Jackson
Author: Neven Iliev
Date: 2022-12-10 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: It’s amazing what the lack of immediate threat to one’s life and wellbeing can do for a person’s disposition. High risk, high reward endeavors suddenly seem far less appealing, month-long delays are no longer a cause for concern, and sleeping in every single day of the week becomes an extremely attractive proposition. Indeed, without a pressing need to aggressively expand its power, Boxxy T. Morningwood is finally able to simply sit back, enjoy life, and watch the world both turn and burn. Questions such as ‘Who started those fires?’ and ‘Should I do something about them?’ are answered with ‘D

Everybody Loves Large Chests

Volume Nine: Jackson

A book by Neven Iliev

Prologue

The southern continent of Velos could be summarized with one word – wild. Ninety percent of the landmass was dominated by jungles, swamps, marshes, and overgrown mountains, teeming with an overabundance of life that no civilization could hope to conquer or tame. Nature ran rampant, and the wilderness flourished without restraint. Unfortunately, as one elven Druid had found out, it wasn’t quite the tropical paradise she hoped for when she first arrived. Yes, there were idyllic beaches and coastlines, but those were extremely scarce. More importantly, they were very far away from the southeastern jungle she was wading through. ‘Wild’ would certainly describe the woman’s stay in Velos thus far, though there were three more words that came to mind.

“Fuuuuck, it’s hooooot!”

Opia groaned a complaint as she wiped her sweaty brow with her bare arm. This sweltering, humid climate absolutely did not agree with the elf. Her shoulder-length, dark-green hair felt unbelievably sticky. Her bangs were practically glued to her forehead. At least they weren’t long enough to cover her matching eyes, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to see a single thing in this damnable jungle. Her face as a whole, though twisted in a displeased frown, was on the cute side and surprisingly youthful for her age. She looked to be in her early twenties, and her somewhat petite upper body reinforced this illusion. However, what lay below the waist made it clear this woman was fully matured and then some. She had wide hips, plump thighs, and a full rump resembling a juicy pear. This was despite the fact that she was in overall great shape, as were most active adventurers due to their rigorous lifestyles. For better or worse, Opia had been born with a low-ended generousness that strained against her beige shorts. Her top half wasn’t as well endowed, as one could hardly see the two modest bumps under her short-sleeved yellow blouse.

In practical terms, that outfit would be considered far too light and casual for someone in her position. Indeed, though enchanted, those garments offered almost no physical protection. This was unfortunately a necessity in the unforgiving heat. Even though the overabundant vegetation blocked the sun’s rays, the humidity in the air made heat stroke and dehydration almost as big a threat as they were in the desert. While it was possible to get specialized equipment capable of diminishing or outright negating the extreme climate’s effects, Opia wasn’t made of money. She could barely afford all the extra-strength bug repellant she needed to avoid being constantly swarmed by insects, arachnids, and other potentially dangerous critters. This went for both the small ones and their giant cousins.

Then again, one could argue that the thing keeping her safe from those vermin was actually the hydra hatchling she was riding. Though it was far from fully grown, this quadruped reptile was already larger than a horse, allowing its owner to ride its wide back with no issue. Well, other than the lack of a saddle. The beast’s rough green scales were hardly the most comfortable, and the shocks it sent through her body with every step were enough to make her generous behind jiggle constantly. Her cheeks were definitely going to be sore later, but she couldn’t do anything about it. After all, she had only met the creature less than an hour ago. She immobilized it with her Druid magic and used her Monster Tamer Skills to domesticate it. It was a bit tricky bringing the monster under her control since it had three snake-like heads, a number that would increase up to nine as it grew older and larger. The hydra – which she named Spittles – would need a lot more training before it was completely subservient. For the moment, it was only obedient enough to let her ride it without raising much of a fuss.

That wasn’t why Opia had tamed the beast, though. While large enough to trample any rampant vegetation and proceed through the thick undergrowth with little difficulty, using it as a means of transportation was simply an added bonus. In reality, the Druid had made Spittles her pet because she thought it looked adorable. It was an unpopular opinion, as this jungle’s hydras looked as hideous as they were vicious by normal people’s standards. Even the local raptors thought them unpleasant, despite having scaly hides of their own. The elf didn’t care – she knew fully well she was an oddball. If anything, it was harder to find an adventurer of her advanced Level who wasn’t a weirdo. No sane person from a stable household would take up her line of work, let alone stick with it for so long.

In Opia’s case, she just loved travelling, seeing new places, and learning about all the ways she could sail the cosmos without ever leaving the ground. It was a good thing she never took up the Alchemist trade, otherwise she’d be too busy sampling her own products to get anything useful done. Thankfully, she was too much of a free spirit to sit in a lab and mix chemicals all day. Her fascination with dangerous critters led her to sign up as a Monster Tamer on her fifteenth birthday, which was as soon as the state would allow. That was almost two decades ago. Opia’s love for the ‘adorably grotesque’ remained, but her creature-wrangling had taken a back seat to what she considered her true calling. The elf was a Druid that specialized in acids, toxins, and diseases. She was equally proficient in their treatment, prevention, and offensive applications, so long as they occurred naturally or were conjured by magic. Synthesized poisons were beyond her area of expertise due to the aforementioned unwillingness to do lab work. Or reading. Any toxicology knowledge she had was obtained first-hand through field experiments.

Okay, maybe putting it that way was a bit misleading, but ‘smoked any grass or weed that would burn’ didn’t look good on a resume. Neither would ‘got bitten on purpose to see if basilisk venom can get me high.’ Regardless of her questionable motives and general aversion to sobriety, those experiences turned Opia into who she was today. Her skill and knowledge as the world’s foremost ‘venomancer,’ as she liked to call herself, was the real deal. This extended to her affinity for handling toxic creatures, of which her new pet was a prime example. Jungle hydras, unlike their oceanic or northern cousins, had the innate ability to spit a different strain of venom from each head, giving it a variety of debilitating effects it could inflict on any prey or threat. This trait was also what gave Opia the idea for her new pet’s name, which she used affectionately. Though they’d only just met, she generally liked the big oaf, though her favorite head was without a doubt the middle one. Its venom had some potent hallucinogenic properties that made for some mind-blowing experiences or nightmarishly bad trips, depending on the dosage and the subject’s constitution.

Getting high on hydra venom had to wait for later, though, as Opia was currently on the job. The local Mercenary Guild had posted a Quest regarding the investigation and cleansing of some sort of degenerative disease in this area. It was just the sort of work the Druid liked to do. She had the fortune of stumbling onto Spittles on her way to the infected site, though taming the bugger came at a cost. The hungry tyke had killed and swallowed Opia’s previous pet, Hubert the basilisk, before her Monster Tamer magic could subdue the hydra. It was a bit of a shame, but the elf wouldn’t lose any sleep over the dead lizard. In the end, it was a vicious monster kept in check by a number of mental shackles that it could potentially break free from. That was why Opia, like most reasonable Tamers, made sure not to get overly attached to her ‘pets.’ If anything, the elf had lucked out. Sure, all that time and effort she spent training Hubert were now irrelevant, but sacrificing the basilisk allowed her to capture a creature that was stronger, tougher, and, in her opinion, cuter. In the Monster Tamer community, this was known as ‘trading up,’ and Opia had gotten the deal of a lifetime.

“Hrrrssss!”

“What is it, boy?”

Spittles suddenly let out a gurgling hiss and lowered its heads warily, prompting Opia to raise her guard. The unseen threat showed itself to be a half-rotten, humanoid corpse which ran out of the thick foliage while screaming its lungs off. Spittles hissed and lunged forward while turning itself to the side. It body-slammed the ghoul with its flank to knock it to the ground then proceeded to stomp it flat under its webbed front feet.

“Oww! Damn, I really need to get you a saddle.”

Opia rose up from the muddy ground while cursing and rubbing her aching butt. Though the hydra hatchling had been kind enough to dispatch the walking corpse, it did so completely on its own. Its sudden movement surprised the Druid, throwing her and her luggage off its back. Such embarrassing things were bound to happen, though, as it was still a fresh capture. It had to be trained over time if it was to become more obedient and mindful towards its master.

“Ugh, undead,” Opia groaned some more. “‘Mysterious disease’ my ass. Should’ve known it was the freaking Blight.”

The elf picked up her backpack and intricately-carved staff off the ground and warily pressed onward with Spittles following behind. Her suspicions were confirmed when the vegetation around her rapidly turned from lush and green to yellow and dry for no apparent reason. It got worse over the next few minutes as the jungle transitioned into a blackened, rotting wasteland with a foul stench permeating the air. Just as that ghoul’s presence suggested, the plague of undeath known as Blight had a heavy presence here. Opia’s Skills and high Endurance were keeping her from suffering any adverse effects, but she knew the symptoms when she saw them. No other disease killed flora and fauna in such an indiscriminate fashion. She then realized Spittles lacked her resistance to the supernatural sickness, so she turned around to put a protective Spell on it.

“Air Bubble!”

A sphere of faint, green light enveloped one of the young hydra’s three heads, with the other two gaining their own as soon as the elf repeated the Spell on each of them. Now that its air was actively filtered by magic, Spittles let out some pleased gurgling noises and stomped around a bit in approval. Opia reassuringly patted each of its necks with a smile on her face, then turned her attention back to the problem at hand. Cleaning up a Blight infection by herself was not impossible, though it would take her a while. By her estimate, the infected area would only be about two or three kilometers in diameter. She could easily get rid of the disease in a day or two through constant application of air, water, and soil purification Spells. Her Scourge Inoculation Skill would also make her restorative magic fortify the area against disease, preventing the Blight from reclaiming the cleansed areas. The real problem was that doing so would surely attract the attention of any and all undead in the area, which had to be eliminated anyway if she was to completely extinguish the infection.

Dealing with those was going to be the real challenge, as the undead’s unnatural physiology rendered them immune to most scourge-based incantations, which were Opia’s specialty. Necrotic Wave, Plague Bomb, Searing Toxin, Poisonous Gale, Petrification, and a number of other ominous sounding Spells from the Desolation school of magic would be unusable. The same went for several of the Druid’s active Skills, such as Degenerative Aura and Sapping Grasp. The only incantations she could rely on were caustic ones like Acid Javelin and Corrosive Splash, but they had two shortcomings. They needed time to melt through the undead’s flesh and, more importantly, lacked the physical impact to keep them at bay. That was a task normally reserved for the aforementioned array of sinister Spells. Without them, it was all but guaranteed that the elf would get stuck in melee combat with multiple monsters. This was basically a worst-case scenario for most Casters since they found it hard to chant Spells when someone was ripping out their throat.

Most magic users thus had to rely on trusty companions for cover, and, thankfully for Opia, she had a hydra-sized friend eager to do some corpse-stomping. She’d have basically no control over Spittles and would just have to let it go on a rampage while she supported it from afar. Not ideal, but better than going back to town and recruiting more mercs. That would involve splitting the Quest reward and wasting even more of that expensive bug repellant. Forget making a profit – the elf would be firmly in the red if she did all that. Sure, Spittles had practically no loyalty at the moment and was liable to ignore her if she got flanked, but Opia was confident she could handle herself. She was a Level 83 Druid and Level 42 Monster Tamer, which put her firmly ahead of the adventurer power curve. A Rank Up was well within reach for her, though at present her only concern was the Blighted patch of jungle in front.

While pondering if she could go through with it, the pear-shaped elf looked down at the bracelet on her left wrist. It had the appearance of a golden snake with tiny rubies for eyes, which had wrapped itself around her limb and bitten down on its own tail. It was her good luck charm, which also had the very handy property of tightening itself whenever it sensed its wearer was in danger. Admittedly, it hadn’t done that when that ghoul showed up earlier, but that was because it had accurately judged a single sack of rotting flesh was no threat to her and her new pet. Considering the bracelet hadn’t given her a single warning since she entered the infected area, Opia felt encouraged to try and handle this by herself.

She began scouring the Blight’s perimeter, looking to thin out the undead presence while liberally applying purification magic. She ran into a few groups of zombified monsters and animals – mostly orcs, monkeys, and the occasional feline monstrosity – but they were nothing she and Spittles couldn’t handle. The skirmishing was actually beneficial in training her new pet. Healing its wounds and curing its undead-inflicted afflictions was steadily showing it that Opia was a reliable ally and caretaker, making it more likely the monster would remain a good boy when things turned sour. It actually seemed to be having fun since it was able to get into fights over and over without having to worry about its health. Sure, it had the Regeneration Skill, but that ability rapidly drained its MP, and the monster didn’t have much. Hydras had a shockingly low amount of INT despite their overabundance of heads. It was rare for them to indulge in their violent impulses this much, hence why Spittles was enjoying the undead-cleansing chore. This emotion was conveyed to its tamer through their magical bond, and Opia couldn’t help but get infected by its good mood.

However, the elf’s easy-going attitude disappeared the instant her wrist-mounted early-warning system tightened itself, digging into her skin hard. This timing was pretty bad, as she was still in the middle of melting down the latest pack of undead fodder. To make matters worse, whatever set off her lucky charm was exceptionally big judging by the loud thuds that rapidly grew closer. The elf somehow managed to mop up the stragglers in the next few seconds and turned to escape, but it was already too late. The major threat burst out from some half-rotten foliage behind her. It was an undead hydra, one that had been a fully grown adult before it died and was reanimated. Standing roughly five meters tall with six of its nine heads still intact, it was a much more intimidating sight than Spittles. The youngling admitted that much by letting out an agitated-sounding gurgle and taking a few steps back. It would have already run for the hills if Opia’s meddling wasn’t suppressing the second half of its fight-or-flight instinct.

This was fortunate for the elf, as she was able to climb onto Spittles’s back and grip one of its necks for support before it abandoned her here.

“Go on, then! Run!”

“HRRSSSHHH!”

Spittles didn’t need to hear that instruction to know it needed to dash for its life, but it certainly helped put some spring in its step. It fled in an extremely undignified manner while its older, bigger, and deader ‘uncle’ gave chase while letting out a constant, rumbling growl. It was immediately apparent Spittles wouldn’t win this race. Even though the part-time Monster Tamer’s Logistical Legwork Skill improved her pet’s ability to cross rough terrain, their pursuer’s much-wider stride allowed it to steadily gain on them. It was bound to catch them before long, even without considering the undead’s tireless nature.

Opia desperately racked her brain to figure out a way to save the hatchling, but she couldn’t think of anything. Her pet’s violent movements made chanting magic impossible, as the Druid would surely bite her tongue if she started flapping her gums. She could train it to be more mindful of its passenger to facilitate mounted Spell-slinging, but it was too advanced a feat for a fresh recruit like Spittles. Without her magic, there was no way to affect the outcome of the chase. The most the elf could do was try to leap off its back and use the larger living being as bait, leading the undead abomination away from her in order to save her own skin. It was regrettable she wouldn’t get to keep Spittles, but staying alive was more important than getting high on hydra venom.

The elf was about to make her move when she suddenly saw a person-shaped blur run right past her and Spittles in the opposite direction. She was about to yell at this stranger to get away, but her voice got stuck in her throat when she witnessed what transpired next.

*SCRUNCH*

A single kick.

That was all it took to stop the undead hydra in its tracks. The concentrated impact to its front right leg was so great that the limb turned to dust, forcing the zombie’s enormous torso to slam into the dirt. The colossal creature coiled its many heads back as it prepared to lash out and bite this intruder clean in half, but the mysterious stranger leapt up towards the base of its serpentine necks before it had the chance.

“Flurry of Blows, Savage Sweep.”

With a voice far too quiet for Opia to hear, she unleashed a kick-based Martial Art while in the air. Her right leg was coated in a red light and swung horizontally in a wide arc, cleanly cutting through one of the hydra’s necks as if it were a greatsword. Her entire body continued to spin, allowing her to use both her legs to perform a beautiful six-hit whirlwind kick combo. The hydra was beheaded before her feet even had a chance to touch the ground, but she wasn’t done yet. She angled her body sideways, using the momentum of her revolutions to deliver a guillotine-like chop with her right hand, nearly splitting the creature’s headless body in two as it hit the ground.

The Druid and her pet could only watch in awe while this transpired and found themselves unable to avert their eyes now that it was over. The woman turned away from her slaughtered prey and towards her audience, allowing Opia to get a good clean look at her. At a glance, the black-haired human looked gravely wounded. Her left arm was missing at the shoulder, and most of her face and otherwise bare torso were wrapped in off-white bandages stained with mud and grime. Though she looked heavily injured and was missing a limb, those moves made it impossible to believe her condition was anything less than perfect. Upon closer inspection, it became evident her bandages weren’t dressing wounds but concealing some horrible burn scars. Her piercing yellow eyes were full of vitality, and her expression was so stoic and unflinching that it seemed she could deflect a meteorite with her face. Or any other part of her impeccably toned body, for that matter. Regardless of this woman’s actual resistance to flaming boulders, the elf felt incredibly fortunate that she happened to be nearby.

Opia might, of course, think differently if she knew just what kind of far-reaching consequences this seemingly random encounter would have.

Chapter One
Tales of Life, Luck, and Lemonade

A Tale of Loose Ends

The elf riding atop a hydra and the half-naked human who just beat one to a pulp stared intently at one another for a few speechless seconds. The one-armed woman then silently raised her right hand and lowered her stance in what was unquestionably a fighting pose. The motion snapped Opia out of her shock and helped her realize this stranger wasn’t staring at her, but at Spittles. Given how the big oaf looked as if it was about to discharge an entire cathedral’s worth of bricks from its bowels, it probably sensed an immense amount of hostility.

“Hold on!” she screamed, putting herself between the two monsters. “I’m a Tamer! This guy’s with me!”

The woman took a long hard look at the hydra hatchling and its trio of vigorously nodding heads before relaxing her stance, much to the others’ relief. She turned around and started walking off, but Opia wasn’t about to let this golden goose slip away so easily.

“Please, wait! You’re a Monk of Axel, aren’t you?”

Her Job was fairly obvious considering she utterly demolished an undead beast the size of a house with just her hands and feet. The way it practically disintegrated from her blows suggested divine energy was involved, and a Monk’s Ki was the only thing Opia knew that fit the bill. Furthermore, she judged it was highly likely the woman in front of her was a Disciple of War based on the peculiar thigh-slit pants and knee-high sandals she wore. Axel’s religion was the dominant one in these parts, and Opia had seen plenty of his followers wearing similar clothing. Granted, her bandaged toplessness was a bit weird, but the way the stranger stopped at her words made it clear her educated guess had been right on the money.

“Why don’t we join forces to wipe out the undead and clean this area of the Blight?” the Druid suggested. “Surely, you would rather not let this unholy infestation continue to fester.”

The human Monk turned around and approached the Druid with a quick step until the two were standing face to face.

“Why are you here?”

Both her voice and face oozed of disinterest, in stark contrast to the gleam in her eye.

“Like I was saying, I was hired to clean up some unknown disease, but I didn’t know I’d be dealing with the undead until I got here. I got in over my head and-”

“Why are you here?”

The stranger interrupted Opia by repeating her question. The Druid was stunned silent for a few moments until she realized the Monk wasn’t asking about the here and now, but her long-term intentions. It was a legitimate question, as nobody went to Velos unless they were all out of options, and the elf obviously wasn’t a local. It was still rather rude to just ask it out of the blue, but the elf needed this woman’s strength to safely accomplish her mission. That and her bracelet wasn’t picking up any signs of hostility, so she decided to play along.

“Because I’ve had it with Atica. Nothing but self-righteous dickbags who think they know what’s best for the ‘commoners,’ which is apparently sending them off to die over imaginary lines on a map. The Republic, the Empire, the Kingdom, the Alliance – fuck ‘em. Fuck all of ‘em.”

Opia couldn’t stand living on the western continent anymore. Having wandered most of her adult life, she had seen and grown disillusioned with all forms of organized government. While she stuck around the Ishigar Republic the longest, her opinion of the place plummeted when she was conscripted and forced to fight in the war against her will. Opia never dealt well with authority, so it was a good thing her unit didn’t see much action, otherwise she might have melted her superior officer’s face off.

Once that was over, she left the Republic out of spite and went across the south border. She had some bad memories from her childhood there, but at least the Empire didn’t force its own citizens to the front lines. They also had steady work for someone with her talents, as the humans still had their hands full trying to contain the deadly miasma released by the Calamity of Monotal. The job was exhausting and the regulations a bit stifling, but the steady salary and agreeable working conditions were more than satisfactory for the elven mercenary. Plus, she was doing her part protecting the environment as a Druid, which was the icing on the disaster management cake.

However, for better or worse, that career path abruptly ended three weeks ago. The Empire had struck some kind of deal with the Horkensaft Kingdom about bringing in ‘experts’ to deal with the ongoing environmental disaster. The way the elf heard it, these people were a bunch of blue-skinned gnomes that lived on the moon until a shiny metal lady helped them find their way down to Terrania. Opia must have been baked out of her skull that day if that’s how she remembered it. Point was, those shorties had some weird thing called a Plagueward Totem. She’d never seen anything like those crystalline poles, but their ability to contain the Calamity’s leftover miasma was incredible. Opia had confirmed it herself, as it was one of the last tasks she got before the Empire fired her along with most of her fellow contractors. It wasn’t surprising the government did that when those imported totems did a far better job of cleansing the land and air.

The elf was fine with this development. She had a hunch that job wouldn’t last, and it wasn’t like she was fired because of a silly reason like bigotry or lack of funding. If anything, she was genuinely glad that the mess was finally being cleaned up. She was also able to save up a good deal of money, which she used to finally fulfill her dream of moving to Velos. The tropical weather would take some getting used to, but the political climate was far more stable. The only civilization here was a whole lot of raptors who were too busy keeping the jungle and its monsters at bay to fight among themselves. It was a constant struggle that fostered a sense of acceptance and cooperation among the locals, wherein nobody hesitated to ask for help or offer it when it was requested. Opia had a feeling this Monk would share that mentality. Yes, she was human, but her religious garb and utter indifference to the sweltering heat suggested she wasn’t from overseas.

“Requesting permission to pet the hydra.”

The woman’s next words completely threw the elf for a loop.

“… I’m sorry, what?”

“Requesting permission to pet the hydra,” the woman calmly repeated.

“Really? You… wanna pet this guy?”

She pointed at the hydra and received a firm nod in response.

“Affirmative. I have determined its cuteness acceptable.”

This weird Monk had a peculiar way of speaking, but Opia wasn’t about to turn her down because of that. Especially since this was the first time she met someone that shared her tastes in critters.

“Sure! Come here, boy!” she beckoned the hydra over. “Don’t be afraid of the scary lady, she won’t hurt us.”

The many-headed monster warily approached the black-haired woman. It lowered one of its serpentine heads towards her, sniffing while tasting the air with its forked tongue. The Monk raised her hand towards it, gently stroking it under the chin. The hydra thoroughly enjoyed this, which it displayed by closing its eyes while hissing quietly.

“Wow, you’re kinda good at this,” the elf commented.

“Had a similar pet once. Long ago.”

“So, you’re also a Monster Tamer?”

“… No. My father was.”

It had been a long time since she had thought about her father. He was a raptor who fell in love with a human woman despite the massive biological gap between their races. A certain amount of deviancy had to be involved for a ‘scalie’ and a ‘smoothskin’ to produce offspring, so it wasn’t surprising that the product of that union was also a bit… off. The Monk’s mixed lineage was why she had those unusual yellow eyes, though she attributed her skewed aesthetic sensibility and combative nature to her upbringing. She grew up in a harsh land, raised by parents that, while loving, were definitely weirdos. She wasn’t sure when or how her love of fighting manifested itself, but once it did she joined Axel’s ranks as a Disciple of War as soon as she was able. Her parents supported and encouraged this choice at the time. They probably wouldn’t approve of what she had become over the past two decades, but they were too dead to have a say in the matter.

“What’s your name?”

The Monk’s idle reminiscing ceased at those words. This wasn’t a simple question to answer. She was technically a fugitive in both the Empire and Republic, so revealing her real name or callsign was probably a bad idea. She could still go with one of her old nicknames, though.

“… Jen.”

“Well, good to meet you, Jen! I’m Opia, and this big guy is Spittles.”

“Hello, Spittles.”

Jen’s face and voice remained as ice cold as ever, but her actions displayed she was having a lot of fun petting the hydra. The feeling was mutual as its other two heads leaned in, eager to get their chins scratched. The human thoughtlessly tried to move her left arm to oblige them, but only ended up awkwardly wiggling her shoulder. That grim, abrupt reminder of what she had lost in Watford instantly deflated her good mood. She stopped playing with the monster and caressed what little remained of her limb, her lips pursing together in frustration.

She could still see it every time she closed her eyes. That red-skinned fiend holding her in place while her cowardly master detonated her body into a searing, blinding swirl of green flame. No, calling Boxxy ‘cowardly’ was just her spite talking. She now understood the shapeshifter was far too pragmatic to fight her face-to-face and one-on-one. While she saw the shapeshifter as a source for entertainment and self-improvement, it treated her like a threat that had to be disposed of through any means necessary. Hating a monster for such a pragmatic attitude was like being pissed at a rock for being so solid. The benefit of hindsight allowed Jen to realize she only had herself to blame for how things played out in Watford. She was so focused on getting her desired duel that she did not consider the battlefield as a whole. It was a bad habit that Edward often said would be the death of him. Jen didn’t know for sure, but she had a feeling her boss was right. Her hubris would have gotten her killed as well if not for her Spirit Guardian blocking a significant portion of the blast at the last moment.

However, the Demonate Spell still overwhelmed Zone’s Ultimate Skill. It drained her Ki, knocked her out, and flung her clean across the city. When she woke up, she was one arm lighter and lying face down in someone’s living room with a Monk-sized hole in the roof. The Demon King’s Blackout was in full swing by that point, though his rift walkers did not attack due to the pact between Mist and Weaxohn. The heavily injured woman used the confusion and darkness to her advantage, retreating to one of the fallback points Edward had set up just south of the town. But, when none of the other Gilded Hand members showed up after several days, she faced the reality that they were not coming. Disheartened, lost, and lacking options, she ended up fleeing the country and winding up here, the land where she was born and raised. Whether it was due to some kind of homing instinct or because she was as fed up with governments as Opia, she could not say.

Yet, what had she done since then? Nothing but wander around randomly beating the crap out of monsters to vent her frustrations. Unlike this elf she coincidentally bumped into, Jen no longer felt she had a purpose in life. Perhaps the woman called ‘Zone’ did die that day, as none of the conviction and vigor she once had could be seen in this crippled shell. Granted, it was a shell that could turn boulders to dust with a single headbutt, but she still felt hollow inside.

“Are… Are you okay, Jen?” Opia asked with mild concern. “You kinda spaced out for a moment there.”

“… Why do you care?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You got me out of a tight spot I walked into by myself. What sort of heartless monster would ignore their benefactor in this situation?”

The kind words were loaded with disingenuous intentions. Jen might not have had a lie detector like her former boss, but she had been at Edward’s side long enough to recognize when someone was peddling bullshit. She lashed out at the elf, grabbing her by the neck and forcing her to her knees while slowly choking the breath out of her. This seemingly unwarranted act of violence made Spittles run off due to its lack of loyalty towards Opia, but the elf seemed surprisingly calm for someone struggling to breathe.

“Why. Do. You. Care?” Jen asked, her voice showing actual signs of hostility.

“Okay, okay! I give!”

The Druid barely squeezed out those words while patting the rock-hard fist clamped around her throat. The Monk eased her grip just enough for the elf to catch her breath and speak freely, but she still held onto her neck.

“I need your power to finish this Quest! I was hoping to reel you in using sympathy and divine duty and then keep the reward for myself! That’s it, I swear!”

Opia was never much of a gambler, but she knew when to hold them and when to fold them. This? This was folding time.

“I could snap your neck like a twig.”

The Monk wasn’t kidding. She only needed to put a bit more strength into her grip.

“You can, but you won’t,” the elf stated confidently. “We both know that, and I will admit I was at fault for trying to trick you, so let’s call it even and discuss this like civilized people.”

Jen stared down the Druid for a few more seconds before she let go. She didn’t like the elf’s deception attempt, but that was hardly reason enough to kill the woman. Far worse people had tried to goad her into doing indescribably more terrible things, so this was hardly worth getting worked up over. In actuality, she was rather intrigued by this odd knife-ear, and not just because they seemed to share certain eccentricities.

“How did you know I was bluffing?”

The Monk felt quite confident in her intimidation techniques, yet this seemingly random elf did not fall for her act in the slightest.

“Truthfully, I didn’t,” Opia said, rubbing her bruised throat. “Snek saw through you.”

The elf lifted her left arm, showing off the golden snake bracelet. She gently stroked the sculpture’s head, causing it to suddenly spring to life. Its tiny, toothless jaw opened, releasing its tail in the process. The animate piece of jewelry slithered up the elf’s raised forearm until it was standing on her open palm. The shiny snake looked at the confused human with its beady red eyes, its tiny, forked tongue darting in and out of its mouth.

“Snek!” it let out in a tiny, whistling voice. “Snek, snek, snek!”

“… Snek?” Jen repeated, dumbly.

“Yeah, Snek. No idea what it’s real name is, but I don’t know what else to call it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a house mimic I found several years ago. It’s technically a monster, but it’s perfectly harmless. Really smart and perceptive, too. It can sense danger better than any other beast or Spell I’ve seen, and it’s never failed to warn me when something bad was about to happen. You had me going for a little bit, but I knew you weren’t serious when he failed to react.”

“Snek,” the living ornament nodded.

The Monk put out a lot of psychological pressure, but her methods were no match for one of Tol-Saroth’s ‘children.’ Its uncanny perceptiveness and sharp wit were things the elven sage had built into it and those gifts had kept it alive since. Snek’s creator originally intended to give the jeweled alarm system to his future spouse to keep them safe, so it was understandable he put his all into making it just right. Unfortunately, it was never able to fulfil its original purpose since Tol-Saroth’s significant other remained theoretical until his dying day.

“Requesting permission to touch it.”

“Snek, snek!”

“Snek doesn’t seem to mind, so go right ahead.”

The Monk reached out with her only hand, intending to stroke the golden serpent with her index finger. The house mimic had other ideas, as it snapped its head upwards and playfully bit the tip of her finger. Its warm metal ‘lips’ wrapped around the digit like some sort of ring while its tongue poked at the woman’s nail.

“I think it likes me.”

Though Jen’s words were flat and emotionless, the corner of her lips lifted ever so slightly. Opia didn’t know her well enough to catch the minute change, but she could still read the mood. She didn’t mention that Snek was actually trying to lick up the pieces of zombie hydra stuck under her fingernail since it loved to eat dead skin, among other things. The house mimic was adorable and useful, but the topic of its questionable diet was unsuited to polite conversation.

“What do you say, Jen? Partners? I’ll split the reward 50-50.”

“… 70-30. I will be doing most of the killing.”

Just because the human was having a bit of an existential crisis didn’t mean she was without goals. She still had to heal her arm, and the only way to do that completely was with a Rejuvenation Potion made from genuine hylt sap. Those got significantly more expensive and harder to find the further one got from the Republic, and Velos was as far away as one could get.

“Nuh-uh, 50-50,” Opia stood her ground. “Even if you can clear out the undead single-han- uh, by yourself, the job is to purge the area of disease. In this case – Blight. And, call it a wild guess, but Monks typically don’t have any wide-scale cleansing magic, so I have to do that exhausting, bothersome work by myself. Besides, I’m the Quest holder, and I have the sneaking suspicion you’d rather not have your name on any of the guild’s logs.”

“Snek!”

The house mimic abruptly let go of Jen’s finger and coiled itself around the elf’s wrist, squeezing it lightly. It would appear her efforts to negotiate had earned her some genuine enmity from the Monk. They subsided quite quickly, but not because the human had given in to her demands. She had spotted something in the air far above and behind the elf. She drew the Druid’s attention to the flying object by silently pointing at it.

“Well… fuck.”

Opia had already deduced there was more to this infestation than met the eye. This patch of Blight should not have been old enough to reanimate something as powerful as a fully grown hydra. At least, not unless some extremely powerful undead being had settled in the area. While she expected one to show up, she did not think it would be a dragon made out of bone. She was equally unprepared to find a person riding said un-dragon as it patrolled the skies.

“70-30,” Jen repeated.

“Uh, sure. Yeah, I think that’s reasonable. Provided you can actually kill that thing. Can you even get up there?”

The Monk answered the Druid’s question not with words, but with actions. A golden halo manifested above her head while a pair of radiant wings sprouted from her back, and she was soaring through the air in moments. Opia could do little but look on with stunned awe as Jen beelined for the flying undead creature, her form rapidly shrinking to resemble an arrow wreathed in holy light.

“Hey, Snek?”

The house mimic lifted its head off the elf’s wrist and looked at her questioningly.

“Snek?”

“Did you know she was an angel?”

“Snek,” it nodded.

“You could’ve told me.”

“Snek. Snek, snek. Snek snek snek, sssnekek.”

“Yeah, good point. Come on, let’s find Spittles.”

“Snek? Snek snek.”

“Spineless or not, Jen thinks he’s cute. I figure she’d be more willing to cooperate if I kept him around.”

“Snnneeeek,” the jeweled serpent said dubiously. “Snek snek, snekek?”

“No, of course not. The hallucinogenic venom is just… an added benefit.”

The mimic wasn’t entirely convinced, but it didn’t say anything further as it returned to its dormant bracelet state while she ran off looking for Spittles.

At the same time, a certain newly-transformed lich was getting ready to face down the golden glow coming in fast on an intercept course. Her bone dragon unleashed a caustic breath of death and decay, blanketing the air in front of it in sickeningly green fumes. The angelic Monk expertly weaved her body to shift her flight path without losing any speed. She skimmed along the edge of the highly destructive attack and was about to bury her foot in the flying abomination’s ass, but had to abruptly change course to avoid a swipe of one of its massive claws.

“Gods be damned! Why can’t you people just leave me alone?!” a woman’s voice shrieked as Jen circled around the almost-dragon. “The only thing I’m hurting are monsters!”

The Monk did not respond. While she wasn’t sure what ‘you people’ was supposed to mean, she was certain that last statement was false. She had already used the magic of violence to purify the corpses of dozens of raptors wandering the Blighted area. They were freshly killed and raised, which she knew because the savage local wildlife would devour dead bodies before they even had a chance to turn undead. Without new bodies to feed it, the undead plague would not be able to take root. That was the main reason why Blight infestations were never much of a problem for this continent and its residents.

The lich riding atop the bone dragon was obviously not a local, based on her appearance. Her physical form, though covered in dark wrappings and bound by ethereal shackles, was clearly that of a certain woman. Her face and the unholy construct she was riding on helped Jen identify her as one Nora Cromwell. She was an Order of the Black Wand VIP that had lost her life along with the rest of the shady guild’s Necromancers during the Aynor Keep Purge towards the end of the previous year. The Gilded Hand had some sleeper agents among their ranks that got caught up in it, so as one of its officers, Zone caught wind of the event and was familiar with the circumstances. She had no idea that Nora escaped the massacre by forsaking her humanity, but that didn’t bother the Monk. If anything, she was rather thrilled. She always wanted a show-down against the Level 100 Necromancer and her Ultimate Skill, and these circumstances only made this more exciting.

The lich, on the other hand, didn’t want any of this heat. She knew nothing about her opponent, other than the fact that she couldn’t seem to catch the slippery bitch. Whether it be tail swipes, claw attacks, toxic breaths, or peppering her with bone shards from her ultimate creation’s hide, none of her attempts to injure the angel paid off. The extreme midair turns and rapid changes in velocity made her a difficult one to pin down while also betraying an intimate familiarity with three-dimensional movement. Jen was well-versed in air-to-air combat, though this wasn’t a talent, Skill, or anything of the sort. Much like the rest of her fighting style, this was borne of experience. Over the course of her career, the Monk had faced many flying fighters, not to mention actual dragons. In more recent years, she sparred regularly with griffins. It was through these bouts, simulated or not, that she was able to develop a flying technique no Skill or Mentor could teach. Even her fellow angels had a hard time keeping up, demonstrated by how she quite literally flew circles around the elven Paladin named Lichter during the war.

However, her current opponent was as far from angelhood as one could get. It was big, it was slow, and it had an angry Spell-slinger on its back.

“Lightning Bolt!”

Nora unleashed a fistful of magical lightning at the slippery angel. The Monk may have been a fast and agile flyer, but even she wasn’t quick enough to dodge an attack that came at her at the speed of light. The electrical jolt caught her in the shoulder stump, punching through her defensive layer of Ki. Jen’s body spasmed involuntarily, momentarily reducing her flying abilities to that of a brick and allowing the undead dragon’s tail to swat her out of the sky. At least, that’s what Nora intended, but the Monk sprang back to life at the last moment. She intercepted the incoming attack by smashing it between her elbow and knee like a human vice. This broke the offending limb in half, but Jen still got clipped by its razor-sharp spikes and received a sizeable gash in her gut. She could do little to prevent that, as her Ki had already been depleted absorbing the majority of that Spell’s damage. Damaging the tail with pure strength was really just making the best of a bad situation.

It was about to get worse, as a Monk’s Ki replaced their MP when it came to using Skills while also making it impossible to cast Spells. With Jen’s resource running on empty, she could no longer sustain her Divine Flight. Her halo and golden wings disappeared, and she plummeted towards the ground. Thankfully, even though her pool of energy was rather small in capacity, its recovery rate was exceptional. She managed to get back enough of it to regain her flight long before she hit the ground and used a quick application of the Healing Hand Skill to close her open wound. It wasn’t potent enough to fully mend that injury, but it was instant, cheap, required no incantation, and helped keep her blood and guts on the inside. The real problem was dealing with the magic user. She couldn’t deflect Spells without her adamantite staff, but she had faced hundreds of robed twinkle-fingers before she got her hands on that Artifact.

“Lightning Bolt!”

Performing the seemingly impossible, she dodged the lich’s next attempt to electrocute her by jerking out of the way just as she was finishing her chant. Lightning was instantaneous, but the lich’s aim correction was not. The theory was simple, but one needed considerable agility and exceptional timing to pull it off. Having momentarily avoided the blast, Jen gained a bit of altitude until she was on Nora’s level and prepared her next move. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure if the technique would work with just one arm, but the angel tried it anyway. Her right hand moved up to her face, her index and middle fingers pressing against her temple.

“Solar Glare.”

The Martial Art activated despite the handicap, producing a blinding flash of light that poured out of her eyes. The lich recoiled as her vision went wide. Unfortunately, this move was something of a double-edged sword since it did the same to its user, but Jen didn’t need eyes to hit a target that bloody big. Besides, she had already gauged the distance and direction before using the Solar Glare, so she easily landed a spinning vertical guillotine kick on the bone dragon’s skull. The flying abomination had even moved of its own accord to try and bite her in half, but without its creator’s guidance it was no match for the physical incarnation of violent combat that was Jennifer Jackson. Its head was split cleanly in half, much like that zombified hydra. This wasn’t enough to destroy the undead construct, but at least it couldn’t use that annoying breath anymore. It still had other appendages to worry about, though. Nora, who had regained her vision far quicker than her human opponent, commanded her minion to rapidly flap its massive wings. The wind it kicked up was so strong that the still blinded Monk got swept away and spun around, unable to tell up from down.

She was forced to rein in her wings and let gravity claim her while her eyes recovered. Though she regained her eyesight and orientation a few seconds later, her opponent had put a considerable distance between them. This was bad, as it was unlikely the Solar Glare would help her close the gap again. The pose one had to take to invoke it was really obvious, and defending against it was as simple as shutting one’s eyes. To make matters worse, the massive skull she had shattered was currently being rebuilt at a fervent pace by the undead Necromancer. One could argue that Jen should have just aimed at the lich’s head instead of the dragon’s, but even she wasn’t good enough to land a blind kick that precise.

Just as the Monk was formulating a new strategy, she caught sight of something small and glittering flying up towards the bone dragon. The transparent, apple-sized object smashed against its underside and broke apart like glass. It instantly coated the monster’s rib cage in a layer of bright green acid so potent that it made chunks of eroded bone fall off the dragon like a macabre snowstorm. The damage inflicted may have only been superficial, but the Spell’s nature and the sheer size of the unholy abomination made it so it had a lot of surface to work with.

“Oh-hoh! Nice one, Spittles!”

Back on the ground far below the actual battle, Opia was enthusiastically patting her pet hydra.

“Here boy, do it again!”

She handed the beast another armed Spell Crystal containing a Corrosive Splash Spell. Spittles grabbed it with the jaws of its leftmost head, coiled the flexible muscles on its serpentine neck, and whipped it upwards. The slingshot-like motion launched the solidified lump of magic towards the bone dragon. It burst in the air just before making contact with its left wing, spraying its payload all over the limb. It wasn’t a direct hit, but that didn’t stop the aggressive acid from eating right through the slender bones and sinewy membranes.

“What the shit?!”

The lich could only let out a surprise curse before her ultimate creation began plummeting towards the ground. Granted, the bone dragon was mostly being kept afloat by the magic of its Ghastly Flight Skill, but it still needed that wing to maintain it. With the limb in tatters, it could only flail about awkwardly as it fell in an uncontrollable spiral. Nora stubbornly clung onto it, as she was sure her undead form could withstand the impact. Being grounded against that Monk wasn’t great since it would allow her to close in much easier than in the air, but it wasn’t all bad. The lich still had a number of ground-based undead minions. Though her zombified hydra was instantly demolished – and investigating that was why she was out here in the first place – she still had six more at her disposal. That wasn’t even counting the dozens of other undead at her beck and call. Not quite an army just yet, but close enough.

Disoriented by the downward spiral and preoccupied with remotely commanding her undead creations, Nora failed to consider that she might not even reach the ground. Jen flew into the spinning mass of bone and spikes, burying her foot in Nora’s midsection before the lich could react. The force of the impact completely overwhelmed the undead’s body, ripping it in two and sending her screaming torso flying away like a dishrag caught in a hurricane. The angel wasn’t quite done with her yet, as she swooped in and grabbed the semi-monster by the throat. Jen accelerated downwards towards a random boulder sticking out of the Blight-infested ground and, for lack of a better word, buried the lich in it. The lump of solid stone was smashed to pieces, while the only thing remaining of Nora was a layer of foul-smelling residue on Jen’s palm. She glanced towards the not-a-dragon just in time to see it break apart into a pile of shattered bone upon its reunion with the ground.

“Yes!”

Opia let out a cheer of victory before mounting Spittles and rushing over to where the angel landed. The Blight had already cleared much of the trees and vegetation in this part of the jungle, so she could easily see the dust cloud her flashy landing had made.

“Hey, Jen! You alive in there? Oh, never mind.”

The hydra-riding Druid looked through the rubble, but almost immediately realized she needn’t worry. She could clearly see the Monk sitting on a chunk of shattered rock, and, though she was definitely alive, she did not seem well. She was leaning forward with her elbow on her thigh and face in her palm. Though her scratched-up hand and unkempt black hair obscured her expression, the lack of tension in her shoulders and her long, drawn-out breaths painted a picture of someone who had given up.

“What’s wrong, Jen?” the elf asked. “I didn’t splash you with my magic, right?”

“… Why do you care?”

Even the woman’s voice was noticeably shakier than her usual monotone.

“Because we’re partners. Sort of. And I would like to know if I can count on you to do your part.”

“Heh.”

It was a dry, emotionless, mocking chuckle Opia couldn’t help but interpret as an insult.

“So would I.”

Jen’s next words made it clear the one she was looking down on was none other than herself. That lich should not have been anywhere near as much trouble as she had been. She was a Monk, a natural enemy to the undead, yet she let one of those toss her around so easily. It wasn’t due to her lack of high-end equipment or her missing limb. It was because she was unfocused and hot-headed, her judgement clouded by that nagging, thrill-seeking voice at the back of her head. Yet again, it was only in hindsight that she recognized her mistakes.

The angel didn’t have to confront the lich and her bone dragon directly. She could have focused on evasion until she tracked down and purified her phylactery. That was a much wiser strategy that offered a higher chance of victory, yet Jen flung herself face-first into danger without a second thought. This self-destructive habit made it extremely difficult to find anyone willing to work with her long-term. The first people that put up with her recklessness were Hilda, Faehorn, and Lichter. Those were good times, but Jen ultimately had to take her leave whenever her once-wild teammates started to mellow out. They effectively retired to take on mentorship roles while the Monk kept carrying on as she always had. This didn’t change much even after Edward recruited her. He understood her obsessions and gave her almost exclusively solo assignments so that her bad habits didn’t endanger anyone except herself.

While Jen knew all that and recognized that this reckless behavior would one day get her killed, she couldn’t help but indulge in it.

“You realize I was joking, right?” Opia stated. “If anything, I’ll be the one dragging you down. It’s the first time I’ve seen someone as strong as you in action, and I know for a fact I can’t keep up.”

The Monk lifted her face out of her hand, threw the elf a blank look, then stared off somewhere beyond the horizon.

“… I’m not that great.”

“Like fuck you’re not! You took a lightning bolt to the face like it was nothing! Then, when the skeleton dragon – and, I repeat, the skeleton. Fucking. Dragon! – tried to smack you with its tail, you snapped it off like a twig! Do you know how amazing that was?! I could never do that! Not even in my wildest dreams! And, trust me, they get crazy!”

Hearing that deluge of excitement pour out of this stranger caused Jen’s cheeks to blush a little in embarrassment. It had been a long time since someone had acknowledged her so bluntly and openly.

“Then you broke that dragon’s skull like it was made of paper!” Opia continued. “All with one hand tied- Well, with one hand. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was tripping balls on this guy’s spit! Shit, maybe I am! Snek, that all happened, right?”

“Snek,” the house mimic nodded sagely. “Snek, snek.”

“See, even Snek’s impressed! Lemme tell ya, that’s not easy with how much shit this smartass has lived through! Honestly, I only butted in because I couldn’t sit still after watching you zoom all over the place! I can’t wait to see what sort of ridiculous things you’ll do once we get you that new arm!”

“We? New arm?”

“Well, yeah! You obviously don’t wanna remain a cripple, and I know a guy who can help you out with that!”

“You can get a Rejuvenation Potion?”

“Uh, no? Do I look like the sort of girl that can pull diamonds out of her ass? No, wait, don’t answer that.”

The elf’s hype had died down somewhat, so she continued in a calmer, more professional tone.

“I’m talking about Limbroot seeds. We plant one of those in your shoulder, let it drink up your blood and nutrients, and you’ll have a brand new arm in less than a week. You can move it around just like the real thing, even use Skills and Arts with it. Granted, it’ll be made of vines and bark, is technically a parasite, and, now that I think about it, might just explode if you put too much Ki into it, but it’s better than nothing.”

Jen hadn’t really considered that. True, a Rejuvenation Potion would be the best solution to her short-handedness, but it wasn’t the only option. Even a temporary arm was better than no arm, as it would allow her to once more wield her weapon of choice. While her hand-to-hand techniques were pretty strong, staves were her specialty. Having one would’ve been a huge help against that lich, even if it wasn’t the magic-deflecting adamantite rod she lost in Watford. Reinvigorated by Opia’s words of praise and wisdom, Jen stopped sulking and rose to her feet.

“Requesting aid with finding the phylactery before the lich reconstitutes herself.”

“That was a lich?! Damn, no wonder the Blight’s so strong around here. Come to think of it, don’t you Monks have absurdly high resistances to diseases and poisons?”

“Affirmative.”

“Nice! Then I can just run wild and not worry about you getting caught up in my Desolation magic while you do your thing!”

“Reporting that res-”

“This is gonna be the best team-up ever! Let’s go, Spittles, we have a phyla-watchamacallit to find! There’s gotta be a bounty or something for it! I can already taste the profits! Mwahahahaha!”

‘Resistance does not mean immunity’ were the words that Jen had failed to get out before the freshly excited Druid rode her pet hydra off in a random direction while cackling ominously. The angelic Monk was already having second thoughts about this arrangement, but in the end she followed after Opia. Even if the partnership was unlikely to last long, she was going to make the most of it. Truthfully, she wouldn’t mind a bit of friendly fire every now and then if it meant she got to play with Spittles.

Besides, after witnessing a certain murderous chest’s explosive growth, she couldn’t help but wonder if that ‘little’ hydra might one day become strong enough to challenge her.

“HRSHAAA!”

*CRASH*

“How the shit did you trip?! You have three damned heads to watch your step!”

Okay, maybe not.

A Tale of Birthdays

Keira and Rowana were out on a stroll. The lovebirds walked side-by-side, the elf hugging her girlfriend around the shoulder while the beastkin’s arm wrapped around the other’s waist. The redhead happily nestled her head into the taller woman’s collar while slowly stroking her hip over the long winter coat. The intimate display made it clear their relationship was a lot more involved than ‘really close friends.’ This openness also attracted a lot of attention from bystanders. However, they weren’t looks of disgust or hate that Rowana might have expected a year ago. While there were definitely a lot of people that felt strongly against same-sex couples, they were ultimately a minority. They didn’t dare speak out against Azurvale’s beloved Hero of Chaos after all she did during the war. Not publicly, at least. Fans could be rather zealous when provoked, and Keira had enough to make her own Legion.

The spunky redhead’s explosive popularity was why the couple was garnering so much attention. The lovebirds didn’t seem to mind or even notice all those stares and murmurs. Over the months, they’d gotten quite used to this sort of treatment whenever they went out in public. That said, there was a new, growing trend amongst Azurvale’s markets and merchants the couple hadn’t quite adapted to yet. A peddler they passed by was offering an array of colorful rag dolls that bore a remarkable and intentional resemblance to Keira. He wasn’t the first to do this, nor would he be the last. Quite a few entrepreneurs were trying to capitalize on the redhead’s popularity by selling toys and artwork bearing her likeness. This merchandising movement started around Aurora Eve and had been gaining traction since.

This particular seller was rather savvy, as he noticed Keira and Rowana looking in his direction and immediately took advantage of the situation.

“Oh, my!” the man yelled loudly. “If it isn’t the brave Hero and her lovely companion! Come, let me thank you for your service to the people of this city!”

The couple got reeled in by his enthusiasm and wound up with a pair of complimentary Keira dolls before either knew what was happening. The real redhead clearly wasn’t comfortable with having a small, cutesy version of herself, though Rowana looked positively ecstatic. She merrily poked the doll’s squishy cheek as they walked away from the stall. Keira silently shook her head and rolled her eyes, then briefly threw her gaze over her shoulder. Much as the crafty merchant intended, quite a few people had flocked to his stall, drawn in by that display. Seeing that gave the monster behind the catgirl’s lovely features an idea. Boxxy hadn’t given this trend much consideration before, but it realized it might be worthwhile to do something about it. Not to stop it, of course. This fad helped grow and maintain the popularity of its public persona, but it could prove beneficial in other ways. The monster just had to determine if it was worthwhile to kindly inform that merchant and those like him that the use of Keira’s likeness was subject to boxing tax.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Rowana asked.

“Hm? Nothing’s wrong?”

“Then why is your calculating look on?”

“My what?”

“The face you make whenever you count coins in your head.”

“I don’t have a face like that.”

“Oh, you absolutely do. Your furrow your brows, bite your lower lip, and your eyes focus on a random point.”

“Huh… I had no idea.”

It would appear that the elf was a lot sharper than Boxxy gave her credit for. Then again, it was only natural she would be able to read Keira’s expressions after all this time together. They’d been practically inseparable the past few weeks in particular, as the shapeshifter had less and less reason for its catgirl persona to run off somewhere. With Edward gone and the Foundation pacified, Boxxy had no major threats looming over it for the first time since its mimic days. It still had a few loose ends here and there, but they weren’t urgent. The shapeshifter had allowed itself to take a much-needed vacation. Actually, it was more of a ‘staycation’ since it remained home where it could relax, enjoy its collection of shiny things, and generally laze about. Boxxy would go off searching for new taste and shine sensations eventually, but it was content taking things slow for the moment. It truly was amazing how soundly it slept now that it no longer had to worry about the Spymaster’s shadow looming over it.

The only real concerns the monster presently had were two loose ends. The first was Zone, Edward’s secretary and chief enforcer. While a point-blank Demonate left nothing of her aside from the charred bones of her left arm, Boxxy had a feeling that the Monk survived the blast and was currently in hiding. This was a potential liability since she was the only person outside the shapeshifter’s inner circle that knew the truth of the Hero of Chaos. However, there was nothing she could realistically do with that information since Keira’s personality was so firmly entrenched. Nobody would believe Zone even if she wasn’t a fugitive and wanted war criminal. She might cause a bit of trouble if she publicly attacked Boxxy, but the odds were astronomically low. The Monk stood no chance of actually defeating the shapeshifter without Gilded Hand support, and she surely knew that. Though she didn’t seem all that bright, Zone wasn’t the sort of idiot who’d throw her life away on a revenge mission. People that suicidally stupid didn’t make it to Level 100.

The other dangling thread on Boxxy’s shit list was a bit more pressing issue. Nora Cromwell was still at large somewhere on Velos, far to the south. The Necromancer-turned-lich was still on the hit-list the shapeshifter received from Mortimer. The monster had to hunt her down in order to complete the God of Death’s Quest, but it had a whole year to do so. It wouldn’t be that hard, either. The Eyes of the Dead God would lead it to Nora without fail, and Boxxy doubted it would struggle to eliminate her once it caught up. The only problem was the several weeks of travel time involved in reaching the opposite end of the known world and back again. The shapeshifter put off on undertaking that journey until later in the year, and not just because it was feeling lazy at the moment. Boxxy wanted to make the most of the trip across the Shimmering Ocean, so ideally it would find some other opportunities to take advantage of whenever it went over there.

The shapeshifter was, of course, unaware that one of its leftover problems would resolve the other in a few weeks. Nor would that future revelation change anything, other than fill it with relief that staying home and goofing off turned out to be the right call. Boxxy would be able to put the time it saved by not going to Velos towards resolving other matters. Well, eventually. The other items on its to-do list were so inconsequential that calling them chores would be an overstatement. There was absolutely no rush, deadline, or looming threat involved in any of it – nothing to stress the monster out or drive it to take stupid risks for quick gains. Not even maintaining its public identity was a concern. All the work and practice Boxxy put in during its first year in Azurvale had made it so staying in character as Keira was essentially effortless. It was practically a game at this point.

“So, what were you thinking about?”

That said, it still had to actually play the part, so it turned its attention back to the elf.

“Nothing much,” Keira shrugged. “Just wondering how much longer I can afford to slack off.”

“Oh? Is the call for adventure pulling you away already?”

“More like the need to put food on the table and clothes on my back. No offense, but your apothecary salary is just barely enough to cover both our living costs, and I’d rather not be a freeloader.”

Officially speaking, the couple were not in the best financial situation. Rowana wanted to be self-sufficient and independent, so they couldn’t ask the Slyth family for handouts. Keira had also spent a good deal of money preparing for her made-up trip that was actually Boxxy’s mission to eliminate the Gilded Hand. The catgirl had declared said adventure nothing but a waste of time and effort that depleted much of the redhead’s earnings from her previous excursion into the Kingdom.

“Shouldn’t be a problem to get some decent work after the winter passes though,” she added.

“Technically, it’s already passed,” Rowana said casually. “Weather may not look like it, but it’s officially springtime according to the calendar. The snow should begin to clear up in another fortnight or so.”

“I’m looking forward to it. I heard spring in Azurvale is beautiful.”

“It absolutely is. My favorite time of the year, hands down. Though… Wait a minute! Keira, isn’t your birthday coming up?”

“Oh. I guess it is, now that you mention it.”

“What’s with that casual tone? Shouldn’t you be more excited?”

“I don’t think it’s anything worth fussing over.”

These were Boxxy’s true feelings. It knew people celebrated the occasion, but it never saw a reason to care. As far as it was concerned, it was just another day of the year on which enlightened society artificially placed importance. The calendar was filled with holidays that seemed pointless from the monster’s pragmatic perspective. Even Aurora Eve. Yes, the sky was super shiny for a bit, but one didn’t need fancy clothes or elaborate parties to enjoy it. The only other celebration that caught its interest was an event called Tender Hearts Week, which was supposed to take place around the middle of spring. Though it sounded delicious, the monster had a hunch it would be just as asinine as the rest. This birthday thing would likely be no different.

“Of course it’s worth fussing over!”

However, Boxxy would still have to participate since Rowana clearly didn’t share Keira’s opinion.

“It’s the day you were born!” she insisted. “What could be more important than that?! Not just to you, but to me!”

“Alright, alright. If you want to get all excited about it, then don’t hold back on my account.”

“Hold back? Sweetie, I’m going all out!” the elf flexed her noodle-like arms. “Now, when is it? You said it was near the start of the season, but I don’t think I ever got the exact date from you.”

“Oh, right. It’s on the thirteenth.”

“… This month?”

“Yup.”

This date wasn’t randomly chosen. It was the actual day the Litigar Dungeon Complex spawned the creature that would later be named Boxxy T. Morningwood. Well, probably. The monster had no way of knowing for sure, but it had noticed that the age on its Status updated every month on the thirteenth. It saw no reason to lie about something so trivial, hence why Keira’s fictional birth date matched its own. For that matter, who decided that age had to be tracked at all? What meaning did it even serve when a creature not even a year old had seen and caused more crazy shit than most adventurers did throughout their lifetime. Even Boxxy recognized it as a ridiculous pace of events, hence why it was eager to try taking things nice and easy for a while. That clearly wasn’t going to happen given how worked up Rowana was getting.

“That’s in four days!” the elf squealed. “You should’ve told me earlier! I won’t have nearly enough time to pick out a present!”

“… Present?”

“Maybe some clothes? Or jewelry? You do like fancy gems. Ah, but our living expenses… Oh, I know! Wait, no, the season’s not right for that. Maybe something homemade?”

“Rowie!”

“Hm? Yes, sweetie?”

“What present?”

“The one for your birthday, of course!”

“… I get presents on my birthday? Like, for free?”

“Of course, you do! You’ve had birthday parties before, right?!”

“I haven’t, actually.”

“What?! Why not?!”

“I… didn’t have a lot of opportunity to celebrate as a kid. And, when yours came around last year, I was still on the front.”

“Oh. Oh… Keira… I’m so sorry…”

The elf stopped and gave her girlfriend a tender hug. How could she forget all that Keira had been through? She had spent most her childhood as a destitute orphan living on the streets, so of course she wouldn’t have celebrated. She also had the profound misfortune of getting dragged into that pointless war. Rowana was so worried about the redhead that she didn’t even celebrate that year, nor did she even think to mention it. Keira’s safe return was the only gift she could’ve asked for.

“It’s alright Rowie, you don’t need to feel upset.”

“Nonsense! This injustice must be set right! Don’t you worry, I’ll give you a birthday party that will make up for all those lost years! I’ll be back later, I have some serious prepping to do!”

The elf practically jogged down the street, leaving Keira behind with a rather confused look on her face. That expression turned to one of unrestrained glee the instant Rowana was out of sight, then vanished just as quickly. That was close – Boxxy almost forgot it was in public. It just couldn’t help but let its greedy nature bubble up. Birthdays equaled free stuff? If the monster knew this, it would have given Keira one much, much sooner. Obviously, it still had a lot to learn about holidays and celebrations, both in elven culture and civilized society as a whole. If such events could be exploited for its own gains, then perhaps it was time to do some serious research into all the gift-getting opportunities the calendar year offered.

Its enthusiasm would diminish significantly once it realized that gift-giving was also involved, but it presently had other matters to deal with.

“Uh, boss?”

“What is it, Arms?”

“I think your weird vegetable is hatching.”

“… Are you talking about the alraune sprout?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Already? I thought it wasn’t due for another three weeks.”

“Well, it’s all pulsating and changing colors and stuff, so I think it’s happening right now.”

“What about Snack? Is she with you?”

“Yeah but she’s, uh, taking a breather. We got a bit too enthusiastic watering the thing. I don’t think you’ll be getting a reply from her anytime soon.”

“Alright, I’m on my way.”

The timing was rather convenient since Rowana just ran off, so Boxxy was free to disappear into an alleyway and make her way over to the Dryad’s Domain. The shapeshifter slipped into the sewer system, entered the dungeon from below, and adopted a more spider-chested form. Once able, it used Nexus Access to arrive at the little garden it had set up near the dungeon core. Then again, ‘garden’ might have been too strong a word for it. In reality, it was just a circular planter with a diameter of about three meters that held a single, strange plant. It looked like a column of overlapping green leaves, sort of like a tall cabbage. It was barely a meter tall and about forty centimeters wide when Boxxy last saw it earlier this morning, but its height and width had doubled since. Its coloration was gradually turning purple from the ground up and the entire thing was shaking slightly, so Kora’s assessment that it was about to ‘hatch’ was understandable.

“Yo, boss!” the archfiend waved at Boxxy. “That was fast. How’d you lose the bint?”

“Not important. How long has the sprout been like that?”

“I dunno. Like, five minutes? Ten tops.”

“Hmm…”

Boxxy quietly studied the plant as it shook and rustled. It sensed something humanoid-shaped moving around inside, so there was no doubt the mountain alraune was about to pop out. However, the monster seemed to be struggling to escape its leafy shell. Its movements gradually grew slower and weaker, almost like it was getting tired. It probably needed a bit of a boost to bust out, and Boxxy had a pretty good idea how to give it one. The shapeshifter turned its attention to Xera, whose present state was best described as a ‘wet mess.’ She was nearby on the dungeon floor, panting heavily and erratically as her naked, sweaty body twitched and spasmed. Come to think of it, it had been several hours since Boxxy had departed its lair and left the two demons to tend to the plant. If they’d been at it for that long, it was no surprise Xera was in this sorry state. Kora had the stamina and perseverance to keep going for actual days, and the djinn was hardly a match for her endurance.

Unfortunately, the blue-skinned tramp still had work to do, so she would not be getting any rest just yet. Boxxy told Kora to stand back while it picked Xera off the floor via a quartet of tentacles. It stretched its spider legs, lifting its chestacular body off the ground until it was as tall as the sprout, then held the delirious demon squarely above it.

The tricky thing about raising a mountain alraune was that it needed more than nutrients and water to make it grow and blossom. If it was to develop into a splendidly succulent specimen, the sprout needed to be infused with copious amounts of a succubus’s demonic essence. Granted, this one was technically a djinn, but her origins made her an adequate donor. That was why Xera had been tasked with looking after the plant whenever possible, and it was why she was strung up above it right now. It seemed the unborn alraune needed a bit of extra encouragement to come out, and Boxxy would gladly provide. Without further ado, the shapeshifter began expertly violating the ex-succubus with its tentacles. The renewed assault on her senses caused Xera to scream and wail. She had already been more-or-less fucked silly, so she stood no chance of keeping her wits with Boxxy’s multi-purpose appendages scrambling her insides. Her voice actually frustrated Kora. The slut screamed plenty whenever the two of them were doing it, but never quite like that.

As the djinn’s already flooded nether regions were being mercilessly drilled, they began to spill out copious amounts of sticky, transparent fluid. Droplets of the lewd liquid splashed over the towering plant, but, rather than bounce off or evaporate into nothingness, they were soaked up as if the pile of leaves was the world’s thirstiest sponge. This was because ‘infusing the sprout with demonic essence’ was just a fancy way of saying ‘feeding it the love juices from a succubus’s lower end.’ Xera was able to handle that task on her own initially, but that proved challenging as the sprout’s needs grew along with its size. That was why Kora had to help ‘water’ the thing, as the demoness was unable to produce the amounts required to satisfy the budding flower.

Unfortunately, even the towering rape-machine wasn’t tall enough to pound Xera while holding her over this thing due to its significantly increased height. So, Boxxy stepped in. It didn’t have the seemingly limitless stamina of an archfiend, but it more than made up for it in skill. It knew all of Xera’s sweet spots, so it had no difficulty turning her into a perverted sprinkler. The alraune sprout seemed to like the tiny waterfall of lewd juices quite a bit, as it once again grew lively. Its leaves began turning purple in earnest and rustled intensely. This carried on for another minute or so, until the sprout had completely abandoned its former green hue. At that point, it suddenly burst open, its large leaves spreading out in every direction. The rapid expansion prompted Boxxy to take a few steps back while it idly tossed its depraved watering can in some random direction. An incredibly sweet aroma filled the air. It was so appetizing that the shapeshifter instinctively began drooling, though it kept its composure. The smell’s source was the small pool of nectar residing in the middle of the alraune flower now in full bloom.

Standing in said pot of honey was the creature herself. The mountain alraune had all of the traits one would expect of a succubus-infused creature. Her breasts were clearly bigger than her head, and her thighs, hips, and butt did not lose out in girth. It was honestly a miracle her tiny waist didn’t snap immediately with such excessive features. Her human-like skin had a creamy hue, its surface silky smooth and the tiniest bit oiled up. Oddly enough, she was only mostly naked, as pinkish petals decorated her wrists, shoulders, and legs while covering the naughty bits between her legs and on her chest. Even more ran down her scalp like short hair, with a single flower atop her head. The massive blossom at her feet rapidly lightened in coloration from the rich purple it was supposed to be to a shade adjacent to the rest of her pink petals. Xera was likely to blame for this deviance in coloration, though that was unlikely to be an issue. It also wasn’t the only influence the depraved demon had on the developing plant. The alraune had a beautiful face and pointed ears that, for lack of better terms, were clearly ‘inherited’ from her ‘mother.’

The newly-born monster blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the world’s brightness. She gazed up at the glowing dungeon core with a thoroughly dumbfounded expression. Her confused instincts were unable to determine if that shiny yellow ball was the sun or not, so she quickly ceased pondering that conundrum and looked around. Her eyesight passed over Boxxy and Xera, immediately centering on Kora. Or, more specifically, the twin rods that were standing at full attention. She smiled coyly and beckoned the fiend over with a wink and a ‘come hither’ hand motion while her other hand slowly peeled back the petals covering her crotch. Her attempts at seduction were rather amateurish since she was barely a few minutes old, but her ridiculously proportioned body was more than enticing enough on its own.

“Bob-damn!” Kora exclaimed. “Would you look at those jugs! I expected her to be a mega-slut, but this is something else!”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“What?! Come on, boss! Look at her pleading face! She’s practically dying to be penetrated!”

“She’s a Level 1 with only 30 HP. You so much as lay a finger on her and she would actually die. In any event, I don’t need you right now, so off you go.”

Kora and Xera were both forcibly kicked across the dimensional border. The alraune was visibly saddened to see her first potential victim disappear into thin air. She was abruptly startled when a howling bellow of ‘Ambrooosiaaa!’ came out of the wooden chest next to her, only to be surprised once more when a dryad manifested in front of her.

“Thou called? Oh, my! Milord! Why didn’t thou tell me this exotic flower was about to bloom!?”

“Sorry. It kinda caught me by surprise, too. She’s a bit premature, but looks quite, uh, well-developed.”

“Indeed! She is even larger and more vibrantly colored than the one I encountered during our excursion into that dreadful ice palace! Thank thee so much, milord!”

“Mihluhd?”

The confused flower-girl dumbly tried to mimic Ambrosia’s last word.

“Ohhhh!” the dryad squealed while cupping her cheeks. “She is most adorable! Milord, would thou mind if I kept her?!”

“Not at all. She’s only here because you asked for one, so feel free to do with her as you see fit.”

“Verily!? Then I shan’t hold back!”

The dryad skipped closer to the alraune, inspecting her from every angle while the newborn just sort of stood there. She displayed a surprising lack of hostility even though she was operating mostly on instinct. No, it was more accurate to say those instincts were why she was so docile. They informed her these two strange creatures were monsters on a level completely incomprehensible to her tiny mind. Like an ant facing a tornado, they were so far beyond her that overwhelming awe was the only response she could muster.

“Oh, I am not even sure where to start!” Ambrosia squealed. “Should I teach her to read and write? Ah, no, surely speaking must come first! I wonder if she’ll be good with numbers? And a name, of course! I simply must give her one! Ziya, perhaps? Or Astra? No, Lavender! Yes, Lavender is perfect!”

It would seem the dryad’s own instincts were also firing on all synapses. The difference was that hers were of the maternal variety while the alraune’s were for survival. Boxxy was also preoccupied with some urges, though they mostly revolved around the whole reason it went through the trouble of getting that dumb flower.

“If you’re wondering what to do, then why not start with the cross-pollination you were telling me about?”

It was quite eager to find out how delicious this new and improved dryad nectar would be, so it bluntly nudged the dryad to stop beating about the bush and get on with it.

“An excellent suggestion, milord! It will be a perfect way to get ourselves acquainted!”

Ambrosia stepped onto the alraune’s petals, causing the flower-girl to pull away slightly. She didn’t seem afraid or angry, just bewildered. She didn’t struggle or resist as the dryad embraced her from the front. Their collective breast-shaped plant-flesh pressed together as Ambrosia planted a deep kiss on her fellow sentient vegetable. The alraune’s confusion deepened further, but it wasn’t long before she began to melt under the more experienced woman’s touch. The cross-pollination intensified shortly afterwards as Ambrosia touched, sniffed, and tasted every part of the delicate flower-maiden. It was the plant kingdom’s equivalent of mating, and both parties had extremely well-endowed female forms, so the resulting spectacle was undoubtedly lewd. Boxxy was entirely unmoved, of course. It simply sat there and quietly watched the action unfold like a baker waiting for bread to rise.

Regardless, the fact that the shapeshifter was witness to the cross-pollination meant that the Beyond could see it, too. Lewd content was hardly anything new on the Boxxy Show, but this was the first time in history that a dryad and an alraune were going at it. The audience was loving the front-row seats. Kora saw it too, but only felt frustrated. Being denied access to that unsullied honeypot was one thing, but watching someone else partake in it was giving her a serious and figurative case of blue balls. Deciding she’d better distract herself, and, since she was in the Beyond for the first time in a while, the fiend proceeded to check her unread D-mail messages. As luck would have it, she quickly found just what she was hoping for

From: thetruthisoutthere@aether.gd
To: xXx_pussydestroyer69_xXx@beyond.general
Subject: Come see me!

Koralenteprix,

Please come visit as soon as you have a few hours, I really need to see you! It’s urgent!

Sincerely,
Teresa, Goddess of Truth and Justice, Patron deity of humanity

It would appear her high-and-mighty-ness was in need of another pipe cleaning, a really thorough one by the sound of it. Needless to say, the frustrated archfiend was more than happy to oblige. She got in touch with Carl and, after going through some special channels and back doors, materialized in Teresa’s divine space already raring to go through the goddess’s own back door.

“Ah, you are finally here,” the curly-haired blonde said, turning to meet her visitor. “Took you long enough.”

However, while naked, Teresa was far less… amorous than Kora was expecting. There was also something else off about her.

“Hey, hammer-tits. What’s with the bloated belly? Trying out a new look?”

“No, I’m pregnant. With triplets. Your triplets.”

“… Ahhh-haha! Gonna have to try better than that, blondie! I may not be the sharpest glove in the bread bin, but I’m not falling for that one.”

“Hello, Kora? Goddess of Truth and Justice here. Got a message for you from reality. It wants you to stop ignoring it.”

“… Holy shit, you’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

“Whut? But… This is, like… HUH?!”

The flabbergasted fiend grew increasingly incoherent. There were so many things she didn’t know, and yet more things she didn’t know she didn’t know. Her face changed expression every other second as her less-than-agile mind tried its best to parse the implications of what she had just heard. Her many hands assumed one position after the next, as if playing out her chaotic internal debate. It was the first time she’d had to seriously worry about things that went way above her head, and she clearly had no idea how to deal with this development. Teresa silently watched and, despite the gravity of the situation, couldn’t help but smile as the fiend flailed around both mentally and physically. Though Kora was unquestionably evil and violent, there was something pure and honest about her that the Goddess found endearing despite her better judgement. Maybe humanity’s collective notion that ‘good girls like bad boys’ was to blame, though the origin of the infatuation didn’t matter. The important thing was that Teresa’s feelings were both real and fruitful. So, the goddess patiently waited for her partner to wrestle with the crater-sized truth bomb.

After a few minutes, Kora seemed to reach some sort of conclusion as her shoulders dropped with a heavy sigh. Knowing her, the Goddess accurately deduced that the fiend had simply given up on trying to make sense of the situation.

“I am certain you have many questions,” Teresa spoke. “Ask them, and I will do my best to answer.”

Kora straightened up a bit, did a triple shrug, and said the last thing Teresa expected to hear.

“So, can I still fuck you in the ass or what?”

A Tale of Blood Money

Spring was in full swing around Azurvale. It was the most beautiful time of year, as the hylt trees were in their full bloom. The predominantly green canopy that loomed over the elven capital was dotted by countless light blue flowers of varying sizes and shapes. Colorful azure petals drifted lazily on the wind, giving the city a mysterious atmosphere not seen anywhere else in the world. Granted, that wasn’t entirely a good thing. Though beautiful enough to be the city’s namesake, this ‘weather’ played havoc on people living on solid ground. Some days the loose flowers piled up so high up that they were almost like snow, only with less melting and more rotting. Thus, the Alchemists enjoyed a boom in business, mostly in the form of allergy medicine and specialized herbicides. The loose petals also had some minor applications of their own, primarily as pigments for paints and novelty food coloring.

All in all, it would’ve been a perfectly standard spring if not for one oddity among the twelve great hylts. The flowers adorning Ambrosia’s lush branches had taken on a bright pink coloration, matching the petals of the alraune she secretly cross-pollinated with. The fruits and nectar she produced would turn out especially sweet and fragrant, earning even Boxxy’s approval. It was therefore decided that Lavender would become a permanent resident of the dungeon as its new dungeon master. That way the dryad could cross-pollinate with her at her leisure and the shapeshifter would have someone to manage the place whenever it was out and about. Another benefit was that it once again had a line of communication to Ambrosia through the dungeon core, though the flower girl filter was sure to cause a bit of interference.

Surprisingly, Azurvale’s citizens were even more delighted by this turn of events. The shower of pink petals got mixed receptions, but the higher-quality produce was excellent news. The sudden change wasn’t as jarring as one might expect, as hylt blossoms were known to occasionally deviate from the blue hues typical to the species. Considering that the Hero of Chaos was known to live somewhere on that tree, such a development didn’t seem out of place. There were, of course, purists and traditionalists that hated the change in color, but they still had eleven other trees to satisfy their tastes. The pink exception, on the other hand, thrilled those that had grown bored of the same blue shower. The rosy petals were especially popular with the youngsters as they set the mood for the romantic Throbbing Hearts celebration. All things considered, almost everyone in Azurvale had something to look forward to this spring season in particular.

Things weren’t as rosy on the other end of the continent. The Sovereign States Alliance, which occupied the southeastern quadrant of Atica’s ring-like landmass, was a coalition of twenty-six city-states. The formerly independent governments presided over a wide range of cultures that often did not get along with each other. They all had their own spring holidays and events, yet those were a point of contention. A particularly sore topic was the upcoming Saint Hubert’s Day, which commemorated the scholar most often credited with formalizing the alphabet used by most of the civilized world. There were countless disputes about which city-state the historical figure ‘belonged’ to, and each contender had their own idea regarding the holiday’s exact date. This was quite ironic considering Saint Hubert spent his whole life working towards the unification of all enlightened.

Unfortunately, as was their nature, people rarely came together unless faced with an insurmountable foe that gave them no other choice. The Sovereign States Alliance was one such coalition born of necessity. The mini-nations that belonged to it could not hope to oppose the military might of the Lodrak Empire to the west. Had they stubbornly remained independent, the superpower would have claimed a much larger portion of the continent’s southern half. The Alliance’s formation allowed them to keep the Imperial armies at bay and in recent decades even managed to reclaim some territory they had previously lost to the greedy humans. Though, it was worth noting these conflicts were driven by politics rather than race. The coalition of city-states was one of the most densely populated regions in the world, and a significant number of them were human. Their kind seemed to be everywhere on Terrania. It was impossible to find a place or culture that didn’t have humans in it, however minor their number.

The ability to fit in nearly everywhere was one of the things that set humanity apart. They were the most adaptable of the enlightened races, able to survive and thrive in nearly any society or environment. Not to say that the other tribes of Terrania didn’t excel in their own ways. Elves were agile and precise. Dwarves boasted superior strength and stamina. Gnomes were quick-witted and ingenious. Giants had indomitable spirits that held up their immense bodies in times of crisis. The beastkin’s sharp senses and sturdy claws made them natural-born hunters and explorers. The raptors of Velos possessed powerful jaws and their reptilian bodies could strike suddenly and swiftly. The lizard-folk were also exceptional swimmers, though they paled in comparison to the fish-people known as krymer.

As an amalgamation of so many small nations, the Alliance had become something of a melting pot of races and cultures as citizens travelled freely between its members. Though originally united only by a common enemy, relations between the twenty-six city-states had gradually improved over the years. The coalition was still plagued by a number of frictions and disputes, such as the aforementioned Saint Hubert’s Day, but at least they argued over these with words rather than swords. The Alliance had held strong for sixty years, and, by the look of things, would continue even if the Empire ceased being a threat. Many thought that day would never come, but recent events were steadily making it into a tangible possibility. The Inquisition was aggressively cracking down on the greedy and selfish nobles that were chiefly responsible for the nation’s war-mongering policies. With a bit of luck, it was possible that the entirety of Atica would see long-lasting peace for the first time in two centuries, all within a decade.

Of course, while certainly feasible, that future was only wishful thinking at this point. People were fickle and petty creatures that passed on their grudges to future generations. A prime example was the pair of black sheep within the Alliance. Though formally members of the coalition, these two neighboring territories had closed borders that effectively cut them off from the rest of the world. Their names were Valona and Eteria, and they were the last functional remnants of the once-great Addams Theocracy. This civilization once dominated the heart of the continent, but that was ancient history. Their reign came to an abrupt end when the entire nation and most of its people were swallowed up by an immense tectonic upheaval that hadn’t been seen before or, thankfully, since. The cause of the catastrophic event was shrouded in mystery and speculation, but the outcome was not. These days, the only thing the Addams Theocracy ‘dominated’ was the bottom of the Oculus Sea, the eternal maelstrom at its center a grim reminder of the past.

Not all of the once-massive nation was gone, of course. Its traditions lived on in Valona and Eteria, as did its people. The twin states were inhabited by a reclusive race called the nosferatu, and they were the most backwards civilization in the entire world. Their physical appearance instantly set them apart, as the nosferatu typically had deathly pale skin, long noses, especially sharp and large canines, short yet pointy ears, mostly bald heads, and red, yellow, or black irises. Many also had deep facial scarring, wrinkled scalps, strange lumps on their backs or arms, bloodshot eyes, and generally crooked facial features. Other races commonly found them ugly and repulsive, even more so than the scale-covered raptors of Velos. Ironically, the lizard-folk were so alien to Atica’s people that their beauty standards were completely divorced. This was not the case with nosferatu, who were widely seen as malformed elves.

This racial schism went deeper than appearances, as their way of life was also seen as backwards. The first, most glaring difference was that nosferatu were nocturnal, rising with the sunset and going to sleep with the sunrise. Their cuisine involved ingredients most others would find grotesque, such as giant worm meat or fresh goat’s blood. A childhood filled with a certain amount of violence and misery was considered a good thing in their culture, to the point where bullying was tacitly encouraged. They were also the only society whose primary deity of worship, much like the Theocracy before them, was Mortimer, the God of Death and Commerce. They were an exceptionally religious people that openly practiced their grim faith. That was why their all of their architecture was decorated with images of skulls, skeletons, gravestones, spikes, and other macabre iconography.

A good example of their religious fervor was the castle-sized temple at the heart of Valona, which bore the ominous-yet-fitting label of Death’s Door. The massive stone structure was painted pitch black, its exterior covered in iron spikes that pointed skyward. The moons’ pale light cast long, narrow shadows that slowly crept across the temple grounds, which were filled with moss-covered gargoyle statues and countless dead or dying shrubs. The cathedral had a grand total of four wings and zero windows. Its main hall was a wide, spacious area with bare stone floors, dim lighting, and religious symbols and scripts etched into the walls, giving it a depressing, tomb-like atmosphere. In short, Death’s Door was exactly what most people would expect from a grand cathedral dedicated to Mortimer – grim in its finality yet opulent in its scope.

The grand double doors to the blackened temple swung open as a procession of six people in two columns passed through. The pairs at the front and back wore heavy black robes with mithril skull badges sewn onto the shoulders and right breast. They were definitely nosferatu given their sickly-thin and ghostly-white hands, though the long hoods obscured their faces. The two people in the middle were dressed completely different. One wore a dark red vest, white undershirt, black trousers, and had nothing to hide his scarred scalp, crooked-toothed smile, and pointy chin. His cufflink, buttons, and belt buckle all resembled the glimmering pale insignias worn by his robed compatriots, signifying he was in fact part of the same group, even if he didn’t share the uniform.

The final person in the procession was clearly an outsider. The visitor’s presence dominated the room, and not just because of his towering height. He was wrapped in a billowing dark blue cloak, his armored boots clacked heavily against the floor, and his yellow eyes seemed to gleam from the darkness within the face wrap covering his head. He carried himself with confidence and purpose while radiating a palpable aura of dread. Anyone who saw this ominous figure walking towards them would instantly turn around and quicken their pace, or at least give them a wide berth. This did not apply to the nosferatu escorts, who seemed quite thrilled to have him along.

“May I ask what you think of our magnificent temple, Esteemed Envoy?”

The well-dressed one spoke in a shrill, grating voice that sounded like a bucket of rats trying to imitate enlightened speech.

“It certainly lives up to its name,” Sandman replied. “I’ve not seen a single statue, carving, or surface that didn’t evoke images of death. Even the torches and chandeliers burn with black flames. It’s as if this place could eat the sun.”

“I thank you for those kind words, Esteemed Envoy.”

Those were by no means ‘kind words.’ Boxxy liked darkness as much as the next murderous man-eater, but things were at their shiniest when bathed in light.

“For the last time, stop calling me that. It’s weird.”

“If the Esteemed Envoy insists, I shall oblige. What should this faithful one call the Esteemed Envoy, Esteemed Envoy?”

“Just Sandman will do.”

“Ah. How… quaint. Right this way, please.”

The nosferatu, who had previously introduced himself as Cardinal Zeke, guided his guest through one of the doorways lining the cathedral’s main hall. This part of the building housed the dorms, and it showed actual signs of life as opposed to the previous chamber’s barren decor. Some rather questionable art lined the walls, a blood-red carpet covered the black marble floor, and the lit candles bore flames with a standard non-magical glow. Cardinal Zeke and his entourage guided Boxxy through the snake-like halls until they reached some sort of common area or mess hall. A total of thirty-six masked youngsters in stereotypical, form-fitting sneaking suits were lined up in three neat rows, already standing at attention. They wordlessly saluted Zeke and Sandman’s arrival by slamming their left fist against the right side of their chest before clasping their hands behind their backs.

“Greetings, children,” the Cardinal spoke as he stood front and center. “As you’ve been told, we have a special guest visiting us today. Esteemed Envoy, would you mind introducing yourself?”

The pompous cretin had ignored Boxxy’s request to drop the pompous title, so the shapeshifter paid him no attention. It strode over to the young boys and girls and stared each and every one of them down with a sharp glare. Their bodies were of a height and build resembling humans in their mid-to-late teens, though their limbs were slightly longer and their hearts were on the opposite side of their body. The shapeshifter was curious how the flavor of these blood pumps would compare to humans, but it could sample the local delicacies later.

“Ack-hem!” Cardinal Zeke forcefully cleared his throat. “Esteemed Envoy, may I have a word?”

Being so brazenly ignored had obviously injured the nosferatu’s pride. He was something of a local big shot, a member of some religious cult called the Gravewalkers. They were essentially the ruling class of Valona and Eteria, so he could not keep quiet at the visitor’s blatant show of disrespect. He then reminded himself that, even if he was an outsider, and a particularly filthy one at that, this person was still an honored guest.

“Mr. Sandman?”

“Yes, Cardinal Zeke?” he responded over his shoulder.

“Would you permit me to make a suggestion?”

“Of course. Asking is free.”

“Since this is a rather important decision, I think it would be best to start things off with a show of ability and skill. These students have been trained since they were toddlers and are eager to demonstrate the fruits of their training.”

“That would be pointless.”

“It… It would?”

“I am not looking for a show pony. I am looking for an assassin. A silent killer who will not be caught dead performing their duties. Frankly speaking, just the thought of them holding a ‘demonstration’ is an insult to their craft.”

“Ahah… y-yes… I suppose… Still-!”

“Besides, nearly anyone can learn to stab things to death. I’m looking for alertness and adaptability. An agile mind capable of making snap decisions when faced with unexpected circumstances is far more valuable than a strong sword arm or quick feet.”

“I agree there is some wisdom in those words, but how do you expect to adequately test for such a quality?”

“I already have. You there! Step forward.”

Boxxy pointed to a young girl with the body of a sixteen-year-old human, if a little on the skinny side. The others threw her surprised glances while she calmly walked forward from the middle of the third row until she was standing right next to the towering visitor in front.

“What, that one?!”

“Do you have any objections, Cardinal Zeke?” Boxxy asked coldly. “Reasonable ones, that is.”

“I… I suppose not. Though the girl’s face and attitude are a bit unfortunate, she is no less capable than her peers.”

“I think you might be selling your disciple a bit short. Come girl, tell Zeke whether you noticed something out of place.”

The masked nosferata’s bright red eyes danced between the stranger and the Gravewalkers’ representative until a reassuring nod from Boxxy got her to speak up.

“There’s an intruder in the room.”

Her voice was quiet, crisp, and clear, a far cry from the standard raspy, wheezy tones the shapeshifter had heard from the rest of her people.

“Where is this intruder?” the guest pressed.

“Right there.”

She pointed towards the ceiling’s upper right corner, right above the doorway that the congregation had walked through. The robed clergymen and other assassins-in-training stared intently at the spot, but, try as they might, they couldn’t see, hear, or feel anything that would constitute a foreign presence.

“Wait, no,” she corrected herself. “It’s gone now, but I’m sure something was there just a moment ago.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Boxxy asked.

“Because I was told to keep my mouth shut unless spoken to.”

“What if your silence had allowed this intruder to, say, kill Cardinal Zeke?”

The girl stared at the flabbergasted cultist and grinned widely under her mask.

“I fail to see why I should care.”

Zeke’s face twisted in rage and disgust. He turned away from Sandman to hide his bitter expression, but the monster’s MLG had already seen it. It seemed clear he had hurled those exact same words at the girl many times and wasn’t exactly thrilled to have them thrown back at him. This brief exchange also hinted that the girl had no respect for authority, but that was hardly a deal-breaker. If anything, it was arguably a good thing considering the unsavory duties she’d have to perform.

“I see,” Boxxy nodded. “I suppose there’s not much point in keeping others in the dark anymore. You can come out now Claws.”

A tense atmosphere gripped the room, though nothing seemed to happen.

“Okay, bad choice of words. Come out now, Claws.”

