How to Get Girls, Get Rich, and Rule the World (Even If You're Ugly)-Chapter 38: How to Make the Monsters Hesitate

My heart was pounding at a rhythm completely incompatible with rational thought.

But thinking was all I had.

The creature was still, but the roots were closing in, tightening the circle.

It wasn’t just a physical threat—it was a puzzle, a veiled challenge, like the forest was saying: "Prove you deserve to pass."

And I’m terrible with riddles, but excellent at cheating.

I picked up a small stone and threw it to the left, hitting the trunk of a tree. The dry sound echoed and bounced.

The creature turned its head, its amber eyes tracking the noise for a second.

It hears.

That was all I needed.

With a stupid idea blooming, I ran in the opposite direction.

The monster stretched out an arm, and a root cracked out from the ground toward me.

I leapt over it like a drunk acrobat, slammed my shoulder on a moss-covered rock, and rolled downhill until my body hit a ledge of compacted earth.

A branch fell inches from my head—or maybe it was part of one of its arms.

It was dismantling the terrain around me, creating a forced arena.

I stood up, slipping, and struck hard. I hit one of the roots forming its leg—or what passed for a leg.

Wood cracked, but the creature didn’t even flinch.

It wasn’t made of matter alone—there was magic sustaining it, some ancient energy etched into the grain.

Taking advantage of the impact, I ran behind a fallen tree. As the creature turned to follow, I shoved the rotten log with all my strength, dropping it between us.

It wouldn’t stop it, but the resistance forced the colossus to bend.

That’s when I noticed a detail: the center of its chest, where the runes glowed faintly, trembled with each movement.

A core? A weak spot?

I planted my feet, took a breath, and ran.

A clumsy leap, the pickaxe spinning in my hands, and I slammed it down with everything I had—right in the center of the creature’s chest, where the wood looked most alive.

The explosion wasn’t fire or light—it was air.

The creature screamed.

An ancient sound, like trunks groaning inside the skull of a dead god.

I was flung backwards, slammed into the living wall of roots, and slid down into the mud.

It pulled back.

But now its chest glowed, as if the energy inside had awakened.

The surrounding roots began to move faster. The barrier was closing in.

And above, in the shadowy heights of the forest canopy—another shape moved.

It wasn’t alone.

This wasn’t the final challenge.

It was the beginning.

But I didn’t have time.

The creature’s chest burned like a furnace about to burst.

The entire forest seemed to be holding its breath, waiting to see if I would become part of the scenery—or surprise it again.

But I already had what I needed:

A target.

A chance.

And a bit of well-preserved rage in my right arm.

I lunged forward before the creature could fully rise.

Climbed the shifting roots like a rope-free climber and buried the pickaxe into the glowing center once more.

Only this time—not to pierce.

To twist.

I clenched my teeth, gripped the handle with both hands, and turned the metal hard—as if trying to open an ancient safe with the wrong key.

The sound didn’t come from outside—it came from within, like a thunderclap stuck in the ribs of the world.

A pulse of ancestral magic shot through the air, and everything twisted.

For a moment, I saw light bend.

Then the shockwave hit me.

It was like being crushed by a roar.

The ground vanished beneath me, and my body was flung like a stupid toy against the side of an ancient tree.

I felt every vertebra crack, every breath turn into a knife.

I hit the ground on my side, rolled until I crashed between roots and mud.

My vision spun, drunk on pain and mana dust.

The sound? A deep hum, like the universe had gone deaf.

The creature roared—but not in rage.

In agony.

A pain so ancient it dragged the memory of a thousand winters with it.

Its roots vibrated like tendons snapping.

And then, slowly, it collapsed.

Not like a tree falling, but like a secret being forgotten.

A final sigh echoed, and all the vegetation around it withered in a sudden radius, as if even the soil had given up sustaining it.

The forest fell silent.

