Mining was hard work!

At least the cave was cool. For the last couple of weeks, the heat outside had been high enough to glue my clothes to my skin with sweat. Stepping in from that furnace felt like walking into a shaded garden. It was refreshing enough to make me sigh in relief every time I escaped the sun beating down just beyond the entrance. The contrast almost made the backbreaking labor enjoyable, at least for a while.

I didn't have a pick or anything, so I had to improvise with a medical bone chisel and the hammer I received as payment for my healing services. The bone chisels were small, and I broke two before I figured out how to use them without damaging them. I also broke a few emeralds until I learned how to maneuver around the stones to dislodge them. The dust was choking me, so I donned a surgical mask. After about an hour, my eyes stung—the oil lamp light was insufficient. After another two hours, my knees ached from kneeling, as I had started from the bottom, and my shoulder muscles were sore. Thank God for the Heal Muscle spell.

As I hit the rock again and again, surges of old anger bubbled up from deep inside me. Memories of growing up in foster care flooded back, memories I'd tried so hard to bury. Each strike of the chisel and hammer against the stone was a physical release valve for the pent-up rage I had carried for years.

The first foster home wasn't too bad, but I was only five and already knew I was unwanted. That is, until the bully arrived. From that moment on, it was a nightmare of ER visits and looking over my shoulder. The second was worse. Mrs. Reynolds had a sharp tongue and a sharper hand. I remembered the sting of her slaps and the way she would lock me in the bathroom for hours when I dared to speak back. Hitting the rock, I pictured her face, her cruel, twisted smile, and I hit harder. The stone cracked, and I got a small measure of satisfaction.

I worked for another hour before I needed a break. In that time, I mined an area about three square feet. Looking around the vast cavern, I figured that at my current pace, it would take at least a year to clear it.

Not good.

Going back to work brought back memories of Mr. Turner, the foster father who'd initially seemed kind. He was a drunk, and his kindness turned to violence after a few drinks. I remembered the time he threw a bottle at me, cutting my forehead open. The chisel slipped in my hand as I thought of him, and I cursed, readjusting my grip. The bottle, the blood, the cold indifference in his eyes as he told me to clean it up. The anger fueled my strikes, and the stones yielded more easily.

Stretch was nowhere to be found, so I left the cave to look for him. He dozed near the cave entrance as the sun was setting. I called him in for dinner, fed us both, laid out the sleeping bag and blanket for Stretch, and lay there, thinking about a faster solution.

Maybe there's a light spell?

I facepalmed again. It was becoming my signature move, and I didn't like what it said about me.

Why didn't I think of buying the Butchering and Skinning skills instead of looking for someone to teach me?

The Spells list had a few different light spells. After reading their descriptions, I chose a channeled spell that allowed me to change the light intensity as needed and control its placement. It cost two ability points instead of one, but the added control was worth the price.

46 ability points left.

ADAPTABLE LIGHT BALL

​Adaptable Light Ball is a versatile channeled spell that grants the caster the ability to manipulate light with precision. This spell allows the user to adjust the intensity of the light, ranging from a gentle glow to a bright, focused beam, with the brightness increasing the more mana is channeled. Additionally, the caster can control the placement of the light, making it possible to illuminate specific areas or objects as needed. It is especially useful for detailed work or when a customized lighting setup is required.

Cost: 2 Ability Points

While at it, I bought the Skinning, Butchering, and Mining skills.

SKINNING

Skinning is a practical gathering skill that enables the user to carefully remove the hide, pelt, or scales of a creature without causing unnecessary damage. The skill improves precision and efficiency, ensuring maximum yield from each animal harvested. It is favored by hunters, trappers, and anyone who works with leather or fur.

Cost: 1 Ability Point

BUTCHERING

Butchering is a foundational processing skill that allows the user to efficiently break down carcasses into usable cuts of meat, bones, and other resources. The skill improves speed and accuracy, reducing waste while preserving the best parts for cooking, trade, or crafting. It is favored by hunters, cooks, and those who prepare supplies for long journeys.

Cost: 1 Ability Point

MINING

Mining is a core gathering skill that grants the user the ability to extract stone, ores, and minerals from natural formations with greater effectiveness. Each strike becomes more precise, yielding increased resources and reducing the chance of damaging valuable materials. It is favored by craftsmen, builders, and anyone who relies on raw materials for their trade.