Being ordered rather than asked, the tundra webstalker had no choice but to reveal herself. The ice-clad spider-demon dropped her optical camouflage, appearing seemingly out of thin air while dangling upside down from a string of webbing, right above the congregation of trainees. Dozens of surprised glares were on her instantly, followed by hushed gasps and barely audible murmurs. Drea’s pale gray cheeks turned several shades darker as she waved awkwardly to her confused audience.

“I’ll be taking this one, then. Your cooperation is appreciated, Cardinal Zeke. I’ll return if I need a new one.”

Sandman picked up the girl he had selected and threw her over his shoulder like a bag of yams. She squirmed and struggled at the unexpected manhandling, but her resistance was summarily ignored as the stranger carried her out of the room. She quickly deduced that she had been pawned off to this guy without her knowledge or approval, so she stopped flailing about and let herself be hauled out of the building and through the streets. If anything she greatly enjoyed this development given the way she kept smiling under her mask the whole time. She held a deep-rooted hatred for Cardinal Zeke, so seeing him get knocked down a few pegs was quite entertaining. The sight of his confused and enraged face kept her grinning and quietly giggling while she was carried through the streets, and the memory of it would be one of the few she treasured.

It wasn’t until the stranger had brought her beyond the city’s walls that she dared speak up.

“Uhm, are- Are you going to put me down now?” she warily asked.

“That depends. Are you stupid enough to run away or stab me?”

“I thought about it, though I’m sure I wouldn’t survive if I did.”

“Good answer.”

Boxxy put the petite girl down and gestured for her to follow it down the road. She did so, though she had to jog lightly to keep up with the towering figure’s wide stride.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“What, you weren’t told?”

“I’m never told anything. I’m not the most popular specter cadet.”

“What’s a specter?”

“Uh, hmm, it’s hard to explain to an outsider… I guess they’re something like a secret police. Mostly investigations, spying, and scouting. No stabbing whatsoever, unless ordered to.”

“Not even in self-defense?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Specters should be unseen, hence the name. If one gets attacked, that means they suck at their job and deserve to get stabbed.”

“I see.”

They walked in silence for a while longer before the girl spoke up again.

“So… Why am I here?”

“Ah, yes, I apologize. To summarize, you were just chosen to audition for the position of Hero of Death.”

“… What?”

“You know what a Hero is, right?”

“No, I do. It’s just, I thought Mortimer’s Reaper chose their replacement, and you’re not him.”

“How would you know that?”

“Because Zeke would’ve kissed your ass a lot harder.”

“Hm. Good eye.”

Strictly speaking, the man in question knew Boxxy was ‘an envoy of Mortimer in need of a youth skilled in subterfuge,’ but that was the extent of the divine revelation his cult had been sent.

“So, does that mean you scammed the cult out of a trainee? Don’t get me wrong, I like moonlit walks with creepy strangers as much as the next girl, but I don’t want to miss lunch if I can help it.”

“I did not lie. I may not be the Hero of Death, but I was still given the task of choosing and training the best candidate among your peers. Keep in mind that whether Mortimer actually accepts you as the next Hero of Death depends entirely on you.”

“Oh… Uh, okay? Could you give me a bit of reassurance?”

The shapeshifter snapped its fingers, and one of Drea’s icy blades appeared at the girl’s neck so suddenly that she froze completely, not even daring to breathe.

“The only assurance you will get from me,” the cloaked figure spoke slowly, “is that you will do everything I say, or your head will hit the ground before you realize it is no longer attached to the rest of you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

That calm, collected tone somewhat surprised Boxxy. Judging by the firm expression behind that mask, she understood the gravity of her situation, but did not flinch from it. This was a promising sign.

“Good.”

Sandman waved his hand, and the webstalker once more vanished into the shadows.

“But, if you must know,” he continued walking and talking, “the previous Hero of Death came down with a sudden and fatal case of incompetence. His understudy got caught up in it as well. The line of succession is broken, so Mortimer has to start over from scratch and apparently decided to go back to the tradition’s roots. Thus, I was hired to come here and pick out the most suitable youngster in the Gravewalkers’ care.”

“I see. This isn’t the first time something like this happened if I remember my history lessons. Still, why you, of all people?”

Simply put, it was because Boxxy received a Quest from Mortimer. It actually got quite a few tasks from the celestial undertaker following the first one’s completion. The shapeshifter could only speculate who took out its final target and why, but it wasn’t about to complain. The purging of Necromancers from the Order of the Black Wand was officially settled, and the shapeshifter didn’t need to waste time crossing the southern ocean. It just wished someone had done the same and offed Edward and his pals in its stead, though it did earn a nice prize for its efforts. The Gilded Hand had gathered a total of seven low-class dungeon cores before they fell from grace, and Boxxy had used the confusion and chaos of Weaxohn’s attack to claim all of them for itself.

Naturally, it had no intention to divulge any of that information to the girl, so it decided to kindly inform her it was none of her damned business.

“Because I piss rainbows and shit gold.”

“Gross. Anyway, if you’re going to be my instructor, what’s the first lesson?”

“Depends. Mind telling me who you are and what your deal is?”

“You don’t even know who I am? Did you just pick me at random?”

“Answer the question.”

“Fine. My name is Kaede and-”

“No, it’s not.”

“… How did you-”

“I have a nose for bullshit.”

Actually, the monster’s pilfered Eyes of the Dead God Skill exposed the fallacy. It clearly showed this nosferata’s name as Mira, not Kaede. The girl opened her mouth to question that statement, but decided not to argue over trivialities.

“Sorry, but I refuse to call myself by the name given to me by my piece of shit parents. I much prefer Kaede.”

“Explain.”

“Well… it’s a bit embarrassing, but ‘kaede’ is my favorite dish. It’s this really tasty blood sausage made from-“

*Snap*

*Schwing*

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

“Alright, alright. I get it, you can’t take a joke, so can you call off the weird ice-knife lady?”

Boxxy waved Claws away once more and made a mental note to reassess its approach since intimidation clearly wasn’t very effective. If it was to figure out what sort of ‘motivation’ worked best, it would need a better grasp on her personality, hints of which would surely be found in her personal history.

“I will not ask again – why do you resent your parents?”

“Because they abandoned me as an infant,” Kaede bitterly stated.

“Why?”

“Probably because of my exceptionally ugly face. That’s also why I was ignored by society at large and had to grow up homeless and alone.”

“Hm. That’s how you learned to not be seen?”

“Pretty much. Got the Stealth Skill before I even knew how to talk properly.”

“How’d you end up as a specter trainee?”

“Turns out emotionally vulnerable orphans make good subjects for indoctrination into a death cult.”

“Seems like they failed with you.”

“Heh. Yeah. Zeke tried to force his propaganda down my throat, but I didn’t buy any of it. That’s why he hates me, and vice versa.”

“Yet you did not escape, nor did he kick you out?”

“He couldn’t. He recruited me, so getting rid of me would be admitting his own failure to his peers. As for me, I had three big meals a day, clothes on my back, a roof over my head, and an actual education. All that was required of me was that I do my tasks and eventually stalk and maybe assassinate dissidents. That suited me just fine. I killed for less back when I was a kid.”

“Really? You committed murder as a child?”

“Yeah, I did. What of it?” she suddenly got defensive.

“I am not questioning your morality, but your methods.”

Though she looked healthy for her current age, her small and flat frame implied she was heavily malnourished as a child. That checked out with her story, and also made sense why she chose to name herself after a dish. This local specialty called ‘kaede’ was probably one of the first real meals she got after the Gravewalkers took her in and was likely a staple of their diet. That aside, if food and shelter was all she needed to stomach the cult’s religious nonsense and grim designs, perhaps she responded better to positive reinforcement than threats of punishment. Boxxy had determined that much already, and its question had nothing to do with the matter of how to train the rebellious nosferata. It was merely curious how a small, weak, and starving child could claim anyone’s life but her own.

“Oh,” Kaede seemed relieved. “I… snuck into a guy’s house and sprinkled some poison in his food.”

“I assume this was personal.”

“Yeah. Fucker took away my scarf.”

“What made this scarf important enough to kill him over it?”

“I needed it to cover up my, uh, situation,” she gestured at her masked face. “People are more willing to talk to me when they can’t see how… hideous I am. The bastard took that away from me just to be an asshole. I showed him. Prick.”

She clearly had no regrets about getting some payback. If anything, she was happy about it. Why wouldn’t she be? Revenge aside, that crime also got her imprisoned for murder at a very young age. That was how and why Zeke chose to recruit her into his cult as a trainee assassin, which was what gave Kaede the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to prove herself worthy of being a Hero. Granted, she had little reason to trust this Sandman character, but also knew that the Cardinal wouldn’t have agreed to this unless it was legitimate. He might have if it was an excuse to get rid of the ugly thorn in his side, but he clearly did not expect her to be chosen.

“So, if I am understanding things correctly, you turned out like this because of your face?” the shapeshifter summarized.

“More or less,” Kaede confirmed with a nod.

“Do you have a complex about it?”

“Obviously.”

“Will you freak out if it’s exposed to others?”

“No, but it makes me super uncomfortable, so I prefer keeping the mask on.”

“That’s a bad habit. Looks can be just as much as a weapon as any blade, and yours are like a crossbow that fires swords that explode into more swords.”

“Oh? You mean like psychological warfare?” she cupped her chin thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, I’m often told my smile can make people vomit. I just haven’t thought of using that in combat.”

“That’s… not quite what I had in mind. Right now, I want you to practice on reversing your thinking. From this point onward, what you’re wearing now must become your true self, while this will be your mask.”

Kaede’s concealing headgear was removed with a sudden hand movement, revealing that she was indeed a hideous freak by her people’s backwards standards. In other words, she was unbelievably gorgeous by everyone else’s. Her flawless white skin, bright red eyes, sharp feminine contours, and short black hair gave an exotic allure that could rival even Keira’s weapons-grade cuteness. In fact, the nosferata’s physical appearance had given Boxxy a few ideas on how to subtly make its public persona even more attractive.

“This… isn’t this just you being an asshole?” Kaede mumbled, clearly disturbed by this turn of events. “Please give me back my mask.”

“No. You need to get used to this for your own sake.”

Boxxy would have to thoroughly educate this ignorant girl that it was just this insignificant society that found her features repulsive ugly. She likely had no idea that was the case, as the nosferatu city-states had closed their borders as part of an isolationist policy that only allowed a select number of people in or out. Though such a thing probably had its benefits, there were some very clear downsides, such as the average nosferatu’s general ignorance of the wider world. The vast majority hadn’t even seen an ‘outsider’ nor did they wish to. This xenophobic attitude, though understandable, made them unsuited to serve as the gods’ chosen. After all, Heroes had to travel far and wide and come into contact with many different cultures and races as they carried out the duties bestowed upon them by their divine patrons.

That was why Mortimer requested one of the Gravewalker kids. They had the requisite training and religious education, but were still impressionable youngsters that weren’t completely set in their elders’ close-minded ways. Kaede’s ‘unfortunate face and attitude,’ as Zeke put them, were a big part of why Boxxy had chosen her over the others since they would help her blend in with the rest of the world. Many could teach Kaede the finer points of being a silent killer, but exceedingly few could show her how to fit into a strange and alien society. Boxxy T. Morningwood was arguably the only one who could do both.

First things first, now that the shapeshifter had a grasp on her personality, it moved onto what she could actually do in a fight.

“What’s your Job composition?”

“Uhm, I’m a 41 Rogue and a 25 Ranger.”

“Uh-huh. And how old are you?”

“Six.”

“I see.”

This was yet another way that her people differed from the world at large – their accelerated life cycle. A nosferatu pregnancy would only last about a hundred days. Once born, the infant developed rapidly, becoming physically, mentally, and legally an adult in five years compared to the fifteen other enlightened races needed. However, this accelerated aging also meant they had significantly shorter lifespans, with the average nosferatu dying of old age roughly two decades sooner than humans.

Yet, these people still managed to dominate a continent, which was only made possible because the nosferatu gained Skill and Job Levels nearly twice as fast as ‘normal’ people. This trait allowed them to achieve much in their relatively short lives. In theory, they had the potential to have three times as many Rankers per capita as the rest of the continent’s residents. The only problem was that achieving Level 100 invariably required getting out of their city-state-sized comfort zone, so nosferatu VIPs were practically non-existent. Boxxy was somewhat envious of this heightened learning capacity, but also thankful for it. It meant that Kaede’s training would take less time, which would allow the shapeshifter to finish its Quest sooner and finally get that stupid Cat Job off its Status.

“Uh, Mr. Sandman, was it?”

“What is it, Kaede?”

“Where are we going, exactly?”

“You’ll accompany me while I take care of some chores and test your abilities. After that, I’m taking you to an Alchemist who can give you the Job and show you the basics. Commit those lessons to heart as you will be spending most of your downtime honing the craft.”

“I… see…”

“Do you actually?”

“No, sorry. Please explain the point of this.”

“The Alchemist Job synergizes well with Rogue and Ranger in terms of Attributes. The extra Dexterity and Perception will help immensely. It also has a Skill that will allow you to consume more alchemical substances without succumbing to potion sickness. It will be a valuable lifeline in your line of work, as is the ability to manufacture custom-made poisons. Once sufficiently developed, the Alchemist Job will also provide you with a reliable source of income. Ah, yes, that reminds me. You’ll be responsible for any transactions or haggling while we’re together. I need to know how well you handle your finances.”

“Finances? Really?”

“Of course. Mortimer is the God of Death and Commerce, so his Hero needs to show equal competence with both murders and marketplaces.”

“So, you’re not making me pay just because you’re a cheapskate?”

“Definitely not. This is serious Hero business.”

“Uh-huh, sure it is. Unfortunately, I did not bring any money. Partly because you kind of kidnapped me, but mostly because I don’t have any.”

The Gravewalkers provided for her in many ways, but there was no salary or allowance involved.

“That’s fine, I’ll loan you some gold to start with.”

“What? Why would I want gold?”

“Because that’s what money is made out of?”

Surely this girl wasn’t that out of touch with the world.

“No, it’s not. I don’t know what ass-backwards country you come from, but we trade with lead coins here.”

“And… why is that?”

“Uh, because lead has value while gold is worthless?”

“Excuse you and your entire race?”

“What? Gold’s ugly, soft, and heavy. I fail to see why anyone would be interested in that junk over the flexibility and ruggedness of lead.”

Boxxy’s first thought was whether Mortimer would mind if the nosferatu ‘accidentally’ went extinct. It suppressed that knee-jerk reaction and gave the matter some consideration. The main reason it liked money was because coins shiny, but this was not so in this particular culture. The monster could get behind this idea, as it would feel much better about spending its wealth if it didn’t glitter so enticingly. Furthermore, though the nosferatu found gold worthless, the metal still had numerous magical and alchemical applications, so it was inevitable they’d have some of it lying around. Therefore, Boxxy could theoretically acquire a whole bunch of shinies for dirt cheap if it bartered with goods instead of coin.

That matter aside, it would appear it had to drill a lot more common sense into this weird girl than originally anticipated.

“You have a lot to learn, and you will do well to pay attention,” it warned the nosferata. “Your life depends on it.”

“Like… actually?”

“What do you think will happen should you fail this apprenticeship?”

“I, uh, better take notes then.”

So, she did, though perhaps not quite the sort of notes she should have been taking.

Kaede’s observation log

Night 1

This ‘Sandman’ character is kinda weird. He’s supposed to be a Warlock, yet he’s way too good at sneaking about, especially for a guy his size. I tried following him after we parted ways for the day, but he just disappeared somewhere around a corner. Makes me feel silly for training the Ranger Job. Tracking people was kind of the whole reason I was given it in the first place. Well, I guess that’s to be expected considering Mortimer sent him, but I have a much bigger problem – where am I supposed to sleep?

Night 2

I got scolded tonight. Apparently breaking into a farmer’s house, tying them up, and locking them in the basement just so I could sleep in their bed was a no-no. Not sure why Sandy cares, he’s killed hundreds of folks. I think. Pretty sure he’s the same ‘Demon Tamer’ me and the others were warned about awhile back in that security briefing. Wonder if he’ll let me meet his familiars?

Night 3

Damn, those were some ugly familiars. The stalker I saw before looked kinda cute, but now that I had a good look at her? Ew. I probably shouldn’t talk since my face is terrible, too, but that blue-haired one with the freakishly large breasts – that was a wake-up call. I guess what they say about demons embodying the worst parts of mortals was true after all.

Night 5

Found out that Sandy gets real mad if I try to steal his money. Also learned that healing potions, open wounds, and foreign objects stuck in said open wounds are not a pleasant combination. Was hoping I’d at least get a cool scar out of it, but no luck as per usual. Still, lesson learned – don’t ever touch Sandy’s gold, even as a prank.

Night 8

We raided a cave today. Not sure why, but we did. Actually, ‘we’ isn’t quite right. I was sent in alone to clear out the monsters. I think it was intended to be some kind of test, but he was seriously underestimating me if that was the case. Nosferatu can see in the dark, and I’ve been killing giant spiders for almost a year now. It’s how us specter trainees get our Levels most of the time.

Problem is, I still don’t see a reason why he had me do that. Nothing in there but a bunch of glowing crystals, and I’m fairly certain those don’t have any practical use. They just sort of fall to pieces if you try to remove them from the walls, so that leads me to believe he has other plans for the cave. I’ll just sleep here and wait until he comes back tomorrow to find out.

Night 9

He blew it up.

Night 10

Left the country tonight. Didn’t even bother with checkpoints or security, just teleported across the border. The walls should have anti-teleportation countermeasures, so what gives? Then again I’ve never heard of that Transfer-something spell so… whatever.

Night 11

First time in a human village. The elders weren’t kidding, these humans are repulsive. Not just the faces, I’m pretty used to seeing ugly every time I look in a mirror. They’re just so filthy. How can they live with that much sweat on them? And the air has this prevalent stench of manure. Granted, I’m not much to talk since I don’t get to wash my body as often as I’d like, but I’m on the road with a shady warlock. These humans have no excuse. It’s shameful, really. Don’t they know that cleanliness is next to godliness?

Night 16

Okay, it’s been a while since my last entry. Mostly because I’ve been too tired to bother. Who knew haggling was so hard? I learned a lot, though. Like the fact that ‘getting my point across’ and ‘stabbing someone in the face’ were not synonyms. Or that murdering someone who ripped you off causes more problems than it solves. Oh, and people with authority are dicks. I mean, I already knew that – thanks Zeke, you cunt – but it’s good to know the rest of the world is like that, too.

Night 17

A huge, six-legged cat-thing I hadn’t seen before crept up to the camp we made on the edge of a forest. Sandy said it was a janther, after he grabbed it by the neck and suplexed it into the ground for a one-hit KO. I didn’t think I would ever see several hundred kilograms of monster flung about like an oversized sack of potatoes, yet here we are. He then continued fiddling with a weird bundle of metal plates and wires as if nothing had happened.

Actually, he’s been doing that for the past few nights now. Wonder what it’s all about.

Night 18

It was a bomb.

Oh, also saw Sandy’s face. It was incredibly handsome. Lucky bastard. I might’ve fallen for him if he wasn’t such a slave-driver.

Night 20

I finally got praised tonight. I made my first Superior-quality necrotic poison with alchemy. Sandy seemed impressed, but I guess he didn’t know nosferatu had a knack for that sort of stuff because of our sensitive noses. Still, gotta admit it felt pretty good to be complimented on my work. It was pretty fun, too, doing things with my hands. Well, other than stabbing stuff or stuffing my face with food.

Incidentally I’ve gotten more used to the taste of janther meat than I would like. It’s no kaede sausage, but at least there’s a lot of it.

Night 22

Arrived at some island off the shore of the Oculus Sea. Was filled with vampires, ones that have been there for a long time. Seeing the undead version of my own people was not pleasant. Neither was the Blight. Or the sunlight. Vampires hate it even more than living nosferatu, so we managed to accomplish our objective of slipping in and out of the old fort there without being swarmed. We salvaged some type of relic, looked like a ring made of bone with a tiny laughing skull instead of a gemstone. It was cute, but I have no idea what sort of meaning it held beyond the obvious connection to Mortimer.

Night 23

We continued clearing the island today. Mopped up most of the small fry. That took us a while since they were spread out. Had a pair of beat-up stone golems roaming around, too. Probably some type of old security system judging by how they ignored the ‘residents.’ Sandy told me to take care of those myself, knowing full well that unenchanted daggers and poisons have no effect on them. Still won, though. Managed to lead the brainless dolls to a cliff overlooking the sea and make them tumble down it. They probably survived the fall but won’t be able to make it back up the cliff without causing a rockslide.

I’m more worried about tomorrow. We’re going to tackle purifying the central fort. While I’m more than happy to release my ancestors (I assume) from their cursed existence, I am worried whether we can manage. There were a LOT of vampires in there, and I’d prefer not to get sucked dry like a kaede sausage. That’d be a bit TOO ironic.

Night 24

Never mind. Sandy just blew it up.

I think I’m starting to see a pattern here.

Night 27

Joined a guild called ‘Wet Bandits.’ No idea what’s up with the name, probably some idiotic inside joke. Wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but Sandy made me do it since my Rogue Job reached Level 50 with all the killing he had me do, and I needed a trainer to keep it going. He made me advance Ranger, too, even though I only use it for the Tracking, Fleet Footed, and Throwing Arm Skills. Got a bunch of weird looks when I was asked to take off my mask. Or, ‘put on my mask’ as Sandy kept calling it. I knew that would happen. Didn’t make it any less awkward.

Anyway, my current job is to get used to the adventurer life on my own while my boss is off handling his private matters. Joke’s on him, though. Now that he’s gone, I can finally slack off!

Night 28

Or not. I couldn’t settle down after spending nearly every night for the past month either fighting or on the road so I did a quick monster elimination Quest. Damned Sandy and his boot camp, now I can’t even relax unless I know I’ve done something productive. At least the inn I’m staying at offers a wooden tub and complimentary hot water for bathing, though I don’t think they like me asking for it at sunset, midnight, and sunrise. Well, I earned some money today, so hopefully I can use it to buy off their displeasure.

Seriously though, paying people with gold feels weird as fuck. At least the really valuable coins are mithril. They’re even called Divine pieces! Those I can definitely get behind. Shame I don’t have any.

Night 29

I got super lucky! Was talking to this vegetable vendor when THE CUTEST CROW EVER landed on my shoulder! Like, out of nowhere! He even let out a little caw-caw when I gave him some giant bat meat I had in my pocket! It was amazing! Never thought one of Mortimer’s messengers would ever get this close to me! This must be a sign that my Hero apprenticeship is going well.

Not sure why the cabbage man was so terrified, though. Humans are weird.

Night 31

Came back to the inn to find that ring from the vampire-infested island on the nightstand along with a note from Sandy. He told me to wear it at all times and that either he or Mortimer will contact me ‘when the time is right.’ I don’t mind since the ring looks neat, but I can’t seem to take it off now. It’s really stuck on there. I’m gonna be pretty pissed if it turns out I got slipped cursed equipment. I’m sure it’ll work out, though. I did see that crow recently!

Night 33

Someone tried to rape me tonight. Cornered me in an alley while I was in casual clothes, demanded my body, and tried to force me down and everything. I was flattered, but he wasn’t my type, so I gave him the slip. As in I slipped the retractable knife hidden in my boot into his groin. I really should thank Sandy for making that for me, it really comes in handy. Or is that ‘comes in footy?’ Is that even a thing people say? I wouldn’t be surprised, humans are weird.

What DID surprise me was that the boot-knife didn’t explode.

Night 34

Finally got that ring appraised by an enchanter. Good news, it’s not cursed. Bad news, they couldn’t identify it. It’s clearly a magic item, but I still have no idea what it does. Well, I guess I can live with it. I still think it’s cute. I hope my skull looks that happy when I die. I need to think back to when Sandy took me from Zeke when the time comes. The look on his face will always make me laugh.

Also, the enchanter made me some darkened glasses. Now I can finally stop squinting at the stupid sun during the day.

Night 35

Met a bunch of humans and dwarves while out on a Quest. Well, not so much ‘met’ as in ‘saved them from a roaming pack of ghouls.’ I really wish these pinkskins would tend to their dead better. You’d never see this many walking corpses back home. Or any, for that matter. Even if they appear, they’re purified with extreme prejudice. Also, I think I’m starting to understand why Mortimer hates them. They’re SUPER fucking gross. WAY worse than vampires in the decomposition department.

Thankfully, I had a Shower in a Bottle on me, so I was able to get rid of the zombie-juice smell right away. Man, those elves up north come up with some really handy stuff, don’t they? I should pay them a visit once this Hero apprenticeship thing is settled. Assuming I’m still alive, of course. For now, I managed to get a good deal on a twelve-pack of Showers, should last me a week.

Night 38

Apparently, I now have a reputation around town as ‘the Soggy Princess.’ Humans continue to be weird.

Night 40

I was banned from the library. Shouldn’t have opened a Shower in a Bottle in there. Yes, the soapy water evaporates, but that doesn’t un-ruin the ink. Whoopsie!

Night 41

Snuck into the library to get a reference book on local herbs. Saw the librarian walking into the back room with the receptionist girl from the guild. Wonder what his wife will say about that?

Night 42

I am no longer banned from the local library.

Night 45

Okay, I’ve been giving some serious thought to what Sandy was talking about with that mask business. I’m used to being treated differently whenever my face was on display, but these people don’t ridicule or avoid me like my countrymen. They give me things. Like discounts or extra-large servings. At first, I thought it was because they were taking pity on me since they were kind and simple folk, but after what happened earlier I’m not so sure.

That Alex guy straight up proposed to me in the street. He was quite serious, too. Had an engagement ring and delivered a speech and everything. I shut him down of course. His looks aside, he constantly reeks of booze, garlic, and grilled cheese. Just because my self-esteem isn’t the best doesn’t mean my standards are just as low, you know! Still, the way he was talking about ‘ethereal beauty’ and whatnot got me thinking.

Could it be… these people don’t actually find me ugly?

A Tale of Nightmares

The door to the Happy Fox swung open as two middle-aged men made their way inside the pub. The place had a very traditional and rustic style, clearly a place for the everyman to drink away their problems. It was well-lit and had a Bard playing a cheerful tune on his lute in the corner, giving it a welcoming atmosphere. The newcomers exchanged greetings and joking jabs with the other regulars on their way to their usual table. They sat on the wooden benches on either side and were quite eager to unwind after a hard day’s work.

“Well, look what the goblin dragged in. Surprised you two can show your faces here after how you were behaving yesterday.”

A smarmy brunette in a white and orange waitress outfit approached the two. Her words were a bit rude and her tone rather harsh, though that was just her strict personality talking. There wasn’t any actual malice involved.

“You know me, Bernadette,” the taller gentleman replied. “I can’t go a day without seeing your charming smile. I’d love for it to be the first thing I see every morning, if you catch my meaning.”

“Knock it off, Kurt,” his companion complained. “You’re old enough to be her father.”

“So? I hear some girls love being spanked by a big, strong ‘daddy.’”

“Do I need to get Bruno again?”

Bernadette tilted her head towards the entrance. More specifically, at the stone-faced dwarf leaning against the wall next to it. His job was mostly to look mean and discourage the patrons from acting up. One would think a dwarf lacked the necessary stature to be an effective bouncer at a human establishment, but his log-like arms and legs made it abundantly clear he was not one to mess with. Someone that thick was bound to have an absurd amount of STR and END.

“Yeesh, I was only kidding,” Kurt said defensively. “No need to get physical.”

“Your ‘getting physical’ is the problem here,” she said sternly. “Just because you know the owner doesn’t give you free reign to do as you please. Keep your hands to yourself, or Bruno will break them so bad you’ll have to have Hans wipe your ass.”

“Ugh… Thanks for that mental image,” the other man groaned. “Really does wonders for my appetite.”

“Good, because I’m still waiting on your order.”

The black-haired duo each ordered a glass of Frostbite Brandy along with a large platter of assorted cheeses, fruits, and meats. The waitress took their order and went to attend to the other patrons, leaving the pair to talk amongst themselves.

“Hehe, Bernadette was splendidly harsh today, too,” Kurt said jokingly.

“Haaah,” Hans let out a tired sight. “I don’t get why you keep talking to her like that. You were always a bit of a womanizer, but you’ve been going at it a lot more lately. What gives?”

“I figure if Alex can chase after some sweet young thing, so can I.”

“What? Oh, you mean that proposal incident? I heard the Soggy Princess shot him down right away. Was pretty harsh about it, too.”

“Sure, but at least he had the balls to try.”

“Or the desperation,” Hans rolled his eyes. “He’s still a bachelor about to hit his forties, he should’ve known he stood no chance with someone like her.”

“That’s just it, though. If he was actually desperate for companionship he would go for one of the old maids around town. Instead, he aimed for the unapproachable beauty who stalks the night like a fleeting dream. Er, so they tell me.”

The woman they were talking about was a gorgeous young thing with flawless, porcelain skin and bright-red, ruby-like eyes that arrived in town about a month ago. She clearly wasn’t human given her pigmentation and ear shape, but that wasn’t enough to dissuade potential suitors. The cold glares and her tendency to sneer and turn her nose up at people was another story entirely. The rumors of her castrating a guy for trying to get too grabby with her also added to her unapproachable atmosphere.

“Say what you will, but Alex’s courage hasn’t waned at all,” Kurt added.

“Yeah… Not when it comes to women at least. He’s still useless in a fight.”

“… And there goes my mood. Way to go, Hans.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

Alex, Kurt, and Hans were a trio of war buddies, veteran foot soldiers that retired from service after the Empire lost to the Republic last year. One could argue that, even if they were getting on in years, the men could still be of use to the Imperial army. Their bodies were fit and their wits sharp, both honed through many years of fighting against monsters, bandits, and soldiers alike. However, war was a filthy, horrible endeavor that chipped away at one’s psyche, and the horrific things these three saw during the Calamity Conflict finally proved too much. The Empire had no need for soldiers who had lost the will to fight, as they were liabilities on the battlefield. The three were discharged from service with a lump sum of gold to serve as their pension, though money did little to help them sleep better at night.

That was what the booze was for, so Kurt and Hans were quite happy when Bernadette brought them their drinks and snacks. Granted, it wasn’t easy for ex-soldiers with Levels in the high sixties to get drunk, but that was why the owner always made sure to reserve some dwarven liquor for them. It was a bit on the expensive side, but some things were more important than money. Like good company, crude jokes, and saucy gossip, which these two started sharing once the ice-imbued liquor started flowing.

“That Soggy Princess, though, think she’s one of them nosferatu folks?” Hans asked at some point.

“Nah, no way,” Kurt said dismissively.

“But she only goes out at night and has those pointy ears and everything. Plus, this town isn’t all that far from the Alliance border.”

“Those guys are all ugly as sin though. It’s like they’re not even human.”

“Well, no, they’re not. They’re nosferatu.”

“You know what I mean! They look like a hobgoblin’s ballsack!”

“You’d know a lot about those, wouldn’t you, Kurt?” a third voice chimed in.

“Who in the-?! Oh, hey, Alex.”

The missing member of the unofficial veteran’s club had just arrived, joining his two mates as they shared a light chuckle at Kurt’s expense. Unlike the other two with their short black hair, Alex was a shaggy, unkempt redhead. He was also the meanest looking of the bunch, with a lean face that was more than a little rough around the edges. He hadn’t bothered shaving in a while, giving him a scruffy-looking stubble that further set him apart from his clean-chinned companions. His outfit consisted of a white undershirt, a brown tunic, and a mostly spotless black apron, which was what he wore whenever he tended the bar.

He was on break right now, so he came over to see how his friends were doing.

“Might I ask what you two idiots were talking about that led you to monster testicles?”

“Just wondering what the new girl’s deal is,” Hans said, munching on some jerky. “I figure she’s a nosferatu, but mister ball expert here claims she’s too pretty for that.”

“Oh, you mean Kaede?”

“If that’s the Soggy Princess, then yes.”

Incidentally, the girl had been given that slightly embarrassing nickname due to three publicly known facts – she was beautiful, a member of the Wet Bandits, and she frequently used those 'Shower in a Bottle' things.

“Talk some sense into this guy, Alex,” Kurt butted in. “He’s only heard about them nosferatu, so he has no idea.”

“You’re both right, actually,” the bearded ginger revealed. “She is a nosferatu, just an unusually gorgeous one.”

“Oh. Aren’t we technically at war with those guys?”

“Come on, Kurt. You know better than to equate governments with the people under them. She’s still figuring out her place in the world and was treated harshly in her homeland. She just might decide the Empire’s a better place to live.”

“You sure seem to know a lot about her,” Hans noted. “How come?”

“Oh, that’s because of the guild she joined – those Wet Bandit fellows? They didn’t have a Level 50 Ranger instructor on hand, so they had me advance her Job. Showed me her Appraisal results and some background info she provided.”

They technically weren’t supposed to do that, but they owed Alex for the favor and the nosferata didn’t seem to mind.

“So, you had a bit of one-on-one face time with her, huh? I’d probably fancy her too if I was in your shoes,” Kurt commented. “How you handling the whole rejection thing?”

“Not too bad. I kind of expected it to be honest.”

Truthfully speaking, Alex had an inkling about the nosferatu people’s warped sense of beauty. Though human standards painted her as someone way out of his league, it should have been the opposite from Kaede’s point of view, so he thought he stood a chance. In retrospect, jumping straight to a marriage proposal was stupid, so he deserved all those mean comments she made about his various body odors.

“There’s hope yet, though,” he continued. “I think she’s warmed up to me since then. Just last week I got her to giggle at a terrible bear pun.”

“Well! Good for you, man. I hope that works out.”

“Thanks, Hans.”

“I dunno, she seems like a high-maintenance girl,” Kurt grumbled. “The inn lady said she bathes so much she practically installed a water heater in her room.”

“As if I care about that. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I run a pretty successful bar here.”

Alex wasn’t always a soldier. He actually used to work for his family-run tavern business when he was young, so he knew a thing or two about serving customers. It was the only trade he knew besides living by the bow, so he bought this place with his retirement stipend, refurbished it, and had been doing rather well for himself since. The fact that this place was close to full every single night was testament enough to that.

“I still say Bernadette would make a much better wife,” the other man insisted. “She’s not as pretty as a princess, but did you see those wide hips? Her strict attitude is the best, too!”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I seriously need you to stop harassing her, even if it’s a joke.”

“I’m quite serious.”

“That’s even worse! Look, I need to hire more waitresses, but your ongoing stupidity is giving this place a bad reputation. It’s a small town, and people talk. Bad publicity is terrible for employee retention.”

“Look at you! When did you become such an enterp… entrep… enterep… a businessman?”

“Kurt, I think you should slow it down with the drinking,” Hans said, grabbing the alcohol-filled cup out of his hands. “You don’t wanna cause problems for Alex after all the trouble he went through to get this place up and running, right?”

“No… I s’pose not…” he slurred in response.

“By the way, Alex? Have you tried asking this Kaede girl to work for you? Even if it’s only once in a while, it should be a good excuse to spend time with her.”

“Hmmmm… I haven’t really thought about that. I doubt she’d agree, but I suppose it’s worth a shot. Actually, I think I’ll go ask her right now.”

It was around this time she usually got ready to leave on Quests, so it was as good a chance as any.

“Good luck. I’ll make sure Kurt doesn’t go overboard.”

“Thanks again Hans, I owe you one.”

Alex threw off his apron and told the rest of his staff he’d be stepping out for a bit. He was the boss, so doing this sort of thing once in a while was no big deal. He walked out of the Happy Fox and into the pleasant spring evening. The sun had already set, but the sky still carried some light. There was also a refreshing breeze completely devoid of any sort of wintry chill. The man walked briskly down the street, towards the inn he knew Kaede was staying at. On the way, he realized him knowing so much about a girl technically only six years old was kind of creepy, but that was only if-

“No… It can’t be…”

The man’s confident stride and train of thought came to a screeching halt. His entire body froze, his hair stood on end, cold sweat began to pour out of his face and palms, and his heart beat so fast one would think it was trying to chant a ‘Get Me The Fuck Out Of Here’ Spell. Forget moving, the man could barely even breathe. Yet, when those yellow eyes swung his way, his instincts as an army scout took command of his body and hid him in a nearby alley before he could be seen. The man’s chest heaved rapidly, his Stealth Skill putting in some serious overtime to mask the sound of his heavy breathing while his mind struggled to process what his eyes had told him. Did he really just see that? He definitely did. Or, at least he thought he did. Part of him hoped dearly that was just a hallucination, as even going crazy would be preferable to meeting that monster again. He was so paralyzed by fear that he couldn’t even do a double-take to confirm the situation.

For better or worse, he didn’t need to. The exceedingly tall, heavily-cloaked stranger that sent him into this panic attack casually strode past the alley he was in without so much as glancing his way. Alex could do nothing but watch as the source of his nightmares ever since the war strode idly by as if he owned the place. Worst of all, none of the other pedestrians – though there weren’t many – paid this mass-murderer any heed. Alex’s confusion was so severe that if Kurt saw his face he’d probably say something outrageous like ‘you look like you’ve seen a banshee with a hard-on.’ So, when he finally noticed Kaede was walking side-by-side with that psychopath, he blanked out completely. Next thing he knew, it was two hours later, and he was kneeling in a ditch a dozen kilometers north of town. He had used his Ranger Job to track the towering terror that was the Sandman to this area. Hunter’s Mark came in especially handy, as it was a Skill that could be used silently and stealthily to track a target over long distances. He wasn’t sure why he’d done any of that, but he was dead certain he’d never forgive that man for what he’d done.

The reason Alex and his two squadmates retired from the Imperial army was not due to combat fatigue. That was probably part of it, but it was a singular event that ultimately broke their spirit. The three of them were part of the 8th Imperial Expeditionary Force, the vanguard supposed to secure the route to Fort Yimin ahead of the main army. They were the same people that were ambushed by the 3rd Republic Legion’s forces under the leadership of Milo Faehorn. The Empire’s side suffered heavy losses in both manpower and supplies while inflicting almost none in return before the elven forces retreated. That wasn’t what broke Alex and his friends. Underhanded strategies like those were the only natural response the elves could make when they were being invaded by a superior military force. The fact that the Republic was able to pull that off despite the Imperials being wary of an ambush was simply a testament to their prowess when using such tactics. However, what happened later that night was completely removed from ‘strategies’ or ‘tactics,’ for it was the first time the vigilante known as ‘the Sandman’ appeared in the war.

Massacre was the only way to describe what transpired. Even if the damage this stranger inflicted upon the Empire’s forces was relatively minor in the grand scheme, it was impossible for Alex to think of the casualties as just a statistic. He had seen men and women who were like family get slaughtered for seemingly no reason other than ‘they were there.’ The horrors he witnessed as his comrades were torn limb from limb by that incarnation of terror and his evil minions had traumatized him deeply. His psyche was so scarred that his hands would shake uncontrollably whenever he gripped a bow, making him incapable of shooting with any degree of accuracy. He also suffered constant night terrors for several months after and still had nightmares on occasion. Focusing on his new pub and that pretty stranger had allowed him to take his mind off things lately, but any progress he’d made towards a full recovery was instantly lost.

Yet, here he was, chasing after the very thing that caused him and his comrades so much suffering. It was definitely idiotic, but he couldn’t merely walk away. Indeed, looking down at his hands, he realized that they were perfectly still for the first time in almost a year. Putting his palm over his chest to feel his heartbeat, he confirmed that he was no longer scared, merely excited. In other words, while his mind hid in fear, his body had moved on its own. Gripping his fist and gritting his teeth, he peeked out of his hiding spot. His target had separated from Kaede almost immediately after they left town and he followed him here, to the outskirts of an unremarkable patch of trees too small to be called a forest. Alex had seen Sandman disappear down a hole at the base of some great oak. That was about forty minutes ago, and the mercenary had been inside since, according to his Hunter’s Mark.

Figuring he had located some sort of hideout or lair, Alex began considering what to do with this information. Should he enlist Hans and Kurt? Those guys had just as many grievances with that psychopath, and he was absolutely certain they would lend him their strength. The three knew full well this Sandman was no warrior or soldier, just a sick bastard that used war as an excuse to satiate his bloodlust. Letting such a man roam free on their home soil would only lead to tragedy.

The problem was that three old war dogs could not stand up to such a proficient killer. While they were no pushovers, their abilities were painfully average for someone of their Level. Realistically, they stood no chance against Sandman. But, Alex knew someone that did. A man named Sigmund Law, who had recently become the new Hero of the Hammer and subsequently claimed the title of Grand Inquisitor. The former soldier did not know this man personally, but he had heard tales of his exploits. According to them, Law was a hard-liner who accepted no compromise when it came to bringing evildoers to justice, even if it meant making enemies of the nobility or other elements within the church. And this Sandman? He was as evil as a bastard could get, and no amount of political maneuvering or shady dealings would save him from the new Hero of the Hammer.

Of course, whether the Grand Inquisitor would even answer his plea was debatable, but the odds were good. Rumors said the man recently adopted three little girls, and that he was firm but kind when administering his duties. He put the well-being of humanity above all else, exalting the righteous and pure of spirit while punishing the guilty. Surely a man of such noble qualities would not stand for a war criminal to walk free within the Empire, doing Goddess-knows-what to its innocent citizens. It wasn’t clear how Kaede fit into all of this since Alex didn’t think of her as a bad person, just a troubled kid from a different culture. Was she being tricked or manipulated? Or was her true nature aligned with that evil bastard’s?

Regardless, it was probably best not to approach her with this idea. As for how Alex would get his message to the Hero, he remembered he had some old war buddies that signed up with the Inquisition. They were men and women that had witnessed the same horrors as him, Hans, and Kurt, yet kept fighting the good fight. Those people were undoubtedly stronger than the three of them and would not hesitate to get their superiors to act. It still wasn’t clear whether they’d arrive fast enough to catch the Sandman, or if they would come at all, but it was Alex’s best hope. So, he slowly but surely slithered away from that living nightmare’s hiding spot and slinked off back to town. Whatever was about to happen, time was of the essence, and Alexander Thorpe was someone who would make the most of it. Right now, the only tools at his discretion were his feet, his wits, and a burning desire to avenge his fallen comrades. Once that nightmare was dead and buried, he’d be able to fully devote himself to running the friendliest neighborhood pub in the province. It was a happy thought, which was quite fortunate since it turned out to be his last.

*SPLORCH*

An invisible blade made out of ethereal ice pierced into his skull from above with a disgusting sound, painlessly freeing his tortured soul from his body. The murder weapon was removed and the gaping head wound was webbed up before the body hit the ground. Wouldn’t want all that nutritious blood and mushy brain bits to escape.

“Master! I caught some dinner for you!” Drea eagerly reported as she webbed up the corpse for transport.

“Is it fresh?”

“Yup. Looks like a good one, too.”

“Good, bring it to me.”

The stalker was quite pleased with herself. This particular specimen had some reasonably well developed muscles, probably an adventurer or something. He was sure to be tasty, even if a bit on the skinny side. She even waited until he had calmed down before she claimed his life. Boxxy claimed a human’s taste would deteriorate if they struggled before they died, so she did everything she could to score some points with the man-eating monster. This was important to the arachnid demon since she felt she was falling behind the others when it came to currying their master’s favor. Xera had helped deliver the alraune that was now acting as dungeon master, and Kora was doing her best collecting shinies from the Atlas of Dreams. Ambrosia had her nectar, and Fizzy had… well, herself. The only thing Drea could do to earn Boxxy’s approval was secure fresh human meat, so she did the best job she could.

In reality, she was subconsciously ignoring another, far more meaningful contribution. The golem Artificer had recently finished the weaving machine she had been working on ever since they moved to Azurvale. The room-sized contraption could produce high-quality Demon Silk from the special spider thread that Drea made from all her food intake. The rare material was both useful and expensive, so Boxxy was glad to have it. It was thanks to the arachnid assassin that the shapeshifter was able to have a new Prismatic Cloak made so soon after the last one was ripped up. Drea was glad to have been of service, though she wished the silk weaver wasn’t so profoundly embarrassing to use. The spinnerets that produced the valuable webbing were located in her butt, so it looked like she was pooping whenever she was strapped in. The webstalker wanted to die every time she thought about it, so she did everything she could to keep her mind off it.

In other words, she dedicated herself to doing everything she could to keep her master’s secrets safe while finding plenty of tasty treats to share with it.

“Oh! This one does look good!”

Judging from the way said master happily devoured the freshly slaughtered corpse with a delighted burp, she had done splendidly.

“That was good timing, too,” Boxxy continued. “I was just about to head back.”

The hole-in-the-tree the shapeshifter was inhabiting was actually a node in its dungeon network, which it had established across Atica to help facilitate fast travel to certain areas of importance. This one would only stay here temporarily since it didn’t have much use for it besides quickly checking in on Kaede’s progress. It technically didn’t have to since the ring it bestowed her gave Mortimer the ability to spy on her all he wanted, but it felt it was important to make sure she was taking her ‘audition’ seriously. Once that was over with, it would reclaim the dungeon core and ‘plant’ it somewhere else.

However, that was not the primary reason it came here this time around. It was just ‘dropping in’ after completing an unrelated endeavor in this part of the world. The shapeshifter used Nexus Access to fling itself all the way over to Republic territory. More specifically, to the bottom of the wind-carved ravine that was home to Bitterhold. It left the not-so-creatively named Bitterhole mini-dungeon and started climbing upwards as a spider-chest. Stain’s guards, or, more precisely, the guards that were Stain, greeted it with a simultaneous wave as the monster made its way over to the warden’s office. It made sure to switch back to its Sandman disguise, just in case there were any unexpected visitors. Thankfully, this didn’t seem to be the case, so it could easily enter the overmind slime’s private quarters.

“Well! *Slurp* Back so soon?” she exclaimed with an obscene tongue movement. “I was not expecting you for another – *Slurp* – few days.”

“I have my ways. What matters is that I got more of that stuff you wanted.”

Boxxy took out a large burlap sack from its Storage and handed it over. The sentient pile of pink goo eagerly accepted and opened it, revealing its contents were countless tiny pieces of blue, purple, and red crystals. She dropped a goopy hand into the coarse and sparkling sand as if to sample it.

“Oh, how wonderful! *Slurp!* With this, I’ll have enough to last me a year!”

The material was a mostly useless mineral called almarite. Boxxy didn’t know much about it, other than what it looked like and that Stain needed lots of it, which was why it had Mortimer’s protege check on the huge deposit it found in nosferatu territory. It wasn’t sure whether the strange crystals would be harmful, but once she had confirmed them safe, the shapeshifter wasted no time in employing some… aggressive excavation methods. The inherently curious creature couldn’t help but ask, though it was careful not to piss off its new business partner.

“May I inquire why you asked me to be on the lookout for that stuff?”

“Hm? Oh, it just makes for an amazing additive to hylt wine. Toxic to most living things but –*Slurp!* – absolutely delicious to me!”

In truth, this mineral also greatly accelerated the recovery rate of Stain’s lost or damaged slime cores, but that was her little secret.

“Could’ve had those Foundation guys do it for you if it was of such… importance.”

“I’d rather not ask those people any favors. *Slurp!* At least the stuff you want as payment is simple to deliver.”

Boxxy’s reward for delivering the first batch of powdered mystery-quartz was the knowledge of how to obtain an Ultimate Skill as a monster. According to Stain, it still required one hundred Levels, just from two or more sequential Jobs. For instance, the pink puddle was a Level 50 Slime and Level 50 Queen Slime, for a total of 100 Levels as a slime-based monster. So, if Boxxy got Level 50 Doppelganger to go along with its Level 50 Mimic, it would have 100 ‘flesh-shifter’ Levels and would likely earn itself an Ultimate Skill. That was still a long way off, as the Doppelganger Job was seriously dragging its feet once it pushed past Level 40. The last ten Levels would take a long while, but it wasn’t in a particular hurry. At least, not since that Edward matter was settled.

“Are you going to pay up or what?” the shapeshifter insisted.

“Of course,” Stain said. “I’ve already prepared your reward. *Slurp!* It’s waiting for you outside this office.”

“Good. By the way, is he supposed to be doing that?”

Sandman pointed towards the naked bald man covered in slime in the corner, the individual that had once been the Gilded Hand operative called Hook. His wide eyes darted all over the place and he seemed to be trying to scream, but the transparent pink goo covering him silenced his voice and kept him from flailing around much.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just really stubborn so I had to – *Slurp!* – intensify his treatment. I’ll definitely break him, though. *Slurp!* Eventually.”

“I see. I’ll be going now. Goodbye, Warden Stain.”

“Goodbye. Feel free to drop in if you have more of the good stuff!”

“We’ll see.”

When Boxxy left the office, it was greeted with a small pile of white rocks. More specifically, five kilograms of unrefined mithril fresh from the mines. It wasn’t particularly shiny, but Fizzy needed this stuff for her projects. She’d taken up the Blacksmith Job and was currently tackling mithril processing with some human golem-maker she met in Gun Tarum, the dwarven Kingdom’s capital. Luckily, the shapeshifter had another Nexus Access node nearby, so it could go visit its partner whenever it wanted. Which, incidentally, was right now. It wasted no time pocketing its ‘earnings’ and leaving Bitterhold behind. As the massive, cloaked figure of the Sandman departed, an elven prisoner kept a close eye on its back. The man abruptly dropped the load he was pretending to carry around and went to the warden’s quarters. He opened the door, only to find her draining six bottles of elven liquor into her goopy head at once, giving the appearance of the booziest crown in existence. It was a strangely fitting symbol of power for the world’s goopiest sovereign.

“Ugh, I really wish you’d learn to knock,” the slime groaned.

“My apologies, but I got a bit worked up,” the elf said. “I just thought I saw a familiar face, so to speak. Was that Boxxy T. Morningwood?”

“Hm? Oh yeah. *Slurp!* That was its real name, wasn’t it?”

“So it’s actually working for the Foundation?”

“Yep. Even has a codename. *Slurp!* ‘Agent Sandbox’ or something.”

“Unbelievable. I never thought that thing was capable of cooperating with its killers. Then again, I suppose I should have expected this.”

There was a reason the old saying ‘If you can’t beat ‘em – join ‘em!’ was coined by a doppelganger. Which, incidentally, was this elf’s true identity. Beneath those striped rags was an old, sour, and experienced ‘ganger that used to go by many names, such as Reginald Namhel, Reggie, or ‘Project Lighthouse.’ He currently had an agreement with Stain to hide him from the Foundation, though the slime had no idea she was harboring someone plotting on bringing down her employer. Or, maybe she did and didn’t care. Reggie wasn’t about to complain, so long as she maintained her end of the bargain.

“I am surprised you know that – *Slurp!* – exceptional specimen,” Stain commented.

“You shouldn’t be, though I would prefer it not find out that I am here. Things might get… ugly.”

“Worry not. I don’t have a reason to spill a secret. *Slurp!* Not for free, anyway.”

Reggie could respect that. Though he was ‘under the influence’ back then, he had worked with Stain before, so he knew she was not one to back out of a deal without a very good reason. His main concern was what Boxxy would do if it found out he was here, as there was a chance that youngling would sell him out to its new bosses. At the very least, Reggie had something of a contingency plan, though it was only to be used as a last resort. After all, there was no telling how Boxxy would react if he revealed that the Foundation already knew the true identity of the Hero of Chaos. Would it rebel against them and try to eliminate them first because it felt threatened? Maybe it would hide itself away and start its charade over from scratch? It might just let bygones be bygones and maintain the status quo. That would be the best case scenario for all parties involved, but, given that thing’s track record, it was just as likely to unleash a Calamity upon Azurvale for shits and giggles. In the end, neither Reggie nor the Foundation knew what would happen if this information were to leak out, which was why both parties had elected to keep quiet.

However, unlike a bunch of elves with too much power, a doppelganger would not hesitate to roll that chest-shaped die should push come to shove.

A Tale of Problems and Solutions

Fizzy’s right hand clasped tightly around the slim hammer’s handle as she raised it overhead. Her left firmly held a piece of red-hot metal between her fingers. She carefully positioned the plate against the pitch black anvil underneath and, for lack of a better term, took aim. The golem steadied her feet, sharpened her focus, and swung her tool down while trying to use just the right amount of force.

*CLANNNNG*

Metal clashed against metal, sending a deluge of sparks in every direction. They bounced harmlessly off her impeccable mithril hide before spilling onto the floor and disappearing. The rectangular plate deformed unnaturally as the hammer strike sent ripples through it. Its wider sides arched upwards seemingly all on their own, causing the half-molten shard to adopt a smooth quarter-pipe shape. Fizzy carefully lifted it up, thoroughly inspected it, then held it up to her side so her teacher could have a look as well.

“I think you used too much force again,” the man said, adjusting his spectacles. “Better quench it for forty seconds, just in case.”

The golem nodded and lowered the metal fragment into the reddish murky fluid of a nearby metal vat. The liquid sizzled, bubbled, and even slightly caught fire as it tried desperately to soothe the metal’s heat. After precisely forty seconds, the rookie Blacksmith lifted the newly-forged component out of the liquid. The mithril shard’s red glow had all but disappeared, leaving behind a pure white radiant glimmer that gave off copious amounts of steam. This lasted until the liquid clinging to it completely evaporated in a few seconds, at which point it heated right back up again with the same intense red light as before.

“Yeah, see the warping here?” the tutor pointed out a flaw. “The surface is uneven and wavy. Just a tiny bit too much force.”

This was Malcolm Gero, a human artisan who lived and worked in Gun Tarum, the Horkensaft Kingdom’s capital. He was a Blacksmith, Enchanter, and the man responsible for fixing Fizzy’s left arm after the previous Hero of the Hammer broke it off. He had short, scruffy, chestnut-colored hair and pale green eyes hidden behind round spectacles. He looked more or less the same as he did back when the golem first met him, especially the way his face made it seem like he hadn’t slept in days. His clothing consisted of old wool work clothes primarily brown and dark green in color, which covered every part of him aside from his head.

“Damn, I could’ve sworn I did it right this time,” Fizzy grumbled.

“Oh, no, you definitely did it right,” the man reassured her. “Just because it has a minor flaw doesn’t mean it’s no good.”

Pure mithril was a quirky material that seemed to act of its own volition during the forging process, so tiny defects were unavoidable unless one were a master.

“Yes, it does. It has to be perfect.”

Malcolm mostly used his craft to make weapons, armor, and the occasional golem patch-job, so he could be forgiven for not understanding Fizzy’s need for precision. An Artificer’s craft was a delicate and accurate art, so even the tiniest flaw could prove disastrous. That went double for Arclight Artificers, whose creations were more prone to malfunctions than the Automata or Flamespitter specializations of the Job.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Malcolm said with a soft smile. “Frankly, the fact you can already handle pure mithril to this degree is incredible. Most apprentice Blacksmiths need at least five or six years before they’re skilled enough to even think about working with the stuff, yet you made it this far in just over a month.”

“Please, I’m no stranger to working the forge. Been relying on Component Forging ever since I could swing a hammer.”

Just because one didn’t have the Blacksmith Job didn’t prevent them from hitting heated lumps of metal with a hammer. However, it was necessary if one hoped to keep up with the demands of high-Level adventurers and artisans. Blacksmiths, Enchanters, Alchemists, and Artificers all needed one another in varying degrees to further their craft. The only truly ‘independent’ artisan-type Job was Gatherer, though they were more focused on procuring raw materials than shaping them into something new. Fizzy’s Arclight Artificer Job had reached a stage where it was nigh-impossible to make meaningful progress without officially taking up smithing. It was something she’d been meaning to do ever since she abandoned her flesh, but she didn’t get the opportunity to fully devote herself to her craft until after Edward was a blood smear. Her combat-oriented Jobs had stagnated somewhat since she wasn’t fighting as much, but she had still become a Level 23 Blacksmith in record time.

This rapid progress was made possible by two factors – the golem’s aforementioned familiarity with the forge, and her innate ability to ‘talk’ to metals via Metallopathy. This trait allowed her to ‘negotiate’ with mithril in a way that would otherwise be impossible without the Magical Metallurgy Skill obtained by reaching Level 40 Blacksmith. She could potentially use Geomagnetic Grip to forcefully bend the metal into a certain shape, but the result was neither precise nor sturdy enough for her growing needs. High-Level Artificer inventions demanded parts of a suitably high quality, which in turn required rare and expensive materials be handled with careful and experienced hands.

Now that she had chosen to become a Blacksmith, Fizzy was able to handle assembling her gadgets and inventions from a much earlier stage. The Equipment Maintenance and Leathercraft Skill she got from her new Job were not all that useful, but Forge Control and Basic Metallurgy were another story. She could now smelt ingots by herself or make her own non-magical alloys instead of relying on someone else to get things just right. The Job also had the side-effect of providing her with a bunch of STR and END. Though relatively mediocre in terms of quantity, these additional Attributes were quite potent when applied to the body of a mithril dynamo golem.

“Heh. To be honest, I can’t help but feel a bit jealous,” Malcolm admitted while scratching his cheek. “I’m just glad you’re not delving into the smithing business for real. Otherwise, not only me but even the dwarven smiths in town would be out of a job.”

“It’s only natural to feel inferior,” Fizzy replied. “I’ll admit you’re skilled, but there’s no way a meatbag like you could compete with someone as insanely talented and stunningly shiny as me.”

“Uh, Fizzy? I’m pretty sure he was looking for sympathy,” Plus butted in. “I mean look at him, I think he’s about to rip his hair out in frustration. Or cry. Possibly both.”

“That’s his own fault for being weak-willed and feeble-bodied,” Minus argued. “Besides, it’s not like Fizzy said anything untrue.”

“I guess…”

Girls, do you mind? I need to focus.

The Parallel entities quieted, allowing the dynamo golem to concentrate on the next step. She raised her special hammer in the air and began gauging where to strike the heated mithril plate between her fingers.

*BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG*

Unfortunately, she didn’t get to make that swing before a loud banging on the metal door behind her ruined her concentration. She lowered her tool and looked towards Malcolm, who was adjusting his glasses with a displeased look on his face.

“How rude!” he exclaimed as he walked towards the door. “Don’t they see the ‘Occupied’ sign outside?”

Though the human had a forge at his workshop, it was not hot enough to work mithril. That was why he and his pupil came to this communal foundry. Anyone with enough gold could rent one of the facility’s advanced forge-rooms, and none who did wanted to be disturbed. It was common courtesy not to bother artisans working their craft, be they smiths or something else. Malcolm was quite justified in being ticked off at this insistent visitor. The man unlocked the door and pulled it open just enough to show his face through the gap. On the other side was a well-dressed gnomish woman with pink hair tied up in a bun and a folder of some kind in her hands. She had four dwarves with her, all wearing thick-looking armor and mean-looking expressions. They did an excellent job of deflating Malcolm’s ire, and he instantly transitioned from pissed off to apologetic.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Good day, sir,” the gnome said politely. “Forgive the intrusion, but I was told this was where I could find one Fizzy Rustblood.”

The man heard a bunch of clicking and buzzing noises from behind, but he didn’t want to appear rude to these fine gentlemen with large beards and larger axes by turning his gaze away.

“Is there such an individual here?”

“What if there is?”

“Then I would very much like to speak with them.”

“Uhm, one moment.”

Malcolm looked over his shoulder to call over the gnome-looking construct, but his words got stuck in his throat. Barely a moment later, the door was opened inwards by some unseen force, knocking him to the side. The four dwarven bodyguards went on high alert at the sight of the slightly irate, heavily armored, and highly charged mithril golem on the other side. They stood their ground and clenched their weapons, ready to react should the construct make any sudden moves.

“What is it, meatbag?” Fizzy said coldly, her metallic voice grating against the ear. “And it better be important.”

“… Err… Ahem! G-greetings, miss Rustblood,” the other woman replied after recomposing herself. “I have an urgent summons for you.”

She held out a beige envelope stamped with some sort of F-shaped seal. Fizzy stepped forward, snagged it out of her hand, and immediately ripped it open. She only needed to look over the documents for a few moments before she realized what this was about.

“I’m being sued for patent infringement?!”

Her shriek of disbelief was accompanied with a few loud snaps of lightning that leaped between her circular head ornaments.

“Quite so. The Weavertron Five Thousand™ schematic you submitted to the Department of Patent Regulation in relation to patent number 624-C was found to use proprietary technology belonging to my client. As a direct result-”

*Ka-chank*

Fizzy’s right wrist opened up and her built-in plasma cannon popped out of her forearm, aimed squarely at the gnomish woman’s head.

“I will only tell you once. Leave.”

“Come now, there is no reason we can’t be civilized.”

Bolts of lightning began to dance across Fizzy’s chassis and leaped between the two large round coils attached to her head.

“Three.”

“Ma’am?!” one of the dwarves asked, clearly waiting for direction. “What do we do?”

“Two.”

“Now see here you ruffian! I will not be-”

*Pachew*

A blue bolt of pseudo-plasma shot out of Fizzy’s arm and flew right past the other party’s head, singing her pink hair bun, silencing her complaints, and melting a hole through the wall in the back.

“One.”

“You’ll pay for this, psycho!”

The stubborn woman finally got the message and practically ran out screaming with her useless escorts in close pursuit. Satisfied with that outcome, Fizzy put away the weapon and closed the door. Malcolm just sort of stared at the whole thing in utter bewilderment without thinking to get his ass off the filthy floor. It took him a few moments before he realized the sudden ordeal was all over and that it was probably safe to speak up.

“Well, I suppose that’s one way to get rid of a lawyer,” he commented.

“Yeah. There’s a much better way, though,” Fizzy replied absentmindedly.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Not missing.”

“Ah. Ahah. Hah. Hmm.”

The human forced a laugh at what he presumed was a bad joke, but his mechanized pupil’s unflinching expression suggested she was completely serious.

“Mind if I ask what’s all this about?” he asked, gesturing in the heavy-duty golem’s general direction.

“What?”

“Where did all that armor come from?”

“Oh, right, you’ve never seen me like this. Gimme two seconds.”

Fizzy put the documents she was mulling over on the nearby table and assumed a neutral standing position. Her body was enveloped by a web of electrical arcs, followed by her armor splitting apart like a puzzle. It folded in and rearranged itself, causing the golem to rapidly shrink. A few moments later, a second flash of lightning ran down her frame, sealing the vast majority of gaps and seams between her new ‘skin’ to form large plates of smooth, shiny mithril. The golem’s overall appearance had shifted from an armored juggernaut to something more akin to a normal person wearing a mithril suit. There was no doubt as to her mechanical nature since the gaps between her metal plates and joints showed hints of her inner workings. All of the heavy and bulky armor had seemingly disappeared, and her shield had shrunk to a bracelet-like accessory on her left arm. Her limbs and figure were far more elegant and slender, with a modest bust, narrow waist, and wide hips that gave her a distinctly feminine and conventionally appealing shape. This sensual shift also affected the two spherical coils on her head, which now resembled rigid twin-tails that nearly went down to her shoulders and occasionally let out puffs of steam from their sides.

On the whole, this form seemed to have been based on Fizzy’s memories of her meatbag self, but only loosely. While it definitely resembled the gnome she used to be, it was far more womanly. Her waist was never anywhere that thin, her legs were definitely longer, and her rear bumper was unquestionably rounder and fuller than the original’s. Not that she’d complain. As for all that padding and plating she ‘took off,’ the golem wasn’t entirely sure where it went. Best as she could figure, her ticking core absorbed it and deposited it into some Storage-like space. There was no way to know for sure. This vital component, which served both as her heart and brain, was so far beyond its owner’s comprehension that she had completely given up trying to decipher its mysteries.

“Better?” she asked with a 60,000 GP smile.

“Ah. Yes. Much. I’m sorry, no, but what? Since when can you do that sort of thing?!”

“It’s just a golem Skill, don’t worry about it.”

More specifically, it was the ability that Fizzy originally wanted at Level 10 War Golem, but her circumstances at that time forced her to pass it over for the Lightning Warp Skill.

[Physical Augmentation Module]
Acquisition of one (1) self-configuration module intended for rapid switching between specialized combat and support roles.
Requirements: Level 10 War Golem, Level 25 Artificer
Type: Active
Activation Time: 2 seconds
Cost: 300 MP
Range: Self
[Effects]
Permanently transforms the user into a different form upon activation.
Grants access to a new transformation at Level 1, 4, 7 and 10 of this Skill.

That conundrum was from over six months ago. Fizzy’s part in the Gilded Hand subjugation had pushed her past Level 15 of the Job, which allowed her to finally pick up the P.A.M. Since then, she had been using it regularly, allowing her to raise it up to Level 7 and unlock three additional transformations on top of her original ‘Skirmisher Mode.’ The one she was using right now was Service Mode. As was readily apparent, it was a lighter, nimbler, and more compact version of herself. In exchange, her body couldn’t exert as much strength, its armor was much thinner, and some Skills – like her Magitech Cannon – could not be used. Though Fizzy couldn’t know for certain, it seemed fairly obvious this Service Mode was intended to facilitate the needs of her Artificer Job. The form overhauled her joints and hinges so they were more suited for precise and delicate movement rather than absorbing heavy impacts. Her wrists were especially flexible, able to spin a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees with ease. Service Mode also added a magnification function to her eyes, making it easier to keep track of her handiwork. Of course, the same could be achieved with some specially designed goggles, but having that as a built-in feature was tremendously convenient. It was also ‘pretty freaking cool,’ according to Plus.

The second transformation, which she attained at Level 4 of the Skill, was something called Charger Mode. This was a purely combat-oriented configuration that excelled at running into things at high speed and turning them into dust and pieces, though its freakishly large arms and fists were rather slow and difficult to control. Level 7 of the Module granted her access to Fortress Mode, which somewhat limited her mobility but made her armor much thicker. It also replaced her Static Field Skill with an ability that projected a defensive barrier around the golem and any nearby allies so long as she kept it charged with lots of MP. Fizzy didn’t know what to expect from the final form, nor when she would obtain it, but she was looking forward to it.

“Don’t worry about it, she says,” Malcolm rubbed his head. “So what if I’m a golem maker, you know? Why would I care if the highly advanced pure mithril construct that arrived on my doorstep can also transform and has electrical powers? It’s not like it concerns my life’s work or my area of expertise or anything.”

The man’s disbelief was rather understandable considering this was the first time he’d seen anything other than Service Fizzy. He understood she had Ranked Up since their last meeting and assumed that that was what she looked like now. Why wouldn’t he? Machines that transformed to that absurd a degree were the stuff of outlandish fiction and needlessly complicated children’s toys. Hearing his complaints made the golem sympathize with him a little. She imagined she’d be similarly peeved if Malcolm had some fantastical device that revolutionized her understanding of mechano-magical engineering.

“Sorry, Service Mode’s already a habit. I wasn’t trying to hide it, I just tend to stay like this whenever I’m not in the field.”

The lightweight form was easier to move around in and made her seem less like a monster and more like a person. Both were vital when trying to fit in with meatbag society in order to take advantage of their goods and services. Incidentally, whenever she asked Boxxy what its favorite configuration was, it said it liked them all because they were all Fizzy. She really didn’t know what to make of that statement, so she merely chalked it up to ‘shapeshifter sensibilities’ and took it as a compliment.

“Anyway, I’m going to have to cut today’s session short,” the golem moved to pack up her tools and materials. “I really need to go deal with this patent infringement thing.”

“… Patent infringement?” the man repeated. “Wait, that’s what you’re getting sued for?!”

Generally speaking, patents were something only Artificers had to worry about, but Malcolm had lived in Gun Tarum long enough to know the gist.

“There has to be some mistake,” he continued. “I mean, I can’t see someone as serious about their craft as you resort to stealing ideas.”

“Oh, I didn’t. And it’s no mistake. They’re trying to claim my work as their own, the bastards.”

“Who is ‘they?’”

“Clan Fizzlesprocket.”

Malcolm took this revelation surprisingly well. Frankly speaking, learning one of the most influential families in Gun Tarum was up to no good was the least surprising thing he’d heard all year.

“I see. Well, good luck with that.”

“I don’t need luck. I have a Goddess of Gambling on my side!”

Fizzy put on the backpack containing her stuff and left the forge, leaving Malcolm to deal with the repair bill for the hole she made with her earlier warning shot. She would pay him back later, but right now she needed to move fast. As expected of her father’s former clan, the Fizzlesprockets did not waste time and had set the date for the hearing in a mere three days. They argued that the Demon Silk weaving machine Fizzy made could not function without their ‘exclusive power distribution circuits,’ which meant they were entitled to shared ownership of the patent at the least. Fizzy would not let them have that without a fight. That was her creation, damn it. The only reason she submitted a patent for it was so the Artificer community would know of her genius, yet those leeches were trying to claim it as their own.

This unquestionably dickish move was nothing new, of course. Fizzy had heard plenty of stories where one of ‘the big three’ used their influence and power to pressure independent tinkerers into submission, all for the sake of making a profit off of their work. The three-day deadline was part of their strategy. Giving the other side as little time as possible to prepare for a trial was an effective move. After all, a case cobbled together over a few days would surely seem flaky when placed against one that had been in the making for weeks, possibly months. The Fizzlesprockets probably would’ve waited until minutes before the trial to serve Fizzy those papers if it didn’t go against the very laws they were trying to abuse.

One thing was clear – no matter how much prep work that pink-haired snake had put into this, she and her ‘client’ clearly had no idea who they were messing with.

When the day of the hearing came, both parties gathered inside the Municipal Tribunal building. It was a place for settling civil disputes such as patent infringement, and, though it did have seats for witnesses and observers, it was usually mostly empty. This wasn’t the present case, as the tiered benches inside the auditorium were nearly full. Roughly two hundred people had gathered on the ‘stands’ and were buzzing with anticipation as if this was some form of entertainment. This turnout clearly did not please the Fizzlesprocket representative – the same woman who delivered the subpoena. Her pink-haired bun still hadn’t recovered from Fizzy’s ‘warning shot,’ so she was forced to style it in a pixie cut. To her right was the raised podium where the judge presiding over this case would sit once the proceedings got underway. To her left was another long desk, identical to hers, where the defendant and her legal counsel were seated. These three pieces of stone-hewn furniture were arranged in an equilateral triangle and all faced the center where a circular stand for witnesses was located.

The trial got underway when the judge, a dwarf named Agok Evenward, arrived and took his seat. The gnome representing the influential clan introduced herself as Lumi Fizzlesprocket and presented her side’s case. They claimed that Fizzy had created a new invention with the intent to earn money off it either by selling it as-is or through its operation, otherwise she wouldn’t have acquired the patent. They weren’t entirely wrong, as Boxxy was going to make a killing off the Weavertron Five Thousand™. The defense wouldn’t even fight this point. The golem’s side was going to focus on contesting the claim that her machine relied heavily on Fizzlesprocket proprietary technology in order to function. Unless that claim was disproven, then the gnomes would win and gain the ability to legally mass-produce and sell the machine without its actual creator’s knowledge or approval. They could also demand compensation from Fizzy to cover any ‘damages.’ The golem doubted their actual aim had anything to do with money. She thought it far more likely they just wanted to obtain the rights to use her original designs and ideas that were part of the schematic to further their own projects.

This motive was part of a long-running scheme to control the flow of technology and information, which the Fizzlesprocket household deemed would be of vital importance in the decades and centuries to come. Fizzy was not keen to let them have their way, so she sent out her legal counsel to carry out her defense. The man in question was an elf from the Ishigar Republic embassy named Hamon Farkian, and he was representing a citizen of his home nation. The blue-haired elf in the sharp suit knew his way around the Horkensaft Kingdom’s laws, so he and his client were able to prepare a surprisingly solid defense despite the sudden deadline.

Hamon started by conceding that the power source the machine used was based on a similar principle to the plaintiff’s. Engraving a special conductive fluid into metal plating to produce power amplifying circuits was something of a staple of Fizzlesprocket-made contraptions. However, the initial concept was owned by Ekaterina Dragunova, the Original Artificer, and was therefore public domain since she was deceased with no heirs. Henceforth, any technology developed with that idea at its core was ‘fair game.’ Since Fizzy’s version used a completely different carving pattern and alchemical solution, it should be considered different enough to be its own separate design.

Lumi immediately countered by claiming that was not the case and called forth an expert from the Department of Patent Regulation to the stand. The witness claimed they found the component schematics submitted by Fizzy Rustblood to be a derivative of Fizzlesprocket-owned intellectual property. The patent in question, bearing the serial number 506-D, was one the influential family had acquired very recently. The defendant did not own the rights to use or build upon said intellectual property, so House Fizzlesprocket was justified in seeking its due. Namely, a hefty fine and legal ownership of Fizzy’s new patent.

It was the defense’s turn to question the witness. Fizzy’s attorney asked the DPR official about the ‘illegally appropriated technology’ more in depth. It became evident that the design was sent to the Department through a courier by a gnomish Artificer in the Lodrak Empire. The man in question was Rory Fizzlesprocket. He had submitted it as an independent entity since he had been disowned and exiled by the head family, and it was indeed approved by the DPR. However, since the man and all his descendants were presumed dead, the Fizzlesprocket household claimed ownership of the ‘orphaned’ design. They’d been trying to get their hands on it for months, but the paperwork hadn’t made it through the Kingdom’s convoluted bureaucratic pipeline until a week ago.

Fizzy let out a breathless, tired sigh. She had a feeling it would come to this, and though she was loathe to do so, she saw no other options. She signaled her representative to bring out ‘the big guns,’ prompting him to reveal that his client was actually Cornie Fizzlesprocket, the rightful heir of said patent. The crowd grew quite noisy, and the judge slammed down his gavel, demanding silence. He’d always wanted to do that, but never got the chance due to the generally boring nature of patent trials. He had a feeling today would be anything but ordinary. The Rustblood Juggernaut always attracted a crowd, and she never failed to get them heated up.

Having restored order, the judge directed the elven attorney to present evidence of his claim. Which he did, and copious amounts of it at that. Strictly speaking, it was inevitable that Fizzy’s meatbag origins would one day be put into question considering it was an outlandish tale. Thus, she had all the necessary paperwork to prove who she used to be prepared ages ago, with a little help from Keira’s FIB friends. Since the Horkensaft Kingdom placed great importance on one’s lineage, it was only natural she’d have them close at hand to corroborate her backstory. She even backed it up herself while under Teresa’s Oath. The tribunal’s Scribes confirmed there was no change in her FTH Attribute before and after her testimony, meaning that she was indeed telling the truth. Admittedly, not the whole truth, but more than enough to prove her point.

Faced with such overwhelming evidence, the court had no choice but to accept Fizzy as the last living descendant of Rory Fizzlesprocket. Extremely unlikely circumstances aside, the law was quite clear. The patent belonged to her, so Fizzlesprocket’s claims were flawed from the start. The elven attorney named Hamon even bit back, demanding the plaintiffs be stripped of their ownership of her father’s patent, as it was appropriated using false or incomplete information. The other attorney did not skip a beat and immediately shifted the point in a completely different direction. She put forth that the defendant testified she had been renamed by a Scribe after her permanent transformation into a metal construct. So, at one point in time, she had been a golem that bore the Fizzlesprocket name before it was illegally removed. In other words, Lumi was claiming that Fizzy was actually an ‘item’ that rightfully belonged to her client’s household along with any and all ‘property’ in her possession, intellectual or otherwise.

At this point, the trial turned into a mudslinging match. Questions regarding traditions, laws, technicalities, ethics, and all sorts of other gray areas were thrown about. Even Fizzy’s involvement with the Vault Beneath the Mountain and her part in reconnecting the Kingdom with the estranged moon-gnomes were brought up. At one point, about four hours into the trial, the radiant Paladin’s faith and acquaintances were coming under attack. The golem decided to draw the line and take matters into her own hands.

“Objection, Your Honor!”

The debate came to a screeching halt upon Fizzy raising her hand and shouting loudly. Her lawyer looked at her with a face of ‘What the fuck are you doing?!’ but she paid him no mind. To his credit, Mr. Hamon Farkian was very good at his job, but his opponent was a gnome with a natural talent for burying solid arguments under inane legal-sounding drivel and technobabble. It was unfortunate, but it would appear he was unable to ‘seal the deal,’ and Fizzy had better things to do than entertain this farce.

“And what is it you might be objecting to, miss Rustblood?”

The judge replied in a surprisingly calm voice considering the headache he was getting from those two snakes hissing at each other.

“To this ridiculous debate. See, from what I understand, the trial hinges on whether the court decides that I’m legally an item or a person. And, the reason Your Honor cannot decide is because this tribunal has never seen such a case.”

“Indeed, that is more or less where we are at, miss Rustblood.”

That was the core of the dwarven judge’s problem. There was no judicial precedent, meaning that it was highly likely this case would create one. Whether he ruled in favor of Rustblood or Fizzlesprocket, his decision would surely shape future laws and trials that involved enlightened minds trapped within monsters’ bodies. Knowing the judicial system as well as he did, he could easily see this seemingly inconsequential patent infringement lawsuit being used as an example in both civil and criminal law disputes. Some might say he was overthinking things, but the judge nevertheless refused to pass a verdict until he was one hundred percent certain of his answer.

“Then I wish the court to consider the following question.”

The golem rose from her seat and stood on top of the stone desk in front of her. She activated her Physical Augmentation Module, causing her slender frame to rapidly increase in size, mass, and height as it gave way to Skirmisher Mode. Once the transformation was finished, she was so heavy that the solid stone piece of furniture she was standing on threatened to crack and buckle under the tread of her heels.

“If this ‘item’ decides to slaughter every last meatbag in this room, then who is going to be responsible for its actions?”

She stomped down with her right leg, breaking the straining desk and reducing it to a pile of rubble with a loud crash. This naturally caused a bout of panicked screaming and guards were no doubt on their way to subdue the disturbance, but she just smiled brightly at the dwarven judge and pair of lawyers.

“Hypothetically speaking, of course,” the golem added.

She switched back to her previous configuration, sat back down in her seat, and crossed her legs as if nothing had happened. Armed men and women of various vocations began pouring into the courtroom, but the judge was quick to tell them to stand down, keep watch, and be quiet. He turned towards the pale-faced, gnomish prosecutor, who had ducked behind her own desk during the commotion.

“Well, Ms. Fizzlesprocket? Any further objections as to miss Rustblood’s claims to full and sole ownership of patents number 624-C and 506-D?”

The pink-haired woman’s head shook frantically since her words were stuck in her throat. She hid it well, but having her face nearly melted off three days ago had been a profoundly jarring experience. Combined with Fizzy’s ‘hypothetical’ threat, she was more than convinced some things were more important than a stupid patent or two. Like her head. And pulse. Not to mention her ability to breathe. Also, her ongoing existence. She was fond of all of those.

“Very good,” the judge nodded. “In that case, I declare miss Rustblood the sole rightful owner of patents number 624-C, 506-D, as well as any other intellectual property submitted to the DPR by Rory Fizzlesprocket following his relocation to the Lodrak Empire. The plaintiff is also hereby sentenced to hand over any schematics, prototypes, and/or inventions based on any such patents to Fizzy Rustblood. Failure to do so within ten business days will result in a 3,000 GP fine with another 1,000 for every five additional days of noncompliance.”

Fizzy raised her hands in the air as if she’d just won a round in the local coliseum’s monster fighting circuit, but the dwarven judge wasn’t quite finished yet.

“As for you, miss Rustblood. While I can respect your… passion… I am significantly less appreciative of your destruction of Tribunal property. I hereby find you guilty of contempt of court, and sentence you pay a fine of 2,500 GP on top of any property damage inflicted. Failure to do so within ten business days will result in your imprisonment for a duration of up to two hundred days. Court is now adjourned.”

*BANG BANG BANG*

The judge slammed his gavel three times to signify the end of the trial. Fizzy was significantly less elated after being put on the spot like that, but she nevertheless left the courtroom with her head held high. The attorney following closely behind clearly wasn’t as pleased with the outcome.

“Are you nuts?!” the man asked in a hushed voice.

“No, I’m Fizzy.”

“I’m serious! You’re lucky he let you off with just a fine! Do you have any idea how close you came to being branded an enemy of the state?!”

“Fairly, yeah. However, I’d much rather be labeled a monster or a criminal than someone’s property.”

“Let me guess – not unless it’s Boxxy, right?” Minus sneered.

“Well, at least it knows to treat us with the respect, adoration, and attention we deserve,” Plus chimed in.

“You’ll be singing a different tune once it finds out the bill we just racked up. It’s gonna be PISSED.”

“It’ll be fiiiine. Fizzy just has to wiggle her bumper a few times and it’ll forgive us in no time!”

“We can’t keep doing that. One day it’ll stop working and then we’ll be deep in the shit.”

“If that’s true, then we might as well make the most of it while we still got it!”

“Ugh…”

“Frankly speaking,” the golem continued while the Parallels argued, “that ridiculous little pink meatbag should be thankful I didn’t ram her head down her throat for all those disingenuous assertions, snide insinuations, and derogatory terms.”

“You know that prideful attitude of yours just made you a very powerful enemy, right?” the elf retorted.

“I don’t give a rusty damn how high and mighty they think they are. If they try to come after me or my work again, whatever happens to them will be on their own heads.”

True, the Fizzlesprockets may have had friends in high places, but none were out of reach when it came to Fizzy’s own acquaintances. In fact, the golem had to practically nag Boxxy into letting her handle this her own way, otherwise it was liable to take things into its own hands. Tentacles. Whatever. Point was, she couldn’t care less if that clan mysteriously disappeared from the face of the planet, but she wouldn’t be able to accomplish one of her personal goals if she did that. She aimed to prove to them and the rest of the world that she, as a single golem, was superior to all of the Fizzlesprocket household combined.

“Haaaaah…” the lawyer groaned a sigh. “I guess I should just stop complaining and be happy we won.”

“Yes, you should.”

“I just have one more niggle, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Asking is free, I suppose.”

“Did you have to break that table?”

“Of course, I did.”

“How’d you figure? And please don’t tell me it was because ‘the muffin man inside your head told you so’ like last time.”

“You see, Mr. Farkian, once you’ve been tossed about by the whimsical flows of chaos as much as I have, you begin to realize something. A sort of hidden nugget of truth about this world that all of Rick’s faithful uncover sooner or later.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“There is no such thing as a problem that cannot be solved with the right application of force.”

It was the magnitude, direction, and mass behind said universal solution that the golem was still having trouble with, but she’d get the hang of it eventually.

A Tale of Forward Thinking

The musty old warehouse’s front doors creaked as Sandman walked into the barn-like building. While not in its prime, this run-down place was still used as a storage space for rows upon rows of wooden boxes, kegs, and crates lining the walls. The towering mercenary ignored them, as his objective was the six cubic aquariums arranged neatly in the middle of the warehouse. They were about a meter and a half on each side, and each contained a sea monster known as a mawloc. These creatures appeared as a cross between a frog and anglerfish the size of a fat sheep. Their four webbed limbs were much too short for walking on land, but allowed for quick, sudden movements underwater. The monsters’ fronts were dominated by wide mouths lined with needle-like teeth, which served as the species’ namesake, and each one had a stalk tipped with a glowing bulb poking out of their four-eyed faces.

A man wearing a long, dark blue naval officer’s coat emerged from a nearby corner without attempting to hide his presence. His face was rough and wrinkled, with greying hair and beard – a stereotypical ‘sea dog’ if Boxxy ever saw one. It was a fitting appearance for the person who’d wrangled this fish-faced haul.

“Mr. S,” the captain said with a nod.

“Mr. F,” the masked vigilante replied.

“I trust you are in good health?”

“Mostly. What about yourself? Any problems with this latest batch?”

“A few, unfortunately. That one over there, the orange one with the black spots? Turned into a lion mawloc instead of the standard variant when she Ranked Up.”

“Anything I need to be wary of?”

“The barbs growing out of her back are venomous, and she’s exceptionally lazy. I still trained her to your specifications, so no worries there. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the one in the corner.”

“The tank marked with the red circle?”

“Aye, that’s the one. It’s exceptionally willful, so I’m afraid I wasn’t able to mold its Status up to the same standard as the others.”

“Hmm, I’ll manage I suppose. You will, of course, give me a discount on that one, yes?”

“Well, now, that wasn’t what we agreed upon,” Mr. F said defensively. “You do realize how hard it was to get these things all the way from the Shimmering Ocean, yes? I had to cross the entire bloody Empire, and, with that Inquisition in full swing, smuggling is getting harder by the day.”

The Gilded Hand had been seemingly crushed and dismantled, and Teresa had revealed that the one that caused the Calamity of Monotal had paid for their sins with their life. These two facts had emboldened the Inquisition, who were now free to focus their efforts solely on the Empire’s internal affairs. Their latest Grand Inquisitor already had a widespread reputation for using forceful, borderline treasonous methods, such as forcing people to defend themselves while under Teresa’s Oath. It was an act considered illegal in most nations, Empire included, but that did not bother Sigmund Law. His Goddess-given mission was to smash through the red tape and bureaucratic nonsense to make ‘the law’ and ‘justice’ synonymous. The heavy-handed approach was often met with resistance, violent or otherwise, but in the end all would yield before the Hero’s divine authority. The Inquisition had successfully cracked down on various crime rings and corruption schemes with frightening efficiency and zeal. Unfortunately, they were a bit unprepared to deal with the problems caused by the ensuing power vacuum in the Empire’s underworld, but Law allegedly stated those issues were merely ‘growing pains.’

Mr. F, being a solo operator, had to navigate quite the minefield to make this delivery. He had a bit of leeway since it wasn’t illegal for a Monster Tamer to transport their creatures, but it was against the law to sell them to a non-tamer private party. The authorities had no way to gauge such intent, but the Inquisition’s interrogators were another story, and they would surely not fail to notice the suspicious nature of his cargo.

“So, if you want to keep availing yourself of my services,” the sailor continued, “I’m going to need you to pay me in full. I’ll also be raising my future prices to match my heightened expenses. I really should be asking for additional payment for this batch, but then I’d be known as a scumbag that backs out of a deal the first chance they get. That is a reputation neither of us want, especially in these troubled times. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. S?”

“You make a sound argument.”

The Sandman reached under his cloak and brought out a heavy steel lockbox full of gold.

“Reputation is everything, after all.”

He abruptly spun around, bashing the cloaked assassin sneaking up on him across the head with the metal container. The blunt force trauma did a magnificent job of rearranging his facial structure, but it wasn’t nearly enough to kill him. Leaving the now-bloodied box behind, Boxxy reached out its other hand and grabbed the dazed man by the neck. He flung him towards his companion on the overhead walkway and rolled out of the way of the magical projectiles that rained down from elsewhere, ducking behind some shadowy crates for cover.

“Damn you, you psychotic bastard!” one of the men holding a bow shouted. “You’ll pay for what you did to my brothers!”

A pair of blades slid between the gaps on his ribs, puncturing both of his lungs.

“Do you accept gold?” a smooth voice whispered in his ears. “Or would an ‘I.O.U.’ suffice?”

