NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 4: Getting Stronger
The monk staggered back, wiping the blood from his lip like it was an inconvenience, his cocky smile still plastered on his face. I had to hand it to him, the guy had persistence. But what he didn't have was any sense of self-awareness.
I wiped my brow and adjusted my grip on the sword, watching him circle me like we were in some kind of dance battle. Honestly, I was starting to get bored.
"You know," I said, stepping to the side, "for someone so intent on trying to kick my ass, you really ought to fix that head of yours. I mean, it's giving off 'I got hit with a shovel' energy."
The monk blinked, confused for a second. "What?"
I pointed to his forehead, leaning in with a grin. "Seriously, look at that thing. It's like your hairline's been on strike for the last five years. It's not even receding—it's evacuating. I've seen boulders with more of a peak than whatever's going on up there. What do you even call that, huh? A spiritual crown? Because right now, it looks like your scalp's been meditating a little too hard."
The monk's eyes twitched. "You dare insult me?"
"Insult?" I shrugged, stepping around him like I had all the time in the world. "I'm just giving you some constructive criticism, buddy. You really should consider some haircare. Maybe try a hat? But I gotta warn you—no amount of meditation's gonna fix that head of yours. It's like your brain's trying to leave, but it just can't find the exit."
The monk's face turned redder than a tomato, but I wasn't about to let up. "Seriously, though. Who told you that was a good look? Did you lose a bet with a barber, or is that your philosophy—don't think about your hair and it'll just fix itself?"
I chuckled to myself as I dodged another of his clumsy attacks. He was getting more and more frustrated, his swings starting to lack precision.
"Oh, I get it now," I said, holding my hands up like I was realizing something. "You don't care about your hair. It's all part of the monk thing, right? The whole 'I'm too enlightened to care about looks' routine. But here's the truth, man: Your head's looking like it's been through one too many enlightenment sessions. Maybe it's time to de-enlighten yourself a little bit and try out something that doesn't scream 'I lost a fight with a lawnmower.'"
The monk gritted his teeth, readying another strike, but all I could focus on was that lumpy, misshapen dome of his.
"I'm just saying, next time you go out to fight, you might want to leave the 'I'm a battle-hardened monk' look at home," I added with a grin. "That head's doing more work for the enemy than you are. Seriously, I've fought piles of rocks with more strategy than that thing."
By now, the monk looked like he was going to explode. But honestly, I wasn't worried. The more he got mad, the more mistakes he made. And I was enjoying myself a little too much.
"Are you done?" he growled, clearly on the edge of losing it.
"Done?" I said, holding my sword lazily at my side. "Oh no, we're just getting started. But hey, if it helps, maybe you should stop thinking with your head. It's clearly not working out for you."
I winked. "Trust me, I'd rather you think with your fists. They're at least less embarrassing."
His chi-infused elbow barely missed my face, crashing into the rock behind me with a boom that sent chunks flying.
"Damn!" I barked, ducking under his follow-up punch. "That elbow got the power of a divine slap—and a receding hairline crisis."
He didn't flinch. Just spun mid-air and came at me with a roundhouse kick.
I blocked with the flat of my blade, boots sliding against the moss. "Bro, with that shiny chrome dome, I swear you get HBO through your skull."
He growled—an actual growl—like he was more beast than monk now.
"Whoa! Chill, Head & Shoulders," I grunted, weaving between his fists. "That forehead got more aura than your attacks. I'm not sure if I'm fighting or preparing for a solar eclipse."
I ducked low, slashed his leg—scored a hit. He hissed, stumbled.
I saw it.
An opening.
"You ever consider wearing a headband?" I taunted, rushing in. "Or are you scared it might slide off and blind a small village?"
He roared and launched forward with a chi-empowered flying knee.
I Quickstepped sideways.
He smashed into a tree, cracking it clean in half.
"Damn, Monk-man! You shaving your head with lightning bolts now? That shine could summon gods!"
He spun, blood leaking from his side. His fists burned with inner fire. The ground sizzled beneath his feet.