And where a pulsing chest once was, something now glowed—alone—waiting for me.

| ITEM PROFILE: SYLVAN CORE FRAGMENT |

Type: Druidic Catalyst

Classification: Runic Key / Forest Memory

| PROPERTIES |

→ Warm to the touch, pulses with residual living energy

→ Acts as a natural focus for manipulating magical flora or wooden seals

→ Allows opening of hidden clearings, repelling of small creatures, or delaying rune-based enchantments for 30 seconds

| LIMITATIONS |

→ Fragile: excessive energy use may consume the fragment

→ Only responds to casters with natural affinity (requires conscious channeling)

→ Heightens magical sensitivity of the bearer (occasional visions, voices, or vertigo)

The name came to me as if it were too old to ever be forgotten. A magical shard once used by druids to seal or control manifestations of nature.

Limited, but powerful. In the right hands, it could ward off lesser entities or open breaches through living barriers. A natural casting focus, directly linked to the memory of the forest.

Still panting, I smiled through dirt-stained teeth.

The blackened wood pulsed gently in my hand—warm, alive, as if it already knew it would be needed soon. And it would. That thing was going to get me out of trouble—maybe before nightfall.

Because the branches were moving again.

But not where I stood.

To the north. In the path Thalia had taken.

The sound came right after—a sharp, strangled scream, with no room for surprise. Just pain.

I staggered to my feet, shoved the fragment into my belt, and dashed between the roots like the entire forest had turned against me.

The ground beneath my feet was a slippery mix of exposed roots and rotting leaves, and each step made the underbrush whisper like the woods were gossiping about my urgency.

I ran in zigzags, weaving between twisted trunks until I saw the glow through the trees.

Thalia was standing in the center of a small, uneven clearing, her back pressed against a moss-covered stone.

Her tied-up hair now hung loose, and the notebook she’d carried before lay open on the ground, as if it had tried to help—and given up.

She was panting, her dress stained with mud up to her knees, one strap torn.

But alive. Whole.

Around her, three smaller creatures of the same kind I had fought moved in circles—eyes glowing like coals, limbs clicking in silence.

| ENTITY PROFILE: BARKLING STALKERS (x3) – Ritual Guard Mode |

| ATTRIBUTES |

Speed: High

Tactics: Circular Predation

Behavior: Observe before strike. Attack only if provoked or ordered.

| ABILITIES |

► Hunter’s Circle [Passive]

→ Creatures circle their prey to build psychological tension. Reduces target’s focus by 10%.

► Pack Test [Active – Triggered by Defiance]

→ If target shows bravery, two out of three creatures hesitate. Only the most aggressive attacks.

| WEAKNESSES |

→ Physically fragile after direct impact

→ Vulnerable to surprise attacks and brute tactics

→ Hesitate in the face of strong emotional dominance

They hadn’t attacked yet. Maybe they were waiting for something.

Maybe they were just enjoying themselves.

But I knew: it wouldn’t last.

The first one moved—the one on the left—a dry snap, and its eyes flared as it launched in an arcing leap.

I reacted on instinct, swinging the pickaxe like a steel bat, slamming it mid-air.

The creature flew off like a snapped branch, scraping the ground with a harsh growl and leaving a dark trail across the moss.

The other two didn’t retreat.

Didn’t attack.

Just watched me now—their eyes fixed on me.

A subtle shift, but it said everything:

I was the new threat.

And they didn’t like that.

I positioned myself between them and Thalia, breathing deep.

The weight of the pickaxe in my hands reminded me it was more tool than weapon—but in that moment, it made no difference.

My arm ached from the earlier fight, my muscles locked, mana was nearly gone—and still, I smiled.

"You’ve got a choice," I murmured. "Run—or stay and find out what happens when you mess with what’s mine."

Thalia shot me a look that mixed surprise and mild disgust.

The one on the right came first—low, fast, aiming for my leg.

I dodged to the side, spun my body, and drove the pickaxe straight into the creature’s trunk. A sharp crack rang out, followed by a burst of splinters and flying thorns.

The body dropped.

The other one came in right behind—much faster.

That’s when I heard it.

A louder snap.

The sound of branches being forced apart.

And there—between the trees—something was approaching.