An ancient relic of untamed power, the Talisman of the Ursine Spirit took the form of a meticulously carved bear’s claw. Fashioned from rare darkwood, it radiated an earthy, primal warmth. Intertwining vines wrapped around its frame, and at its heart rested a small emerald gemstone that pulsed faintly, as though alive.
Even at rest, the talisman felt heavy in my palm. Not in weight, but in presence. Like something watching. Waiting.
For a druid, a talisman was more than an accessory.
It was an awakening.
Once worn, it did not simply rest against the skin. It fused with its wielder, burrowing into flesh and spirit alike, reshaping the very fabric of their being. Attributes were permanently enhanced, latent potential awakened, and the sacred ability of transformation bestowed upon those deemed worthy.
I pressed the talisman against my chest.
Warmth bloomed outward, gentle at first, then overwhelming. My breath deepened. Every sound sharpened, including the rustle of leaves, the distant creak of wood, and even my own heartbeat.
Then the strength came.
It surged through my veins like a tidal wave, raw and feral, as if the ancient ursine spirit itself had claimed my body as its vessel. My muscles tightened, fibers reforging themselves in a silent frenzy. Bones groaned, not in pain but in adjustment, realigning to support something far greater than they had before.
The transformation lasted only moments.
But its mark was eternal.
A faint, ethereal glow spread across my chest, condensing into the familiar pattern of the Ursa Major constellation, seared into my flesh like a celestial brand.
“Ugh… I need to tweak my build,” I muttered, bending down to pick up a small stone. I crushed it to dust in my palm without effort, watching the fragments spill through my fingers. “Otherwise, I’ll never unlock its full potential.”
To make matters worse, my hopes of unlocking the first Enlightenment bonus would have to be put on hold. The Wisdom boost was simply too small to push me over the threshold.
Still, I forced myself to focus on the silver lining.
The Ursine Spirit Talisman granted one of the highest permanent stat increases of any druidic artifact. Even if its brute strength was largely wasted on my combat style, the rest of its enhancements more than made up for it.
[Eryndor Leafshade]
[Soul Capacity: 1
Vitality: 5 → 30
Physical Resistance: 1 → 6
Magic Resistance: 4 → 9
Stamina: 3 → 10
Strength: 4 → 61
Agility: 7 → 15
Wisdom: 39 → 41
Willpower: 134]
[Spells: Rejuvenation, Windstride, Wind Cutter
Passives: Enlightenment]
***
With my upgraded stats, several destinations had opened up to me. After long consideration, I finally chose my next objective.
Redridge Mountain.
Jagged cliffs rose sharply on both sides of the narrow path, their stone faces scoured smooth by merciless winds that howled through the highlands. With every step upward, the air thinned, carrying the sharp, resinous scent of pine and cold stone.
The sun itself seemed reluctant to acknowledge this place. Its light barely pierced the ever-present mist clinging to the slopes, swirling in thick, suffocating waves.
It felt like climbing into a throat that didn’t want me there.
Above me, shadows flickered through the fog.
Harpies.
Redridge Mountain was their hunting ground. Their eerie screeches tore through the sky as half-hidden forms circled the peaks, razor-sharp talons glinting faintly as predatory eyes tracked movement below. Occasionally, one swept across the sun, its dark silhouette briefly blotting out what little light remained.
KWAARK!
One lunged.
Pure reflex took over. I twisted aside, but not fast enough. Talons clamped down on my arm. They should have punched straight through, shredding flesh and bone.
They didn’t.
The claws barely broke my skin.
“…That all you’ve got?” I muttered, surprise bleeding into exhilaration.
Grabbing its leg with my free hand, I yanked it downward and slammed its body against the rocks.
CRACK!
The harpy shrieked as stone met bone, wings flailing in blind panic. It hadn’t expected resistance.
Neither had I.
A creature larger than me, deadlier by nature, was being overpowered by sheer, raw strength.
A thrill surged through my veins.
I had never felt this before. Not in this world. Not in my previous one.
I hauled it up again and drove it down once more.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
THUD!
My arm moved on its own now, guided by something. Something that growled at the back of my mind, urging me to keep going.
I drove my fist into its face.
For a split second, another face flashed before my eyes.
The drunk driver, smiling and untouchable, walked free after bribing his way out of justice.
CRACK!
The harpy wailed, its cry breaking into a wet, gurgling screech.
The image shattered, replaced by sneering schoolyard grins. Mockery. Laughter. Helplessness.
BAM!
By the time Pica’s face surfaced in my mind, the harpy had already fallen silent.
I didn’t stop.
I brought my blood-slicked fist down one final time.
CRUNCH!
An overwhelming satisfaction flooded my chest as the harpy’s body finally went limp, then dissolved into nothingness.
I threw my head back and screamed, pouring out every ounce of rage that had festered in my heart. The scream twisted into wild laughter, sharp and unrestrained.
Even the other harpies felt it.
Their shrieks faded as they turned and fled, wings beating desperately as they put as much distance between us as possible.
My body shook uncontrollably. The laughter died quickly, leaving only silence and the unsettling realization that part of me had enjoyed it far too much.
The silence stretched. Then it dulled.