I grinned, raised my blade. "Level 50 and still can't grow hair. No wonder you mad."
He charged—last move. His aura screamed with power.
Heaven's Elbow.
I let him come.
Waited till the last second.
Then dropped low and drove my sword up into his gut—deep, clean, final.
He choked, eyes wide, steam hissing from his mouth.
"Namaste, Baldzilla," I muttered.
> [Rare Monster Defeated: Corrupted Monk – LVL 50]
[Level Up: 48 → 49]
[Skill Copy — Eligible Skill: Heaven's Elbow]
[Acquired Skill: Heaven's Elbow]
A devastating chi-infused elbow strike. Ignores armor. High damage with enough momentum.
Requires contact and calm mind (lol, good luck).
He collapsed.
I stood over him, panting, sword dripping red.
"Rest easy, Lightbulb Larry," I said, poking his head with the flat of my blade. "May your next life bless you with conditioner."
> [You received: 550 System Coins]
"Finally," I muttered, collapsing against a tree. My ribs ached. My shirt was torn. I probably had a concussion from dodging glowing elbows all night.
But I was 550 coins richer and now only one level away from the big five-oh.
And honestly? After fighting Baldzilla and winning? I felt invincible.
I opened the [System Shop], scrolling through swords like I was window-shopping for violence.
There it was.
[Reaver Fang Blade – 500 Coins]
Forged from the spine of a mountain wyrm. Balanced, brutal, and slightly cursed.
+10% damage to beasts
+12% attack speed
Unique Trait: Biteback – First strike deals bonus damage. The blade "remembers" blood.
"Say less."
> [Purchase Confirmed: Reaver Fang Blade]
[Inventory Updated]
The sword shimmered into existence in my hand—long, curved, with jagged teeth along one edge like a monster that wanted to keep eating after the killing.
"Oh, you're pretty," I whispered.
Then I stood.
"Let's go test this thing out."
---
Thirty minutes later…
I stood in the middle of a beast clearing.
Bodies everywhere.
> [You have killed: Forest Ravager – Skill Not Eligible]
[You have killed: Bone-Tailed Burrower – Skill Not Eligible]
[You have killed: River Howler – Skill Not Eligible]
[You have killed: Spike Elk – Skill Not Eligible]
Blood dripped from the Reaver Fang Blade's edge like it was thirsty for more. The bonus speed was insane—I felt like I was carving through butter with a chainsaw.
"Okay. Okay," I panted. "This sword's cheating. I'm cheating."
I wiped sweat from my brow. Even the monsters were starting to hesitate before charging.
One Fangbeast had turned around the second it saw the blade and booked it.
"Yeah, that's what I thought."
The blade pulsed once—deep red light.
It liked the killing.
And weirdly... I kind of did too.
I sheathed the Reaver Fang Blade, breath still ragged. "Alright. That's enough slaughter for one afternoon."
That's when I felt it.
A heat—radiating from my side.
I looked down. The egg.
The damn thing was glowing again, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. The same warmth I'd felt when I leveled earlier… but stronger. More alive.
> [Mysterious Egg – Hatch Progress: 78%]
[The egg trembles in your inventory… It seems very excited.]
"Trembles?" I blinked. "What, like it saw all the killing and went, 'Hell yeah, that's my dad?'"
I pulled it out cautiously.
It was burning hot to the touch—not enough to hurt, but enough to make me flinch. The shell shimmered with strange patterns, runes maybe, or just cracks forming from the inside.
Then—poof—a puff of smoke came out of a tiny vent at the top.
"Did… did you just sneeze?"
It wobbled in my palm.
Then a notification popped up:
> [The egg emits a weird, approving hum. It seems to like bloodshed.]
[Trait Awakened: Battle Resonance (Passive)]
When near combat or high-level violence, the egg gains increased hatch rate. Be careful—it remembers what it sees.
"Oh. Cool. So you're a battle egg. A murder-omelette."
I glanced down at it.
It pulsed again. Almost smug.