The man got a metal spike through the back of his skull before he could even attempt an answer. The Sandman then disappeared on the spot, vanishing into thin air before the other would-be vengeance seekers realized they’d lost one of their own. The shapeshifter silently cleared out the rest in a similar fashion over the next minute before returning to the ground floor. It went over to Mr. F, who was currently mumbling under his breath while counting his bloodied payment in a corner of the warehouse.

“Ah, all done are we?” he said when he saw Sandman approach. “That was faster than usual.”

This was hardly the first time a transaction between these two had been disturbed in such a manner, nor was it going to be the last. This ‘ambush’ was Mr. F’s doing, though in reality the humans were the ones he set up. It would seem a plethora of people sought vengeance upon the Sandman, either because of his involvement in some massive battle or because he single-handedly crushed their criminal organization. It didn’t matter much to Boxxy, since these idiots accomplished was delivering themselves into its belly. All Mr. F did was help expedite the process, which was something of a bonus.

“Is that their leader?” the crusty old sailor asked, jerking his head towards the corpse draped over Sandman’s shoulder.

“Probably. He was definitely the loudest.”

“Fair enough. Give him here.”

The body was thrown unceremoniously onto the ground, and the sailor crouched over it. A series of fleshy tendrils shot out from under his cloak, wrapping themselves around the body and pulling it into his chest, whereupon it was instantly absorbed. When Mr. F stood up, his face and body had transformed to match the victim. He scratched the stubble on his new chin as he filtered through the dead man’s memories.

“Ah, I see. Seems he had some more allies in reserve. Guess I’ll go pay them a visit, see if I can’t make some use of them. Want to come with?”

“No thanks, I’ve had enough. Go do what you do. I’ll send word if I need another batch.”

“As you say, Mr. S. Pleasure doing business with you as always.”

“Likewise.”

The two doppelgangers shook hands, after which Mr. F left the scene to let Boxxy deal with those six mawlocs. They were all rather agitated by the sudden commotion. One of the aquarium tanks was destroyed in that magical barrage, its occupant pathetically flopping about in a futile attempt to get back to water. The ex-mimic didn’t waste any more time and swiftly put the creature out of its misery with a stomp. It then drank it up with Cadaver Absorption to literally no effect. It was unfortunate, but not unexpected, hence why Boxxy had ordered so many of these in the first place.

It hadn’t been easy to find a reliable supplier of aquatic monsters. It wasn’t the sort of service one would need without obviously nefarious intentions. Thankfully for the shapeshifter, it and Stain maintained a cordial relationship bordering on friendship. The Warden had a few connections of her own, mostly people she had infected with her symbiotic offspring. Watford’s Slimeface was one of them, and it was through him that Boxxy got a lead on someone named Marcus Filch. The man had a reputation as a professional that provided just the kind of service the former mimic was looking for. As it turned out, this individual’s true identity was a shapeshifter that belonged to Reggie’s cartel, and Mr. F was his callsign. Though there was still no word from the ‘ganger capo, Boxxy did not hesitate to take advantage of the leftovers of his organization. In fact, the shapeshifter was quite delighted that it would be dealing with one of its kind rather than an enlightened.

The other party mirrored this sentiment. People were unpredictable, as there was no telling when and where one of their pesky emotions would jeopardize a deal. Intelligent monsters were significantly more pragmatic, and their lack of morality meant they only cared for things directly related to their needs. This professional relationship was a prime example. Mr. F did not question why Mr. S needed so many mawlocs, and the other party was similarly uninterested in how the monsters were procured. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. These creatures dwelled at the bottom of the Shimmering Ocean and were rarely seen by surface-dwellers, yet Mr. F was able to consistently capture, train, and deliver them. Boxxy wanted to know how this was accomplished, though this was little more than idle curiosity. Retaining Mr. F’s exemplary services was far more vital than scratching that whimsical itch.

Indeed, there didn’t seem to be anyone else who could do what the veteran doppelganger did. No enlightened would dare brave those uniquely dangerous depths on a regular basis. Aside from the krymer, of course. These fish-people allegedly had entire kingdoms strewn across the ocean floor. Mawlocs were no doubt as common to them as goblins were to the surface-dwellers. However, unlike Mr. F, krymer absolutely despised dry land. Though technically amphibious and capable of breathing outside water, the surface did not agree with their aquatic constitution. The sun blinded them, the dry air shriveled them, and their webbed feet and long tails were unsuited to walking. While these issues could be alleviated through magic and alchemy, there weren’t any feasible long-term solutions. Physical limits aside, there were also cultural factors that compounded a krymer’s unwillingness to leave their submerged environment. In short, even if one of these depth-dwellers could theoretically capture and train Mawlocs, none would transport them so far inland.

Mr. F had no such reservations. As a doppelganger, he could easily adapt his flesh to suit any environment, and the only ‘cultural factors’ that mattered to him were money-making and money-spending. He still preferred the water, though. He grew up among the krymer and learned much of their ways, including everything they knew about aquatic creatures. The shapeshifter was technically one, as his environment caused him to evolve into a slitherer – an adult doppelganger variant uniquely suited to traversing the depths. His subspecies also gave him a keen insight into the minds and abilities of his fellow sea monsters. That was how and why he was able to deliver a small school of mawlocs grown to Boxxy’s specifications every six weeks. His plant-based counterpart didn’t have any standard for comparison, but it knew enough about the difficulties involved to conclude that was an impressive capture rate. Thus, it did not hesitate to pay Mr. F’s premium fees.

[Your Cadaver Absorption was a moderate success!]
[30% of the target’s highest Skill Proficiency has been added to your own.]
[Proficiency level increased. Đisrupting Wave is now Level 3. INT +9. WIS +6.]

And it was upon absorbing the fifth mawloc in this latest batch that all the money Boxxy poured into this endeavor had finally paid off.

[Đisrupting Wave]
#̵҉D̢j͏̀g͘j͡4̶_̴f͜͏̡k͏̷̷ф̵͜hTṕ̷;͜͢Б̛҉ЯR3̕1-̨͏!m͢G̛͜͝@̷̕Л͠w̸̵҉
Requirements: OVERRIDDEN
Type: Activa̸t̴͝o̴͘r͏̀y͝͡
Activation Time: Instant
C0st: 100+10 MP
Range: 1 mete#
[Effects]
Resheaths a wave of p̸u̡͘d̢d̸̶i͡n̢҉̧g̨͠ ̶that removes mag1c effects from all targεts within range.
Powerful mag1c may require multiple Й̛͜о́͠Д̸̡ра̨͝% to be affected.
Increases the potency of the p̸u̡͘d̢d̸̶i͡n̢҉̧g̨͠ released by this $kill by 10% per Level of this $kill.
This $kill may not be activated more than once every 0.08333 minutes.

The information provided by the Skill itself was a little ‘spicy,’ but this was a temporary issue that would resolve itself with time, use, and a few extra Levels. It probably would’ve looked a lot more garbled if Boxxy didn’t already know what this was. Disrupting Wave was one of the more troublesome abilities most adult mawlocs seemed to possess. The angler-frog-fish primarily used it to cleanse themselves of harmful magical effects, which was exactly what the shapeshifter intended to do. Acquiring it was a lengthy, expensive endeavor, but it was far easier to make enough gold to keep paying Mr. F than to scour the ocean depths hoping it got lucky. Admittedly, there was still a measure of random chance involved with Cadaver Absorption, but the Monster Tamer’s premium service drastically increased the odds of this desired outcome.

The slitherer wasn’t around for this part. The Status-stealing Skill was something Boxxy wanted to keep under wraps, so it waited until its fellow shapeshifter was gone before it started absorbing the mawlocs. Mr. F would return later to clean up the mess as part of their arrangement, leaving the Sandman-shaped monster free to consider its next Skill acquisition target. Perhaps, it might be better to think bigger and consider what Job to tackle next instead? Boxxy then realized it was getting ahead of itself, as it still had a call to make.

1-800-7355-9687-7685

*Beep ... Beep ... Beep*

*Click*

“Hello. You have reached- Oh, sorry Boxxy. Force of habit,” apologized Carl. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s about that Quest reward from Tamba the Samba Mamba. I’m ready to accept it now.”

“Well, that’s just super. Hold on, I’ll transfer you.”

The monster got to enjoy that calming hold music for a minute or two before it was interrupted by a loud ‘Boop!’

“Yo! Having fun, Boxxy?” Nigel’s cheerful voice echoed inside the monster’s head.

“Could say that. I assume you know why I’m calling?”

“Because you want the secret to the world’s tastiest fried shrimp?”

“What? No, you know I hate crayfish.”

“And I hate it when people make assumptions about me, so we’re even.”

“Fine. I’m calling about Mortimer’s Quest reward. I’m ready for it.”

The task titled ‘Train the next Hero of Death’ had been accomplished about two weeks ago, when Kaede officially became Mortimer’s new Hero. Apparently, the God of Death and Commerce was quite pleased with Boxxy’s work, though not to the point he offered it any extra rewards. The shapeshifter wasn’t too peeved at the lack of a bonus since the Quest’s primary compensation had been more than enough to motivate it, and now was as good a time as any to cash in on it.

“Alrighty then. Let me just flex my godly muscles for a sec and…”

[Proficiency level decreased. Feline Agility is no longer available. AGI -30.]
[Your Cat Job has been removed. AGI -5. DEX -5. LCK -5.]

“There, all done,” Grimsby stated. “With that, I can officially close the book on the Mortimer team-up chapter. I suppose you can now focus on bringing up my great-great-great-grandchildren.”

“Oh. Right. Those.”

Frankly speaking, Boxxy was getting a little tired of picking up after the gods’ messes. So what if the archfiend bound to its service somehow had babies with a literal deity? It’s not like it ordered Arms to do that stuff with Teresa. However, it did allow those ‘booty calls’ to continue, and a Warlock was responsible for its familiars. Not to mention, it played a hand in setting up that entire situation by kicking off Teresa’s rehabilitation, so it was impossible to say it was uninvolved.

Thankfully, those three brats were someone else’s problem at the moment. The Goddess of Truth and Justice had forced the chore of raising them onto her own Hero for now, but they would become Keira’s burden when they grew up. Judging by the monstrous rate at which those girls were developing despite being enlightened, that seemed like it would come within a few years rather than a decade or two. Supposedly, it was only the first few generations that would grow that fast, which wasn’t much of a consolation to Boxxy.

“You know, I seem to recall you said you’d never force anything on me when we started this partnership,” it complained.

“And I have kept my word. You know full well you can still ignore your part in nurturing the nephilim race.”

Except, if Boxxy did that, Shaquisha would take away its title as Hero of Chaos and all the tasty Skills that came along with it.

“That’s hardly what I would call a fair choice,” the monster argued.

“Maybe not, but it’s yours to make.”

The Goddess of Happenstance had a point. Teaching a few people how to survive in this harsh world long enough to leave progeny was preferable to spending life as a doppelganger without the safety net of Essence Concealment. It was annoying and time-consuming, but preferable, nonetheless. It wasn’t much of a choice when one of the options was objectively better. It was practically an intelligence test at that point, and Jordan’s insistence to the contrary was grinding Boxxy’s gears.

“I really hate you sometimes,” it grumbled.

“Only sometimes? Huh. Must be losing my touch. For real though, are you going to play ball or not?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll figure something out when the time comes.”

“There’s a good sport. Off you go.”

*Click*

Boxxy’s focus gradually drifted back to its earlier line of thought as it walked through the night. It rapidly decided the new Skill it would aim for would be something to replace the loss of Feline Agility. Though the associated Cat Job was a waste of space, the Skill was quite handy since it amplified the effects of Boxxy’s AGI whenever it was airborne by 15%. It also reduced damage taken from falling, but that wasn’t much use to a shapeshifter capable of gliding at will. In any event, a feline monster would surely have a similar if not outright superior agility-enhancing Skill. The shapeshifter would also have a much easier time finding such a generic ability than the magic-nullifying trick of a freaky angler-frog-fish.

Having made up its mind, Boxxy began considering how to occupy its final, recently-vacated Job slot. Another Monster Job didn’t seem the best choice since it wouldn’t be able to progress it past Level 25. Besides, the shapeshifter felt it really didn’t need any more combat-oriented Jobs. It already had Mimic, Ranger, Blade Dancer, Wizard, and Warlock to satisfy its offensive and defensive needs. Arguably Doppelganger too, though that Job was more focused on avoiding confrontations than winning them. Utility Skills like Disrupting Wave were one thing, but Boxxy had so many Levels and Attributes that throwing in a whole new adventurer vocation would be like adding a cup of water to a full bathtub. It wouldn’t change much beyond potentially causing it to overflow and cause the monster’s power creep to resurface. Even if growing older had allowed its body to safely handle a greater volume of Attributes, its Status was always on the brink of its limits. The monster therefore considered if it should get another Artisan Job to pair with Artificer, much as Fizzy did with Blacksmith. Those professions were very slow-burning, so they wouldn’t risk a relapse of the aforementioned condition.

The shapeshifter kept mulling over its options for the next few hours as it made its way back to Azurvale. It could have just used Transfamiliar to cover the distance, but it was in no particular rush and walking helped it think. By the time it had slipped inside its dungeon, it had already decided on how to fill its last Job Slot, though it would handle that later. Right now, it wanted to focus on testing out its newest Skill.

“Like, hi boss!”

A buxom plant-woman appeared in front of the monster out of nowhere. However, her appearance, voice, and manner of speaking made it abundantly clear she was most definitely not Ambrosia.

“Hey, Lavender,” the shapeshifter responded. “Anything to report?”

“Same old, same old,” the alraune grumbled. “Oh, right, Kora was feeling bored, so she went for another round in the Atlas thingie.”

“I’m aware of that. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Uhm… Oh! I broke my record for how much of her dicks I could take inside me! Ambie got, like, super mad when she saw us practicing though. I wonder why?”

Boxxy already knew the answer. Ambrosia had grown rather fond of this slutty flower. Though the dryad was technically a monster, the divinity within caused her to exhibit enlightened behavior such as getting emotionally attached to certain individuals. The shapeshifter wasn’t going to complain since it was one of those, though the feelings Ambrosia had towards Lavender seemed distinctly more romantic. Well, either that or her natural need to mate and procreate was flaring up. That particular instinct was something the shapeshifter experienced firsthand recently when it passed a pregnant woman on the street, though it easily resisted its doppelganger body’s urge to reproduce.

Boxxy T. Morningwood was many things, but ‘breeder’ wasn’t one of them.

“Figure it out on your own,” it told the alraune. “If you can’t do that much, then you’d be a failure as a dungeon master.”

“Wow! That’s, like, so deep! Alright! I’ll go find out right away!”

The ridiculously proportioned flower-woman and her massive pink petals disappeared via Nexus Access, likely to find Ambrosia and have a little talk. Strictly speaking, Boxxy didn’t need the caretaker of its lair to know about reading people’s emotions. Her position as a dungeon master was simply a way to ensure her loyalty, making it mostly a decorative position befitting a mostly decorative existence. She did handle a few chores around the place, but her dimwittedness made it ill-advised to entrust her with anything important. At least she wasn’t clingy, so getting her to leave her ‘boss’ alone was painfully easy.

Now that it was free of that distraction, Boxxy summoned Drea to its side.

“H-hello, Master,” the spider-girl answered sheepishly. “Wuh-what do you ask of me?”

“I need you to help me with an experiment.”

“M-me? Why not the others?”

“Process of elimination.”

“Oh…” she said dejectedly.

Arms was in the middle of instant-dungeon-diving, and Snack was busy making sure Rowana stayed blissfully asleep, so Claws was the only disposable test subject left. Luckily, she would still be more than adequate, though the demon herself did not think this was fortunate in the slightest.

“You recently got that magic-blocking thing, right?”

“Do you mean my Draining String Skill?”

This webstalker ability allowed her to produce webs with MP-sapping properties similar to those of enchanted shackles used by law enforcement. She could even use it to shore up her own MP reserves, assuming the sticky strings were still connected to her body. It was something she gained as a direct result of Boxxy’s steadily growing INT, but Drea hadn’t had a good opportunity to use it yet.

“Yes, that. Wrap me up with it.”

“… As you command, master.”

The spider-demon did as instructed and covered the Sandman’s body head to toe in fresh webbing from her hands until the towering mercenary resembled a cocoon. The white strands immediately began glowing red as they sapped away its MP at an alarming rate. Boxxy activated Disruptive Wave, which took the shape of a transparent spherical pulse that distorted the air around it as it radiated outwards. Nothing more happened, as a single use seemed insufficient to overcome the enchanted webbing of a Ranker demon. Then, five seconds later, a second pulse poured out of the mass of tangled webs. The magically-conjured spider silk unraveled and fell to the ground as if the creature it was binding had vanished completely. At least, that was how things seemed from Drea’s perspective. She couldn’t detect a single flicker of her master’s existence, even though she knew it was still in the room. She just didn’t know exactly where it went.

“Eep!”

At least, not until she felt a slight poke at the back of her head, causing her to leap forward and look over her shoulder, though she still failed to detect Boxxy.

“You would’ve been dead then and there if I was being serious. Work on that,” it chastised her.

“That is so not fair, master!” she complained. “You know there’s no way I can track you if you use that combination!”

“If I can do it, so can the enemy!”

“Even you’d be unable to see them coming if that were the case! Please, worry about yourself first.”

Inwardly, Drea was strangely happy that her master seemed to worry about her in its own way, though her embarrassment levels were too high to allow her to vocalize that emotion.

“… That’s a good point, actually.”

Boxxy was currently hiding its body with a Prismatic Cloak while Stealth greatly reduced the sound of its movements. Normally, Drea’s magic sensitive sight would have allowed her to pierce through the obscurement. The same could be said for any creature with a Mana Locator Gland. However, neither would work on the shapeshifter, as it had obtained a Skill specifically meant to avoid such means of detection.

[Mystic Camouflage]
The doppelganger’s proficiency at subterfuge allows it to temporarily evade magical means of detection.
Requirements: Level 40 Doppelganger Job, Level 10 Stealth, INT 300
Type: Toggled (ON)
Activation Time: Instant
Cost: 30 MP/sec
Range: Self
[Effects]
Prevents detection from magic-based senses and sensors for up to 10 seconds.
This Skill’s effect duration is reduced against hostile targets in proportion to their PER Attribute.
This Skill will not affect the same target more than once every 30 seconds.
Increases the duration of this Skill by 20% per Level of this Skill.

The ability was close in function to the high-Level Rogue technique called Obfuscate. However, the main difference between the two Skills was that the enlightened version either did or did not work, depending on who it was being used against. The shapeshifter’s Mystic Camouflage, on the other hand, always hid its presence from ‘magical means of detection,’ regardless of how powerful the observer was. Another benefit was that it notified the user whenever it was being watched through such means and gave it time to react. The downside was that the grace period had a variable duration. Compared to that, Obfuscate had the potential to continuously fool anyone so long as the user had enough Levels and Attributes.

“Actually, I just remembered something,” Boxxy continued as it took off its concealing equipment. “I had a rather interesting idea earlier. Stand still so I can try it out.”

Drea did as instructed, while her master reverted back to its base hylt creeper form. It grabbed its left wrist with its right hand and grew a third arm from its upper back, shaping it into a bladed appendage similar to the stalker’s. It took a few moments to prepare itself, then decisively sliced through its left shoulder and threw the severed appendage at the heavily-clawed demon. The limb slapped her in the face then wrapped itself around her neck as if it had a mind of its own. It also morphed into a snake-like form, its powerful muscles choking the life out of the webstalker. A demon’s body still needed to breathe maintain its form, so Drea reflexively opened her mouth to gasp for air. The moment she did so, the snake-arm forced its head-hand into the wide-open orifice, depositing a deluge of conjured acid down her gullet, courtesy of Acid Spray.

It all happened so suddenly that Drea was unable to respond with any grace or poise. She fell to the ground and thrashed about wildly, like a knife drawer having a seizure. Boxxy’s Acid Spray didn’t do enough damage to kill her, but the pain it caused was excruciating to the point her bladed limbs moved of their own volition. They tried to peel off the offending arm-snake, but it leaped out of the way at the last second, and the arachnid girl unintentionally decapitated herself. Though, that may have been her original intention, given her track record. Either way, Boxxy had gotten some rather good results from this trial run. It walked over to Drea’s evaporating corpse and picked up its now-lifeless limb. It reattached it to its stump, allowing the appendage to reconnect with its central nervous system and spring back to life. It felt stiff for a few seconds until Mend Flesh did its thing and undid the lingering trauma. Boxxy didn’t necessarily need to retrieve that arm, but it was still pushing the limits of its newest shapeshifting ability.

[Corporeal Stability]
The psionic potential of a doppelganger can be harnessed to stabilize its otherwise volatile flesh.
Requirements: Level 45 Doppelganger Job, Mend Flesh, END 500, MNT 250
Type: Passive
Range: Self
[Effects]
Detached body parts will maintain their form for 24 hours after being severed.
Detached body parts can be remotely controlled for 10 seconds after being severed.
Reduces HP damage suffered due to loss of body mass by 3% per Level of this Skill.
Increases the healing rate of Mend Flesh Skill by 10% per Level of this Skill.
Increases the duration of Shapeshift-derived Skills by 5% per Level of this Skill.

It was the final Skill obtained from the Doppelganger Job, and it was just as tasty as the monster had hoped. With this, the shapeshifter no longer had to worry about its Facades being exposed because it accidentally lost a part of its body and had it melt into obviously monstrous sludge. It would still deteriorate eventually, but Boxxy now had a generous window to salvage the situation. Or better yet – take advantage of it. Controlling severed limbs with the power of its mind had a lot of potential for trickery and deception, especially when combined with other Skills. There were so many possibilities that Boxxy was already making plans to willingly lop off parts of itself to use as surprise attacks. Unfortunately, there was no sensory feedback from the orphaned limbs, so controlling them accurately without line of sight was extremely difficult, but only for the moment. As with other flesh-shaping abilities, it would get easier with practice and experience. Frankly speaking, this remote control Skill had so much potential that the monster would’ve gotten it even without all that synergy it offered.

Not that it was complaining, of course. Mend Flesh, Mirror Image, Broken Reflection, Puppet Parasite, Metal Mimicry, and Adaptive Defense would all benefit from Corporeal Stability to varying degrees. The defensive bonus was nothing to scoff at, either, as Boxxy often lost body mass when fighting particularly troublesome opponents. It also made notions such as intentional self-decapitation slightly less suicidal. The monster’s only complaint was how long it had taken to obtain the Skill. It had spent over half a year getting the Doppelganger Job from Level 40 to Level 45. It probably wouldn’t have hit that milestone yet if not for the major part it played in the Aurora Eve party a few weeks ago, when Keira did an impromptu singing performance in front of Azurvale’s elite. Though this growth rate seemed exceptionally slow from the monster’s perspective, it was still objectively astronomical. Under normal circumstances, a doppelganger would need at least thirty years to get anywhere near Level 50, yet Boxxy’s age wasn’t even a tenth of that. Its primary Facade being the Republic’s favorite redhead certainly had its perks, to say the least.

Which wasn’t to say the shapeshifter would rest on its laurels and simply wait for the Doppelganger XP to trickle in. While that was certainly an option, Boxxy had been driven to rapidly accumulate strength and power since its birth. That habit was so deeply ingrained that it could not help itself, though it had at least slowed its pace. The shapeshifter no longer felt pressured to take stupid risks for high rewards ever since the Edward situation was put to rest. While it wasn’t anywhere near as fast as its first year, it continued to steadily advance its Jobs and Skills. It was eager to see what its next Rank Up held, which was why Boxxy decided to put Keira in a certain position that would allow her to earn the trust of more people. Being adored by the masses was one thing, but experience taught it that deep, personal connections were far more meaningful as far as the Doppelganger Job was concerned. As an added bonus, her new day job would be excellent practice for when Teresa’s brats came knocking. So, when dawn rolled around, the monster readily swapped places with Xera and got ready to start Keira Morgana’s big day.

“Mmmm, morning Rowie,” the redhead let out as she began to stir.

“Hey, sweetie,” the elf responded mid-yawn. “Had a nice sleep? I know I did.”

“Good for you, but I was too nervous. Must’ve kept myself awake until well past midnight.”

“Yet, you look even perkier and lovelier than the day we met. Especially these parts.”

The elf scooted over and playfully groped Keira’s breasts, fully enjoying the catgirl’s growth spurt while she giggled.

“You know, I dreamt of you in that red party dress last night,” she whispered seductively. “It got me so hot and bothered I think I might’ve wet the bed.”

“Sorry, Rowie. I’d love to have some fun but I don’t want to tire myself out so early. Besides, I had something important to ask you. Two things, actually.”

“Oh? What’s on your mind, sweetie?”

Sensing it was a serious topic, Rowana stopped being so handsy and devoted her attention to listening.

“I want us to move to a bigger house. Hopefully one that isn’t falling apart and is more easily accessible.”

“Really? What brought this on?”

“It feels awkward not being able to invite anyone over because the place is too small. And, I really need my own room for adventurer stuff. Guest rooms are a must, and I would love to have my own library, or at least a study. I know that sounds like a lot, but we’ve been doing really well for ourselves recently, and I’m starting my new job today, so I think we can afford it with a small loan.”

“… I see.”

It was abundantly clear this was something her girlfriend had given a lot of thought, and the elf would be lying if she said the idea hadn’t crossed her mind.

“I’m not opposed to it. Honestly, I quite like living all the way up here by ourselves, but as romantic as it is, it’s definitely impractical.”

“Also, technically, there are three of us,” Keira pointed out.

“Ah, you’re right. Come to think of it, having more room for Minic to play around might keep it from running off all the damn time.”

“Yip? Yip, yip, yip!”

At the mention of its name, the miniature box leapt onto the bed and began to bounce around excitedly.

“Hehe, I think it likes the idea,” Keira giggled while petting it. “Who knows? Maybe the new furniture will turn out to be its playmates.”

“Yip! Yip! Yip!”

“No, pretty sure it’s just hungry,” Rowana interjected.

“What do you say though, new place?”

“Yeah, I suppose we can at least look around for a suitably sized house. I’m also curious what sort of ‘adventurer stuff’ you’d need so much space for.”

“Mmm, like an armory or something so I can keep my extra gear on hand rather than leaving it at the guild. Also, an Artificer workshop and an alchemy lab so I can spend more time at home.”

“I guess that’s reasonable. Except the lab. Having one would be nice, but I don’t need it.”

Aside from having to handle some extra paperwork on occasion, Rowana wasn’t the ‘bring your work home’ type. She couldn’t even if she wanted to since clinics had to adhere to some strict regulations regarding their alchemical treatments.

“You don’t, but I’m going to. That’s actually the second thing I wanted to talk to you about. I want to be an Alchemist, and I want you to show me the ropes.”

“Really? I mean, I’m flattered you’d ask me, but where did this come from?”

“You know how Fizzy had to learn smithing from the dwarves so she can better practice her Artificer Job? I figure I might need to do something like that eventually, so I want to get a head start.”

Also, filling in that recently unlocked Job slot would allow Boxxy to absorb any number of corpses without picking up something borderline useless again.

“Shouldn’t you do the same and go for Blacksmith, then?” Rowana questioned.

“Well, no. I plan on taking a different specialization from Fizzy, one that needs alchemical goods more than fine metals.”

“Oh? Which one is that? Is it the one that makes all those mechanical dolls?”

“Uh, no, that’s Automata. I’m aiming for Flamespitter.”

Rowana’s eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously. She didn’t know much on the subject of gadgets and gizmos, but she knew Keira better than anyone, so she could make a solid guess as to what the redhead’s goal was.

“What is it that Flamespitter Artificers do, exactly?”

“They focus on the, uh, practical application of thermodynamics?”

“You want me to teach you alchemy so you can make bigger bombs, don’t you?”

“… Maaaaybe.”

Technically speaking, that particular specialization also made flamethrowers, rockets and, various types of combustion engines, but ‘bigger bombs’ were definitely the highlight.

“You do realize that, as your girlfriend, this makes me very uneasy.”

“Pleeease, Rowie! I swear I’ll be really careful! Besides, I’m really looking forward to sharing some private lessons with you,” she dialed up the charm.

“I don’t know… Volatile concoctions aren’t really my thing…”

“I’ll find a proper Mentor for the advanced stuff, but I want you to help me with the basics. Those will serve as the foundation for how I handle things in the future, and I wouldn’t trust anyone with my future but you, Rowie.”

The elf momentarily put up a stern front, but both parties knew she could not resist Keira’s full-force pleading. Not only was her personality just as fun and sweet as when they first met, but she was rapidly developing into quite the lovely woman. In the elf’s eyes, her lover grew more irresistible with each passing day.

“Ugh, how am I supposed to say ‘no’ to that face. It’s so unfair… Alright, fine. Just don’t come complaining to me when people start calling you ‘Merry Popper’ again.”

“Yay! Thanks, Rowie! You’re the best!”

Keira hugged her girlfriend and gave her a big, wet kiss on the cheek to show her appreciation. Rowana would have preferred it be on the lips, more specifically the lower ones, but Minic’s constant hungry yipping ruined the mood. With little other choice, the capital’s oddest couple got out of bed and went about their respective morning routines. Around the same time, the interior of a certain indoor training facility under the Central Consortium’s management was getting quite rowdy. The air was abuzz with anticipation and excitement from the thirty-three adventurers who had gathered here despite the exceedingly early hour. A group of five were unquestionably the noisiest among them as they found it difficult to lower their voices.

“I heard she got captured by the Empire and almost got raped, but she freed herself by picking the lock on her cage with a twig and tearing off the bastard’s crotch! That’s the sort of ferocity and resourcefulness that gets you out of a jam!”

“That’s nothing. I ran across her handiwork at New Whitehall. She had left behind three Imperial soldiers, all of them struck down by what seemed to be a single Power Shot. Can you imagine the type of focus and marksmanship it would take to pull off a triple hit in a war zone?”

“My cousin was part of her unit on Armageddon Day. The way he tells it, it was her calm judgement and magnificent skill with the blade that won the day.”

“Say what you want, I was there at Fort Yimin. I’m only alive because her kind and caring nature moved the hearts of those dryads.”

“‘Kind and caring’ my arse! That place was a massacre that probably gave her nightmares, but she still went through with it because it was necessary. I doubt even the Consortium’s big shots have that sort of unflinching resolve.”

It was a surprisingly heated argument, with each man or woman convinced their opinion was correct. They might have been too green to be called veterans, but these adventurers still had enough experience to not be considered rookies. Their varied convictions and methods had kept them alive thus far, so they were rather insistent theirs was ‘the right way.’ Their volume gradually grew as their perspectives clashed, which inevitably led to them being overheard.

“Excuse me, gents! May I ask what it is you are so vehemently discussing?”

All five adventurers groaned at once upon hearing the cocky voice. The elf who had so rudely interrupted their friendly argument was a male in his early twenties. His scalp was hairless and shiny, and his face was so flat it was like he took shovels to the nose for breakfast. They could tolerate his odd looks, though. It was common for adventurers to acquire certain scars or deformities over the course of their dangerous careers. The guy’s attitude and personality were the real problems.

“Go away, Jared. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Yeah, why don’t you go tend to that ridiculous flock of yours?”

“Or, maybe fall down a well and fail to get out of it for a week. Again.”

“Why are you even here, you idiot? This is no place for a hack like you!”

“I think the average INT in the room plummeted by fifty points when you walked in.”

All five took turns ridiculing the man, but he brushed their comments away like he didn’t even hear them.

“Hahaha! No need to sing praises of my exploits!” he declared magnanimously. “Even someone as great as I sometimes wishes to communicate freely with my fellow adventurers!”

The group groaned again. They weren’t saying those hurtful things without cause. While the elf called Jared was as famous as he believed, it was because he was the worst adventurer to ever be admitted into a guild. His combat awareness was terrible, and he couldn’t aim worth a damn despite being a Level 41 Ranger. He was also a Monster Tamer, but the pathetically weak critters he dragged around were so useless they weren’t even good as fodder. Worst of all, he was loud, prideful, and borderline delusional. It was like he saw and heard things through a filter that made it seem like he was king of the world.

In reality, the only outstanding thing about him was that he was somehow still alive and an adventurer despite his offensive ineptitude.

“Come now, enough banter,” he insisted. “Do tell, what insightful topic was being discussed?”

“If you must know,” one of the guys spoke up, “we’re talking about what makes the Hero of Chaos so exceptional.”

“Oh, that’s simple,” Jared scoffed. “Her biggest asset is her marketing skills.”

“… You focken what, mate?” the dwarf in the group blurted out. “Have you been hitting the enchanted liquors too hard?”

“Or not hard enough,” the black-haired woman cringed.

“I’m probably going to regret this, but let’s hear it,” said the hooded man. “Go on then, explain why ‘marketing’ is Morgana’s greatest strength.”

“Why it is simple, my dear Robert!”

“My name’s Dale, not Ro-”

“The evidence is right here in front of you!” Jared unabashedly talked over him. “You all sit in a circle and talk of this person’s great exploits, but have you ever actually witnessed any of those deeds take place? No? Of course not, because they never happened. She’s just taking credit for the actions of her betters and is nothing but a fraud and a charlatan. The fact that you plebeians think otherwise just shows how good she is at spinning rumors.”

The five adventurers stared at him for a few seconds, processing the confident deluge of nonsense that just fell out of his mouth. They then unanimously and silently agreed to ignore him and resumed their earlier discussion.

“So, like I was saying, her soft and warm heart is what truly makes her a Hero. She has the power to inspire even legendary beings to take interest in our plights.”

“No, no, no. You can’t always count on some higher power to bail you out. She knows that. That’s why she trains herself in both melee and ranged combat. Keeps her options open, you know?”

“Come to think of it, I hear she’s something of a regular visitor to the Consortium’s library. We all gather information as part of our preparations, but she takes her studies more seriously than most.”

“Being flexible and well-informed definitely helps, but reliable companions are important, too. Remember last year when she teamed up with the Rustblood Juggernaut and that Demon Tamer bloke to challenge the Palace of the Crystal Maiden? Nobody can conquer that place on their own.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard about that! She got some incredible ice-shooting bow out of it, didn’t she? Wonder if she’ll let us catch a glimpse of it in action.”

Jared walked away from the group shaking his head with a wry smile.

“Ah, poor delusional newbies. It’s okay, can’t blame them for being misled by that upstart. They’ll realize the folly of their ways soon enough! The entire Republic will know that I, Jared Finks, am the true rising star of-!”

“Shut it, ya hopeless retard!”

The ‘rising star’ was struck in the side of the head by a brick-sized tome. He picked it up while rubbing his bruised scalp, noting that it was an old handbook on common monsters. He smiled widely, scribbled his name on the cover, and gave his ‘autograph’ to his ‘adoring fan.’ The man had his friend burn the book to a crisp while Jared walked off to make himself a nuisance somewhere else. The other adventurers paid him even less mind than the group of five, having seen and heard everything that just happened. Quite a few wanted to shut him up by force, but nobody wanted to give him even a sliver of the attention he clearly craved.

About twenty minutes later, a concerned yet lovely face flanked by an untamed mane of crimson hair poked through the door.

“Crap, you’re all here already. I’m not late, am I?”

The adventurers immediately lined up to offer Keira their greetings while assuring her that she was right on time and the rest had simply arrived early. Her expression relaxed into relief then instantly switched to a confident smirk. She clapped her hands to get the attendees’ attention and had them line up single file next to the wall. She stood in front of them and formally introduced herself.

“My name is Keira Morgana, and I will be your instructor for the duration of this Advanced Scouting course. Though it is my first time teaching, rest assured I will be putting forth my utmost effort, and I expect the same from you. Furthermore, while I’m sure many of you have heard various things about me, I ask that you curb your expectations. Rumors have a way of getting out of hand. I assure you, though I am indeed the acting Hero of Chaos, I am nowhere near as incredible or as…” she paused and winced, “extreme as you might have been told.”

Jared sneered. In his head, this was merely an excuse to explain why she was far more mediocre than her web of lies would claim, but he had seen right through this clever ploy.

“I cannot, for example, breathe fire,” she continued while pacing up and down. “Nor can I hit a fly from three hundred meters away. It is ludicrous to think my claws can slice through flesh and bone like a knife through butter. Though, they are quite sharp, which your hands and face will find out if you try to ‘rub my butt for luck.’ On that note, while I will tolerate ridiculous rumors and spicy banter, sexual harassment of any kind will be shown no quarter.”

The bald elf with the warped perception merely saw this as another smoke screen while some of the others were visibly disappointed to hear Keira was not as outrageous as they had heard.

“However, though I’m not as amazing as some of the other instructors here, I am still capable enough for the Central Consortium to deem me worthy of passing on my knowledge. I intend to begin immediately. Unfortunately, Mr. Blizzard won’t stop hounding us, so we’ll have to make do with indoor training for today. Since this is my first time meeting most of you, I will have you perform a number of basic exercises that will give me a general idea of your abilities.”

At least, that’s what Boxxy’s Mentor Skill told it was the best course of action. The shapeshifter had acquired this ability after educating Kaede on the finer points of stabbing and haggling. In addition to allowing the shapeshifter to pass on its Jobs to others, the Skill also provided it with a plethora of tips and tricks for aspiring teachers. Putting them into practice would naturally advance the Mentor Skill, though progress would be slow since passing knowledge onto the next generation was primarily an enlightened practice. Mastering the alien concept would be a challenge, but this only motivated the shapeshifter to try harder. Overcoming such limitations was a great feeling, and a higher Mentor Level would prove instrumental in this latest scheme to advance its Doppelganger Job.

“We’ll begin with hand-to-eye coordination. In there,” she pointed at a stack of boxes in the corner, “you will find a number of throwing knives, courtesy of the Consortium’s apprentice Blacksmiths. I want each of you to grab a box and show me what you can do. We’ll start at four meters then gradually work our way up to ten. Let’s get moving, people!”

The adventurers did as instructed and began chucking the tiny blades at the targets lining the walls while Keira observed from behind. There were some mixed results. Her students were primarily Rogues and Rangers with a few Monster Tamers and Blade Dancers mixed in, so not all of them were accustomed to throwing weapons. It also didn’t help that these knives were forged by novices, so their balance and sharpness weren’t the best. Even the trainees with experience in this type of weapon found it tricky to consistently hit their targets.

However, they were all adventurers with a total Job Level between 40 and 70, so their Skills and heightened Attributes helped them adapt to the exercise rather quickly. Keira was also moving from one student to the next, giving them pointers and demonstrating proper throwing technique whenever possible. A few messed up on purpose just so they could have the cute instructor give them some attention, but ended up being chewed out for not taking the class seriously. It would appear that, of the many rumors surrounding her, the ones about the beastkin’s sharp tongue and keen insight were closer to fact than fiction.

After a solid thirty minutes of practice and tutoring, everyone was starting to get the hang of the relatively basic task.

Everyone except Jared.

For what must have been the hundredth time in a row, the boastful elf completely failed to stick a knife in the man-shaped, straw-filled dummy. His attempts either hit it hilt-first or completely missed. It was almost impressive how royally he was screwing up despite Keira almost literally holding his hand. The fact she wasn’t berating him implied Jared actually sucked that much and wasn’t doing it on purpose just to be cheeky. All things considered, the redhead maintained an admirable degree of patience and professionalism, which only served to irritate the guy. Cracks began to form in his rosy demeanor until he decided to put his foot down and show up the Hero of Chaos with words rather than actions.

“Ma’am! I don’t get it!” he protested loudly after missing yet another throw.

“Hold!” Keira commanded with a raise of her arm, putting the entire class on pause. “What is it you still don’t understand, Mr. Finks?”

“Why are we even bothering with this? I mean, what’s the point of throwing knives when over half of us can already use bows? Shouldn’t we be focusing on the weapon that’s clearly superior in range, power, and accuracy? Ma’am.”

The elf spoke while crossing his arms with a cocky ‘gotcha’ attitude, probably intending to use this as evidence that Keira didn’t know what she was doing.

“Hmm, you have a point there, Mr. Finks,” she said with a nod. “There really does not seem to be much use for throwable weapons for an archer. However, I would like to demonstrate something for your consideration. Would you mind putting your hand against that wall?”

She jerked her head towards the wall a few meters behind Jared. The elf stared at the wooden surface in question, wondering what she was on about.

“I said put your hand on that wall!”

Though she used some harsh language to keep the trainees in line, this was the first time the cute-yet-strict girl had spoken in such a forceful tone. The shift in demeanor was so sudden and drastic that she momentarily seemed like a different person, and even a man as ass-backwards as Jared got the message loud and clear. He took a few steps back and pressed his left palm against the wall as instructed. Keira then yanked one of the knives from the target dummy besides her and threw it at him clean across the training hall.

*THUNK*

“AAARGH!”

It hit the back of his hand, skewering it in place. Copious amounts of blood flowed from the wound and trickled down the flat surface. The catgirl calmly strode between her stunned students with her arms behind her back, letting the idiotic elf suffer for daring to question her authority and competency as an instructor. When she eventually reached the whimpering buffoon, she turned around to face the class and raised her hand at the elf as if showing an example.

“You cannot use a bow if the enemy has disabled your hand.”

She yanked the knife out of Jared’s pinned palm, causing him to drop to the floor with a pained scream. The catgirl turned with a smile and waved towards the robed man that had been sitting silently in the corner this entire time.

“Medic!”

He was a man that all of Keira’s students would get to know over the course of this very special Advanced Scouting class.

Especially Jared.

A Tale of Fun and Games

“You girls ready for this?” Kora asked excitedly.

“I suppose so,” Xera responded. “Here’s hoping it’s not another cold-themed one. There’s nothing more infuriating than snow that refuses to melt.”

“Personally, I’m fine with whatever, tktktktkt,” Drea chittered. “Other than those vacation spots.”

“What, really? I thought you looked pretty hot in that micro-bikini last time,” the archfiend pointed out.

“Tktktktktktktkt…”

The webstalker may have been hiding herself as per usual, but Kora knew that nervous chitter well enough to determine she was probably blushing from embarrassment. The three were communicating verbally rather than telepathically because their master was currently sleeping. Their banter would surely disturb Boxxy if they were to use the shared mind-link, so it forbade them from doing so unless it was an emergency, forcing the trio to use a far more mundane method of trading thoughts.

“Anyway, I guess we’d better get this show on the road. Lavender!”

*POP*

“What’s up, Arms-boss?”

“Go get Ambrosia.”

“Like, right away!”

*POP*

The alraune disappeared in the same abrupt manner that she had arrived. It was almost scary how quick she had become at operating the Nexus Access feature to move her flower all over the dungeon. She didn’t necessarily need to do that, though. The dryad had used a Skill called Bestow Locomotion to alter Lavender’s floral biology so that she could walk around on her own two legs rather than being anchored to her honey-pot of a blossom. However, much like how Boxxy spent its free time as a spider-legged chest, the alraune also had a preferred way of doing things. One of those was her promptness regarding any dungeon master duties given to her, including fetching the landlady.

Ambrosia rose out of the bark-covered ground in front of the demonic trio the same way she always did. She was currently in the middle of enjoying her second spring season with Lavender by her side, so her vine-like hair was covered in beautiful pink flowers to reflect her tree’s canopy. The rest of her was still as green and voluptuous as ever, except that her bust had grown slightly perkier. Her face was not all that pleased, however, and Kora had a pretty good idea why.

“Yes? What is it?” the dryad asked coldly.

“Yo. Didn’t mean to interrupt your pollination or whatever, but we could really use your help with this.”

The archfiend held out an all-too-familiar square gem, which had only just now regained its pink coloration. Ambrosia sighed, took the Divine relic from the demon’s hand, and cupped it between her palms. After a minute of rapid charging, the Atlas of Dreams popped out of her grasp and began forming a new instant dungeon. Having fulfilled her part, the dryad sank into the floor with a quick ‘Fare thee well,’ leaving Boxxy’s familiars to stare at the rapidly forming portal.

Though it didn’t come with an instruction manual, copious amounts of experimentation had allowed the shapeshifter, and, by extension, its minions to grasp this Divine item’s limits. This also applied to all the ways it violated the laws of magic. For instance, the monsters within its instant dungeons awarded combat XP when defeated, despite being conjured purely from mana. They were also much deadlier than their natural-world equivalents, though that was mostly due to their minds. Or, more specifically, the lack thereof.

Creatures born of the Atlas operated on what appeared to be an odd mix between cold logic and natural instincts. They were less like sentient beings and more like meat dolls that followed a complicated set of instructions or an elaborate script. There wasn’t any real will or intent behind their actions. Even the enlightened that sometimes appeared were nothing more than puppets dancing to this unheard tune. Put another way, they lacked the soul of a regular dungeon-born creature, which would normally disqualify them from granting XP when ‘killed.’ This also meant they were somewhat predictable, but at the same time this mindlessness made them ruthless and efficient. It was the ideal example of how well a body could perform without any sort of thought or consciousness holding it back or distracting it. However, this meant the creatures would die immediately if brought out of the instant dungeon.

This led to the second way the Atlas of Dreams broke common sense. Anything it created could be taken out into the ‘real world,’ at which point it would become permanent despite being created from nothing. With some restrictions, of course. The object in question had to be small enough to fit through the portal, and there was a limit to how much mass could be taken out of it. The instant dungeon’s lifetime would be diminished each time something it created was brought out, either by carrying it through the portal or placing it into Boxxy’s Storage. Some trial and error revealed the amount of time the pocket dimension remained stable would be reduced by three minutes for every five kilograms of mass removed. So, given its maximum duration of one hour, one could take out at most a hundred kilograms of material from a single activation.

Once its time was up, the instant dungeon would begin to collapse over a period of three minutes. Any attempt to take further items out would be met with failure, as the matter would just disintegrate upon passing through the pink entrance portal. Once the dungeon completely collapsed, any foreign matter inside – such as living things and equipment – would be ejected. The Atlas of Dreams would go gray for a little over five days and would only regain its pink luster when it was ready to be used once more.

This was precisely what Kora, Drea, and Xera were up to. Boxxy rarely had the need or desire to challenge those instant dungeons, so it mostly let these three use them to run wild and blow off steam. Especially the archfiend, as she didn’t get as many chances to stretch her body as the stealthy webstalker or the shapeshifting djinn. Kora was naturally the most eager to begin smashing things, so she leapt through the pink portal the instant it stabilized. She was immediately met with a desolate, brown wasteland, completely featureless save for the few charred tree stumps. A thick layer of smoke and clouds blanketed the sky, blocking any semblance of direct sunlight. It was by no means quiet, as a deluge of rumbling and clanking was descending upon the fiend from her left and right side.

[You have entered a Golem War Zone instant dungeon.]

“Oh, good. Should be fun,” Xera said with a wry grin.

“Speak for yourself. I’m gonna struggle with this one, tktktktkkt…” Drea grumbled with an annoyed chitter.

The two demons followed Kora after she dove into the instant dungeon, and all three had a pretty good idea what was about to happen. While the exact layout and monster composition of an instant dungeon were randomized to a degree, it always followed a certain theme or setting connected to its name. Furthermore, while there were a lot of dungeon templates, they seemed limited in number. The trio’s repeated ‘explorations’ of the Atlas of Dreams would inevitably have them see all of the different scenarios. They weren’t at that stage yet, but they were already getting some ‘reruns’ like the Golem War Zone, which Boxxy’s familiars had encountered twice before. That was how they knew that the two rumbling fronts closing in from either side were small armies of constructs that would clash right on top of them. As the dungeon’s name implied, they were all war golems similar to Fizzy, though every aspect aside from their overarching species was randomized.

In this instance, one side was made up of forge golems that spewed out flames while the other were turbine golems infused with the elemental properties of wind. Both were wide, bulky, heavy, about two meters tall, and predominantly humanoid in shape, though none seemed to be made out of a precious metal like Boxxy’s trophy wife. In fact, shiny things were exceedingly rare in these instant dungeons, which was why the shapeshifter didn’t have much interest in them. Nevertheless, even if they were somewhat mundane, the metals covering these two armies still made them far sturdier than any meatbag hoped to be.

The charging constructs didn’t even wait to get within striking distance before opening fire on one another. The two steel fronts began bombarding one another with built-in weaponry and innate magical abilities the instant the distance between them shrank to about forty meters. Glowing bolts of plasma, lumps of smoldering magma, and steel-cracking shockwaves began ravaging the already desolate ground. This was exactly how this scenario had played out twice before, including the part where both armies were poised to clash against one another right on top of the dungeon’s only exit. Kora, Drea, and Xera were fully aware loitering in the middle was a really bad idea and dispersed well before the volley began.

The archfiend leaped towards the forge golem ranks. The red-hot constructs fired on the approaching threat with their hand-cannons, hitting her armored guard a total of four times before she crash-landed into their front line. Kora regained her footing and ducked low to the ground so that the ones in the back couldn’t fire at her without hitting their own allies. The forge golem in front of her swung its steel fists at her, but she effortlessly caught both of them in a hand each and didn’t let go. She used her four other arms to grab hold of its shoulders and squeezed on them like a massive pair of pliers while pulling on its wrists. The golem’s body groaned and creaked, but it was unable to prevent its arms from being pulled out of their sockets. Its faceless head was then bludgeoned from both sides with its own limbs, crushing it like a walnut. Kora left the crippled thing behind and moved onto the next, which was preparing to blast her in the face with its arm-mounted plasma cannon. Already in a low stance, the demon moved all three of her right hands in a scooping motion, throwing a rather rude amount of dirt at the golem. It didn’t flinch in the slightest since it had no eyes or mouth for the flung dust to invade, though it did have one other vulnerable opening. The copious amount of foreign matter flooded into the barrel of its weapon and jammed it, causing it to misfire and release a harmless puff of smoke. The fiend finished closing the distance, shaped one of her left hands like a spear, and jabbed into the steel monstrosity’s center of mass.

“Heartseeker Strike!”

The armored, claw-like finger tips pierced its outer shell, though they failed to do much to the underlying layer of metal. At least, until Kora used the other two arms on that side to strike the first one’s elbow, driving her fingers further inside as a hammer would a nail until she was elbow deep in its mechanical guts. She pushed the golem off with her right set of arms, ripping its core from its torso and crushing the spherical part within her grasp as if it were a hardboiled egg. Needless to say, the forge golem did not survive having its ‘heart’ removed, but Kora wasn’t done just yet. She grabbed the lifeless steel shell, lifting it up by the hole in its chest with the intent to use it as a shield while making her way over to her next victim.

“Two down, ninety-eight to go!”

On the turbine golem side, Xera was also doing her best to thin out their numbers.

“Scorching Ray!”

The bright yellow beam of concentrated heat energy struck one of the wind-imbued constructs from above, rapidly melting it on the spot. It tried to counter by using Heat Exchange to drastically lower its temperature, but the djinn’s magic proved too much for its steel frame and reduced it to a pile of molten scrap. Xera grinned gleefully and moved onto the next, melting it like a candle before a blowtorch while cackling like a maniac. The constructs on the ground naturally fired at her, but were having trouble hitting the airborne target. The slutty demoness had been practicing her aerial maneuvering quite a bit during these instant dungeons and was displaying a competent degree of evasive movement despite the lack of a supporting Skill. The illusory copies of herself she was leaving over the place were a good smoke screen, making it difficult for the ground-based troops to target the real one.

Her pyrotechnics display did not last as long as she had wished, as one of the steel turbine golems rocketed towards her. This individual had a much sleeker frame than most other war golems and was using the air jets on its back and legs to rapidly gain altitude. It flew right at the djinn, though it failed to hit her since she dissolved into mist at the last moment. Its thrusters turned off so they could recharge, allowing gravity to pull the construct back down to the ground. The turbine golem wasn’t going to go down that easily, of course. It activated its Vacuum Field Skill and sucked the vaporized Xera towards it, forcing the demoness to reform her physical body. She fought against the powerful air current long enough to finish invoking her newest Pyromancer Skill. The djinn’s cheeks bulged out as she blew a stream of fire out of her lips, which shaped itself into a crude replica of her physical form. This combustible body double wouldn’t confuse anyone as to which Xera was the real one, but that was hardly its intended purpose. The freshly created Flame Effigy darted towards the falling golem like a large-breasted torch, colliding with it head-on and exploding into a plume of yellow flames. The golem slammed into the ground like a miniature meteorite, and the djinn exploded it with a quick Fireball to make sure it stayed down.

“Blast Wave!”

She unleashed a wave of flames in every direction, knocking the two additional playmates she had attracted off course. She dealt with them in a similar fashion as the first that tried to tackle her out of the sky. Compared to Kora, who was only just now dismantling her fourth forge golem, Xera was clearly pulling ahead in the kill count. It was hardly surprising since long-range magic was the most effective method to take down a golem. These advanced constructs were better at defending and retaliating against arcane barrages than their lesser versions, but it was still a weakness that they could not fully overcome. The djinn had also had quite a few spars against Fizzy. Though she never won, that was mostly because the ex-gnome was a Paladin that could heal herself on the move. She was an extremely unfair existence that made Xera glad the dynamo golem was on her beloved master’s side. These ‘wild’ war golems, though? They were far easier to eliminate compared to that ex-gnome, though only if Xera focused her attention on decimating them one by one. She could hit ten or more with a single, wide Spell, but that would make all of them target her instead of the opposing forge golem force.

While Kora and Xera competed for kills, Drea was somewhat struggling to do her part. She didn’t have the fiend’s ridiculous strength or the djinn’s potent magic. Her main assets were an array of sharp blades meant for rending flesh and bone, not living steel armor. Though, she wasn’t useless. In fact, she had already finished off five war golems that were weakened from fighting other constructs. Her current self was strong enough to rip right through their plating and gouge out their cores, especially if she managed to pull off an Assassination. The problem? Her back-mounted scythes were not intended for this sort of abuse. All six were either broken or heavily dulled from cleaving through so much solid metal, leaving her with just her webs and the claws on her hands and feet. Though much sturdier, they lacked the size and sharpness needed to inflict any meaningful damage on those mechanized monstrosities. She could still fight, though winning took considerably more effort.

The arachnid assassin was currently giving it her best against a turbine golem with axes for hands. The wind enchantment behind these weapons made each of its slashes fly forward, greatly extending its striking range. It still failed to hit the nimble spider-girl, who clawed at its hands and arms with every missed swing. A particularly solid swipe managed to tear off the plating golem’s right wrist, and a follow-up strike cut through the mechanical muscles operating its hand. With one magic war-axe-wielding limb out of commission, Drea gained some leeway to start webbing up the metal construct. She hurled globs of Impact Webbing from her palms, which exploded into a mess of sticky silk the instant they collided with the golem’s armor. The more it struggled, the more the webstalker’s strands crept into its joints. Ironically, the golem’s efforts to break free of its bindings only limited its movement further.

Except, some part of its automated thought process recognized that, even if they were made by a demon, the material was highly flammable spider silk. That weakness of her webs was why the arachnid demoness avoided those flame-belching forge golems as much as she could. Unfortunately, all war golems had Heat Exchange, which was precisely what the turbine golem activated to get itself out of this mess. The scalding steam expelled from its body succeeded in melting away its bindings and restoring its full range of movement. However, this cloud of hot air also made it lose track of its target. The mindless monster looked around and abruptly gave up on scouring the area for the invader, instead choosing to focus on its pre-programmed enemy. This allowed Drea to sneak up behind it and pull off a successful Assassination, ripping off a huge part of its back. With the outer armor stripped away, her magic sight was able to pinpoint the golem’s core. It was always somewhere in the heavily armored chest region, but its exact location varied. She wrapped the exposed golem up in webs all over again. With its Heat Exchange unusable for the next several minutes and lacking the power to break through her magic string with pure force, it could do nothing to stop her from immobilizing it. The construct was equally helpless to stop Drea from ripping out its most precious part shortly after.

The three demons continued gradually thinning out the numbers on both sides, but the tide of battle was massively swinging in the turbines’ favor. They had the upper hand in terms of magical combat as their innate control over air currents allowed them to blow out or disperse their opponents’ fire-based Skills. It didn’t help that Kora was inflicting a lot more damage on her side than Xera, even though the djinn technically had more kills. Drea noticed the equilibrium was about to break, but she couldn’t do anything to balance out the casualties at the moment. This wasn’t good. If the turbine side overwhelmed the forge golems, then the demons would suddenly find themselves the focus of too many constructs to handle at once. The worst part was that, due to the ‘no think-talking’ rule currently in effect, Drea couldn’t warn her colleagues over the deafening din of the battle.

Thankfully, Xera noticed the mounting imbalance and decided to tip the scales back into place. She floated upwards, far above the war golems’ engagement range and clapped her hands together. After concentrating for a few moments, a bright light began to pour out from between her palms. A few seconds more and she slowly opened her hands, revealing an apple-sized crystal sphere that looked like a large pearl. This bauble was a focusing crystal, a common magical reagent typically made with alchemy and not something a familiar would normally have. Demons didn’t exactly own things, after all. Xera, however, was a djinn, and her kind’s primary Job came with the Conjure Catalyst Skill, which did exactly what its name suggested. Though the items created through this ability would disappear in minutes, they were more than enough to satisfy the mandatory material requirements of certain Spells and Skills. For instance, Xera’s conjured focusing crystal was necessary to unleash a Caster’s most devastating incantations. These varied from one Job to the next, but as a master of Pyroclasm magic, the djinn’s biggest, baddest Spell was a natural disaster of earth and fire.

“Volcano!”

The ground beneath the steel turbine golems began to shake, rumble, and quake. The beaten soil exploded like a geyser of lava, raining down in huge globs that covered a radius of twenty meters. Metal constructs caught in the initial burst were killed or crippled instantly. Those trapped underneath Xera’s hot, sticky stuff could do little as their metallic joints melted and warped to the point of being unusable. Some tougher golems managed to blow away or evade the molten stream, but were cut off from the rest by the lava at their backs and the forge golems at the front.

“Hahaha! AAAAHAHAHAHA!”

The cause of this devastation laughed gleefully at the sight. It was only during these instant dungeons that Xera could cut loose with the Volcano Spell, and she was not one to pass up an opportunity to have a bit of fun. Her teammates were far less enthusiastic, mostly because they were within its considerable area of effect. Thankfully, Drea had noticed the djinn performing the long-winded chant and fled the area well ahead of time. Kora, however, was not as attentive.

“Jerome-damnit!” the archfiend shouted. “I told you to warn us when you’re pulling that shit!”

Though she was able to avoid the worst of that Volcano, she had to use a forge golem’s lifeless body to shield herself. Even then, the splash of the lava that landed around her still melted bits off her boots and thighs. One could argue it was her own fault for being too caught up in her Berserker’s rage to notice the sky was on fire and falling towards her, but the djinn was ultimately to blame for not being mindful of her allies. The same allies that she continued to ignore while gleefully dropping a Meteor elsewhere.

Kora did not appreciate being so blatantly disregarded, but she had more important things to worry about than that flame-happy titty-monster. Like the pissed-off forge golem that blasted a hole through one of her arms while she was busy defending against her co-contractor’s magic. The Volcano was already subsiding, allowing her to tackle the steel bastard to the ground and ram its own shiny metal ass down its throat. The archfiend stood over the mangled pile of junk and took stock of her injuries. Taking a certain amount of damage was good since it activated a bunch of her Berserker Skills, but she was now missing most of a limb and was far too close to expiring for comfort. So, she disengaged from the forge golems and retreated through the portal that was the only way in or out of the instant dungeon.

Back in the Dryad’s Domain, she dragged her burnt, broken body over to a relatively small pool of Ambrosia’s Waters of Life that the dryad kept full at all times. Kora practically fell in, letting the restorative fluid heal all her wounds and regrow her missing body parts. She was surprisingly intact this time around, as she only lost a wrist, an arm, and several chunks of meat from her legs and torso. Her current condition was a far cry from the first time she challenged a Golem War Zone, which she left as a disembodied spirit on its way back to the Beyond. It was an understatement to say that her current ‘could be a lot worse’ condition was a marked improvement from a year ago. The development could be attributed solely to her master, though not because the creature’s MP had risen and given her even more power. While that did happen, the increase was much too small to facilitate this sort of difference. The main reason why Kora’s performance had improved was because she was actually paying attention to Boxxy’s training.

One would think an archfiend would have very little to learn from a monster hundreds of times younger, but Kora was a special case. She was actually quite young for a demon, and Boxxy was only her third contract. Her first master was a crime boss of some kind that mostly had her act as a bodyguard and deterrent, but she didn’t see too much action. Her second summoner mainly used her to transport heavy cargo and move furniture around the house, so she received even less combat practice. She would’ve backed out of that contract early if he wasn’t an old fart that passed away five or six years later from natural causes. Well, as natural as a mace to the face could be. Point being, she had less fighting experience than Boxxy when it first contracted her, and that gap had only widened since. She had been able to cover up for that fault with overwhelming strength, but her confrontation against the Gilded Hand proved she had no idea how to effectively use her borrowed power.

In short, Kora was a textbook example of the demerits of power leveling.

Thankfully, her shapeshifting master had been greatly improving its ability to educate others during its day job as a scout instructor. While it originally intended to use that as a source of Doppelganger Levels, being able to more efficiently train the most braindead of its minions was an unexpectedly tasty byproduct. It mercilessly drilled Kora by using an imitation of her own six-armed form to spar with her to show her all the ways she was ‘doing it wrong.’ Boxxy lacked the ridiculous base strength of an archfiend, her outrageous STR Attribute, or a front-liner Job like Berserker, but it still trounced her time after time using pure technique and speed. The demoness hated losing in a straight-up fight, which her master used as motivation.

It took time to overcome her stubborn nature, but Kora was something of an idiot savant when it came to violence. She was actually not too dissimilar from how Boxxy was back when it was still a mimic, at least in terms of mentality. Whether it was because of that, the influence the shapeshifter had on her, or a mixture of both, Kora made great strides in adapting a more careful, consistent, and ruthless approach to combat. Her new style relied on basic elements like combination attacks, anticipating her opponents’ actions, and making full use of her above-average size and weight. Boxxy also thoroughly educated the archfiend on the subject of grappling moves, which Kora found greatly enjoyable. There was something magical about holding her victim down while she choked the life out of them. It was hard to say whether smashing or crushing was better, though the archfiend was actively investigating the topic.

In fact, by the time she rose from that regenerative pool, she was more than eager to resume her… intensive research. Admittedly, those walking tin cans didn’t make for the best data since there were no mushy bits, but knocking them about was still better than nothing. Walking back into the instant dungeon, she saw that the two hundred war golems had been reduced to precisely thirty four, all of which were heavily damaged. Letting out a vicious war cry, Kora joined Xera and Drea in systematically wiping out the stragglers, each femme fatale employing her own preferred methods of murder. After a few more minutes of competitive face-smashing, flame-throwing, and back-clawing, the final war golem fell as the webstalker pierced its golem core while Kora held it in place. The three demons did not relax, though. This was their third time in a Golem War Zone, so they knew full well what was coming next. They waited on edge for about half a minute before it finally happened.

[Congratulations! You have cleared the Golem War Zone instant dungeon!]
[To the victor go the spoils.]

Except it wasn’t quite what they were expecting.

“Uh… what?” Kora blurted out.

“I think we… won?” Xera said in a confused manner.

“But shouldn’t this be the point where Buckethead shows up?”

Once every war golem was defeated, a ten-meter tall boss version would show up. Or, at least that was how this scenario had played out during its previous iterations.

“Tktktktktkkt… I think it might have been because you left the dungeon,” Drea chimed in. “The moment you passed through that portal I thought I saw a small ripple of mana radiate from the exit. It must have, tktktkt, triggered something.”

“That makes a good deal of sense, actually,” the djinn nodded.

“It does? How’d you figure?”

“Elementary my dear dicks-for-brains. Dungeons reward effort. The greater the challenge, the greater the spoils. You leaving the dungeon in the middle of the fight was probably interpreted as us being unworthy to challenge the big guy and get the more impressive reward.”

“Oh, yeah. Come to think of it, tktktktk, none of us left the Golem War Zone the last two times. Well, other than when we, you know, died. Tktktktktkt…”

When they came back into that same instant dungeon after being resummoned, there was no trace of the boss monster whatsoever. All things considered, it would appear that clearing out all two hundred man-sized golems without retreating would trigger a secondary ‘hard mode.’ Overcoming this additional challenge would likely result in extra rewards upon completing the dungeon, though failure would earn the invaders a big fat nothing. On the upside, clearing this unintentional ‘easy mode’ came with a consolation prize, evidenced by the metallic treasure chest that appeared not too far from the trio.

“Hmm, just another piece of information for the Master, I suppose,” Xera said thoughtfully. “Dibs on telling it, by the way!”

She was clearly hoping to score points with Boxxy in order to earn its full-bodied attention.

“No fair! Tktktktk! I was the one who told you about the thing!”

“The world isn’t fair, dearie.”

Drea obviously had some other complaints that were immediately rejected by Xera, but Kora didn’t really care about that petty dispute. Sure, she respected her master’s capacity for violence and destruction, but, unlike those two, she didn’t want to do any kinky stuff with it. She was far more curious what sort of consolation prize the dungeon had given them, so she went over to the metal chest while the other two bickered. When the archfiend got closer, she realized this was no mere steel container. Its surface was covered in some sort of machine-like decoration, almost as if the chest was a war golem. That thought led her to briefly consider how her master would look as a metal construct, but a loud clicking and grinding noise put a stop to that thought almost immediately. She looked down at the clockwork box just in time to see its lid spring open with a crisp bell ring.

A small piston platform rose from the pointlessly intricate box, atop which lay a single steel sphere around ten to fifteen centimeters in diameter. Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t so much a solid object as an intricate ball-shaped puzzle made up of countless tiny metal fragments that fit together perfectly. Kora reached out with a hand to pick it up, then remembered how Boxxy made her run laps around the tree until she died of exhaustion, all because she had scratched up one of its shinies. Rather than risk going through that pointless jog, she removed the armored gauntlet protecting her dominant left arm and used her bare hand to pick it up as gently as possible.

Now that she held it between her fingers, she finally realized why this thing looked so familiar. She had ripped out and crushed quite a few of these in this dungeon, but this was probably the first time she was seeing one intact. Or, inert, for that matter. Xera noticed it as well and floated over Kora’s shoulder to get a better peek.

“Isn’t that a war golem core?” the djinn asked.

“Think so, yeah. Wait, where’d bug brain go?”

“She got pissed I called dibs first and left.”

“Oh. Anyway, this feels like a bit of a crappy reward.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Fizzy would probably be happy to have one of these to study. Or as a backup. Or, something. Point is, if she’s happy, Master will also be happy.”

Keeping Boxxy happy was something all of them wanted since it was a good way of reducing the likelihood it would take away their privileges, like Drea gorging herself on Ambrosia’s fruit or Kora ‘playing’ with Lavender. Xera was a bit different. She wanted to please her Master so that it would pleasure her in return, but that would also be denied if she were to misbehave.

“Yeah, I guess,” Kora consented. “Here, you can give this to the boss.”

She idly tossed it to the djinn, who reached out to grab it as if it were a kickball.

“With great pleas- Oooof!”

“You okay there, wonder-tits?”

“Y-yeah. It’s just heavier than I thought.”

It wasn’t like Xera was too feeble to carry the thing around, but that much mass packed in such a tiny container caught her off-guard.

“Yeah, there’s a good twenty kilos in there. Means we got another twenty five before the dungeon goes poof.”

“It… We do?”

“Well, yeah. It’s been a little over half an hour, so given the time-to-weight ratio we can take at least forty five kilograms worth of stuff out.”

“Wow.”

“Hn? What’s with that shocked look?”

“It’s just that… since when can you do math?”

*THWACK*

Xera was catapulted clear across the battlefield with a light jab from Kora, who caught the dropped war golem core before it hit the ground. Just because the archfiend wasn’t the smartest person around didn’t mean she couldn’t do simple arithmetic, especially when it came to these instant dungeons. Among Boxxy’s entourage, Kora was the only one who used the Atlas of Dreams at every available opportunity, so it was only natural she’d develop a feel for its rules. In any event, the clock was still ticking, so she ignored Xera’s lustful moaning in the distance and began picking over the scattered fragments and mangled bodies. Almost immediately, she found a relatively intact turbine golem that Drea had assassinated by puncturing it through the armpit. She lifted it off the ground and, with as much grace as a fiend could muster, pulled the thing’s head off its body. The helmet-like appendage got a bit bent, but Kora didn’t mind since it was like leaving her signature. Plus, she could simply have Fizzy fix it up if she wanted it returned to pristine condition.

A golem head in one hand and a heart in the other, the archfiend exited the instant dungeon, the pink-hued portal letting out a burst of white noise as the objects passed through it. Kora then used the ‘big boy’ dungeon’s Nexus Access feature to transport herself into Boxxy’s treasure hoard. The place had grown so bloated with coins, gems, statues, magic items, and precious metals that the shapeshifter would probably need to make a second one before long. Right now, however, Boxxy was sleeping within the mithril chest called the Vessel of Dreams, which had absolutely no relation to the Atlas of Dreams despite the similarity of their names. Kora strode over and placed the inert golem core on the small pedestal some fifteen meters away from her slumbering master. Any closer and she ran the risk of intruding upon its magical perception and waking it up, which she wanted to avoid. ‘Cranky’ did not even begin to describe Boxxy when its rest was disturbed without a very good reason. In its own words, ‘if it isn’t a life or death matter, it will become one.’

After leaving behind her ‘offering,’ the fiend strode over to an adjacent chamber, which was more of a large closet than a treasury. It was much smaller in size, and its contents were far less shiny. Ripped up banners, broken swords, smashed up shields, cracked monster skulls, splintered tusks, and all manner of other damaged goods lined the wall’s shelves. Kora’s face adopted a delighted toothy smirk as she looked upon her handiwork. She went over to a shelf with an empty spot and placed the turbine golem’s head alongside the rest of her trophies. While that wasn’t the most accurate word to describe this random collection of seemingly worthless junk, it was certainly the nicest. It wasn’t completely wrong either, as each piece signified one of Kora’s victories, either inside or outside those instant dungeons. Even Zone’s charred arm bones were inside a plain-looking display case in the corner, though those were technically a memento of Boxxy’s victory. In fact, it was the shapeshifter’s idea to grab those remains and turn them into a souvenir that inspired the fiend to start this little collection.

As odd as it sounded, this stuff was definitely ‘hers.’ She may have been a demon whose existence in the physical realm was transient, but these items bore the marks of her fists, feet, and horns. Nobody could dispute her claim over these trophies, nor was there anyone other than herself who could access their secure location. Well, aside from the others that dwelled within this dungeon, but none had any interest in these un-shiny, un-tasty, and un-natural objects. Therefore, for all intents and purposes, Kora had become something of an anomaly – a demonic familiar that owned actual stuff.

In her mind, however, the archfiend’s possessions included a lot more than a bunch of inanimate trophies. Lavender the alraune, for instance, was also her property. Admittedly, it was more of a joint ownership between Ambrosia, Boxxy, and its familiars, but it was ownership, nonetheless. Kora also liked to think she owned Xera’s plump ass, as the constantly horny djinn never rejected an offer to get double-dicked to near death. The various grappling and submission techniques the fiend had learned from their master played a big role in that particular relationship. Then there was the mind-boggling fact that she also had the romantic attention of Teresa, the Goddess of Truth and Justice. The blonde bombshell of a deity admitted to having such feelings, which even she recognized as illogical and a bad idea. Then again, so was the two of them having actual children, which Teresa seemed almost as ecstatic about as having intimate relations with Kora.

A feeling that, surprisingly enough, the archfiend seemed to share. She didn’t want nor ask to have offspring with the goddess, but now that she had them she found herself wanting to go see them, maybe show them a thing or two. Which, for once, was not a euphemism for her genitals or any acts that required their use, but her genuine wish to be a good parent. Or, at the very least, as good a parent as a violent sociopath with a penchant for rape could be.

“… Huh?” she grunted. “Come to think of it, have I actually raped anyone since the boss hired me?”

Kora talked about forcing herself on others a lot, but she was having a hard time recalling whether she’d actually done so. Her master didn’t approve of the act on the job since it was an inefficient combat strategy, so she never had a chance to violate her enemies. As for the group’s downtime, she had that more-than-willing succubus to satisfy herself with since this whole thing started. Even the two demons’ first time, as violent as it was, still came about as a result of the blue-skinned seductress’s intentions. Anyone else the archfiend boned since then had been a consenting partner, be it plant-woman or goddess. Admittedly, the dungeon core’s mind control might put the former of those into question, but ethics was not a fiend’s strong point.

Kora had serious trouble recalling whether she had violated an unwilling individual at all. She had a feeling there might have been an incident or two, but apparently they weren’t memorable or noteworthy in the first place. Hardly surprising considering the caliber of the archfiend’s regular partners. Besides, it wasn’t like she necessarily had to resort to sexual assault to get her kicks. Whether it was Xera, Lavender, or Teresa, there always seemed to be some voluptuous vixen on hand to satisfy her urges. Indeed, looking at it logically, why would Kora ever bother exploring some random mortal’s inferior holes when she could simply enjoy the ones she had ready access to? Then again, trying new things was a necessary step if Kora were to obtain even more eager toys.

*CLUNK*

Something heavy hitting the bark-covered floor drew the fiend’s attention downwards. She only caught a glimpse of it before it evaporated, but it looked worryingly similar to one of her metal-clad horns. Reaching a hand up to her scalp, she confirmed that the leftmost of her three head-spikes was indeed missing. It seemed to have fallen out on its own rather than getting snapped in half.

“Damn, probably got busted up when I stabbed it into that forge golem,” she grumbled, rubbing the place where it used to be attached. “Must’ve been hanging on by a thread.”

The demoness casually attributed the odd event to lingering battle damage and went to take another dip in Ambrosia’s healing bath to grow back her missing head ornament. Afterwards, she went about her night as if nothing had happened. This chain of events proved she was still much too green, though not because she was playing around pretending to be a minotaur during combat.

She was not yet fully aware of the significance of a demon’s horns.

A Tale of Stress

A mimic in the shape of a plain wooden treasure chest idly strolled through a forest atop eight giant arachnid legs, humming a random tune. The sun was shining down with all its warmth, and the ground was covered with soft grass perfect for sitting. It would have been something of an idyllic scene if not for the highly-obvious and blissfully-oblivious monster strolling through. The way the creature was skipping along would make one think it had not a single care in the world. A small congregation of ten humans suddenly appeared before the animate treasure chest. They were all healthy men and women, with fit bodies that positively bulged with supple muscles, clothed in garments made from meat so fresh it was dripping tasty, nutritious blood everywhere. Rather than being alarmed by the monster, the humans happily formed a circle around it and presented it with various gifts, including statues of mithril, bouquets of precious gemstones, and a veritable motherlode of glimmering golden coins. The mimic gleefully strode over to the mountain of shinies, but its way was barred by one of the humans, a woman with radiant golden hair and positively massive breasts. She knelt down in front of the spider-box and held up those illogically huge fat deposits with a smile on her face. The simple creature instantly understood the obvious invitation. It opened its maw wide and bit into them eagerly, causing a nostalgic flavor to flood its mouth while a piercing shriek filled its ears.

Boxxy’s eyes instantly flew open, its head ringing with a woman’s scream. Wait, why did it have eyes? Or ears? Or a head, for that matter? Was that scenery just a dream? It certainly seemed the case considering such an idyllic scenario would never happen in reality. But, if that was so, how come the shapeshifter still had that familiar flavor on its tongue?

After a few more moments, Boxxy suddenly realized what was going on. It had indeed been sleeping. However, it was doing so as Keira. On a bed. Next to Rowana. Whose left breast was currently between the catgirl’s teeth. Or, well, half of it. The rest was still attached to her torso. Needless to say, the voice and blood filling the bedroom were the elf’s. The shapeshifter immediately knocked her out with a precise blow to the head. It then produced a pair of vials from its Storage and poured their contents down her gullet. One was a healing potion that closed her wound, the other a mild anesthetic to make sure she stayed out cold for the next half hour or so.

With the screaming and bleeding contained, it finally swallowed the chunk of breast flesh in its mouth, then sighed. It spent several seconds grumbling inwardly about having that wonderful dream interrupted. At the very least, its Legendary Intelligence allowed it to have a perfect recollection of it. Said memory would likely fade in about forty eight hours, but it was still an acceptable consolation prize.

“Arms, where are you right now?” it called out telepathically.

“Oh, hey, boss. I’m in the dungeon, playing Hide The Salami with Mega-Tits and Ultra-Tits.”

Which, in non-Kora speak, meant she was having a threesome with Xera and Lavender. Ambrosia had made it abundantly clear the demon was not to touch the alraune ever again, but she was currently hibernating and therefore unable to enforce that rule. There would likely be more corporal punishment in store for Kora once she woke up and found out, but the demoness would probably shrug it off with a ‘doesn’t matter, had sex.’ Though, her master had a far more immediate concern.

“Stop that right now and make your way over to the healing bath. Let me know when you’re there.”

“Aw, man…”

While the archfiend was doing that, Boxxy grabbed the elf and flung her over Keira’s shoulder like a bag of old turnips. Once it heard back from Kora, it used Transfamiliar to teleport itself and its luggage into its personal dungeon. It took a few moments to get its bearings, after which it dumped the woman in the nearby vat of Waters of Life. The clear, green liquid bubbled lightly as it restored her to perfect health, mangled breast included. The hylt creeper fished her out of the wooden tub before the regenerative fluid flushed the anesthetic from her system her up and Transfamiliar’d back to their bedroom.

“Master? Is something the matter?” Xera’s voice filled its head.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You were sleep-eating again, weren’t you?”

“A little.”

“I worry about you, Master. This is the third time this month.”

“I don’t pay you to worry about me,” it snapped back.

“Technically, you don’t pay us at all,” Kora pointed out.

“Speak for yourself,” the djinn argued. “Master’s throbbing tentacle-dicks are more valuable than-”

“Just shut up and stay off the mind-link. Both of you.”

Boxxy continued to pace about the bedroom in an agitated state. Snack had raised a valid point, but it was far too cranky from that rude awakening to indulge her right now, not to mention it had a cleanup to attend to. It took a Shower in a Bottle from its Storage and opened it. The tiny storm cloud poured out of its container and covered the ceiling, blanketing the bloodied bed with a localized rain of orange-tinted liquid. Rowana’s bodily fluids were separated from the sheets and flowed freely onto the hardwood floor where Boxxy could easily slurp them up. It took a few more Showers to get all of it out, but five minutes later there was not a single shred of evidence that someone had a part of them bitten off by a monster. Even the alchemical cleaning concoction had evaporated mere seconds after doing its job, leaving the room completely dry and smelling very faintly of hylt fruit. Boxxy rapidly changed Rowana’s ripped up sleepwear, making a mental note to get a replacement before she noticed one of her nightgowns was missing. Having officially concluded its cleanup, the shapeshifter laid the still-unconscious elf back in the bed, assumed its position as a sleeping Keira, and waited.

“AAAAAAAH!”

After about fifteen minutes, Rowana suddenly came to while screaming, instantly bolting up into a seated position. She reached down to grab hold of her chest, only to find out that, much to her relief, her ‘girls’ were completely intact. She glanced around the dark room with a look of confusion before realizing a pair of yellow feline eyes were staring at her from the side.

“Ack!”

The elf positively leaped out of the bed, falling sideways onto the wooden floor.

“Rowie?! What’s wrong?!”

“Ugh,” the elf groaned, rising up from the floor. “I’m really sorry for that, sweetie. I just had another of those horrible nightmares.”

It was far better to let her come to that conclusion on her own rather than erase the event from her head via the ex-succubus’s Dreamweaver Skill. Past experiences had taught Boxxy it was unwise to use that ability on people it interacted with regularly, so it opted for this far less mind-fucky solution.

“That’s the third time this month,” she continued. “I think I should go get my head examined after all.”

“You’re overreacting, Rowie.”

“Am I? I don’t know about you, but I personally find the idea of being ripped to pieces by my own girlfriend extremely abhorrent.”

Keira scooted over to where Rowana was sitting on the bed and started comforting her.

“You’re just acclimating to the new house, honey. Let’s not get worked up over it. A change in environment can do that to a person. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

Truthfully speaking, if anyone was ‘acclimating,’ it was Boxxy. While the pair did buy a larger house per Keira’s suggestion, the shapeshifter found it difficult to let down its guard in it. Even after installing a bunch of magic security systems under the pretense of protecting the catgirl’s belongings, it just couldn’t feel at ease. It even chose to sleep here instead of the dungeon just so it could get comfortable with the space quicker, but it now had serious doubts whether that was a good idea. These ‘sleep-eating’ incidents could not continue, lest Boxxy do something no amount of play-acting would smooth over.

Thankfully, the couple had installed a soundproofing charm around the bedroom, which prevented Rowana’s screams from leaking out. It would have been rather difficult to keep those violent incidents a secret otherwise since this house was built in a more densely-populated area of Ambrosia’s tree than the old one. Ironically enough, that particular measure was originally Rowana’s idea. She was worried that the high-pitched voices she and her girlfriend made during their lovemaking would disturb the neighbors. She probably never imagined her good intentions would be co-opted to conceal a manipulative monster’s malicious mishaps, nor would she ever find out if Boxxy had any say in the matter.

Keira kept soothing and comforting the upset elf until the two eventually returned to bed. The night rolled on and dawn came without any further incidents, and the pair went about their morning routine. Rowana was already at a stage where anything Keira said automatically became fact in her mind, so there was no worry about her questioning her ‘nightmares.’ After breakfast, Keira left the beautiful two-story building and walked down the street-sized branch it was built on, greeting the neighbors with a smile and a wave. She rode one of the city’s magic flying platforms down to the ground level with a small crowd of pedestrians then made her way over to the Central Consortium. She circled around the huge building to the field out back, where her Advanced Scouting class was already lined up and waiting for her.

However, of the thirty-three adventurers that initially signed up, only ten had lasted this long. At least half of the drop-outs had shown up because of Keira’s celebrity status and had very little interest in the actual training. Once they realized the Hero of Chaos was not there for their entertainment, they quickly lost interest and stopped showing up. Others tried to stick with it, but couldn’t keep up with Keira’s increasingly intense demands. Normally, losing two-thirds of their first class would be disastrous for an up-and-coming instructor’s career, but not this time. The redhead spun things around to say that her training was intended to be harsh so that only the ones worth teaching stuck around to the end. This was an Advanced course, after all. It was meant to prepare mid-Level adventurers for the harshest challenges the world had to offer, not teach them how to hold a bow or set up a rope trap. So, rather than getting fired or reprimanded by her employers, the Hero of Chaos actually got an apology from the Consortium for failing to manage the expectations of the applicants.

“Good morning, everyone.”

Keira spoke loudly and firmly as she marched down the row of people. First was an elven archer in a heavy hood that obscured most of his features.

“Mr. Phimenor, my eyes are up here.”

“Y-yes, ma’am! Sorry, ma’am!”

Next was a dwarf Rogue with hair and beard as black as charcoal, his scarred skin like a weather-beaten cliff.

“Mr. Ironhide, I trust the head wound you received yesterday is completely healed?”

“Aye, ma’am! Thank you, ma’am!”

The redhead turned to a blue-haired elf and her companion, the only human left in the class.

“Miss Edna. Mr. Horowitz. Is it true you two got jailed for brawling in public last week?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Some scum-buckets insulted you in front of us, ma’am!”

They were a pair of self-taught ‘urban’ Rangers that used to work as bounty hunters in the city’s slums, but were inspired to become proper adventurers by stories of Keira’s exploits.

“I heard. I don’t need you two to defend my honor. Worry about yourselves first.”

“S-sorry, ma’am!”

“Won’t happen again, ma’am!”

“See that you don’t. That said…” she leaned in and whispered, “did you win?”

“Uh… Yes, ma’am,” girl smirked.

“Hit ‘em just like you showed us, ma’am,” the guy boasted.

“Good work.”

The redhead gave them an approving nod, then turned to the black sheep of the group.

“Ah. I see that Mr. Finks is still with us. Isn’t that a pleasant surprise?”

Jared, the ever-present troublemaker, swallowed audibly after hearing his name. Beads of cold sweat started forming on his forehead and palms when Keira stood in front of him, staring at his face with a glare so sharp it was like she was trying to pierce his skull. This lasted for a few deathly silent seconds before she dropped her shoulders and let out a disappointing sigh.

“I must admit, Mr. Finks, I am both disappointed and impressed. My expectations of you were practically nonexistent, yet you still somehow managed to fail them. I can’t help but wonder how in Vivienne’s holy name you seem to be getting worse each day despite all the time and energy I put into you.”

The rest of the class threw each other glances that seemed to say ‘here we go again’ while Jared found it increasingly difficult to keep his mouth shut.

“I would commend you on your persistence, but I’m fairly certain the only reason you’re still around is your pigheaded stubbornness. I honestly have no idea why or how someone as arrogant, inept, and borderline delusional as yourself is even trying to be an adventurer, but I strongly recommend you give it a rest. Go learn to be a farmer or something. At least then the only casualties of your incompetence will be plants and livestock.”

“Now, listen here you charlatan!” the elf finally snapped in a fit of anger. “Just because you can’t admit your methods are flawed-!”

*SNIKT*

“GYAAAAAAHAHAAH!”

The bald-headed upstart fell over screaming at the knife suddenly lodged in his right thigh.

“Does anyone else have a problem with my methods?!”

“No, ma’am!” the other nine shouted as one.

“Then we all agree Mr. Finks here should retire from being an adventurer?!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Thought so.”

Keira removed the knife, the wound already closing. The catgirl had found it troublesome to shout for the medic every time this moron acted up, so she had this special ‘Wellness Blade’ made on the cheap. It was a plain-looking dagger with a moderate healing enchantment that would mend any cut the blade made within seconds. With it, Keira could ‘educate’ the uppity uncooperative pain-in-the-ass without having to stop the class every time he was acting up. Some might call this method barbaric, but the redhead had already convinced her employer that a bit of ‘tough love’ was necessary in her line of work.

“I’ve had it with you, Mr. Finks,” she told the whimpering man. “I tried everything I could think of to help you, but all you’ve done is waste my time and efforts. Get out of my sight and never come back here again, or else no healer alive will be able to fix what I do to you.”

She beckoned two of her students to drag him away and toss him out, which they did gladly.

Strictly speaking, while it seemed extreme on the surface, Keira only took such a heavy-handed stance with Jared. The rest of the class were treated to a firm-but-fair way of teaching that mirrored the catgirl’s own Ranger instructor, the late Milo Faehorn. She was tough, demanding, and oftentimes mean, but the real world was no different – something her remaining students were already aware of. These nine came to her to push their limits and pick up techniques and tricks that might save lives, whether it be their own or those of their clients and comrades. A joker like Jared who only stuck around out of some stubborn sense of pride was nothing but a nuisance that held everyone back.

After all, there was a reason why the paradoxical weapon Keira used earlier was commonly known as ‘The Jared Special’ among her students.

“I have some exciting news for you all!”

