Cain sat on the edge of the bench, watching the small infant finally drift into sleep. She was nestled snugly within the soft bear furs, her tiny fingers clutching instinctively at the warm material, breathing softly and steadily. Yet despite her now-peaceful sleep, Cain's heart still hammered anxiously in his chest. The initial rush of affection he'd felt for the helpless child was quickly being overshadowed by stark, overwhelming panic.
He leaned forward, pressing his face into his palms, letting out a long, ragged breath. "I'm fucked," he whispered harshly into the quiet. "I have no goddamn clue how to raise a baby."
Shadowfax raised his head slowly, casting a weary, judgmental glance toward Cain before turning his attention back to the sleeping child. Cain shook his head bitterly, feeling the harsh weight of reality crash over him.
He forced himself up, pacing restlessly, thoughts racing chaotically. He had tried mashing softened meat and berries into something resembling baby food, awkwardly spooning it into the infant's tiny mouth. Most had ended up dribbling down her chin, creating a sticky mess and causing another round of wailing before she'd finally settled. Cain felt utterly defeated by such a small, vulnerable creature.
"I can't do this," he muttered sharply, turning to glare at the pedestal. "One baby? That's the best you could give me?"
He stalked toward the dais, glaring at the glowing runes with suspicion. In his anxious state, the magical stone seemed less mystical and more like an unfair gambling machine, a lottery rigged against him. He reasoned that perhaps he had simply played the odds too cautiously, summoned only one, and gotten a lousy draw. Perhaps, he thought, if he increased the stakes—summoning multiple peasants at once—he could tip the odds toward something more useful, more capable, someone who might actually know what to do with a baby.
He turned suddenly, snapping his fingers. "That's it. More at stake means better odds."
Shadowfax snorted skeptically, ears flicking slightly. Cain ignored him, moving swiftly toward the pile of furs. Carefully, he adjusted the furs around the sleeping child, ensuring she was safe, warm, and comfortable.
He turned sternly to Shadowfax, pointing his finger with exaggerated seriousness. "You," he whispered sharply, "are officially on baby duty. Guard her with your life."
Shadowfax gave him a look that could only be interpreted as complete and utter disbelief, shaking his head slowly in resignation. Cain ignored the judgment, grabbing his rifle and hunting knife firmly, and storming out of the Town Hall into the darkness beyond.
The chill night air struck him immediately, but Cain barely noticed, adrenaline surging through him as he moved swiftly into the dense forest. His senses sharpened instinctively, eyes adjusting quickly to the dark, ears attuned to every small rustle of leaves, every soft movement within the shadows. He moved like a phantom, slipping silently through the darkness, driven by sheer determination and urgency.
Within moments, he reached a small open meadow bathed in pale moonlight. A small group of deer lay sleeping peacefully, their forms silhouetted against the moonlit grass. Cain paused briefly, crouching low, eyes narrowed in focused determination. He raised the rifle silently, steadying his breath.
Crack!
His shot struck cleanly, dropping one deer instantly. The others scattered, bleating in panic, but Cain was faster. Rifle abandoned briefly, he sprinted forward, moving with incredible agility, drawing his knife and closing the distance rapidly. With practiced efficiency, he took down another deer swiftly, his breath steaming in the cold night as silence returned to the meadow.
He stood for a brief moment, chest rising and falling sharply, heart hammering fiercely. He wasted no further time, swiftly dragging both deer back through the forest to the Town Hall, muscles straining beneath their weight. He worked quickly and methodically, immediately placing both carcasses within the magical storage circle. As each deer disappeared, the stone's glowing runes briefly shimmered:
> Meat added: +160 kg (total meat now: 280 kg)
Cain paused only briefly, eyes flicking to the pedestal, determination and desperation intertwined in his expression. Not yet satisfied, he stormed back out again without hesitation, moving swiftly toward the trees, this time toward the rocky ridge he'd visited earlier. His thoughts raced wildly—if summoning peasants was unpredictable, he'd hedge his bets by constructing a farm first, something the system explicitly listed as available. Surely a farm would produce food—perhaps even milk or crops—resources he desperately needed.
Throughout the deepening night, Cain moved with relentless determination, axe swinging rhythmically, felling tree after tree, stripping branches quickly, stacking timber neatly. Sweat ran down his face despite the cold, muscles burning with effort. He shifted swiftly to hauling stone, heaving and rolling each heavy boulder toward the Town Hall with determined persistence. Fatigue tugged at him, but his sheer stubbornness propelled him onward.