By the time the echoes faded from the cliffs, the rush was already bleeding away, replaced by something colder and familiar.
I wiped my hands clean on my robe and kept moving.
Up here, hesitation was just another way to die.
***
My routine had changed.
I climbed for days, harpies descending on me from dawn until nightfall.
Now, I no longer bothered dodging. When one dove at me, I grabbed its leg mid-air, slammed it into the ground once, and snapped its neck.
The rest fled every time, only to return later alone, as if incapable of learning.
“Seriously,” I muttered after the fifth identical ambush today, flexing my still-aching fingers. “You really are blockheads.”
I gathered the drops and continued my ascent. The mist grew thicker with every step, clinging to my skin, while the air thinned until each breath felt earned rather than taken. I was close now, painfully close, to the summit of Redridge Mountain, where a place of great importance lay hidden among the craggy peaks.
I had just leaned my back against a rough rock face to rest when I heard it.
A disturbance.
Voices.
People arguing.
That alone was unusual this high up the mountain, but what truly caught my attention was the topic of their heated exchange.
I pushed myself upright and moved slowly, melting into the shadows as I navigated the cliff’s edge with practiced care. Inch by inch, I crept forward until I reached a narrow ledge. Holding my breath, I peered down.
Below me stood several figures, their silhouettes half-swallowed by the fog.
“You idiot,” one of them snapped. “Hold it properly. Don’t let it get away!”
“Then do it yourself. Ah, fuck it. My arm’s getting scratched up.”
My lips slowly curled into a dangerous grin.
A golden opportunity.
In Dreadspire, monsters came in many forms: ordinary creatures, field bosses, non-combatants, floor bosses, and worse. All of them dropped something of value upon defeat.
All except one category.
Special monsters.
They left behind no equipment. No items. No treasure.
Instead, they granted something far more precious. A direct, permanent enhancement to the one who landed the final blow.
Here, in Redridge Mountain, where the skies belonged to Harpies, the special monster was the Golden Harpy.
Summoning one required fulfilling a long chain of conditions, and even then, luck decided the rest. Its appearance rate was abysmally low, far rarer than even a field boss.
In twelve years of playing Dreadspire, despite meeting the prerequisites multiple times, I had only ever encountered four.
That was how absurdly rare it was.
Or maybe… my luck had always been trash.
But if you succeeded, the effort was totally worth it.
Which explained why they were here.
Below, its wings shimmered like molten gold as it shrieked, radiant feathers scattering light with every frantic movement. Each wound dulled its glow, yet it still fought desperately, clinging to the sky.
“Hurry up and cast your fuckin’ spell!” an archer barked, his sharp features twisted with impatience.
“Shut up before I shut you up myself,” the robed wizard snapped back.
“Both of you, shut the hell up!” the towering warrior at the center roared, his presence crushing. “You’re breaking my focus.”
“If I don’t get it,” he added quietly, “I’ll kill every last one of you.”
Silence fell instantly.
The archer and wizard exchanged venomous glares, but neither dared to utter another word.
The battle was completely one-sided now. The Golden Harpy was clearly on its last legs.
“Boss, it’s time!” a rat-faced man shouted, struggling to restrain the creature.
The warrior stepped forward alone. Greed burned openly in his eyes.
One strike.
Just one final strike.
WHOOSH!
A pillar of fire erupted around the Golden Harpy.
Flames spiraled upward, colliding with violent gusts of wind. The creature screamed, a piercing, defiant cry, as its golden feathers ignited, light scattering like shattered glass.
The heat forced the warrior back.
“What the hell was that?!”
His head snapped toward the wizard.
"I-I didn’t do anything! I swear on my parents’ graves!" the wizard stammered, his face pale with panic.
A snort came from the archer. “Your parents aren’t dead, you idiot.”
“Then I swear on yours!” the wizard snapped back, eyes glassy with panic.
The warrior’s fists clenched.
He didn’t know who had done it, or how. But someone had stolen his kill.
And his rage needed an outlet.
With a feral roar, he turned on his own party, his weapon swinging as screams erupted behind him.
***
+20 Luck.
+3 to all primary stats.
That was the reward for slaying the Golden Harpy.
Luck was no ordinary stat. It was nearly impossible to improve, considered a permanent, almost finalized attribute. It influenced everything from drop rates and monster spawns to combat mechanics like evasion and critical hits.
That was why the Golden Harpy was regarded as the golden treasure of the first floor, not for its combat prowess, but for the immeasurable advantage it bestowed.
[Eryndor Leafshade]
[Soul Capacity: 1
Vitality: 30 → 33
Strength: 61 → 64
Agility: 15 → 18
Wisdom: 41 → 44
Luck: -31 → -11
Willpower: 134]
[Spells: Rejuvenation, Windstride, Wind Cutter
Passives: Enlightenment]
A strange lightness settled over me, as if a weight I’d carried for years had finally eased.
I exhaled slowly. The feeling was subtle, but undeniable, like standing at the peak of the world. If I were still in my old life, back in reality, I would’ve bought a lottery ticket right this second.
Or walked straight into a casino.
And left a very, very rich man.
MILESTONES
Patreon Subscriptions - 3 Bonus Advance Chapters
Dreadspire: The Weakest Druid on my