The catgirl continued with the highlight of today’s agenda once the two trainees had returned from escorting the troublemaker out of everyone’s collective hair. The prospect of ‘exciting news’ was not well received by the group, however. The last time their instructor used those words she led them on a grueling two-week-long training camp in the Republic’s northern forests, which were considerably more inhospitable than the southern regions. During that time, they began to wonder whether Keira or the roaming packs of werewolves were the biggest threat.

“Congratulations, you all pass!”

The group were expecting another tough assignment, so these words took them completely by surprise. They were so dumbfounded that it took one of them several seconds before anyone could respond.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Ironhide called out. “What do you mean we passed?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” she replied with a smile. “The Advanced Scouting class has run its course, and all of you have officially graduated.”

Only then did the group realize it. They had been worked to the bone on a nearly daily basis as Keira hammered her scouting philosophy into their hearts and minds, so they didn’t even notice it had already been four months.

“What’s with you sorry lot?!” Keira suddenly yelled, her voice sending a chill down their spines. “Was standing around and staring with your mouths open like a bunch of trolls what I taught you sorry scrubs?!”

“No, ma’am!” the class shouted as one.

“What is it we learned over the past four months?!”

“How to survive, ma’am!”

“What is your greatest enemy?!”

“The unknown!”

“How do you prepare for it?!”

“With sharp eyes and sharper wits!”

“What do you do when it comes after you!?”

“We hit it where it hurts!”

“And, if violence doesn’t work?!”

“Then we failed to use enough of it!”

“Much better! Now go out there and show this world you will not let it push you around!”

“OOOORAH!”

Their spirits reinvigorated, the nine graduates of Keira Morgana’s first Advanced Scouting class loudly cheered. Their instructor proudly led them into the Consortium building, where each was presented with a commemorative dagger. It didn’t matter if they were Rogues, Rangers, or Tamers. Every scout needed a knife for emergencies, and the ones these nine received were fine blades indeed. Each item was of Superior or Masterwork quality, and the special metal they were forged out of gave them a mysterious fiery-red sheen despite the fact they were not enchanted. The material was known as volcanite, a stubborn mineral difficult for most smiths to handle due to the extreme temperatures necessary to forge it. However, that was not a problem for a golem like Fizzy, and the radiant artisan wasted no time in exploiting that fact. She forged hundreds of those crimson blades and earned a sizable chunk of Blacksmith XP as a result of working with the difficult material. The resulting weapons were more or less similar to those forged of regular steel, except that they were a little lighter, a little tougher, and bestowed a tiny bit of protection against fire magic.

It was unlike Boxxy to simply give stuff away, but these were a special case. Neither it nor Fizzy could think of anything better to do with these un-shiny things. They could have simply pawned them off, of course, but that felt like a waste of potential. Handing out these novelty items to those that graduated from Keira’s classes just seemed like the best way to use them. They were both practical and their red sheen was oddly reminiscent of the catgirl’s signature crimson hair, so it was likely these blades would hold special significance to the ones that received them. Which, in turn, would only mean an increase in Boxxy’s Doppelganger XP.

Once the improvised award ceremony was finished, Keira bid farewell to her students and paid a visit to the Hidden Arrow guild’s office. She spoke to the receptionist and asked to see all the personal requests she had gotten. The huge box of envelopes she received was rather overwhelming, but understandable given her popularity. After confirming with the receptionist that any and all rude, illicit, or inappropriate requests had been removed, she took a seat on a nearby sofa and began poring over them. Boxxy had hoped to receive word from Reggie via these submissions, but the elder doppelganger had disappeared completely since their last meeting. The younger shifter honestly gave up expecting to hear from the elder at all, which was why it allowed these things to pile up so much. The reason it was paying them any mind was to find something to help deal with that ‘sleep-eating’ problem, the cause of which could be summed up in a single word.

Stress.

Which, from the perspective of a creature that had grown up on a diet of violence, death, and destruction, meant that its body craved more of those things. They were the same urges that the shapeshifter had been suppressing over the past few months as a result of Keira’s new day job. Teaching was hard, especially for a monster, so Boxxy had to focus its undivided attention towards doing the best job it could in order to raise its Facade’s credibility. However, it would appear its primal side refused to be silenced any longer and was causing it to act out at times when its guard was down, like when it slept. The creature came to this conclusion after confirming the glee that welled up in its chest when it stabbed Jared earlier. Well, that and it remembered Fizzy sometimes had such episodes, though it wasn’t clear whether that was because of her being a golem or her having a few metaphorical screws loose. Whatever the case, Boxxy needed to seriously blow off some steam, but it couldn’t do that here. The shapeshifter was a connoisseur of carnage, and the sort of mayhem it had to unleash upon the world was best aimed away from anywhere that might compromise its Facade.

In other words, it was time for Keira to go on a little adventure, and what better source for that than a Quest someone deemed worthy of the Hero of Chaos?

Admittedly, Keira’s Hero title didn’t stop people from submitting horribly mundane and pointless requests, but there were quite a few interesting ones. For instance, some Shaman seeking to reach the summit of Cloudburst Mountain in order to commune with the elements and seek a covenant with one of the wind spirits that dwelled there. Boxxy had never been to that mountain nor sampled its wildlife, but it had heard good things. It also hadn’t had fresh seafood in a long while, so locating some ancient treasure at the bottom of the Oculus Sea was also tempting. Then there was a subjugation request demanding the death of a particularly nasty wyvern – another thing Boxxy had yet to learn the flavor of.

After spending an hour going through the hundred or so envelopes, Keira finally settled on the tastiest-looking one. She put all the rejected ones back into the box and left them with the receptionist while informing her of the job she’d picked. She strode briskly out of the building and made her way across the city, though she wasn’t headed towards her client’s place of residence. She first had to go fetch a certain someone who would probably be a big help on this expedition. This individual resided within a warehouse-sized workshop in Azurvale’s dwarven neighborhood, known as the Stone District. Keira arrived at her destination without much incident and proceeded to slam her fist against the large stone building’s heavy metal door. The grinding and hammering noises coming from the other side came to an abrupt stop, and the door flung open several seconds later to reveal a very irate-looking mithril woman.

“I thought I said-! Oh, hey Keira.”

“Hi, Fizzy. Bad time?”

“No, just some meatbag problems. Come on in.”

The catgirl walked into the workshop’s interior, which was in a state that could be summed up as ‘organized chaos.’ Boxxy honestly had no idea how Fizzy kept track of this mess of parts, tools, and half-finished devices, but it wasn’t here to criticize her workflow.

“Is it those Fizzlesprockets again?” she asked once inside. “Do I need to go pay them a visit after all?”

By which, Boxxy meant it would slaughter their entire clan, gobble up their bodies, rob them of their belongings, burn down their houses, and blow up their pets for good measure.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t do anything that would eradicate decades’ worth of scientific progress,” the golem grumbled. “Arrogant meatbags or not, they still make some decent inventions every now and then. Anyway, it wasn’t them. They don’t have the nuts to stir up trouble outside their home turf.”

“Oh? Then who’s been bothering you?”

“Just a bunch of fanboys and fangirls, they pop in every now and then like I’m some tourist attraction.”

“I thought you liked the attention?”

“Well, yeah, but not when they distract me from my work. Speaking of which, I’ve been making some serious progress.”

The golem led the catgirl into the former warehouse’s main storage room. In the middle stood an enormous cannon. The base of it, which contained the firing mechanism, was the size of a small house. A stupidly-long, half-assembled barrel was poking out from the top. The scale of the project was huge, too big for even someone like Fizzy to handle on her own. As capable as her Service Mode was, some things required an extra pair of hands, which was why she had some help, courtesy of the ability she gained at Level 20 of her War Golem Job.

[Animate Armor]
Acquisition of one (1) subordinance-implanting device designed to interface with blank hardware.
Requirements: Level 10 War Golem, Level 25 Blacksmith
Type: Active, Reservation
Activation Time: 10 seconds
Cost: 20% of max MP
Range: Touch
[Effects]
Bestow autonomous movement upon a set of unenchanted metal armor and gain control over it.
The Animated Armor’s strength is dependent on the Level of this Skill and the Quality of materials used in its creation.
This Skill will fail if the MP used is insufficient for the mass of the target.

At present, Fizzy had three Animated Armors helping out with the weapon’s less technical construction. Each had been forged by her and bore a striking resemblance to her Service Mode, except scaled up to a little over two meters in height and made out of steel rather than mithril. Though they were used as a construction crew, Boxxy knew from firsthand experience just how tough they were in a fight. Those armored shells were nearly three times harder to crack while under Animate Armor’s effects, and could exert a respectable amount of force with just their bare hands. The Skill wasn’t without its flaws, of course. For one, it made the metal bend and warp ever-so-slightly while it moved about, so it was a bad idea to build any Artificer-made devices into them. Another drawback was these things were even more mindless than undead. They could execute simple commands like ‘fight that target’ or ‘guard this area,’ but the sort of work Fizzy had them doing required a lot of micro-managing to make sure they didn’t break anything. That task had been relegated to the Parallel entities living in her head, allowing the main personality to focus on the project’s more complex components.

“So, what do you think?” she asked excitedly. “Coming along nicely, isn’t it?”

“It’s freaking amazing!” Keira exclaimed, eyes full of wonder. “Seeing it in person has a completely different impact from hearing you talk about it!”

That excited response was so genuine that Fizzy had a hard time determining whether Boxxy or Keira was speaking right now. Frankly, the shapeshifter’s ability to change between its fake and true self on a whim sometimes made her wonder if it might have developed some sort of split personality disorder. It was an especially valid concern coming from someone who had multiple versions of herself living in her head. In the end, she decided to trust the monster had its psyche in check and simply accepted the compliment.

“Hehe, if you think it’s impressive now, wait until you see it in action. If my calculations are correct, this baby will be able to shoot at targets over thirty kilometers away. Might even punch a hole straight through a dragon, but it’s hard to say for sure until we try it.”

The person-sized shell in the corner was more than enough to make it clear that statement was no empty boast. Surely, not even those legendary creatures would shrug off an impact from something that large and solid hitting them at four times the speed of sound. That didn’t even consider the special piercing rounds she had in mind. Whether the weapon was able to land a hit on an airborne target was a whole other story.

“Wait… Does the government know you’re building this thing?” Keira asked suddenly.

“Know about it? Who do you think is bankrolling it? I’m not a hundred percent sure how they plan to use my baby, though I doubt it would revolutionize warfare.”

As impressive as this rail cannon was, Fizzy knew from personal experience that magic had a way of subverting the laws of physics. It was still possible to absorb or redirect each shot, even with the absurd amount of kinetic energy behind it. A sustained, long-range barrage would eventually punch through a fortress’s defensive barriers, but whether that was a cost effective strategy was questionable.

“Ah, okay. I guess that makes sense,” Keira nodded. “But… isn’t it a bit too big?”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna lie, maintaining, mobilizing, and defending something of this size is going to be a logistical nightmare. Expensive, too. If it were me, I’d just stick it on a border fortress and use it to scare off invaders.”

Treating the rail cannon as a defensive piece of siege equipment made more sense than mobilizing it to assault an enemy position. It was far simpler, and any attacking army would not have the luxury of a magically-entrenched position. Getting shelled repeatedly by an enemy they couldn’t even see would surely demoralize even the most hardened of veterans, to say nothing of the casualties involved.

“That’s not what I meant,” the catgirl scratched her cheek. “I’m more concerned with how you’re going to get it out of here. Pretty sure there’s no Wizard alive that can teleport something this huge.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m going to mount it on a mobile platform to make it move under its own power. You remember Jesse from New Whitehall? I’m having her team design the engine. It won’t be long before it’s done and my baby is rumbling down the street.”

“Ah. So, what’s your ingenious plan to make it fit through the door?”

Fizzy looked towards the loading bay Keira was pointing at. She glanced up at the nearly completed rail cannon prototype, then back towards the building’s largest exit. There was absolutely zero chance the weapon would pass through that opening without demolishing the place. It was such a painfully obvious obstacle that Fizzy didn’t even stop to consider it.

“Uhhh… I’ll… have to… get back to you on that… Oh, right. Minus wants to know why you’re here. She has doubts you showed up just to say hi, and I agree with her.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need to borrow you and your knowledge of sacred texts for this.”

Keira handed Fizzy the paper detailing the request she picked out back at the guild.

Private Quest Submission Form B-5-1
Hidden Arrow, Central Consortium, Azurvale, Ishigar Republic

Submitter: Corrai of Clan Daiei
Address: Black Rose Hotel, southern base of Tree Helia, Azurvale

Quest Name: Find Miguel’s Relics
Quest Location: Unknown
Quest Summary: Greetings, chosen Hero of Chaos! I am a servant of the Lord of Luck and have been tasked with locating His holy relics. I have been trying for many years, and though I have made some progress, I regret that I have hit a dead end. I come to you, hoping you will help me find the way. I know this sounds dubious, but I assure you I have definite proof of my purpose should you require it.

Estimated Difficulty: Unknown
Estimated Completion Time: Unknown
Due Date: By summer’s end.
Reward: The relics are yours, should we find them.
Other Considerations: The Lord of Luck has forbidden me from seeking His divine guidance, so I must request that you refrain from doing the same while handling this matter.

“Is this… what I think it is?!” the golem asked, wide-eyed.

“Yup,” Keira confirmed with a nod. “We’re going to hunt down a potential Divine-class item.”

A Tale of Lemons

There were many interesting stalls within Azurvale’s markets. Though it was not exactly a hub of trade and commerce, the exotic aesthetic of the tree-city attracted all sorts of visitors and tourists. Merchants and traders from all over the world often passed through, and none could ignore the opportunity to peddle their goods and services at such a choice location. The elves of the capital had something of a reputation for having more money than common sense, so even peddlers of bizarre merchandise could find plenty of customers. Azurvale’s savvier citizens knew to avoid this particular market, as it seemed to attract charlatans trying to push whatever fad or get-rich-quick scheme was popular that month. Presently, the hot trend was colorful hats with outrageous decorations ranging from arm-length feathers to fist-sized fangs.

Amidst this carnival of sleazy showmanship was a surprisingly down-to-earth stall. One would not think this was the case at a glance since it was a wooden caravan that unfolded into a place of business. Such things were a rare sight around the Republic, and the items on offer were definitely of foreign make. Yet, rather than some useless, overpriced crap that would be forgotten before long, the merchandise was functional, high-quality, and enticingly priced. There was the odd curio or interesting toy, but for the most part the place was like a mobile general store that sold practical solutions to everyday problems. Tools and clothes were aplenty, both basic and advanced crafting materials were on display, and several pieces of imported arms and armor were lined up. There were also a few paintings and some carved souvenir-like statuettes, but nothing worth causing a fuss. No matter how one looked at it, this wagon-store was set up to earn a steady income rather than make a quick coin, implying its owner was an experienced and honest merchant.

The peddler in question was also something of a walking advertisement for his wagon-stall. He was a male raptor from the southern continent, with broad shoulders, dark green scales, almost no neck, and a head shaped loosely like a crocodile. Though his kind weren’t typically considered handsome by ‘smoothskin’ standards, this individual’s face was especially hideous. The right half was heavily scarred with bits outright missing, almost as if he got into an argument with a cheese grater and lost. Even the eye on that side had to be replaced by an artificial one made of glowing white crystal, likely an Enchanter’s handiwork. The reptilian yellow eye on his left was healthy, bright, and attentive, and the tooth-filled snout was curved in a surprisingly friendly smile. It seemed as if the horrible scarring made the rest of him look far more approachable by comparison. His unique appearance helped to captivate people’s attention, allowing him to invite them over to peruse his wares with a lively wave and cheerful voice.

Attracted by the salesman’s bizarre appearance and approachable attitude, the pedestrians flocked to his stall. Once there, their stares gradually turned away from his slightly gruesome visage and towards his excellent goods. There was no doubt the man was a professional salesman, as he made sure to leave his clients satisfied and happy about their purchase. He understood repeat customers were where the real money was, so he made sure to encourage people to visit him again, and soon. His imported goods were of a limited quantity, so there was no telling if something a customer had their eye on would still be here if they dawdled too long. Plus, he would have to move on from Azurvale in due time, as was the nature of a travelling merchant. He frequently mentioned these facts in an attempt to instill a fear of missing out in prospective buyers.

It was common for this particular stall to have a small crowd, and this afternoon was no different. Yet, as he went about his usual business, the scale-faced peddler couldn’t help but notice that there was a much bigger commotion going on nearby. A mild storm of voices and footsteps was easily audible over the general murmur of the crowd, but he unfortunately couldn’t see what the fuss was about. The raptor was uncharacteristically short for his species, to the point people would assume he had a dwarven or gnomish father. He didn’t have a complex about his height or anything, but his lower point of view did make it hard to see over people’s heads at times. He didn’t necessarily need to leave his station to find out what was going on, though, as the wall of people in front of him suddenly parted to reveal the root cause of the disturbance.

Namely, a construct of glimmering white mithril with smooth feminine curves and an extremely lifelike face.

“Hey, are you Corrai of Clan Daiei?” she asked matter-of-factly.

“Why, yes, I am,” he responded with a bow of his head. “You must be the famous Rustblood Juggernaut. Or, at least, I hope you are. I imagine there are not a lot of individuals with a countenance as radiant as yours.”

“Damn right, there aren’t,” she responded with a smug smile. “You should be thanking your lucky stars someone as glorious as myself came to see you personally.”

“Quite so, quite so. Your noble form has been forever burned into my memory, and I am grateful for it. I would offer you a good deal on some gnomish-made machine oil, but I dare say you don’t look to be a customer.”

“I could use some lubricant now that you mention it. Not right now, though. I’m here about the request you made at the guild.”

“Ah… Oh, my sweet Albert! Has that person sent you?!”

“If by ‘that person’ you mean Keira, then yes. She’ll be waiting for you at your hotel in two hours, so don’t keep us waiting.”

“How glorious!” he exclaimed. “I’ll be there at any cost!”

“Yeah, you do that.”

The golem left as abruptly as she showed up, leaving the raptor merchant to continue advertising his goods with renewed vigor.

“Haha! What a truly blessed day! One that must be marked with a celebration!” he shouted loudly and clearly. “Come one, come all, for Corrai’s prices are now a quarter off, no questions asked! Make sure you grab these amazing deals while you can, for this may be your last chance to get them!”

His eyes snapped to a curious-looking elf maiden, whose attention had been grabbed by the raptor’s energetic voice and exotic appearance.

“You there, my fair lady! You strike me as a woman of refined taste and an eye for quality! I have with me a set of beautiful dresses from the Pearly Dunes that would make you look even more stunning! Never too early to start planning for the big Aurora Eve party, you know!”

Fizzy kept hearing Corrai’s voice as she made her way back to Keira. She couldn’t help but be impressed at how seamlessly and shamelessly he turned her disturbance into a chance to start a big sale. Then again, he wouldn’t be much of a follower of Sean if he didn’t take advantage of such opportunities. In fact, one could say he was almost too good at it. Judging from the background check Boxxy and Fizzy had done on him over the past few days, Corrai was relatively well known within the mercantile community. The raptor pulled double duty as adventurer and peddler, evidenced by his well-developed Monk and Merchant Jobs. The former gave him access to the Disciple of Chaos Skill, which worked as a sort of homing device. It was a unique type of clairvoyance that pointed one towards whatever direction was most likely to help achieve some goal or purpose. It wasn’t as accurate as the blow-by-blow predictions of Fizzy’s equivalent Paladin ability, nor was it any use in a fight. It could, however, be used to avoid conflict entirely. Or, seek it out, as Corrai’s reputation would suggest.

It was often said that followers of David always seemed to be around during times of great upheaval, but that lizard-man had turned it into an occupation. A massive earthquake that demolished half the city? Corrai would be there selling construction materials to help rebuild. A region ravaged by an unnatural drought? Corrai could be seen offering barrels of fresh drinking water and prayer books to Zephyra, the Goddess of Rain. Reports of Blight spreading in the woods? Corrai would be waiting there with disease-repelling equipment in one hand and holy water in the other. He was even reported to have provided blankets, medicine, and other supplies to Dragunov during the freak snow storm caused by their malfunctioning weather control device.

These rumors made him out to be a heartless scumbag who sought to reap immense profits off people’s suffering, a mentality Boxxy greatly respected. However, a deeper inquiry revealed this was not exactly the case. While he did make a tidy sum from those dubious ventures, he did not bleed the desperate people dry and kept his prices fair. It was also undeniable that his preparedness to take advantage of those disastrous situations, while suspicious, had also been a great source of help and relief to his happy customers. Boxxy’s revised profile of Corrai was of a merchant who made precisely as much money as he could get away with without inviting the aforementioned ‘heartless scumbag’ reputation. Which, considering the goodwill he fostered, probably earned him a lot of repeat business, thus potentially making him far more money in the long run. He was also quite the fighter, with a rather unique combat style that used everything around him as a weapon. Dirt, twigs, forks, shovels, tables – he even supposedly once defeated a forest troll by smashing it across the face with a freshly-caught salmon.

This was possible thanks to a Skill called Sink Warfare, which was only available to Monks that followed the God of Chance. The ability allowed them to infuse everyday objects with Ki, temporarily giving them an offensive, defensive, and durability rating comparable to mildly enchanted weapons. The shapeshifter would have plenty of opportunity to confirm all of this information, as it had decided to answer Corrai’s request for assistance with his relic-hunting endeavor. However, the lizard-man’s reaction upon seeing Boxxy’s perky, crimson-haired Facade did not fill the creature with a lot of confidence. Upon meeting Keira in the Black Rose Hotel’s lobby, Corrai immediately prostrated himself before the catgirl before they could even exchange greetings. He didn’t even mind getting his expensive-looking clothes dirty, as he lay perfectly still with his hands, knees, and forehead pressed against the ground. Well, almost perfectly still. The muscular, green-scaled tail jutting out from his backside seemed beyond his control, as its tip frantically and repeatedly tapped against the carpeted floor, betraying his excitement.

“Ugh… Great, another fanatic,” Keira grumbled. “Why does Shannon always get the crazy ones?”

This was hardly the first time the Hero of Chaos had seen this sort of reaction. Twenty of these devout followers of the Goddess of Instability had done more or less the exact same thing in the last six months alone. Worst of all, this guy seemed to completely disregard Fizzy, though she seemed to be taking that surprisingly well.

“I think it’s the other way around,” the golem chimed in. “If you ask me, it’s Virgil’s influence that makes people go nuttier than a gnomish shortcake.”

“Riiiight. In any event, please cut that out, Corrai. It’s not productive, warranted, or appreciated.”

“Ack! My apologies, my lady,” the raptor exclaimed. “I did not mean to offend.”

“Then get off the blasted floor so we can talk like people!”

It took a bit more urging and convincing, but the scaly merchant finally agreed to treat Keira more casually. The three relocated to Corrai’s suite, so that they may discuss the matter at hand in private. The place was quite fancy as far as hotels went. It even had its own bathroom, bedroom, and living room as separate sections, though it would appear the current resident was using the extra space mostly to store his excess stock. Curiously enough, the place was reminiscent of Fizzy’s workshop in the ‘organized chaos’ department, though he was clearly embarrassed to show these random piles of crates, trunks, and sacks to a Hero.

“Please excuse the mess, my lady,” he said remorsefully. “I was not expecting a response so soon.”

“So soon? Didn’t you submit it like two months ago?”

“I did not expect you to reply at all, so two months is nothing compared to the eternity that lies ahead of us.”

“Ohhhhh-kay? So, what’s this Quest about?”

“It is exactly as I stated, my lady. Sanders has given me a most holy task to perform, as a test of my faith, will, and resolve. Though, I suspect it may have been because I was relying on His wisdom too much.”

“You tried asking that guy for advice?” Fizzy asked with a dubious expression. “You realize he’s shadier than the bottom of a well at midnight, right?”

The raptor did not take kindly to that remark, indicated by his sharpened glare. Even his artificial right eye seemed to glow with a harsher intensity.

“Pardon me, my lady, but why is this one here?”

“Fizzy is a Paladin and a Champion of Chaos,” Keira said sternly. “She is one of my closest friends and most trusted comrades, and I expect you to treat her with the respect she deserves.”

“… My apologies, fellow follower of chaos,” Corrai said with a bow. “Please forgive me, but one does not run into others of our faith often, and your words were a bit… heretical.”

“Don’t sweat the small stuff,” the golem brushed him off. “What’s this about you relying on Alison?”

“Ah, yes. I was quite the lost individual as a youngster. But, then a baby hydra spat in my face and gave me some rather interesting visions. At first, I thought it was its hallucinogenic venom, but soon after I came to my senses, I realized I had become a Disciple of Chaos.”

Something like that was to be expected. All of the ‘pilgrims’ that had shown up before Keira had a similar story. Even Fizzy, to a certain degree, had Guadalupe’s faith forced upon her by circumstances outside her control. She, like all the others, eventually grew to appreciate their newfound divine connection and the modicum of control it offered them over the world’s unseen ebb and flow.

“I used to seek my new patron deity’s advice regarding every aspect of my life,” the raptor continued, “from what I would have for breakfast to whether I should put on underwear that day. The Quest I was given forbade me from praying for guidance, and though I was upset at first, I now know the reason behind it. It was to help me realize I had grown too dependent on a higher power. As an old friend used to say, we mortals control our fate, not the deities that watch over us. I just wish I recognized the truth of those words sooner.”

Keira and Fizzy exchanged a few knowing looks. Having personally met the god in question on more than one occasion, they couldn’t help but feel that Corrai was severely misunderstanding Cedric’s intentions. It was far more likely that the Goddess of Chaos simply had enough of his crap and wanted him to leave her alone, but they did not voice this opinion. Discussing religious beliefs wasn’t the purpose of this gathering.

“As for the task itself, I dare say I made some surprisingly solid progress,” the raptor claimed with a smile. “I had been given absolutely no information, other than the names of six items and the hint that they will display an awesome power once brought together. It cost me an obscene amount of money, nearly a decade of my life, and the right side of my face, but I managed to track down three of them.”

The raptor reached into the Bag of Holding dangling off his waist and set out three items on the table that Keira was seated at. The first was a pure white porcelain plate that seemed to have been polished and cleaned with frightening regularity. The second was a tall drinking glass so extremely transparent it was practically invisible. One wouldn’t be able to tell it was even there if not for the circular indentation on the beige tablecloth or the faint fingerprints on its surface. The third object was far less fancy, as it appeared to be an orange ceramic brick.

“These are the Plate of Blue, the Glass of Purity, and the Knife of Regret,” he explained, pointing to each item in turn.

“Uhm… I think I get the Glass of Purity, but how come the dinner plate isn’t blue?” Keira said in a confused tone. “Also, that’s a brick, not a knife.”

“I am aware. Allow me to demonstrate.”

Corrai rummaged through his stuff for a bit before producing a piece of salted jerky. He placed the strip of meat onto the plate, and it instantly turned a deep, ocean-like blue. He picked it back up and bit half of it off, demonstrating the unnatural coloration was permanent and did not affect its edibility or flavor. The same couldn’t be said about the ‘Knife’ of Regret, however, as placing the leftover preserved meat onto it caused it to transform into an unappetizing, foul-smelling, moldy pile of rot within seconds.

“So… this one’s called the Plate of Blue because it turns things blue… and that’s the Knife of Regret because you’ll regret using it as a knife?”

“Exactly, my lady!” Corrai stated, his eyes gleaming with respect and adoration. “To grasp these relics’ quirks so easily, truly you are the Chosen of the God of Happenstance!”

“What about the Glass of Purity?” the catgirl asked. “I doubt its named that just because it barely looks like it’s there.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Forgive me, but I will have to make a bit of a mess.”

The impromptu show-and-tell session continued with Corrai digging out a wine bottle from his stock. He picked up the borderline ethereal container and tried pouring the alcohol into it. When the liquid hit the bottom of the glass, however, it suddenly became crystal-clear water while some reddish, dirt-like residue fell out of its bottom.

“As you can see, it aggressively and thoroughly purifies any fluid that passes through, leaving only water behind. I’ve tried it with various alcohols, poisons, sauces, soups, even various types of blood, and the outcome is always the same.”

“Have you tried molten metals?” Fizzy inquired suddenly.

“Uh, no. The thought did cross my mind, but I fear I might damage the relic.”

“But, if it’s really a divine relic, it should be practically indestructible, no?” Keira asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t know, my lady. From what I’ve seen these items can crack and chip if treated roughly. They do recover over time, but it takes a while. The Plate of Blue, for instance, took about three months to mend itself after I accidentally scratched it while digging it out of some jungle ruins.”

It was a bit shameful to admit, but Corrai was a Monk and a Merchant, neither of which were very good at archeology.

“Hmm… Fizzy, does any of this mean anything to you?”

“Sorry,” the golem shook her head. “I’ve been rooting through Holy Scripture’s lore, but I can’t find a single reference to any… divine cutlery.”

“I see. Corrai, you mentioned there were three more of these, uh, relics, yes?”

“Ah, yes, of course. The missing pieces are the False Kettle, the Spoon of Speculation, and the Fork of Truth.”

“That settles it, then, doesn’t it,” the catgirl said with a sigh.

“I’m sorry, settles what, my lady?”

“Your story. I’m starting to believe it. You see, I already have one of those in my possession.”

Keira moved a hand over to the diamond-and-mithril-studded belt on her waist, the Artifact-grade item known as Aetherial Repository #3. She touched one of the faintly glowing white gems, causing a flash of light as she retrieved a small object from the belt’s Storage-like space. She placed it on the table in front of the stunned raptor, revealing it to be a mithril soup spoon with a flower-like pattern carved into the handle. She immediately placed it on the table.

“C-c-could it be?! The Spoon of-?!”

“Nope,” the catgirl cut him off. “It’s the Fork of Truth.”

“It… what? Are you certain, my lady?”

“There is no doubt in my mind. The item’s identity was revealed to me in a vision once I obtained it, almost as if recalling a long lost memory.”

That was, of course, entirely facetious, though it wasn’t like Keira could admit the real reason she was so sure was because she was a dungeon owner. The crystal core seemed to hold significant knowledge of items and monsters, so its appraisals were far more accurate and reliable than a Scribe’s. It was a bit concerning that it did not identify the Fork of Truth as a Divine-rank item, but as a Superior one. Then again, if what Corrais said was true – and Boxxy had little reason to doubt him – these items would only reveal their true power once brought together.

“Ahyahyahya! Today really is a blessed day!”

The raptor let out an excited voice while clapping his hands, indicating he bought Keira’s cryptic nonsense of an excuse.

“Tell me, my lady, how in the world did you even find it?!”

“Came across it on my travels completely by chance. Kept it because it looked fancy.”

It was a surprisingly honest answer and the best one Boxxy could muster. It genuinely had forgotten where exactly it got this curious object, but there was no way it could forget it was in its possession. The whole reason it brought it here was because it had a hunch it might be connected to Terence. That guy seemed to have a stake in every oddity, weirdo, and bizarre event out there, so it was hardly a long shot considering this thing’s inexplicable function.

“Be wary of touching it,” Keira warned Corrai. “Holding that thing for more than a few seconds makes you super angry for no reason.”

“… May I try? I wish to experience it for myself.”

“Okay, but I’m not gonna be held accountable for any damages.”

The raptor nodded to show he understood and seized the mithril ‘fork.’ He held it for a solid three seconds without feeling anything other than the cool metal between his fingers. His vision was then taken over by a red haze, and when he came to he found himself laying down on the ground. Fizzy, now in Skirmisher Mode, was holding him down with a shiny foot to his chest and an arm cannon aimed at his head. He looked around, noting that the table where all the relics were placed had been smashed into splinters. The sharp pain in his right arm hit him in the next instant, informing him it was fractured and provoking a quickly-stifled scream.

“Back to your senses yet, meatbag?” the golem asked with an ice-cold expression.

“Y-yes. Grhn. I apologize, I did not expect it to be so… overpowering. I do not even remember what transpired.”

“Told you so,” Keira called out from the side. “Don’t worry, though, you’re the only one that got hurt.”

Corrai shifted his eyesight to confirm that this was indeed the case. The catgirl had not even a scratch on her, and the relics she was cradling in her arms were equally unscathed. Except for the Fork of Truth, which had presumably been returned to her mystic belt-mounted container where it could do no harm.

“I see. Thank you for your timely intervention, Champion Fizzy.”

“Don’t sweat it. Even I go berserk if I try to hold that stupid spoon. Come on, up you go.”

The smaller golem effortlessly lifted Corrai back to his feet. Noticing the odd angle his arm was bent, she decided she might as well take care of it.

“Holy Light!”

[Divine power has healed your wounds. HP +1,305.]

Glowing warmth enveloped the raptor, making him sigh in relief as his injured limb snapped back into place. He was impressed with the incredible potency of the golem’s magic. A Paladin pulling off four-digit heals like that would be impossible unless they had a rather absurd FTH Attribute, which was only obtainable by the most devout of the gods’ servants. He was about to praise the strength of Fizzy’s faith, but the words got stuck in his throat when he noticed the little jolts of lightning leaping between the construct’s head-coils. He had heard the Rustblood Juggernaut boasted electric-attuned powers, so those arcs did not surprise him. What gave him pause was their bright golden glow, for the Monk could feel there was something extra mixed in with that crackling energy.

“… Much obliged for the medical attention,” he eventually squeezed out, “but is it me, or does your lightning carry the spark of divinity?”

“You’re damn right it does,” the pint-sized Paladin declared proudly. “You’re not looking at any old mithril golem, but a blessed construct created by Elmer himself! I am His greatest Champion and wield His power as my own!”

“Hah-ha!” Corrai chuckled. “I see! I would expect nothing less from a companion of the Hero of Chaos!”

Fizzy’s boasts were, for once, grounded in reality. Back when she believed Boxxy dead and gone, she went on a little adventure to the moon of Tascuna. While there, an incident resulted in her first face-to-face with her patron since her involuntary inauguration as a Paladin. That was when the God of Dice had made it abundantly clear that Fizzy was, in fact, His most powerful servant, aside from Boxxy. It was also by the whimsical deity’s influence that she became a war golem immediately afterwards. Given that the Atlas of Dreams could produce entire armies of similar constructs in one of its instant dungeons, it stood to reason that war golems were somehow related to Agatha. Therefore, as far as Fizzy was concerned, she was practically created by the Goddess of Coincidences.

As for her golden lightning, that was actually a product of a Skill that reinforced the theoretical connection between her species and her pantheon.

[Spark of Creation]
Acquisition of one (1) alternator module designed to partially convert electrical output into the energy of creation.
Requirements: Level 25 War Golem, Lightning Affinity, Divine Beast
Type: Toggled (ON)
Activation Time: Instant
Cost: N/A
Range: Self
[Effects]
Converts 25% of outgoing lightning magic into holy magic.
Converts an additional 5% of outgoing lightning magic into holy magic for every 2 Levels of this Skill.
Increases effectiveness of all holy magic by 1% per Level of this Skill.

The Skill was quite handy for several reasons. It provided a minor yet welcome boost to Fizzy’s divine spells and allowed a significant chunk of the dynamo golem’s lightning-based offense to remain effective against targets that would otherwise be resistant. Of course, this also meant her charged frame wouldn’t be as punishing to those who were weak to getting electrocuted, but that was also a benefit considering how close she and Boxxy were. Plus, the shapeshifter quite preferred this golden glow to the usual pale blue arcs. Curiously enough, this change in hue wasn’t reflected in the various glowing bits scattered across the golem’s frame, though that was probably because those currents were internal, not ‘outgoing.’

Practical effects aside, Spark of Creation was something of an oddity when it came to Skills. It required the Divine Beast Perk, which could only be obtained if a monster became a Paladin or Priest. Fizzy had already determined her kind were one of Nigel’s creations, so that part wasn’t surprising. The weird part about Spark of Creation was the construct obtained it at Level 25 of her War Golem Job. Common sense dictated she was supposed to get a Rank Up, not another Skill option. It was extremely bizarre for there to not be a ‘breakpoint’ at the first quarter-hundred mark like literally every other Job. Well, aside from the racial vocations that accompanied every demon’s physical form.

Considering the God of Exceptions was the common connecting thread, Fizzy decided to just accept this as another of her patron’s quirks and didn’t dwell on it… much. She was a bit disappointed she was denied a Rank Up, but the shiny Skill was a nice consolation prize. She also remained hopeful she’d get a chance to evolve at Level 50 or, failing that, 100. It was also possible that the War Golem Job had no Level limit, which would allow her to get every single Skill it offered. It was an extremely enticing proposition, though likely just wishful thinking. She’d even be fine with War Golem turning out to be a dead-end Job at Level 50 like its predecessor. That was still a hundred Levels between the two, which would result in her getting an Ultimate Skill anyway.

All of that would become clear in due time, but first, Fizzy and her partner-in-crime still had a bunch of weird relics to deal with.

“If you two are done messing around, how about we focus on the matter at hand?” suggested Keira. “Like figuring out how to find the last two pieces. The Spoon of Speculation and the False Kettle, right?”

“Ah, forgive me, my lady, but as I mentioned in my request, I truly have no options left,” the raptor said with an apologetic bow of his head. “I have exhausted every possible lead, investigated every utterance of a mystical piece of dinnerware, braved a dozen dungeons, and dug through countless ruins. I do not mean to boast, but I would not have found these three if not for a series of small miracles. My luck appears to have run out, yet you randomly stumbled upon one of the very objects I was pursuing. I dare say our best option is to follow your insight and trust in your good fortune.”

“Right. I suppose that’s just how these things work, don’t they? Hmm…”

Keira closed her eyes, furrowed her brows, and slowly tapped her foot against the floor as the monster within racked its brains.

“That’s it!” she suddenly exclaimed. “If we’re looking for a piece of history lost to time, then I know just what to do!”

“What would that be, my lady?”

“We gotta get to Emerald.”

“You mean the city in the Pearly Dunes?”

“Yep. You know about it?”

“Indeed. I visit it regularly on my travels, though I cannot fathom what my lady expects to find there.”

“Oh, I know a guy who knows another guy who knows everything.”

Technically, that last one wasn’t so much a person as it was a grimoire, but Nao’s LIAR was the first thing that needed to be consulted. There was no telling what sort of cost would be involved, and it was a fair assumption that it wasn’t going to be cheap, but it was the fastest and surest way to find the missing items. Knowing that wolf-boy’s personality, he would probably be more than happy to help his first female friend track down some long-forgotten relic, even if he did have to cheat by using the LIAR. Keeping secrets was also a specialty of his, so it was unlikely he’d blab about it to anyone, whatever the outcome.

“Ugh, I hate the desert,” Fizzy groaned. “The sand gets in my joints and makes this awful screeching noise when I move around.”

“Don’t be like that. You wouldn’t want to miss out on this opportunity, would you? Besides, I’d really appreciate it if you helped me and Corrai out.”

“Wait, me?” the raptor asked, dumbfounded. “I’m coming, too?”

“Of course. You’re the one with the Quest from a god, right? Shouldn’t you see it through all the way to the end? Besides, with how long you’ve spent searching for these things, you’re practically an expert on it. You’re also familiar with the area, so I’d appreciate your assistance if things get rough.”

“Right you are, my lady. I would be honored to offer what aid I can.”

“Great! Though…”

The redhead put on an apologetic expression and clasped her hands together pleadingly.

“I’m a little bit strapped for gold at the moment. I just bought a new house and I have a loan to pay off, so I would really appreciate it if you could, uh, bankroll this adventure.”

Admittedly, Keira had enough savings set aside to pay for it, but the monster within saw no reason why it should do that when it could sucker this guy into footing the bill.

“It was my intention to do so,” Corrai declared. “Searching for these relics is what motivated me to become a travelling merchant in the first place, and it is my mess that you will be cleaning up. It is only right that I put my money where my mouth is.”

“Thanks. How soon can we leave?”

“Right now, if you so wish, though I suspect you would like a day or two to prepare.”

“You suspect right. How’s tomorrow morning sound?”

“Splendid! I will begin preparing for our departure. We will need food, water, and clothing to bear the desert’s summer heat. I will also make sure to stock up on machine oil and metal polish for your dazzling companion.”

“See, Fizzy? All taken care of.”

“I don’t know,” the golem still had reservations. “I kind of have that government project to finish. You sure this won’t take too long?”

“Pretty sure, yeah. I mean, we either find the thing we want, get it, and come back, or we don’t and come back anyway. It’s a long way there and back, but I honestly don’t see us being gone more than two weeks. Three tops.”

Three months later, a ghastly, screeching voice echoed across the Pearly Dunes.

“Retuuuuuurn the spoooooon!”

Its source was a twenty-meter long glass dragon that flew over the white desert. Directly underneath it was a gigantic, wave-like sandstorm that could bury entire cities in an instant.

“Retuuuuuurn the spoooooon!”

“You’re not exactly giving us a chance to, dickface!” Keira screamed back.

The catgirl was fleeing from said unnatural disaster while riding a camel. The flowing white robes that were supposed to protect her from the harsh midday sun were ripped to shreds and billowing behind her as if they were a flag denoting surrender.

“Retuuuuuurn the spoooooon! Or suffer my cuuuuuurse!”

“I think we’re suffering enough as is!”

It was Fizzy’s turn to complain. The dynamo golem was keeping up with Kiera’s frightened steed on foot, though she had to transform to her Charger Mode to do that. This particular configuration gave her enormous arms and fists, a wide upper body, and massive shoulders. It was rather ape-like in shape, except for the sturdy set of legs designed to let her move quickly, but only in one direction – forward. A single blow from her enormous knuckles at full speed was enough to turn a person into red mist, but right now she was focused on escaping. Her elbows were tucked into her waist and her hands were pressed against her chest, otherwise they would throw her off balance. The golem was dragging along an old wooden cart, upon which sat a shriveled up Corrai and a Hero of Magic who deeply regretted allowing himself to be talked into going on this adventure.

“Are you idiots back there making any progress?!” Fizzy shouted over her shoulder.

“I’m deciphering half-destroyed letters from an ancient Suna Empire scroll!” Nao snapped back. “Do you have any idea how difficult this is without being chased by a fucking dragon?!”

Technically, it wasn’t an actual dragon, but the terrifying might of that tomb guardian certainly made it seem like one.

“Ehehehe… The ocean is a lovely place isn’t it…”

As for Corrai, he was ever so slightly delusional from extreme dehydration, so he wasn’t exactly contributing to the situation.

“Retuuuuuurn the spoooooon!”

“Just use your succubus!” Keira yelled. “She has Versatile Tongue, right?”

“She does, but I seriously doubt she can stop that by orally pleasing it!”

“Not that, you moron! I mean the Skill! You know, the one that lets her speak all kinds of languages!?”

“It’s a moot point, anyway! She already got sucked into that storm, and I can’t summon her with all this shaking!”

As one would imagine, the sandstorm was anything but ordinary. Whatever magic that draconic construct was wielding made it so that anything caught in its path would dry out and age rapidly until it became a pile of dust. This included both magical and metal constructs, such as demonic familiars or Fizzy’s Animated Armors. Even Spells and arrows would evaporate instantly within those ridiculous sands.

“Now will you two shut up and let me focus!?”

That was easier said than done. This chase had already been going on for half an hour, and it had been over three days since they had slept or eaten a solid meal. They’d have passed out from exhaustion if not for the various invigorating tonics in Nao’s Item Box and Keira’s Artifact-grade utility belt. They were all way past their limits, and there was no telling when any of them would collapse on the spot.

“Retuuuuuurn the spoooooon!” the voice repeated itself. “Or suffer my cuuuuuurse!”

“I think I have it!” Nao suddenly declared. “I’m going to have to improvise a bit, but I think it’s our best shot!”

The wolfkin rummaged through the various items and treasures rolling around the cart and grasped a lavishly-decorated scepter carved out of ivory and inlaid with dozens of gemstones. Pilfering the regal-looking stick from an ancient tomb was what pissed off that glass dragon in the first place, but the relic also seemed to be the key to stopping its rampage. Having secured the object, Nao rose to his feet, pointed the thing at the flying menace, and began chanting the code phrase.

“In brightest day! In blackest night! No evil shall escape my sight!”

The jeweled cane in his hand responded to the words of power by shaking fiercely, its many gemstones letting out a multicolored spectrum of light.

“Let those who worship evil’s might beware my power! Uh, something something’s light!”

The item let out a rainbow-like beam that curved towards the glass dragon, striking it dead on. The energy was refracted into a half-dozen rays of light as it passed through the crystalline construct and bathed its surroundings in hypnotizing radiance. Unfortunately, the strain proved too much for the ancient rod in Nao’s hands. The priceless artifact shattered into a million pieces after just two seconds of maintaining that output.

“Something something’s light?!” Keira let out an incredulous scream. “Are you freaking kidding me?!”

“No! Look! The storm’s dissipating!”

Indeed, just as the Hero of Magic claimed, the wall of sand was slowly getting smaller while the construct maintaining it was having trouble keeping itself in the air.

“Now, Keira! Hit it as hard as you can!”

The catgirl leapt off the camel that kept speeding off and rolled across the hot white sands. She took out the Winter’s Bite longbow from her waist-mounted storage device and aimed it straight at the beast.

“Snipe!”

The conjured ice arrow flew off into the distance draped in a bright-green light. Unlike the hundreds of shots prior, this one actually managed to reach its target and strike it in its center of mass. A powerful screech washed over the desert as the terror hounding the four of them cracked up and burst into a rain of sparkling shards that mixed in with the settling cloud of pearly sands, never to be seen again.

“Alright!”

“Finally!”

“Nice shot!”

“Cucumbers!”

The victorious party let out a few triumphant cheers and stopped to catch their breath. Now that the magical anomaly was no longer forcing Nao to be on the move, he was finally able to make a stable Gate Spell. It took a few ‘jumps’ but they were able to make it back to the last town they’d visited within the hour. It was a quaint settlement built around a small oasis, a welcome sight for Corrai. His kind was far more used to the humid jungle than the arid desert, so the heat had hit him hardest of all. Thankfully, he returned to his former self surprisingly quickly once he got some fresh water and a quick meal of honeyed figs. The group took a quick vote and unanimously decided to put off sleeping a while longer so they could finally see the fruits of their labor. The LIAR had guided them to the missing two pieces of Robin’s ancient cutlery set for the low price of a few equally ancient relics. This started a scavenger hunt across the southern reaches of the continent that got way out of hand and somehow culminated in that desert chase, but that was all done and over.

“Come on! Let’s see it, then!” Nao beckoned eagerly.

He, Keira, Fizzy, and the revived Corrai were currently huddled around under the shade of a palm tree just outside of town.

“Alright. Here we go,” the catgirl stated. “First, the Fork of Truth.”

The mithril spoon was taken out of the Aetherial Repository and placed on the small blanket between the four.

“Then, the False Kettle.”

As the name implied, it was not a kettle at all. It was actually a steel fork, one that seemed to make whoever was holding it incredibly hungry.

“The Knife of Regret, the Plate of Blue, and the Glass of Purity.”

Corrai’s items were brought out and arranged in a loose circle.

“And, finally, the Spoon of Speculation.”

Said ‘spoon’ was actually a wooden beer mug glued to one end of a stick. It was more like a ladle, really. Its special property was to turn any food or fluid placed within completely flavorless. Fitting that such a despicable thing would give them the most trouble. Nevertheless, the instant the last object was placed on the ground, all six items began to rattle and shake. They suddenly flew towards each other, clashing in the center with a clacking noise. They rapidly assembled what could only be described as a silverware golem. The dinner plate and brick made up its turtle-like torso, the glass was the head, and the fork and spoon acted as its stubby legs. The ‘Spoon’ of Speculation gave it a long twig-arm with a mug on the end of it in lieu of a hand. The thing spun around once as if taking in its surroundings, then faced Keira. It took a few steps towards the kneeling catgirl, then beckoned her to get closer with its only upper limb.

The Hero of Chaos nervously and excitedly leaned in, eager to see the results of all that effort. The silverware golem raised its ‘arm’ up as high as it would go, hopped up into the air, and, for lack of a better word, booped Keira on the nose. It let out a high-pitched noise resembling a cackle, then shot off into the sky while leaving a trail of yellow-green light. It burst upon reaching a certain altitude, releasing six streaks of verdant gold that scattered in every direction as its composite pieces were sent hurtling across the globe.

“What… just happened?” the catgirl muttered.

“You tell us, my lady,” Corrai said. “Did it perhaps unlock your potential or maybe reveal some intrinsic truth?”

The redhead looked herself over top to bottom, even pinching and stretching both her cheeks for a bit.

“I don’t… feel any different. Do I look different?”

“Not that I can tell,” Fizzy replied.

“Weird. Don’t suppose we missed a Manual of Manipulation or something, did we?”

She turned to the raptor, but he could only shake his head. There was no such thing as far as he was aware.

“Hey, Keira,” Nao chimed in. “Bit of a weird thought but… do you think this was just a prank?”

“Don’t be silly… That can’t be… Right?”

However, none of the others could reject the wolfkin’s theory. It was difficult to say whether that collection of cutlery had some ulterior function but, given Frederick’s track record, a cruel prank seemed the most obvious conclusion.

“Hah!” Corrai laughed. “Hyahyahya! A bloody prank! Aaaahyahyahya!”

The raptor was the only one enjoying himself, though. Over the course of his life, he had adopted a rather unique philosophy which could only be described as ‘joyful nihilism.’ He was the type of guy who saw how utterly pointless and meaningless life ultimately was, then used that as an excuse to do whatever he pleased. Only someone with such a twisted way of thinking would find humor in this indescribably frustrating situation.

“Ah, well, I guess it wasn’t all bad.”

Aside from Nao, apparently.

“We dug up a lot of ancient texts and treasures. They might not have a lot of value, but I had fun uncovering the long-forgotten past. Not to mention that absolutely divine lemon-cream pie recipe Ms. Gruber gave me.”

“Well said, chosen of Lunar!” the jovial lizard cheered. “The journey is just as pointless as the destination, after all! Hyahyahya!”

“Mmm, quite. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go sleep for a week.”

“Ah, me as well. I shall take my leave for now, my lady.”

The wolfkin and the raptor waved goodbye and promptly left. Keira and Fizzy returned the gesture, but they didn’t move from their spots. In fact, they continued waving at nothing long after both of their companions had disappeared.

Then, the two of them finally lost it.

“FUUUUUUUCK!” Fizzy shrieked. “We almost died like three times! And look at me! I’m all dirty and with sand in places! Private places! Why did we do this?! Why?!”

“I don’t fucking know!” the shapeshifter snapped back. “I just wanted a shiny! It wasn’t too much to ask for! So how the shit did we end up wading through the desert for weeks on end only to wake up some ancient evil thing?! I was not in control of that situation at all!”

“Next time you hear about some ancient treasure I say you just let it stay buried and forgotten! Philip-damn it! I’m going to be making screeching noises for months! Look at my hands! My fingers won’t extend all the way! You seeing this shit!?”

“Look! Let’s just… just calm down here Fizzy! We need to calm down and think this through!”

“Calm? THIS IS ME BEING CALM! THIS RIGHT NOW IS AS CALM AS I CAN GOLEMLY GET IN THIS FUCKING SITUATION!”

“Don’t take that tone with me, rust bucket! I haven’t slept right in almost a week! The last time I had a solid meal was when we came across that cactus field! You wanna know how cacti taste? NOT! VERY! GOOD!”

“Is that why you blew up the fucking tomb?! I could’ve just lifted the damn door out of the way, but noooo! You had to go and show off! We wouldn’t have been in this mess if you just kept your bombs in your pants!”

“WELL! EXCUUUUSE ME! FOR BEING! STRESSED!”

No more words were exchanged, while the catgirl kept hyperventilating for a solid ten minutes. Fizzy, on the other hand, kept staring at her sand-filled hands that made awkward grinding and rattling noises with every little move. It was the first time since becoming a golem that she wished she was physically capable of crying.

“… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you a rust bucket,” Boxxy apologized. “You’re the shiniest of shinies, and implying anything less is lunacy.”

“And I shouldn’t be pointing the finger at you,” Fizzy responded. “There’s only one asshole to blame in all this, and he’s been suspiciously quiet all this while.”

“Right, screw this archaeological treasure hunting nonsense. Go tell that ridiculous lizard I’m getting a head start on the trip home, then wait for me back in Azurvale. I’ll do everything in my power to get all that sand out of you when I get there.”

“Yeah, sure. Where are you going?”

“I’m going to take a vacation from my vacation.”

At that moment, Jermaine, the God of Misfortune, sent a message to Teresa, the Goddess of Truth and Justice, and Mortimer, the God of Death and Commerce. They were a pair of formal preemptive apologies for all the trouble Boxxy was about to cause those two, and an explanation detailing how he was solely to blame for what was about to happen.

Over the next ten days, a total of three human villages would find themselves suddenly and inexplicably vacant.

A Tale of Plants and Plots

It was another typical day for the tree named Yuul. It stood perfectly still with its feet planted in the loose dirt and its limbs raised towards the sky. The roots growing out from underneath greedily sucked up the forest soil’s nutrients, while its leaf-covered branches eagerly absorbed the sun’s rays. Thankfully, it hadn’t snowed lately despite the winter season, so the plant didn’t have to worry about ice or the ground freezing over. Such things were not much of a problem for a sturdy oak like Yuul, but they were certainly an inconvenience. Of course, being able to think and have opinions also meant that this was no mere tree. Though it certainly looked like one on the surface, it was actually a treant – a twelve-meter-tall plant monster that could walk on its own and swat annoying pests with a single swing of its arm. It wasn’t always one, though. Yuul used to be something completely different until it Ranked Up into a treant, which made it considerably more powerful than the rest of its kind. Not only in terms of Attributes, but also the inherited magics and abilities normally unavailable to members of its current species.

The Deep Roots Skill was not one of those. This treant ability not only allowed it to feed off of the nutrients in the soil and the sun’s energy like a regular oak, but it greatly widened its perception when it did so. Yuul was able to spread its awareness in a staggering three-hundred-meter radius, gaining the ability to hear anything and everything that tread the forest soil. Granted, it was only limited to things that walked on the ground or swung from branches, but it was more than enough to spot any potential threats. One of those were the troublesome pair of feet that seemed to be wandering around the fringe of Yuul’s perception. The monstrous tree couldn’t see who they belonged to, but a lot could be gleaned from their shape, size, and the length of the stride. Using that information, it determined those footprints belonged to an adventurer who was the size and build of an average female human a little on the heavy side. A very troublesome individual to be sure, as any creature that crossed their path were instantly turned into a wet smear. The minor tremors this stranger sent through the soil whenever they attacked indicated they did so with overwhelming brute force rather than magic or precision.

The most worrisome thing about this stranger, however, was the winding yet meticulous path they were walking. This was someone who knew exactly where they were going, but not where they were headed. In simpler terms, it was a search pattern. Given the body count that Yuul had slowly racked up over the years, the superbly powerful adventurer’s target was obvious. This forest certainly didn’t have any other creatures that warranted that level of overwhelming strength. The treant wasn’t all that worried, though. After all, no matter how powerful this person was, they were ultimately one being. Yuul, on the other hand, had reinforcements numbering in the thousands.

The visitor kept methodically searching the area for most of the day. They darted in and out of range of the treant’s Deep Roots as they were undoubtedly searching the entire forest. They did so methodically, somehow avoiding treading the same ground twice. It was rather obvious this person was used to scouring the wilderness, so it was inevitable they’d eventually stumble upon Yuul. Of course, the treant wouldn’t just sit and wait for the fight to come to it. Picking out an opportune time during the night, the monster uprooted itself from its spot and relocated to a part of the forest the stranger had already checked. It found a dense-looking copse of trees and planted itself among them, making sure to cover any tracks it made in the soil. The next morning, the adventurer resumed their search, having no idea that their target had already vacated the area.

Yuul seemed to be in the clear, but about a week later the stranger appeared again, doing the exact same thing but in the opposite direction. The treant once again gave them the slip, and the same thing happened the week after that, albeit at a more fervent pace. That seemed to be their limit, as the foreign presence did not return afterwards, and Yuul was very grateful. This mysterious figure’s persistence was both infuriating and commendable, but that was more the reason for the treant to avoid them. It was therefore quite startled when, about ten days after the last sweep, the same pair of feet suddenly landed in Yuul’s thicket. The intruder was a human woman, much like the tree-monster had deduced. She wore a heavy gray cloak that obscured her scarred frame. A hood covered her raven black hair, though it could do nothing to hide the sharp glare in her yellow eyes or the ice-cold expression on her face. She held a plain-looking metal staff in her left hand, though the arm was unnaturally thick and covered in rough, dark-green bark.

The human looked around, her sight lingering on each of the seven trees in her vicinity. But, much as she had suspected, sight alone was not enough to differentiate her quarry from the actual trees. The information she was given when she accepted this Quest explicitly stated that, unlike normal treants, the one called ‘Blackbark’ could completely disguise itself to look like a mundane oak. Reports said it was also significantly more vicious and powerful than its contemporaries and had access to Druid magic. The only way to account for this gap in ability was to conclude Blackbark wasn’t always a treant but became one from a Rank Up. Though its original species was unknown, it was hard to deny that the extra Attributes, Skills, and life experience made it a formidable opponent.

That was precisely why the woman that once went by the codename ‘Zone’ was here, much to Opia’s chagrin. The elven Druid in question had been acting as Jen’s de-facto manager and occasional wrangler over the past two years. She was usually the one to act as a go-between with clients since the Monk had exceptionally terrible people skills. It didn’t help that she was a fugitive from the Empire, though the elf was willing to overlook that. She was not the kind of person to judge one based on their past affiliations, especially when Jen had been such a reliable and capable companion. Opia had grown to care for the Monk as a trusted friend despite her spotty past, so she tried her best to keep her out of trouble.

Unfortunately, this was not a trip the elf could prevent. There was no stopping Jen once she had gotten wind of a superbly powerful entity she could truly test herself against, even if it meant infiltrating the Republic. At the same time, the bounty offered by the guy who approached them with information on Blackbark was extremely enticing, as was the 1,500 GP advance payment. The reward seemed more than worth the risk and Opia’s ‘bad feeling’ alone was not enough to dissuade Jen from undertaking the Quest of her own free will, so she decided to let the Monk be. It simply wasn’t the elf’s place to tell someone else how to live their life, nor was she physically capable of stopping her in the first place.

That didn’t mean Opia was going to let her business partner go on this transcontinental trip by herself, however. Doing so was bound to end poorly in some way or another, and the elf was unable to come personally due to some prior responsibilities she had in Velos. So, she asked Snek to keep the Monk out of trouble. Not in the ‘don’t let her get eaten by a monster’ sort of trouble, but more in the sense of ‘make sure she doesn’t start another war.’ Reading people’s true intentions was one of the house mimic’s original directives and it generally appreciated the woman’s quiet and straightforward personality, so it agreed to keep her company. It was a good thing for Jen that it did, otherwise she would still be going around in circles. The snake-shaped bracelet had tightened around her right wrist when she was flying over this area, prompting her to investigate. She had seen firsthand that Snek’s ability to sense danger was alarmingly accurate, and that signal implied it sensed a threat to its wearer. This did not happen often, considering Jen’s ridiculous combat ability.

Though, the sentient serpentine bracelet was unable to locate precisely where the threat was in this grove. It was capable of sensing danger, but that was more like a reflexive or instinctive reaction than a thing it could control at will. It knew one of these oaks was a terrible monster, but not which one. Jen didn’t seem too perturbed, as she gripped her staff with both hands and widened her stance. Recognizing the subtle look of ‘I’ll just smash them all’ on her face, Snek wisely decided to untangle itself from the Monk’s wrist and slither away into the undergrowth. It didn’t need abnormally accurate survival instincts to know it wouldn’t survive the forces involved if that woman went all out while it was still attached to her. That proved to have been the right decision, as Jen swung her metal rod at the nearest tree. The explosive impact snapped the oak’s thick trunk in half like an oversized twig. There was a deluge of splinters as the upper half of the tree was sent flying, landing several meters away with a thunderous crash.

Jen calmly nodded as if to say ‘guess that wasn’t it,’ then wasted no time and repeated the process, obliterating a second tree in the blink of an eye. When she swung towards the third, however, the tree fought back. Thick, vine-like roots whipped out of the ground and towards Jen’s head, but they were batted away with one hand as if they were naught but a nuisance. The rebellious vegetation could do little to stop Jen from smashing up the next tree she was aiming for, though that also proved to be a normal oak. Being next in line to be demolished by this crazy human, Yuul had no choice but to reveal its identity. Its branches fell off, its trunk split apart, and its roots rose from the ground. In the blink of an eye, the ordinary-looking tree transformed into a twelve-meter tall humanoid-shaped mass of bark and fury. Jen, who was still being pestered by a collection of vines and roots, had barely enough time to leap out of the way of its attempts to kick her away like a child would a ball. She did a series of cartwheels and backflips, putting a good bit of distance between herself and the monster.

Once she got a good look at the whole thing, she instantly understood why this monster bore the nickname ‘Blackbark.’ It wasn’t visible while it was disguising itself, but now that it was out in the open it was impossible not to notice the treant’s face. The visage looked as if someone had carved a pair of eyes and a jagged maw into its bark, but it was burned so thoroughly that it resembled charcoal more than plant matter. The eye sockets were completely hollow and lacked the dim green light that would normally pour out of them, implying that this old wound had rendered the creature blind. That did not stop it from swinging its hand down at Jen, though. Admittedly, it wasn’t completely on target, but it didn’t need to be with a fist that big. The Monk sidestepped the blow, letting it miss her by a narrow margin so that she could strike at the limb with her weapon. Unfortunately, the treant’s fist had caused the ground to shake, disturbing Jen’s footing and keeping her from putting as much force behind her counterattack as she wanted. It was still enough to knock the tree’s limb to the side, but it was a glancing blow that did not throw Blackbark off balance.

In fact, the creature had pulled the hand away on its own in order to swing its other arm in a sweeping motion across the forest floor. This was the point where Jen’s Ultimate Skill, the Spirit Guardian, showed its face. The Monk’s blue-tinted ethereal clone leapt out of her body and punched the log-sized limb, parrying it so completely that it stopped in place. The flesh-and-blood Jen used this moment to leap at the treant, smashing it in the torso so hard that the lumbering pile of lumber was blown back with an ear-splitting groan. It stumbled backwards yet managed to kick at the human without falling over, then transitioned into another sweeping motion. Both attacks missed, but it was hard to deny Blackbark possessed a degree of balance and agility one would not expect from a creature that huge.

However, what followed was a completely one-sided beatdown where anything Yuul tried to do was crushed by repeated, precise, and overwhelming application of brute force. Any physical attack it made was dodged or repelled, regardless whether it was using its own limbs or swinging around one of the fallen-over tree trunks. Willing roots and vines to spring out of the ground to try and constrict the Monk proved equally futile. Conjured helpers such as golems formed from soil and mud or full-sized timber body doubles were reduced to dust and splinters with a few well-placed blows. Even covering the area in various toxic spores did little to deter its opponent since it lacked the mystic might to overcome her enhanced constitution. The Monk deftly avoided all of those tremendous attacks while continuously landing blows on the creature’s dense bark. The monster was somehow surviving, but it was mostly by virtue of being large enough to have the Colossal Vitality Perk. This ability quadrupled the effects of the END Attribute, giving it four times as much HP as other creatures of a similar Level. Combined with Yuul’s small array of defensive Skills, it turned it into a veritable walking fortress.

However, no matter how impressive its vitality, it was not infinite. While its defenses were certainly formidable, they were simply not as potent when facing someone with a four digit STR Attribute.

[Legendary Strength]
A being whose raw physical might is the stuff of legends.
Requirements: Reach 1,000 Strength (STR).
[Effects]
Increases base muscle strength by 10%.
Melee physical damage ignores 20% of target’s defenses.

It took the former Gilded Hand operative less than three minutes to reduce the northern forest’s self-styled tyrant to a veritable pile of mulch. The treant had both of its legs snapped off at the knees, one arm completely torn off, and its torso was missing about a quarter of its original mass. No longer able to stand, Yuul was lying in the dirt with its back to the ground and Jen standing triumphantly on its wide face. She had her metal staff lodged in the monster’s mouth to prevent its chanting of Druid Spells and was staring down at it with a glare that demanded more of the monster. The silent expression was entirely wasted on the blind creature, but she wasn’t making it consciously. As entertaining as this bout had been, she had not had nearly enough excitement to warrant all those days she spent searching for this blasted thing. She felt she was owed, and had half a mind to keep beating the stump until it coughed up a better fight or died trying.

But old Blackbark had nothing more to give. Its body was in tatters, and what little MP it had left would be worthless against this overwhelming foe. Its sightless eyes were closed in defeat, while a low, continuous groan of frustration rolled out of its open maw. Yuul had been so completely beaten that there was no doubt in its mind the only way it would win against this opponent was if they were to somehow expire from old age. Just as Jen was realizing the sentient log had all but given up, she saw a glimmer in the leaves and moss that made up the monster’s head. Suspecting, no, hoping that was some last ditch effort to turn the tables, she dashed towards the disturbance and reached into the treant’s ‘hair.’ Her prosthetic left arm grabbed hold of something, which she brought out and pinned against the creature’s forehead.

The creature she had caught turned out to be a thirty-centimeter long bug-thing that looked like it had two legs and four arms. It had a clearly defined head and neck, with tiny mandibles, green gem-like eyes, and what appeared a single broken horn adorning its forehead. Its long, slender, vaguely humanoid body was covered in a shiny black carapace, and it had two mangled insect wings poking out of its back that fluttered uselessly. The rest of it struggled in an equally pathetic manner as it chirped frantically but could do nothing to escape the Monk’s grip. After all, it was a mere horned beetle sprite, a species of monster so pathetically weak even freshly born goblins thought of them as nothing more than afternoon snacks.

This creature was hiding inside Yuul’s foliage because they had become something akin to partners. Both had lost something to adventurers – one was rendered blind, while the other had its ability to fly stripped from it. The agreement they somehow came to upon finding each other was rather simple. The treant would serve as a mobile shelter and occasional food source for the mutated beetle. In return, the sprite would act as Yuul’s eyes, scratching at its scalp to inform it of the direction of the nearest enemy. It was somewhat ironic this partnership came to fruition considering Yuul must have eaten hundreds of beetle sprites during its youth, though it was quite effective. Over time, the two of them had become so in sync that even Jen almost forgot the treant was blind a few times throughout that bout.

The Monk knew nothing of these two’s symbiotic relationship, nor did she care. She only felt disappointment and annoyance since she put so much effort into capturing what was, from her point of view, a worthless gnat. Thus, she did not hesitate to crush Yuul’s ‘Bug-Eyes’ within her grasp. However, that distraction had given the treant a sliver of hope. Because it had no eyes, the monster had failed to realize the Monk had a branch for an arm, nor did its freshly deceased partner think to communicate such an oddity. Now that said limb was pressed against its face, it was more than certain. It used the last few drops of its MP to seize control of that prosthetic arm with Phytokinesis and make it turn on its owner. Jen suddenly found herself with her own gnarled left hand wrapped against her throat, vigorously choking the life out of her. She immediately tried to pull it off with her other arm, but it was no use. The Limbroot plant had completely adapted to her body and internal magic, so any Skills, Perks, or Attributes she had also applied to it. It was actually slightly stronger than its fleshy counterpart, mostly by virtue of being made of a more durable material.

Reinvigorated by this development, the treant she was standing on somehow found the strength to throw her off. Jen rolled around on the ground as she struggled against the rogue limb. At one point, she completely gave up on trying to pry the hand away from her throat and instead reached for one of the pouches on her hip. She pulled out a crystal vial filled with a bubbling pink liquid, which she immediately poured into her mouth. She wasn’t able to swallow it, but she didn’t need to do so in order for the Rejuvenation Potion to take effect. An intense warmth washed over Jen’s body. The heavy burn scars on the left side of her face and body began healing at an obscene rate, restoring her skin to pristine condition. This was followed by excruciating pain from her left bicep, more precisely at the point where her stump was connected to the Limbroot plant. The rebellious piece of parasitic vegetation began to loosen its grip and fell off completely as it was cut from its host. Bone, muscle, and skin rapidly grew out to replace it, restoring Jen’s missing arm in a matter of seconds.

Once the ordeal was over and the Rejuvenation Potion had run its course, Jen rose to her feet and turned her gaze back towards the fallen treant. However, what she saw wasn’t a pile of sentient timber she was about to turn into kindling, but a collapsing Gate Spell. She rushed towards the dissipating portal through which her bounty had doubtlessly escaped, but it was already much too late.

“RRRAAAAAARGH!”

*THUUUUM*

The Monk let out a primal roar of rage and frustration, then punched the ground with her renewed left fist. The explosive impact produced a small cloud of dust and sent tremors through the soil, but ultimately accomplished little more than covering her in yet more dirt and bits of cold mud. Dejected, the Monk sat down on the forest floor, staring at her renewed hand as she slowly put its fingers through its paces. She had that blasted potion for months yet hesitated to take it since she wanted to challenge herself. That wood-arm might have been stronger and sturdier than its human counterpart, but it wasn’t without its downsides. Channeling Ki through it was quite difficult, and it wasn’t as flexible or spry as she would’ve liked. Fighting with such a handicap had been a surprisingly educational experience, but willingly hanging onto it until the last possible moment had cost her the flawless victory. She was doubtlessly the winner, but letting her opponent slip away because of her own whims left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Though, perhaps the most troubling thing of all was that, in some weird way, she was going to miss that Limbroot. Even if it did try to kill her, she still thought it looked kind of cool. Perhaps while she was here she should look into getting another Rejuvenation Potion then have both arms replaced with timber equivalents? It was a silly, spur-of-the-moment idea that she quickly gave up on. Those extremely powerful elixirs were known to significantly reduce one’s lifespan, and she didn’t want to spend what years she had left on such flights of fancy. She might still do it if she managed to Rank Up into an ageless archangel, but it would be a long while before she found allies capable of helping her challenge the Dragon Festival again. She had the Gilded Hand’s backing for the last one, but now she was all alone. Well, save for Opia and Spittles, but those two would instantly be wiped out if she dragged them into it. Though their Levels were sufficient to attend the event, they lacked the necessary mindset and preparation to survive it.

After calming down a bit, Jen noticed something lying on the battle-scarred ground where Blackbark was just minutes ago. It was a satchel, which, upon further inspection, was filled with gold and mithril coins along with a fancy envelope containing a letter covered in elegant handwriting.

Greetings Miss Jackson,

If you are reading this, that means I saw it fit to interfere with your bout against Blackbark. I apologize if I caused any offense by employing such underhanded means without your knowledge or consent, but I would like to remind you that the task I hired you to perform was to incapacitate the creature, not destroy it. I heard from your Druid compatriot that you had a habit of losing sight of your objective in the heat of the moment, so I had to take certain precautions to make sure you did not annihilate the unique specimen. Please understand I only did what I thought was necessary to protect my investment, and in no way wish to insult your efforts or your intentions.

In closing, I would like to thank you for your services and have added a small bonus to your agreed-upon compensation to show there are no hard feelings. I would also appreciate it if you did not attempt to look into my personal matters out of some misguided sense of duty or curiosity, otherwise both you and your companions will find an Inquisition-shaped problem knocking at your door.

All the best,
Herman Shaw

Well, that would certainly explain how and why a treant that massive disappeared, which was probably for the best. Mr. Shaw had indeed hired Jen to capture Blackbark instead of simply killing it. That threat at the end was unnecessary, though. As a former member of the Gilded Hand, Jen knew firsthand that secrets cost lives. It was actually rather frightening how many people she’d had to kill on Edward’s command simply because they knew too much. She also didn’t feel the need to chase after Blackbark to finish it off, as she had already seen all that creature was capable of and was thoroughly disappointed. Plus, she already got paid, so she really had no more reason to linger in what was essentially enemy territory.

Having decided to return home to Opia and Spittles, Jen let out a sharp whistle, prompting Snek to poke its shiny head out of a nearby bush and slither over.

“Snek?” it asked matter-of-factly.

“Affirmative.”

“Snek? Sssssnek?”

The Monk lifted up her restored arm and opened and closed her fist a few times to show everything was in working order, then lowered it to where her traveling companion could reach.

“Snek!”

The house mimic eagerly climbed up her hand and wrapped itself around her wrist. It preferred the left one to the right by a wide margin, but found that abominable tree-arm rather off-putting. In some weird way, Snek was happier about the absence of the Limbroot parasite than Jen. The Monk had already stopped thinking about that, though. She was far too busy affectionately stroking Snek as she made her way southward.

As for her latest opponent – or victim, depending on the point of view – Yuul was just now waking up. It wasn’t sure where it was since it was still blind, but the absence of the sun’s warmth and the stone floor beneath its back made it abundantly clear the treant was indoors. It was also strapped firmly to the ground by a series of metal cables which prevented it from making any movements beyond some squirming.

“Already awake, are we?” a voice spoke from the side. “Good, would have been a bit disappointing if you let yourself be dominated by a Sleep Spell that easily.”

“Grrrnnn!” the treant groaned in response.

“Come now, you can drop the act. I know full well you can both understand and speak words, Yuul.”

“… That voice,” the tree-monster spoke after a few seconds. “I know. That voice.”

“Of course, you do. It is the voice of one of my subordinates, a young doppelganger who approached you with an offer of cooperation roughly three years ago. You kicked them hard enough to send them flying halfway across the forest. You made your refusal quite clear, though it was quite surprising. I did not think you would harm one of your own kind without any provocation.”

“We. Are not. The same.”

Yuul may have been born a doppelganger, but it was not raised in enlightened society. Abandoned in the mountains as an infant and lacking the natural weapons and survival instincts of feral creatures, it was forced to adapt to the wilderness or die. With no people around, it ended up seeking shelter with a variety of monsters while masquerading as their own kind. The most time it spent in one spot was when it assumed the role of a hobgoblin chieftain, where it learned a lot about surviving as a bottom-feeder. During this time, one of its subordinates obtained the Druid Job by Ranking Up into a goblin sage, which was how Yuul got its hands on that particular skill set.

Unfortunately, that relatively cozy setup did not last as long as the young doppelganger would’ve wanted. Its wits and guidance allowed that goblin tribe to flourish under its leadership, but that only ended up attracting Level-hungry adventurers that wiped all of them out. Yuul escaped and spent the next several decades hiding amongst other creatures with pack mentality, be they trolls, gnolls, or werewolves. Its Doppelganger Job slowly rose in Level, allowing it to evolve into a creeper due to its relatively high AFF Attribute, and then eventually ‘grew up’ into a treant.

In short, though it started life as a shapeshifter, Yuul had abandoned that part of itself in favor for a larger, sturdier, more stable existence.

“Come now, is that any way to speak to your savior?” the other party asked. “I rescued you from that detestable human at great risk to myself. Would I bother to do so if I meant you ill will?”

“... No. I guess not.”

Yuul’s feral upbringing may have taught it to embrace its savage side, but left it woefully inexperienced when it came to trickery, subterfuge, and betrayal. It did not question the exquisite timing with which its ‘savior’ had appeared. This was precisely the oversight that the shapeshifting ringleader once known as Reginald Namhel was counting on. The ‘ganger capo was the one who hired Jennifer Jackson in the first place. From that point on, it was merely a matter of taking advantage of Yuul’s blindness and the idiocy of its seeing-eye-bug to spy on it from the air until an opportune moment to pull its stump out of the fire.

“What. Do you want. From me?”

Though rather gullible, the creature still wasn’t stupid enough to believe someone would save it from near-certain death out of the kindness of their own heart.

“I want to once again extend an offer of cooperation, though this time I will have to be far more insistent. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to do what I say, or else I’m going to turn you into charcoal.”

A hot, dreadful sensation accompanied by an ominous crackling filled Yuul’s senses as one of Reggie’s subordinates lit an open flame right above the larger monster’s charred face. Fire was a treant’s Bane, so it was only natural it would grow agitated when confronted with it. In fact, magical flames from an overly enthusiastic Pyromancer were the reason why it was blind. As part-tree and part-shapeshifter, it could regrow almost any limb if given enough time and nutrients, but that particular injury was beyond its ability to heal. A treant’s sight was magical in nature, so simply moving plant matter around would not restore it.

“On the other hand,” Reggie continued, “if you do your part properly, there’s a good chance you can recover from those horrible burns and regain the use of your eyes.”

The treant’s squirming stopped the instant it heard those incredibly enticing words. Not even the crackling of the fire seemed to disturb it as it latched onto them like a velosian mantrap.

“What. Will you. Have me. Do?”

An inevitable response. No rational being would choose oblivion over salvation under these circumstances. There was a slim chance Yuul might have been just crazy enough to turn Reggie down, but then it wouldn’t have been of any use to the doppelganger to begin with.

“I want you to learn how to befriend a dryad,” he began to explain. “Her kind have something of a soft spot for their fellow plant monsters, which is what I want you to exploit. She will no doubt heal your eyesight if you get into her good graces, especially if you convince her it was a wound inflicted by evil adventurers with no respect for nature’s guardians. Then, once you have her ear, you will whisper into it on my behalf, and I will offer you protection in return.”

The silver-tongued shapeshifter paused for a few seconds, giving the treant a chance to consider its words.

“So, what do you think? The deal is more than fair, if I do say so.”

“… What’s a dryad?”

Reggie sighed while rubbing his forehead. On second thought, it would probably be best if he arranged for Yuul to have some tutoring first, especially on the subject of manipulation. Deep down beneath all that bark and timber lay a doppelganger, so the treant would probably get the hang of it rather quickly. However, it was just as likely that this dimwit was a lost cause without a single lying bone left in his body, but he would have to do. Creepers were exceptionally rare among doppelgangers raised in cities and towns, which made up the entirety of the elder shapeshifter’s underground network. Putting it bluntly, Yuul was not the ideal individual to handle that job, but the only one available at present. This automatically made it the best bet Reggie had of securing a dryad’s unwitting cooperation, and that part of his plan was vital if he was to achieve his ultimate objective. He aimed to demolish everything the Foundation held dear, and that task required the unwitting allegiance of an elder dryad or two.

As for how Reggie would deal with potential interference from that anomalous abomination, well… that part of the plan was still a work in progress.

Chapter Two
Convergence

Part One

A black-haired man leaned against a wall with arms crossed. His body was as well-built as one would expect from a veteran front-line fighter, plainly evident thanks to his decision to go shirtless. His toned torso was covered in various tattoos, giving him a slightly intimidating atmosphere. This was almost immediately dispelled by the carefree smile on his surprisingly handsome face that made it hard to believe he was in his mid-thirties. Another human, this one brown-haired and wearing a plain off-white tunic, approached the buff mercenary.

“Yo, Ages,” he lifted his hand in greeting. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

“Oh, hey, Scrap,” the black haired one replied. “Didn’t see you there.”

“You wouldn’t see a flippin’ meteor falling on your head with that spaced-out look. What are you smirking at anyway?”

“Her.”

Ages cocked his head towards the large wooden warship his body was facing, some fifty meters away. Anchored to the side of the busy harbor, it was certainly an impressive looking vessel. It was nearly eighty meters long and its tallest mast reached up a good fifty meters above the water level. Its majesty was only slightly diminished by the other five, nearly identical ships lined up on the other docks, though that one was without a doubt the fanciest. Its hull was polished and decorated with various carvings, and its sails practically glowed white in the sunlight. Its figurehead was a brass statue depicting a winged female angel brandishing a mace and shield, befitting the name of the S.S.S. Teresa’s Judgement.

However, though the vessel was certainly a sight to behold, it wasn’t the ‘her’ that Ages was referring to. The man’s eyes were fixed on a person standing beside a small pile of crates and suitcases on the dock next to the ship, presumably one of its passengers. She was an elf wearing a pale blue one-piece summer dress so thin one could clearly see the outline of her legs through the knee-length skirt. The garment showed off a lot of her flawless pink skin, especially around the bountiful chest region. Her hair was a brilliant platinum blonde and her beautiful face was adorned with a carefree smile that matched Ages’s own.

“Forget it, man,” Scrap said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t stand a chance with her.”

“Says you. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m quite good with the ladies. As you should know.”

He had a buff body, a handsome face, a wild air around him, and a lighthearted yet confident attitude, all of which combined to make him practically irresistible. At least, that’s what Ages liked to think, and not without reason. He saw ‘action’ quite often, though him being a shameless womanizer meant one night stands were about as deep as his romantic relationships went. However, that was mostly by choice. The life of a traveling sellsword made it incredibly difficult to pursue any sort of meaningful relationship, especially since all of his companions were guys. He therefore avoided anything serious and merely indulged himself in bedding random women for the fun of it.

“Look, you need to trust me on this,” his comrade continued. “You are not her type.”

“Sure I am. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Fine,” Scrap rolled his eyes. “Do what you want, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Ages ignored his grumbling and confidently strode over to the elf in white. The woman seemed to be looking around to get her bearings, which gave him an idea of how to start a conversation.

“Excuse me, madam, are you lost?”

She stopped glancing about and looked back at him, her emerald-green eyes not even glancing at his topless torso.

“No. I’m quite fine, thank you.”

She spoke softly and courteously with a typical Republic accent that made her sound just as classy as she looked.

“Are you certain? I do not mean to intrude, but I couldn’t help but feel that a precious flower such as yourself is quite out of place around here.”

That was an understatement. The overwhelming majority of people that walked up and down the harbor were either deckhands or adventurers. There were a significant number of women among them, of course, but this elf’s casual attire and well-maintained appearance made her stand out like a diamond in the rough.

“I’m honestly quite alright. I appreciate the thought, but you needn’t bother with me.”

That was a surprisingly neutral answer. She didn’t seem to be shooing the human away, but she wasn’t exactly swooning over him, either. A reaction Ages took to understand that he just needed to push a bit harder.

“That is good to hear, madam, though I cannot simply leave you out here alone. All kinds of shady individuals roam about around here. Would you mind me keeping your company to ward them off?”

“I’m fine with it either way, but I’m afraid she would probably disapprove.”

“… She?”

The elf pointed upwards with one of her hands, directing the confused man’s gaze skyward just in time to see a pair of falling feet smack him in the face. The surprise dropkick had just enough force behind it to knock him on his back without doing any serious damage, but it still left him bit dazed. He was about to sit up and complain about the assault when a head of crimson hair topped by a pair of fuzzy triangular ears loomed over him, followed by a short mithril blade pressed against his throat.

“Who are you supposed to be?!” the bronze-skinned beastkin growled at him.

“Don’t mind him, sweetie,” the elf called out. “He was just making sure I wasn’t lost.”

“Really now? You weren’t trying to do anything suspicious to my girlfriend, were you?”

As if her tone wasn’t dangerous enough, she pressed her weapon just enough for it to dig into the man’s skin without cutting it.

“O-of course not!” Ages hurriedly replied. “I swear, I didn’t mean any harm! I had no idea she was taken, so can you please put the knife away? I already shaved this morning.”

The catgirl loomed over him for several more seconds. She backed off and let him stand up, though the intensity in her yellow feline eyes refused to diminish and that dangerous blade remained firm in her grasp.

“Please don’t mind her, sir,” the elf said casually. “She’s just being overprotective since this is our first trip across the ocean. I promise you, her intent was to just give you a fright, not hurt you.”

That was a point Ages wanted to disagree with wholeheartedly given how much cold sweat poured out of his palms and back. His many encounters with both women and monsters had afforded him a sort of intuitive sixth sense he liked to call his ‘psycho meter,’ and that red-headed beastkin was making it spike. That was no act, it was genuine bloodlust. He nevertheless played along with the olive branch the white-haired beauty offered him.

“Oh, I see! She’s only looking out for a friend, and doing a very, uh, enthusiastic job of it. I’d do the same if I were in her shoes, hahaha…”

His assailant was having none of it, and the way she refused to let down her weapon or her guard was a not-so-subtle hint that he should really not be here anymore.

“I’m… going to go now. Sorry if I disturbed you.”

The man turned around on the spot and began to walk away. He could still feel that scary girl’s piercing glare hitting him in the back of the head, only to have the odd pressure disappear so rapidly he momentarily questioned whether he was imagining it.

“Rowie! Stop telling random people where we’re going!”

“It’s not like it’s a secret. Why would we be here if we aren’t going to cross the ocean?”

“Ugh, I guess you have a point. Still, please be more wary of shameless guys like that, okay?”

His ears burned a bit as he overheard their minor argument and were practically beet red by the time he returned to Scrap.

“Told you, you’re not her type,” he said smugly.

“Yeah, yeah… Wait, how did you even know she didn’t swing my way?”

“That’s easy. The elf had her ear pierced, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

The womanizer seemed to recall a beautiful, teardrop-shaped sapphire earring dangling from her left ear by a silver chain, but he didn’t think anything of it aside from how lovely it was. There was certainly nothing strange about a high-class lady wearing high-class jewelry.

“In elf culture, that’s the equivalent of a wedding ring,” Scrap explained. “Wanna guess who has the matching one?”

Ages’s eyes went wide for a moment, after which he looked over his shoulder towards the couple. He didn’t notice it before, but an identical blue gemstone was attached to the catgirl’s fuzzy right ear.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Now that he had a look at her from afar and without a knife to his throat, he couldn’t help but realize just how beautiful the redhead was. The girly elf was already a ten out of ten in his book, but that fierce beastkin was in a class of her own. She was slightly taller than the blonde with a figure equally as attractive. The happy smile on her lips made her beauty radiate, while the wild, untamed hair that hung past her shoulders and glistening bronze skin gave her an exotic appeal the reserved elf could not hope to match.

“Nice.”

The word just rolled out of his mouth. Ages didn’t mean to leer at the couple, he was just appreciative of the two beauties flirting with one another. He honestly wasn’t even mad he got booted in the face and held at knifepoint anymore. Well, he didn’t care too much to begin with since such incidents were bound to happen when this many adventurers gathered in one spot. A clash of personalities could turn into an ugly scuffle in the blink of an eye, especially among veterans. Incidentally, that catgirl most definitely was one. Though he didn’t see it, he was fairly certain the only way she could’ve gotten the drop on him like that was by leaping off the ship’s deck. It was a ridiculous distance to cover in a single bound, though not impossible for an experienced Rogue or Ranger. The short blade she hid on her person was also the trademark of a scout that remained alert at all times.

“Good for them,” Ages said in conclusion. “I hope their marriage is long and joyous.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” his companion chimed in.

“That’s kinda harsh, Scrap.”

“Maybe, but it’s realistic.”

“Come off it. Look at them, they’re so lovey-dovey I feel like I might get a toothache.”

“Oh, I’m not saying they’ll break up, I’m just saying it won’t be a peaceful relationship. Because, unless I miss my guess, the girl that kicked you is Keira Morgana.”

“Wait, that Morgana?!” the other man blurted out. “The one they call the Crimson Lotus?!”

When he first heard that nickname, Ages thought it strangely cute, and the girl was certainly beautiful enough to deserve the flowery moniker. However, having felt her intense hostility, he couldn’t help but feel there was a far more sinister meaning hidden behind that alias. Something related to elegant eviscerations and showers of blood.