Back and forth he moved in a desperate frenzy—gathering, dragging, stacking—each step, each load of resources driven by the unyielding conviction that he had no other choice. As he worked, he repeatedly checked his progress, stacking the gathered wood and stone within the inventory circle.
When the runes finally confirmed he'd met the farm's requirements, he paused only briefly to catch his breath:
> Farm Requirements Met:
Wood: 150 kg ✅ | Stone: 50 kg ✅
Cain let out a ragged breath, wiping sweat from his forehead, exhaustion settling heavily into every muscle. Dawn's first faint glow crept across the sky, illuminating the clearing as he stood panting before the magical pedestal. Yet even as tired as he was, his determination hadn't faltered.
"Farm," he gasped, pressing a hand firmly onto the pedestal. "Build it—now."
Instantly, the magical runes flared to life again, timber and stone swirling effortlessly upward, forming swiftly into the solid, reassuring shape of a farmhouse and adjacent fields. The construction settled into place with a final, satisfying thud.
Cain stared wearily at the completed structure, breath misting heavily in the dawn air. His legs trembled from exertion, yet hope surged once more within him—he had finally achieved something tangible. Surely now he had the resources needed, better prepared for what might come next.
Turning slowly, he stumbled back inside the Town Hall, finding Shadowfax still dutifully watching over the peacefully sleeping infant. Cain collapsed heavily onto the bench beside them, utterly spent yet oddly exhilarated.
Shadowfax gave him another skeptical look, to which Cain responded with a tired, triumphant grin.
"See? Problem solved," he murmured hoarsely. "I've improved our odds."
Shadowfax merely snorted, clearly unconvinced, before returning his attention to the sleeping child.
Cain chuckled softly despite his exhaustion, leaning back and closing his eyes briefly, heart still racing from the night's relentless labor. It had been impulsive, chaotic, even reckless—but perhaps, he thought, that's exactly what surviving in this strange new world required.
"Tomorrow," Cain muttered weakly, eyelids growing heavier by the second, "tomorrow we try again."
And as the first golden rays of sunrise spilled gently through the windows, Cain finally surrendered to the heavy pull of sleep, dreams tangled with equal parts exhaustion, anxiety, and hope.
But sleep, it seemed, was a luxury he was destined never to truly enjoy. Barely had his eyelids closed when an ear-piercing cry ripped through the peaceful hall, jerking him violently awake.
Cain bolted upright, heart hammering wildly, eyes wide with sudden panic. "What? What now?" He blinked rapidly, his gaze landing on the source of the commotion—the baby, now wide awake, her tiny fists flailing, face red and twisted in displeasure.
Shadowfax had risen too, giving Cain a distinctly annoyed glare, clearly indicating that baby duty had ended when Cain stepped back through the door.
Cain groaned softly, rubbing his tired eyes. "Alright, alright… I'm coming." He stumbled forward, gingerly scooping the child into his arms. Almost immediately, he felt something warm and decidedly unpleasant against his hand.
He grimaced, nose wrinkling in disgust. "Oh, great. Poop. Wonderful."
Shadowfax snorted loudly, turning his head away as if deliberately distancing himself from the problem.
Cain sighed deeply, carefully unwrapping the child to clean her off, eyes widening briefly as realization struck him. "Oh, well—hello there," he said with mild embarrassment, now fully aware the infant was a girl. "So, you're a little lady. Good to know."
After cleaning her as best he could and improvising a fresh moss-and-fur diaper, Cain noticed her frantic cries hadn't subsided. It dawned on him then—she must be hungry. His awkward attempts at feeding her the night before had clearly been insufficient.
Cain's stomach sank. "Okay, food. You need milk or… something similar," he muttered anxiously, rocking the girl gently in his arms. He remembered the farm he'd just built and the promise of animals within. "Maybe there's a cow. Cows mean milk, right?"
Quickly, Cain tore strips from spare furs and fashioned a makeshift baby carrier, strapping the tiny girl securely to his chest. She squirmed slightly, then relaxed, evidently comforted by his closeness. Feeling slightly ridiculous yet oddly proud, Cain grabbed his rifle, his heart pounding nervously as he headed outside toward the farm.
