Awareness returned slowly, like wading through thick mud. Mike's first coherent thought was surprise—surprise that he was thinking at all. By all rights, he should be dead, or at least in agonizing pain. The battle with the wolf pack, the explosion, the fall—any one of those could have been fatal.

  Instead, he felt... not good exactly, but far better than expected. Sore, yes. Exhausted, definitely. But the sharp, tearing pain of his injuries had diminished to a dull, generalized ache.

  Mike opened his eyes to complete darkness. For a moment, he thought he might have been blinded, but as his eyes adjusted, faint outlines appeared—the suggestion of walls, a ceiling overhead, the square of dim light above where he'd fallen through the hatch.

  "What the hell happened?" he muttered, his voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space.

  Carefully, Mike tested his limbs. His right leg—the one savaged by the wolves—moved without the searing pain he'd expected. His bitten arm likewise responded to commands without protest. Gingerly, he probed his ribs where he'd slammed into the tree. Tender, but not the grinding agony of broken bones.

  The golden notification flashed in his memory. The level up had somehow accelerated his healing, knitting wounds and mending damage in ways that defied normal human recovery. It didn't make rational sense, but then again, nothing in this world operated by Earth's rules.

  With effort, Mike pushed himself to a sitting position. His clothes hung in tatters, burned and torn from the battle and explosion. Blood had dried in stiff patches on what remained of his pants and shirt. But beneath the ruined fabric, his skin showed only fading bruises and partially healed cuts where open wounds should have been.

  "Okay, I'll take the win," he said, struggling to his feet.

  The effort left him light-headed, and he leaned against the nearest wall until the dizziness passed. He was still far from fully recovered—just less catastrophically injured than he should have been.

  Once steady, Mike pulled out his phone for light. 8% battery remaining, but it still functioned. The dim glow revealed what appeared to be a stone staircase leading up to the broken hatch, and a corridor extending deeper into darkness.

  "Underground storage?" Mike guessed, sweeping the light around.

  The walls were well-constructed stone, fitted with the same precision as the buildings above. Unlike the ruins, however, this space had been protected from the elements. While dusty and abandoned, it hadn't suffered the degradation visible in the structures above ground.

  Curiosity overriding caution, Mike followed the corridor away from the stairs. The passage opened into a large chamber with a high ceiling supported by stone columns. His light couldn't reach all corners of the space, but it revealed shelving units lining the walls and storage chests arranged in ordered rows.

  "Jackpot," Mike breathed.

  He approached the nearest shelf, examining its contents. Clay jars sealed with wax, wooden boxes with hinged lids, and rolls of what appeared to be fabric or parchment, all arranged with meticulous care. Symbols had been carved into each shelf, presumably indicating the contents.

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  Mike opened one of the boxes, finding it full of multicolored crystals, each about the size of his thumbnail. Another contained metal components he didn't recognize—fittings or fixtures for some unknown purpose. A sealed jar held what looked like dried herbs or plants, their scent still potent despite obvious age.

  The next chamber branched off to the right, smaller than the first but more specialized in its contents. Here, Mike found tools—dozens of them, arranged on wall-mounted racks and in wooden cases. Unlike the rusted implements he'd found in the ruins above, these were in remarkably good condition, preserved by the constant temperature and dryness of the underground space.

  "A craftsman's dream," Mike murmured, examining the collection.

  Among the unfamiliar implements, he spotted something he recognized—a Japanese-style pull saw with a wooden handle and a thin, flexible blade designed for precision cutting. It looked almost new, the wooden handle smooth and the blade free of rust. Mike tested its edge carefully and found it still sharp enough to be useful.

  A nearby drawer yielded another treasure—nails, hundreds of them, sorted by size in separate compartments. They weren't modern machine-made nails but hand-forged spikes with square shanks and flat heads. Still, they were unmistakably nails, and in excellent condition.

  "Better than Christmas," Mike said, gathering a handful of the nails and securing the saw to his belt.

  His exploration continued through several more chambers, each apparently dedicated to different crafts. One contained what seemed to be weaving supplies—looms, spindles, and bundles of fibers. Another held glassblowing equipment, including a furnace that hadn't been fired in centuries. A third contained stoneworking tools—chisels, hammers, and polishing stones.

  What struck Mike most was the organization. This wasn't simple storage—it was a carefully maintained repository of crafting knowledge and equipment. The supplies for each craft were arranged systematically, with what appeared to be instructional carvings on the walls above each station.

  In the final chamber, Mike discovered something that made him pause. Unlike the other rooms, this one contained a single item—a pedestal in the center, supporting what looked like a large book or ledger. The pedestal itself was carved with symbols similar to those he'd seen throughout the ruins, but more elaborate, almost ornate in their complexity.

  The book, if that's what it was, was bound in what might have been leather, though of no animal Mike recognized. The cover bore a symbol he'd seen before—the same one at the center of the inlaid pattern in the plaza above.

  Carefully, Mike opened it. The pages inside weren't paper but some thin, parchment-like material that remained flexible despite obvious age. They were covered in the same incomprehensible script as his notifications, arranged in neat columns with occasional diagrams or illustrations.

  "A record?" Mike wondered. "A manual?"

  Though he couldn't read it, the book's importance was obvious. Mike considered taking it but ultimately decided against it. Without the ability to read the script, it was of limited immediate use, and something told him it belonged here, with the rest of the carefully preserved knowledge.

  Instead, he focused on practical items—the saw, the nails, and various other tools he recognized or could guess the function of. He found a leather satchel hanging from a peg and used it to carry his finds.

  By the time Mike had finished his exploration, fatigue was setting in again. The accelerated healing had taken a toll, leaving him drained. He needed rest, food, and time to process what he'd discovered.

  Making his way back to the staircase, Mike climbed toward the square of fading daylight above. The steps were sound, but steep, and he was breathing heavily by the time he reached the broken hatch.

  Emerging into the evening air, Mike surveyed the scene of the battle. The wolf carcasses lay where they had fallen, already being reclaimed by this world's efficient ecosystem. Small scavengers scattered at his appearance, retreating to the shadows to wait for his departure.

  The explosive tree hadn't fared as badly as Mike had expected. Though split partially down its trunk from the force of the detonation, it remained standing. Sap oozed from the wound, already beginning to harden in the cooling air. The surrounding trees seemed largely unaffected, their spouts intact.

  "Tougher than they look," Mike noted, relieved that he hadn't destroyed the valuable resource.

  No fires continued to burn, the explosion having consumed the available fuel quickly. Mike checked the area carefully nonetheless, ensuring no smoldering embers threatened to reignite. The last thing he needed was a forest fire complicating his already precarious situation.

  Satisfied that the immediate danger had passed, Mike made his way back to his shelter. Each step was an effort, his body demanding rest despite the miraculous healing. The battle and subsequent discoveries had pushed him to his limits and beyond.

  The security measures he'd implemented earlier remained intact—his door secure, the window covering undisturbed. No predators had taken advantage of his absence to claim his territory. Mike barricaded himself inside, placing his newly acquired tools beside his hammers before collapsing onto the raised platform bed.

  Too exhausted even to eat, Mike surrendered to sleep almost immediately. His last conscious thought was a determination to put his new tools to use improving his shelter when he woke.

  As darkness claimed him once more, a small notification appeared, simple and clear: [REST].

  For once, Mike had no trouble following the system's instruction.