Cost: 1 Ability Point

Just to be sure, I checked through the Spells and Skills again to see if anything could help with looting. Unfortunately, there was still nothing.

Oh well, you can't have everything.

43 ability points left.

The next day, mining was easier, but still not a hundred percent. Even with the skill, hacking away at solid rock with a medical bone chisel in one hand and a heavy workman's hammer in the other was anything but efficient. The chisel was too small, the hammer too big, and together they made for clumsy, uneven work. I made progress, but every strike reminded me how much better real mining gear would have been. At least I was moving faster than before. The Adaptable Light Ball, though, was terrific. Being able to adjust the light let me see every crack and shadow in the stone. At least I finally had proper lighting for the job, and that alone made the work bearable.

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Stretch spent most of his time outside; he didn't like to stay in the cave.

A claustrophobic dog?

The days blurred together as I mined, each strike of the chisel against the rock chipping away not only at the stone but also at the anger that had built up inside me. I thought about the other foster kids, how they would form alliances and protect each other when they could, but never me. In the end, everyone was out for themselves, and I had been an unwanted outcast from the start. I struck the rock with renewed force, the chisel biting deep and almost breaking again.

As the days turned into weeks, more memories resurfaced. The physical work, the repeated strikes, helped me release the anger from my system. I thought about the fire that had almost killed me and the two kids I suspected had died, even if nobody was willing to admit it. The bullies at school writing slurs on my locker, shoving me in the halls, or tearing up my notebooks while the foster parents refused to replace them. One of the last homes where they placed me came back to mind. The Petersons. They weren't physically abusive, but they were neglectful in the worst way. I would come home to an empty house with no food, and a certainty that they didn't care if I came back at all. The loneliness of those years was a wound that never fully healed. The rock cracked under my relentless assault, and I allowed myself a small, grim smile. Each piece that fell away was a piece of the past that I was letting go of.

For the next few days, I continued to work through my memories. Each hammer strike a cathartic release. I remembered Mrs. Kendell, who had me for a year when I was twelve. She was obsessed with cleanliness and made me scrub the floors with a toothbrush if she thought I wasn't thorough enough. Every night, I went to bed with raw, aching knees and hands. I channeled that pain into my mining, and each chunk of emerald was a small victory over those memories. And the pile of victories was growing fast.

The days blurred together, each one slightly less burdened by the past. I recalled Mr. Jenkins, who never hit me but used words as his weapons. He tore me down, calling me worthless, saying I would never amount to anything. I struck the rock with a fury that left my muscles burning and broke another chisel. Sighing, I took out a new one and kept going, not just for the emeralds but for the cleansing of my soul. With each blow, I felt lighter, breaking free from the chains of my past. After one especially strong and angry strike, which for once did not break another chisel, a bubble of hurt popped inside me and dissipated. I could almost hear the pop. My whole being clenched like a cramp, then released, and a wave of intense relief washed over me. It was so strong I swayed on my feet for a moment.

For almost two weeks, I kept at it, day after day, until the last of the mana-rich meat was gone. I didn't want to leave the cave so soon, but I also didn't want to delay Stretch's awakening. After some thought, I came up with an idea. I pulled out one of my coolers packed with chicken and set it on the stone beside me. Slipping my hand under the lid, I let the mana flow slowly, trying to saturate the meat without blowing it up. There was a pop inside the cooler, then another, and when I lifted the lid, I found minced chicken where the smaller cuts had been, but the whole chickens stayed whole. I leaned back on my heels, grinning like a loon. It wasn't perfect, but it was progress nonetheless.

For another ten days, I worked until there were no more stones I could reach. I took out my "operating table," climbed on it, and continued to mine. The Mining skill on my profile did progress, but only to level 3, which was strange. I did mine a lot.

Maybe because I was improvising and not using the right tools?

My mana had risen another 600, and now was 6,150/6,900. Again, there was no rhyme or reason. I didn't even get upset or surprised this time; there was no point. Some entity in the sky assigned random numbers whenever it felt like it. At least the numbers never went down, but only up.

I continued for another three weeks until I couldn't reach any higher while standing on the table. Of course, I hadn't brought a ladder; why would I? For a minute or two, I thought about leaving the rest, but the greedy squirrel that apparently lived inside me threw a tantrum, stomping its tiny feet and refusing to let me quit.