"Yeah, yeah, keep humming, you edgy Fabergé. You didn't elbow a bald monk in the ribs."
Still, I couldn't help but grin.
It liked battle.
And that meant when it finally hatched… it wouldn't be some cute chirping fluffball.
No.
Whatever was inside this thing?
It was built for war.
MC:
(pulls the egg again out of the bag)
"Ah yes. My most powerful artifact: Anxiety in an eggshell."
Egg: vibrates like it's got beef
MC:
"You still mad? What are you gonna do, roll slightly to the left? Scary."
Egg: glows red for 0.2 seconds
MC:
"Oooh, spooky RGB lighting. Calm down, gamer egg. What's next, you start yelling racial slurs on voice chat?"
Egg: jumps like it's challenging him
MC:
"Sit your shell down, Humpty Dumpty Deluxe. You've been in my bag longer than my trauma."
Egg: cracks slightly
MC:
"If you hatch into a pigeon with a sword, I'm uninstalling life."
Egg: lets out a weird hiss
MC:
"Did you just hiss? Bro, you sound like a deflating balloon. You got asthma or dark powers, pick one."
Egg: wobbles with menace
MC:
"You're built like a breakfast that got rejected from IHOP. I've seen more threat from a wet sock."
Egg: glows purple with "malice"
MC:
"You keep glowing like that, I'm putting you in a rave. Call it 'DJ Scramble, live at the club.'"
Egg: goes still… plotting
MC:
"Plot all you want. If you don't hatch soon, I'm throwing you at the next boss and yelling 'EGG GRENADE!'"
NIGHT COMES...
You ever notice how quiet the world gets when you're alone?
Not the scary kind of quiet. The other kind.
The kind that seeps into your bones. Makes you listen.
Not to the wind. Not to the crackle of the fire.
But to yourself.
That's where I am right now.
Sword's down. No blood in the air. Just the stars above and dirt beneath.
And you, out there, reading this like it's just another story.
But life?
Life ain't a clean-cut tale with arcs and climaxes.
It's messy.
It stumbles.
It forgets its lines and writes over the margins in ink that never really dries.
People think life's some kind of race—
Level up. Get stronger. Beat the next thing.
But strength? Real strength?
It's waking up after failure.
It's trying again after you've been broken so badly you forgot what whole even felt like.
Everyone wants power. Glory. Purpose.
But no one tells you that purpose might be a quiet moment by the fire.
A breath you didn't think you'd take again.
A sunrise you almost missed.
We rush through everything like there's something waiting at the end.
But maybe the truth is, life's not about the destination.
Maybe it's about the pauses between the chaos.
The scars that didn't kill you.
The jokes that made you laugh when you should've cried.
The people you carry in your silence.
And if no one's ever told you this:
It's okay to be tired.
It's okay to not know.
It's okay to feel like you're just surviving some days.
Because sometimes, surviving is enough.
So take a breath.
Not for me. Not for the world.
For you.
You're here.
And in a world that tries to break you, that means something.
That means everything.
Morning came like a slap—bright, obnoxious, and way too early.
I stirred beneath the tree, stretching just as a shadow blotted out the sun.
Thump.
"GAAH—!"
Something smacked me right in the face.
I shot up, reaching for my sword out of pure trauma instincts.
The egg.
The smug little orb had jumped—literally bounced—onto my face like a headbutting toddler.
It rolled off my chest with a happy pulse and settled in the grass, vibrating like it had just won a fight.
"What the hell was that for?!" I groaned, rubbing my nose. "I give you poetic midnight monologues and this is how you repay me?"
The system chimed in, way too cheerful.
> [System: Nice poem last night. Very emo. Very deep. Egg approves.]
I blinked.
"You're listening now?"
> [System: Always listening. Especially to midnight man-tears under the stars.]
I threw a stick at the egg.
It dodged.
Of course it did.
"You little gremlin rock…"
The egg pulsed again, brighter this time. Almost… giggling?
It hopped once. Then twice.
And then launched itself straight at my face again.
"OH COME ON—!"
Thump.
Fade to black.