“Holy crap,” he muttered under his breath. “Can’t wait to tell the lads I got beaten up by a genuine Hero!”

“That’s… not something you would normally brag about.”

“Okay, maybe not, but it should certainly make for an interesting story. It’s not like Heroes are just coming out of the woodwork.”

“They kind of are, actually. I’ve been snooping around, and I’ve been hearing some things.”

Scrap was a Rogue, one of three scouts part of the twelve-man mercenary group that called itself the Alpha Operatives. Alexander Sales, better known as ‘Ages,’ was also a part of it. He knew it was Scrap’s job to seek out potentially valuable or useful information prior to departing on a Quest. The Rogue had acquired a rather obscene amount of intelligence from the thousand or so people gathered around this port, most of whom were part of the same venture as the Operatives. One such helpful tidbit was ‘don’t bother the cute white-haired elf if you value your balls.’ He could’ve stopped his companion from taking that risk, but he felt it best if his cocky friend got knocked down a peg or two.

“Things? What things?” Ages asked.

“Well, you know how this continent-wide distress call from the south’s Eight Tribes was basically ‘all hands on deck,’ right?”

“Yeah? Oh, duh! Of course there’d be a Hero or two around.”

All kinds of big-shots were answering the raptors’ plea for aid, so it was somewhat inevitable the chosen of the Gods would find their way into the mix.

“Not quite,” Scrap shook his head. “The way I hear it, it’s not one or two, but six of them.”

“You what, mate?!”

“I’m serious. Aside from Morgana, we also have the Hero of Magic coming with us on this trip. The Hero of Rain and Hero of the Sword are already there since they’re both locals. Then there’s the Imperial Inquisition, who are sending an entire fleet headed by the big man himself.”

“Really? Those guys are getting involved in external affairs?”

“You know how that bunch are ever since Law took over. They may be sanctimonious self-righteous pricks, but they’d never turn down a genuine plea for help. And way I hear it, those folks down south could use all the bodies they can get.”

The dominant species of the jungle-covered continent of Velos were not raptors or humans, but orcs. That savage and ferocious race were the main reason why the southern landmass had remained largely wild and untamed for millennia. Thankfully, those green-skinned brutes were too busy fighting amongst themselves and other monsters to threaten the people that lived there. They still raided the occasional village or attacked a passing caravan, but it was nothing the region’s adventures could not handle.

However, once or twice a decade, that would all change with the appearance of a warlord – an orc significantly tougher, larger, meaner, and smarter than the rest. These traits allowed a warlord to bring dozens of roaming warbands under his control, forming a single, massive horde. With them no longer killing one another, their population underwent something of a drastic explosion that always resulted in them invading the civilized portion of the continent. The natives called this movement a ‘Rampage,’ and the Eight Tribes of Velos would usually band together to handle the orcs by themselves. This time around was different, as preliminary reports stated the gathering hordes of greenskins surpassed a hundred thousand. That was an army the likes of which hadn’t been seen in two centuries. Even if the Eight Tribes somehow held their ground and fought off the savage invaders, it would come at a terrible cost. The last time a Rampage this huge hit the raptors, it inflicted so much death and destruction that it crippled their civilization.

So, it was rather fortunate for the lizard-folk that Atica’s residents so readily responded to their plea for aid by sending supplies, healers, soldiers, architects, blacksmiths, and, perhaps most important of all, Heroes.

“Wait, you said six. So far you only listed five,” Ages pointed out.

“Oh, right. I saved the best for last,” Scrap replied. “Apparently, Solus got himself a new Hero.”

“What? You’re sure of that?” his shirtless companion asked with a troubled expression.

“Yeah. Passed through this very port on his way to Velos not four days ago.”

“Ah. I see.”

“What’s up, Ages? I know you’re a Paladin mostly in title, but I thought you’d be more excited considering this is the Hero of your faith we’re talking about.”

“Oh, no, that’s great and all, but doesn’t this mean that every deity has an active Hero right now?”

“Hmmm… Well, Mortimer’s always got an assassin on his payroll, and Goroth’s Hero of the Anvil isn’t coming anywhere near this since he’s just a craftsman. I’m not sure about Nyrie’s Hero of the Staff since nobody’s heard from them in decades, but it’s probably safe to assume they’re around. So, yeah, I’d say they’re all accounted for. Though, I don’t see what that’s got to do with- Hang on, are you saying a Shift might be coming?”

“I’d say it’s already here, mate. Just look at how much shit has happened the past few years. Cities blowing up, ancient gnomes on the moon, entire villages disappearing, demonic Overlords running amok, glass dragons flying around the desert, and now the biggest Rampage in centuries. Honestly, I had no idea there was even a God of Probability until his Hero took down Teresa’s, not to mention the way the Goddess went MIA for a few weeks before suddenly starting that Inquisition business.”

“You… may have a point,” Scrap grumbled, his expression darkening. “Never thought I’d live to see one with my own eyes, but it definitely feels like it’s here now that you mention it.”

A Shift was a phenomenon that occurred with extreme irregularity, usually twice or thrice in a millennium. It was a time of great unease and drastic change – sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always turbulent. The only connecting thread between Shifts was that they always happened at a time when all of Terrania’s deities had active Heroes. It was unknown for sure whether a Shift was caused by the Heroes or whether the Gods appointed their chosen ones in response to the growing uncertainty, but the link was undeniable. It was equally indisputable that the world was never the same after a Shift, if history was any indication. For instance, when the sudden fall of the old Elven Dominion threw half the continent into chaos that it still hadn’t fully recovered from. It was also during a Shift that the nosferatu-run Addams Theocracy disappeared beneath the waves of the Oculus Sea. Scholars also theorized that Shifts were to blame for the appearance of especially stubborn breeds of monsters, orcs being a prime suspect. The arrivals of the world’s four elder dragons were also heralded by Shifts, though the timeline was a bit fuzzy on those claims.

“Think we should quit this job?” the brown-haired Rogue suggested.

“And do what?”

“I don’t know, prepare for it somehow?”

“Hard to prepare for something when you don’t know what it is or when it’s coming,” Ages spoke seriously for once. “Besides, Heroes are supposed to be at the eye of the storm during a Shift, right? I’m no weather expert, but I hear that’s the safest place to be, and a half dozen of ‘em will be on Velos to deal with this Rampage. Therefore, we would do well to get friendly with them while we have the chance.”

Scrap’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I hope you’re not saying this because you want to ogle Morgana some more.”

“Come on, you know I don’t bother with taken women. I wouldn’t dare intrude on a happy couple. Nor is it worth the drama.”

This was more than a bit unconvincing coming from someone who joined the Order of the Golden Sky and became a Paladin just so he could get it on with the Sun God’s fun-loving and suspiciously well-endowed priestesses. Well, that and take part in their frequent parties and celebrations. Then again, he was being upfront about his intentions when he signed up. It was a bit weird that Solus’s faithful apparently had no quarrel with his morally objectionable motives and let him in regardless, though that didn’t diminish his honesty. Bottom line, while Ages may have been a fun-seeking carefree pinhead, he did his best to avoid acting like an asshole.

“Yeah, fine, I guess you might have a point,” his companion conceded. “However, it’s also possible we’re overthinking this Shift. People tend to see the things they wanna see.”

“Preaching to the choir on that one. We should talk it over with the others and decide what we’re going to do from there.”

“Was just thinking the same thing. Come on, let’s go find them.”

The two made their way towards the rest of their squad’s lodgings, but didn’t make it all the way to their destination before they were interrupted by a bizarre scene.

“I swear, if I have to go through one more customs check as an ‘item’ I will freaking lose it.”

That annoyed voice belonged to a radiant white golem in the size and shape of a gnomish woman pushing along a small cart loaded with various metal and wooden boxes.

“It can’t be helped. You know these Alliance states all have their own borders and laws. The rest of us are technically just remotely controlling a bunch of armored shells, so classifying us as items isn’t wrong.”

A second mithril construct followed behind, pushing her own load of miscellaneous objects. Her face and body were nearly identical to the first, though with a few notable differences. For one, the rigid, twin-tail-like decorations poking out of the sides of her head were shorter and perkier than the one in front. The other divergence was the noticeable plus sign etched into her shiny forehead.

“Screw that noise, I’m with the boss on this one! Getting lumped in with a bunch of ugly rust buckets is an insult! Those pathetic meatbags should be worshipping us given how much time and effort Fizzy and Null put into making these bodies!”

The third and most pissed-off golem had her ‘hair’ in a pair of short buns with a long spike jutting out of each. She was marked with a minus above her squinted eyes.

“…”

The fourth of the quadruplets silently nudged her luggage along, her face frozen in a dull and lifeless expression. This one’s forehead was stamped with a circle and a slash that formed an unambiguous zero, and her ornamental scalp was shaped like a no-nonsense ponytail.

“Look on the bright side,” said Plus. “At least they didn’t ask why we’re bringing all these weapons with us.”

“That’s mostly because the morons don’t recognize them as weapons,” Fizzy pointed out.

“Yeah, speaking of which, are you sure you two worked all the kinks out of that prototype arc-caster?” Minus asked with a dubious expression.

“Prototype. Noun. A first or preliminary version of a device or vehicle from which other forms are developed,” the last-in-line explained in a mechanical monotone.

“Uh… Okay?” the negative one was confused.

“Aw, she’s so cute when she does that!” the positive exclaimed.

“What Null means is that it wouldn’t be a prototype if it didn’t have a few minor glitches.”

“I wouldn’t call accidentally blowing off Plus’s arm a ‘minor glitch,’ Fizzy. Unenchanted or not, it was still frackin’ mithril.”

“Okay, relatively minor glitches. Besides, we fixed it back up, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, and I’m kinda glad we did,” the Parallel in question claimed. “I really like the cute flower engravings on the new one.”

“You’re the alter ego of a kickass golem, why the rust would you even want those?”

“Well, it’s not like these models were meant for combat, so what’s wrong with making them look good?”

“No, I get that, but flowers? Really?”

The entire harbor ground to a hold and stared as the mithril dynamo golem and her three body-doubles casually walked by discussing seemingly inconsequential topics. Ages and Scrap were no different, though their gawking had a slightly different, more uneasy feeling.

“… Uh, Scrap? What did we just witness?”

“I do believe that was the Rustblood Juggernaut. You know, the one from way up north?”

That individual was widely known to possess a number of thoroughly unique circumstances. A mithril golem controlled by an enlightened mind? Yeah, that was her without a doubt. Her participation in this expedition was hardly surprising considering all the big names involved. In fact, it was practically an inevitability considering it was no secret that she was a close companion to the Hero of Chaos. However, this scene did raise a certain question.

“No, I get that, but why are there four of her?” Ages asked.

“I… don’t… know…”

The pair continued silently staring at the mithril convoy as it boarded the S.S.S. Teresa’s Judgement. It was at the point where the one in the lead suddenly transformed to a much bulkier and more armored version of herself to handle some exceptionally heavy luggage that they decided not to think too much about it.

It was hardly the weirdest thing that would happen during a Shift, after all.

Part Two

Ages woke up feeling groggy and a bit ill. It was embarrassing that a man of his Level would get seasick, but hardly surprising. The Shimmering Ocean was known for its turbulent waters, with sudden storms and inexplicable typhoons more common than clear skies. It wasn’t as bad as the center of the Oculus Sea, but it was still rough sailing year-round. It was nigh-impossible for anyone without a Mariner’s Reinforced Balance Skill to avoid queasiness. Well, other than being able to afford an airship, a griffon, or some other form of above-cloud air travel, but for nobodies like Ages and his mates, sailing was the best they could do. Alchemical remedies were also an option, but those were best reserved for emergencies. However, it wasn’t the ocean’s ceaseless rocking that woke the veteran adventurer. His sleep had been disturbed by an odd noise heard through the glass of the cabin’s tiny round window, a distant drawn-out drone that seemed strangely rhythmic.

Sitting up in his cot, Ages realized he wasn’t the only one that heard it. Another three of the dozen-strong company were also looking around in a slightly confused state. They were men around the same age as Ages and the mercenary group’s three scouts – Scrap, Bellamy, and Junior. After exchanging a few silent glances and quick nods, the four quietly got up, threw on their gear, and headed for the main deck. The ship’s alarm hadn’t been sounded, so it was unlikely this was an emergency, but they couldn’t just ignore that anomaly considering their suspicions about an ongoing Shift. They had discussed that particular business at length the previous night and decided to stay alert for the duration of this trip to Velos and worry about long-term plans afterwards. Quite a few wanted to bail on the expedition, but the group as a whole judged it wasn’t worth it. Suddenly backing out of the emergency high-profile Quest carried a serious risk of getting banned from the Mercenary Guild, which would cut off their main source of income. They couldn’t let that happen since they needed money to prepare for the indiscriminate storm of change about to sweep the world.

The four early-birds exited the ship’s tight hallway and spilled out onto the deck, at which point a couple of things became immediately clear. One, the weather was relatively calm. The sky was covered in gray clouds so thick that the morning sun had no chance to shine through, but it wasn’t raining or thundering and there was even a refreshing tailwind. Two, the noise they were hearing was not made by some magical anomaly or strange sea creature, but the chorus of a song.

Help me Bob, there's nuthin' in the valley,
Weeey heeey, nuthin' in the valley.
Help me Bob, there's nuthin' in the valley,
Nuthin’ down in Cradle Val.

The four walked over to the side of the ship where several deckhands and a few of the other passengers were leaning on the railing. They didn’t even need to ask what that racket was before the smirking sailors gestured towards the ship sailing alongside them. The angelic figurehead clearly marked it as the S.S.S. Teresa’s Judgement. The most likely instigator of this impromptu performance was also quite visible. Keira dangled upside down from the crow’s nest, her untamed crimson hair fluttering in the wind like a flag, her voice easily distinguishable amidst the crowd, breeze, and waves.

Annie was a girl I met in the alley,
Weeey heeey, nuthin' in the valley.
Annie was a girl that I loved dearly.
Nuthin’ down in Cradle Val.

Help me Bob, there's nuthin' in the valley,
Weeey heeey, nuthin' in the valley.
Help me Bob, there's nuthin' in the valley,
Nuthin’ down in Cradle Val.

For seven long years I courted little Annie!
Weeey heeey, nuthin' in the valley.
All she did was dilly and dally.
Nuthin’ down in Cradle Val.

Help me Bob, there's nuthin' in the valley,
Weeey heeey, nuthin' in the valley.
Help me Bob, there's nuthin' in the valley,
Nuthin’ down in Cradle Val.

Ages and his companions stared aghast when they realized the sea shanty was making light of the Calamity that erased Monotal from the heart of Cradle Valley. As men born and raised in the Empire, the slightly jovial tone of the other ship’s crew was more than a little appalling. Nearly everyone on this naval convoy were mostly human, too, which made their crass attitude even more worrisome. The offensive tune was spreading, too, as the sailors on the mercs’ ship were humming along as well. The four slowly came to realize a harsh truth – not all humans were on the same side. All six ships belonged to a nautical guild based within the Sovereign States Alliance, which existed for the sole purpose of standing up to the military threat posed by the Lodrak Empire. One would think a privately owned organization had nothing to do with the government, but they’d be wrong. The close relationship between the nautical guild running this convoy and the Alliance’s leadership was evident in how all of their vessels bore the ‘S.S.S.’ designation, which stood for ‘Sovereign States’ Ship.’

It was hardly surprising that the men and women who served aboard these crafts would make light of the Calamity and the problems it caused for their political enemies. As for the Hero of Chaos, she fought against the Empire during the war three years ago, so she probably wasn’t their biggest fan either. This realization helped Ages make sense of her hostility towards him at the harbor. However, as the man watched that girl singing that grim song, he felt an odd chill creep up his spine. Perhaps it was the distasteful song, or the way her voice seemed to fade in and out due to the wind, but neither he nor his companions could deny there was something very wrong with that girl.

This foreboding sensation was actually caused by the fact that the thing they were looking at was no mere girl, but a monster that had slaughtered thousands of their people. Though the mercenary group was not aware of the exact cause of their unease, the thing masquerading as Keira Morgana was a Butcher of Humanity. The sailors on the redhead’s ship were under the influence of the shapeshifter’s Pheromone Control Skill, which counteracted the Perk’s negative side effects. The crew members next to Ages were idly looking at the other ship as a whole rather than focusing their attention on the Hero of Chaos, so the instinctive dread they might’ve felt was diluted. Of course, it helped that Keira Morgana was an attractive and approachable person, unlike the gloomy and creepy ‘Sandman’ that stalked the Republic’s underworld.

Now Annie she’s a pile of dust – oh.
Weeey heeey, nuthin' in the valley.
Least she still got a healthy glow, though.
Nuthin’ down in Cradle Val.

Horrible songs were still horrible, though, no matter how pretty the face.

“Ugh,” Scrap groaned. “I know we agreed to buddy up to one of them Hero types, but I don’t think we’ll get far with that one.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Ages agreed.

“Excuse me, gentlemen? Mind if I ask a quick question?”

The blond Ranger nicknamed ‘Junior’ called out to the nearby group of sailors.

“What’s on your mind, friend?” the tallest responded.

“Should they be doing that? Won’t all that singing attract krakens or something?”

“Nope. Kind of the opposite, actually.”

According to an old maritime superstition, songs of disaster, death, and other depressing matters would ward off monster attacks and freaky weather. It was based on the belief that the sea was one spiteful bitch of a mistress. If the crew made it seem like they enjoyed and welcomed misery, then she would not give them any. On the other hand, if they appeared too happy-go-lucky, she would punish them for taking her lightly. This was the actual reason the crew went along with that macabre shanty. Land-dwellers would consider the idea ludicrous at best, but the Shimmering Ocean was a much more mysterious and unknown place than any stretch of dry land. From the perspective of those who regularly braved these godless waters, these seemingly nonsensical rituals were as real and serious as a Fireball to the face.

“What’s that, then?”

However, the senior mariner did not get a chance to explain any of that before Junior pointed over the side of the ship, towards the water. This prompted the sailor to peer into the murky depths, whereupon he noticed a worrying amount of bubbles rising to the surface just next to the ship’s hull. The deckhand didn’t even have to think about it. He grabbed the tube-shaped flare launcher hanging off his hip, sending a bright red light streaking into the early morning sky.

Alarm bells rang across all six ships as if to welcome the mighty sea beast rising from the depths. A conical head as tall as the ship and half as wide burst from the water, the resulting waves forcing the craft to rock dangerously. Covered in barnacles, spikes, and eyes, it was unquestionably one of the infamous krakens. The enormous mollusc let out a piercing screech and rammed the ship, making it tilt even further to the side. Ages and company failed to maintain their balance and rolled across the deck, which was probably for the best considering the massive tentacle slammed down where they were standing moments prior. The monster began wrapping its other limbs around the hull and squeezed down on it like an unruly child trying to hug the stuffing out of a toy bear. The other five vessels were circling around to lend their aid, but the way the craft creaked and groaned within the kraken’s grip made it seem like they wouldn’t make it in time.

Unfortunately for the kraken, it had picked the wrong ship to tangle with.

“Oi! What’s all this feckin’ racket, then?!”

Ages was just now rising to his feet when he first heard and then saw a very irate-looking dwarven woman dressed in nothing but shorts and a sleeveless shirt. An old bat to be sure, but one whose arm muscles were so well developed they made the mercenary feel strangely inadequate. At least, until he noticed the rock-like skin on her knuckles, knees, and elbows. Those were the signs of a stonekin – a dwarf Ranker. This particular one held her head with one hand and looked around the deck in a disoriented manner for a few moments before finally spotting the monster.

“So, yer the runt that’s aggravatin’ me hangover, eh?” Hilda grumbled, her anger rising. “Bad move, tubby! Rearm!”

The stout elder was momentarily wrapped in a dull yellow light. Once it dispersed, she was left clad head-to-toe in black plate armor, holding a warhammer that seemed way too large for her small frame.

“Have at ye, ye slimy bastard! Doooorya!”

Hilda handled that hunk of metal as if it were made of paper as she flung it with all her might at the kraken’s pointy head. The weapon slammed into the beast with enough force to cause ripples of flesh to travel across its body, almost like a puddle struck with a stone. The monster let out a loud roar, the unexpected impact making it loosen its grip on the ship. Hilda pulled out a war axe just as big as the hammer. She charged towards one of the monster’s four-meter-thick tentacles and cut straight through in just a few swings before moving onto the next. The ridiculous display of top-tier violence made it seem as if she could handle this sea creature all by herself. Even if that were the case, she would need a lot of time to carve away at the kraken’s six-digit HP, and the ship wouldn’t last that long.

So, it was rather fortunate that Hilda had six entire warships’ worth of veteran adventurers for backup.

Arrows and cannonballs rained down upon the kraken. Lightning, flame, and acid burned away at its hide while shards of ice, blades of wind, and eldritch energies ripped into its broad sides. Dozens of fighters crawled all over it, riddling it with wounds as they hacked away at the mountain of muscle. Nature magic and fortifying enchantments tended to the timber of the ship and kept it whole while an array of holy hymns and divine incantations blunted the kraken’s attempts to fight back. And, boy, did it try. Miniature storms formed around it, hurling lightning bolts at anything that moved. Clouds of deadly toxins spewed from pores in its gnarled hide. Serpentine coils of water leapt out of the ocean, wrapping around whatever adventurers were within reach and dragging them underneath the waves. The kraken’s massive body thrashed wildly in an effort to shake off the annoying gnats crawling all over it. Its titanic tentacles swept across the deck in an attempt to sweep the people overboard. Those unfortunate enough to fall into the water were bombarded with an aquatic form of telepathy that threatened to knock them out and doom them to drown.

However, despite its best efforts, the colossal creature began to realize it had made a huge mistake in attacking this convoy. Its countless wounds growing, it caused a whirlpool in an attempt to make the ships crash into one another, but the captains were no fools. They anticipated the unnatural currents that the beast manifested around itself and steered their vessels away before any of them were caught up in it. The sea monster released the ship from its coiling grasp and tried to escape by submerging, but was unable to hide its massive body quickly enough. Roughly thirty Cryomancers and Wizards converged on the creature and combined their magic to freeze the ocean’s surface. They couldn’t risk doing this while it was clinging to that ship, but now that it had let go they were quick to trap it in a massive glacier that forced it afloat. Weakened and injured as the titanic creature was, it could not break free of its bonds before it was beset upon from all sides yet again.

The kraken’s fate was thus sealed.

[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Kraken Slayer.]
[All Attributes +5.]

The creature’s ice-encased body went limp and adrift atop the waves. A chorus of cheers rose from the triumphant adventurers. Though all had prepared for the trip by studying various aquatic monsters, this had been the first time most of them had faced a kraken, let alone killed one. The sailors were in a far less festive mood. Defeating a colossal beast with zero fatalities was a tremendous feat, but these veterans of the sea knew it was about to get a lot worse. After all, this was only day two of ten, and the grim predictions were soon proven accurate. By the time the naval convoy arrived at their destination, they had faced fifteen monster attacks after the first. Three were more krakens, though groups of smaller ones rather than a single titanic individual. Two of the other hostile encounters were ghost ships shrouded in mists of Blight, which were crewed by the wretched souls of those who died while lost at sea. There were also three packs of sirens, though the mind-bending properties of their voices were easily warded off by the Priests on duty, making them by far the least threatening.

The same couldn’t be said for the seven schools of drillfish that tried to puncture countless holes in the underside of each ship. Those were by far the most troublesome due to their extreme number and the fact that most of the passengers had never participated in underwater combat. At least, those were foes they could strike down, but the freak thunderstorms and typhoons were beyond their control. The Shimmering Ocean’s severe weather refused to bow down to any Druid or Shaman’s attempts to calm it. It was honestly a miracle they managed to cross the damnable body of water with only eight casualties. A personal tragedy to some, but a statistically significant triumph to most.

The eventful voyage was not without its pleasant moments, the highlight being the encounter with a wandering island turtle. The creature was so huge that its shell was like an actual lump of land, complete with trees and beasts. It was said there were only six of these aquatic reptiles floating around the Shimmering Ocean, and even catching a glimpse of one was considered good fortune. Thus, the elation and wonder the crew and passengers felt as they passed within spitting distance of this majestic beast was almost enough to blow away all of the misery they had to endure. Several teams of people also took this rare opportunity to investigate the island turtle’s overgrown back, though they failed to find any of the rare treasures and exotic minerals said to reside there.

That was mostly because Boxxy had beaten them to the punch and absconded with any shinies of value before anyone else set foot on its shell. There really wasn’t much to be found, though. A bunch of old tarnished relics of long dead civilizations and some sparkling coral formations was all the shapeshifter could recover. Valuable objects to be sure, just not all that shiny. Still, they were unique items Boxxy had never seen before, so it was more than happy to stuff them in its Storage until it got back to Azurvale and added them to the rest of its collection. It hoped to find far more worthy pieces during this expedition, though its enthusiasm somewhat diminished once the voyage approached its destination.

“So, this is Velos? Doesn’t seem all that special.”

Keira made her disappointment known as she looked over the port town the ship was pulling into. It didn’t seem all that different from the Alliance settlement they departed from, other than the fact it was much smaller. So small, in fact, that its docks could only fit half of the six-ship convoy at a time. Admittedly, the town didn’t have a lot of space to work with since it was built on a bay, but it still seemed like any other place on Atica – the continent this expedition hailed from.

“This is an Alliance colony, so it’s only natural it would look the same,” Nao explained as he leaned on the railing next to Keira. “Trust me, though, once you leave the civilized parts, it’ll feel like a different world altogether.”

The wolfkin nodded towards the endless sea of green and blue trees that lay beyond the town’s walls with a nostalgic expression on his face, though not a particularly happy one.

“You’ve been here before, right?” Keira asked.

“Yes. I spent six months studying Psionic magic from the elders here when I was seventeen. I haven’t ventured too deep into the wilderness before, but I’ve heard some worrying things about it. The jungle here is far more dangerous than any forest you might’ve seen.”

“Huh. That’s surprising. I thought you said you’d never been on a ship before.”

“Well, not a traditional one. I rode on Lady Imiryl’s flying vessel back then. The trip was much smoother and far safer than this one. Shame we couldn’t do that this time around.”

The airship was a privately-owned pleasure cruiser first and foremost, and the high-elf Wizard was wary of getting it involved in anything that might be considered a military matter. This Rampage business definitely counted since it was shaping up to be an actual war. Her decision meant Nao was forced to take the far more perilous ocean route, but he trusted things would work out one way or another as long as Keira was around. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean the Hero of Magic was thrilled to be on this expedition. The only reason he wasn’t in his warm and dry home was because his patron goddess had tasked him with finding out why this orc problem was so much bigger than usual. Since he couldn’t pay the fee of 3,719 orc corpses to have the LIAR give him the answer, he had to come here in person. Whether he’d find his answers by collecting the bloody tithe or the old fashioned way remained to be seen.

“I just hope there’s no ancient tombs, cursed artifacts, or pissed-off draconic guardians this time around,” he grumbled.

“Really, Nao? You’re bringing that up again?”

“I’m just saying, you definitely have a knack for finding trouble. Or, is that the other way around?”

“It’s not on purpose,” she pouted.

“It still happens, yet you brought your future wife to what’s essentially a war zone.”

“It was her idea, not mine. Besides, nobody said she’d be going to the front lines.”

Rowana had a few good reasons for coming with Keira. Velos needed support and supplies to fight back the orcs, so she was here to offer her services as an Alchemist and apothecary. She wasn’t looking to make money or further her career, but genuinely wanted to help people. That was why she worked at a clinic to begin with. She also brought a shipment of ingredients and potions courtesy of the Slyth household, though any negotiations would be left to her brother. On a more personal note, Rowana was quite interested in learning about various indigenous herbs and local practices that might help refine her craft.

Those were all reasonable and respectable goals, though deep down she simply did not wish to be apart from her bride-to-be when the big day was right over the horizon.

“That reminds me,” Keira continued. “You’re coming to the wedding in five months.”

“I’ll try, but the autumn season is usually when-”

“Nao. I said, you’re coming, to the wedding.”

“… Yes, ma’am.”

The Hero of Magic may have gotten over his fear of women thanks to his succubus familiar’s ‘hip magic therapy,’ but he could not stand up to Keira’s authoritative and demanding side. Her time as an instructor had really helped refine her ability to exert pressure on others. It was no wonder her students looked up to her with a mix of awe, respect, and fear.

“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s high time I got off this damned tub and onto solid land.”

“I’m with you on that. Though, before we go, I feel like I need to ask one thing.”

“What?”

“This may be your last chance to back out. Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this?”

Unlike him, Keira wasn’t on some divine mission, nor was she here because of someone else, like Kuro and Fizzy. She also wasn’t the type to selflessly lend her aid like Rowana. Sure, the catgirl was a good and kind person deep down, but also a pragmatic one. Keeping friends and loved ones safe was one thing, but crossing half the globe to help a bunch of strangers didn’t seem like something she’d do. She could sit this one out and nobody would hold it against her. Keira completely shattered all those expectations and answered the Eight Tribes’ plea for aid anyway, reminding the world that nobody could truly predict the Hero of Chaos. Except Nao. The boyish wolfkin had a firm grip on her personality – or at least he hoped he did – so he was able to deduce what this was really about. He was relieved to have her along, though he wished her reason for coming to Velos wasn’t so… asinine.

“There are easier ways to work through your pre-wedding jitters,” he added.

“… Maybe, but I’d much rather face a horde of orcs than deal with the nosy bastards trying to insert themselves into our wedding. It’s supposed to be a private ceremony, not some sort of spectacle or political statement.”

In reality, Boxxy was actually looking forward to making it as public a matter as possible, as it was trying to desperately reach Level 50 of its Doppelganger Job. A monumental and historic occasion such as the first same-sex marriage in the Republic was shaping up to be the last push it needed. That had nothing to do with why it was here, though. The shapeshifter had been feeling a bit stressed lately, and inflicting unspeakable amounts of carnage upon thousands of orcs sounded like a great way to blow off some steam without stirring up trouble. Those villages it ‘ghosted’ after Eduardo’s prank pissed it off really lit a fire under the Inquisition’s collective behinds, and it would rather not give them more reasons to hunt it. Last but not least, this was its first time on Velos, so it was eager to sample the local delicacies and maybe pilfer a few shiny relics.

“I’m serious,” Nao insisted. “You could die out there.”

“So? I could die in Azurvale, too. Who’s to say some assassin doesn’t jump me in the street? Or maybe some mega-disease will spill out of the ground and wipe us all out. Or, maybe the sun explodes and the world turns dead and dark.”

“True, but getting your face bitten off by an orc seems far more likely.”

“Come on, do you honestly think I’d pick a fight if I wasn’t sure I’d win. I’ve faced orcs in dungeons before, and they couldn’t even touch me. They’re so predictable I can dance circles around them with my eyes closed. And if any of them want to judge me because of who I am, then I can at least stab them in the face without feeling bad about it afterwards.”

Nao let out a long, drawn out sigh. It was actually rather scary how much Keira sounded like Kuro just now. At least she had the strength and wits to back those words up. The catgirl had also raised a very valid point. If she needed to vent some frustration that badly, then it was for the best that she took it out on a bunch of savages that had to be culled anyway.

“Besides, it’s not like I’ll be alone out there,” she continued. “Fizzy’ll have my back and keep me out of trouble. In fact, we’ve been itching to try out some of the new toys we’ve been working on lately.”

That dangerous glint in her eye was all the confirmation Nao needed that Keira did not even see the orcs as opponents to be feared, but as target dummies and test subjects. This realization almost made the wolfkin pity the green-skinned beasts. Almost, but not quite.

“Well, can’t blame me for worrying about a friend,” he conceded with a shrug. “Just try not to wake up any ancient beings of terrible power, yeah?”

It was unknown whether any such beings existed in this wild and untamed land, but that wouldn’t be a problem for the Hero of Chaos either way.

After all, almost nothing posed a threat to Boxxy T. Morningwood these days.

[General Information]
Boxxy T. Morningwood
Creeper (Hylt), 3 years old
Instructor of Hidden Arrow
Level 49.81 Doppelganger
Level 50.00 Mimic (MAX)
Level 81.22 Warlock
Level 48.73 Artificer
Level 75.00 Ranger (MAX)
Level 75.00 Blade Dancer (MAX)
Level 50.00 Wizard (MAX)
Level 31.15 Alchemist
9992/9992 HP (+40.2/sec)
7636/7636 MP (+12.5/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 1128, DEX 1075, AGI 1058, END 1609, INT 1326, WIS 786, LCK 324, MNT 720, CHR 322, PER 623, FTH 61, AFF 273

Part Three

The S.S.S. Teresa’s Judgement pulled into the relatively small dock. The ship dropped anchor by the wooden pier, the gangplank lowered, and the sailors and deckhands started unloading all of the cargo. The passengers trickled out of the vessel steadily, though each had a rather troubled look on their faces. The voyage had been far from peaceful, evidenced by the countless dings, scratches, and cracks that covered the vessel’s once-pristine hull. While traversing the ocean was always dangerous, this particular trip had been considerably more eventful than usual. However, the cause of this added danger was not, despite what some people thought, due to the presence of the Hero of Chaos, nor was it caused by a Shift.

The convoy was simply too small. Cross-continental travel was typically performed by groups of fifteen to twenty ships, sometimes more. The more sizeable the armada, the better it acted as a deterrent against monster attacks, especially krakens. Compared to the standard fare, these measly six would have looked like a juicier target to the ocean’s beasts, resulting in more frequent disturbances. The aquatic creatures had no way of knowing that each ship in the smaller convoy carried a quantity and quality of adventurers far above average, otherwise they would not have assaulted it so eagerly. While it was true the crew and passengers won resoundingly each time and many were now stronger for it, avoiding combat altogether would have been preferable. The frequent fighting was tiring and disheartening, which wasn’t exactly helpful to morale considering they now had to face down the largest orcish Rampage in centuries. Setting foot on solid land did seem to slightly invigorate their spirits as they got infected by the locals’ fervor. Everyone moved with such intensity and shared purpose that doom and gloom had no chance to settle in.

“Wow, there really are a lot of raptors around here, huh?”

“This is their homeland, Rowie. Would be weird if there weren’t.”

Except for Rowana and Keira. The pair had a general air of casual wonder around them that made them seem like tourists. The way they kept shooting glances at the reptilian residents bordered on rude, but the locals were used to it. Though most adventurers had met a raptor or two, seeing so many in one place was quite jarring. Especially since it was mostly the males that tended to venture into foreign lands, so this was the first time the vast majority of these smoothskins had seen a female of the species. The difference between them wasn’t just obvious – it was so glaring that it seemed as if each gender was their own separate race. The men were like bipedal alligators with rough hides, long snouts, and muscular tails, while the women were more akin to humanoid serpents. Their faces were shorter and rounder, their scales smoother and shinier, and their builds were distinctly slimmer and more flexible, especially the tail. They also looked taller than the males since they had more upright postures rather than being hunched over nearly constantly. Raptor women were unquestionably easier on the eyes, though very few of the visitors would find them attractive. The absence of breasts didn’t exactly gel well with smoothskin sensibilities.

That last detail hinted at something that truly set the lizard-folk apart from all other enlightened races – they weren’t mammals. Raptor infants were born from eggs laid in a clutch of two or three once the mother was successfully fertilized, allowing their population to swell much faster than other species. From a purely numerical standpoint, raptors were the most dominant race on Terrania. This statistic was easy to overlook or dismiss on Atica, but it was impossible to ignore on Velos. Even this relatively small port, which was supposedly an Alliance colony, was practically overflowing with the scaly folk.

So, it was understandable that Rowana, Keira, and the rest of the first-time visitors couldn’t help but stare. The novelty would wear off quickly, but the all-female couple’s attention was grabbed by something else before that could happen. Namely, a massive figure making its way straight towards them. Standing at a ridiculous height of roughly three and a half meters, this man was so huge that his entire upper body was visible over the crowd of people. His head was covered by a thick layer of swept-back hair, bushy eyebrows, and a glorious full beard, all of which were a radiant blond in color. The sleeveless tunic he wore exposed his massive arms and shoulders, which were thick enough for a full-grown person to hide behind, much like his legs. All of that mass seemed to be muscle with practically no fat despite the fact that the staff he was carrying suggested he was a magic user rather than a front-line fighter.

That particular piece of gear drew most of Boxxy’s attention. The metal rod was almost as tall as its owner and was either forged out of or plated with gold. The staff’s head was shaped like a hollow circle with a glittering blue gemstone at its center. The shiny object was held in place by a half dozen metal spikes, each attached to the inner side of the large golden ring. Six more spearhead-shaped tips jutted outwards from those spots, giving the staff a rather menacing and potentially lethal shape. This wasn’t actually an effort to make the weapon deadly, but merely a symbol that could be found all over the enormous man’s gear. It was embroidered on the white tunic across his massive chest, engraved on the round belt buckle, painted on each of the metal plates strapped to his forearms, and on the cover of the heavy, leather-bound tome that dangled off his hip by a chain. Now that Boxxy’s initial ‘Ooh, shiny!’ moment had passed, it recognized this symbol as one commonly associated with the Sun God’s faith.

“Ahoy there!”

The man raised his massive hand in greeting as he approached while smiling and staring straight at Keira. The catgirl stiffly raised her arm to return the greeting, her mouth agape in shock and awe. Rowana had a very similar reaction to her wife-to-be, though her expression was far more dignified. The giant came to a rumbling halt in front of the pair and looked down at them with a positively beaming smile that seemed to make the silent promise that all would be well.

“Miss Keira Morgana, I presume?”

His deep, almost booming voice washed over the pair, but the catgirl was too surprised to respond with anything resembling a proper greeting.

“You are huuuuuuge!”

“Uh, please forgive her, sir,” Rowana called out from besides her. “Seeing things for the first time sometimes gets her so excited that she forgets her manners.”

“Gyah hah hah!” he laughed loudly in response. “Don’t fret, my lady! I was told she was a bit of an oddball, so I expected something like this. Besides, how could I take offense to such pure-hearted wonderment?”

The catgirl’s exclamation was not entirely an act, as Boxxy had never seen such a splendid specimen of a giant before, especially not this up close. It had encountered a few of these massive enlightened, but it never cared enough to approach them. Now that one of them had come to it, it couldn’t help but stare at all that muscle that was surely bulging with flavor. It was honestly having a hard time containing its appetite. The massive shiny staff only made the sight more appetizing. However, before it could even think about either of those things, it first had to deal with a more pressing matter.

“Wait, you know of me?” Keira snapped out of her stupor.

“Aye!” the giant confirmed.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not all that famous this far south… Wait… Are you the guy that Fizzy met during the whole, uh, moon thing?”

“Ah-hah! So she did mention me! Only good things, I hope! She certainly had nothing but praise for you when we last spoke!”

“She… tends to exaggerate. As do the rumors. Please don’t make any assumptions based on either.”

“Understood. Ah, but where are my manners?”

The giant placed a hand on his chest and bowed lightly as he formally introduced himself to both ladies.

“I am Orrin Mildenhall. Some folks call me Sunbeard, but just Orrin will do. As you may or may not know, I am a giant, a Priest, and acting Hero of the Sun. A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise. Please just call me Keira. This is Rowie, my ex-girlfriend.”

“Hey!”

The elf lightly slapped the redhead’s shoulder.

“I told you to stop calling me that!”

“But it’s true,” the catgirl smirked.

“Ugh.”

The white-haired beauty groaned, then turned to the confused giant.

“I apologize for her shenanigans. My name is Rowana Slyth, and the two of us are getting married this fall,” she gestured at their matching sapphire earrings.

“Oh!” the giant’s smile returned. “My congratulations! May Solus bless you with a long and joyous union.”

“Thank you. Still, I almost can’t believe I get to meet yet another Hero,” she giggled lightly. “First Keira, then Nao, then that Sigmund fellow, and now you. At this rate, maybe I’ll become a Hero one day.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s impossible,” Orrin replied merrily. “There are definitely quite a few of us floating around these days. Wait, you two have already met Sigmund Law?”

“Uh, yeah,” Keira stated while glancing around. “I can’t go into details, but he paid me a visit last year.”

“Ah. Nothing violent, I hope. I heard you and his predecessor had a… conflict of interests.”

“He just wanted to talk about some Hero business. You know how it is.”

More specifically, he wanted to discuss a trio of half-divine, half-demon siblings that would need to be taken care of.

“I do indeed. I haven’t met him yet, but he did leave one of his people here with a message. It is one I wish to share with you, though I’m afraid it doesn’t concern civilians.”

Keira and Rowana exchanged some knowing looks, then the elf smiled and lightly pecked the catgirl’s cheek.

“I’ll be fine, sweetie,” she said reassuringly. “I need to go back and make sure those alchemical supplies are headed where they need to go. You do what you do best.”

The woman in white went off towards a group of elves unloading a rather obscene amount of crates from the ship while her girlfriend sent her off with a smile and a wave. Afterwards, Orrin led Keira towards a barn-like structure he had rented as a temporary living space. He would’ve stayed at the inn next door, but his plus-sized frame made it difficult to fit in regular buildings. Once inside and out of sight, the giant was slightly taken aback when he saw the drastic change in the catgirl’s demeanor. The slack-jawed tourist he met earlier had been replaced by an altogether different woman that exuded a sense of purpose and determination.

“Alright, let’s hear it,” she spoke sternly. “What does the bald man want?”

“To the point, then. One of Law’s subordinates approached me when I first arrived,” the giant spoke in a near-whisper. “Teresa’s chosen has called a meeting of the Heroes, a conference to discuss this orc situation. His people were supposed to take me there the instant I arrived, but I asked them to wait until I could talk to you and Nao.”

“How do you know Nao?”

“Our paths crossed. He wanted to know everything that transpired on Tascuna, and I was struggling to establish a safe means of getting there and back, so we were able to help each other out. We’ve sporadically kept in touch since. He’s the one who sent word both of you would be arriving today.”

“Yeah, sounds like him.”

“So, what do you think about this meeting?”

This wasn’t just an invitation to join. The Priest was clearly harboring doubts about this gathering and was asking for an opinion. True, he only just met Keira, but at least they had some mutual acquaintances. Grand Inquisitor Law, on the other hand, was a total stranger.

“Sigmund probably wants to pool our knowledge and resources in order to figure out a way to repel this threat before it engulfs the civilized portion of the continent.”

“… He does?”

“That’s what I’m guessing. When I met the guy, he struck me as something of an idealist. He’ll try to find a solution that doesn’t involve sending people to their deaths in a head-on collision against a hundred thousand orcs. Something like putting together a strike force to take out their leadership and let the horde collapse to infighting. ‘Cut off the head and the body will rot,’ as they say.”

“Hmm, that does seem sound,” Orrin mused while stroking his beard. “From what I know, the raptors employ such tactics all the time.”

The orcs were just as hostile to each other as everything else. Without a warlord to keep them in line, the various warbands would inevitably turn on each other as they fought to fill the vacant role.

“It’s never that easy,” Keira scoffed.

“I suppose it’s foolish to think none of those hundred thousand brutes will attack the locals, but even fighting a fraction is preferable.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“No?” the giant frowned a little. “Then what?”

“Lunar sent that wimpy shut-in here to figure out the root cause of this mess. Why would she do that if this Rampage is actually that straightforward?”

“I wouldn’t know. This is the first I hear of Nao’s purpose, though I fail to grasp your meaning.”

“Well, think about it! Do you even know what happened the last time it got this bad?”

“Hmm… I’m not sure about the specifics, but I believe there was an adult dragon involved.”

“Yeah, a dragon. As in, an external entity that used the orcs as a means to further its personal agenda. For all we know, some sick bastard out there is trying to do the same, but with more finesse. The orcs are an enormous problem, but the real threat is hiding somewhere behind them.”

“Hah! I see. So, this is what Nao meant when he said you were wise beyond your years. I hadn’t even considered this. Still, are you certain we are dealing with an outsider’s influence?”

“I’m never certain of anything,” she crossed her arms. “Best I can do is make a guess and stack the odds.”

“Spoken like a true Hero of Chaos,” he nodded. “Well then, what odds do you give this particular guess?”

“I’d bet my tail on it, if I were a gambling girl,” Keira confidently stated.

“I see. Some food for thought indeed. I am sure our fellow Heroes will want to hear this, too.”

“Well, that makes one of you. By the way, are you holding up okay?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Look, I know we’ve barely met, but I get the feeling you’re worried about a lot more than the orcs.”

“… Are you sure the rumors and praise are actually overblown?” he smiled gently. “You’re every bit as insightful as I’d heard.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I just know that worried look in your eye, the one that wonders why your problems only seem to increase every time you solve one.”

“That’s an oddly specific expression to recognize.”

“Yeah, well… I see it every time I look in a mirror.”

“Ah. I suppose if anyone would know that feeling, it would be you.”

“You can say that again. Anyway, I’m not sure what you’re dealing with or if there’s anything I can do, but at least ask if you need help with something. Perhaps we can figure out a way to help each other out.”

Orrin was quite thankful for that offer. Much as the redhead deduced, he had plenty of things to worry about aside from the orcs. Most were centered around the insurmountable task Solus had given him. For most of his life, the Priest had done everything he could to gather what remained of his people in an attempt to preserve their faith and culture. He’d been relatively successful, given how many dwarves, humans, and elves had taken up the Sun God’s faith as a result of Orrin’s continent-spanning pilgrimages. However, the giants would never be whole without their ancestral homeland. The Blighted Lands had to be cleansed of the Boneshaper’s corruption while Solus still had some modicum of strength. The burst of faith that revived him a few years ago would not last forever, and he wanted to make the most of it. Naturally, he pushed this immeasurably heavy burden onto Orrin’s massive shoulders. As things stood, Percepeia’s liberation would take decades, if it went anywhere at all. It was a monumental undertaking that would definitely benefit from the assistance of the infamous Crimson Lotus.

However, Orrin imagined that being the Hero of Chaos gave Keira enough god-given troubles to worry about without adding his own, especially with her wedding right around the corner.

“Your sympathy is appreciated, but we should focus on the matter at hand,” he changed the subject. “Will you go with me to this meeting?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Though I probably don’t look it, I appreciate you inviting me. Nao will, too, assuming Sigmund will have us.”

“He would be a fool to dismiss either of you, and, from what I’ve gathered, the Hero of the Hammer is no fool.”

“He’s at least brighter than the last one, I’ll give him that. So, where is this gathering?”

“They’re holding it at a fortress southeast of here, some five days away by foot. Apparently, it’s the expedition’s main staging area and one of the first places the orcs will hit.”

“Okay, and how will we be getting there? You said Sigmund sent someone to pick you up?”

“Aye. The man has a griffin on standby, and he’s ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Supposedly, the trip will take only half a day by air if we don’t run into any trouble from the local wildlife.”

“Yeah, about that. How many people can we bring along?”

Griffins were mighty beasts, but they were far from the only flying monster around. Of particular note were the jungle’s twin-headed wyverns, which were infamous for relentlessly pursuing anything that challenged their air superiority. It was important to keep the griffin’s load as light as possible so that its agility and mobility remained unaffected in case of an emergency.

“You wish to bring others?” Orrin cocked an eyebrow.

“Of course. This may be a Heroes-only thing, but I wouldn’t feel right leaving without my traveling companions. Or my gear. You should already know Kuro would never let Nao go to the front lines on his own. Especially after I, uh, dragged him into a bit of unexpected trouble last year.”

“Yes, I heard about the glass dragon. Regardless, you make a valid point. I am not sure how much the Inquisition’s bird-beast can carry, but a few extra people should not be a problem. I’ll ask to be sure, so could you tell me how many people you want to bring?”

“Two – Fizzy and Hilda. They’re both excellent front-line fighters, so they should be a huge asset to the fortress’s defenses should the orcs get any ideas, even if they can’t join in on this Hero stuff.”

“So that was Fizzy I saw prancing aboard your ship?”

“Uh, yes? How many mithril golem-girls do you know?”

“Only the one, but she looked a lot… slimmer than I remember.”

“It’s just a transformation Skill. It’s still her.”

Technically, the one Orrin saw was probably Plus since the original didn’t exactly ‘prance,’ though that was a pain to explain at the moment.

“Alright,” he nodded. “So, five extra passengers in total. I’ll make the arrangements while you get your things ready. Hmm? Is something the matter, Miss Morgana?”

The catgirl’s eyes had suddenly veered off to the side while her fuzzy ears twitched ever so slightly.

“… Yeah, I think we have an uninvited guest.”

The catgirl flicked her wrist, causing a knife to fall out of her sleeve and into her hand. She gripped it by the blade with two fingers and spun around, flinging the blade up towards the barn’s rafters. The giant’s eyes tracked the weapon as it flew into the air, right until it disappeared inside a dark corner. Shockingly, a voice emanated from the shadows.

“Oh, my, looks like I was found out.”

A calm, youthful, girly voice.

Its owner leapt out of the darkness and landed on the wooden floorboards in front of Keira, who was already in a combat-ready stance with another concealed blade in each hand. The giant seemed ready to fly into action, but stopped when he saw the intruder. Her lithe body was wrapped in a hooded cloak so black it seemed to suck out all light. Her shoulder pads, chest plate, bracers, and chainmail underneath were all forged out of a darkened material so un-shiny it was hard to tell it was metal. Her slender legs were wrapped in a pair of dark, thigh-high leather boots, likely enchanted with sound-dampening magic. It was typical assassin garb that would warrant an instant beatdown from the life-worshipping Priest if not for the ivory-white, skull-shaped mask that obscured everything aside from the intruder’s crimson red irises.

“… By my beard,” he muttered. “Are you…”

“Yup, that’s me,” she casually twirled Keira’s thrown knife between her fingers. “Name’s Kaede. Hero of Death. Mortimer’s Reaper. Garbage-woman of the Gods. Part time blade for hire and full-time expert on stabbing things.”

“And also one cheeky brat.”

Kiera took a few steps towards the nosferata as she said that.

*THWACK*

She then struck the girl on the head with the handle of her dagger.

“Ow! C’mon, Keira! No need to be so salty just because I finally got the drop on you.”

“Wrong.”

*THWACK*

“Ouch!”

“Try again.”

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry for eavesdropping!”

The catgirl raised her hand again, causing Kaede to reflexively flinch back and cover her head.

“Ma’am! I’m sorry for eavesdropping, ma’am!” she hastily corrected herself. “Please don’t hit me anymore, okay? You might trigger a Clash!”

“Oh? But the Clash of Fate only activates if you fight back. You weren’t about to do something stupid like oppose your Mentor, were you?!”

“N-n-no, ma’am! I wouldn’t think of it, ma’am!”

“Of course not. Because you don’t think. How many times do I have to tell you stop using Shower in a Bottle so much?! You practically reek of hylt fruit! Any moron with a nose could have spotted you! Have you learned nothing?!”

“But I-!”

*THWACK*

“Yeeow!”

“I swear, Kaede, you better fix that habit or I’m going to slice your damned nose off. Hero or not, I will not have one of my students be caught and killed due to such an amateurish mistake! Are we clear?!”

“Yes, ma’am! Crystal clear, ma’am!”

“Good. Orrin?”

“Y-yes, ma’am? I mean, uh, Miss Morgana?”

“Kaede here just volunteered to help our cause, so we’re bringing her along. She’s a bit green, but she should still prove useful in taking down some high-profile orcs. Tell Law’s man to get ready and that you will be bringing nine passengers with you. I’ll go fetch Nao and the others and meet you back here in fifteen to twenty minutes.”

Keira sheathed all her blades somewhere underneath her casual clothes and walked towards the exit. She stopped briefly at the door and, in stark contrast to how she was a moment ago, smiled merrily.

“Also, just call me Keira. See you in a bit!”

She disappeared with a cheerful wave, leaving Orrin to scratch his head while Kaede rubbed hers.

“So, uh, Hero of Death, huh?” the giant broke the awkward silence.

“Yeah. Still a newbie, though, in case it wasn’t obvious,” the girl sighed.

“We all have to start somewhere, but what brings you out here?”

“My training. Thought this orc business would be a good opportunity to get some fast Levels, so I stowed on one of the ships. I saw you and Knifey Wifey run off together, so I followed.”

“Dare I ask why?”

“Cross-continental boat tickets are expensive.”

“No, not that. Why did you hide instead of approaching us normally?”

“No real reason. Force of habit, I guess.”

“Ah…”

Another uncomfortable silence followed, during which Orrin decided to ask the question bugging him the most. It had nothing to do with the girl’s morally dubious profession. Even if he personally found the thought of putting a price on someone's head abhorrent and deeply disapproved of a fellow Hero acting as an assassin, he recognized the need. Ending one life could save countless others, and it was up to Mortimer’s chosen to fulfill that grim duty with conviction and precision. Orrin didn’t like it, but he understood it.

“Keira taught you how to be an assassin?”

This, however, was completely beyond his expectations.

“No, don’t be silly. I just attended her Advanced Scouting course. Lots of overlap.”

“Oh! So, she mentors rookie adventurers?”

“Ha! No way. I had a total Level of 80 or something, and I still barely graduated. An actual greenhorn would croak in a day at her stupid pace.”

“I see. Just to be clear, nobody actually died on her watch?”

“Oh, no. Plenty of dropouts, but no fatalities.”

Not that she knew of, at least.

“That’s good, I suppose. As her pupil, do you agree with what she said about the Rampage?”

“Hm? About the whole mystery man pulling the strings?”

“Indeed.”

“I really wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Well…”

Kaede’s crimson eyes glanced towards her exit, her mind snapping back to the name and numbers she saw floating over the redhead.

“Long story short, even if there is someone like that, they don’t stand a chance now that Keira’s here.”

Part Four

The mighty griffin let out a shriek when it spotted its destination. It straightened out its wings and descended in a wide and gradual spiral until it landed as gracefully as a beast of its size and weight could, right in the middle of Castle Arin’s courtyard. The fortress was not all that different from the ones on the western continent, aside from a few quirks of traditional raptor architecture. The tall stone walls and turrets all had slanted tiled roofs and their sides were covered in spikes and sticky moss to deter monsters from climbing, but were otherwise unremarkable. The buildings inside the perimeter looked quite a bit more interesting. The central keep was covered in decorative carvings and painted murals, making it far more extravagant than any human, elf, or dwarven castle. It would appear that color as a whole had some sort of significance in raptor culture, as evidenced by how all of the lizard-folk roaming about the place had war paint on their faces. Some of the pigments had minor alchemical properties, though their main function was to designate the individual’s role and rank in a very obvious way.

“Are you sure that war paint isn’t there to help them tell each other apart?” Keira whispered. “I mean, they all look alike.”

“It seems that way because we’re not used to reading the subtle differences in facial structure and scale arrangement like they are,” Nao explained in an equally quiet tone. “It’s a racial thing. But, yes, the warpaint does help.”

The wolfkin kept educating the catgirl on various cultural aspects of the Eight Tribes as they and the other smoothskins crossed the courtyard. Unlike the port town, it was the locals’ turn to stare at the foreigners. They really couldn’t help it considering the group of people that griffin just dropped off. Sure, they had grown accustomed to people from Atica, but anyone would be taken aback if they saw a muscular giant, a masked nosferata, a mithril golem, a heavily armed dwarf, and a trio of beastkin walking together. Even the humans gawked at the passing menagerie, and there were quite a few of those since the Imperial Inquisition had set up its field headquarters here. Their eye-adorned banners were draped over a few of the buildings around the courtyard and hanging from the walls. They had somewhere between one and two thousand troops, which was the bulk of the Inquisition’s armed forces. The organization really was throwing everything they had at this Rampage. There even appeared to be a hastily erected griffin aerie built atop the keep that was big enough to house a half dozen of the flying beasts. The architects responsible for that particular structure were currently yelling orders at a legion of laborers as they did their best to fix up the old walls and prepare them for the impending orc assault.

Keira and the others were guided away from the various ongoing preparations and into Castle Arin’s colorful keep. The structure’s interior seemed more at home in a villa or mansion than a military installation. The grand halls, wide corridors, numerous windows, and tall ceilings looked impressive and gave it a comfortable feel, but amounted to a lot of wasted space and structural weak points. It was not the sort of place that would hold out for long should the outer wall fall. On the upside, it allowed even someone of Orrin’s considerable stature to walk around unhindered unless he wanted to go down the cramped side passages and tight stairways usually reserved for servants.

Once further inside, the Inquisition guide asked that Fizzy, Hilda, and Kuro wait in the banquet hall. The golem was not as enticed by the promise of free food and drink as the dwarven Berserker and the towering wolfkin, but she still accompanied them. The four Heroes were led to the conference room where the impromptu summit was going to take place. It had tall windows letting in plenty of light, a series of maps pinned to one of the walls, and three people seated around the huge, oval-shaped table in the middle.

“Ah, you’re here,” said the only human among them. “Please, have a seat.”

Keira, Nao, and Kaede took a chair each while Orrin sat cross legged on the wooden floorboards, which creaked ominously under his weight.

“Before we begin, I think it wise for everyone to introduce ourselves. I will start. My name is Sigmund Law, Hero of the Hammer and devoted Paladin of Teresa.”

The man looked more or less the same as he did when Keira first met him. He was wearing a set of bulky, full-plate adamantite armor with a golden trim that bore a number of religious symbols related to his faith. Of particular note were the hammer-themed insignias on his gauntlets, shoulders, and belt. A black cape with the Inquisition’s eye-shaped symbol fluttered behind him, and several ribbons with Imperial heraldry and religious texts were bolted onto his gear. On the whole, it was hard to say whether the suit of armor was meant for ceremony or battle, but, given the man’s occupation, it was safe to assume both. Sigmund was currently not wearing his helmet, making his head the only part actually visible. Boxxy had to admit, it was rather fond of the man’s face, as his bald scalp was particularly shiny today. One could hardly even see the cross-shaped scar on his skull with all the light bouncing off it. The ever-serious expression on his face was another story, though his full beard and mustache only accentuated his smooth cranium.

“I would also like to point out that the Inquisition and I are here on our own terms, and that we are not acting on behalf of the Lodrak Empire.”

Sigmund gestured towards the raptor immediately to his right, a silent invitation to follow his example.

“My name is Hesk of clan Susk. Axel’s Hero, and Paragon of the Broadfang Tribe.”

The individual in question was also wearing a full plate of armor, though it was vastly different from Sigmund’s. Unlike Law’s black-and-gold adamantite, it was forged out of radiant white mithril that lacked any religious iconography. It did bear a silver-colored pattern and a small shoulder-cape, but those denoted heritage rather than faith. The armor was made to fit raptor physiology, which gave it a rather exotic look. Of particular note was the way it covered the upper half of the Hero of the Sword’s reptilian tail, which ended in a dagger-like blade at the tip. However, the she-lizard seemed unwilling to take off her ridged helmet, which slightly distorted her voice. It would be practically impossible to tell she was even female if not for subtle clues like the shortness of the helmet’s beak and the smoothness of the scaly tail’s underside. It was a bit odd she refused to show her face, but that could be attributed to her birth. The Broadfang Tribe were the most brutal and warlike of the Eight Tribes, with a deep rooted ‘survival of the fittest’ mentality. Any soldier hailing from that tribe was taught to be ready for combat at a moment’s notice, and Hesk’s title of Paragon meant she was an exemplar of their ways.

“Though I am honor bound to meet this orc threat head on, I do not wish to do so blindly. Make no mistake, my only goal here is to maximize my people’s chances of survival, not to play buddy-buddy with you outsiders.”

Up next was the other raptor in the room, this one most definitely a male.

“This one is called Gux,” he said in a raspy voice, “and hails from clan Occozza of the Sagescale tribe. The rain is his mistress, the winds his guide, and Zephyra his patron. Just don’t tell him that last bit, it’s supposed to be a secret.”

This Hero of Rain was an individual Keira had already heard plenty about from Hilda, who had worked with him in the past. He was a noticeably older lizardman, made obvious by the worn and dried-out look of his deep-green scales. He was wrapped in loose-fitting travelling clothes with a thick, hooded blue cloak draped over his shoulders. His face was decorated with lines of bright blue war paint, matching his garment and signifying his magical abilities. He had a bulging pouch tied to his hip, a pale yellow crystal ball resting in his right palm, and various wooden talismans and charms dangling off of his wrists and waist on strings.

Those trinkets were mostly unremarkable mediums for his Shaman arts, but the orb he was holding was of particular interest. Unless Boxxy was mistaken, it was a magus sphere, a rare magic amplification item that filled much the same function as a staff with the added benefit of enhancing the effective area of most Spells. One would expect a Shaman to have a totem, but that wasn’t Gux’s primary occupation. In reality, the lizard-man was a Level 100 Psionic, which allowed him to Rank Up into a razorscale raptor. This gave him a number of enviable advantages, such as the ability to regrow lost limbs with time and the use of the movement-enhancing Slipstream Skill. Unlike ascended humans or stonekin dwarves, this higher species was easily distinguishable from its base variant by the spiky, fin-like growths that poked out of his skull and ran down the length of his tail.

Given his Ranker status, he was likely the oldest and most powerful of the Heroes, but also seemed like the most unreliable. Much as his odd self-introduction, the razorscale raptor was not entirely sane. His unfocused, milky-white eyes were also completely blind since birth. His magical abilities made up for his lack of sight somewhat, turning what would normally be a substantial handicap into a manageable problem. While a troubled individual, he was also a free spirit that held a deep love for exploration, adventure, and nature’s splendor – all virtues Zephyra absolutely adored.

“Oh, and if any of you should stumble upon a talking brass belt buckle, please ignore anything it says about Gux, for it is a liar and a scoundrel.”

Not wishing to address the elephant in the room just yet, the group continued going around the table, though it took the next in line a few moments of silence to realize it was their turn.

“Ah, yes. I’m Nao, Nao Shoki, Lunar’s current Hero. I’m a scholar by trade, so I won’t be fighting directly if I can avoid it. Though, I will gladly help out with analyzing arcane anomalies or magical mysteries that pop up. Which, if I understand the purpose of this meeting, is likely to become more necessary than not.”

True to his word, the wolfkin had shown up completely unarmed. One could argue that a Caster needed only their wits and tongue to wreak havoc upon their enemy, but they would still normally have a staff or wand to amplify their output. Nao merely had a fancy-looking robe that was most likely a high-class magic item, but the only thing it would protect him from was the humid air and hot temperatures. Admittedly, Hesk’s armor and Gux’s attire both had similar functions to help regulate their stamina, but neither were anywhere near as comfortable as Nao’s.

“My name is Keira Morgana, the Hero of Chaos, though I’d prefer it if everyone just called me Keira. I’m an experienced scout, part-time inventor, and full-time survivor. I’m told my common sense is a bit warped, but please rest assured that, despite being chosen by the Goddess of Instability, I prefer to do things with as few surprises as possible.”

Unlike her wolf-eared counterpart, the catgirl had shown up in full combat gear. Its innermost layer consisted of a form-fitting tunic and trousers stitched together from wyvern leather. The high-grade, blue-and-brown equipment was excellent at deflecting slashing attacks while enhancing speed and mobility to facilitate evasion and silent movement. She also had a breastplate shielding her upper torso, a slim shoulder pad on her left side, and a custom made helmet with holes for her feline ears. Those three pieces of metal armor were forged from a mithril alloy that made them naturally dark, light, and durable enough to protect a beastkin’s vital areas. She also had a hole in her trousers to let her tail move freely and assist in maintaining her balance.

In terms of weaponry, Keira only seemed to have her trusty mithril rapier sheathed at her left hip. In actuality, she was packing an entire arsenal of blades, bows, arrows, and explosives, all of which were packed into the Artifact-grade belt on her waist, known as Aetherial Repository #3. Potions, rations, campfire kits, sleeping bags, and other essential supplies were also tucked in there, but most of its contents were implements of death and destruction.

“‘Sup? I’m Kaede, Mortimer’s new chief stabassist. I stab things. I also sometimes shank, jab, prick, stick, and pierce, but I mostly stab.”

*THWACK*

“Ow!”

“Be serious for once in your life,” Keira scolded her.

“Spoilsport,” the nosferata grumbled, rubbing her head. “It’s not like I was lying. Killing things really is my only talent, so that’s all you should expect me to do. If you lot want something tracked or hunted down, you’re better off asking Keira.”

“And, I am Orrin Mildenhall,” the giant said with a bow of his head. “Hero of the Sun, faithful servant and de-facto archbishop of the church of Solus.”

“I will not be ending lives, but will instead focus my entire being on preserving yours and those of your fellows. Their wellbeing is in my prayers.”

“Hah. Now that’s a laugh.”

“Is something the matter, Hesk of clan Susk?” Orrin asked calmly.

“Praying for salvation will not shield you from the orcs of Velos, giant,” she sneered. “The only thing that will keep you alive out there is your wits and your mettle, so I suggest you don’t waste your breath.”

“I’m with the scary lizard lady on this one,” Keira chimed in.

“I have a name, furball,” Hesk hissed while slamming her tail against the floor in protest.

“Yeah, sure, but are you or are you not a scary lizard lady?” the catgirl insisted.

“Gux finds this assessment of Hesk’s person most accurate.”

“Ugh, bloody Sagescales,” she grumbled. “Look, I apologize for snapping at you, Morgana. Repeated skirmishes against the orcs have worn my patience a bit thin. In actuality, I am glad to finally meet you in person.”

“You… You are?” Kaede blurted out. “Are you sure you have the right Keira?”

“Indeed,” Hesk stated as the nosferata got another disciplinary ‘thwack’ to the head. “I have had the pleasure of working with a few of your trainees, those so-called Crimson Blades.”

Keira’s first graduating class of students had come up with that title on their own about a year ago, but their collective exploits had already given it a certain amount of weight. One reportedly wiped out a gang of nearly three hundred bandits all by himself. It took him several weeks, over the course of which the only thing the outlaws saw of him were his arrows and traps. Another famous example was the dwarven Rogue who infiltrated a criminal cartel that had been infesting the Horkensaft Kingdom’s underbelly for two decades. It only took him ten days and three kills to gather enough information to help the local authorities completely dismantle their operation. Then there was the elven huntress who chased a gang of kidnappers across the entire Empire to rescue the heir to a noble house. When she brought him home, the affluent son wanted to marry her for her bravery and grace, but she famously turned him down by laughing so hard she nearly passed out.

In more recent events, three of the Crimson Blades had been tracking the movements and numbers of the orc threat over the past two months. Their teamwork was so exceptional that it allowed them to traverse the dense jungles far quicker than most of the local hunters and skulkers. It was thanks to their efforts that the Eight Tribes were so forewarned and well-informed of the impending Rampage.

“If you are at least as capable as they are,” Hesk continued, “then I look forward to working with you in exterminating this threat.”

“Exterminating?” Keira raised an eyebrow. “I thought we were here to determine if there’s some underlying cause for this Rampage and eliminate it before things get worse.”

“We will certainly be investigating that possibility,” Sigmund answered. “However, even if there is something to be found, it’s unlikely the orcs will just disperse and retreat back into the jungle without a helping hand or two.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Hesk continued. “Foul trickery or not, a Rampage is still coming. The orcs will bring war with them. Not a skirmish, not a battle, not a showdown, but a full-fledged war, with all its glory, and all its horrors. All of you would do well to remember that if you plan to live through it.”

A heavy silence gripped the room. The female raptor’s dark and serious tone made it abundantly clear to the newly arrived Heroes exactly how grim the situation actually was.

“Tsk, way to ruin the mood.”

Except for Kaede, who seemed to be as nonchalant about the whole affair as ever if her childish grumbling was any indication.

“Hmm, something has been bothering me,” Orrin thoughtfully stroked his beard. “If this threat is so severe, should it not warrant a Crusade? Surely this situation is not any less dire than what I and Paladin Rustblood endured on Tascuna.”

“I also have been pondering this,” Sigmund agreed. “However, I am not familiar with the conditions. Sunbeard, enlighten us.”

“Unless I am mistaken, it requires that five or more deities agree that a certain cause is worthy enough to warrant intervention.”

“There is surely more to it. There are seven Heroes here, yet no hint of a Crusade.”

A heavy silence gripped the room.

“So what?” Keira broke it. “Get on our hands and knees and beg the Gods for salvation? Fat chance, baldie. If they were going to get off their ethereal butts and do something, they would’ve evaporated this warlord on the spot. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t heard of any bolts from the blue as of late.”

“Oh, I like her,” Hesk commented.

“That is not what I meant,” the Hammer sighed. “I was merely asking if you knew what stance your respective patrons have on this Rampage so we may determine the likeliness of another Crusade. For my part, Lady Teresa is largely indifferent to this endeavor since she is currently focused on domestic affairs. She did not object to me bringing the Inquisition here, nor did she endorse it.”

“Gux has likewise not heard anything of Zephyra’s intentions, but that is mostly because Gux is not aware he is a Hero. However, it is safe to assume the Goddess of Rain does not wish to see Velos overrun by orcs. Their habit of devouring everything in sight and leaving behind nothing but barren wasteland will surely spell doom for the continent if they are not stopped.”

“Solus considers this a matter of utmost importance for those very same reasons,” Orrin claimed with a heavy tone. “He wishes to avoid another Percepeia, but I fear he can’t currently offer much support. It has been… a rough century for him.”

“That, and he blew his load on the moon,” Keira pointed out. “Incidentally, Patrick wouldn’t lift a finger to step in. He’s probably laughing his divine bottle off watching this disaster unfold.”

“Axel would surely act if he had the means to do so,” Hesk weighed in. “He may somewhat admire the orcs’ instinctive propensity for tactics and strategy, but ultimately they are little more than a disease that must be purged from the face of Velos.”

“Uh…” Nao nervously scratched his nose. “Lunar only seems to care about the underlying cause of this abnormal Rampage. Unless it is confirmed that powerful magic is the root cause of all this, it is unlikely she will move a finger. Even then, a full-on Crusade seems… unlikely.”

“I’m here mostly to Level Up and earn some coin,” Kaede stated nonchalantly. “I’d like to do more, but my bone-headed boss thinks I’m still too immature to handle any of his Quests.”

“Huh, I wonder why,” the redhead practically oozed sarcasm.

“I see,” Sigmund nodded. “My thanks for sharing your thoughts. I cannot speak for Nyrie or Goroth, but I imagine their stance is similar to my Lady’s. It is unfortunate, but there does not seem to be enough support from the pantheon for a Crusade.”

“Shame, that would’ve been fun,” the nosferata said wishfully. “Having access to massively-overpowered, army-wide divine blessings would’ve made this job a cakewalk. Wait, what if our side intentionally fights like a bunch of mentally and physically crippled rodents? Surely that’d be worth a pity-Crusade or two.”

“The Gods do not exist to push the cart or fix its wheels,” Gux chimed in. “They merely ensure the traveler does not stray from the right path.”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but I am of a similar mind,” Hesk declared. “Expecting someone else to bail you out of trouble every time a crisis happened would breed nothing but reliance and complacency. The pantheon expects us mortals to be capable of fending for ourselves, and I personally do plan to live up to those expectations.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Kaede rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying – crippled rodents. Think about it.”

The nonchalant attitude of the Hero of Death made Hesk slam her tail against the floor once again, almost like a judge demanding order in the court. It was unclear if that was her intention, but the effect was pretty much the same.

“Let’s make one thing abundantly clear,” she hissed at the upstart. “This meeting is not about the overall war effort – that part has been entrusted to the strategists of the Flatfoot tribe. We are here solely to discuss how to handle this damnable orc warlord and whoever or whatever is backing him up. So, unless any of you have a way to wipe out a hundred thousand orcs, I suggest we focus on that.”

“Well said,” Sigmund exclaimed. “Now, before we get to the matter of hand, allow us to share what little knowledge we have. Gux, if you would?”

“As the Hammer’s Fist wishes.”

“And stop calling me that.”

The Hero of Rain ignored the human’s complaint and flexed his mental muscles. The magus sphere in his hand floated towards the center of the massive table everyone was seated around. A series of blue light beams shot out of it, bending and twisting around each other as they drew a three-dimensional figure in the air. A few seconds later, the five-meter-tall illusory image had solidified into the shape of an orc. The specimen was like a savage mountain of muscle. A wide chest, massive shoulders, and exceptionally thick arms and hands, all of which were covered in countless scars. His physique gave him a very fiend-like appearance, except his face was nowhere near as handsome as a demon’s. The floppy pointed ears normally found on orcs were missing, his nose was short, wide, and mangled, but his most prominent facial feature was his mouth. A massive lower jaw without any lips whatsoever allowed everyone to see his two rows of giant, pointy fangs more akin to spikes than teeth.

Speaking of spikes, the orc’s gear was positively covered in them. His equipment consisted of a loincloth, a pair of boots, a set of vambraces, a shoulder pad, and a cap. It wouldn’t function very well as armor seeing as how it left his chest, back, and most of his limbs completely exposed. Not that this primitive-looking gear could stop anything resembling a serious attack. It appeared cobbled together from vines, fur, bone, and metal shards, all of which would crumble the instant it met an adventurer’s weapon. However, it was impossible to deny that the skulls, spikes, and chains combined with that monstrous physique gave the orc an imposing and intimidating appearance.

Orc Warlord

“This,” Sigmund gestured at the illusion, “is the orc warlord responsible for this mess. Gux caught a glimpse of him using his Ultimate Skill.”

The Skill in question was called Wandering Mind, and was something Boxxy had found out about through Hilda. It was a clairvoyance ability that separated the user’s consciousness from their body. This projection could move freely and perceive the world around it, essentially providing the user with a remote-controlled MLG. Its sight range was limited to a radius of about twelve meters and it could not ‘see’ through solid matter, but the Wandering Mind could fly and phase through inanimate objects at will. Its distance was only limited by the user’s MP reserves, and it wasn’t all that useful in combat, but it was still an excellent scouting tool. The fact that it was practically undetectable also meant the user was free to spy on others with little to no repercussion, though Gux did his best not to abuse it.

Well, he did technically peek on some bathing beauties once or twice, but that was mostly to see if he could.

“I would like to stress that this is the creature’s actual height,” Teresa’s chosen continued.

“Wait, you mean this projection is to scale?” Nao asked wide-eyed.

“That is so, Child of the Moon,” Gux confirmed.

“But, I thought orcs only grew to two meters, two-fifty at best! This one’s even taller than Orrin!”

“You are technically correct on both accounts, youngling,” Hesk stated. “However, I assure you this is not out of the realm of possibility. Orcs continue to grow as they age, but the vast majority of them don’t live long enough to exhibit that trait. And this one is very old indeed.”

The female raptor stood and grabbed the polearm that had been resting against a nearby wall. Its wide triangular head made the weapon look like an oversized arrow, but the way she handled it made it abundantly clear it was a spear. She pointed it at the translucent orc’s chest after hopping onto the wooden table, her armored toes scraping against the wood.

“See this wound right here, just below its left pectoral?”

Hesk jabbed the scar she was talking about, making the spear’s wide blade pierce the lump of blue light. The shape was a perfect fit, though the ancient wound was noticeably larger.

“It was… made by that weapon?”

“Quite so, Kaede,” the ‘scary lizard lady’ responded. “If this image is accurate – and I have little reason to doubt that – then this orc has survived defeat at the hands of one of my predecessors.”

“How can you be so sure it was not made by a similar blade?” Keira asked.

“Because this spear is an Artifact that has been the Broadfang tribe’s solution to the orc menace for generations. I assure you there are none like it.”

This was precisely what Boxxy wanted to hear. Though the spear’s blade was far from shiny, its status as a unique high-grade weapon made it worthy of the shapeshifter’s interest as a collector. Though, it would seem the not-a-catgirl was not the only one curious about it.

“Fascinating,” Nao exclaimed. “Lady Hesk, pardon my interruption, but could it be that weapon was not originally an Artifact?”

Magic items had a way of manifesting unique properties if they were used frequently for long periods of time. This ‘Item Rank Up’ was a common way for Artifact and Phantasmal grade equipment to come into existence, and decades of killing orcs was the perfect formula to cause such a metamorphosis.

“This is so,” she confirmed with a nod. “It was forged by the smiths of clan Forktongue, and tempered in the blood of our enemies.”

“What else can you tell me about it?”

“Its name is Rotsting, and it poisons the flesh of any orc it pierces, making it literally melt off their bones. Even warlords will be reduced to sludge if I can land enough hits on them.”

“Huh. That strikes me as rather odd,” Nao remarked thoughtfully. “Usually in situations like these, the weapon develops an effect to take advantage of a monster’s Bane. However, what you described sounds like a scourge-attuned effect, whereas the orcs’ weakness is mind magic.”

In fact, the need to suppress hordes of the bloodthirsty creatures with wide-area mental attacks, or ‘stemming the green tide’ as the locals called it, was what made Velos the birthplace of the Psionic Job.

“I will not pretend to understand how or why it works,” Hesk stated. “All I need to know is what it does and how to use it.”

“But, if what you’re saying is true, how can you be so certain this guy was stabbed by your super pointy stick?” Kaede chimed in. “I know a thing or two about stabbing people with flesh-eating toxins, and I can tell you right now that there’s no way a wound like that would heal so cleanly. It clearly wasn’t treated with magic since then there’d be no trace of it at all.”

“Not necessarily,” Orrin joined in. “If a particularly grievous wound is healed by magical means, it’s possible some scarring might remain, especially if the Spell or potion wasn’t potent enough to close the wound completely in one go.”

“Unless he was stabbed before the spear obtained its unique property,” Keira pointed out.

“That is precisely the conclusion we reached,” Hesk continued. “According to my tribe’s records, my weapon’s orc-dissolving ability manifested itself precisely seventy-six years ago, shortly after its wielder drove it into a particularly tenacious orc warlord’s chest.”

Hesk stabbed at the illusory monster once more with the tip of her spear.

“We have every reason to assume this is that same warlord. This Rampage has been over half a century in the making. Now that it’s here, you can rest assured it won’t end well if we fight it conventionally.”

She climbed down from the table and took her seat, giving the newcomers a moment to process this information.

“There is more,” Sigmund declared as Gux dispersed the lightshow. “We of the Inquisition have seen enough trickery, deception, and foul play over the past two years to recognize this warlord likely has a cohort – a supporter or patron of some kind.”

“Gux also believes this is the case,” the blind lizard in the corner chimed in. “Orcs are many things, but creatures of patience they are not. If this one had the ability to seize control of a horde this large, he would’ve done so the first chance he got. However, their kind can be surprisingly cunning, so an alliance of some sort isn’t out of the question.”

“How are you so certain?” Orrin inquired.

“Gux has peered into the heads of many an orc. It is not a happy place.”

“I see. I was afraid it might be so, but it would seem Keira’s intuition was correct after all.”

“Intuition?” Law’s gaze fixated on the redhead. “Care to elaborate?”

“Don’t get all ‘Grand Inquisitor’ with me, buster,” she warned him. “It’s just a gut feeling. When you’ve seen as much crazy shit as I have, you learn to recognize the stink from afar.”

“Thank you for that… colorful metaphor,” Sigmund winced a bit, then addressed the room. “In any event, that is most of the information we’ve been able to gather on the warlord. Does anyone have any comments or questions before we move onto making any actual plans?”

“Oh, I have one!” Kaede exclaimed while raising her hand. “It’s been bothering me for a while now, but – Hesk, you’re Axel’s chosen, right? As in, the Hero of the Sword?”

“Yes, I am. What of it?”

“How come you’re not using a sword?”

“I, uh…”

“Actually, I guess spears count since they’re basically swords on sticks.”

There was an awkward silence as Hesk genuinely had no idea how to respond. Neither did the other Heroes. Gux was sitting patiently and quietly as if waiting for a storm to blow over. Keira’s ‘educational’ arm was already mid-swing while her student giggled quietly behind her mask. Orrin had a look of bemused confusion while Nao hid his face in his palms. Sigmund crossed his arms, leaned back in his seat, and let out a low groan. He still wasn’t sure whether this gathering would serve any actual purpose or if they were chasing something that wasn’t there, but Kaede’s question made one thing abundantly clear.

This was going to be a looong meeting.

Chapter Three
Green Tide

Part One

“Gotta say, I’m surprised yer still kickin’ Gux,” Hilda commented. “Was expectin’ to hear ye drowned ‘cus ye fancied a swim in molten lava.”

“Gux had indeed tried that since we last met, old friend. Gux found the lava surprisingly pleasant, if a bit smoky.”

“Oh, come off it,” Keira scoffed. “I don’t care how tough you are, nobody can swim in lava and come out unscathed.”

“I dunno, I bet I could,” Fizzy chimed in. “Though, that’s mostly because it’s not nearly hot enough to melt my fabulous frame.”

The four were currently on a long trek through an overgrown jungle. Well, Gux was technically floating slightly above in a cross-legged, sitting position, as the razorscale raptor found it less tiresome than walking. Even if he was a high-Level magic user, his stamina and endurance were no match for the three martial types in his team.

“Yeah, but Gux is flesh and blood,” the catgirl pointed out. “Those typically have a lower melting point than mithril.”

“He’s a Hero like yerself, lass,” Hilda chimed in. “One of his special Skills makes him immune to all environmental hazards, so long as they’re not in a dungeon or somethin’.”

“So, what? Lava won’t burn him?”

“Nope. He can still fooken drown, though.”

“Actually, Null tells me lava’s too dense to let a meatbag sink in it,” Fizzy pointed out.

“Huh. Did not know that. Well, live and learn I s’pose,” Hilda shrugged.

“Where did you even find actual, flowing lava?” the redhead inquired.

“Gux came across an erupting volcano while exploring Hell.”

“Hell?!” she practically screamed. “You went to Hell?! Like, of your own volition?!”

“It is surprisingly scenic and peaceful so long as one manages to avoid disturbing the locals.”

While he presented it as no big deal, one of those ‘locals’ was none other than the elder dragon Hadros, a castle-sized cataclysm of flame, greed, and spite. The day it moved into the Horkensaft Kingdom and claimed the mountainous region of Hell as its own was one of the darkest moments in dwarven history. Hadros not only denied them access to Hell’s bountiful and valuable minerals, but also displaced or incinerated tens of thousands of people when he moved in. His overwhelming presence gradually warped the area, turning it into the ashen, monster-infested wasteland it was now. He also effectively held the entire Kingdom hostage for ransom, forcing them to pay a yearly tribute of gold and jewels in exchange for sparing all their lives.

And Gux claimed he went there to sightsee.

“Wow. Okay, I take back what I said during the meeting. You’re as crazy as a horse’s sock at sunset,” Keira shook her head.

One would think the Heroes would have had more important things to discuss at their meeting than the Hero of Rain’s sanity, or lack thereof, but that was not the case. Sigmund, Hesk, and Gux had very little information to share beyond the orc warlord’s identity, who apparently went by the name Gutzstompa. He would be a force to be reckoned with, and not only because of his clearly superior physique and advanced species. The biggest problem was the sheer number of monsters under his control.

Common orcs, typically referred to as peons or grunts, were complete savages that acted purely on instinct. They had very little in the way of individual thoughts or wants beyond the basic needs present in all living things and an overwhelming desire to murder anything in sight. However, what set them apart from other tribal monsters like gnolls or goblins was their unique racial Skill, the Green Tide. It allowed orcs within the same warband to link together in a sort of subliminal psychic network. The more individuals that joined the same connection, the more their mental and physical abilities rose as a whole, and the more likely it was that a warlord capable of leading them would arise from their ranks. With a staggering hundred-thousand orcs under his command, Gutzstompa’s horde had the potential to wage warfare that would make the Lodrak Empire look like children with toy swords. Logistics, strategy, troop movements, armaments, and siege weaponry would be organized and brought to bear against the Eight Tribes of Velos. Worst of all, these orcs fought like seasoned veterans, with strength and endurance far surpassing that of the greenskins found in roaming, independent groups.

Nevertheless, there were ways and means to combat this effect, such as shaving away at their numbers before the Rampage truly began. That was part of the reason why Fizzy, Keira, Gux and Hilda were in the jungle. They were on their way to an orc camp that reportedly had a half-thousand savages making war preparations. Taking out that group would not make too much of a dent in the enemy’s numbers, but it was a start. Besides, eradication wasn’t their main objective, but a welcome byproduct of their actual goal. The team had taken on the grim task of securing the 3,719 orc corpses the LIAR demanded in order to reveal the secret behind Gutzstompa’s sudden rise to power. The other Heroes were engaged in similar missions. Kaede, Hesk, and a joint strike force between the Broadfang and Mistclaw tribes were on their way to assault an orc-infested swamp. They planned to use extensive hit-and-run tactics to gradually whittle down the nearly eight-thousand greenskins that resided there. Sigmund and a contingent of his Inquisition forces went to investigate an old mine that supposedly became an orc nest, with Orrin and a dozen of his fellow giants for support.

Nao was the only Hero staying out of the violent festivities. He and Kuro had borrowed a griffin to fly them to various points on Velos to carry out their own independent investigation. Even if the LIAR gave factually accurate answers, there was a solid chance that ‘What is the root cause of the current orcish invasion?’ was not the right question. The wolfkin pair had a few extra hands keeping them company, but were on their own for the most part. The bulk of the adventurers, Inquisition, and Eight Tribes’ forces were too busy to babysit the bookworm. They were either digging themselves in or carrying out their own preemptive strikes.

Granted, none of those teams would be anywhere near as outnumbered as Keira’s group, but considering the people in it, even a hundred to one seemed unfair towards the orcs.

“Hold.”

The catgirl raised an arm and gave a quiet word of caution, causing the other three to stop in their tracks.

“There’s a faint scent of burning flesh in the air,” she reported. “I’m also hearing metal strike metal.”

“Combat?” Hilda asked in a whisper.

“No, it’s too rhythmic. It’s either smithing or construction.”

“Sounds like our target, alright.”

“I’ll go scout ahead. You three stay here and wait for my signal.”

Keira accessed her belt-mounted magical storage and withdrew her Prismatic Cloak.

“Gux could investigate with the Wandering Mind,” the sightless raptor offered.

“I’d much rather you stay here and watch for- Uh, I mean, keep Fizzy and Hilda out of trouble. The last thing we need is for the orcs to find us and go on high alert before we’re ready.”

The catgirl threw on the multi-colored hooded garment that turned her invisible to the naked eye. A rustling of bushes and vines were the last traces of her presence before it disappeared completely, almost like a ghost.

“The Chosen of Chaos does not seem to trust Gux,” the raptor remarked.

“Sure she does, she just trusts herself more,” Fizzy reassured him.

In reality, Boxxy simply wanted to be as far away from Gux as feasibly possible. A Psionic’s Skills made them perceptive in troublesome ways, and this Level 100 mindbender would have surely sensed Keira’s true nature if not for the catgirl’s helmet. It was specially enchanted to ward off telepathic probing, which was one of the main threats to Boxxy’s Facade. It probably wouldn’t be able to block Gux if he actively tried to bypass it, but that would essentially be an attack on Keira’s person, which would likely lead to a Clash of Fate. Even if it did give the catgirl a legitimate reason to fight back and possibly kill the raptor, it was a troublesome scenario that the once-mimic wanted to avoid.