The morning air was sharp and refreshing, dew sparkling softly beneath the sunlight. Cain hurried across the clearing, the baby securely fastened to his chest, her wide, curious eyes soaking in the world, blissfully unaware of his anxiety. Approaching the newly-built farmhouse, Cain stepped inside, immediately feeling a slight buzzing sensation within his mind. Instantly, a clear pop-up window materialized in his consciousness, clearly visible yet intangible, displaying the building's available options:
> Farmhouse Options:
Summon Livestock:
Cow (Enhanced): 60 kg Meat (90% Female / 10% Male)
Sheep (Enhanced): 35 kg Meat
Chicken Group (Enhanced, 5 chickens): 25 kg Meat
Pig (Enhanced): 40 kg Meat
Goat (Enhanced): 30 kg Meat
Note: Livestock summoned are superior-quality, requiring standard animal husbandry practices for optimal yield.
Cain didn't hesitate, mentally selecting the cow. Immediately, a soft flash illuminated the farmhouse, and a magnificent cow appeared before him—powerful, sleek, and healthy, clearly superior to any cattle he'd seen before. Cain felt relief surge through him.
"Milk at last," he sighed gratefully, hastily grabbing a bucket he'd fashioned earlier. Approaching the cow confidently, he positioned himself to milk her. He tugged gently, then more firmly—yet nothing emerged.
A sudden memory struck him like a thunderbolt: cows needed to be pregnant before producing milk.
Cain's shoulders slumped, heart sinking with frustration. "Pregnant first. How could I forget?" He quickly tried again, summoning another cow with desperate hope for a bull.
Another female appeared.
"Come on, please," Cain muttered anxiously, summoning three more cows, each arriving calm, healthy, and distinctly female. After the fifth female appeared, Cain stepped back, eyes wide with disbelief. "This can't be happening."
He quickly shifted tactics, mentally selecting sheep. Immediately, a sturdy, thick-wooled sheep materialized, its wool superior yet clearly in need of proper shearing—something Cain had no clue how to perform immediately. He stared helplessly at the animal, understanding quickly that sheep, too, wouldn't yield immediate resources without knowledge or preparation.
Desperation gripped him. "Chickens then," he thought urgently. Chickens at least laid eggs automatically—surely they would solve his immediate problem. Selecting chickens from the mental menu, two groups materialized, a total of ten large, vibrant hens appeared, clucking contentedly as they began pecking at invisible feed on the floor.
Cain sighed deeply, surveying the now thriving yet utterly frustrating farmyard filled with calm, contented, and entirely milkless cows, sheep needing skilled attention, and happily clucking chickens who at least promised eggs.
By now, his stored meat had dwindled drastically. The baby began to fuss softly again, sensing his distress. Cain gently rocked her, his mind drifting inevitably back toward the stone pedestal in the Town Hall—the tempting yet terrifying lottery machine for summoning peasants.
He briefly considered it, desperate for a caretaker or anyone who knew about babies. Yet a flashback of the crying infant's unexpected arrival stopped him cold. Fear gripped him at the thought of inadvertently summoning an army of babies.
"No, absolutely not," Cain muttered softly, shaking off the temptation. "No more babies."
Returning inside the Town Hall, Cain sank wearily onto the bench, holding the infant close. Shadowfax stepped closer, nudging Cain with gentle sympathy.
Cain sighed, offering a tired smile. "Looks like it's just us, Shadowfax. You, me, and our unexpected new companion." He smiled down at the baby, who gazed back with innocent curiosity. "We'll figure it out."
Resolute determination slowly replaced his anxiety. Securing the infant against him once more, Cain stood, gripping his rifle firmly. "If we need more peasants, we'll need more meat first. But if another baby comes—" he shook his head, half amused, half serious, "I'm never summoning another peasant again."
Shadowfax snorted softly in apparent amusement, loyally following Cain as he stepped determinedly back into the wilderness. Despite the absurdity of his predicament, Cain found himself smiling softly, gently patting the baby's head as she giggled lightly.
"This isn't quite what I planned," he murmured, warmth flooding his chest despite himself. "But maybe, just maybe, it won't be so bad."
And as the unusual trio once again ventured into the forest, Cain felt an unexpected sense of hope rising. Perhaps this strange, unpredictable path he'd stumbled upon might hold more promise—and joy—than he'd ever imagined.