I thought about it for a while and came up with an idea. Outside, I climbed down the mountain and scaned the landscape for trees with relatively narrow but tall trunks. It took a while; I wasn't in a forest, so I had to walk around scrub and boulders, peering at every lonely tree that managed to grow out of the rough ground. Finally, I found two long and narrow trunks that looked like they would do the job. At least I had bought hatchets from the camping store. Without them, it would have been impossible, and the thought of hacking away at a tree with a chisel made me wince.

In addition, I gathered sturdy branches, dragging them back one by one, and used the bone saw from the field dressing kit to cut them down to approximately three feet each. I had the hammer I got as payment for healing, which I had been using for mining, but I didn't have any nails. Rubbing my face in frustration did nothing to solve the problem, and I was starting to feel less self-conscious about the crazy amount of stuff I bought back on Earth, slowly realizing that, if anything, I hadn't bought enough.

I should find a blacksmith or something and stock up on work tools and nails.

I laid the two trunks side by side, arranged the branches as ladder steps, and tied them tightly with rope. At least I had bought a lot of rope in various thicknesses, and sent a silent thank you to my "manuals" for listing rope as one of the adventuring "must-haves." When it was done, I had a tall ladder about twelve to thirteen feet long.

Carrying it up the mountain turned into its own adventure. I hoisted it onto my shoulder, took two steps, and nearly toppled backward. Shifting it under one arm nearly dragged me sideways down the slope. In the end, I balanced it across my back and neck like a yoke and inched my way upward. I almost fell a few times, but somehow managed to get it to the cave entrance.

The narrow passage inside was another battle. I shoved the ladder ahead of me, scraping it along the stone, bumping into walls, and getting stuck more than once. By the time I finally squeezed into the cavern, the rock mounds from my mining made it impossible to move it further in. I leaned the ladder against the wall with a groan and admitted to myself that some maintenance was definitely in order.

With an enormous trunk and a shovel in hand, I started loading the debris. After about ten minutes of work, I facepalmed, groaned, rubbed my face in frustration, and shook my head. My face flamed as I thought about the ladder I carried all the way up the mountain. I didn't need a mirror to know I was tomato red, and fidgeted uncomfortably, rubbing my face again. Thank God there was no one around to see. Otherwise, I would have had to leave Shimoor out of sheer shame. Then I walked between the mounds and "stored" them. When the cave was relatively clean, I went outside and called for Stretch—I didn't want to bury him by accident—then walked a good distance from the cave and summoned all the dirt at once. A small avalanche tumbled down the mountain, but when it settled at the bottom, it didn't look like I had done much damage.

I returned to the cavern and continued mining. It took another five weeks to dig out all the emeralds I could reach. Some stones were still higher up, but my greedy squirrel stayed quiet this time, as if it understood the difficulty. I also had to saturate two more meat coolers with mana—Stretch ate a lot. After that, I identified him to check his progress over the last three months.

Stretch

Adult Bushland Dog

Progress to awakening 67%

"You are looking good, my friend."

He wagged his tail and licked my face.

I added mana to my light spell and walked around the cavern to see if I missed some accessible stones. I didn't see any. Then I got an idea. I still had 6 stat points I didn't know what to do with, so I added them to Luck.

Luck: 28

I checked my mana—no change. As I thought, there was no rhyme or reason. I engaged the active Luck ability and looked around the cave again. Two areas "pinged" in my awareness. I marked one with a tent peg and began working on the other. I had to clear some rocks and dirt, but then I reached another deposit of emeralds, which were even bigger. It took me another week to mine the two hidden pockets.

After I was done, I activated my Luck again and checked. Nothing pinged; even my Luck knew the stones up high were unreachable.

Smart Luck.

I snickered at the thought, collected all my stuff spread over the cavern, took the improvised ladder with me, just in case, and left the cave. In the last three months, I mined two enormous chests of emeralds and was feeling very rich.

It was midday outside, and spending more time outdoors was nice. I left the cave to relieve myself and to get a sense of the days, but other than that, I spent all my time inside. I climbed to the mountaintop again and sat down, enjoying the view. For such a long time, I focused on small areas all the time and felt like I was becoming cross-eyed. It was nice to expand my field of vision. I took my camera out and took some pictures.

By evening, I returned to the cave one last time, fed us both, and slept. The following day, we needed to "visit" the bison.

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