That was precisely why it had that mind-shielding helmet made in the first place. It, much like the other pieces of Keira’s equipment, belonged to one of several sets of armor, each with their own enchantments and effects. One was geared towards desert travel, others designed to help tackle extreme weather conditions, and there was even a set aimed at facilitating underwater exploration. It was a lot of stuff, but an extensive ‘wardrobe’ wasn’t out of the ordinary for accomplished adventurers. If anything, it would be more suspicious if Keira didn’t have so much gear on hand. Nobody would question why she wore an anti-Psionic helmet, either, as people were inherently distrustful towards users of mind-altering magic. However, it was not one that Boxxy wore regularly, chiefly because it also blocked the passive thought link between itself and its familiars. Now that it had put some distance between itself and Gux, the shapeshifter removed its headgear and called out to its pet demons.

“Claws, Snack, made any progress?”

“I’m afraid not, Master,” the stalker replied. “This dungeon is very well hidden.”

“Either that or it requires some special conditions before one can enter,” the other demoness chimed in.

“You think we might have another Stairway to Heaven situation?” Boxxy asked warily.

Stairway to Heaven was a dungeon under Teresa’s control which did not allow entry to anyone ‘seduced by unholy powers.’ Which, in more practical terms, meant Taboo holders, Necromancers, and Warlocks with demonic familiars. Needless to say, the shapeshifter was most disappointed when it failed to plunder its riches because it physically could not enter. It was a feature that had a very significant MP upkeep, and as such was only available to high-tier dungeons.

“I dare say it is a non-zero possibility, Master,” Xera stated. “Given its approximate location, the one we are searching for most likely belongs to Axel.”

“And we all know how the God of War and Combat feels about monsters, huh?”

“Precisely. It would not surprise me if there was an ‘enlightened only’ rule involved.”

“We’ll deal with that later. Right now, I need you to keep searching for it. Same to you, Claws.”

“Understood, Master,” the pair replied together.

Truthfully speaking, neither were likely to find any useful leads. Drea was taking the direct approach and using her mana-sensitive eyesight to track down potential dungeon locations, but she had a continent’s worth of sprawling jungles to search through. The djinn was attempting to probe the locals for information, but her efforts were just as unlikely to succeed since people were too preoccupied with the orc threat. That was also why Boxxy barely got a chance to ask around as Keira before its Facade had to attend to this mission. It would appear that the fastest way to dig up The Gauntlet’s whereabouts was to resolve the greenskin problem.

Which was precisely why it had sent Kora to engage a particularly massive group of orcs that Hesk’s scouts warned Keira about, some forty kilometers south of the catgirl’s current position. The archfiend was sent there to test the enemy’s strength, which she deemed was nothing to worry about when Boxxy last heard from her a few hours ago. The orcs had unsurprisingly overwhelmed and killed her, though not before she slaughtered enough of them to give her master a Perk.

[Hunter of Orcs]
Repetition is the mother of learning. Especially when it comes to slaughter.
Requirements: Kill more than 2,000 orcs.
[Effects]
Increases all damage dealt to orcs by 5%.
Reduces all damage taken from orcs by 5%.

Admittedly, this was more of an upgrade since Keira’s dungeon-delving had already earned Boxxy the Slayer of Orcs title at five hundred kills. However, if the monster’s calculations were correct, its pet brawler had eliminated somewhere around a thousand all by herself. That alone was more than enough for the doppelganger to confirm that the orcs were not a threat to it personally. Admittedly, it was difficult to tell whether Arms had taken down so many because the greenskins were far too weak or she was just too strong, but it didn’t matter much. If a single-minded pinhead could kill so many orcs with no support, then Boxxy’s troupe could probably wipe out all hundred thousand of them if given enough time.

Not that the shapeshifter had any intention of doing so. Simply put, there was no profit to be had in the wholesale slaughter of a bunch of mindless savages that wouldn’t know where to find a shiny if it was shoved up their backsides. It would still massacre a bunch to blow off some steam, but that would have to wait until Keira fulfilled her duties. Slipping the mind-shielding helmet back on, the catgirl tracked down a roaming band of thirty or so orcs. She leapt from treetop to treetop while under the cover of her Prismatic Cloak’s invisibility as she followed them. They appeared to be a hunting party coming back with their catch, a live ape-like monster. The massive beast’s legs and arms were severed and the orcs dragged it along by its stumps, but the fact that it was still alive suggested it would not be turned into food.

Instead, the greenskins would probably use the creature to facilitate their grotesque reproductive cycle. They needed to ‘plant their seed’ inside a living being, which would soon develop into a number of flesh-eating, slug-like parasites. These larvae would consume their unwilling host and each other as they rapidly grew in size. The survivors would eventually burst out of their ‘home’ and finish eating the rest of the corpse before entering a cocoon-like state much like a butterfly. Needless to say, the thing that would pop out would be far uglier and angrier than a tiny insect with colorful wings.

Not that this lot and their catch would have the opportunity, as they had led Keira straight to their base camp. It was a primitive settlement dominated by wonky tents and spike-covered burrows. About twenty of the canvas-covered dwellings were far larger than the rest and spewed a constant stream of smoke as the orcs within readied their weapons of war. The camp’s perimeter had been left almost completely barren since its residents had consumed all plant and animal life within a hundred and forty meters of it and were showing no sign of stopping. Population-wise, there seemed to be about five hundred. Their military composition consisted entirely of melee-oriented brutes armed with clubs, swords, and axes of various sizes and shapes while barely using any armor or clothing for protection.

It wasn’t the most ideal of setups, but the orcs didn’t really have a choice when it came to troop composition. Lacking individual thought, it was impossible for the common grunts to harness the power of magic. On the other hand, their thick fingers and wide frames were well-suited for cracking skulls. Therefore, a camp comprised entirely of brutes was the norm. More importantly, this matched the briefing Keira had received following the Hero conference two days prior. However, the report neglected to mention the presence of an orc warlord. It was relatively easy to spot him considering he was significantly taller and more vocal than the rest, not to mention far more articulate. He was likely an underling of the ‘big boss’ called Gutzstompa and was acting as an overseer for this particular encampment. What made him stand out even more was the fact that he was obviously a magic user. A Necromancer, judging by the shambling, half-rotten orcs he was barking orders at.

After confirming everything with her own eyes, Keira retreated to a more secluded spot and reported her findings back to Hilda via Comm-crystal.

“A Necromancer? That’s odd,” the dwarf-shaped illusion remarked.

“Yeah, I know,” the catgirl agreed. “I thought tribal monsters like orcs, goblins, and the like could only get more ‘fire and forget’ Jobs, like Druid or Pyromancer.”

“Dunno what to tell ye, lass. Orcs ain’t my specialty. What do ye think, Gux?” she asked while turning her head to the side. “That so? … Alright then. Cloud-brain here says he’s seen orc Warlocks before, so I guess it ain’t that unusual. ‘Sides, those zombies won’t be any trouble with yer trophy wife around.”

“I suppose, though his presence does gives me an idea. I think we can use him to our advantage.”

“Oh? Ye got a plan of some kind brewin’?”

“You could say that.”

“Is it better than mine?”

“Hilda, literally anything is a better plan than ‘swinging my axe until my arms get tired.’ That’s not even a plan!”

“Careful there. Ye’re startin’ to sound a lot like that shoestrap Faehorn.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Ha! Aight, ye lil’ shite. What’d ye come up with?”

“I’ll explain when I get back. I’m on my way.”

About two hours later, the orc camp was still unaware of the adventurers right outside their doorstep. The orcs were milling about, either carrying materials, shaping them into weapons, or viciously beating each other half to death for no apparent reason. They were so absorbed in their own daily grind that they didn’t even notice Hilda leaving the dense jungle and stepping onto the orc-ravaged portion of the land. Admittedly, being a dwarf meant she wasn’t all that tall, but she was still clad head-to-toe in black adamantite armor against a backdrop of bright green vegetation. The bright red plume sticking out of the top of her helmet only contributed to her eyesore status. Yet, the orcs completely failed to notice her, despite the fact that she was now roughly fifty paces from their camp’s crude perimeter.

This was a problem, but not something Hilda couldn’t resolve. As a Berserker, she had the ability to produce certain effects with the power of her voice. Her Ultimate Skill, Tempest of Rage, was a testament to that aspect. The ability to empower allies and demoralize enemies with a single, ear-piercing war cry was sure to be very useful in this campaign, but this was neither the time nor place for it. Her immediate goal was to get their attention and goad them into following her into the jungle, which she could accomplish by employing a much more basic Skill.

Hilda took as deep a breath as her powerful lungs would allow, then employed the rather fancifully named Belligerent Roar, which was empowered beyond its normal limits by her War Crier Skill.

“Oi! Green cunts!”

The magically-amplified profanity drowned out all other noise as it echoed across the camp, bounced inside the orcs’ skulls, and carried off into the jungle beyond. Those savages were just bundles of hate and anger wrapped in green skin, so the vocal Skill’s aggression-coaxing properties made them instantly go berserk. However, though they gathered together while making an awful racket, the orcs refused to go beyond the flimsy fence surrounding their camp. They were like a pack of rabid dogs barking at something beyond the reach of their leash.

“Wot’s all dis, den?!”

The borderline feral greenskins made way for the only one among them that could actually speak. He was an orc standing at a fiend-like height well over two meters, draped in a loose-fitting set of hooded robes haphazardly sewn together from a hydra’s scaly hide and holding a staff carved out of some sort of massive bone. It was the spitting image of the Necromancer overseer Keira had described, though Hilda could’ve guessed what his deal was just by looking at him.

“Wot you wan, tin-man?!” he shouted at her.

The ‘man’ part irked the dwarf slightly, but she had more important things to deal with than arguing about her gender.

“I’m lookin’ fer a fight, ye daft git!” she shouted back. “I heard ye orcs were s’posed to be tough, but all I see is a bunch of flower-sniffin’ pansies!”

“Wot?! You fink I wuz born yesterday? Ay?! A bunch of me boyz iz missin, an den you show up makin all dat noiz? Sumfin tellin me you’z gotz all kindz of nastiez waitin for us!”

It appeared the orc had noticed that several of his patrols and hunting parties had mysteriously disappeared, which naturally made him suspicious of this intruder’s intentions.

“If you wanna proper foight, you cum to us! If not, den shove off! We gotz a sketch-, a shed- We gotz stuff to do!”

He turned around as if to leave, suggesting he had no intention to give into those taunts. Apparently, this warlord was nowhere as dim as his species, looks, and manner of speech would imply, but Hilda wasn’t worried. Even if he was keeping himself and his grunts from running wild, at the end of the day, an orc was still an orc. It didn’t take much to get their kind riled up so long as one knew the right button to push, and few people could match Hilda when it came to anger management.

“Oh!? That’s some big talk comin’ from a pansy wearin’ a napkin on his head!”

Both the big orc and the rabble around him suddenly froze and clammed up, making it obvious the dwarf had struck a nerve.

“Ye might make me shiver if ye weren’t dressed in a nightgown!” she continued yelling. “Ye look like me nanny!”

Admittedly, the other party did not know some of those words, but Hilda’s sharp tone was more than enough to make it clear she was spouting insults.

“Ye call that thing in yer hand a weapon? Looks like a toothpick! Ye won’t hurt anyone swinging yer leftovers around! Ye’d be better off usin’ yer face as a weapon!”

The orc overseer glared over his shoulder, the grip on his staff tightening and making it shake in direct proportion to his urge to kill that loudmouth.

“This! Is a weapon!”

Hilda reached into her extra-dimensional armory and pulled out a massive war axe with spikes along its edge. Whether it was intended to slice things apart or simply crush them with its overwhelming size was anybody’s guess.

“And it’s bigger than yours!”

After stating the obvious, the dwarf gave the weapon a sharp swing that produced a localized gale, then hoisted it above her head and rested its shaft on her shoulder. She then employed Belligerent Roar once again to deliver the finishing blow.

“What do ye think of that mister pajama-wearing, shovel-faced, stick-wielding, clype-dreep-bachle, gether-uping-blate-maw, bleathering, gomeril, jessie, oaf-looking, scooner, nyaff, plookie, shan, milk-drinking, lime-faced shilpit, mim-moothed, sniveling, worm-eyed, hotten-blaugh, vile-stoochie, cally-breek-tattie!”

“WAAAAAAGH!”

The orc warlord let out a war cry quickly echoed by the rest of the greenskins, amplifying it to deafening proportions. The ground shook and rumbled as roughly sixty-five tons of enraged muscle stampeded towards the silver-tongued dwarf. Hilda grinned ear to ear as she lowered her helmet’s visor and gripped her axe with both hands. To say she was looking forward to this next bit would be a gross understatement. After all, it wasn’t very often she got to truly cut loose.

“Miss Hilda, please don’t forget your part in the plan,” a distant voice whispered in her ear. “It won’t matter how many you cut down if you’re overwhelmed and die in the process.”

“Wow, even her naggin’ is the same,” she grumbled her breath. “It’s like ye never left, Shoestrap.”

Following the helpful reminder of why she was actually out here, the dwarf dug her feet into the ground and braced herself. The orcs encircled her from all sides, many of them leaping several meters into the air. They piled on top of Hilda in a tsunami of green, threatening to drown her where she stood. In the next moment, the orcs erupted into the air as the armored dwarf threw them off with brute force. Her axe swung in a wide arc, tearing through muscle and bone and drenching the surroundings in bright-red orc blood. Hilda roared and screamed as she carved her way back towards the jungle. Several orcs were cleft in twain each time her weapon ripped through the air, but it was like throwing pebbles against a flood. They kept rushing her with no regard for their own lives, their primitive weapons clattering incessantly against her armor. The high-tier equipment, bolstered by Hilda’s Armsmaster Skills, shrugged off the attacks without so much as a scratch.

However, the same could not be said of the dwarf within. As good as her armor was, Hilda’s gear was not capable of completely absorbing the sheer number of heavy impacts. Her bones rattled and muscles groaned as her body was thrown around inside her armor. This slow but steady loss of HP only proved that Keira’s concerns were more than valid, but there was an upside. The more injured a Berserker got, the faster and stronger they became. After losing a third of her overall vitality, Hilda got the edge she needed to break out of the orcs bogging her down and made a dash for the jungle.

“After ‘im, ya gitz!” the warlord bellowed. “Don’t let dat scum get away!”

“WAAAAAAAGH!”

The rest of the orcs raised their voices as one, charging after the intruder and into the brush. Unlike his simple minded kin, the overseer stayed firmly in place. Even enraged as he was, he recognized his own importance as a commander. He could also make good use of all those fresh corpses, being a Necromancer and all, so there was little reason for him to personally join the chase. Now that the dwarf had disappeared from his sight, he began to realize his knee jerk reaction might have been a mistake. The orcs’ linked psyches were their greatest strength, but it also made them weak to wide-range mental assaults. The Berserker’s repeated Belligerent Roars had proven extra effective at clouding his judgement, and now that he calmed down, he saw the obvious ambush for what it was. He didn’t get much of a chance to call off his ‘boyz’ before something slim and shiny hit him in the side of the head. The force behind the projectile made the greenskin yell, stumble, and stagger, yet he refused to fall. Though he took a solid mithril arrow to the cranium, and undoubtedly suffered some brain damage, a warlord’s vitality was not to be underestimated.

The Necromancer regained his footing a split second later and looked in the direction the shot came from just in time to have a second precious projectile strike him between the eyes. Though this also pierced his skull, it was a much shallower hit that still wasn’t enough to kill him. At least until both enchanted arrows released their magical payloads, frying the contents of the orc’s head with two focused bursts of flame. Bright orange plumes burst from his ears, eyes, mouth, and nose as he fell over with a heavy thud. The greenskin grunts nearby barely had time to register the fact that their leader now had a lump of charcoal where his face used to be. His last command still echoed across the Green Tide, compelling them to chase the dwarf into the jungle even if it meant walking around or over his massive body. Once the last remaining greenskins had cleared out, Keira appeared out of thin air on top of one of the larger tents. While the plan didn’t call for such close proximity, it couldn’t be helped.

Boxxy really wanted its shiny arrows back.

Meanwhile, Hilda was still goading the orcs further into the jungle. She had given up on swinging that ridiculous axe around and had swapped it out for a pair of shields with sharpened edges. They were nowhere as lethal, but made it far easier to keep running while she kept the greenskins at bay. It was no easy task. As natives to Velos, the orcs knew how to use the jungle to their advantage. They climbed trees and swung from vines as they repeatedly dropped on the dwarf with a surprising degree of accuracy and agility. They certainly had the edge when it came to mobility, but they were also far more prone to running into the ‘presents’ that Fizzy and Keira had left for them. The Artificer duo had lined the treetops and soil with an obscene number of booby traps that the orcs ran into head-first. Tripwires were tripped and pressure plates were pressed, prompting a series of gut-wrenching explosions to rock the jungle. Dozens of greenskins were ripped to shreds or turned into mulch by the second, yet they showed no signs of stopping or backing down. Without their leader to direct them and tell them to back off, the mindless peons continued to charge headfirst into their deaths.

This reckless, borderline suicidal behavior was one of the orcs’ weaknesses, but it was also their greatest weapon. Keira’s Artifact-grade belt could only hold so much ordnance, so it didn’t take long for them to plough through all of her surprises. The greenskins suffered significant casualties, but their morale remained as fervent as ever. Hilda hadn’t gotten out of the danger zone entirely unscathed, either, as she had stepped on two or three landmines. The armor had deflected all of the shrapnel, but she was pretty sure she had some internal bleeding from the shock waves. She had no idea what the redhead and her trophy wife had stuffed into those things, but they were significantly more potent than the ones they used during the war. On the upside, those accidental blasts threw a lot of the damnable greenskins off her and gave her just enough breathing room to reach her destination.

The dwarf burst out of the treeline and into a small clearing, where Gux and Fizzy were already waiting.

“Ugh, this is the last time I go along with one of the Merry Popper’s plans,” she grumbled as she came to a stop. “My ears will be ringing for a week.”

“This coming from the woman that had me make an explosive helmet for her?” the golem pointed out.

“Hey, I never said my ideas were any better.”

“Gux suggests you tend to her wounds, fractal one,” the raptor spoke sternly. “The orcs will be upon us in moments.”

Fizzy nodded and proceeded to use her holy magic to restore Hilda to full health. The two heavily-armored shorties stood in front of the raptor as if to shield him from the incoming monsters, but it was actually Gux who would be protecting them.

“Psychic Blank!”

A faint wave of magic washed over a cone-shaped area in front of the scaly Psionic, covering a distance of roughly twenty meters. It passed through Hilda and Fizzy with no effect or reaction, though the same could not be said for the incoming orcs. The Spell severed their connection to the Green Tide, nullifying all the various bonuses that came with it. Their movements slowed, their voices weakened, and the burning fire in their eyes diminished greatly. A bunch even tripped over their own feet or each other in a pathetic display of coordinated clumsiness. The raptor, who had been float-sitting with his legs crossed the entire time, raised his scaly hand into the air. He swung it downwards as if trying to swat a fly, invoking his telekinetic might to crush the orcs and leave a palm-shaped dent in the jungle floor. He made a backhanded horizontal sweeping motion to his left, pushing away a group of savages that his mental jamming Spell had missed. Simply throwing them around like ragdolls wasn’t enough to kill them, but it still bought Gux the time he needed to repeat his incantation.

“Psychic Blank!”

The old sage proceeded to toss around and mentally neuter each group of greenskins as they assaulted his position. The relentless onslaught didn’t give him the breathing room to pull off more devastating magic, nor did he necessarily need to do so. Robbing the orcs of the power they gained through their excessive pack mentality was his main purpose and, indeed, the main role Psionics played during a Rampage. Other strike teams would employ similar tactics, though Gux was the only one around who could hold off hundreds of the savages by himself. The actual culling of the brain-scrambled barbarians was up to Hilda and Fizzy. The dwarf resumed happily swinging the ridiculous hunk of metal she called an axe. She moved from one incapacitated group of orcs to the next, mowing them down like weeds while letting out shouts of grim delight. Some of her victims tried to fight back, but Gux’s brain-jamming left them lacking any sort of cooperation – both amongst themselves and between their own limbs. In their current state, they were about as threatening to Hilda as sacks of potatoes with pointed sticks glued to them.

The mithril golem was doing much the same, except she could not hope to match the howling Berserker’s wide, cleaving reach. She made up for it through an act of seamless self-coordination. Minus had been put in charge of the golem’s arms and legs, which she was using to play ‘Pop Goes the Meatbag.’ It was a game of her own invention that involved pulling the heads and limbs off her enemies with her bare hands, sometimes punching them clean off. This allowed Fizzy to concentrate solely on making six solid steel bricks fly through the air with her magnetic abilities. These ‘handleless hammers,’ as she called them, were repeatedly launched at orcish faces with skull-crushing force. Then there was Plus, who mostly contributed by smiting the godless green freaks with repeated casts of the Judgement and Lightning Bolt Spells. The fact that she managed to learn that second incantation entirely in her ‘off time’ was yet another quirk that made the mithril dynamo golem an incredibly unfair existence. Any of the personalities could use the Spell once it appeared on Fizzy’s Status, though only Plus had any real practice with it, so the others’ balls of golden lightning weren’t anywhere near as potent.

Then there was the third and final entity born of the Parallel Plot Skill. Unlike the perky Plus and the violently pessimistic Minus, Null was either incapable of or unwilling to express emotion. She had a cold and calculating personality that always looked at things from as logical and objective a viewpoint as golemly possible. Fancying herself an intellectual, she rarely spoke or shared her inner thoughts with the others, except to point out what she deemed mistakes or inefficiencies. These traits made her an invaluable asset when it came to fine-tuning and improving upon Fizzy’s original Artificer designs, but at the same time turned her into an insufferable know-it-all. Her smart-ass attitude wasn’t limited to the inside of the golem’s head, either, as she recently used one of Fizzy’s magically animated armor sets to write a certain dissertation.

It was a ninety-six page long essay titled ‘Meatbags: An Outdated and Inefficient Form of Life,’ and it basically boiled down to ‘you’re all going to die anyway, so save us all the trouble and kill yourselves.’

Bottom line, Null did not care for the act of combat, deeming it a terrible waste of her time and intellect. She did technically participate in the violent proceedings, though it was questionable whether keeping track of everyone’s kills was of any practical use. Then again, it wasn’t as if Null’s help was even necessary with Gux on crowd control and Hilda mowing down over half the encroaching greenskins. Once the group had gotten in sync with one another, they were able to maintain a steady pace of orc-slaying that allowed them to cull the beasts faster than they could arrive. Unfortunately, the bulky corpses kept piling up and getting in the way of Hilda and Fizzy’s footwork, so the trio had to change locations a few times during the skirmish.

The seemingly endless stream of orcs finally began to die down about half an hour later while the adventurers were in an overgrown thicket. Seeing that there were only stragglers in the single digits left, Hilda finally allowed herself a breather while Fizzy mopped up the leftovers. The dwarf sat down on the stump of a tree that she chopped down on accident and took off her helmet. Her braided ginger hair was a mess, sweat rolled off of her forehead in several thin rivulets, and a concerning amount of dried-up blood was all over her face.

“Gux is surprised you’re still capable of exerting yourself so much, old friend,” the Hero of Rain commented. “And Gux uses the word ‘old’ lightly.”

“Har, har, har. I’ll have ye know I can run circles around these morons for hours if I have to. It’s the bloody heat I can’t deal with.”

She lifted a hand as if to wipe away the sweat from her brow, but gave up when she saw it was caked with orc blood. Gux sensed her predicament and handed her a napkin, which she eagerly accepted.

“The jungles of Velos can be a harsh place,” he said sagely, “but it is far from inhospitable.”

“Aye, could be worse I suppose. At least it’s not rainin’.”

“Not yet.”

The old lizard pointed to the sky, drawing Hilda’s attention to the heavy cloud coverage. He may have been sightless, but he was both a Shaman and the Hero of Rain, which gave him a rather impressive knack for predicting the weather. Granted, his forecasts weren’t a hundred percent accurate, but he was significantly better at it than the dwarf who had been too engrossed in decapitating orcs to realize the sun was gone.

“Fan-fooken-tastic,” she exclaimed. “Now I’m gonna be soggy and sweaty.”

“A little rain never hurt anyone.”

“Tell that to the poor sods that’ll be pickin’ up our handiwork.”

Hilda was very thankful that she’d be spared the laborious task of lugging these orc corpses back to Castle Arin. That particular chore would be handled by copious amounts of teleportation magic, courtesy of Gux’s fellow Sagescale tribe members. They were currently on standby and waiting for Keira’s squad to inform them via Comm-crystal that the orc camp had been secured. Seeing as how the remaining orcs were currently running for their lives from a cackling mithril golem, it was safe to assume their part was done. There was just one minor problem.

“What of the Chosen of Chaos? Gux has not heard from her since she felled the orc warlord.”

“Aye, she kinda skipped out on all the work, didn’t she?”

“That is not what Gux meant.”

There was no question that Keira was the main reason this operation had gone so smoothly. Yes, Fizzy, Gux, and Hilda did the vast majority of the killing, but their formation would not have worked as well if she hadn’t taken that orc Necromancer out of the equation. Not only did that make the orcs highly predictable, but those booby traps helped thin out and disperse a significant chunk of the horde.

“I know, I know,” the dwarf said dismissively. “There just ain’t nothin’ to worry about. She can handle herself, but also knows her limits. Not the type of lass to start a fight she can’t finish. She’s not even twenty and already has a better head on her shoulders than I ever did. Almost has as many Levels as me, too!”

Hilda was undoubtedly better at direct combat by a significant margin, but the young redhead had her beat in terms of versatility and creativity.

“Gux has indeed noticed the Chosen of Chaos displays an exceptional level of proficiency and insight. Her strategy for eliminating this orc nest was most inspired.”

“Aye. Still pretty sure I could’ve just handled ‘em on my own, but she made it so they didn’t even stand a chance. First time I worked with her so closely, and I now see why everyone back home keeps singin’ her praises.”

“Is that envy Gux hears in your voice?”

“… Maybe a little,” Hilda admitted. “I cannae complain too much, though. I’d say she’s earned all that fame and fortune after all the crap that flaky cunt of a boss put her through.”

“That seems like all the more reason Gux should personally confirm her safety.”

“Hey, knock yerself out. I guess I’ll call yer twinkle-finger buddies to pick up the greens in the meantime. Actually, ye should try kitty-face’s Comm-crystal before- Ye’re already gone, aren’t ye?”

Indeed, though the raptor’s body remained seated in a meditative state, his Wandering Mind had already left the scene. Invisible, weightless, and undetectable without magical aid, Gux’s consciousness drifted over the field of carnage he and his companions had made. He found his way back to the orc camp, whereupon he stumbled on what seemed to be a different line of greenskin corpses. It started from the warlord’s remains at the edge of the camp, which had been mysteriously reduced to black ash, and moved in the opposite direction of the rest of the team. The old lizard deduced Keira was the most probable cause of this bloodbath and followed the trail of bodies. As he did, he couldn’t help but notice the condition of the corpses. From pinpoint cuts to vital areas and precise headshots to dismembered, charred, and half-pulverized remains. The sheer variety of violence inflicted upon them was mind-boggling. He began to question whether this was truly the work of a single person, but didn’t get a lot of opportunity to ponder before he heard a rolling thunder. However, this was not the sky preparing to unleash its watery payload, but the rather distinct roar of Artificer-made explosives going off in the nearby jungle.

Gux willed his Wandering Mind towards the direction of that disturbance with all due haste until he found Keira fighting a group of twenty orcs. No, perhaps ‘fighting’ wasn’t the right word. Unlike Hilda or Fizzy, she didn’t overwhelm the orcs with strength, but relied on speed and finesse. The brutes swung at the crimson-haired woman with savage intent, only to hit naught but air as she slipped between their axes and clubs. The way she effortlessly evaded attacks from all angles made Gux question if she had eyes on her back. This odd feeling of awe was reinforced by the fact that Keira seamlessly mixed offense and defense. Each of her athletic movements was punctuated with a counter-strike from either the rapier in her right hand or the dagger in her left. Any orc she slipped past howled in pain as the redhead cut through their fingers, severed their wrists, tore out their throats, or sliced open their bellies. It was a masterful display of technique, agility, and momentum that made it clear where the Blade Dancer Job got its name.

The girl wasn’t foolish enough to fight them toe-to-toe the whole time. Unlike the orcs the others faced, these still had the tremendous benefits of the Green Tide. Though Keira somehow bobbed and weaved through their coordinated assault and left many wounded, she couldn’t kill them fast enough. The savages managed to encircle her completely, trapping her in a ring of green muscle while two grunts dropped on her from an overhead branch. The redhead clicked her heels together, crouched, and sprang up just as a burst of flame and smoke erupted from her feet. The propulsion-assisted leap helped her escape the encirclement and slip between the falling orcs as she instantly gained an altitude of about six meters. A few quick hand motions and flashes of light saw her exchange her rapier for a grappling hook launcher. She fired the device at a nearby branch and used it to swing away from the barrage of hurled axes and rocks the persistent greenskins threw at her. Keira hooked one leg around the rope, hung from it upside down, and drew a beautiful crystal bow from her enchanted belt.

She opened with a Tornado Shot that threw several of the savages into the air while knocking down twice as many with a sudden whirlwind. Keira followed with a Chain Shot that made her conjured ice arrow bounce between the airborne targets. She then drew one of her first original inventions – a bomb-tipped projectile that turned into several as she let loose with a Multishot. The jungle was yet again rocked by the roar of scientific progress as she bombarded the orcs. One of the brutes rapidly climbed the tree’s trunk and leapt at the dangling beastkin, only to immediately be thrown to the ground by the short-ranged concussive blast of her Shrapnel Shot. Only then did the redhead unhook her leg from the rope and allow gravity to claim her. She performed another dazzling mid-air weapon swap that ended with her plunging her rapier through the fallen orc’s chest while simultaneously skewering his throat with the dagger.

The surviving savages encroached once more, but whatever formation they had previously was royally screwed, allowing the Hero of Chaos to start dancing with them again. Quite literally, at that, as she went into one of the Five Deadly Dances. The Tornado Twist consisted of consecutive thrusts that imbued the Blade Dancer’s strikes with piercing winds, amplifying her beautiful weapon’s lethality and effective range. She managed to drill through three orcish skulls before the monsters got too close for her to keep using it, at which point Keira briefly transitioned to Winterlich Waltz. She froze a few arms with a sweeping cut, then resumed the point-blank performance from when Gux first found her. Though the whole sequence seemed improvised, the raptor now understood that it was an elaborate combination designed to loop indefinitely. It would appear his previous hunch had been correct.

Keira wasn’t fighting the orcs. She was dismantling them. No wonder her most infamous nickname was the Crimson Lotus. The sight of her bright red hair whipping around while sprays of blood danced through the air around her was as beautiful as it was gruesome. The deadly performance drew to a close as the last eight orcs encircled her once more. This time, she lunged at the one in front and stabbed her dagger into his eye socket. The redhead pulled herself up by the handle as if it were a climber’s pick and used the monster’s broad shoulders as a stepping stone. She leapt high into the air once more, her graceful form twisting into a spinning front flip while she retrieved two handfuls of pellets from the Artifact on her waist. She scattered the fragile spheres around her, enveloping the last seven orcs in a mist of hallucinogenic smoke. The alchemical powder took full advantage of the greenskins’ weakness to mental manipulation. They started flailing around and screaming at things that weren’t there before Keira’s feet touched the ground.

The redhead confidently drew her rapier again while her dagger reappeared in her open hand, then let out a series of sharp and desperate gasps for air. Her stamina seemed to be at its limit, but at least she had plenty of time to catch her breath. Those dumb grunts were so blitzed out of their tiny minds that they completely forgot she was there. The beastkin would not struggle to finish them, she just needed a moment to recuperate. While she did, she curiously studied the shorter blade in her left hand. Her attention was focused on the bits of blood and brain stuck to the mithril edge. She hesitated for a moment before giving it a tiny lick, only to immediately start coughing, spitting, and gagging.

“Blech, that was nasty,” she complained aloud, her tongue hanging out. “I honestly don’t know what I was thinking.”

The blood-soaked woman looked over her shoulder, her bright yellow eyes practically stabbing through seemingly empty space.

“I know you’re there, Gux,” she stated confidently. “I’ll come over once I wrap this up, but in the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you stopped spying on me. Get lost!”

She idly swung her rapier through the spot the raptor’s Wandering Mind was occupying. That wouldn’t hurt Gux in any way, shape, or form. It still got her message across as the faint magical presence immediately dispersed. While rude, Keira’s actions were arguably justified since the nosy Psionic had stared at her longer than needed. The lizard might question how she felt his presence, which might be a problem since beastkin didn’t usually have a mimic’s Mana Locator Gland where their liver normally was. However, Keira’s explosive growth over the past two years had given her access to a certain Perk that could very easily explain her ability to see otherwise invisible things.

[Legendary Perception]
A being whose senses are the stuff of legends.
Requirements: Reach 500 Perception (PER).
[Effects]
Reduces the effects of sensory overload by 75%.
Can perceive ambient magical energies.

It was admittedly nowhere as accurate or reliable as Boxxy’s MLG or a webstalker’s enhanced eyesight, but it still expanded the user’s awareness. The shapeshifter also had to be wary of others using this against itself or its minions. Things like Snack’s illusions, Claws’s optical camouflage, and its Prismatic Cloak wouldn’t work very well against someone with Legendary Perception. The Perk’s other benefit was that it rendered the monster much more resistant to the only downside of having so much PER. Overtly sharp senses made one especially susceptible to being incapacitated by blinding lights, deafening sounds, or sickening odors. In Boxxy’s case, it could also get confused if too many small objects passed through its MLG’s range, such as during heavy rainfall. Thankfully, none of that was a concern anymore. 75% resistance was not total immunity, but it reduced the adverse effects enough to let the monster power through them with sheer force of will and its copious MNT Attribute.

Right now, however, the shapeshifter was more concerned about that nosy Psionic. It had expected Gux to poke his snout where it didn’t belong, which was why it had to stay in character as much as possible. It momentarily slipped when it tried to verify the local orcs’ flavor, but that could be explained by Keira’s quirky personality. Point being, it couldn’t cut loose as much as it wanted under these circumstances without others questioning where the redhead was or what she was doing. It needed some sort of excuse, something that would allow the inquisitive beastkin it was roleplaying as to put a significant amount of distance between itself and that damnable lizard.

Something like, say, that giant pillar of blue light pouring out of the cloudy skies far to the south.

Part Two

“Psychic Blank!”

Nine Psionics simultaneously cried out as they finished their collective chant. Amplified several times over by their Synchronous Chanting Skill, the resulting pulse of mental jamming magic spread out like a tidal wave, covering a distance of nearly fifty meters. The orcs caught up in it began to stumble and cry out in confusion and pain, drastically staggering their assault. The raptors’ spear-and-shield-toting front line pushed forward as one, knocking the greenskin mob off their feet and into the stagnant swamp below. The water was only knee deep so it was unlikely they’d drown, but the mud and filth would still make it difficult to get back up. The raptor phalanx performed a series of quick downward stabs then backed off, putting several meters between themselves and their enemy. This gave the magic-wielding mercenaries and adventurers acting as their support the space they needed to unload. Dozens of Wizards, Warlocks, Pyromancers, and Cryomancers unleashed a chaotic assortment of area effect Spells, killing the orcs by the hundreds. Unfortunately, it was the only magical volley they would be able to get off before the greenskins rallied.

“WAAAAAAAAGH!”

A deafening cry swept over the muddy bog. Psychic Blank’s effects disappeared, and the greenskins exploded out of the shallow waters with rage and power blazing in their eyes. They clashed against the raptor’s front line with renewed vigor, giving the Warriors and Paladins no time to rest or gather their wits while the healers strained their MP reserves to support them. The next collective Psychic Blank would surely come in mere moments, but it would be as short-lived as the previous one, as well as the one before that. No doubt, this battle would go much smoother if not for the warlord. This orc stood at an impressive three meters and wielded something probably intended to be an axe, but was more like a random slab of rusty metal tied firmly to one end of a really big stick. It wasn’t sharp by any means, but it was still heavy enough to make things go splat. Yet, as chilling as that thought was, what truly made this orc a threat was his ability to direct and empower the Green Tide.

This was possible through a number of Skills he had unlocked after his Rank Up into a warlord. The one he just used was called Commanding Shout, and its ability to bring the mentally disturbed grunts back into the fold was an obvious counter to the Psionics’ Psychic Blank Spell. Another of the especially troublesome Skills was Fodder Field, which protected dense gatherings of orcs under his command from being bombarded with magic. Most Spells and Skills aimed at the thickest parts of the interference would fizzle out and fail, accomplishing nothing but wasting the user’s MP.

“Psychic Blank!”

Thus, the Spell-slingers within the enlightened coalition had to wait for the Psionics to disperse the dampening field in order to unleash their power. Alternatively, they could target the fringes of the enemy formation, but that was likely to do more damage to their own allies than the enemy forces. Physical projectiles such as arrows, spears, and stones could still be used, but one tended to run out of ammunition surprisingly fast when faced with an orcish Rampage. The archers within the punitive force were dangerously low on arrows despite being told to bring as many as they could carry because the other side was constantly getting reinforcements. For every orc that fell in battle, another would appear from an adjacent area. The grunts were being pulled towards the conflict like a moth to a flame, and they wouldn’t stop until the one calling out to them was put down.

In other words, the raptor forces couldn’t claim victory until the warlord was eliminated.

“Git ‘em boyz! Give dem scalies a right proper bashin!”

That wasn’t going to be easy since the orc kept a considerable distance from the front lines while he bossed the smaller orcs around.

“WAAAAAAAAAGH!”

Yet another wave of greenskins slammed against the raptors’ shield wall as that loudmouth in the background egged them on.

“Broadfang! Arrow formation!”

A powerful, clear voice called out to the physically and mentally-exhausted warriors from behind. Their training kicked in before their minds could object, and a pair of them stepped back while their allies sidestepped to fill in the resulting gap like a steel curtain. The ones that split off knelt down next to each other and raised their massive circular shields over their heads. There was a bang and a scrape as Hesk landed one armored foot on each shield, followed immediately by both of her subordinates launching her forward as if they were springboards. The Hero of the Sword, who incidentally was wielding a spear simply because she personally found it a more effective tool of war, landed amidst the sea of orcs by stepping on one of their faces.

“Spiral Slash!”

There was a flash of red as her tribe’s secret weapon drew a perfect circle around her, cutting down every greenskin within its reach. Hesk pushed forward towards the warlord, striking with the Orc Poker in short rapid thrusts at the savage vermin around her. It ripped through flesh, bone, and air alike, producing a gruesome sound some might describe as a hymn of carnage. It was certainly music to Hesk’s ears as she carved her way towards her target. She didn’t even stop and finish off the ones she had struck down, as Rotsting’s specialized venom made the greenskins’ flesh fall off their bones in disgusting, bloody lumps.

Unfortunately, the soldiers following in her wake were now wading through swamp water filled with rapidly decomposing orc bits, but they didn’t have a choice. Their Paragon and Hero would not be able to push forward if the Broadfang phalanx didn’t cover her rear. They advanced in a narrow, wedge-shaped formation, widening the gaps that Hesk made in the enemy horde. They could not advance very far into the sea of orcs without taking heavy damage, but they and their allies would suffer far greater losses if that warlord was not eliminated.

Unsurprisingly, the extra-large orc wanted to avoid that. Their intent wasn’t a mystery, especially since he saw the lizardfolk use this same tactic to eliminate another of his peers. He was a bit late to the party and didn’t see exactly how it went down, so he pulled back just to be extra safe. Under normal circumstances, he would have met the enemy’s charge with one of his own, but the Green Tide in his head constantly reminded him of his importance as a leader and living relay station. Even though his blood boiled with excitement at the thought of fighting that shiny-armored lizard, backing off and letting the Green Tide drown the ‘scalies’ was the more strategically sound option.

However, this tactical assessment failed to consider that Hesk and her comrades were ultimately little more than a distraction.

A skull-masked shadow darted out of the shallow waters behind the backpedaling orc, producing so little noise that it was impossible to hear in this chaotic battleground. There was a flash of metal and a whisper of ‘Backbiter’ as the assassin’s twin daggers ripped through and completely severed the monster’s spine at his waist. The warlord let out a roar of pain and shock as his legs gave out. He fell backwards, but didn’t hit the water before Kaede thrust a needle-like knife through each of his ears, skewering the brain in the middle. The nosferata clambered atop his still-falling body and leapt towards her allies, striking down a couple of grunts that had their backs turned towards her as she made her landing. She proceeded to move rapidly through the gaps between the orcs, slashing at them as she ran by like a ghost.

Once Kaede made it into the raptors’ formation, the Eight Tribes’ forces fell back and rebuilt their ranks under the cover of another collective Psychic Blank. The Spell’s effects would stick around for much longer now that the last warlord was no longer an issue. Hesk took this chance to fall back and recuperate. She had spent the last two hours ceaselessly killing orcs and chasing warlords, and needed every chance to rest she could get. Even if her body had an absurd amount of stamina and endurance thanks to her Level 89 Warrior Job, it demanded a lot of energy to perform as well as it did. Wearing mithril armor helped since it was relatively light, though not as much as one might imagine. Hesk’s Physical Conditioning Skill, available to most martial-type Jobs at Level 60, greatly reduced the burden her equipment put on her body. In fact, she probably would have been in better shape if she had shown up in her adamantite armor set. The orcs weren’t pulling their punches and having the extra weight would have kept her from being knocked around, but that would also make the terrain a much bigger hazard. Bearing a heavy load would make her constantly sink into the swamp’s soft and muddy soil, significantly hindering her mobility.

Given a choice between fighting the orcs or fighting the environment, Hesk picked the former without hesitation.

“Good work, mud-breath,” Kaede commented in a cheery manner. “Bit of a slowpoke, but you make an excellent amount of noise.”

The lizard-lady took a deep breath to center herself, then looked up at the nosferata standing upright on her shoulders.

“Get off.”

“Nuh-uh. The water’s filthy.”

“You literally just swam through it to ambush the warlord.”

“That was then, this is now.”

With very little patience left, Hesk grabbed the masked girl by the ankle. She tried to slam her face-first into the mud she seemed to hate so much, but the Hero of Death somehow slipped out of her grasp mid-swing. She flipped through the air, landing on a half-rotten tree trunk poking out of the nearby waters, and sat down cross-legged on the driest surface she could find.

“Better luck next time,” she said nonchalantly.

Hesk let out another sigh. Dealing with this wannabe jester was nearly as exhausting as exterminating a thousand orcs, at least mentally. She could not wrap her mind around how someone with such a lax attitude could be so capable. Then again, much of Kaede’s competence could be attributed to her being one of Keira Morgana’s former students, the self-proclaimed Crimson Blades. While odd to admit given their patron deities were at odds with one another, Hesk couldn’t help but feel a certain kinship with the Hero of Chaos. Though the two had vastly different methods, means, and motives, they shared a powerful drive for self-improvement.

Hesk concluded this after briefly sparring against Keira shortly after the Hero conference ended. It was a given that the cat-eared woman had talent since she was chosen by a God, but her blades were tempered by discipline and wisdom far beyond her years. She didn’t blindly rely on physical ability, reflex, and Skills, but tried to constantly outsmart and out-think her opponent. Hesk had suspected that Keira might have fallen into the pitfalls of arrogance and overconfidence that typically came with rapid growth in Levels, but the friendly bout put those concerns to rest. It was evident that the numerous and varied adventures Keira had been through had turned her into a veteran combatant. She could even give Hesk a run for her money when it came to killing orcs, despite the fact that the raptor had been doing that nearly every day for over a decade.

Thus, it was rather disheartening that Kaede, who was arguably the closest thing Keira had to a peer, was such an insufferable child.

“Why don’t you go make yourself useful and help clean up this mess?” Axel’s Hero hissed while gesturing towards the fighting in the distance. “We need to cull those beasts and retreat before another warlord makes an appearance.”

“C’mon, you really think a fourth one will show up?”

“It would not surprise me at this juncture. Whether another shows or not, it is unwise to prolong conflict with the orcs more than necessary. So, will you go and assist with the cleanup, or shall I call Morgana to motivate you?”

Kaede’s body visibly stiffened at those words, after which she sheepishly climbed down from her perch and stepped into the brown water with a couple of wet plops. She mumbled something along the lines of ‘spoilsport,’ then practically ran off towards the frontline. She leapt into the confused mass of brain-scrambled orcs and began swinging her daggers, stabbing into spines, skulls, and hearts with each fluid motion. It was quite impressive how quickly and cleanly she could eliminate targets incapable of adequately fighting back. Impressive, but also slightly detestable.

“One little, two little, three little savages~♪ Four little, five little, six little savages~♪ Seven little, eight little, nine little savages~♪ And there’s still a hundred thousand to gooo ~♪”

Admittedly, she could probably do so without singing that ridiculous song, but Hesk had more important things to worry about. Like the fact that there were far too many warlords around. This may have been only her third Rampage, but she had extensively studied past conflicts with the orcs as a child. Though they often butted heads with one another, Ranked Up greenskins cooperated with one another on occasion. Stronger warlords dominating weaker ones and forcing them to serve as lieutenants was significantly more common, which was most likely how Gutzstompa had ‘recruited’ these.

However, this particular band of orcs was not large enough to warrant so many of them in one place. The only way that would happen naturally would be if the ratio of warlords to grunts across the continent had become two or three times higher than normal over the past year, which was extremely unlikely. It was far more feasible to assume that they had been told by their boss to gather here, though that raised an entirely new set of questions. The fact that one of the three warlords that Hesk saw in this skirmish was a Necromancer only added to the peculiarity of the situation. Granted, he wasn’t very good, but the Hero felt confident there was no precedent for such a thing in the entirety of the Eight Tribes’ recorded history. Most likely, this stemmed from whatever nefarious individual or group was backing Gutzstompa. Or, maybe the orcs just picked up a trick or two from that lich that popped up briefly a few years ago. That was more likely than one might think. Orc warlords were stupid, but they weren’t idiots.

Hesk chased those thoughts away. There would be plenty of time to consider such things once she got out of here. Her fellow soldiers had the situation under control for the moment, so Axel’s chosen decided it was a good time to return to the staging camp at the swamp’s edge. She wanted to contact her allies and compare notes, as she had a feeling this overabundance of Ranked Up orcs was not her problem alone. Not just her fellow Heroes, but her superiors in the local military needed to be informed as well. She would have reported immediately, but she hadn’t brought any Comm-crystals since the fragile items would have undoubtedly been smashed in the rough fighting.

As Hesk moved one foot in front of the other, she began to feel something was off. She froze in her tracks and looked at her half-submerged legs, noting the tiny ripples coming off her armored greaves. The swamp water was hardly still due to all of the soldiers, medics, and support units moving around her, but these miniscule waves weren’t caused by any of those. It was her armor, vibrating. Now that she was standing perfectly still, she was able to grasp why. The flooded soil underneath her feet was rumbling.

“Diggers!” Hesk shouted frantically at the soldiers around her. “Send word to all points, we have incoming diggers!”

It was too little too late. Moments later, house-sized cones of rock suddenly erupted from the stagnant waters. Two, five, nine, fifteen – they were starting to pop up faster than she could count, all over the battlefield. The cone-tipped rock formations crumbled like eggs, revealing their interiors were both hollow and filled with orcs.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

Chaos enveloped the battlefield all over again as hundreds upon hundreds of greenskins began pouring out of the ground and into the raptors’ exposed back line. The magic users didn’t just wait to be slaughtered, however.

“Meteor!”

“Ground Spike!”

“Freezing Comet!”

“Dark Explosion!”

“Whiteout!”

“Earthquake!”

“Inferno!”

“Chain Lightning!”

Powerful Spells tore through the swamp once more, ravaging the tunnel exits the orcs were spilling out of with a multitude of elements. Many were collapsed and sealed off immediately, but there simply weren’t enough Casters on hand to handle this many incursions. Nor were there enough foot soldiers and Psionics to stem the green tide on two fronts. Demonic familiars and elemental guardians were sent out to engage the newly arrived orcs, but that was like tossing pebbles against a flood. The only thing which held its own for more than a few moments was a tamed nine-headed hydra that threw its enormous body weight around while spitting hallucinogenic venom in every direction. The enlightened forces somehow held their ground for the moment, but it couldn’t last. It was only a matter of time before the warlord that orchestrated this subterranean ambush showed up to seize control of and empower the rabble. The smart decision was to order a total retreat before that happened. The orcs would surely kill or capture many of the troops in the process, but it was better than getting completely wiped. Unfortunately, Hesk was never much of a ‘big picture’ sort of woman. She was no general, strategist, or logistician. Even if she was lauded as a Paragon and a Hero, in the grand scheme of things she was nothing more than an excellent foot soldier with some flashy titles.

So, she did the only thing she was good for – she fought. Hesk relentlessly attacked her enemy and would continue to do so until someone ordered her to stop or she ran out of orcs to kill. The latter seemed unlikely to happen anytime soon, as the greenskins instinctively piled on top of her. She was a Natural Enemy of Orcs – one who had butchered over twenty thousand of their kind – and was immediately recognized as a major threat to the species’ continued existence. Thankfully, the Perk had some more practical effects beyond making her a target. It boosted her combat effectiveness against them and restored a tiny portion of her HP and MP with every greenskin she slaughtered. This added up to a rather obscene amount given the obscene body count she was racking up. She slaughtered the orc grunts so rapidly and thoroughly that their corpses began to form a small yet continuously expanding island. The raptor had to stay as mobile as possible in order to avoid being buried beneath the savages. Luckily, there were no trees or vines in the immediate vicinity, so the thick-set greenskins could only assault her from four horizontal directions at most.

There were more orcs, though. There were always more orcs. Few people understood that better than Hesk. Every muscle, joint, and fiber of her being was constantly in motion, for she feared that she would lose the instant she let herself relax. Granted, ‘victory’ was not something she expected to achieve, as the battle was already lost. The bright yellow flares that signaled the retreat were practically impossible to miss against the cloud-covered sky, but she was in too deep to pull out. She would have already fallen if not for her anti-orc Perk and spear working in tandem to keep fueling her genocidal killing spree. There was no telling how long she could keep this up before her fatigue caught up with her, but she would be damned if she let herself fall to a bunch of savages that couldn’t even hold a club right.

“Hold it, boyz!”

A rough, rumbling voice washed over the area. The grunts suddenly stopped throwing themselves at Hesk and backed off to a distance of about eight meters, where they formed a perimeter of sorts. The raptor secured her footing as best she could on top of their slaughtered kin and took in her surroundings. Giving the monsters something to focus on had given many of her allies the chance to regroup and fall back, just as she had hoped. She still had some energy to spare if she wanted to make a run for it, but that would have to wait until after she’d dealt with the big one that had inevitably shown up.

As it would appear, however, things were not that simple.

“Well,” Hesk mumbled. “I suppose it is a good day to die, after all.”

The orc that confronted her wasn’t simply ‘a big one,’ but the biggest.

“Wot we gotz here, den? You’z dun look all dat tuff.”

It was Gutzstompa without a doubt. Leering over the rest of the orc filth, he stood at nearly five meters tall, held a weapon that looked like a weaponized tree trunk, and was covered head to toe in scars, spikes, skulls, and chains. It was a spitting image of the one Gux had conjured during the meeting, though he was significantly greener, a little taller, and much more intimidating. That last part was likely because he had killed enough raptors to earn himself the appropriate Slayer Perk, but Hesk’s mental discipline used that twinge of fear to ready herself and sharpen her resolve.

“Bet I can still carve your heart out!” she hissed back while readying her spear.

“Ghrrrnnn!” the orc half-growled half-groaned while clutching an old chest wound. “I knowz dat pointy stikk. Datz MY pointy stikk!”

“Hah! Keep dreaming, beast! My clan’s had it for generations!”

“It gotz my blood in it! Dat makez it mine!”

“Then come a little closer, and I’ll happily put it back where it belongs!”

The surprisingly civil conversation was rudely interrupted by a cloaked, skull-masked figure that burst out of the water. Kaede leapt at one of the fodder orcs and used his shoulder as a stepping stone as she jumped even higher. Gutzstompa turned his massive frame around with a yell of ‘Wot now?!’ at the disturbance, but he wasn’t fast enough to catch the nosferata within his field of vision. She darted past his upper back and slashed at it with her daggers as her momentum carried her forward. She landed in the bloodied swamp and scrambled her way over to Hesk’s side as the orc turned his attention towards them in a slow, deliberate manner.

“Iz dat all you gotz, humie?” he taunted with a snort. “You’z gon need more den sum fancy tricks to kill me!”

It was no mere boast, as Kaede’s attack had barely even scratched the surface of his skin, though not for a lack of trying. That was simply how ridiculously hard his body was. That said, she did have something else up her sleeve. Or, more accurately, on her finger.

“Hesk,” she whispered, “stick close to me.”

The raptor followed Kaede’s uncharacteristically serious advice and glued her back to the assassin’s as best she could while minding her tail. A thick, black mist began pouring out of the skull-shaped ring underneath the younger woman’s right glove, instantly enveloping the two Heroes and hiding them from sight. The lump of smoke grew until it was bigger than even Gutzstompa, who was already backing off from the unknown phenomenon.

“Get movin, ya gitz!” he shouted at the other orcs. “Get in dere and stomp ‘em good!’

“WAAAAAGH!”

The greenskins let out another shout as they rushed towards the mystic fumes, but they had no chance of stopping what was about to happen. The ominous mist solidified itself into the shape of a massive figure wrapped in an elegant cloak sewn out of pure darkness. The only things visible inside the blackness of its gold-rimmed hood were two intensely glowing white points. It raised its skeletal hands high, its ring-adorned fingers grasping onto the handle of a heavily bejeweled mithril scythe.

*SHWING SHWING SHWING*

The ornate blade swung three times in rapid succession, sending out ripples of concentrated death through the air with each wide, sweeping motion. Several hundred orcs instantly fell as the invisible waves passed through them. They continued to twitch, spasm, and gurgle, but would not rise again. Their souls had been severed so beautifully and cleanly that their bodies had yet to fully realize their absence. Even these reflexive motions ceased after a few more heartbeats. When the hooded reaper dissipated seconds later, it left Kaede and Hesk surrounded by a horde of completely still orcs without a single scratch on them.

“What… was that?” the raptor asked warily.

The Hero of Death had just unleashed the power of Mortimer’s Divine item, a ring called the Collector’s Loophole. Well, technically it was a former Divine item, as the relic had lost much of its power since the fall of the Adams Theocracy. Though, not the part where it would either permanently bond with the user’s bones or kill them if they weren’t a nosferatu. Those ‘security features’ were in there by mortal design and still very much intact. The deterioration made it so the ring could not be used freely, and instead had to be charged by killing things. Lots and lots of things. Only once it had seen enough death would it be able to unleash its primary function, which was to conjure an avatar of the God of Death and Commerce himself. This macabre manifestation would then instantly snuff out the lives of anyone below a certain HP threshold. The stronger the death-charge within the Collector’s Loophole, the higher caliber of living things that would be snuffed out.

“A gift from my boss.”

However, all of that was entirely too much of a bother to explain even if the two of them weren’t in the middle of a war zone, which was why Kaede summed it up as such.

“Oh. Don’t suppose you can use it again?”

“Not a chance.”

That display had been fueled by roughly six months of near-constant adventuring and training that totaled over five hundred lives, mostly dungeon monsters and roaming undead. It was enough to wipe out the rabble, but didn’t even make Gutzstompa flinch. The orc warlord’s absurd vitality had allowed him to resist the instant death effect with no negative repercussions aside from a bout of confusion, which was why he was kicking at the orcs around his feet. His survival was also the main reason Kaede kept her words so brief, as there were more important matters to discuss.

“So, I’ve got good news and bad news,” she whispered to Hesk. “The good news is that I made it impossible for that thing to recover HP with one of my Hero Skills.”

Though her ambush didn’t injure Gutzstompa, inflicting damage was not the strike’s purpose. Her intention was to place the Fatal Promise upon him, which she succeeded in doing judging by the faint red light pouring out of the cross-shaped mark she left on his back.

“The bad news,” she continued, “is I did that because I thought my other Skill told me he had just under ten thousand HP. Looking at him now, though, it seems I missed a digit.”

In her defense, those floating stick-like 1’s were kind of hard to see even without a layer of filthy swamp water in the water.

“What are you saying, Kaede.”

“That orc has ninety-six thousand HP.”

Hesk swallowed audibly. Was such a thing even possible? Surely this was another of this girl’s games. No, that was merely wishful thinking. Kaede goofed around, but she wasn’t stupid enough to joke at a time like this. Besides, there were other, more pressing concerns that Hesk needed to address.

“Don’t suppose you have a backup plan of some kind?”

Such as how they would even begin to tackle this abomination.

“You could say that,” Kaede nodded. “Keira once taught me a secret technique of the Morgana family.”

“Morgana’s secret technique?”

“Yeah. It’s risky and requires some fancy footwork, but it just might work.”

“Good enough for me. What do we do?”

“See how the big guy’s still confused by what just happened to his minions? We can use that to our advantage.”

“Alright, but how?”

Kaede sheathed her daggers beneath her soggy cloak and turned to face Hesk. Though the raptor could only see the bright red irises of the nosferata’s eyes, she was left with the distinct impression that there was a confident smile underneath that skull mask.

“We run.”

Hesk barely even had the chance respond before Kaede darted off, skipping from one orc corpse to the next as she hotfooted it out of there with all due haste. It was hard to argue with the validity of that ‘plan,’ so the Hero of the Sword chased after her all the same. Even if it was somewhat cowardly, the two would only be throwing their lives away if they tried to fight something with kraken-like vitality on their own. Things might have been different if Hesk’s phalanx was still intact, or if she had any form of magical support, but neither were present. Her comrades were either dead or gone, and, if allowed a choice, Hesk preferred to join the latter rather than the former.

Unfortunately, Gutzstompa wasn’t about to give her that luxury.

“Oi! Come back here wif dat pointy stikk! RRRAAAGH!”

The orc slammed his massive club into the swamp floor, sending a destructive tremor towards Hesk. It kicked up mud, water, blood, and corpses as it hurled towards her like some sort of subterranean missile, catching up to her in seconds. The ground beneath her feet heaved, quaked, and split apart as it opened up a chasm-like hole around her. Hesk was unable to get out of the way in time and fell in, her vision filling with mud and water as the swamp rushed in after her.

Hesk scrambled to her feet, throwing off her helmet so she could wipe the filth from her eyes while cursing her own incompetence. She really should have known better. Of course the monster that made that underground ambush happen would have some sort of earth-moving Skill. It was a surprisingly common ability among warlords, too, though this was the first time she’d seen one this well developed. It was hardly the only ‘first’ she had experienced during this campaign, and the weirdness showed no signs of letting up. Though, if her gut feeling was right, there was a good chance none of that would be her problem after a little while.

Having cleared up her vision as best she could, Hesk pulled a silver flask from the pouch at her hip and forced the viscous alchemical mixture down her gullet.

[You have consumed an Entrenchment Elixir.]
[Your wounds have been healed. HP +1,000.]
[Your HP recovery has increased by 100% for 60 minutes.]
[Your stamina regeneration has increased by 100% for 60 minutes.]
[Resistance against physical trauma increased by 50% for 60 minutes.]

This was something of a specialty of southern alchemy, on par with a Rejuvenation Potion in terms of potency. Though it only restored less than a quarter of her max HP – a far cry from the total regeneration of its pink-colored elven counterpart – it was the best preventive medicine in existence. Unfortunately, it also had some nasty side effects that would manifest the instant it had run its course, such as making a few teeth fall out and giving her a crippling case of potion sickness. Hesk was hesitant to drink it earlier since it would make her unfit for duty for the next two or three days, but, at this juncture, that would only matter if she survived the next hour.

Hesk finished the sour-tasting liquid and threw away its container just in time to see Gutzstompa drop into the hole with her. The miniature tremors released by his stupidly heavy frame caused a minor mudslide along its edges, widening the chasm ever so slightly. The hole looked just big enough to accommodate his massive girth and height, but for someone of Hesk’s size it was almost like being stuck at the bottom of a well. She lacked the athletic aptitude to leap out, and there was no way she’d make it up those unsteady and slippery walls fast enough. All things considered, raising her spear and bracing herself for the fight of her life seemed to be her only option.

It was as desperate as a predicament could get, yet it wasn’t without its upsides.

“Grrh! Where’z dat tricky humie gone off to?!”

Unlike before, the orc’s tone was utterly devoid of arrogance or mockery. It sounded cautious, borderline fearful even. It was a small thing, but enough to cause a dry smile to float onto Hesk’s serpentine face. Even though she was stuck in this crater with an incomprehensible monstrosity and no clear means of escape, the fact that Kaede was able to get away brought her some measure of satisfaction. She did not resent the girl for leaving her here and running off to save her own skin. Just the opposite, actually. This entire crisis was the Eight Tribes’ problem, not Kaede’s or Mortimer’s. The grim clown had every right to bail the instant the big boss showed himself, yet she stuck around and did everything in her power to support Hesk. Not only did the Hero of Death save the ‘scary lizard lady’ from a dishonorable death at the hands of the faceless, unnamed rabble, but she also gave her a fighting chance against their leader. Granted, it wasn’t a hugely favorable one, but it was a chance, nonetheless.

That alone was enough to make Hesk consider the rookie Hero a benefactor.

“Don’t you worry, beast,” she sneered. “You’re about to meet her master.”

The agile Warrior dashed towards the orc, intending to skewer him on the ‘pointy stick’ he seemed to be fascinated with.

“Rragh!”

Gutzstompa performed an underarm swing with his weaponized tree trunk, which dug into the flooded ground at his feet. The wide motion sent a deluge of dirt, water, and rocks at the raptor, but she barreled through them as if they were mere raindrops. The orc kicked at her with his spiked boot, which she countered with a Martial Art.

“Shield Wall!”

The foot almost as big as her crashed into the shield affixed to her left arm, instantly stopping dead. Hesk could not counter attack before she was smacked to the side by the warlord’s hand at a speed she could not track, sending her flying into the chasm’s wall. She peeled herself off and hopped to the side as soon as she was able, narrowly avoiding Gutzstompa’s next kick. She swung her spear at his leg as she dodged, but it bounced off of his green hide as if it was made of rubber. She still inflicted damage, but having kraken-like HP crammed into such a relatively compact frame meant even puncturing the skin would be something of a challenge.

A similar series of events repeated itself multiple times over the next few minutes, with Hesk dodging boulder-sized limbs while barely doing anything in return. This hole in the ground may have trapped her here, but it also limited her opponent’s range of movement. That was only at first, though, as the orc’s Skills gradually widened the crater as he pummeled its walls and floor until it resembled a dwarven arena. The speed and sharpness of his movements were also picking up steadily as he gradually warmed up. Things seemed to be getting worse for Hesk, but she still held onto a sliver of hope. With Fatal Promise in effect, Gutzstompa’s body could not recover from any wound, no matter how minor. Hesk also had the Warrior Job’s Continuous Assault Skill, which amplified her attack damage every time she landed repeated hits on the same spot. The feat wouldn’t have been possible without her formidable mastery of the spear. Her perseverance and precision paid off when she eventually widened a minor cut in the orc’s leg to a gash deep enough to draw blood.

This allowed Rotsting’s specialized toxin to invade Gutzstompa’s body and begin eating him from the inside out. At least, that was the theory, but the more Hesk fought, the more it seemed like it wasn’t affecting him at all. That wasn’t exactly the case. The poison most definitely had an effect on the towering orc, but his incomprehensible vitality combined with his Legendary Endurance made it so minute it wasn’t even noticeable. He showed no signs of slowing down or struggling no matter how much Hesk widened the wound. The raptor did her best not to lose heart even though her best efforts seemed in vain, but courage and determination alone could not change the fact that she was horribly outmatched.

*THWUMP*

“Ghaaahaaaaah!”

Though she put up a valiant effort, Gutzstompa eventually caught her by crushing her tail with his stupidly large club, pinning her in place as she wailed in anguish. With her crushed limb limiting her movements, Hesk was not able to fully avoid the orc’s next attack. He stomped at her lower body, pulverizing both her legs beneath his massive heel. He then grabbed her by the torso and viciously pulled on her, stretching her out until her body could no longer hold itself together.

[You have been dismembered. HP -1,832.]
[You are now Crippled. Maximum HP reduced by 40%.]

Hesk let out an even more agonizing yell as her legs and tail were ripped from her torso. Torn in half, bleeding uncontrollably, and nearly blacking out from the pain, it was fairly obvious the raptor could no longer put up a fight. Though her spirit was willing, her mangled body was too weak to even maintain the grip on her spear. Rotsting slipped out of her fingers and fell into the bloodied waters below. The warlord lifted the battered raptor up to his eye level, holding her by the neck and shoulders as if she was some sort of doll. The Hero had ultimately been an insignificant threat, like a wasp challenging a rhino. Yet, the orc couldn’t help but be a bit impressed with her performance.

“Wuz gud fite, scalie!” he told her with a wide grin. “Well, maybe not ‘gud,’ but a noice warm-up! Now I’z all ready to find dat big red thing that’z been smashin me boyz all morning!”

The raptor’s throbbing agony made it rather difficult to parse this creature’s gloating, though she would be hard pressed to grasp what he was talking about even if she could. After all, she had no way of knowing the only reason Gutzstompa was in the area to begin with was because he was looking for a certain someone. Having all this power from the hundred-thousand-strong Green Tide coursing through him and nobody to unleash it on had been quite frustrating for the orc. So, when his underlings told him of a certain archfiend that had gone on a rampage around these parts, he showed up in force for a bit of fun, yet couldn’t find hide nor hair of her. Hardly surprising considering she had died in combat and her body had long ago evaporated. He instead stumbled upon this fun little skirmish, which was what ultimately led to this outcome – his host of greenskins dead and half a Hero firmly in his grasp.

“Shame dat humie got away,” he complained to nobody in particular. “Oh well, least I got one of you gitz!”

“If you- Kehak! If you strike me down,” Hesk squeezed out, gasping for air, “I shall become more powerful than- Guh!”

Gutzstompa ignored her words and nonchalantly brought her closer to his lipless maw so he could bite her head clean off with a gruesome crunch.

[You have been decapitated. HP -3,830.]
[You have died.]

So ended the life of Hesk of clan Susk, Paragon of the Broadfang tribe of Velos, and renowned Hero of the Sword. Throughout her life, she had known only violence, bloodshed, discipline, and loss. A rather depressing existence that was nevertheless the status quo for those that bore the burden of being Axel’s chosen. Regardless what others said, Hesk always considered herself lucky to be considered worthy of bearing the name of the God of War and Combat upon her shoulders. It was the greatest honor she could have ever hoped to achieve.

Of course, the job wasn’t without its perks. It earned Hesk the respect and recognition of her peers and gave her access to three special Skills to aid in her grim yet necessary tasks. She never had much use for the one called Essence Concealment, but she understood why other Heroes – especially those in Kaede’s shoes – might have need of it. The second ability was Martial Prowess, a passive ability unique to her patron that significantly increased the rate at which combat-focused Jobs and Skills increased in Level. While it wasn’t very useful in a pinch, it allowed her to grow stronger at an otherwise impossible rate. Her third and final divine gift was significantly more impactful in times of great need, and was arguably the most powerful Hero Skill of all. As was the nature of such things, however, the ability demanded a heavy price and a specific condition in order to activate.

[G̨k̴̀̕4͞ņ2̨̀́n͠?̡̛͘G҉B̛(͏4̨̕2͘^́͡31̸́͡(G̛͞8͞҉&#̶Jv̧̛n͜r͏͝w̴̕42́͝͠}̧҉}̸͜͠F͝56]

͏̴[72̡̨К̴гj̨͢R̵№̶̧@͠҉̡м́͟J҉̷Q̨͏Q̢̛͞0̷o0/҉͜/͢/͜͝Ó̢51̀͡(͞ ̵̸°̶̛ ̡̀ʖ̵͜ ̡°̶)͠fB̀͘͜0͠͝>҉<]

[͏̴Ķ̶̕Ḱ̸h̛͜2́̕͜F͡7̛͡҉8͏̀͘b͟҉͡g͢͠͠n҉5͠3̴̛͡h̵̨3̴̢̡*̧̕͘C%$̸̡͘H̨g̨͠y̴͜҉&#̧j̢]

The Hero of the Sword had to die in honorable combat.

[4̷͢͝C̢̢̀͘͠Ç͟3̸̴̡͜$̷́$̧͞ approved.]
[ExeCutive permiss̛s̷sion̷ granted.]
[Eternal Crusade is now active.]
[Thank you, and have an enlightened day.]

The cloudy sky split open as a beam of bright blue light fell upon Hesk’s freshly decapitated corpse. Gutzstompa, who had yet to even swallow the raptor’s head, was thrown backwards like a ragdoll. It was a sensation he had not experienced in decades, and hardly one he was fond of.

“Zog! First dat smoky thing and now dis flashy thing!” he complained as he rose to his feet. “Why are humiez and scaliez alwayz so tricky?!”

“Because we, as enlightened, cannot hope to match a monster’s savagery,” Hesk’s voice came from within the blinging pillar. “It is only through intangible things such as courage, honor, faith, and unity that we could ever hope to stand up against ones such as yourself.”

The raptor stepped out of the light with all of her limbs attached, her helmet upon her head, and her spear held firmly in her grasp. However, she was clearly not the same as before, as both she and her equipment gave off a soft pale blue glow. She was also ever-so-slightly transparent.

“Plus,” she added in a quiet voice, “it helps to have a God or two on our side.”

She tightened the grip on her weapon and stepped towards the orc with newfound determination.

“So wat?” the orc scoffed at her. “For all dem God-shite you’z gotz, you’z still as puny as evah! You fink you can stop Gutzstompa just cuz you gotz all shiny?! I’m da strongest orc dere iz!”

“You may have a point there,” Hesk admitted while looking down at her glowing hand. “Even like this, I do not know if I possess the strength to beat you. However, you do not face a single Hero of the Sword.”

A spectral war axe as big as a person flew out of the column of light behind her, spinning through the air until it firmly lodged itself in Gutzstompa’s shoulder.

“You face all of them.”

The owner of said weapon, a ghostly dwarven juggernaut clad in ridiculously thick armor and sporting an even thicker beard, charged out of the divine luminescence. He was followed by a sword-wielding Warrior, a mace-toting Paladin, an angelic Monk, another axe user, and that was just the start. More and more of the spectral fighters poured forth from the light. All of them were once legends in their own right, each was a great Hero of old, and every last one positively brimmed with the desire to cleanse this world of the orcish filth before them.

“Chaaaarge!”

“RAAAAAAH!”

“Get the bastard!”

“His head is mine!”

A hundred of history’s mightiest warriors fell upon the dumbfounded orc like some sort of unruly mob. The greenskin tried to fight back, crushing, smashing, and batting them away with all he had, but they got up no matter how hard or often he knocked them down. His nigh-impenetrable hide was instantly riddled with cuts and bruises. It was actually somewhat ironic that ‘da strongest orc dere iz’ was currently getting his generous green ass handed to him by a numerically superior force that swarmed over him without end. Quite a few of the former Heroes flooded out of the crater and scoured the battlefield for any surviving grunts, but most decided to settle for the greenskin in front of them. Not only was it overkill, but the sheer fervor with which Hesk’s predecessors tore into him made the raptor feel slightly hypocritical after that ‘savagery’ comment she made earlier.

“Aren’t you going to join in?” a quiet voice called out from behind.

Hesk looked over her shoulder to find that Kaede had appeared out of nowhere, as befitting a Hero of Death. She walked up to the raptor and stood by her side as they watched Gutzstompa get his comeuppance.

“I’m pretty sure you can stick him in the crotch a few times,” the nosferata suggested. “Y’know, if that’s your thing.”

“I’ve had my fill of violence for one lifetime,” the other shook her head. “I’ll let the others handle this.”

“GYAAAHAHAAA!”

Though she meant what she said, hearing the orc’s high-pitched screams as his teeth were yanked out of his jaw and shoved into his eyes were significantly more satisfying than Hesk would’ve thought.

“Why are you here, Kaede?” she asked after a short while. “I was certain you had already run away.”

“I did, though I couldn’t help but come back and check on you when I saw the light show. It’s… not quite what I imagined.”

“What do you mean?”

“Morty informed me about this Skill of yours when he found out we’d be working together. Well, not so much ‘informed’ as ‘bitched and moaned.’ Still, an unstoppable army of dead Heroes? The way he put it sounded suspiciously and worryingly close to necromancy. Yet, after seeing it for myself… I honestly don’t know what to say.”

“Hm. How about goodbye?”

“… Yeah. I guess that’ll do.”

Though Hesk appeared to be standing next to Kaede, she was as dead as the rest of these specters. Her own mangled corpse was resting beneath the knee-deep swamp water somewhere behind her, staining it red with her blood. She’d have been well on her way towards being reincarnated if not for the fact that her soul was now Axel’s property for all eternity. It wasn’t that bad considering the alternative was to be stripped of her memories, personality, and identity. There was also the very real chance she might get reborn as one of the very monsters she spent her life fighting against. The thought was so sickening that, if given the option, she would honestly prefer her soul was completely obliterated. Thankfully, she had been spared the need to worry about such things.

Once the Eternal Crusade ran out, she would join the other ghosts in the Hall of Heroes. It was a mythical place within the Aether, and the closest thing to an afterlife on Terrania. Inside, they would be treated to all the feasting and fighting they could ever want, a reward for their lifetime of strife, hardship, and dedication. At least, until the next Eternal Crusade, at which point they were expected to hop in and resolve whatever crisis was plaguing the mortal realm. The spectral army would also gain a member with each ‘outing,’ making the Skill all the more powerful for their next successor, assuming they were deemed worthy. Those already in this extremely exclusive club seemed to have finished turning Gutzstompa into an unrecognizable pile of meat and were currently cheering their ghostly lungs out. The pillar of light they had all come from began to wane and shrink, suggesting there was no more reason for them to linger. Kaede had also confirmed the warlord’s demise once she received confirmation that her Fatal Promise had been fulfilled.

“That’s that, I suppose,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Indeed,” Hesk nodded. “However, if you were to permit me, I would ask one last thing of you before I go.”

“Asking is free.”

“My… body should be back there somewhere. It’s probably not a pretty sight, but my gear and Rotsting ought to be nearby. Could you please return those to my clan? Whoever inherits my duties will have need of them.”

“I dunno, sounds like work.”

“Okay, and?”

“Aaaand if I’m going to do work, I expect to get paid.”

“… You’re serious?”

“No, I’m Kaede, and money is the one thing I don’t joke about.”

“Can’t you just chalk it up to a fellow Hero’s dying wish?”

“First of all, I didn’t really know you all that well. Second, you’re already dead, so you technically missed your chance for a ‘dying wish.’ Lastly, I can’t pay my bills with gratitude, good intentions, or fuzzy feelings. If I’m going to risk my neck hauling your stuff, it better be worth it.”

“Haaaaah,” the ex-raptor sighed deeply. “My tribe will likely offer a bounty for my equipment’s return if you hold onto it for a few weeks.”

While she would’ve preferred those relics were returned as soon as possible so they could aid her people against the Rampage, ‘later’ was better than ‘never.’

“Yup. That’ll do.”

Hesk walked away from the nosferata while shaking her head and went to greet her fellow specters. They offered words of welcome, congratulating her on her ‘death day’ while teasing her that she fell to something as common as an orc. A few also greeted Mortimer’s representative with a small wave that the nosferata awkwardly returned. The heavenly light then disappeared altogether, and all of the specters began to disperse like dust in the wind. Hesk was also fading fast, though she still found time to turn around and offer some final words.

“Farewell, Kaede. Though it was brief, it was good to fight by your side.”

“Yeah, yeah, same here. Now, shoo, go take a massive dump on Morty’s job description or whatever it is you battle maniacs do.”

“Wow,” the axe-wielding dwarf next to Hesk exclaimed. “She’s kind of a cunt, ain’t she?”

He disappeared along with the rest of his fellow incorporeal crusaders, leaving Kaede with a comeback and nobody to give it to.

“… And you’re kind of an oversized hairy ballsack!”

She still said it out loud, though that didn’t help ease her troubled spirit nearly as much as she had hoped.

Though she honestly didn’t know much about Hesk as a person, Kaede nevertheless liked the scary lizard lady. She had some of the best reactions to the nosferata’s shenanigans that the youthful trickster had ever seen. She was certainly more fun than that incomprehensible monstrosity masquerading as a catgirl. The fact that Keira Morgana was actually some terrifyingly powerful creature on near-equal footing as that stupid orc was both mind-boggling and impressive. It was also a very dangerous piece of knowledge to have, as someone with a secret that big would likely go to great lengths to keep it. Worse still, it was safe to assume the monster knew that Kaede was aware of its true identity, seeing as how it had apparently killed not one, but two of her predecessors in a single night. Thankfully, this ‘Boxxy T. Morningwood’ seemed determined to stay in character to a ludicrous degree, so all the nosferata had to do was act like Keira Morgana was a real person. This was surprisingly easy considering how thorough and convincing its performance was, though that did little to ease Kaede’s nerves.

Compared to dealing with that cartload of explosive mega-worms, removing the mithril armor off of Hesk’s dismembered corpse was almost like a vacation. Thankfully, the gear’s Self-Repair enchantments were still in working order, so even the heavily dented leg and tail bits would return to pristine condition in due time. Kaede also undertook the grim task of collecting the raptor’s remains to give them a proper send-off. She wasn’t planning anything fancy, just a cremation so that nobody else would see her in this horrible state. Maybe she’d put the ashes in a nice urn so her friends and comrades could pay their respects and say their goodbyes.

“Something black with dark red gems, I think,” she mused while stuffing a soggy leg into a sack. “Oh, and skulls. Can never have enough skulls. Wait, what do raptor skulls even look like? Ah, well, I’m sure they’ll be cute.”

There wasn’t any deep meaning behind that gesture. Kaede was merely doing her duty as a devout follower of Mortimer. While the metaphor was a bit disrespectful, it was no different from a garbage man taking care of the trash. It most definitely was not because she felt like she’d actually made friends with someone who didn’t seem to mind the fact she was a killer-for-hire.

“It’s not, okay?” she mumbled under her breath.

*SNAP*

A sudden noise interrupted Kaede’s rationalizing just as she was about to pack everything up and leave this horrible hole-in-the-swamp. She spun around and scanned her surroundings, but saw no signs of life. The only things around were a pool of filthy water, a bunch of dead grunts, some random debris, and Gutzstompa’s minced leftovers.

*SPLURCH CLUTCH MULCH*

“Oh… That’s not good.”

And only one of those things possessed the capacity to make sounds that meaty.

Part Three

“Fuckshitfuckshitfuckshitfuckshitfuck!”

A rapid stream of profanity rolled out of Kaede’s mouth as she ran, the weight of Hesk’s equipment rattling against her back with every step. With no better means at her disposal, the assassin-turned-gofer was forced to stuff the mithril armor into a random fallen raptor’s backpack while carrying Rotsting in one hand. This extra luggage was definitely slowing her down, but she couldn’t leave it behind. Even if her promise to deliver this stuff was just a verbal agreement with a ghost, it was a point of professional pride that she didn’t break it off if she could help it. The same could not be said of Hesk’s remains. Though Kaede wished to give the late Hero a proper send-off, it was ultimately just a gesture to satisfy her own ego. Her life was far more important, so she only brought the easy-to-carry gear. It was the right call, but it still hurt, especially since it meant her friend’s remains would be swept up by that damnable… thing.

*KRAKOOOOOM*

The sudden thunderstorm only made things worse, and not just on an emotional level. The torrential downpour made sure she was still soggy and muddy even though she made it out of that filthy swamp. It made the clean freak profoundly uncomfortable and hampered her strategic retreat by doing a magnificent job of getting her turned around. To put it bluntly, Kaede was lost. The thick blanket of water made it impossible to see any landmarks or the sun’s position, so she wasn’t even sure if she was headed in the right direction. The rain also washed away any footprints or scents, making it impossible for her Tracking Skill to pick up the trail of her retreating allies.

*KRRRUKHUUUUUMMMMM*

A brilliant flash of lightning tore through the sky, lighting it up in a powerful white glow. It only lasted an instant, but it was enough to let the skull-masked girl spot the silhouettes of many large figures shuffling about through the trees in front of her. She immediately skid to a halt and turned her attention to the sizeable tree nearby. Without thinking, she lobbed the spear she was holding upward, sticking it firmly in a branch’s underside. She then brought out her slim blades and utilized them like climbing picks as she clambered up the wet and slippery bark. She climbed as high as she could in the few seconds she had before stopping on one of the sturdier branches. She pressed against the trunk and stood as still as a statue, thinning out her presence.

“WAAAAAAAGH!”

Both the limb under her feet and the eardrums in her head rumbled as a mob of orcs stampeded through the jungle. They rushed past Kaede’s hiding place on either side like a river without spotting her. Though the girl would’ve liked to claim she remained hidden from so many eyes because she was exceptional, that clearly wasn’t the case. If a single greenskin so much as glanced upward, they’d immediately notice the slim shadow with the bulging backpack. However, the savages paid little to no attention to their surroundings as they seemed far more concerned with madly charging forward. Or, backward, depending on the point of view. Though Kaede wasn’t certain of the direction she was headed, she knew for a fact she was still moving away from that unspeakable abomination. Conversely, the orcs were headed right towards it with immense zeal. This was the third such group the rookie Hero encountered and evaded since she started running. She wasn’t sure why they were doing that, but she suspected it wasn’t something as simple as them looking for that ‘good fight’ their entire race was obsessed with.

The greenskin herd started thinning out after a minute or two. Kaede waited a bit longer for most of the stragglers to pass by before she retrieved Rotsting and climbed down from her hiding spot. She made sure the armor-filled sack was still securely strapped to her back before resuming her tactical retreat. The last thing she needed was for all those armor pieces to get scattered around while she was lost in the jungle. Handling the mithril plates also made her consider getting a set for her own use. The precious metal’s pale glimmer appealed to her people’s twisted sense of beauty, unlike the gaudy radiance of gold. Kaede actually thought that Hesk looked really cool in her mithril armor and hated that she missed the chance to compliment her.

The girl finished checking her gear, so she chased those idle thoughts out of her mind moments before they were replaced by voice that echoed inside her skull.

“Hail, Jolly Reaper.”

A voice that, for once, was not Mortimer’s.

“What the-?! Gux?” she blurted out loud.

“Indeed.”

“Where are you?”

“Nearby. Please, follow the sound of Gux’s thoughts. Let them guide you.”

As ridiculous as the request seemed, ‘following the sound of thoughts’ was much easier than expected. They were coming from roughly the same direction Kaede was headed, so she saw no reason to object.

“Alright, I’m on my way.”

“Very good. In that case, permit me to connect you to the others.”

“Others? What others?”

“Oh? Found our resident ‘stabassist’ did you?” Orrin’s merry tone washed over her.

“Finally!” Sigmund exclaimed. “Maybe she can tell us what in Teresa’s holy name is going on!”

“I’d love to, but I’m not holding all the cards, either,” Kaede replied.

“What of Hesk of clan Susk, Jolly Reaper? Gux cannot sense her presence nearby.”

“Oh, I’ve got her with me. In a manner of speaking.”

“Hey, I’ll take whatever you can give me at this point,” Sigmund stated. “Please, tell me what happened over there.”

“We ran into big, mean, and green – Gutzstompa himself. We tried to run, but he cornered Hesk and the two of them fought while I, uh, stayed out of the scary lizard lady’s way. She ended up unleashing the full fury of Axel’s butthole on him.”

“I assume you are referring to the pillar of blue light that shone above the swamp just before the rain started?” the human asked warily.

“Yeah. You guys saw that?”

“I think half the continent saw it, child,” Orrin chimed in.

“Anyway, long story short, Hesk died in combat, but she took Gutzstompa with her.”

“That is… regrettable to hear.”

Though Sigmund had, like most of the other Heroes, only known her for a brief time, he was quite saddened to hear Axel’s chosen had been killed in action. He admired her as a fellow soldier and respected her commitment to her people and her duties. Though he was not sad to hear the orc was dead, he felt the price for putting him down had been far too steep.

“It gets worse. The big guy’s corpse stitched itself back into an undead abomination right afterwards.”

He was therefore none too pleased to hear that the bloody tithe may have been wasted.

“... I see.”

“You sound less surprised than I thought you’d be, old man.”

“Let’s just say me and Orrin ran into our own fair share of undead today.”

The two Heroes had led a joint task force comprised of their respective followers. The Inquisition troops and giant adventurers were supposed to clear out a series of old mining tunnels that the orcs had turned into a hive. However, upon their arrival they found the vast majority of the greenskins had been turned into shambling zombies and ghouls. This actually worked to their favor since over half of the punitive force – including both Heroes – wielded divine magic in some way. Their combined holy fury allowed them to purge the place much faster than they would have been able to otherwise, though cleaning up the Blight had taken a fair bit of time.

“I will explain more once you arrive. How soon can you-”

“I’m here.”

Kaede burst through some bushes into a small clearing where Sigmund and Orrin’s people were currently setting up camp. There were a whole lot of men and women in uniform shuffling about and ten or so giants lugging entire tree trunks as they hastily erected a series of huge tents and rudimentary fortifications. A trio of griffins were resting off to the side. They seemed as displeased as Kaede about being soaked to the bone, but their handlers were keeping the beasts calm. The other Heroes were gathered inside one of the hastily set up tents. Orrin waved Kaede over while the other two took a moment to share in her grief. The nosferata left Hesk’s spear and armor with one of the Inquisition soldiers for safekeeping and, after making a mental note of his name, joined the others.

“Wait, this all of you?” she asked once inside. “Where are Keira and her vertically challenged friends?”

“The golem and the dwarf are keeping watch over the camp they subjugated while the Eight tribes collect the bodies,” Sigmund answered. “Gux said Morgana went off to check the same blue light we saw.”

“Gux expected to meet up with her and offer support,” the raptor chimed in, “but instead stumbled upon these two. The Chosen of Chaos should be in the area, but her whereabouts are unknown. Her absence at this uncertain time is both concerning and understandable.”

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” was the only response Kaede could muster.

“More importantly, what sort of undead has our primary target turned into?” Law pressed her.

“Not sure, I’ve never seen anything like it. It looked like a massive, orc-shaped ghoul at first glance, but it didn’t act like one. It ignored me and immediately started feeding on the corpses around the battlefield, people and orcs alike. It didn’t even register my presence until I tried to sneak up on it.”

“I take it you failed to kill it with an Assassination?”

“No, I didn’t even hit it. I was sure I had the drop on it, but it blasted me with this nasty cloud of concentrated Blight as I was about to strike. I had to back off and take a few antidotes before I vomited out my lungs.”

