his own land, with the support of his neighbor, finally offered him tangible hope in this new world.