An ancient relic of raw, untamed power, the Talisman of the Ursine Spirit is shaped like a meticulously carved bear-like claw, its surface smoothed by time yet brimming with an earthy, primal warmth. Fashioned from rare darkwood and wrapped in intertwining vines, its core is embedded with a small, yet mesmerizing emerald gemstone that pulses faintly—like a heartbeat, synchronized with the very essence of nature itself.


    For a druid, a talisman is more than just an accessory—it is an awakening.


    Once worn, it does not merely sit upon the skin; it merges with the wielder, permanently fusing with their body, altering them from the inside out. It enhances status attributes, reshapes the very fabric of their being, and grants the sacred ability of transformation.


    As I press the talisman against my chest, a gentle yet consuming warmth spreads through my body. My senses sharpen—each breath feels deeper, every sound more distinct. And then, it hits—a surge of overwhelming raw strength rushing through my veins, as if the ancient spirit of the Ursine itself now inhabits my body.


    The transformation completes in mere moments, but the effects are undeniable. A faint, ethereal glow shimmers on my chest—shifting into the familiar pattern of the Ursa Major constellation, permanently etched into my flesh like a celestial brand.


    For now, I focus on the silver lining—the Ursine Spirit Talisman grants one of the highest permanent stat increases of any druidic artifact.


    Even if the brute strength boost is meaningless to me in combat, the other enhancements more than make up for it.


    [Eryndor Leafshade]


    [Soul Level: 1


    Vitality: 4 → 29


    Physical Resistance: 1 → 6


    Magic Resistance: 4 → 9


    Stamina: 3 → 10


    Strength: 11 → 61


    Agility: 5 → 15


    Wisdom: 31 → 41


    Willpower: 134]


    [Spells: Rejuvenation, Windstride, Wind Cutter]


    ***


    Stolen story; please report.


    The path that winds through the heart of Redridge Mountain is as treacherous as it is ancient, a jagged trail etched into the very bones of the earth. Cliffs rise sharply on either side, their stone faces worn smooth by the biting winds that howl through the highlands. With every step I take, the air grows thinner, carrying the sharp scent of pine and distant snow.


    The sun, reluctant to grace this landscape, barely pierces through the ever-present mist that clings to the slopes, swirling in thick, unrelenting waves.


    Above, shadows flicker through the fog.


    Harpies.


    These ravenous, winged predators have long claimed Redridge Mountain as their hunting ground. Their eerie screeches fill the sky—half-hidden forms circling the peaks, their razor-sharp talons and hungry, predatory eyes searching for prey. Occasionally, one of them swoops past the sun, its dark silhouette casting ominous shadows across the rugged path.


    The higher I climb, the more distant the world below becomes, swallowed by an eerie, suffocating silence.


    And yet, the quiet is never truly empty.


    Every gust of wind carries the leathery flap of wings, the subtle rustling of feathers, the echoing caws of harpies hunting across the sky.


    This mountain is not a mere passageway; it is a trial—a test of both body and spirit. And the higher I ascend, the clearer it becomes.


    ***


    Kwaak!


    Another Harpy falls.


    I don’t know how many I’ve slain by now. Dozens? Maybe more.


    I have been climbing for days, battling through relentless waves of these creatures. Morning, noon, and night, they descend upon me—claws slashing, wings beating, their piercing screeches threatening to drive me mad.


    If nothing else, I can say this:


    Even though the strength boost from the Talisman of the Ursine Spirit is useless for my combat style, the other stat enhancements have been a lifesaver.


    Not long ago, I had struggled against Moraxus—a foe that had nearly crushed me in battle. And yet, here I am now, standing my ground against Harpies that are stronger, faster, and far more vicious.


    This is Day 22 of my Tower exploration. Time is running out. Soon, this cycle will end, and whatever remains unfinished will have to wait for the next rotation. There is still one final destination I must reach before that happens. Deep within Redridge Mountain’s central region, hidden amidst the craggy peaks, lies a place of importance.


    If my calculations are correct, I should be one or two days away from reaching it.


    But before that—


    I pause mid-step, my fingers tightening around the remnants of my rations.


    A disturbance.


    A sudden shift in the air—subtle, but unmistakable.


    From below the ridge, the sound of conflict.


    I move instinctively, slipping into the shadows, carefully maneuvering along the cliffside edge. Each step is measured, cautious—one wrong move, and the sheer drop below would be the end of me.


    I inch forward, peering over the ledge.


    My lips curl into a slow, dangerous grin.


    A golden opportunity.