Not that she would have been able to take it down even if her sneak attack worked. Though this unnamed undead thing didn’t have as much HP as the original, it was still in the neighborhood of thirty thousand. She was merely testing the zombie’s state of awareness, the result of which was ‘extremely high.’ She was also fairly certain that ‘blast’ of the undead plague was actually flatulence of some kind, though that detail was probably unimportant.

“Oh, no,” Orrin mumbled, his face white as a sheet. “This isn’t good.”

“Your powers of observation serve you well.”

Gux’s tone was rather harsh, though one could hardly blame the scaly sage for being upset after hearing that the enemy commander and his friend’s killer had cheated death. The giant didn’t seem to notice that biting remark, however, as he was more concerned with the girl’s report.

“Kaede, did this undead monster swell in size?”

“Uh, yeah. Like, really quickly. It had already doubled in size by the time I’d finished detoxing. Seemed like growing and eating is all it wanted do, so I ran to look for reinforcements while I could.”

“Any clue how large it got since?”

“No idea. There were a lot of bodies.”

Each warlord had their own army of grunts, and that battlefield saw four of them show up in sequence, so the corpses could easily number in the thousands.

“Gux! You’re Zephyra’s guy, right? Can you clear up this storm right away!?”

The raptor was momentarily taken aback by Orrin’s forceful urgency, so it took him a few heartbeats to reply.

“… Yes. Gux can indeed silence the heavens.”

“Then, do it! Please!”

One didn’t need to be a mind reader to sense the giant’s fear, though it certainly helped. Gux nodded sagely then floated himself out of the tent and into the rain, the others following close behind. He took a few deep breaths to attune himself to the elements and raised his hands to the sky. The various tokens and trinkets hanging off his person began to glow and the raindrops froze in midair as he began to channel his magic, but this was not a divine Skill that controlled the weather. Though he did have one, the aptly named Torrential Tempest could only be used to conjure storms, not disperse them.

“Cloud Burst!”

The Hero instead used a mid-Level Shaman Spell. One would think such a thing would not be powerful enough to overcome this heavy rain, which would normally be a fair assumption. Gux, however, was anything but ‘normal.’ He was a Ranker with a four digit AFF Attribute, which he had slowly built up over several decades of wandering the world. It greatly boosted his magic’s effectiveness and allowed him access to the Attribute’s associated Legendary Perk.

[Legendary Affinity]
A being whose connection to the natural world is the stuff of legends.
Requirements: Reach 750 Natural Affinity (AFF).
[Effects]
Increases the overall effectiveness of Spells and Skills that manipulate natural forces by 50%.
Reduces hostility from wild animals and monsters.

The dense cloud coverage was torn wide open, almost as if someone had made a hole in the sky. The circular gap widened rapidly, allowing the afternoon sun to shine down on this particular part of Velos far ahead of schedule. The change was so extreme that Gux’s AFF was reduced by 16 points as punishment for his highly disruptive actions. It wasn’t much of a penalty considering he had roughly seventy times that amount, though he didn’t take it lightly. He was fully aware the intangible forces of nature would not look kindly upon his interference, but he had faith that his fellow Hero had good reason to make such a desperate plea. The sudden change in weather caused something of a stir within the surrounding troops’ ranks, but they were quickly silenced by a stern word from Sigmund. Orrin stared with bated breath at the water still lingering in the sky. It took a while for long-distance visibility to be restored, though once the Hero of the Sun could see the horizon he immediately wished he couldn’t.

A spire of flesh loomed over the treetops like a grotesque mockery of a wizard’s tower. It must have been at least sixty meters tall, its mass comprised of countless orcs mangled and pressed together like brick and mortar. A thick, steady stream of brown-green miasma spilled from its top and rolled down into the jungle below like some sort of profane volcano. Its neck was slowly but surely swinging around in a worm-like manner, ensuring greater dispersal of its foul payload.

“What in the fires of Hell is that?!” Sigmund yelled.

“That… is a lot bigger than I left it,” Kaede mumbled in disbelief.

She momentarily questioned how it managed to grow to this ridiculous size in such a short span of time, then realized the answer was staring her right in the face. Or, rather, had ran past her on the way here. If the ex-Gutzstompa really was at the source of it, then it was possible what was left of him was calling out to all of the mindless drones connected to him via the Green Tide. Granted, Kaede was hardly an expert on the matter, but it would certainly explain those groups of stampeding orcs. It wasn’t hard to imagine them dying in droves underneath that cloud of Blight, only to have their corpses added to the undead amalgamation. With almost a hundred thousand of them roaming around – plus whatever random monsters or people they might’ve dragged along with them – there would definitely be enough raw material to make a massive spire of diseased flesh and bone.

“What we are looking at,” Orrin said with a heavy tone, “is the Boneshaper’s secret weapon.”

“Come again?” the Hero of the Hammer exclaimed. “The Boneshaper? Here?!”

“I do not know if he is personally present, but this is definitely his handiwork. Those Blight-spewing abominations are the reason my people lost their homeland.”

That was the true terror of the Boneshaper’s military strategy. He didn’t kill a continent simply by overrunning it with legions of the undead. While he had those, they only fought when his mobile disease factories were threatened by the enlightened opposition. The rest of the time they simply sat and waited as the thick concentrations of Blight spread throughout the land and either drove off or killed the living. Even if major cities and fortresses could stall the infection with magic, they could not prevent the contamination of the soil and water outside their walls. It was a type of siege they had never seen before, and though they did develop countermeasures eventually, it was already far too late to stop the Boneshaper’s advance.

Orrin had not seen one in person before, but as someone tasked with his people’s revival it was only natural he’d be well acquainted with how they fell. The especially painful part was that the giants of Percepeia could have stopped this if they had reacted quicker and with greater force. They only had to mobilize and wipe out the undead and their damnable Blight factories before the plague grew too thick for the living to handle. Obviously, things hadn’t gone down that way. The giants’ peace-loving and easy-going nature dulled their ability to react accordingly while they still had the chance. Inaction had been their downfall, and Orrin would not allow that mistake to repeat.

“We need to destroy that thing!” he shouted to the others. “Quickly, before it forms foot soldiers to protect itself!”

“Agreed,” Sigmund nodded.

“What thing?” the elder lizard asked, clearly confused.

“What do you mean, ‘what?’ Can’t you see-! … Never mind.”

The giant could be forgiven for momentarily forgetting the raptor was sightless. Though he was extremely proficient at taking in his surroundings with a combination of Psionic and Shaman abilities, they did not extend that far out. This made it extremely difficult to aim and control the Torrential Tempest at anything not in close proximity, greatly reducing the potential of the Hero of Rain’s greatest weapon.

“Uh, yeah, you guys do that,” Kaede stated as she warily stepped back. “Meanwhile, I’ll be right here. Not dying.”

Though she was all for ridding the world of the foul undead, she drew the line at challenging genocidal murder-towers with over 200,000 HP. She imagined only adult dragons could match that impossible level of durability.

“You’re just going to run away?” the giant asked accusingly.

“What do you expect me to do?” she snapped back. “Anything that I could’ve done was already spent trying to save Hesk! In vain! As far as I’m concerned, the only way I can contribute to this is by not adding my body to the pile!”

“Calm yourself, Jolly Reaper,” Gux attempted to intervene. “Times of crisis are when maintaining a cool head is most-”

“Shut it, weirdo! How about you get some fucking eyes before lecturing me about ‘times of crisis?!’ Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do, and this shit is already far above my pay grade. I’m still a damn intern! Why did I even come to this shitty jungle?!”

Kaede kept complaining loudly as she stormed off to find the soldier she left Hesk’s gear with. She didn’t even care about the promised bounty anymore, she just wanted off this god-forsaken continent.

“Hmm… Gux is having a hard time grasping the situation. Gux would like to borrow one of your heads for a moment.”

“Use mine, quickly.”

Sigmund stepped forward and let the raptor place a hand upon his shiny scalp. A few moments passed by while Gux peered at the human’s memories of the last few minutes, focusing mostly on the sights he had seen.

“Ah… Gux understands why the Jolly Reaper’s words were so harsh. This is not an opponent she can hope to face.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have made unreasonable demands of her,” Orrin lamented. “Apologies can wait for later. Right now, we need to stop that thing while we still can.”

“Have no fear, friend,” Sigmund declared, “for you stand before Lady Teresa’s Grand Inquisitor. Willis!”

Law’s second in command, who had silently watched the entire exchange, stepped forward and saluted.

“Sir! Orders?”

“Get in touch with field HQ, tell them we have a code ‘Black’ and to bring as many able-bodied Paladins and Priests as possible. Appeal to the adventurers and locals as well. I care not for their religion or affiliation, what we need are numbers, and fast. Get those people here as soon as possible, whether by wing, portal, or miracle.”

“What about those already here, sir?”

“They are to maintain a perimeter and monitor that creature’s movements until reinforcements arrive. We need to limit its food, so do not let anything approach the… What is that thing actually called?”

Sigmund directed that question at Orrin, who nervously scratched his beard.

“Historical records refer to them as ‘smokestacks,’ but I don’t know if that’s the actual name.”

“Close enough. As I was saying – Willis, you are to crush any orcs or lesser undead that come your way, but do not assault the smokestack until we are ready. Understood?”

“Not even for reconnaissance purposes, sir? I could have Coleman’s squad board a griffin and test the target’s defenses before they go to ferry troops.”

“Hmm… Alright, but tell them to be wary of counter attacks. Something tells me this ‘smokestack’ will not take kindly to being blindsided. Now go, and fear no evil!”

“Aye, sir.”

The soldier ran off to deliver Sigmund’s orders, letting him focus his attention on the other Heroes.

“Who is this Man of Coal?” Gux asked matter-of-factly.

“Coleman’s people are some of the Inquisition’s best Spell-slingers. They’ll find out if anything other than holy magic is effective against it.”

Its scale aside, that smokestack was still an undead creature made of flesh. That usually meant it was weak to fire and invulnerable to cold, but it was best to make sure before any actual plans or strategies were put in motion.

“Forgive Gux’s ignorance, but does not Teresa’s Hammer already possess an extremely potent weapon?”

“If you mean Judgement From Above, then yes, I do have that,” Sigmund nodded. “However, I need to get quite close to use it, and I doubt it’ll be much use if I did.”

The Skill in question existed to eradicate evil in a single, glorious blow. Unfortunately, that spire was way too bloody big. Judgement From Above could certainly purify its bones and flesh until they turned to salt, but could not envelop the smokestack in its entirety. Sigmund judged it wiser to use persistent magical bombardment to soften the thing up before he committed to any gambles involving Teresa’s righteous wrath. It was an improvised strategy based on the notion that what they were about to face wasn’t a single creature, but a fortress.

“What of your own magic?” he shot back. “Do you have any massive attacks that could be of use?”

“Gux does possess the power to unleash the fury of the elements. However, though Gux will be fine thanks to Lady Zephyra’s grace, your soldiers will get caught up in it.”

“Understood. Orrin?”

“I’ve got something up my sleeve, but…”

The Hero of the Sun did indeed have access to a powerful Skill. It was Celestial Avatar, and it could be used once a day to flood the user with the sun’s terrific radiance for up to ten minutes. It greatly bolstered his Attributes, massively increased his HP recovery, and gave him temporary access to a number of powerful light and heat-based abilities. The giant’s capacity to heal and harm rose drastically while the boon was active. It was the second-most powerful Hero Skill after Eternal Crusade and had to similarly obey certain conditions in order to display its effects. Most importantly, Celestial Avatar required direct sunlight, which wasn’t going to be an issue since Gux was on hand to keep the storm at bay. Another, more pressing concern was that the Skill greatly drained what little divine energy Solus had left. Admittedly, that was true for all deities and the boons they granted their Heroes, but the Sun God was the only one actively starved for faith at the moment. His power had to be used sparingly.

That wasn’t why Orrin was hesitating, however. He and his patron were a pair of selfless fools that would gladly throw their lives away to preserve lives, especially against a foe that profaned the sanctity of death. Fools, yes, but not idiots. Celestial Avatar was a powerful trump card that would only be played if there were no better options. It was far too early to make that call in the giant’s eyes, especially considering what he saw looming in the distant sky above the disease-spewing smokestack. He pointed to it with his golden staff, directing the others’ attention.

“I do believe someone might have beaten us to the punch, Sigmund.”

A flaming ball of rock fell from the heavens, leaving a thick trail of black smoke as it hurtled towards the colossal abomination. It struck the fleshy spire’s midsection and exploded in a burst of crimson flame. The titanic creature lurched dangerously to one side as the tremendous impact forced it to bend over like a wet noodle. Its body suddenly sprang back into its previous position, launching the remains of the conjured ball of molten rock into the surrounding jungle. Streams of off-white mist shot out from countless tiny holes in its surface as the smokestack attempted to snuff out the flames that clung to its side. It proved a futile effort, as the conjured cloud was instantly set alight by a Pyromancer’s Mana Burn Skill. Rather than snuff out the conflagration as intended, it only spread it further in a secondary flash.

It was only then that the distant din of the Meteor Spell hitting its target washed over the three Heroes.

“It is just one thing after another,” Sigmund grumbled.

“Gux could feel that aftershock in his bones,” the raptor commented. “Was that your Man of Coal’s doing?”

“No. He has not even left the ground yet. I am also quite sure none of our Pyromancers are even remotely that powerful. Orrin, can you locate the caster with your clairvoyance?”

It was an unnecessary request, as the giant was already ahead of him. He had stuck the bottom of his golden sun-staff into the muddy ground and was holding it with both hands as he channeled his Lightbinder magic through it.

“Far Sight!”

Images of the undead spire flashed on the inside of his clenched eyelids as he gained a bird’s eye view of its surroundings. The jungle directly around its base had already turned into a barren wasteland, either withered by the unholy disease or flattened by the Meteor’s fragments. As for the one that had called down that attack, it was a being completely beyond Orrin’s realm of comprehension. The only thing he could say for certain was that it was a female, though that much was plainly obvious. She had a voluptuous figure with massive breasts, a slim waist, wide hips, and appetizingly thick thighs. It was without a doubt the kind of overtly sexualized shape one would expect to see on a succubus. The dull red yet surprisingly shiny skin and ribbed black horns also hinted at a demonic origin. However, though her outfit was extremely revealing and fittingly tempting, one would be hard pressed to call this thing a succubus.

For starters, her ‘clothes’ were made up of a writhing fleshy substance with a rich purple color, the mere sight of which made Orrin’s skin crawl. The same stuff also formed over a dozen tentacles that dangled off her scalp and waist, each tipped with a short metal blade. Her eyes were like hollow circles of yellow light floating amidst a sea of darkness, not to mention that she had an odd number of them. Two were located right where one would expect on that alluring face while the third was in the middle of her forehead, surrounded by what looked to be tiny teeth. It was almost as if the vertical slit couldn’t decide if it wanted to be a second mouth or an extra eye, so it tried to be both at once. Orrin got a really good look at those features, as this creature was staring right back at him through the Far Sight. There could be no doubt about it. Why else would she look skyward so intensely, a wicked smile on her lips as she effortlessly floated closer to his vantage point. Her tri-focal glare was so focused that it seemed as though she was trying to peer into his very soul through the remote viewing Spell. Her wicked attention made Orrin feel strangely violated, though, thankfully, she turned her terrifying gaze away from him and towards the towering abomination she was now level with.

Though messing with the peeper some more sounded fun, Boxxy was on the clock. The Malefic Union with Xera was both temporary and difficult to control, and it had already spent a considerable chunk of its limited time preparing. It didn’t have long left, so it couldn’t afford distractions. The giant lump of XP in front of it wasn’t just sitting around waiting to be harvested, either. It attacked by launching countless shards of bone that flew out of numerous holes in its massive body. They soared through the air like arrows, each aimed directly at the demon-infused doppelganger. However, though it certainly looked dangerous, the volley was an entirely physical assault that was unable to hit Boxxy once it activated Snack’s borrowed Mist Form.

The shapeshifter reformed from the vapors once the barrage had passed through and immediately split into multiple copies of itself. Not two or three, but sixteen total bodies. The smokestack kept firing at all of them at random, but it failed to hit any. Only the original and its freshly conjured Mirror Image had physical substance while the rest were illusions. This failed attack revealed that the mountain of flesh did not have magically-sensitive perception, or, if it did, then it didn’t stretch out very far. This knowledge made Boxxy’s next move a no-brainer.

“True Darkness!”

A light-consuming void twenty meters in diameter engulfed the shapeshifter, obscuring it from view. The smokestack focused its attacks on that point while stepping up its efforts. This time it launched diseased balls of flesh that disappeared into the blackness, then made them burst into a shower of boiling bile and burning bones akin to a Necromancer’s Corpse Explosion. It certainly looked like a powerful attack with many nasty side effects. Yet, this assault also failed spectacularly, mostly due to the fact that its intended target was no longer within the shadowy sphere.

“Reality Slash!”

Boxxy dropped out of invisibility on the opposite end of the diseased spire while releasing its favorite Warlock Spell. The unseen blade of magic tore deep into the creature, leaving a sizeable wound that immediately gushed with a small waterfall of disgusting pus-like fluids. The spire also let out a deep groan and intensified its anti-air measures. Needless to say, it was a much more extreme reaction than bashing it with an oversized ball of rock and fire. Though the Succubus Job’s Penetration Expertise Skill allowed its Spells to bypass a portion of the target’s defenses, it was clearly more vulnerable to force magic than fire magic. The telling hit even stopped the constant flow of Blight, though that was probably because the titanic monster needed to focus all of its attention on the airborne threat. The zombified remains of whatever enlightened Casters it managed to engulf emerged from its fleshy carapace and began charging and chanting an array of Spells.

Unfortunately for the undead colossus, its minions, and whoever was controlling it from the shadows, Boxxy had already gathered all the information it needed. It effortlessly dodged and weaved between Spells as over thirty Mirror Images rose out of the surrounding jungle. Each had been lying in wait and shared the same succulent shape as the original, though they didn’t need to. In fact, the shapeshifter’s flesh and bones were so malleable in this state that it could achieve even more extreme transformations than it was normally capable of. It was probably a good idea to put more effort into obfuscating its identity, yet the creature saw no reason to hide. This was a result of the arrogant ‘mightier-than-thou’ attitude Xera bore towards all except her Master, but suppressing her overwhelming lust was already taxing Boxxy’s willpower to capacity. It couldn’t keep her twisted personality completely in check, so it had to give in to a few of her less disruptive habits. That was the major downside of using this strategy.

The payoff, however, was access to phenomenal arcane power that easily surpassed that of any enlightened Spell-slinger.

“Gravity Well!”

All of the Mirror Images chanted as one, their voices and thoughts in perfect sync thanks to Boxxy’s Spirit Echo. Combined with Synchronous Chant from its Wizard Job, the Spell was amplified to the point even that tower-sized monstrosity couldn’t resist it. The smokestack slammed into the ground in a coiled mess, writhing like a trampled worm as its own weight threatened to crush it into a messy goop. That wasn’t enough to kill it, though, nor was dealing a fatal injury the Spell’s purpose. Gravity Well was to keep the thing nice and still while Boxxy prepared to really let the thing have it. The sexy-yet-terrifying aberrations gathered at the main body’s position while the smokestack struggled to move. They joined their tentacles together, forming a spider web of pseudo-demon flesh that hung ominously in the air.

“Dark Infusion!”

Next, they all empowered each other in a chain, temporarily increasing their already formidable INT Attributes by a staggering 52%. That was only possible through the combination of Mirror Image and Spirit Echo, as one could not normally use Domination magic on themselves, regardless their intentions. The real Boxxy opened up its Storage and retrieved two items. One, a Masterwork-grade staff designed to bolster force magic, which it held firmly in one hand. The second object was a vial of glittering blue liquid, which it immediately drank.

[You have consumed a Distilled Quintessence of Magic.]
[The effects of the next Spell cast within 2 minutes will be doubled.]

It was an especially expensive elixir that required that the shapeshifter had to sacrifice a portion of its INT to provide the materials for it, but the effects were well worth it.

“Amplify Magic.”

Next, Boxxy had to use another borrowed djinn Skill, causing bright rings of yellow light to briefly envelop its body. As its name suggested, it boosted the effects of incoming and outgoing magic by yet another 40%. The creature would have gladly used it on its target as well to ‘double dip’ the effects, but the ability could not be used more than once every 20 seconds and the shapeshifter had one last card to play. Power Overwhelming was triggered, causing the center of the fleshy web to flare up and crackle like a ball of lightning. Then, once again, came the Synchronous Chanting.

“Sed risus ex, semper a lacus condimentum, molestie malesuada nisi!”

This time around, however, the collective incantation was uttered in the secret and sacred tongue of both deities and demons.

“Pellentesque sagittis auctor turpis pretium diam!”

Translating the chant like this meant that the magic took a lot longer to invoke, though the payoff was quite extraordinary.

“Remulus Secare!”

A hair-thin wave of destruction traveled outward, covering a distance of nearly a hundred meters at a speed that even Boxxy’s ridiculous perception could not track. True to the literal meaning of its original name, the heavily-augmented and massively amplified Reality Slash seemed to rip open the fabric of existence. The ground, the jungle, the smokestack, even the very air itself were split asunder and, for the briefest of moments, opened wide enough to let a small house fall through the resulting void unhindered. The wound in the world then slammed shut with calamitous results. The earth groaned, creaked, and rumbled in protest, sending out tremors that could be felt almost fifty kilometers away. The air screamed and thundered as it had been violated at a speed that surpassed sound. Tornado-like winds followed in the sonic boom’s wake, ripping trees out by their roots and sending them flying into the distance along with whatever creatures or objects were unfortunate enough to be caught up in the cataclysmic event. Even Boxxy found itself spinning through the sky for a few seconds before it could regain control.

[Your target has been obliterated. Target HP -263,648.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: The Destroyer.]
[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a Level 83 Warlock! INT +4. MNT +4. END +4.]
[Proficiency level increased. Ruin Mastery is now Level 22. INT +4. WIS +2. END +2.]

Unsurprisingly, the target of that ridiculous display of power did not survive. The entire sequence of events was a test run of Boxxy’s dragon-killing strategy, so it was safe to assume not even traces of the undead smokestack could be found anymore. Chanting a Spell in the language of the Gods made it so that its nature would come that little bit closer to its ideal, its concept. In the case of Reality Slash, it meant that a small part of the world was literally removed from existence, hence its especially destructive nature and abnormally long reach. Both the results and the rewards from this little field experiment were quite impressive, to say the least, but such tremendous power, as always, came with a price.

[A special action has been performed. FTH -15.]
[A special action has been performed. AFF -25.]

Though Boxxy’s Spell succeeded, it was a flawed aberration of magic conjured by a mind that could not hope to fully grasp the true nature of the powers it was playing with. The monster’s actions inflicted a mild curse upon the land it had just ripped up. The exact nature of the affliction was yet unknown, but there was no doubt it would become a source of headaches for the locals in the near future. The shapeshifter was fully aware this would happen, as it wasn’t the first time it abused the language Ambrosia had taught it in such a fashion. Thus, it had willingly and knowingly created a cursed plot of land in direct violation of Lunar’s Taboo. That was why it lost a chunk of its FTH and why it had to use this method sparingly. If that Attribute were to go into the negative, Boxxy would be branded with Taboo and lose access to its Hero Skills, drastically increasing the odds of Keira Morgana’s true identity being revealed. Not a tasty outcome, to say the least.

The drop in AFF was unrelated to any divine decrees. As with Gux’s Cloud Burst, it was simply nature’s way of saying it didn’t appreciate getting magically mutilated. This particular penalty wasn’t anywhere near as dangerous as the FTH loss. In fact, it barely had an impact at all since Boxxy didn’t really have any magic that benefited from the Attribute. That wasn’t to say AFF was useless. The shapeshifter had previously partaken of an elder dryad’s nectar, which gave it the Nature’s Bounty Perk. That meant every point of AFF contributed towards its maximum HP, which had just been reduced by 75. It was technically a setback, however minor.

On the subject of Perks, Boxxy wasn’t expecting to get one out of that field test, though it certainly wasn’t going to complain.

[The Destroyer]
Even their ancestors felt THAT one.
Requirements: Deal 100,000 points of damage to a target in a single hit.
[Effects]
Increases all damage dealt by 10% for every 10,000 points of damage dealt in the last 30 seconds, up to 50%.

The deed done and rewards reaped, the shapeshifter rapidly retreated to safety before Dark Infusion and Malefic Union ran out and left the creature vulnerable and exposed. It couldn’t afford to stop the blond giant from bearing witness to its terrifying might without screwing up its preparations, but it wanted to avoid giving Orrin any more information. It was an ultimately unnecessary precaution since the big guy had his hands full dealing with the aftermath.

“Rrrragh!”

The giant grunted with effort as he pushed off the massive boulder pressing down on him, which fell to the side with a heavy thud. The unknown creature’s landscape-altering magic had hurled it over a kilometer away and threatened to crush him and his two fellow Heroes. Thankfully, the Hero of the Sun was born with an exceptionally strong and healthy body, even by his people’s standards, so he was able to catch the catapulted rock before it could do any serious damage.

“Are you both alright?”

“Gux appreciates the assist,” the raptor said with a sagely nod. “It was so sudden that Gux was not able to completely cushion the impact.”

His telekinesis was formidable, but not without limit.

“Ah, so that’s why it felt so light,” the giant remarked. “What about you, Sigmund?”

“I will live,” the Paladin replied as he dusted his armor off. “What of my troops? Anyone hurt?”

“They’re fine. We were the only ones lucky enough to be hit by debris.”

“That is good, but did you see what happened out there?”

“Gux is also eager to know. Gux heard the land scream in agony. The wound left upon it continues to bleed as we speak.”

Orrin let out a heavy sigh and grimly looked down at the others.

“The good news is the smokestack is gone. It’s hard to imagine even a dragon would survive a direct hit from that kind of power.”

“What is the bad news?” Sigmund asked warily.

“I have no idea who or what the thing responsible was, nor could I make sense of its magic.”

“Fantastic,” the man rubbed his temple in frustration. “I have been told that ‘there is always a bigger fish,’ but this is too much.”

He had no idea how to even begin to tackle the issue of this mysterious savior. He was hardly the only one who suddenly had a lot more to think about, either. Orrin, for instance, questioned whether it was a smart idea to even mess with something that dreadfully powerful. With the immediate danger over, Gux was currently preoccupied with memories of a delicious goat cheese he was once treated to in a small village at the foot of Atica’s tallest mountain. Granted, not the most relevant of conundrums, but thinking about tasty things was how he dealt with absurdity that defied explanation. Kaede, on the other hand, was doing her absolute best to ignore the overwhelming possibility that the thing masquerading as Keira Morgana was the one responsible while she picked up her pace towards the port. Even Nao, who had only been tangentially involved in the day’s proceedings, was not spared a few headaches. He had just been told by his patron deity that he had a new curse to unravel and dispel, a duty he was hardly thrilled to carry out. As for Hesk, it was highly unlikely she would ever find out what transpired after her death, which was probably for the best.

Last but not least, Boxxy had landed in an unfamiliar part of the jungle and was currently undergoing a crisis of its own.

“Damn it! There’s nothing to eat around here but orcs!”

Granted, not the most relevant of conundrums, but thinking about tasty things was how it dealt with its post-fusion hangover.

Interlude
Another Satisfied Customer

*Click*

“Hello, you have reached Demons ‘R’ Us. My name is Carl, and I will be your liaison for the day.”

“Y-yes? Can you, uh, hear me?”

“I can indeed.”

“It worked! Holy shit, it actually worked! Hahahaha! Suck it Frank, you fat fuck!”

The devil sighed as he leaned back in his chair. Another newbie was not what he needed today. Admittedly, things like ‘today,’ ‘tomorrow,’ and ‘yesterday’ didn’t really exist in the Beyond, but the fact still stood that there had been a lot of first-timers lately, and they were always a pain in the ass.

“Miss, do you realize I can hear everything you’re ‘thinking aloud’ right now?”

“Oh… Uh, s-sorry about that.”

“Quite alright. Now, please identify yourself so I can register you in our system.”

“The name’s Sylvia Caldwell. And you said your name was… Carl?”

“That is indeed so, Sylvia.”

“That’s… a lot lamer than I was expecting.”

“You could call me Katorolomaongott instead, if that strikes your fancy.”

“Katorma-what?! Never mind, Carl it is.”

“Great. Now, shall I assume you’re calling to obtain your very own demonic familiar?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“That’s super. Let’s get started right away. First of all, I’m going to need you to forward me your Status. Do you know how?”

“Uh… No? Is that a thing I can do?”

“You can indeed, and it’s not as complicated as it might seem. I can walk you through it right now if you have the time.”

“… You won’t trick me and suck my soul out of me and into the Beyond, right?”

“I assure you, that is not a thing that happens at Demons ‘R’ Us. Think about it – if we actually did that, there wouldn’t be any Warlocks willing to sign up. I don’t mean to brag, but our customer service makes us the leading demonic support provider in the world.”

Granted, while Carl’s claim was technically correct, he omitted the fact that Demons ‘R’ Us were also the only ‘demonic support provider’ in existence. Studies simply showed that mortals reacted better to ‘you’re dealing with the best’ than ‘you don’t have a choice.’ Well, that last part wasn’t quite true. Aspiring Warlocks did have one other option.

“However,” Carl continued, “Demons ‘R’ Us cannot guarantee the validity of any demonic pacts, soul-binding contracts, or dark covenants you make with Beyond-dwelling entities unaffiliated with us. If you get an independent agent and they end up eating your family, that’s on you.”

It was an especially stupid and ill-advised option, but an option, nonetheless.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” the young woman replied. “Please teach me how to send you your- I mean my Status.”

“Let’s get right to it, then. You start by calling up your Status inside your head so that it’s at the forefront of your consciousness. Can you do that for me, please?”

“Okay. Status! There, done.”

“Excellent. Now, try and recall the mental exercise you went through to reach out to us. I need you to do something similar, only this time do it with your name instead of our number while focusing on your Status window as much as possible. Go on, give it a try.”

“S-sounds simple enough. Here I go, then… S-Y-L-B- No, that’s not right! Sorry, I’m just so nervous!”

“That’s quite alright, I’ve got all the time in the world. Just calm down and try again, but slower.”

“Alright, Sylvie, deep breaths. Hooh. Haah. Okay. S. Y. L. V. I. A. There, did that do it?”

“Good try, but you need to do the full name as it appears on your Status.”

“Ohhhh, yeah, okay. I’ll give it another try. S. Y. L-”

As the teenage girl on the other end of the line kept at it, Carl couldn’t help but think to Boxxy’s initial attempts to do the same. Of course, back when it first contacted him, the monster had the intelligence of an unpainted wooden ladder missing half its steps. Even if the Summon Familiar Skill allowed it to somehow reach out into the Beyond, the way it struggled to form coherent thoughts made communication quite difficult. A much bigger problem, however, was that the monster was still unnamed at the time. One’s true name had a special meaning when it came to soul-binding contracts, so the lack thereof made it exceptionally difficult to register the mimic as a customer in the Demons ‘R’ Us system.

It was a stressful and infuriating experience, but the way it challenged Carl’s abilities made it strangely engaging. He was able to eventually sort the barely sentient box out by using its species as a focal point. It was the only mimic Warlock in all of existence as far as Demons ‘R’ Us was aware, so the devil was able to use that to get the creature up and running. It was hardly a flawless solution, though. Leaving the name blank caused some sort of glitch that sent the thing’s Status all the way up the chain to the Goddess of Instability and Weaxohn the Demon King. To this day, none of the beings involved had been able to figure out exactly how that happened. If Carl had to wager a guess, it probably had something to do with the fact that the monster was born inside the Progenitor’s dungeon.

“-L. L. There, did that do it?”

*Ping*

The screen on Carl’s desk suddenly let out a bleep as it filled up with all of Sylvia’s personal information. It showed she was human, female, eighteen years old, Level 13 Laborer, Level 5 Warlock, with a few Levels in Pickpocketing, Meditation, and Ruin Mastery. These details painted a picture of a low-class peasant trying to strike out on their own as an adventurer, likely behind their parents’ back. Carl had handled hundreds of these cases, so it really wasn’t worth calling attention to it.

“That did indeed,” he said in a casual tone. “And on only the third try. Great work, Sylvia.”

“Ehehe…” she laughed bashfully.

“Next, I’m going to need your approximate location.”

“I’m, uh, l-lying in bed.”

“And in which city and country would that bed be located?”

“Oh! I’m in Oshinas.”

“As in the Lodrak Empire’s capital?”

“Yeah, though I don’t live here. I’m only visiting.”

“Good to know. I’ll just need a minute here.”

*Takakak takatak tatatatak*

Carl’s twelve fingers flew across the stone keyboard in front of him as he started filling out all of the relevant forms under the chorus of a rapid clacking noise. It was possible to do so in total silence, but surveys showed mortals were far easier to work with when there was audible evidence of actual work. It also helped reassure them that the connection to the Beyond was still active and didn’t get dropped or cut off for whatever reason at times when words were not being actively exchanged.

Of course, the bizarre machine in front of Carl wasn’t an actual object, as physical items did not exist in the confusing mindscape that was the Beyond. It was actually a mental construct conjured up by the Demon King, allowing his subordinates direct access to the knowledge and information within the Overlord’s immense mind. The organization’s entire office building was like that, actually. This whole setup was supposedly suggested by the God of Causality as a way to help streamline the day-to-day operations of Demons ‘R’ Us. The policy had been a smashing success if the old-timers’ tales of pre-office administration were even half true. This state of affairs wasn’t without its downsides, of course. For instance, should Weaxohn be called to the material realm, the Demons ‘R’ Us headquarters would be dissolved and their operations temporarily suspended. Carl wasn’t around before these convenient constructs existed, but relatively recent events showed him just how hard it was for the devils of old to do their job. It was impossible to find a free agent that fit a newly-fledged Warlock’s familiar criteria within a reasonable amount of time without the support of the Demon King’s information network.

“Alright, Sylvia, you’re all set on our end. We can now move forward with establishing your first demonic contract.”

“What does that involve, exactly?”

“I’m glad you asked. First, I send you a mental copy of the contract. Fair warning – it’s quite big, so you might black out if you’re not mentally prepared. Best not get out of bed, just in case. Once you have it, you need to confirm that you’ve read, understood, and agreed to all of the clauses contained within. After that, I will ask you a series of questions, work some of my magic, and try to find the demonic entity that best fits your needs. Once such an individual is found, he, she, or it will be bonded to you, at which point the contract is considered active and you will be able to summon them at your leisure.”

“That’s… it?”

“That’s it.”

“So… I don’t need to, like, bathe in the blood of orphans or shove a pickle up my butt?”

“You can if you want, though it won’t have any effect on the contracting process.”

“Wow. Okay. That’s a huge relief. Sorry if I’m being ignorant, I just hear things, you know?”

“Trust me, I know.”

Sylvia was actually the fifty-second person Carl had to correct on the ‘blood of orphans’ assumption. Three hundred and sixty third if it was counted as a variation on ‘blood of innocents.’ It was also the two hundred and fifteenth time someone had mentioned suspect suppositories in Carl’s presence, though the pickle was a first. None of that was even close to the most common misconception, which was that forming a demonic contract required one to dance naked in the rain while wearing a freshly severed goat head as a hat. It was strangely specific for something that Carl had heard eight hundred and ninety nine times.

The devil didn’t complain about any of these, as keeping count of all the crazy shit mortals said during calls helped make the eternal boredom of the Beyond that tiny bit more tolerable.

“So, are you ready to receive the contract, Sylvia?”

“Yeah, hit me!”

*Click*

“Bleghut!”

The girl on the other end of the psychic connection transmitted a weird noise as the lengthy agreement slammed into her mind. At least she managed to avoid passing out, otherwise the connection between her and Carl would not still be active.

“You alright over there?”

“Ugh… massive headache, but otherwise fine. Damn, though. That’s a lot of stuff. Why don’t you guys break it up into chunks or something?”

“Because you need to agree to one contract, not five fifths of a contract.”

“Isn’t that basically the same thing?”

“No, it really isn’t. I assure you there is a reason for every seemingly inconsequential technicality.”

“Even demons aren’t free from the shackles of paperwork, huh?”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

For the one hundred and twenty-eighth time, he added internally.

“I’ll just give this a once over, yeah?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be available to answer any and all questions.”

“Oh, that’ll be a big help. Thanks, Carl.”

“Just doing my job, Sylvia.”

The two spent the next twenty minutes going over the contract. It was intentionally written in simple yet very specific terms and phrases that even the biggest idiot could understand. Even that proved too much of a challenge for a certain unnamed mimic, though. ‘Familiars do things that I tell them to’ and ‘familiars can’t kill me’ were the only two parts of the contract that monster actually comprehended. Those things established, it hurriedly moved the process along without paying much attention to the vast majority of clauses. Admittedly, those two were the most important, but it wasn’t until Boxxy’s Demonology Skill gained a few Levels that it understood the contract in its entirety.

Thankfully for the once-mimic, potential summoners didn’t need to fully comprehend or even read the summoning contract to be bonded to a familiar. They just had to say that they did, and Carl had no way of confirming whether they were telling the truth. He did, however, always make sure to remind the other party what would happen should their bonded familiar’s soul be damaged or extinguished. Even if it was extremely unlikely, Carl felt it was his duty to do everything in his power to prevent that from happening, regardless if the cause was malice, incompetence, or ignorance. Therefore, he was glad to find that Sylvia, while kind of dim, wasn’t a lost cause.

“What about this clause, 2-F? Something about using familiars as collateral?”

She was extremely thorough and nitpicky, to the point her behavior bordered on paranoia. This was the correct attitude one should have when dealing with demons, or long-term contracts in general. As for the clause in question, the wording in it hadn’t been completely streamlined yet since it was a very recent addition. The language would be dumbed down eventually, though the meaning behind it wouldn’t change.

“Basically, that means you should not perform any demonic rituals upon your bound familiar,” Carl explained. “Doing so could result in your immediate and terminal termination for endangering their immortal soul, as per clause 1-D.”

“Wait, you mean to tell me demonic rituals are real? Like, can I make freaky shit happen just by smearing the walls with blood, saying a bunch of nonsense, and shoving a carrot up my butt?”

Carl couldn’t help but notice how fixated this girl was on the idea of vegetables entering her back passage, but he wasn’t about to waste time and energy calling her out on it.

“I’m not authorized to disclose that information. You’ll have to find out the specifics for yourself.”

Instead, he gave her one of the many standard replies that were just nice ways of saying ‘not my job.’

“Ah. Right, okay.”

“Anything else I can help clarify?”

“No, no, I think that’s everything.”

“Then, do you hereby acknowledge that you have read, understood, and accepted the terms and conditions of the summoning contract presented to you by Demons ‘R’ Us?”

“I do.”

“Excellent. In that case, let’s move onto the questionnaire. First of all, with what species are you looking to form a covenant?”

“Err… What are my options? I’ve seen a few Warlocks strutting around town with their demons, but I have no idea what most of those are.”

“We currently have five types of familiars available – fiends, succubi, stalkers, beholders, and hellhounds. Would you like me to describe them in greater detail?”

“Yes, please.”

Carl spent the next several minutes going over each familiar’s general strengths and weaknesses. He held off delving into their subspecies for the moment, as that would be too much information to dump on a complete novice. By her own admission, Sylvia was totally ignorant of demonic lore, and it wasn’t Carl’s job to educate her. Her knowledge on the matter could expand overnight with the Demonology Skill, of course, but not many Warlocks opted to go down that path. One familiar was usually enough for them.

“Hmmm…”

This girl would probably be no different considering the difficulty she had deciding which was best for her. It wasn’t uncommon for a newbie to be indecisive, though they usually had a general idea what role their future familiar would fulfil.

“Say, Carl? Any chance I can get you to be my familiar?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m a devil that handles contracts and communication, I’m not on the list.”

“That’s a shame, you sound pretty handsome.”

“Really? I’ve been told I'm not much of a looker.”

“Ah. Well, your voice is way manlier than any of the wimps in my village, at least.”

“Whatever you say, miss. Now, can we please focus on the matter at hand?”

“Right, yeah, of course. So, here’s the thing, succubi are those big-breasted sluts, right?”

“That’s… not entirely inaccurate.”

“Is there a hunky male equivalent? Like, mancubus or something? Not that I’m planning anything weird! I just, like, would prefer my servant to be dreamy and attractive, you know? Someone that will fit my eventual station as a great person.”

“I understand, but I’m afraid there are no male succubi. There are some that favor the company of other women, though.”

“Ugh, I’ll pass.”

“If you’re looking for a ‘hunky’ demon, your best bet is a fiend.”

“Wait, aren’t those the big scary troll-faced brutes that never stop snarling?”

“Yes and no. Much like people, certain features vary wildly from demon to demon, even within the same species. For example, though all fiends are extremely well-built, quite a few of them can be considered highly attractive by human standards, be they female or male.”

“Hmm, I guess that makes sense. I don’t know, though, it seems like these fiends would be hard to boss around. I don’t think they’d take me seriously.”

“Yeah, it’s probably for the best if a total greenhorn like yourself avoids them. They’re the type that will try to stick their, uh, ‘equipment’ in someone’s butt the second you take your eyes off them.”

“… I’ll take a fiend, please.”

Carl’s lips curled in a smile as his hands flew across the console’s keypad, the phrase ‘hook, line and sinker’ floating in the back of his mind.

“Very good. Just to confirm, a male, yes?”

“Yes, definitely.”

*Taktaktaktaktak takakatak tak tak*

“Any height preference?”

“Err… How much of a difference will it make?”

“Well, fiends range from two and a quarter to three meters in height, though the average hovers around two and a half.”

“What about their, uh, proportions? Like arm-to-leg ratio and such?”

“Comparable to those of a human or elf, if a little girthy.”

“Then short. As short as possible. Yeah.”

*Tak tak tatatatatak*

“Would you like the fiend to be well-endowed?”

“Err… Uhm… I don’t… Uh…”

The direct question proved a little too much for the girl.

“I’ll just put down ‘something that won’t break a human-sized partner,’ shall I?” Carl offered.

“… Yes, please,” she squeaked in response.

*Tatak tatatak*

“Do you value strength, agility, or endurance more?”

“Uhm… endurance, I guess?”

*Tatak tak tak-tak*

“Any preference on melee weapon or fighting style?”

“Ah, will I have to provide them with gear?”

“You can, but you don’t have to. Fiends are able to conjure their own arms and armor.”

“In that case, I want someone that’s good at blocking and keeping me safe. Shield is a must.”

“Defensive it is.”

*Tak-tak-takakatak taktaktaktaktak*

“Would you prefer someone more experienced with battling people or monsters?”

“Monsters, I guess. It’s not like I’ll be fighting in any wars if I can help it. No, wait, there are bandits out there, so maybe… No, never mind. Let’s go with a monster fighter.”

*Taktaktaktaktak tak-tatak*

“Do you expect you and your familiar will see active combat more than twenty times a month on average?”

“Maybe? I don’t know how things will work out.”

“I’ll just put you down as ‘uncertain’ then, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

*Tak-tak tak*

“Any preference on skin color?” Carl moved on.

“Blue’s kinda cool. But, like, not that weak-ass sky blue. I’m talking proper, deep blue. Like so blue you wanna swim in it.”

“So, royal blue?”

“Not sure what that is, but it sounds fancy, so sure.”

*Tatatak tatak tak tak tak*

“What is your favorite domestic animal?”

“Uh… Cats are kinda cute, I guess?”

*Tatatatatak*

“Favorite author?”

“I don’t really have one. Books are expensive, y’know?”

*Takatak tak tak tatak*

“Do you like your tea with or without milk.”

“… Sorry, but what do these questions have to do with demons?”

“I don’t make the questions, miss. I just ask them, and if you want a demonic familiar, you answer. It’s just how this works. So, with or without milk?

“Haaah,” she sighed. “Without, I guess.”

*Taktaktaktak*

“Next, we have a hypothetical scenario. You’re walking down the road and you spot a couple of men passionately kissing in public. Do you: a) stop and confront them; b) stop and encourage them; c) walk past and ignore them?”

“Wow. Huh. Not really sure. Are they hot? I feel like I might get into it if they’re hot, but it would be really gross if they were fat old guys. I doubt I’d wanna get involved either way, though.”

“That sounds like a ‘c’ to me. Do you confirm?”

“Yep.”

“Alright.”

*Tatak taktak tak-ta-ta-tak*

“Hey, Carl? Sorry if I’m interrupting, but what’s up with all those clicky noises?”

“Oh, don’t worry about those. Just me doing my thing.”

*Tatatatatatak taktak*

“Wait, why did you suddenly make more of them?!”

“No particular reason.”

*Tatatak*

“But-!”

“Moving on,” the demon cut her off. “Do you use herbal shampoos, soaps, or ointments when bathing?”

“For the love of-!” Sylvia took a deep breath to center herself before continuing. “No.”

“Why not?”

“My family can’t afford them.”

*Tatatakatak*

“Are you right or left-handed?”

“Left.”

*Tak*

“When you were a child, who taught you how to read? Was it: a) a friend or relative; b) a professional teacher, mentor, or tutor; c) self-taught; d) none of the above.”

“A.”

*Taktak*

“A horse is running at fifty-three kilometers per hour chasing another horse going forty-seven kilometers per hour while running on the same road. If the starting distance between them is fourteen hundred meters, how long will it take for the first to catch the second?”

“Teresa’s tits, really?! Do I seriously have to solve math problems now?!”

“I just need an answer. Doesn’t have to be correct.”

“Oh. Five minutes, then.”

*Taktak tatatata-takakakatak tak-tak tatak-tak taktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktaktak takakataktaktak*

“… Did I mess up?”

“Yeah, your answer was way off.”

“No, I mean, the clacking was, like, reeeeally long that time, and-”

“Stay focused, Sylvia. Only two more questions left.”

“Al-alright.”

“Who’s your favorite deity?”

“… Huh. I never really thought about it. I mean my parents keep going on about how Teresa watches over us or whatever, but I never bought into that stuff. The Gods are just so detached from those of us that live at the bottom, you know? Besides, can I really have a favorite if I don’t really know anything about most of them?”

“I can put down ‘none’ if you want.”

“Hmm, do you have a favorite deity, Carl?”

“I suppose.”

“Then go with that one.”

“If you say so.”

*Taktak takakaktaktak tak-ta-ta-takat*

“Finally, I’m supposed to ask you about any special requests you might have regarding your familiar. Other than being ‘hunky,’ that is.”

“I don’t think so… Oh, right! Make sure they don’t have a beard. Actually, make that as little body hair as possible, but not bald.”

*Tak takaktaktak tak tak takakatak*

“Alright, that takes care of that. Now, all that’s left is to wait until a suitable unbound demon responds to your request. Once that happens, I’ll finalize the contract and get in touch with you to let you know.”

“How long will that take?”

“Hard to say, really. Could be anywhere between a few minutes and a few months.”

“That’s… a lot longer than I was expecting.”

“This is potentially a lifelong commitment. It’s not something you should rush.”

“I kinda need one by tomorrow, though. It is literally a case of life and death. Could you, I dunno, speed it up somehow?”

Carl sincerely doubted she was using the literal meaning of the word ‘literally,’ but arguing semantics wasn’t in his job description.

“There are ways to expedite the process, yes,” he confirmed. “I can mark several of your requirements as optional. For example, if you just want any male fiend that favors a defensive fighting style, that’ll usually get you a response within twelve hours. However, then you’d have no guarantee they’re hunky, short, or adequately equipped.”

“Please do that, then.”

“You got it.”

*Takakatak taktak*

“You’re all set, Sylvia. Demons ‘R’ Us will contact you the instant your new familiar is all set up and ready to be summoned.”

“Cool. Great. Thanks a lot, Carl.”

“That’s quite alright. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Actually-”

“Anything relating to demons, contracts, or the Beyond in general,” he added in a hurry.

“… No. That’ll be all.”

“In that case, thank you for calling Demons ‘R’ Us. We’ll be in touch.”

*Click*

“Ugh, finally!” Carl groaned as he slumped back into his seat. “These first-time calls always drag on way too long.”

“It’d probably last a lot less if you didn’t ask all those pointless questions.”

The demon voicing that opinion was a handsome, blue-skinned fiend. More precisely, it was a skull fiend. Their kind exerted their dominance by controlling the flow of a fight with a slow and methodical fighting style that gradually backed their opponent into a corner. This particular individual favored the sword and shield and was a complete match for Sylvia’s stated preferences. His presence in Carl’s office was no mere coincidence, as the Demon King’s familiar matchmaking system had singled him out before the questionnaire was even finished. Having received the offer remotely, the fiend named Selthaulrax Drezzuboi immediately visited his agent to finalize a few things. He was eager to be summoned after an extended period of non-activity, hence why he had been sitting in the corner and anxiously tapping his foot for the past while.

“They’re not pointless,” Carl replied. “I’m not sure on the specifics, but I’m told the data collected from those surveys helps the Progenitor make his predictions about the future.”

“The fuck does tea and milk have to do with anything, though?”

“Don’t ask me, I just follow the script,” Carl said with a shrug.

“Fair enough, but why the wait? Shouldn’t I be on my way to the physical realm by now?”

“It’s because your new master is a moron. Desperate, too, which is the best kind of moron. See, the more she has to wait for you, the more anxious she’ll grow as her ‘life or death’ event approaches. So, she’ll appreciate the fact that you’re a perfect match far more than she would have otherwise and will probably let her guard down. And what do moronic young girls do when their desperation clouds their judgement? Stupid things that get them killed and leave their familiar – that’s you – unshackled and unbound.”

Carl used this tactic every now and then, but it didn’t work on everyone. If the mortal he was setting up with a familiar was, say, an amoral, unfeeling monster without a shred of urgency in its thoughts, then there would be no point in delaying the contract.

“Ohhh. Yeah, okay. I’m gonna be a total scrub out there, though.”

“Eh, you’ll get over it.”

Once a demon became unbound from their summoner, they became their own entity, which had a number of effects. The main one was that their Status would no longer be limited to someone else’s power, which allowed them to grow in Levels and Skills just like any other monster or adventurer. The downside was that gaining Job XP and Proficiency would happen at a greatly reduced rate compared to mortals. Being unshackled also meant their bodies would grow weak and lethargic without food. They wouldn’t die of hunger, but it would certainly get them killed if they didn’t maintain their strength with adequate sustenance.

“Besides,” Carl continued, “that girl sounded like she’s willing to literally leap into your lap. You should’ve heard the interest in her voice.”

“Fuck if I care,” Selthaulrax grunted in response. “There’s no fun if they give themselves over willingly. I’m nothing like that six-armed freak you work with.”

“Oh, right. Sorry about that. I forgot you guys are usually the ‘rape and escape’ type.”

An archfiend willingly accepting consensual sex? It was practically unheard of. Why, it was positively scandalous. Nobody dared say that to Kora’s face, though. Hierarchy was a very important thing in the Beyond, especially among fiends, and that woman was both a Ranker and a familiar to the Hero of Chaos. Plus, she basically had the Progenitor on speed dial and was rumored to have had intimate relations with an actual goddess. All of this gave her a social standing just one level below an Overlord, despite the fact that she was both a deviant and relatively young.

“I think being Boxxy’s liaison might have warped my standards a little bit,” Carl mumbled while stroking his goatee.

His office door burst open before Selthaulrax could respond, and one of the sleaziest existences in the Beyond oozed through. The intruding demon’s soul-self seemed strangely squishy and malleable to the point she looked like some form of slime queen. Which she definitely wasn’t, even though she wouldn’t mind getting slimy if it was with the right box.

“Heey Caaaaaaarl,” Xera slurred loudly. “Ohhh! You have companyyy! Uhehehehe! I didn’t know you swung that way, Caaaarl!”

“Gary-dammit, not again,” the devil grumbled. “Seth, maybe you should come back later.”

“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it, man. I’m outta here.”

The turtle fiend’s soul-self dissolved into a tiny ball of shimmering malice, which darted out of the office and past the jelly-fied Xera with all due haste. Carl sighed and leaned over in his chair to press a special button underneath his desk. After a faint click, a dark-red glow enveloped his office’s floor, walls, and ceiling while sealing the only way in or out.

“Alright, let’s hear it,” the bearded demon beckoned. “What happened this time?”

“Ohhh, Caaaaarl! It was uh-maaaaazing!” Xera wailed. “I just had every muscle, eeeevery fiber of my being violently tooooorn apart and put back together as Master claimed me for its oooown! Just thinking about it makes me, hhnnnn, shiver in delight!”

It wasn’t just the pleasure-drunk ex-succubus, but the entire room that shuddered in response to that throaty moan. There was a good chance the place might’ve been ripped apart if not for Carl preemptively reinforcing the place with the ‘cage.’ It was a little something that his boss installed after that one time an outburst from Kora nearly tore apart the Demons ‘R’ Us building. She and Xera seemed either unwilling or unable to control the influence they had on the Beyond’s unstable nature, so this sort of thing was necessary to ensure the building’s integrity.

After all, it was inevitable that even Weaxohn’s thoughts would become fragile when stretched this thin.

“And theeen! And theeeen!” she continued. “I felt Master’s essence violate my soooul! Do you know what that feeeeels like? Do you, Caaaarl?”

She may have been exaggerating, but there was indeed a brief moment during the Malefic Union where both summoner and familiar would technically share the same vessel. The latter would then be ejected and returned to the Beyond before either could suffer any permanent damage. This resulted in certain side-effects for the Warlock, such as the familiar’s lingering essence twisting their personality and influencing their decisions. The demonic entity, on the other hand, would barely feel a thing. Unless, of course, they were either stupid or twisted enough to cling to their conjured flesh while it was being absorbed by their master’s until the last possible moment. While not a danger to their immortal soul, they would be forced to experience an excruciating agony so intense it would linger in the mind long after they had lost the physical ability to sense pain.

“It feels reaaaaaly gooooood, Caaaaaarl!” Xera moaned while flopping around on the floor. “Boxxy is the fuuuuckiiiiing beeeest!”

Which was extremely satisfying if the recipient happened to be a hopeless and irredeemable pervert.

“I swear, they don’t pay me nearly well enough to deal with this shit.”

Far less so for the masochist’s manager.

Chapter Four
Birds of a Feather

Part One

“Woah. I’d heard someone wrecked the place, but even tornadoes have more tact than this.”

Kuro marveled at the devastation in front of him. It was his first time seeing the aftermath of what Orrin called a ‘Realm Scar’ from four days ago. The abrasive wolfkin initially disregarded it as simply the flowery words of a well-meaning if overtly-religious nutjob. In truth, the giant only called it that because he had misheard the demonic stranger’s chanting while observing her remotely. It was quite apt, regardless.

“It’s like someone cleaved the earth with a castle-sized sword,” Kuro murmured, still in awe. “Think it’ll become a landmark or monument or something?”

“I wouldn’t bet the farm on it,” Nao butted in. “As… impressive as it is, this scenery will be gone in a month.”

“What’d you mean?”

“Things on Velos grow several times faster than on Atica, it’s a quirk of the land,” the Hero of Magic explained. “The jungle and its creatures spread so rapidly that it is immensely difficult for the locals to clear away enough space to build and maintain new settlements. Why else do you think the Eight Tribes are packed so tightly around the shoreline?”

“So, they’re constantly at war with the very land they live on? No wonder Axel fancies this place so much.”

“Well, it has its upsides. It cleansed itself of that leftover Blight infection rather quickly. I’m told it was so thick it appeared like a cloud, yet you can’t even feel it at present.”

It also helped that Solus and Teresa’s followers were on hand to help cleanse the area, but the environment’s rapid lifecycle had certainly contributed to its speedy dispersal. There was a good chance the soil would’ve been able to cleanse itself of the Blight without assistance, assuming there were no undead shambling around to continue spreading it. Unfortunately, neither the land’s overflowing vitality nor the Inquisition’s clergy could do anything about the curse etched into the ground. Dispelling such foul magic required learned Enchanters or Wizards, and, luckily for the locals, Nao was both. Kuro was, as per usual, mostly there to keep his sworn brother out of trouble.

[You tread upon cursed ground.]
[The effectiveness of all Attributes has been reduced by 24%.]

It was therefore rather embarrassing that this sudden dip in strength and agility made him trip over his own feet and fall face-first into the tainted soil.

“You alright, Kuro?”

The bookworm had already been informed of the curse’s effects and handled the transition with a lot more grace.

“Ugh, yeah. I’ll be fine,” the taller man replied. “Just gotta get used to this.”

“You didn’t have to come this close with me, you know. The Inquisition have already secured the area.”

Nao gestured to the hastily erected fence around the site and the human soldiers patrolling it. One would think the local government would be involved, but the Imperial Inquisition denied them access. As one would imagine, the Eight Tribes’ chieftains were none too happy with the way these people were throwing their weight around. Even if they had come to help curb the orc threat, they were still a foreign military force, so allowing them to claim territory in such a blatant manner had some troublesome political implications. Then again, as Sigmund kindly pointed out to their leaders, this particular plot of land didn’t belong to anyone, so the locals had no valid reason to complain.

“That may be so, but someone has to carry you out of here if you end up passing out from over-exertion.”

Kuro crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow as he reminded Nao of his chronic tendency to obsess over his research.

“Oh, don’t be silly. That only happened one time.”

“Really? Because I distinctly remember at least six separate occasions where I found you passed out face-first in a book.”

“Uh… That was all in the past. I’m not so irresponsible anymore.”

“You literally fell asleep on the flight over because you were reading up on orc biology all night. Either that or you were practicing more of that ‘hip magic’ with-”

“Okay!” Nao interrupted. “Alright, you’ve made your point. If you’re going to hover over me, could you at least make yourself useful?”

The Enchanter opened his Item Box and took out a special tool that appeared to be a long metal stake with a crystal-encrusted box on top.

“Oh, one of those. Sure thing, give it here.”

Kuro took the object and drove the oversized nail as deep into the ground as it would go in one motion, then let his adoptive sibling do his thing. Nao observed the panel on top as various crystals flickered on and off in rapid succession. He kept studying it for a solid fifteen minutes, occasionally pressing down on a few of them with soft clicks. Once satisfied, he instructed Kuro to relocate the mana measuring device, called an arcanometer, to another spot twenty meters away. The pair repeated this process a total of twenty-six times as they circled the scarred landscape, then vacated the contaminated area. An Inquisition Scribe in a short-sleeved set of fancy silk clothes approached the pair as soon as they were in the clear.

“Good afternoon, Master Shoki, Master Kuro,” he said, putting his hand forward.

“Oh, Mr. Jameson, was it?” Nao shook it.

“Indeed. I’m honored you remembered me.”

It would have been practically impossible for the beastkin to forget considering he’d been officially introduced to this elegant gentleman that same morning. His full name was Gerard Jameson, and he was the administrative overseer of this little camp. He was otherwise preoccupied when the wolf-men arrived and hadn’t had the chance to trade more than a few words.

“‘Sup, pencil-neck?” Kuro waved in a casual manner. “Out here to get your hands dirty?”

“Not quite. I wanted to inquire about the state of your investigation,” he politely stated. “Have you figured out what plagues this plot of land?”

“I have indeed,” the Hero of Magic confirmed. “I’d actually deduced the nature of the curse almost immediately, but had to make sure how far it had spread.”

“Wonderful. Care to enlighten the Imperial Inquisition?”

“What you have here is an Essence Leech hex. It’s quite rare and is typically only seen in relics or places that carry strong demonic taint. I believe your men encountered pockets of it in the aftermath of the Watford Blackout incident.”

“That is… most concerning,” the clerk said grimly. “Are you saying this mysterious demon might compare to an Overlord?”

“Hardly. There would have been a lot more devastation if an entity of such power was responsible. The scale just isn’t right.”

Though the damaged area was sizable, it could not compete with the Four Great Apocalypse Magics that the Overlords wielded. Not to mention that the curse wasn’t even all that potent, relatively speaking. Yes, 24% reduction in Attribute effectiveness was nothing to laugh at, but Nao knew of instances where the effects were more potent and lingered even after leaving the cursed area. Those were just historical records, though. This was his first time encountering Essence Leech in person, but he was able to identify since it exhibited the same effects and properties as described in a book titled ‘Arcana Obscura.’

“That is reassuring,” the Scribe let out a sigh of relief. “Though I personally was not present at Watford, many of the troops stationed here were. I am quite sure they would not be thrilled by the notion of facing a similar tragedy. At the same time, not knowing anything about this potential threat can be just as worrisome. May I ask if you can tell us anything about the caster, Master Shoki?”

“I have some ideas, but I’d rather not share baseless speculation and conjecture. There’s one thing I’m certain of, however. This Realm Scar was the work of a powerful individual with access to demonic power, but it need not be a demon specifically.”

“I understand. What about this curse they left behind? How do we treat it?”

“That’s actually quite simple. As its name suggests, the curse feeds off the essence of whoever comes into contact with it. It will disperse on its own if you just starve it out, so you only need to make sure nothing living enters the area. Or undead, for that matter.”

“So, keep doing what we’ve been doing?’

“Pretty much,” Nao confirmed with a nod. “That’s the good news. The bad news is this will take anywhere from two weeks to two months to dissipate. It’s quite difficult to be more specific.”

“What about the continent’s overabundant life force? Would that accelerate the process?”

“It might. Or, it could sustain it and delay its disappearance. Worst case, though practically impossible, it starts growing and engulfs the entire continent. I should be able to tell you more after I monitor the site for a few more days. For now, your boss might want to get the local government involved to help maintain the perimeter and keep the jungle from swallowing it up.”

Jameson was highly doubtful that would happen considering what his briefing stated. The Grand Inquisitor had sealed the area off from the Eight Tribes because he wanted to keep them from studying this place. He had seen the sort of corruption that dabbling in such heretical magic could breed, and wanted to keep the raptors from repeating the Empire’s mistakes if at all possible. That was why only Nao was allowed this far in, as the chosen of the Goddess of Magic and Learning would surely not try to abuse whatever dark knowledge could be gleaned here.

“Understood, I will relay your suggestions to my superiors.”

That said, the Scribe in charge of the quarantine zone’s administration made sure not to involve the young-looking Hero in such matters, and merely offered some polite words.

“There is one other matter, Master Shoki,” he added. “A message arrived for you while you were conducting your investigation.”

The human official handed Nao a sealed, super-sized envelope bearing the Solar Crest on its wax seal.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Jameson.”

“You’re quite welcome. Now, I must attend to my duties. Please do not hesitate to contact me should you require anything further.”

The man left the two beastkin with another respectful bow.

“Wow, what a prick,” Kuro mumbled after the official was out of earshot. “Who does he think he is, interrogating you like that?”

“They’re called the Inquisition,” Nao rolled his eyes. “It’s their job to interrogate people. Hint’s in the name.”

“You really need to get mad more, bro. Otherwise, people are just gonna keep pushing you around.”

“Mhm.”

The Hero clearly wasn’t listening since he was busy unfolding and reading the giant-sized missive.

“By the way, would a certain Sandman be involved in one of those ‘conjectures’ you mentioned?”

That got his attention, though.

“The thought did cross my mind, but, like I said, I don’t have any evidence to support that theory.”

“Come off it. Who else do we know that dabbles in demonic powers that much?”

Well, they didn’t really ‘know’ the man considering they only met briefly two years ago, and Nao was passed out at the time, but it was hard to argue with his reputation.

“Just because we don’t know of others doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” Nao mumbled as he skimmed the letter once more. “More importantly, we need to move. Orrin tells me they’ve managed to gather enough orcs at Castle Arin for our needs.”

One would think obtaining 3,719 greenskin corpses would have been a simple task considering the jungle was crawling with them, but it really wasn’t. While the enlightened coalition had killed over twelve-thousand greenskins since Nao’s arrival, most of their bodies were not exactly usable. The ones that Hesk’s platoon fought, for instance, got turned into zombie chimney food. The undead ones that Orrin and Sigmund found, on the other hand, were reduced to dust by their holy magic. Of that first fateful day, only Keira’s group had produced usable corpses, though that only applied to a fraction of the mangled and scorched bodies left in the team’s wake. Collecting the intact ones also had to be handled carefully since the Hero of Magic had been adamant about keeping his book’s existence a secret. Under these circumstances, meeting the body quota in less than a week was already more than acceptable, especially since the most pressing threat seemed to have passed.

After notifying the Inquisition official of his imminent departure, Nao opened a Gate that transported himself and Kuro to Castle Arin’s outskirts. Well, technically it was two successive Gates, but that was necessary since the distance was rather large and Nao’s MP pool was not infinite. Once back in the fortress, they met up with Orrin and Gux, who led them to the entrance of a heavily guarded brick warehouse.

“Hold on a minute,” the giant told the two beastkin before any could go inside. “Gux, do your thing, will you?”

The razorscale raptor nodded in agreement, then calmly channeled his magic.

“Air Bubble.”

A highly transparent spherical membrane wrapped itself around the slightly delusional lizard-man’s head. He repeated the process three more times, once for each of his companions.

“What’s all this?” Kuro asked while poking at the see-through film of magic around his face.

“A precaution,” the lizard stated plainly. “Unless the black one wishes to experience the smell of over four thousand dead orcs that have been held in a hot room for a few days? Gux guarantees it is quite unforgettable.”

His words sounded like a genuine recommendation rather than a warning, which made Kuro cringe with disgust.

“Uh… I’ll pass, thanks.”

After confirming everyone was ready, Orrin pushed the large barn-like door open and shut it closed as soon all four were inside. Once inside, they were immediately confronted with the body pile in question, though the phrase ‘four thousand dead orcs’ was woefully inadequate to describe just how revolting it was. The mere sight of this bloody flesh heap was so overwhelming that Nao threw up on the spot despite Gux’s odor-blocking enchantment. Even Kuro, who was no stranger to gore, guts, and bile, felt a bit sick. The other two seemed to have grown accustomed to this particular sight, so they were mostly unaffected.

“You alright there, lad?” Orrin asked as he kneeled over the retching beastkin.

“Don’t call me ‘lad’ you big buffoon!” the boyish beastkin snapped, much to the giant’s surprise. “S-sorry, I was just, urk, caught by surprise.”

After spending a few moments gathering his wits and drinking some medicine to pacify his queasy stomach, Nao rose to his feet and pulled his godly grimoire out of his pocket dimension. He told the others to hang back and approached the corpse pile while waking the divine tome from its slumber. The face made up of floating scribbles appeared shortly and spoke to its owner in an enigmatic voice that changed tone and inflexion with every word.

“The Librarium Infinitus Arcana Refactorium stands ready to hear thy query, o’ blessed child of the moons.”

“LIAR, I wish to know all of the details surrounding Gutzstompa’s rise to power.”

“Query received. Compiling… Done. Thy fee amounts to: three thousand four hundred and fifty six adult orc corpses. Doth thou agree to these terms?”

It would appear the price had been lowered now that Nao knew more about the situation. He really should have checked the thing more regularly, but at the end of the day it wasn’t too big of a discount. If anything, this was actually rather worrisome. Nao felt it should have been much cheaper now that he was aware of the Boneshaper’s hand in this. Unless… Were the Heroes mistaken about the undead overlord’s involvement? Thankfully, he didn’t have to ponder the implications, as the answers were two words away.

“I accept.”

“Approval received. Commencing transaction, please stand by.”

Countless slender tendrils of ink burst out of the floating book’s pages and stabbed into the corpse pile. There was a cacophony of disgusting squelches as precisely 3,456 orcish corpses were skewered in rapid succession. The tendrils then began to leak a goopy substance, which spread over the mass of dead greenskins, staining them with a sort of wet blackness. A series of sloshing noises echoed inside the warehouse as the book, for lack of a better word, slurped up the bodies. One could clearly see clumps of fluid travel up those slender limbs and disappear into its pages, never to be seen again. If a certain ex-mimic had witnessed this, it would have found the similarity between this and its Cadaver Absorption quite uncanny.

It took about two minutes for the LIAR to process the orc corpses, leaving several hundred of them and all of their primitive equipment behind as ‘change.’

“Transaction complete,” it stated in a dull monotone. “Executing query… Done. Transmitting results.”

A single black tendril like the ones from earlier shot out of its spine, circling around Nao and jabbing him in the back of the head at the base of his skull. The beastkin shuddered and shook for a few seconds as the relevant information was deposited directly into his mind. The sensation wasn’t painful, but still quite uncomfortable. Once this part was over, the grimoire released him and returned to normal.

“Query complete,” it reported. “The Librarium Infinitus Arcana Refactorium thanks thee for thy patronage and wishes thee an enlightened day.”

The arcane tome instantly reverted back to its original appearance as a white tome with no title and deposited itself back into Nao’s Item Box.

“Ugh, never can get used to that,” Nao mumbled while rubbing the back of his head.

“You alright over there?” Orrin called out.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Can one of you go grab Sigmund? He’ll want to hear this.”

“Teresa’s Hammer is currently preoccupied negotiating with the heads of the Eight Tribes on matters of politics and jurisdiction,” Gux explained. “It is unlikely he will be available unless it is urgent.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t think it is, but you never know…”

“Why don’t we get the fuck out of here so you Hero types can do your important talking while I go take all the showers?”

The others readily agreed with Kuro’s suggestion and vacated the warehouse. True to his word, Nao’s bodyguard immediately went to scrub himself clean, insisting that he now reeked of dead orcs. The others instructed the Inquisition guards to scorch the interior with copious amounts of fire, then convened in the same meeting room from their first meeting.

“Yo! *Munch munch* You boys get what you need from the dead?”

There they found Kaede, who was already sitting in one of the chairs with her feet on the table and a half-eaten apple in her hand. That piece of fruit begged several questions, such as where she got it or how she managed to take a bite of it with her mask on, but there was a more pressing concern on Orrin’s lips.

“Kaede? How did you know-”

“Never mind the small stuff, big guy. Let’s skip straight to the juicy bits.”

Seeing no reason to object, Heroes gathered around the table, after which Nao began explaining what the LIAR had revealed. Gutzstompa’s hidden ally was someone named Aleister. He was an intelligent and powerful type of undead called a Blight Lord, and one of the Boneshaper’s lieutenants. He had been helping the massive greenskin amass power from the shadows for nearly a decade, which was how this super-sized Rampage came to be. The Blight Lord’s machinations were meant to serve a twofold purpose – weaken the continent’s defenders, then use the warlord and his ilk to fuel the creation of a so-called smokestack. Or ‘plague belcher,’ if one were to use the proper terminology. Aleister accomplished this by implanting Gutzstompa with something called a Blighted Symbiote, presumably one of his previously unknown species’ Skills. Apparently, this ‘gift’ boosted the orc’s already considerable strength and vitality while he was alive, which was how he was able to obtain kraken-like levels of HP. It was also responsible for his reanimation and subsequent transformation, implying Aleister was going to have the warlord killed one way or another.

To nobody’s surprise, the Blight Lord’s ultimate goal was the subjugation and conquest of Velos. That motive could easily have been interpreted as the Boneshaper finally making his move against the rest of the civilized world, but the LIAR made it clear this wasn’t the case. Aleister had arrived on this continent without his master’s knowledge or permission to pursue his own ambitions. This revelation hinted at some sort of internal power struggle within the Boneshaper’s ranks, something none of the Heroes present had considered beforehand. They really should have. The wonderful thing called ‘free will’ led to all kinds of unexpected developments, hidden machinations, and, as the God of Gambling might say, wacky shenanigans.

“So, this Aleister guy, is he still on Velos?” Orrin asked after Nao was finished.

“I have no idea,” the beastkin shook his head. “I can ask LIAR once it wakes up, but I imagine it’s going to demand another hefty tithe for that information. Might take another week to get any more answers, and that’s if we’re lucky.”

“That’s too much of a delay,” Kaede butted in, having finished her apple without anyone noticing. “This scheming scum-sucker would surely have initiated a back-up plan of some kind if he hasn’t already.”

“What makes you certain he has one?” the wolfkin asked.

“Because the guy is clearly skilled at employing deception and subterfuge. I know, it doesn’t fit the undead stereotype where even the supposedly smart ones like liches can’t help but flaunt their power, but think about it. It can’t be mere coincidence that Gutzstompa showed up on top of Hesk like that just after the Heroes arrived on Velos. I bet he’s got a bunch of spies tracking our every move.”

It was hard to argue with Kaede. The enlightened certainly didn’t try to hide their activities since the only time the words ‘orc’ and ‘subtlety’ were in the same sentence was when one had to state the former’s lack of the latter. Under the circumstances, it would not have been too difficult for Aleister to gather information without anyone noticing. It may have all been conjecture, but it was hard to argue with the idea that the series of events leading up to the plague belcher’s appearance had been orchestrated. After all, the ‘smokestack’ would have certainly not survived the full fury of the Axel’s Eternal Crusade, yet it seemed to have conveniently missed that.

That said, even if Aleister set the whole thing up, he clearly didn’t anticipate the mysterious figure that annihilated his creation with that Realm Scar.

“Hmm, you raise a good point,” Orrin thoughtfully stroked his beard. “On second thought, I think it would be best if I go and inform Sigmund of this matter right away.”

“Didn’t Gux say he was busy?” Nao asked.

“Trust me, he will not mind in the slightest. He is a man of incredible valor and respectable muscles. He’s not the kind to waste his time with politics when such evil is afoot.”

“That’s true. I suppose I should inform Keira as well when I get the chance.”

“This reminds Gux, what of the Crimson Lotus?” the raptor spoke up. “Gux has not seen her since after the Blighted Tower fell.”

“Oh, she’s busy helping the locals with the orcs however she can.”

Even if the ‘head’ had been cut off, the grunts and warlords Gutzstompa had unified under the same banner were still a problem.

“Really, now?” Kaede asked, her voice oozing with doubt. “I’m pretty sure she said she was ‘super glad she missed the shit-storm for once’ and that she was ‘looking forward to gibbing some greenies for funsies.’ Or, something to that effect.”

Incidentally, the juvenile reaper was still around because there were no ships going north for the next two weeks. She was stuck on Velos whether she liked it or not, so she figured she might as well make herself useful. Though their master-pupil relationship was relatively brief, Boxxy’s industrious personality had rubbed off on her, as had a few other, less respectable traits. Like her habit of spying on people.

“I feel the need to point out that was a private conversation,” Nao protested.

“Hey, I just happened to overhear it by chance.”

“Really now? By chance? Late at night? In the privacy of my own quarters?”

“It’s not my fault you two talk so loudly.”

The wolfkin let out a deep sigh and made a mental note to eavesdrop-proof his room later today before he continued.

“Look, she only says that because it helps her cope. I’m sure deep down she feels guilty for not being there when you and Hesk needed her, even if there’s nothing she could’ve done. That’s why she’s doing everything she can now to make up for it.”

The Hero of Magic was, of course, completely wrong, as the ‘deep down’ version of the Hero of Chaos was rather elated to hear Hesk was no longer around. After all, that raptor was Axel’s Hero, which made her a potential threat to the monster’s existence. While not a major risk and certainly easier to deal with than Sigmund and his Inquisition, she was a threat, nonetheless. The shapeshifter had also been unusually honest with Nao when it told him it was going to slaughter orcs as a form of recreation.

That was precisely what Boxxy was up to while the other Heroes were too busy to spy on it. It waded through a roving warband of orcs like a tornado of steel and teeth, ripping them to shreds as it attacked without restraint. It didn’t even bother using weapons or Spells, it just tore them apart limb from limb with pure shapeshifting and unrestrained Skill Use. Sometimes it took the shape of a vaguely arachnid abomination, other times it charged them head-on and flattened them in a fiend-like manner. The most satisfying method was pretending to be one of their own, sneaking into a roaming warband, then gutting them when their backs were turned. That said, its actions weren’t all that helpful in the grand scheme of things. Its massacres were conducted so far from the Eight Tribes’ territory that it was extremely unlikely any of its victims would ever have been a danger to the raptor populace. It was fairly certain this bunch weren’t even part of Gutzstompa’s Rampage to begin with considering how disorganized they were.

“Damn, boss! Leave some for me, will ya?!”

Kora complained as she chased after her Master and stepped over unrecognizable piles of orc meat.

“No, these are mine! Find your own!”

“I can’t exactly do that when you mind-fucked one of their warlords!”

The orc in question had been enslaved by Boxxy’s Mind Control and was stiffly roaming around the area. The shapeshifter was using him to call out to the grunts through the Green Tide, ordering or challenging them to converge on its location. The only way the archfiend would get to pummel one of these green meatheads was if she was allowed to put some distance between herself and her master. She wasn’t, for the sole purpose that she was extremely recognizable as Sandman’s familiar. Yes, there were other red-skinned, green-haired female pit fiends out there, but Arms was the only one with that many, well, arms. It may have let her run wild at first, but it could no longer risk someone making a connection between the Sandman and the ‘mysterious demon’ that flattened the smokestack. As far as the world was concerned, the shady mercenary was not currently on Velos, and Boxxy wanted to keep it that way. The only reason Kora was even ‘out’ was because Claws was keeping an eye out for peepers and eavesdroppers, which seemed to be in frighteningly high supply around here. Not only among the Heroes, but also a plethora of entities of either the divine or demonic persuasion.

Hey. Just wanted to let you know I smoothed things over with Lunar. She got a bit pissy over the Realm Scar thing (love that name, by the way) but I managed to convince her it was necessary. Mostly so she’d shut up and stop bothering me, but she ended up forgiving you along the way. For the record, I was actually pretty stoked with what you showed me. Never personally seen someone stack magic boosters that high before, it was quite the show.

You can consider this message and subsequent partial refund on your spent FTH as symbols of my appreciation for what you’re doing. Keep up the good work!

[You have received a divine revelation from the Goddess of Happenstance. FTH +10.]

Well, that was rather unexpected. It had been a very long time since Boxxy last heard from Fernando. It wasn’t going to complain about the extra FTH, which was quite hard to come by, but being outright praised? Even this amoral monster could recognize something was wrong with that. Egbert standing up for Boxxy, even if it was ‘along the way,’ was also a bit out of character considering the God of Misfortune was significantly more hands-off than his fellow deities. The shapeshifter’s recent interactions with the other Heroes had confirmed this over and over again. Knowing Peggy’s personality, Boxxy took her message to mean that the ‘incident’ set in motion a series of events she’d be more than happy to watch unfold. This implied it was best if the chest-obsessed shapeshifter got its square butt off Velos before things got messier. It wouldn’t have involved itself as much if it knew the Boneshaper was involved before it deleted that smokestack thing. Raising the ire of one of the most powerful beings in existence was not on the doppelganger’s agenda.

“Snack,” it called out telepathically, “is Fizzy done yet?”

“She says she mostly is, Master,” the djinn replied after a few seconds. “She’s also asking if that means you will be returning to town.”

“Yes, it does. Stand by for Transfamiliar.”

Boxxy could have used other means, but the calculations necessary to make a Wizard’s spatial magic work were a colossal pain in the lid. It was far easier and slightly faster to use a Warlock’s Beyond-themed equivalent. The shapeshifter briefly wondered what would happen if it were to invoke Transfamiliar in the divine language, but it didn’t exactly have the spare FTH to use that method willy-nilly. Plus, it was entirely unnecessary, as even the normal version allowed it to swap places with Xera and appear next to the mithril golem in a puff of green smoke.

“Hey, Boxxy,” Fizzy cheerfully greeted it. “Did you have fun?”

“Lots. Shame orcs taste so bad. Would’ve had a feast otherwise. What about you?”

The radiant Paladin was currently in Service Mode, as she had spent most of the day surveying the area for magic metals and minerals. She still had some dried-up blood stains on her though, as combat was inevitable even if her primary objective was excavation.

“It was so-so,” she shrugged. “I’m not used to the glove yet, so I’m pretty sure I missed some stuff.”

She held up the brass-plated metal gauntlet on her right arm. It had six oval-shaped gemstones embedded in it – a small one on each knuckle and a much larger one in its palm – each emitting its own distinctly colored glow. The item was a good fit for her tiny hand, which was only natural since it was made by gnomes. The moon-dwelling kind, to be more specific. It was called Seeker’s Grasp and was the only Artifact that Tascuna’s natives had in their possession. They had gifted it to her as a form of thanks for saving their collective asses two years ago and helping them reconnect to the ‘world below.’ Aside from attaining a satisfying degree of shininess once the metal was sufficiently polished, it allowed the wielder to scan the ground for even more shinies. It was a fine prize befitting of the world’s shiniest golem, at least in Boxxy’s opinion.

“But did you find something good?” it asked in a slightly excited tone.

“Yup, quite a few things,” she stated triumphantly while gesturing at the Bags of Holding piled up against a nearby tree. “The highlight has to be this head-sized chunk of mithril, though.”

“An entire chunk of mithril? Where did you dig that up?”

“Over there.”

Fizzy pointed over her shoulder at an unreasonably deep hole in the ground about ten meters away. Upon seeing it, however, Boxxy realized ‘dig’ was probably not the right word for how that ore had been acquired. ‘Ripped out of the earth itself’ was a far more apt phrase considering it looked more like an exit wound than an excavation.

“It had a large Star Sapphire in it,” Fizzy continued, “and I’m pretty sure part of it’s mutated into scourged orichalcum. Wasn’t much of it, though, maybe enough for a ring or some other small trinket. I’ll know more once I get it properly appraised. Before you ask – no, scourged orichalcum is not all that shiny.”

It actually looked like rusty or tarnished metal with a slightly green hue, certainly not something that would meet Boxxy’s standards.

“Well, that’s rather disappointing. Then again, I could say the same thing about this entire blasted continent. All this jungle terrain and not a single thing tastes good. Not even the raptors have any decent flavor, and I’m running out of human jerky.”

Admittedly, the shapeshifter had explored a very tiny part of Velos thus far, but what it saw left it devoid of any desire to see more. Even if the maps said it had more land mass than Atica, the endless jungles made for a mind-numbingly boring trek. It would’ve been far less dull if something could actually be considered a danger to Boxxy, but that simply wasn’t the case. The wholesale slaughter of weaklings was starting to get rather monotonous, especially since the corpses were not worth eating. It wasn’t as if the shapeshifter was looking for ‘worthy opponents,’ but it would’ve at least liked to find a creature or person that would last for more than a few rounds of ‘Hide the Knife.’ The only exceptions were the orc warlords, of which it was running out, and that Blight-spewing spire, which was already annihilated.

“Right, let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” Boxxy suggested.

“Please do!”

Fizzy took off the Seeker’s Grasp and spread her arms wide as if asking for a hug. The shapeshifter coiled itself around her, filling every nook and cranny it could find with countless, tiny, tongue-like nubs. It meticulously scrubbed off all the dirt, grime, and blood while Fizzy giggled as if she was being tickled. This lasted for several minutes until the compact golem was utterly spotless, at which point Boxxy peeled itself away from her. The mithril woman looked at her immaculate frame in mild wonderment. She was so radiant the light bouncing off her looked brighter than the actual sun beams she was reflecting.

“Woah! New metal polish?” she asked excitedly.

“Yup! Got the formula for it from one of Orrin’s people. I’m told it’s a special ointment they use to shine the Sun God’s relics. You like it?”

“Very much so! Thanks, Boxxy!”

The metal golem gave the doppelganger a hug so tight it would have made any other meatbag’s head pop clean off. She also got a bit too excited and accidentally upped the voltage coursing through her. It didn’t hurt the shapeshifter, but was enough to make it feel a profound tingling sensation. The monster didn’t want to ruin the mood and kept quiet, mostly because it honestly thought that a happy Fizzy was the shiniest Fizzy despite knowing that made no logical sense. Besides, the accidental stimulation was… not entirely unpleasant. No, wait. Those were bad thoughts to harbor considering its recent fusion with Snack, so it did its best to purge them from its mind.

“Shall we get back to town before something stains?” it suggested after a short while.

“Oh! Sure. Let me just get my bag.”

Thirty minutes later, a Gate suddenly opened up in the outskirts of Oar's Rest, the port town where the vast majority of northerners had arrived on Velos. A haggard and blood-stained Keira stepped out of the portal, followed by an immaculately shiny Fizzy. The golem already had a reputation for maintaining a radiant countenance at all times, so their mismatched appearances were hardly out of character. The locals still stared at them as they walked through the main gate and into the town square, but that was also nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’m gonna go visit the local miner’s guild and find out how much stuff I collected,” Fizzy said while tapping the bags on her back. “I’ll probably be at the smithy by the east gate if you need me.”

“Sure thing,” Keira replied with a tired tone. “Guess I’ll go clean up and check on Rowie in the meantime.”

The two women parted ways and went about their business. They were now in civilized territory, so they had to act their respective roles. Fizzy was getting much better at her own part lately, though that was probably because Keira’s personality had gradually fallen more in line with her inner self over the years. The catgirl didn’t crave ‘shiny’ and ‘tasty’ things, but she adored ‘fancy stuff’ and ‘good food.’ She also did not hesitate to resort to violence should someone dare to threaten her or those around her, regardless of their standing. Fizzy had far less trouble keeping a straight face in front of others now that Keira had basically turned into a much milder version of Boxxy. In the past, she had secretly been worried about the shapeshifter’s Facade influencing its behavior, but it would appear the opposite had happened.

After the not-a-beastkin returned to the inn and made herself more presentable, the owner helpfully informed her she had two messages waiting for her. The first was that a letter from Nao had come for her while she was gone. It stated they needed to talk about something called an ‘Aleister,’ but it didn’t seem to be an urgent matter. The second was from Rowana, who had gone to the docks to handle some kind of shipping error on behalf of her parents’ shop. Deciding it had nothing better to do, Boxxy set out towards the shore to check in on its investment. It found the she-elf sitting on a public bench at the end of a pier, elbows on her knees, chin resting against her hands, and back slumped forward to a rather unhealthy degree. She was staring absentmindedly at the Shimmering Ocean stretching to the horizon, its waters glistening in the late afternoon sunlight as if to give credit to its name.

“Hey, honey,” Keira spoke softly as she approached the elf. “You okay?”

“Oh, hi sweetie,” Rowana’s face lit up. “I’ll be fine, just had a long day.”

“Well, you’re not the only one, so scoot over a bit.”

She did as instructed, allowing the catgirl to sit next to her and throw an arm around her bare shoulder while the elf hooked hers around the redhead’s waist.

“I heard there was some shipping trouble?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” the elf groaned. “Turns out we’re missing an entire crate of assorted potions. Nothing vital, but they were quite expensive and the damned captain refused to take responsibility for losing it mid-transit. Why do men always have to cling to their pride even when they’re clearly in the wrong?”

“Can I help?”

“You already are, sweetie.”

Rowana smiled, placed a wet kiss on Keira’s cheek, and rested her head against the redhead’s neck and shoulder.

“You already are,” she repeated in a whisper.

The two lovebirds spent most of the afternoon sitting in total silence and gazing at the horizon while cuddling. Even the monster within Keira found this a relatively relaxing experience. It seemed mundane, but it very rarely allowed its mind to wander aimlessly like this. It was nice. Tasty, even. It hated to admit it, but perhaps Rowana had some tangible use beyond a Doppelganger XP factory. Over the years, the shapeshifter had gradually begun to see her as something akin to a pet – useless, yet fun to keep around. Almost like-

“Yip!”

“… Huh?”

That oddly familiar noise snapped Boxxy out of its daydreaming. It most definitely didn’t imagine it either, as Rowana’s face had a look of puzzled surprise that perfectly matched Keira’s. But it couldn’t have been that, right?

“Yip! Yip!”

There was no longer any doubt about who that high-pitched voice belonged to after hearing it a second time. Keira stood from her seat and leaned over the side of the pier to look down at the water underneath, with Rowana quickly following suit. They saw a vaguely boat-shaped pile of driftwood barely holding itself together, with what looked to be the Pixie Powder Pavilion’s logo on it. Yet, seeing the Slyth family’s flagship business on what were presumably the leftovers of Rowana’s missing crate was far from the most surprising thing about this scene.

“Yip! Yip yip yip!”

Riding atop the driftwood, as if the captain of a vessel, was none other than Minic. The animate jewelry box looked much as it always did aside from the black leather strap across its lid that looked suspiciously like an eyepatch. It wasn’t alone, either. Riding atop it was a bright-red hermit crab using an old pirate’s hat as its current home, even though it was far too big for its current owner. A green sea turtle sporting a gnarled neck scar was pulling the wrecked crate along with the help of some stringy seaweed that tied the two together. What looked to be a bright yellow baby squid – possibly a kraken – was resting on top of its shell, splashing playfully with its tentacles as the aquatic reptile did all of the work. Last but not least, a seahorse was poking its head through the water’s surface and keeping pace with the others as if it was some sort of escort.

The sight of this strangely adorable crew raised an obscene number of questions, but the couple observing were in no condition to form the sentences or words required to ask them. However, if either Keira, Rowana, or Boxxy had the ability to articulate their most pressing inquiry, it would have sounded something like:

“How in the raspberries of Clarence’s honey-soaked holy muffin did Minic get all the way here from Azurvale?!”

Though, perhaps not in as many words.

Part Two

“I still can’t believe the little guy actually made it all the way here,” Rowana muttered with awe. “I know it has a habit of popping up out of nowhere, but this is just… Wow!”

“At this point, I’m honestly wondering if Minic even needs us to take care of it,” Keira replied thoughtfully. “Actually, it’s survived for centuries without us, so probably not.”

The aptly named mini-mimic had licked each member of its ‘crew’ goodbye just before being picked up, after which the odd collection of sea creatures slinked off into the sunset. The animate jewelry box that was lucky beyond any mortal or divine comprehension was currently sitting on top of Keira’s head, right between her feline ears. The spot had become one of its favorite seats ever since its current owner grew her crimson hair out. It was voluminous and surprisingly fluffy, making it a great place for Minic to park its tiny bottom. It would have preferred to snuggle against Rowana’s soft breasts, but it couldn’t while the elf was walking around. She and Keira were currently on their way back to the inn, with the latter occasionally reaching a hand up to stroke Minic’s lid-mounted gemstone. The little guy seemed to appreciate the gesture and let out some delighted ‘yip-yip’ sounds every time she did.

“Any idea how it actually managed to do it?” the elf asked curiously.

“Not really. Maybe it somehow smuggled its way into your potion shipment without us noticing and then mysteriously fell off the ship along with your crate, then ended up all the way here.”

As unlikely and full of holes as that theory sounded, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Minic.

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter,” Rowana finally gave up. “I’m just glad it’s safe and sound, though I do wish we could discipline it somehow.”

“Well, too late for that. Would’ve liked if its new friends stuck around, myself. They were all so precious.”

Quite literally, too. Small sea creatures like those were often from endangered species. There were plenty of Druids and Monster Tamers that would pay good coin in order to preserve them. Or, alternatively, there would be quite a few aristocrats who simply wanted a taste of these delicacies before they vanished for good. Personally, Boxxy never cared for seafood too much, but even it was curious if those green sea turtles tasted as good as the rumors suggested.

“Oh, I know,” Rowana said sympathetically. “Minic made so many cute and happy friends. They probably had a whale of a time getting here, unlike us.”

Keira raised an eyebrow with a cheeky smirk.

“A whale of a time, huh?”

“Oh, no.”

“I sea what you did there, Row-ana.”

“Keira, could you not?”

“What? Am I making waves?”

“You know I can’t stand it when you get like this.”

“Water you talking about? I’m just going with the flow, not trying to rock the boat.”

“Yip?”

The elf raised her hands as if giving up and picked up the pace.

“I’m going back to the inn alone.”

“Come on, no need to be so salty.”

“Stop following me!”

“Nonsense, I can’t just leave my wharf-to-be all by herself!”

“You keep this up, and I won’t be your anything-to-be!”

“Even if you say that, you’ll always be my gull-friend.”

“Yip yip!”

“Great, now look what you did! Minic’s doing it, too!”

“Be reasonable, it’s not like it’s on porpoise.”

“Honestly, when did you even find the time to think up all this stuff?!”

“Just now. While we were cod-ling.”

“Wow, seriously?”

“Sorry, my mind comes up with all kinds of weird ship if I let it wander.”

“Yeep yeeep!”

Rowana took a few more deep breaths as she reminded herself over and over this was still the woman she loved. Her fondness for terrible puns was just another quirk that made every day with her feel like an adventure in and of itself. Even if it was bloody insufferable at times, it was still lively and exciting in its own way. Plus, the make-up sex was always intense, so that was something to look forward to.

“You’re lucky you’re so damn cute,” the elf finally said. “Otherwise, I don’t think I’d be able to stand you.”

“In that case, you ought to navigate yourself to a sea-t, because I’m not quite fin-ished with my current batch of manatee-rial.”

“AAAAAARGH!”

Having finally lost it, Rowana stomped off in the direction of the inn while visibly shaking in anger.

“You’re sleeping on the floor tonight!” she shouted over her shoulder.

“That’s okay, I’ll gladly accept my pun-ishment!”

Having reached pun overload, the platinum blonde elf could do nothing but half-groan half-scream in frustration. Keira would’ve kept following and bugging her, but her shit-eating grin displayed her mission had already been accomplished with no regrets. She reached up and held her loosely clenched fist in front of Minic, prompting the tiny creature to boop it with one of its stubby legs.

“Good work.”

“Yip.”

Boxing Teamwork, by dmaxcustom

Granted, the thing didn’t really contribute to this in any way whatsoever, nor did it have the slightest inkling why Keira just boop-fisted it. However, it could read the mood. If its ‘big sis’ was having fun, then so was Minic, which was fortunate since messing with the elf for a bit of entertainment was the exchange’s sole purpose. This behavior could also be attributed to the lingering side-effects of Boxxy’s latest Malefic Union, but this was just how the monster’s slightly warped sense of humor usually was. It had always had a sadistic bent, but years of toying with people’s emotions had taught it the joy of inflicting psychological torment upon sentient beings, especially if there was some ironic twist involved.

That said, Boxxy made sure not to go overboard with this new hobby whenever it was roleplaying as Keira, for obvious reasons. It was quite aware how potentially dangerous this attitude was, as playing with one’s opponent had been the downfall of many-a-powerful being. At least, that’s what enlightened stories said, but Boxxy was already at a stage where it could afford such frivolities without any tangible risk of repercussion. Putting it simply, the shapeshifter had become one of the bullies in this playground called Terrania. It could do whatever it damn well pleased so long as it didn’t seriously piss off the parents (Gods) or one of the other big kids (like the Boneshaper). Other than those, everyone was ‘fair game.’

“Uh, excuse me? Miss Morgana?”

Keira turned around to face the one who had called out. It was a lightly-tanned elven woman with dark green hair and similarly colored eyes. She wore a slightly revealing top that exposed her belly, shoulders, collarbone, and would have showed off her cleavage if not for her unfortunate upper body proportions. Her generous backside and supple thighs, on the other hand, filled out her shorts to the point where they looked as if they might rip if she bent over too much. A pale green, wide-brimmed hat woven from jungle plant fibers rested on her head, offering protection from both sun and rain. Her jewelry was far more impressive, as she had six rings, a pair of mismatched face piercings, and three whole amulets, all of which were either silver or mithril and studded with green gems. The only exception was the gaudy golden bracelet on her left wrist. It was also the most notable piece, which was why Keira’s eyes lingered on it for a second or two without their owner realizing.

“Ow. Ow. Ow-ow-owwwww!” the stranger suddenly started yelling while clutching her left hand with her right. “Snek, knock it off! You’re going to break my arm!”

She pulled the ‘bracelet’ off, revealing it to be a gold-plated snake-like construct that immediately coiled itself around her extended fingers.

“Snek!” it called out to her in a tiny voice. “Sneksneksneksnek!”

“Calm down, will you! I can’t understand what you’re saying, and you’re making a scene in front of the nice lady and her friend!”

“… Snek?”

The golden serpent turned its ruby eyes towards the dumbfounded Keira, its sight settling on the thing resting atop her head.

“Yip?” Minic replied, as if only just noticing the shiny serpent.

“Snek!”

“Yip!”

Both creatures leapt off their respective owners onto the mossy stone pavement below.

“Snek?”

“Yip. Yap?”

“Snek. Snek snek?”

“Yip!”

“Snek, snek! Snek snekek.”

“Yeep. Yip yap yeeep.”

“Sne… sneeek…”

Meanwhile, as this conversation for the ages was taking off, the two women were finally able to awkwardly introduce themselves.

“Sorry about that,” the elf said apologetically. “I’m Opia.”

“I’m Keira, Keira Morgana,” the beastkin replied courteously. “Though, you already knew that.”

“Ah-heh, yeah. Sorry for approaching you in the street like this, but I’ve been running all over trying to get a hold of you for three days. You really get around, don’t you?”

“So I’ve been told. Seriously, though, what’s that bracelet’s deal?”

“Oh, right. This is Snek. It’s a house mimic like yours, I’m guessing.”

“Huh. You sure? Last I checked, their kind couldn’t harm people even if they wanted.”

“Yeah, that was a bit weird,” she rubbed her sore wrist. “Usually, it only squeezes down on me a little whenever it senses danger. Not sure how, I think it’s a reflex or something.”

“That sounds about as reliable as rolling dice,” the redhead scoffed.

“Well, it isn’t. I’ve learned to trust its instincts with my life, though I’m not sure what that was about. It’s probably just on edge with all the recent troubles.”

“Is that so?”

Keira crouched down, hugged her knees, and smiled at the creature.

“Sne-!?”

The serpentine construct froze in the middle of its ‘sentence’ as soon as it felt that gaze, its tiny head slowly turning to face the redhead.

“What a reliable partner you have.”

Though her words and tone sounded warm, the borderline sadistic grin on her face made Snek wish it could sweat. It was so chilling the serpent reflexively coiled itself around its own head. Its beady eyes peeked out from between its gilded plates while Minic bobbed from side to side in confusion. Snek could only envy the box’s blissful ignorance of the catgirl-shaped disaster looming over them.

“Such a shame,” the sickeningly sweet voice said. “I don’t think it likes me very much. And I was hoping we could be friends. Do you think we can get along, little Snek?”

The bejeweled serpent’s head rapidly bobbed up and down inside its ball, indicating that the underlying message of ‘you don’t want to be my enemy’ had been received loud and clear. Keira then stood back up as if nothing had happened. Her malicious intent had been directed with such pinpoint precision that Opia was left none the wiser even though she saw the entire exchange happen.

“At least yours looks to be a cheerful little guy,” the elf said while nervously rubbing her wrist.

“Yeah, Minic’s a fun guy to keep around. Not nearly as useful as yours, but I don’t mind. I take it Snek isn’t from around here?”

“Mmhm. Brought it with me when I moved in from the north. I just wish I knew what’s been going on with it lately.”

“Just doing its job, isn’t it? This whole orc thing has gotten really out of hand now that the undead are involved. You never know what’s going to happen next.”

“That’s true, but its reaction still worries me. Even if I don’t always understand its warnings, Snek has never been wrong. Do you think Oar’s Rest is in danger?”

“That was probably my bad. I tend to be rather hostile when a stranger suddenly approaches me, especially if they’ve been following me around for a while.”

“Oh. You, uh, noticed me?”

“I peek over my shoulder more often than I’d like. Nothing personal, just an occupational habit. Hero of Chaos stuff.”

“Right, of course. Sorry about that.”

Snek was both surprised and terrified that such a flimsy excuse worked. Opia should have been far more concerned not only with the timing of the warning, but also the magnitude of it. She wasn’t exaggerating when she said she trusted the gold-plated serpent with her life, yet treated that dire signal with as much severity as a bug bite. However, this abnormal behavior was not exactly her fault. Keira was designed to give off an extremely favorable first impression and had a significant amount of Charisma (CHR) under her belt. That combination made it so every word that rolled out of her lips carried a significant weight even without Pheromone Control subtly influencing the mood. Awareness of the advanced Attribute would lower its effectiveness, but Opia had no reason to suspect the redhead had it. Keira was known as many things, but neither Bard nor politician were among them. In the grand scheme of things, the elf was just one of countless people who instantly bought into the living lie.

“I didn’t mean to stalk you or anything,” she continued apologizing, “but I didn’t want to interrupt you and your… friend?”

“Girlfriend.”

“Ah, didn’t want to assume. Waaait… Does that mean the… you know…”

Opia pointed towards her ear while staring intently at the blue gemstone on Keira’s, her mind only now connecting the dots. While ‘girlfriend’ was not entirely accurate, ‘wife-to-be’ would require a certain degree of explaining that Keira wasn’t exactly in the mood for.

“Look, never mind that. There’s a bit of a crowd gathering and something tells me you didn’t just stop me to say hi, so why don’t we take this conversation somewhere a bit more private?”

The elf looked around, realizing a little too late that several people were indeed gawking at them, though they tried not to be too obvious.

“Good point. After you?”

“Sure.”

The two women picked up their respective house mimics, walked away from the random onlookers, and ducked inside an empty side street. Opia looked around to check if anyone was within earshot, though her movements made it clear she wasn’t used to this ‘subtlety’ thing. That was putting it lightly. The way her head swiveled around like a spinning top was so childish that Boxxy felt weirdly insulted. The only thing that ridiculous circus act would accomplish was attract the attention of any strangers in sight. Thankfully for the elf, she stopped acting like a clown before the shapeshifter’s growing urge to slap her teeth out overpowered its reason and jumped straight to the point.

“I’m here on behalf of someone who has a lucrative job opportunity for you.”

Keira quizzically raised an eyebrow.

“Care to be more specific?”

“I wish I could, but that really is as much as I can say. I know it sounds suspicious, but my friend’s secretive like that. I honestly wouldn’t have agreed to this if I didn’t owe her so much.”

“Then how can I possibly know if this ‘someone’ is trustworthy or not?”

“Well, she’s my partner. Business partner, not, uh, life partner,” Opia awkwardly added. “We’ve been at it for a few years and she’s never double crossed me or anyone we’ve worked with.”

The elf certainly sounded sincere, which was a start.

“No offense, but your word alone isn’t exactly reassuring.”

“Uhm… would it help if I mentioned I was the Venom Dealer? Don’t mean to brag, but I’m something of a local celebrity. Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

Boxxy was indeed familiar with that moniker. It was the pseudonym of the one who had supposedly encountered and defeated a certain lich that migrated here from the north about two years ago. The shapeshifter initially thought that was a load of crap, as it was dubious whether a Druid specialized in scourge magic could defeat an intelligent undead that thrived on poison and disease. At least, not by herself, but it was possible this mysterious ‘partner’ of hers was strong enough for the two of them to clobber Nora Cromwell together.

That said, Keira had never personally investigated that incident, so it was better to play dumb.

“Sorry, can’t say I have,” the catgirl rubbed her chin in thought. “Wouldn’t matter anyway since you’re just a messenger. Why doesn’t this great friend of yours come see me personally?”

“Normally, she would. Beating around the bush like this isn’t her style, but she has a… complicated relationship with some of the people in town.”

“Those ‘people’ wouldn’t happen to be the ‘law enforcement’ type, would they?”

“More like… Inquisition.”

“Oh. Well, can’t say I’m a fan of them myself, but this does make me question what sort of people you’ve gotten involved with.”

“Look, think what you want, but I’m not here to convince you. I’m just delivering a message. Are you interested in the offer or not?”

Keira wanted to push for more information, but it would appear that was as much as her powers of persuasion were able to draw out of the elf.

“Maybe. It’s not like I have anything else going on at the moment.”

The armed coalition had spent the last four days relentlessly chipping away at the increasingly fractured Rampage. With Gutzstompa out of the way, the orcs were only fighting for the sake of fighting. They showed no signs of moving on a major settlement and the war preparations Keira observed previously had all been abandoned. The Rampage was far from resolved, but it was contained before it reached civilization, which was as good a development as the locals could’ve hoped for. The only thing left to do was thin out the greenskins until their swollen numbers reduced to normal levels, and both Keira and Boxxy had their fill of doing that.

“Well,” Opia sighed, “if you decide it’s worth your time, you can find us at the old temple of Axel a few kilometers east of town. You know the place?”

“That overgrown building with the warrior statue on top?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. We’ll be waiting for you around noon tomorrow.”

“I assume it won’t be a problem if I bring someone to watch my back.”

“It shouldn’t be. So long as they’re not Inquisition.”

That wasn’t going to be an issue since Keira was talking about Fizzy, though she would mostly be coming along for appearance’s sake.

“Alright, I’ll think about it, but no promises.”

Though Boxxy only offered a noncommittal response before parting ways with the elf, it had every intention of showing up ever since it heard the word ‘lucrative.’ This sort of thing was precisely the reason why it put so much time and effort in its Facade. Having a reputation as a problem solver brought all kinds of personal requests to Keira’s doorstep. If someone was willing to go as far as to petition the Hero of Chaos, there was a good chance some rather extraordinary circumstances were involved. This in turn often allowed Boxxy to expand its collection with unique and exciting loot. Well, either that or it was some sort of setup to ambush the controversial catgirl, but anyone stupid enough to use that sort of obvious method deserved to be erased without a trace.

After spending the rest of the evening reconciling with Rowana and playing with Minic – though not necessarily in that order – Boxxy tried to catch some sleep. Unfortunately, though the room the couple had rented was hardly uncomfortable, it was still unfamiliar. Old habits died hard, and the shapeshifter’s borderline paranoia was still as strong as ever. It was repeatedly woken up by random noises from the street or Rowana shifting slightly in her sleep, keeping it from getting a good night’s rest. Normally, it would swap places with Snack and retreat into its dungeon lair, but that was not an option. It was still looking for a good place to set up that last inert dungeon core it had in its possession, so it couldn’t use the Nexus Access feature to teleport back to Azurvale just yet. The only upside was that there was no danger of it accidentally sleep-eating the elf next to it since it had relieved a great deal of peace-stress over the past few days.

Before Keira set off to meet Opia’s ‘partner’ the next morning, she dropped by Castle Arin to visit Nao. The Hero of Magic briefed her on the whole Gutzstompa-Aleister-Boneshaper situation, which was welcome news to the catgirl’s inner self. The shapeshifter worked hard to live a life without having to worry for its life, so it was relieved to know it hadn’t accidentally pissed off the most powerful undead being in existence. On the other hand, it was a bit worrisome that this rogue Blight Lord was apparently capable of subterfuge. It reaffirmed Boxxy’s decision to vacate the continent sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, as was tradition, this relatively good news was coupled with some bad, courtesy of Sigmund. The Grand Inquisitor showed up just as Keira was about to leave and pulled her aside for a private chat. Apparently, he was going to be far too busy investigating this Aleister fellow to look after Teresa’s triplets, so he would have to dump them on her sooner than expected. When asked about ‘how soon is sooner than expected,’ the man explained that Keira would have to pick them up on her way back to Azurvale.

Boxxy really wasn’t happy about that. The shapeshifter was supposed to have a few more months before it had to look after those brats, and had planned accordingly. However, this sudden shift in schedule meant it would have to alter some of its ongoing schemes to compensate for this interference. Not by much, but enough to evoke complaints about punctuality and deadlines from its inner Artificer. There was also no telling how much Sigmund’s ‘nieces’ knew of Keira’s indirect involvement with their birth since they had yet to meet in person, but that was a concern for later.

At present, the shapeshifter had to focus on the meeting at hand, as Keira had arrived at the predetermined spot at the arranged time via Gate Spell. She was clad in full combat gear and had Fizzy by her side, both of them making a show of being cautious as they approached the old temple. The large stone building was not all that remarkable from a historical or cultural standpoint. As far as the locals were concerned, it was a religious site between towns that had been reclaimed by the jungle. Though it had only been abandoned less than a year, the vibrant plant life had almost completely covered it in vines, shrubs, and leaves. Even the white statue on the roof depicting an armored raptor holding a sword to the sky was barely visible through all the foliage. That said, the temple was definitely inhabited. There was a massive jungle hydra lying next to it, with a few of its six heads yawning lazily at Keira and Fizzy’s approach. The thing was clearly a Monster Tamer’s pet, as it had been fitted with a saddle and chainmail armor, both custom made to fit its multi-necked body. Opia, who appeared to be the creature’s owner, climbed down from its back and greeted the approaching pair with a wave.

“Oh, wow!” she exclaimed. “Is that the Rustblood Juggernaut?!”

“That’s me, alright,” the golem proudly puffed her chest out. “And, yes, everything you’ve heard about me is true.”

“For real? Even the parts where you fart lightning and piss lava?”

“Pfft!”

Keira snorted with laughter, unable to hold it in after picturing Fizzy doing either activity.

“… Okay, almost everything,” the construct grumbled. “Can we just get on with this?”

“Right, yeah. In here, please.”

The elf led the other two through the doorless stone archway that served as the temple’s entrance. The interior was a long, wide hall with tall windows lining the walls and row upon row of dusty wooden pews flanking either side of the central aisle. This was a common sight in all churches, regardless of which deity they were dedicated to. What set this one apart was a ten-meter-wide and half-meter-tall circular platform at the other end of the hall. It was a place where Axel’s faithful could settle disputes in an honorable manner befitting the God of War and Combat. It was illuminated by the mid-day sun, the dust in the air giving it an almost ephemeral atmosphere. That said, the hole through which the sunlight was pouring through wasn’t there by design, but had been made by something or someone crashing through the tiled roof.

A black-haired human woman sat in a meditative cross-legged position in the center of this ring of honor, though Keira and Fizzy could only see her back. The woman stood up upon hearing footsteps and turned around. She was the former Gilded Hand agent codenamed Zone, though she went by ‘Jen’ ever since the spy ring’s dissolution. Her upper body was wrapped in a yellow cross top whose only purpose seemed to be keeping her formidable bust in place, allowing the whole world to see her muscular arms, abs, and back. Her outfit’s lower half was a set of loose-fitting leggings with slits in the side, likely the same pair she had when Boxxy last saw her.

“Uh, hi? You wanted to speak with me?”

While the monster within knew of this woman very well, Keira did not. She was aware of the identity of her teacher’s killer from the war, but the two had never met face-to-face, nor had the catgirl ever been shown what ‘Zone’ looked like. It might have been a small thing, but this was precisely the sort of stuff that could compromise an otherwise airtight cover. So, Keira called out to Jen in a wary manner rather than a hostile one, though she still had to use her hand to signal the spooling war machine next to her to ease off. Though it wasn’t immediately obvious by looking at the golem, Boxxy had heard the distinct ‘clunk’ that accompanied the activation of Fizzy’s Engine of Destruction. It was a sign that the Paladin was about to go cruising for a bruising, but now wasn’t the time for it.

After all, if the ex-agent was intending to fight them, she would have stated her challenge up front instead of calling them out to some remote ruin. Indeed, though her eyes seemed to size up both the catgirl and the golem, it was simply a conditioned reflex. She showed no other signs of hostility, so the shapeshifter decided to give her a chance to prove that the ‘lucrative job offer’ was legitimate. That said, it was a bit suspicious that she had an easy escape route via the hole in the ceiling, especially since it seemed likely she was the one who made it. It showed she expected this talk to turn sour, though one could hardly blame the Monk for being cautious when considering who she had invited.

A few tense moments passed before Jen became convinced neither of the two monsters were going to attack and nodded at Opia. The elf rolled her eyes slightly, but nevertheless went outside while giving her a thumbs up. Several seconds later, a series of heavy footsteps were heard as the domesticated hydra left the area with the elf riding on his back. The shapeshifter asked Fizzy to stand watch outside so it could chat with the angelic Monk without interruption. The golem gave her companion a puzzled look, but silently agreed and left the building all the same in a manner similar to the elf.

“Give me one good reason why I should let you live,” Boxxy spoke in a very un-Keira tone.

“Unnecessary,” the woman replied in her dull monotone. “You have no good reason to want me dead.”

Well, aside from the time she robbed the ex-mimic of its Warlock and Artificer Jobs back in the day, but neither party wanted to bring that up. Though Jen didn’t know the specifics, she strongly suspected Boxxy wouldn’t have become the Hero of Chaos it was today if not for that event. Seeking revenge for that was so incredibly petty that even the spiteful box didn’t see a point in it, especially since the one who ordered her to do so was already dead. Jennifer had also known of Keira’s true nature for over two years, yet, as far as Boxxy was aware, never once attempted to expose its secret. Whether it was out of respect, fear, or in recognition of the reality that nobody would take the word of a war criminal seriously, it was undeniable she had kept her mouth shut. To put things bluntly, what Jen said was essentially correct.

However, while Boxxy didn’t have a good reason to want her dead, it could still think of a few.

“You’re worth XP, and there’s a bounty on your head. You also look quite delicious. That’s three ‘for’ and none ‘against.’ Shall I keep going?”

“Expressing awareness that you are looking for The Gauntlet. Reporting that I know where it is and how to get inside.”

Now she had Boxxy’s interest. That was the dungeon its familiars had been searching for ever since it came to Velos. It briefly wondered how she managed to find that out, but it wasn’t all that hard to deduce given the monster’s track record. Jen knew it was born in a dungeon and indirectly used its core to blow up a city, not to mention Keira had a reputation as a successful dungeoneer. It was also important to keep in mind that this woman was the right hand of the Empire’s Spymaster and had surely picked up a few tricks over the years, even if subtlety wasn’t her forte. Ultimately, the important thing wasn’t how Jen found out the shapeshifter’s intentions, but that she knew about them.

“Okay, that’s something,” Boxxy consented. “Let’s hear it then, what will this information cost me?”

“Requesting help to conquer it.”

“… Excuse you?”

That was perhaps the last thing it expected this woman to say.

“Requesting help to conquer it,” Jen repeated, her voice as level as ever.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Why not go by yourself? Or with that elf Druid?”

“Dispensing explanation. The Gauntlet is a special dungeon with strict rules. It requires a team of two to enter and scales in difficulty to match the stronger one. A partner of comparable or greater strength is preferred.”

“So, you had nobody else to turn to but me?”

Jen immediately nodded, which got the shapeshifter thinking. It wasn’t hard to imagine the local big-shots would not want to work with a wanted criminal. Granted, they might not know she was one at first, but would find out soon enough. After all, they probably wouldn’t have reached Level 100 in their primary Job if they were careless enough to put their lives in someone else’s hands without at least running a background check. Since powerful individuals like Jen were a limited resource when it came to getting combat XP at high Levels, it seemed reasonable that the local VIPs would prefer to kill her rather than help her. At least, that was what Boxxy would’ve done, but it was an amoral man-eating monster with an insatiable appetite for both tasties and shinies. Whether the Rankers of Velos shared its opinion was… questionable at best.

“What’s so important about this dungeon that you’re willing to risk reaching out to me?” Keira asked.

“Revealing that The Gauntlet holds some of the most powerful items in the world, which are required if I am to attend the upcoming Dragon Festival.”

Now it was starting to make sense. Big shots all around the world did all kinds of things in preparation for the event in question, from hiring legions of mercenaries and support staff to hoarding high-grade equipment like their life depended on it. Which it did, because taking part in the Dragon Festival was one of the world’s riskiest endeavors, even for someone like Jen. Come to think of it, that woman must have been through it at least once before. Most people at her Level had attended it at least once, even those with artisan-type Jobs. She was most likely aiming to Rank Up a second time, but didn’t have Edward or his organization to lean back on. She was probably trying to handle the preparations all by herself, but must have been struggling if she was desperate enough to reach out to an old enemy for help.

Thankfully, Boxxy could work with ‘desperate.’

“Alright, let’s say I believe you. What’s in it for me?”

“Everything aside from the final reward. Claiming ‘dibs’ on that one.”

“What’s to stop me from mind-raping the information out of your head and keeping all the loot for myself?

Jen held up a hand with two extended fingers.

“You need at least one follower of Axel to recite the prayer and open The Gauntlet, and Heroes are not allowed.”

Okay, those were two very solid arguments. However, that was only if she was telling the truth, and that second one was a bit questionable considering who she was asking for help.

“If Heroes aren’t allowed, how am I supposed to help you defeat it?”

“Clarifying that I require the use of your golem, not you personally.”

“… Seriously?”

“Affirmative.”

“Oh-ho-ho-hoh,” Keira chuckled humorlessly while waving her finger at Jen. “You got me good.”

The shapeshifter had to admit, it was mildly impressed. Though this woman was a muscle-headed battle junkie, it would appear she had a cunning side. She must’ve done her homework and given Opia intentionally shady instructions. Thus, the dramatis personae of Keira would have no choice but to bring a ‘bodyguard’ to the suspicious meeting, even if the monster underneath didn’t necessarily need it. Who better to serve as bodyguard to Boxxy’s alter ego than Fizzy, the ultimate trophy wife? Or, this was all one big coincidence and it was giving Jen too much credit, but it seemed unwise to underestimate the cunning of a Gilded Hand agent.

“You do realize you’re asking the wrong monster for permission, right?”

Jen blinked rapidly a few times, seemingly in confusion.

“Clarification required. Are you not the golem’s master?”

“No, she’s my equal,” it corrected her. “If you wanted to borrow Fizzy, you should’ve said something before I asked her to step out.”

“I… see…”

Signs of unease began to leak through the Monk’s otherwise stone-faced expression, mostly in the way her eyes darted between the redheaded catgirl and the church’s exit. It would appear she had some reservations about talking to the radiant Paladin. Was she embarrassed her assumptions were wrong? Or was she nervous because the golem was of a rival faith? Admittedly, so was Boxxy, but Fizzy was significantly more pious. The monster honestly couldn’t tell what the source of Jen’s discomfort was since it was unfamiliar with her minute expressions, so it decided to drop the matter and move on.

“Okay, tell you what,” Keira finally spoke, breaking the awkward silence. “I’ll ask her on your behalf, then you two can work out the details.”

“… Understood,” Jen confirmed with a nod.

Boxxy made an about face and left the ex-spy behind to find Fizzy leaning against the overgrown stone wall just outside the entrance.

“You heard everything, right?” it immediately asked.

“Yup. These walls are much thinner than they appear.”

The golem rapped her knuckles across the stonework behind her, making the soft clacking noise echo slightly through the interior. Admittedly, Boxxy’s conversation was still rather muffled, but she had no difficulty understanding it thanks to all the Perception (PER) she got from her Artificer Job.

“So, what do you think? Feel like helping our old ‘friend’ there?”

“I dunno, Boxxy. This smells as rusty as a hundred-year-old bucket at the bottom of the ocean. You sure she’s telling the truth?”

“Oh, I’m certain she isn’t. I just haven’t worked out which bits she’s lying about. Not yet, anyway.”

“But, you still think there’s merit to agreeing to her proposal?”

“Yes, but only if you think you can handle it.”

“Hmm, let me ask the others.”

Fizzy shifted her gaze to stare somewhere beyond the tree-filled horizon as she talked things over with her inner selves.

“Okay, we’ll do it,” she said after a minute. “But only on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“I get to punch her once for what she did to you.”

“I don’t mind, and she probably won’t either. Just… don’t try to kill her, okay? Can’t exactly use her if she’s dead.”

“You sure about that? I hear necromancy is ‘in’ right now.”

“Fizzy,” it sternly reprimanded her.

“Fine, fine. It’s not like she’s weak enough to keel over from a single love tap anyway.”

The golem peeled herself away from the wall and went inside, her metal feet scraping along the floor with every step. Muffled voices came out of the old church a few seconds later, but Boxxy was too busy scheming to pay attention to them. If this was the same monster from two years ago, it would have definitely tried to eliminate the Monk on the spot, but the hylt creeper of the present day was a little older, a little smarter, and a little wiser. Most importantly, it had also developed a particular talent that made the God of Flukes like it in the first place. It was a gift that Boxxy had honed to a terrifying degree over the course of its life.

It was the ability to smell opportunity.

“Grit your teeth, meatbag!”

*THUNK*

[Your actions have altered the flows of chaos.]

And this woman practically reeked of it.

[General Information]
Fizzy Rustblood
Dynamo Golem (Mithril), 25 years old
Level 68.14 Arclight Artificer
Level 71.64 Paladin
Level 50.00 Metal Golem (MAX)
Level 30.35 War Golem
Level 43.47 Blacksmith
5623/5623 HP (+9.3/sec)
3470/3470 MP (+8.2/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 933, DEX 357, AGI 283, END 938, INT 694, WIS 410, PER 191, FTH 486, LCK 147

[Arclight Artificer Skills]
Clockwork Expertise – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Explosives Handling – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Deconstruction – Lvl 9.35
Optics Expertise – Lvl 6.69
Physics – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Component Forging – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Tick Counter – Lvl 8.23
Upgrade – Lvl 5.45
Electrical Expertise – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Electromagnetism – Lvl 9.63
Polarization Proficiency – Lvl 2.44

[Paladin Skills]
Champion of Chaos – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Toughness – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Strength of Faith – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Holy Scripture – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Divine Wrath – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Bonecrusher War Art – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Parallel Plot – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Armor of Anarchy – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Beacon of Faith – Lvl 8.15
Radiant Presence – Lvl 5.15
Condemn – Lvl 3.68
Sanctify Item – Lvl 4.35
Instant Payback – Lvl 2.93

[Metal Golem Skills]
Heavy Metal – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Armored Charge – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Advanced Joints – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Magnetize – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Engine of Destruction – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Shock Absorption – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Heat Exchange – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Geomagnetic Grip – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)

[War Golem Skills]
Magitech Cannon – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Lightning Warp – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Physical Augmentation Module – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Animate Armor – Lvl 5.61
Spark of Creation – Lvl 4.73
Tactical Readout – Lvl 2.62

[Blacksmith Skills]
Equipment Maintenance – Lvl 6.21
Forge Control – Lvl 7.90
Basic Metallurgy – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Leathercraft – Lvl 3.61
Metal Shaping – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Smith’s Endurance – Lvl 3.75
Magical Metallurgy – Lvl 5.11

[Other Skills]
Metallopathy – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Lightning Affinity – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Static Field – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)

[General Skills]
Mentor – Lvl 6.98
Meditation – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Dagger Mastery – Lvl 4.41
Shield Mastery – Lvl 16.47
Holy Mastery – Lvl 15.00 (MAX)
Mace Mastery – Lvl 20.00 (MAX)
Brawling Mastery – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Basic Mastery – Lvl 6.55

Part Three

The sky sure is blue…

This idle thought passed through Jen’s mind, prompted by the endless azure heavens that stretched out as far as her eyes could see. A group of white clouds had parked themselves just in front of the sun, absorbing its blazing rays before they could fall on Jen’s face. The woman didn’t like clouds. Sure, they looked fluffy and mysterious from afar, but up close they were merely an unpleasant mist that made her feel sweaty whenever she passed through them. They were also cold, but the borderline slimy sensation they left on her skin was far more troublesome. Balls of condensed water aside, there did seem to be something else in view. Two things, to be exact. Long, narrow, and boring in coloration, they bobbed in and out of the bottom edge of her view. They looked suspiciously like feet, but that couldn’t have been right. Feet have no place up there. She could’ve tilted her head to get a better look, but didn’t feel like it. Not only was the sky so superbly blue today, but the wind whipping by her ears was ever so relaxing. The only issue was that her nose tasted of blood and her teeth-

*THUD*

Jen hit the ground head-first before she could finish that thought, putting an end to her brief flight. The fall would’ve injured most people, but the Monk was left relatively unscathed. Her body was so inhumanly tough for its relatively light weight that she could shrug off magically amplified gravity up to ten times its normal strength. Simply falling for ten or twenty meters wasn’t nearly enough to cause any lasting damage. It still hurt, though, giving her just enough of a jolt to snap her out of her groggy, borderline delusional, and potentially concussed state as she rose from the stone tiles her noggin had cracked. She began applying her Healing Hand Skill to her dislocated jaw while looking around. Almost immediately she noticed a smirking, feline-eared redhead staring at her while leaning against the old temple’s wall. Glancing upward, Jen could barely make out a cloud of dust and a new hole in the building’s slanted roof, no doubt made by her sudden departure.

“You alright over there?”

Jen didn’t dignify Keira’s gleeful taunt with a response, as she was too busy trying to piece together how and why she found herself in this position. It took her reeling brain a few moments, but she remembered she had just struck a deal with that mithril golem. Fizzy would assist her in conquering The Gauntlet, but only if Jen allowed her to take one free shot. She had clearly underestimated just how much power that tiny frame could put out. She wasn’t expecting to be sent airborne, let alone to such a height. Thinking back on the swing, the Monk couldn’t help but feel impressed. Her short-term memory was a bit spotty at the moment, but she was sure the blow was delivered with immaculate form. From start to finish, it was a perfectly orthodox uppercut that would make her old hand-to-hand instructor grunt and nod in approval. There was no way she could be mad about such a pleasant surprise, as she had trouble remembering the last time she got hit that hard. If this was the sort of output that golem was capable of, then she would be a fitting partner to tackle The Gauntlet with.

The radiant construct in question poked her shiny head out of a smashed-up window on the side of the church with a scowl on her shiny face.

“Tsk. Still kicking, huh?” she mumbled in a disappointed tone. “Deal’s a deal, I suppose. So, when do you wanna head out towards the dungeon, meatbag?”

“Requesting immediate departure,” Jen said in her usual flat tone.

“Fine by me. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

“You girls have fun, I’ll find something else to keep me busy.”

The two women set off into the jungle while Keira returned to town. That said, Boxxy hadn’t exactly left them alone, as Xera and Drea accompanied the pair. The djinn assumed the form of a mature elf huntress while the webstalker disappeared completely and stuck to the shadows. Their master had told the angelic Monk in no uncertain terms that these two were there to support Fizzy should Jen get any stupid ideas. The human wasn’t exactly thrilled with the forced escort, mostly because the demons in question were a sneaky assassin and a mystic trickster. They weren’t the sort of people that would accept a head-to-head duel to pass the time, so them tagging along was, to put it in a certain chest-obsessed monster’s words, not tasty.

The four made their way through the jungle, forging their way south at a rapid pace. According to Jen, The Gauntlet was several hundred kilometers away, deep in the wilderness, and would take more than a day’s travel to reach on foot. True to her word, it wasn’t until near sunset on the next day that the quartet arrived at their destination – a massive pyramid roughly forty meters tall at its peak. The stone structure was dull-orange and had a depressingly-long staircase leading to its zenith. It was obviously much more than some random ruin, as the structure was clearly ancient yet remained in pristine condition.

“This the place, then?” Fizzy asked as she sized up the architectural wonder.

“Affirmative. Presenting the Temple of the First Crusader.”

“Sounds fancy. What’s it doing all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?”

The place was so remote that Xera and Drea could not follow them here because it was too far from their contractor, who was trying to rush through some loose ends before leaving Velos.

“Unknown,” Jen replied. “Assumed to be built and abandoned millennia ago by raptor ancestors.”

“Uh-huh. You say that, but isn’t that dwarven stonework?” the golem asked, stroking one of the countless smooth bricks. “Architecture may not be my strong point, but I’ve seen enough of their masonry to know it when I see it.”

The six sides of the tapered structure were a dead giveaway.

“Irrelevant,” the Monk said flatly. “Requesting that we go inside.”

“Alright, but how? I don’t see a door or anything.”

“The Gauntlet is accessible from the apex.”

The angel unfurled her wings and flew straight to the top, leaving Fizzy to climb up the old-fashioned way.

“Ugh, stairs. Why’d it have to be stairs?”

The golem wasn’t sure why, but agonizingly long staircases were more common in dungeons than one would think. Granted, she hadn’t been in all that many of them, but Boxxy had, and it confirmed her assertion that an average of two out of three dungeons had an overabundance of steps. Fizzy hated every single one of them. They were never built with people of her stature in mind, so climbing was an awkward and time-consuming process. On the bright side, at least these steps were outside the dungeon, and were therefore most likely bereft of traps, pitfalls, ambushes, or other annoying time-wasters.

Waiting for her at the temple’s apex was a hexagonal platform about six meters on a side, with two circular pedestals on either side of its center. Jen was already standing on one of them, weapon in hand. Having lost her original staff during her last encounter with Boxxy’s crew, she had been forced to use a subpar substitute. It was another pitch-black rod of solid adamantite, but its enchantments were nowhere near as potent. Most importantly, it lacked the unique ability of deflecting magical projectiles, rendering her defense against Spells much weaker than it was two years ago.

“So, what now?” the golem asked. “I stand in the circle and it’ll take us inside?”

“Affirmative.”

Fizzy confidently stepped on the other platform, which clicked audibly as soon as she put her full weight on it. Jen clapped her hands together, closed her eyes, and began uttering a long-winded prayer in a very dry and methodical manner. Her flowery words basically boiled down to her requesting permission to enter Axel’s dungeon and undergo its trials. Meanwhile, Fizzy just stood there and had a mind-chat with Null on the benefits of creating a teleportation device for the express purpose of instantly going up and down stairs. The internal dialogue was cut short when a ring of pale yellow light suddenly enveloped the two of them, instantly teleporting them to their destination.

[You have entered The Gauntlet of Eb-Kurah.]

The pair were relocated to a room so tiny it was practically a prison cell. Every surface was made from the same flawless brickwork as the outside and was completely barren save for the two glowing circles on the floor and a lit torch on the far wall. The exit was an empty rectangular doorway that led to a spacious passage. Countless tiny holes dotted the length of the hallway’s walls and ceiling, which caught Fizzy’s attention.

“Are those… dart traps?” she asked in disbelief. “Who uses freaking dart traps at this Level!? Are you sure this is supposed to be a challenge?”

“Affirmative. Observe.”

Jen reached into one of the pouches strapped to her waist and produced a plain stone no bigger than a grape. She casually tossed it through the doorway and into the hall, triggering the aforementioned traps. There was series of squirting and hissing noises as needle-thin jets of liquid shot out of the walls and ceiling, converging on the tiny projectile. A few of them made contact, dissolving the stone into a hissing pile of sludge before it hit the ground. The foul liquid disappeared moments after, leaving no evidence.

“Well, crap.”

It would appear that, rather than fire poison tipped projectiles, this mechanism drenched their victims in an extremely caustic acid. This was a problem, as corrosive substances were one of Fizzy’s weaknesses. Technically, it was more accurate to say it was one of the few ways to effectively damage her, but, semantics aside, it was still a relatively dangerous environment for her to walk into. The same naturally went for Jen, as imbuing her skin with Ki was not an effective defense against spray-type magical attacks, which was most assuredly the case here.

“So, this is what you meant when you said the dungeon changes to meet the challenger?”

“Affirmative. Since we are both highly resistant to toxins, The Gauntlet is using acid. If the challenger was strong against acid, it would use something else.”

It was safe to assume that whatever traps were employed, they would be scaled in intensity so that it was a real threat to both invaders. Fizzy scoffed lightly, as she thought Axel was quite the busybody if he had the spare time to micromanage a dungeon to this extent. Well, either that or he had found himself a fanatically-devoted dungeon master who didn’t mind wasting away in this remote location. Either way, the invading pair’s objective remained the same.

“So, how do we get past that?” the golem asked warily.

“Like this.”

Jen bolted through the door the instant she said those words. The countless traps started showering her with acid from all sides, forcing her to dodge and weave between the streams. It became apparent that only a dozen or so of the holes could fire at once, and there was a limit to how much of that nasty stuff they could shoot out before needing to recharge. They were also aiming for the intruder’s logical trajectory, so Jen was forced to move forward while erratically sidestepping to throw them off. At one point, she stopped dead in her tracks, jerked back a few steps, then bolted forward while the traps in front were still recharging. However, the farther in she went, the more jets were simultaneously fired at her. She had to resort to jumping and bouncing from the walls and ceiling like a Level 100 rubber ball, and even then got sprayed a few times. She still made it to the end in mostly one piece, but several patches of skin on her arms, back, and neck were horribly burned. Perhaps that was why she chose to attempt this with such light and revealing clothing. She was well-informed on what to expect and likely knew she’d run into traps that would ruin any proper gear she brought along.

While the Monk was treating her injuries as best she could, Fizzy was still pondering her approach. Dodging and weaving through the passage like Jen was not an option, as she was nowhere light enough on her feet to pull that off. Plus, she couldn’t see the firing mechanisms, so Champion of Chaos was not able to predict when and where those sprays would come from. She had a completely different method to avoid getting hit, but didn’t want to reveal it to Jen if at all possible. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem she had much choice. With a sigh, Fizzy activated her Physical Augmentation Module, making her body warp and transform. Her already impressive armored shell grew one size thicker and wider as the plates stretched to close as many of the gaps between them as possible. The power cables that ran in the gap between her outer and inner shells were completely concealed and her armor became so bulky that she looked more like a slightly malformed dwarf than a robotic gnome. A very short one at that, as this shape was fifteen centimeters or so below her usual one-thirty.

[Fortress Mode is now active.]
[All damage taken reduced by 20%.]
[All damage dealt reduced by 20%.]
[The effectiveness of the AGI Attribute has been reduced by 20%.]
[Proficiency level decreased. Static Field is now Level 0. INT -40. WIS -20.]
[Proficiency level increased. Static Shield is now Level 10. INT +40. WIS +20.]

Fizzy groaned once the P.A.M. had done its job, revealing that her metallic voice was now a few octaves lower to match her stockier form. Not wishing to spend more time like this than necessary, the dynamo golem channeled her MP into her internal power generator. That part of her had also undergone a change to fit the new Skill that Static Field had transformed into. The saucer-like devices that had replaced her head attachments began to glow and hum, making the air around her crackle and shimmer as they did their thing.

After sufficiently charging the Static Shield, Fizzy began running forward as fast as her newly acquired bulk would allow. The trap-ridden hallway began raining acid directly into her path, though not a drop landed on her radiant frame. The caustic fluid collided with the spherical cage of electricity she was projecting around herself, making it instantly evaporate amidst a deluge of sparks, steam, and hissing. The barrier in question was especially good at diffusing magical attacks, but was significantly less useful against physical assault. It could also be expanded in size to provide cover for three or four people besides Fizzy, though she never had a reason to do that considering who her companions were. Not to mention its MP consumption would easily overpower what she generated through Engine of Destruction. She still had plenty of juice in the tank to pass safely through to the other side where Jen waited with a slightly raised eyebrow.

It was faint, but it was the first sign of a facial expression this human had shown since the trip began.

“What, got a problem?” the golem asked aggressively.

“That seems… unfair,” Jen murmured with a nod at the Static Shield.

“The world isn’t a fair place, meatbag. I thought you would have figured that out by now.”

“Indeed, but that is out there. Not in here.”

The first trial of the dungeon was supposed to test one’s ability to avoid danger. At least, that was what the Monk had told Fizzy on the way over, though she wasn’t aware what shape that would take before seeing it for herself. While the golem did indeed ‘avoid danger,’ the seemingly effortless way she had done so seemed like cheating.

“And?” the Paladin shrugged. “If Axel or whoever he left in charge of this place can’t handle cutting edge technology, that’s their problem. Not mine.”

Part of her wanted to mention it was Jen that brought her here in the first place, but she kept that to herself since she didn’t want to push her luck. There was no telling who was watching or listening.

“Besides, any Wizard worth their salt would be able to block this stuff with a good Mana Shield,” she added confidently.

“… Understood,” the Monk conceded. “Requesting that we move forward.”

“After you, meatbag.”

Fizzy reshaped herself back into her default ‘Skirmisher Mode’ and continued pushing deeper into the dungeon. The next room, a wide cylindrical chamber, was a test of strength. Which was a nice way of saying the ceiling pressed down on them and threatened to crush them both if they didn’t work together to hold it up. Indeed, it was so heavy even Jen’s ridiculously powerful muscles couldn’t bear it. It forced her down on one knee, at which point her much shorter and shinier companion was finally able to reach the receding ceiling. The two continued to push upwards for several minutes until the floor under their feet began to crumble and crack. At first, this seemed to be caused by the absurd forces involved, but that was immediately proven to have been by design. The ground gave way completely, plunging them into the circular cavern underneath. They splashed down into a massive whirlpool with a current so strong that even Fizzy’s dense frame was swept away.

It wasn’t enough to keep the golem afloat for long, as she quickly hit rock bottom. It was so deep and dark that she could barely even see anything until she turned on Tactical Readout. This War Golem Skill augmented her eyesight, allowing her to process visual information in new and exciting ways. It included features such as target tracking, firing solutions for projectile weaponry, thermal vision, and a built-in compass. All this data would be collected and analyzed in real time, then transmitted to her mind in the form of glowing images, diagrams, and numbers that only she could see. Or, at least, it would eventually. At present, the Skill was barely at Level 2, so it only provided night vision and a zoom function. Jen swam down to meet her shortly afterwards, though she had to fight the currents the hard way. The Monk didn’t struggle much, as she was already used to navigating submerged environments. The darkness was arguably a bigger issue, but she had resolved that with a pair of leather goggles with glowing lenses.

The pair searched around the flooded chamber until they found a deep hole that went straight down, almost like a drain. After exchanging nods, the angel and the golem descended into the tunnel. Fizzy sank and Jen swam for about a hundred meters down until they finally noticed a dim light coming from below. Another twenty meters or so and they suddenly found themselves falling through the air and landing in the middle of another large room. Looking up at the ceiling, it became apparent that the dungeon was using some unseen force to prevent the water from spilling out of the hole.

“Okay, now that’s impressive,” Fizzy commented while looking up at the surreal sight. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think that was an upside down well.”

“Koff!” Jen sputtered as she gasped for air. “Koff, koff, koff!”

“Oh, right. Meatbags need to breathe, don’t they?”

That was an understatement. All living things required air and depriving them of this vital resource was usually seen as ‘the great equalizer.’ It didn’t matter if one was large or small, old or young, strong or weak – they would all die without this basic need. Unless, of course, magic entered the equation, as Skills, Spells, and enchanted gear could circumvent asphyxiation. In Jen’s case, she had momentarily surfaced to consume a Gillsprout Elixir that was supposed to let her breathe underwater for up to five minutes. Bringing one into an unknown dungeon was common sense since there was no telling what would happen when exploring an unknown dungeon. Unfortunately, something in the water nullified the potion’s effects much sooner than anticipated, which led to her nearly drowning. It was most likely a countermeasure meant to prevent challengers from circumventing The Gauntlet’s trial of endurance.

“Huff, huff, huff…”

Having finished coughing up water, Jen panted heavily as she gathered her wits. After a few seconds, she stood up, once again giving Fizzy a dirty look. Unlike her, the golem had not used any means of magical respiration because she didn’t need it. It very nearly made Jen want to call her an unfair existence for a second time, but she didn’t get the chance before the next test began.

This one seemed relatively simple, as it consisted of various monsters popping out of hidden doors in the walls and floor. All the creatures were native to Velos, such as hydras, orcs, several types of giant insects, and sentient man-eating plants. Since the dungeon scaled in difficulty to the challengers’ power level, all were much stronger than their wild counterparts. The orcs, for instance, fought at near-warlord levels despite being clearly common grunts, and the massive, multi-headed lizards were at least three times faster and tougher than Spittles. Ultimately, this merely meant that the ensuing fight took a lot longer to resolve. Even if they were stronger across the board, their attack patterns were highly predictable. Jen and Fizzy were equally proficient at reading incoming strikes, albeit via drastically different methods, so they defeated the supercharged rabble without much issue. The only real concern was staying out of each other’s way, something both of them agreed to without exchanging a single word.

“Well, that was fun,” Fizzy said as she brushed giant beetle ichor off her wrench. “I was almost worried this place would have no actual fighting.”

“You are not tired?” the Monk asked, checking the perimeter. “Do golems even get tired?”

The fighting had dragged on for over an hour since exceptionally durable enemies kept pouring into the room, so it was a legitimate concern. It had also been a while since Jen fought alongside someone that could keep up with her monstrous stamina.

“Technically, we do, but I can literally do this stuff for four days straight before I have to worry about it.”

It was no mere boast, but demonstrable fact. War golems, as the name implied, were designed for prolonged military engagements. They could still get exhausted and enter a lethargic low-power state like lesser species of their kind, but it took considerably more effort to reach that point. That wasn’t even considering Fizzy’s near-legendary END Attribute. The golem knew her limit was ‘four days’ because she once tried to pull a week-long marathon while practicing her Blacksmith Job. That said, Jen felt confident her own fitness levels were not far behind, though she doubted whether her wits and concentration would last as long as her body in that extreme scenario. Even if she was easily worthy of being called ‘superhuman,’ that still meant she was part ‘human.’

Having dealt with the latest challenge, the pair proceeded forward through the only door that remained open. The rest of the dungeon seemed to follow the same pattern of presenting them with various traps and challenges occasionally broken down by bouts of arduous combat. However, it soon became apparent that The Gauntlet favored fighter types over magic users. Even if some of the rooms could easily be solved by a skilled Wizard, others were practically impossible for weak-bodied twinkle-fingers. Fizzy also noted that even though Axel supposedly despised monsters, he was clearly not above using them as a means of testing those that entered his dungeon. The Paladin inwardly mused whether he might take pleasure in watching these creatures get beaten to a bloody pulp, but she sincerely doubted it. The God of War and Combat seemed like too much of a control freak to bother with silly things like ‘fun’ or ‘entertainment.’

After about twelve rooms that tested various aspects of Jen and Fizzy’s physical and mental condition, the pair finally arrived at a place that seemed to be a change of pace. Unlike the bare and featureless stone brick chambers before, this space actually had some decor and flair. It was oddly reminiscent of the dwarven arenas the golem used to fight in, as it was a flattened circular space surrounded by a tall wall. The seats beyond it were filled by clay statues in various cheering poses. Numerous banners with colorful heraldries hung from tall poles and fluttered lightly in a wind that wasn’t there. There was even a VIP box where one would expect to see a guest of honor, right in the middle of the front row.

It was that last part that drew Jen and Fizzy’s attention, as they could see something glowing there, though it was too hazy to make out. As they approached the curious sight, the thing leapt from its perch and landed silently near the arena’s edge. The challengers raised their guard, but this stranger didn’t seem interested in fighting them at the moment. Drawing warily closer, the golem could make out the glowing entity’s general shape. It seemed to be made of solidified bright-blue light bordering on white and was also slightly translucent, making it abundantly clear this was not a person despite looking like one.

More precisely, like a very specific individual that Fizzy couldn’t help but recognize.

“… Hesk? Is that you?”

Part Four

“… Hesk? Is that you?”

It wasn’t like Fizzy to ask such a dumb question, but she couldn’t help it. Though the raptor-shaped apparition was more luminescent and see-through than the real deal, it was otherwise identical in appearance to the recently deceased Hero of the Sword. The armor, the broad-headed spear, and its posture were too similar for this to be a simple coincidence. The golem was intimately familiar with all of those since the scary lizard lady had requested a spar following the Heroes’ first meeting. Hesk requested that of everyone present at the time, and most had obliged.

“Yes? Have we met before?”

“I guess not. Never mind.”

The ghost’s voice and speech were also like the real thing, though her inability to remember Fizzy made it clear this was a fake. After all, it was impossible that even the dead would forget someone as magnificent, glorious, and radiant as the Rustblood Juggernaut, even if they only met briefly. At least, that was what the narcissistic golem told herself to ease her slightly bruised ego.

“I apologize, not having a body makes it difficult to retain memories,” the ghost claimed with a slight bow of her head. “That said, it does not matter what our relationship was before. Right now, I am nothing more than the judge for your next test. A referee, if you will. Before we begin, however, let us dispense with this pointless pageantry.”

Hesk stabbed her spectral spear into the ground and clapped her hands twice. The arena shook, groaned, and rattled as the surrounding stands and walls fell away into nothingness. The duo braced themselves, but that proved a pointless precaution as the illuminated circle of hard-packed sand was the only thing left standing amidst a sea of darkness. There was no sign of hostiles just yet.

“Judge?” the golem asked sternly. “You’re not going to fight us?”

“Though I would have loved to meet you on the field of battle,” Hesk said as she picked up her spear, “I’m afraid my time has passed. This contest is for the living.”

“Wait, contest? As in only one of us can win?”

*THONK*

Fizzy did not even get the chance to process the implications of those words before Jen blindsided her. She had swung her adamantite staff with all her strength, landing a clean hit on the golem’s side, right where her ribs would be if she had any. The blow’s force was so great it sent Fizzy flying and nearly knocked her off of the edge of the bare-bones arena. The two were standing quite close to said edge since that was where Hesk’s ghost currently was, so there was a chance her plan might have worked. Unfortunately for the Monk, Fizzy had picked the Shock Absorption Skill specifically to counteract this situation. She wasn’t pushed nearly as far as Zone intended, and she had one more trick up her sleeve. She used Lightning Warp to immediately zap herself above the human’s head. The electrical discharge that followed slightly singed the woman’s black hair. It barely did any harm, but that didn’t matter since damage was not the Skill’s primary function.

Without saying a word, the golem swung her wrench down on top of Jen’s head, but the Monk was an Ultimate Skill user. Though she had barely used it so far, her Spirit Guardian manifested itself as a spectral pair of arms emerged from her shoulders and blocked the titanium tool, stopping it dead in its tracks. The angel then spun around for a second sweeping hit, but her staff was firmly batted away by Fizzy’s shield. The golem landed with a slightly awkward roll and lunged forward with a Nail Strike thrust, which was halted just as effortlessly as her last attack. The two went back and forth for a while, but neither was able to land a solid hit due to both sides constantly predicting the other’s attacks. That said, Jen was slightly better at it than Fizzy, but the quick hits that made it past the golem’s shield were not enough to do any real harm. While they inflicted a bit of damage due to the Monk’s Ki-enhanced attacks and Legendary Strength Perk, the portion that bypassed her absurd defenses were as insignificant as scratches and bruises.

At one point, the golem managed to force her opponent back with a shield bash, giving her the breathing room she needed to address the elephant in the room.

“Hey, ref! Care to fill me in on what exactly is going on here?!”

“You have reached the dueling portion of The Gauntlet of Eb-Kurah. What is there to understand?”

The ethereal raptor had vanished into thin air at the fight’s outbreak, though it would appear she was still ‘around.’

“Why in Hugo’s holy toenails are we even doing this?!” the golem complained while deflecting another staff strike. “What was the point of forcing us to cooperate if you’re gonna make us fight?!”

“Having the courage to stand up to one’s enemies is one thing, but opposing one’s allies is another altogether. One must be wary of all challengers, lest their tenure as Hero of the Sword be a short one.”

“That’s fan-fuckin-tastic!”

Now, it finally made sense. This dungeon was nothing more than a glorified interview to help determine Hesk’s successor, which explained her ghost’s presence.

“Ah, I should probably mention the rules of engagement,” the ex-raptor suddenly realized.

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?!”

Hesk ignored the golem’s vocal complaints and carried on speaking, her loud voice clearly audible over the sounds of battle.

“Victory in this duel can be achieved either through forcing your opponent to yield or throwing them out of the ring. The combat area will shrink continually as time passes. The loser will be safely teleported outside, but will no longer be able to challenge The Gauntlet of Eb-Kurah.”

“It’s fine if I smash this bint’s head wide open, right?!” Fizzy yelled while firing off a shot from her arm-mounted cannon.

“This is a ring of honor. Cold-blooded murder will result in immediate disqualification.”

It was, after all, assumed that the Hero candidates would be comrades, so outright asking them to kill each other was not in good taste. Though fatalities did happen, these rare cases were accidents. It was far more common to have one of the challengers forfeit immediately, either because they trusted the other person to fulfil the role of Hero or because they were unwilling to fight their friends. After all, this was the dungeon’s way of testing loyalty.

“Like I give a crap!”

Fizzy obviously didn’t care.

“Do as you wish,” Hesk said coldly. “You definitely won’t do as Axel’s chosen, so you can leap off the edge for all I care.”

Truth be told, the excessively shiny Paladin wasn’t all that opposed to the idea. If there were no items to be had, then there was no point in her even being here. True, giving up would give Jen the Hero title, but the golem didn’t see the harm in that. The construct had heard from Boxxy what sort of Skills the Monk would receive, and none seemed like a threat. Even the posthumous Eternal Crusade could be avoided so long as the Monk failed to die ‘in honorable combat,’ whatever that ambiguous term meant. Plus, while extra combat XP and Skill Proficiency sounded good on paper, it wasn’t that great in the hands of someone already on the verge of a second Level 100 Job. Bottom line, Fizzy failed to see how becoming a Hero of the Sword would be of any use to that woman. From her point of view, it was a hollow title that would in no way allow her to endanger Boxxy’s life. Or hers, for that matter. In fact, Zone was so far beneath Fizzy the golem almost pitied her.

However, that was before she dared to attack her from behind.

“Parallel Two!”

Fizzy’s eyes shone with a burning green light as Plus and Minus entered the duel. She relinquished control of her body to her negatively-charged self. In the next instant, the golem’s strikes became wild and frenzied, catching Zone off guard and throwing off her mental image of Fizzy’s fighting style. This allowed Minus to swing her right fist directly at the angel’s face while the human swung back at her with her staff. The Spirit Guardian grabbed that punch at the same time as the golem’s shield deflected the counter attack, leading to a momentary lull in the battle.

Which was when Fizzy’s flying wrench, controlled by her Geomagnetic Grip, slammed into Jen’s temple.

“Lightning Bolt!”

At the same time, Plus’s Spell fired out of the golem’s immobilized right hand. The ball of golden lightning would have hit her square in the face if not for the previous impact moving it ever-so-slightly.

“Fizzy! You made me miss!”

“Chant faster next time!”

“Will you two shut up and get to fightin’?!”

Taking advantage of that moment of internal discord, Zone booted the golem away with a kick to the chest. The radiant construct fell on her back, flipped over to land on her feet, and took another Magitech Cannon shot at her opponent, which missed spectacularly.

“Oh, come on! She didn’t even have to dodge that one!”

“As if you could do better!”

“Guys, incoming!”

After parrying another of Jen’s strikes, Fizzy retaliated by unleashing one of her trump cards.

“Condemn!”

The high-Level Paladin Skill wrapped itself around the Monk, conjuring a set of manacles forged out of solid light on her wrists, ankles, and throat. This technique sealed the use of Skills, Spells, and Martial Arts once every six minutes for up to six seconds depending on the ability’s Level. In its current state, it would only last two seconds, but that window was more than enough to let Fizzy deal some serious damage. The golem’s main personality took over in the next instant, as she grasped her wrench out of the air with her right hand. Divine Wrath was activated, giving her a blazing green halo and wrapping her weapon in the same holy energy, signifying the temporary boost in her damage output.

“Grand Slam!”

With her Spirit Guardian and Ki-based abilities currently out of commission, Zone had no choice but to handle Martial Art the hard way. Luckily, her movements were not being restricted, so she jumped back to lessen the force of the impact while placing her nigh-indestructible staff in the way of the swing.

[You have suffered extreme blunt force trauma. HP -1,402.]

Though she did her best to parry it, the magically-enhanced blow proved too much for her bare flesh to withstand. The brunt of the impact was transmitted through her adamantite rod and into her arms, making them scream out in pain with a disgusting snapping noise. Jen was thrown back by the wide swing and tumbled across the ground. She didn’t have time to deal with her broken left elbow at the moment, as she had to roll over to the side in order to avoid Fizzy’s follow up Magitech Cannon shot. The golem fired off another blast as well as a Lightning Bolt, both of which were barely evaded. Her Condemn Skill wore off at that point, allowing the Monk to retreat into the air while using Healing Hand to mend her fractured limb. She didn’t have a lot of Ki to work with, however, so she couldn’t afford to heal it completely, just barely enough to regain the use of her arm. Her glistening opponent kept blasting her with ranged magic attacks, but Zone’s copious amounts of experience fighting magic users began to shine. She was dodging attacks before they were even launched, making full use of her wings’ three-dimensional mobility.

“Stop squirming and die like an adult!” Fizzy shouted out loud.

“Ugh, knew we should’ve studied Ebonfire instead of Lightning Bolt,” Minus grumbled. “Bet she wouldn’t be able to dodge THAT!”

“None of us ‘get’ shadow magic, though,” Plus said defensively.

There was another way, however. As slippery as she was, even Jen could not avoid point blank area attacks. Fizzy’s Engine of Destruction had generated enough heat to make her body glow red. She only had to get in close and discharge it with Heat Exchange, which would surely boil the skin right off that upstart meatbag. The first part of that plan was going to be somewhat problematic, however, as the angelic Monk had gained so much altitude that she was outside her cannon’s forty-meter range and well beyond the reach of any other Skills or Spells at the Paladin’s disposal.

“What is she doing up there?” Minus asked. “Think she figured out what we were up to?”

“Maybe she realized how rude she was and is considering letting us snap her neck as an apology?”

“Sweet Marcel, Plus! There’s gotta be a limit to your optimism!”

“That scenario would be the most expedient solution,” Null chimed in with a rare comment, “but meatbags have been observed to be sorely lacking in efficiency.”

“Uh, guys?” Fizzy interrupted them. “Is it me or is the arena shrinking?”

Indeed, now that the others thought about it, the ring of dirt was notably smaller than it used to be.

“I already mentioned it would, did I not?” Hesk’s voice echoed around them. “The duel area will keep crumbling until a victor is decided.”

“Doesn’t that mean she can just wait up there for us to fall?”

“Indeed, it does.”

“How is that a fair duel?”

“The world isn’t fair. If your ‘cutting edge technology’ can’t handle a bit of vertical movement, that’s your problem. Not mine.”

Clearly, the ghost had been remotely observing the pair from the very start, and her tone made it clear she was playing favorites. It wouldn’t surprise Fizzy if there was normally a no-flying ban in the area, which had been lifted specifically to give Zone an advantage. At least, it would have, if not for one tiny detail.

“Who said it couldn’t?”

Fizzy’s body began morphing once again, much like it had at the start of the dungeon. Jen wondered if she should strike while this was happening, but she hesitated. She had indeed picked up that this golem was planning some sort of short-range tactic, so she was wary of giving her the chance. Not to mention she had seen the defensive power of that Fortress Mode first-hand. She realized too late, however, that Fizzy wasn’t becoming shorter and wider, but taller and slimmer. This new configuration was slender, sleek, streamlined, stylish even. Even her shield reduced in size to nothing more than a bracer-like decoration. Overall, the golem looked like the world’s shiniest Rogue, especially with the faceplate that hid the lower half of her face. Of particular note were the two identical devices attached to her back. They were cylindrical, had a lot of moving parts, and each sported a trio of blade-like protrusions that moved around in unison.

Jen was about to find out these curious things were not weapons, but the stabilizers of the golem’s integrated jet pack.

[Assault Mode is now active.]
[All damage taken increased by 15%.]
[The effectiveness of the AGI Attribute has been increased by 25%.]
[Proficiency level decreased. Static Field is now Level 0. INT -40. WIS -20.]
[Proficiency level increased. Jump Jets is now Level 10. INT +40. WIS +20.]

Fizzy immediately spooled up her new engines. Within moments, the two main boosters on her back and the two supporting ones in her calves started spewing bright blue flames, propelling her onward and upward. The jets screamed as her red-hot frame soared straight for Zone like a violence-guided missile. Her heavy-duty wrench was being dragged alongside her by Plus, who was currently utilizing the body’s magnetic abilities. Incidentally, those same powers proved largely ineffective on Zone’s staff. Adamantite was an exceptionally stubborn metal that refused to yield to her magnetism.

That aside, the wrench was not going to be Fizzy’s weapon of choice this time. That particular honor would be left to Assault Mode’s built-in weapons. The golem flicked her arms outward, causing a pair of collapsible mithril blades to shoot out of the slots just above her wrists. Unfortunately, they were not considered traditional weapons and did not benefit from Mastery Skills, but their owner had never found them wanting when it came to carving up uppity meatbags. Not to mention they allowed for fast, rapid strikes, which, if Fizzy’s memory was correct, was the proper way to overcome that Ultimate Skill’s defense. However, Jen was an expert in aerial combat. She jerked out of the way of Fizzy’s flight path at the last second, making her cross-slice hit nothing but air. The golem cut her engines, performed a half-backflip, and reignited them, resulting in an instantaneous one-eighty turn that would be impossible with mere wings. The angelic Monk was unable to dodge the second assault and had to meet it head on. Her bare fist caught one blade, her Spirit Guardian blocked the second, and her staff fought off the flying wrench. She had put considerable effort into that last one, as it was strong enough to actually bend the handle of the tool-shaped lump of titanium.

Jen sharpened her concentration in anticipation of any more point-blank Spells, but her opponent enacted her earlier plan. The area around her was bathed in scalding steam as her superheated frame purged all the heat it had built up since the duel’s start. And, much as the golem had been intending, Zone took the blast hard. She let out a rare scream of pain as her skin burned and eyes boiled, her Ki unable to protect her. She fell out of the air, trailing white smoke behind her as she crashed into the remnants of the arena below. The dirt ring had become so small by then it couldn’t have been more than five meters wide. It was something of a miracle she landed on it instead of the surrounding abyss. Though, seeing as how her landing made another big chunk of it break off, it wouldn’t be long before Jen fell into the bottomless darkness below.

Fizzy had been left hovering in the air and looking down at the squirming meatbag in every way imaginable. The Heat Exchange didn’t do all that much damage to her HP, but it had clearly deprived her opponent of her sight, considering the way she was grasping around while crawling around on the dirt. Part of Fizzy wanted to let her fall, as it would force the Monk to live knowing that she’d blown her one chance at being a Hero. As satisfying as that thought was, another part of the golem – mostly Minus – wanted to gouge her heart out and shove it down her throat. Then Plus pointed out that said vital organ would make a great afternoon snack for Boxxy.

Fizzy had to make up her mind sooner rather than later, as she couldn’t hover in place forever. The Jump Jets Skill, much like the name implied, was intended for short bursts, not sustained flight. Hovering in place like that drained her MP at an alarming rate, especially since her Engine of Destruction was not generating much now that she had cooled off. After a very brief moment of internal deliberation, the golem settled on killing Jen. Even if Boxxy said this woman could be of use, Fizzy ultimately didn’t like the idea of letting this loose end wander about. With that in mind, the flying construct swooped down to deliver the killing blow, aiming to pierce her heart from behind. With her Ki no doubt exhausted and the added velocity of the golem’s Jump Jets, even the angel’s tough body would surely be skewered clean through. Fizzy realized too little too late, however, that even though she seemed to be in agony, the Monk looked a little bit too… healthy.

The woman suddenly jerked out of the way just before the golem’s blades tore her a structurally superfluous new behind, making them dig into the hard-packed dirt instead. She stood up, holding something in her hand. It was an empty steel tincture inlaid with silver. Until a few seconds ago, it had been resting in the pouch behind her waist while holding a dose of Rejuvenation Potion. Jen leapt onto the golem’s back before Fizzy could stand up and resume her assault, then tossed the hollow metal container into one of her turbines. The golem threw the meatbag off in the next instant, but it was too late. A horrible, grinding noise came out of her back-mounted device, accompanied by a deluge of sparks and spurts of smoke, much as Jen hoped. The Monk wasn’t the brightest when it came to brain-intensive disciplines like science, machinery, magic, or the like, but she was very good at breaking things. Whether it was people, buildings, gadgets, or organizations, she understood that the more moving parts a system had, the easier it was to sabotage. That was how, even though this was her first time seeing a mana-fueled jet engine, she was able to reliably recognize how to best break it.

Admittedly, her attempt hadn’t been a complete success. The jetpack was still there and mostly intact, but the steel tincture had been shredded to bits that completely jammed up the turbine’s internal components.

“You’re gonna pay for that!”

Fizzy screamed in anger as she lunged at Zone, but she made the mistake of growing too agitated. As someone who had never taken anything that could be called ‘a clean hit’ in over a year, that cheap trick got her so mad that she lost sight of what was important. She forgot her surroundings and the fact that Assault Mode was significantly lighter than her usual self. Jen expertly exploited that mistake and slipped past her amateurish slashes, then pushed her over the edge with a thrusting kick. With her engine out of order, Fizzy immediately used Lightning Warp to put herself back on solid ground, but her opponent was ready. The Monk used what little Ki she had been able to regain and elbowed the golem straight in the face the instant she reappeared, ignoring the burst of electricity that accompanied that short-range teleportation Skill. Fizzy tumbled backwards across the tiny platform and managed to stop herself just short of falling off a second time, only to have her footing crumble underneath her feet.

However, though she was already on her way down, the golem tried to get one last shot in.

“Judgment!”

A faucet of pure golden light appeared out of thin air and smacked Zone across the face. The Spell in question would not have done much if she still had her Ki defenses, but she had used what little spiritual energy she had recovered since her fall to push Fizzy over. She took that plumbing-shaped hit hard as it knocked out both a tooth and her consciousness.

Jen woke up a minute later, leaping to her feet the instant she was able. She calmed down a few frantic breaths later when she realized the mock arena had been returned to its initial splendor. Though Fizzy’s last ditch effort had been a good hit, it didn’t prevent the golem from falling into that black abyss, leaving the Monk as the clear victor. Hesk shimmered into existence in front of the winner with her chin held high, her chest puffed out, and her arms crossed behind her back, almost like a military drill instructor.

“Well. That’s that I suppose,” she said casually. “Tell me, though, why did you team up with that thing if you planned to throw her off from the start?”

It was clear the human knew a lot more about these Hero tryouts than she let on and used that to her advantage. It wasn’t very honorable, even if her ‘victim’ was technically a monster.

“Had no other options.”

It was one of the few things this woman had been honest about when she last spoke with Boxxy. She knew of nobody on her own level who would be willing to follow her into a dungeon sight unseen, but she knew she could tempt that creature with the promise of quality items. Which, incidentally, was also not a total lie seeing as there was indeed a superbly powerful weapon in this dungeon, but that would have to wait for later.

“Hm. There’s always another option. You just failed to realize it existed,” the ghostly raptor said sternly.

“Did I pass the trial or not?” the Monk insisted.

“You pass, I suppose. Even if you had to resort to some… questionable tactics, such things are often necessary when dealing with monsters. I will not condone what you did, but I will not fault you for it, either. Do keep in mind, however, that it is not I who will decide if you are worthy.”

Hesk clapped her hands again, causing a doorway of light to appear in front of Zone.

“Your next trial awaits. Ah, and you will probably be needing this.”

She raised one of her palms, prompting the staff that Zone dropped earlier to pop out of the ground like an overly enthusiastic bean sprout.

“A warrior should take better care of her weapon.”

The Monk nodded, grabbed the black metal rod, and stepped through the gate.

Shortly before that, a very irate mithril woman tumbled down an unreasonably long flight of stairs, spilling out profanities along the way. The steps were so steep that she was unable to slow herself down until she landed face first into the dirt at the bottom of that orange pyramid.

“I swear I’ll rip her freaking lungs out!” she snarled while standing up. “Don’t tell me to calm down, I am calm! I’m just as calm as I need to be!”

“I take it the dungeon dive didn’t go as planned?”

Fizzy, still in Assault Mode, spun around and pointed her blades at the source of that voice, only to find that it belonged to a Sandman-shaped shifter.

“Oh. Was wondering when you were going to show up.”

‘Busy preparing to go home?’ As if that was what this compulsive liar was actually up to. It probably stalked her and Jen as they were trekking through the jungle and only recalled its demons to make the Monk lower her guard. Fizzy was a hundred percent sure it would come to fetch her at some point, and, by the looks of things, it had been waiting a while. It was already night out. The golem looked back up the annoyingly long flight of stairs and scowled. If she knew she was going to fail anyway, she would’ve flown up there earlier instead of keeping this form a secret, just in case it became necessary. Then again, if she had known what was going to happen, she would have crushed that woman the instant she saw her.

“Here, let me clean that out.”

Boxxy reached a hand into her turbine and used its shapeshifting limb and MLG to clean out all of the scrap jamming the engine.

“There, all done.”

Fizzy gave her jump jets a quick spool and was relieved to hear them ‘sing’ once more. She made a mental note to be more mindful of that opening in the future and reverted to her default configuration.

“So… turns out this place is a testing ground for Hero of the Sword candidates, and I got kicked out because of its rules,” the golem revealed in a rare apologetic tone.

“Hm. I suspected that might be the case.”

No Heroes allowed? Must have a follower of Axel along? The entry criteria alone were a dead giveaway, not to mention the timing. That woman had been here for at least a year and a half, yet only decided to challenge this place after Hesk was reported dead. Even if she was a criminal up north, nobody here knew her face or name, so she should’ve been able to find a good partner given that much time. Approaching Boxxy with her offer was likely born out of a sense of urgency since she wanted to get a head start on any potential competition. Then, once she had claimed a Hero title, she would have all the support for the Dragon Festival she could’ve wanted, courtesy of the Eight Tribes. At least, that was what Boxxy suspected Jen would be thinking, given her situation. Fizzy wasn’t even going to try to ask why her partner didn’t tell her the whole story or what it was scheming. That would’ve been as pointless as petitioning a fire to stop burning things. Instead, she chose to bring up a far more productive topic.

“What happens now?”

Namely – the next step in the shapeshifter’s plan.

“First, you’re going to tell me exactly what went on inside.”

“And then?”

“And then we wait for Jen to fail.”

Interlude
The Little Box That Could

Minic was alone. This was far from the first time this had happened, but Minic felt tragically un-fluffy every time it did. However, this particular instance was worse than the usual loneliness. Minic had been spoiled rotten by Big Sis and Her Softness for so long that it made their absence sting extra hard. Admittedly, they’d only been gone for half a day, but the animate jewelry box had the inescapable feeling they might never meet again. The way its owners packed up and left brought back many un-fluffy memories of Father, and how he disappeared on Minic and its siblings. It wasn’t exactly the same departure, but it was close enough to deeply upset the little guy.

“Nn… Yip! (Never again!)”

Wanting to avoid that unbearable loneliness inspired Minic to act. Unlike before, it would not stand idly by while its home fell apart. Filled with bravery, determination, and ignorance, Minic valiantly set off into the wider world in search of Big Sis and Her Softness. Naturally, it had no idea where they’d gone or how it would find them, but it believed everything would work out so long as it didn’t lose hope. These were the naive thoughts that crossed through the box’s tiny mind as it plummeted hundreds of meters towards the ground, having fallen off the branch that held its new home. It bumped into a flying Wizard’s enormous hat, caught a strong updraft, rolled across one branch, slipped between several vines, and crashed softly into an enormous stack of hay.

Having achieved touchdown in typical fashion, Minic hopped out of the pile and clopped rapidly as it ventured down the paved street. Its determination was still burning strong, but its direction was random and thoughtless. It changed on a whim as Minic dodged and weaved between people, livestock, and carriage wheels. After several hours, the little guy got hungry. Deciding it could not finish its quest on an empty drawer, it took a slight detour as it looked for a snack. It spotted a juicy-looking fur-fruit and gave chase without a second thought. The legged meal tried to get away by ducking inside a pile of crates, the gaps between them too tight for its pursuer’s frame. But Minic was a clever Minic and hopped on top of them. It found a sufficiently large gap and, after taking a moment to gauge the distance, dropped down on its lunch.

Side objective complete, Minic realized it was in a bit of a pickle. Not the yummy kind, either. The gap it had fallen into had no exit, as the wooden cargo containers around were still far too close together for the jewelry box’s rigid frame to squeeze between them. They were also too tall and smooth to climb, lacking the smaller boxes on the outside that served as convenient steps. Minic panicked a bit before it realized it could just ask these considerable individuals to make way.

“Yip yip. Yip yap yip, yipee. (Excuse me, Square Cousins. Can you step aside, so that I might get through?)”

They did not respond. Logically, there was no way a bunch of brand new crates stacked up on the side of a street would be sentient. It was even more ludicrous to assume they would miraculously gain self-awareness just because a silly little box spoke to them. Yet, after several seconds of silence, the containers did indeed start moving. They groaned, scraped, bumped, and shook as laborers strapped them down to the pallet they were all resting on. The cargo was hoisted onto the back of a carriage, and then continued shaking as the vehicle’s wheels rattled towards its destination.

Minic was left none the wiser. It joyfully assumed that these kind boxes were trying their best to move apart so that they might allow it passage. They looked very heavy, but Minic was a good Minic and didn’t comment on their weight. It sat still and waited for them to move. Much like any mimic, Minic was very good at that sort of thing when it wanted to be, and, in this case, Minic decided to be patient. So, Minic stood still and waited for its hefty cousins to provide passage. They rattled a lot, then stopped, then rattled some more, then stopped again. At some point, there were some wobbly lights and a sudden shift in the grand ceiling, but Minic’s mind was made up. It refused to move. It didn’t want its new friends to think Minic was rude because it got tired of waiting for them to shift their considerable girth.

Thus was the ignorant creature transported across Atica, loaded onto a ship bound for Velos, and set off across the Shimmering Ocean. However, there was a limit to how long a living thing could go without food. Standing still allowed Minic to conserve energy and survive on that random snack for many days before hunger started rearing its ugly head. Yet, its situation hadn’t changed. It was still trapped between those crates with no way to get out. If nothing changed, Minic would surely expire by the time the ship reached its destination. Thankfully for the four-hundred-year-old bundle of concentrated luck, things always worked out in its favor, and this predicament would be no different. A violent storm struck the ship, causing it to rock violently back and forth. The many ropes holding its cargo down strained to keep the shifting weight from escaping. A certain knot, tied improperly by a lazy laborer, came loose. A box of assorted potions abruptly slid to one side and slammed into the ship’s inner hull.

“Yip yap! (Thank you, Square Cousins!)”

Minic gleefully walked through the open gap. Only then did it realize that a huge and shaky box had somehow appeared around it. This was a most confusing development, so Minic chose to ignore it and focused on locating a snack to appease its rumbling drawer. Yet, no matter how much it strained its shiny red gem, it couldn’t find any. No fur-fruits, no big-tree-fruits, no round-fruits, no sour-fruits, and not even buzz-fruits. It did, however, spot what looked like sparkly juice in fancy bottles. That would surely do the trick. The only problem was that they were tucked away in the Square Cousin that had so graciously moved out of the way. Emboldened by their considerate nature, Minic decided to ask one more favor.

“Yup, yap, yep yip? (Pardon me, Square Cousin, but might I sample one of your drinks?)”

The storm outside suddenly tilted the ship in the opposite direction, causing the loose crate to slide back into place and smash into its neighbor. The impact was strong enough to shatter a portion of its fragile cargo, causing droplets of a fizzy orange liquid to seep out, right in front of the hapless critter. With a quick yip of thanks, Minic eagerly lapped up the small pool the substance formed. This particular fluid was known as Liquid Bread, an elixir of concentrated nutrition meant to feed entire villages by diluting it with clean water in a cauldron. Or, alternatively, satisfy one tiny box’s hunger with a few licks. Now revitalized and overflowing with energy, Minic joyfully hopped around the Square Cousin that had helped it so kindly. The hyperactive box felt inspired to bestow upon this exemplary individual the honorable title of Generous Cousin. Ah, but this was not a reference to its proportions or weight. While indeed considerable, this cousin’s kindness was far greater. Perhaps they might even be willing to assist Minic on its Quest?

“Yip yip yip, yap yap yip yep?”

Minic requested just that, and once more waited patiently for Generous Cousin’s response. A few minutes later, the crate in question shifted once more. With another impact and more vials breaking, the various liquids sloshing inside mixed in a way that produced a most fascinating reaction. With a flash of light and a puff of smoke, the crate, everything in it, and Minic disappeared from the ship’s hold. They reappeared moments later, many kilometers away, and well outside the raging tempest’s range. They were also a fair bit above sea level, directly above a tiny island with an enormous palm tree in the middle. The solitary piece of vegetation served as Minic’s cushion while the crate smashed against the shore next to it. Whatever alchemical amalgamation was inside quickly seeped into the ground and sea while the few intact vials scattered across the sand.

Minic slid down the side of the palm tree and went to check on Generous Cousin with great concern. It immediately became apparent that the kindly fellow had clearly perished, which filled Minic with great unfluffiness. It stood at attention, saluting its fallen comrade and silently thanking it once more for assisting Minic so selflessly. Having paid its respects, the little box turned its puny mind to other matters. Where was it, and how it could cross that enormous puddle? It was so big, in fact, that Minic couldn’t see where it started or ended. Could it be, perhaps, that the grand ceiling far above wasn’t actually a ceiling? No, that would be silly. Surely, there’s no way all this water would stay put without a strong lid to keep it tucked away.

Minic continued pondering things beyond its comprehension until it spotted movement in the sand nearby. Not the scary kind, but of the scuttling variety. A hermit crab even smaller than Minic was prowling the island’s edge in search of a new clam to call home. Minic had never seen such a thing and approached it curiously. The crustacean mistook the animate box for an inanimate one and tried climbing into its mouth. It was then spat out with a ‘bleh’ as it was indirectly informed that the prime real estate it had discovered was already occupied. The crab remained still, as something vaguely resembling disappointment overtook its puny mind.

Minic’s fluffy senses tingled and told it that Mr. Scuttles was lacking in the fluffy department. Mimic could not know what the cause was, but it felt responsible. So, it decided to make amends with a gift. Best as it could tell, Mr. Scuttles was looking for hats before it invited itself into Minic’s mouth. Silly Mr. Scuttles, Minic was not hat. But, Minic knew where to find one. Minic’s special gem noticed it buried in the sand while Minic tried to figure out what to do next. So, Minic got busy. It burrowed as quickly as its stubby legs allowed it, still energized by that strange fizz-juice. Within minutes, it had pushed aside enough sand to reveal some truly large fur-fruit seeds. Or, perhaps they were some other strange fruit’s seeds? It was hard to tell.

Whatever the case, Minic’s flat teeth pinched the rim of the big, fancy hat it had unearthed and started pulling it out of the ground. It was a bit stuck on the round weird-seed, so it had to yank with all its might. Minic succeeded, though not without incident. The hat didn’t come loose until the old and brittle skull it was attached to cracked and snapped. Minic was sent tumbling backwards within the freshly-dug hole while bits of dead pirate scattered all over it, including the ancient eyepatch that had been looped around the deceased sailor’s skull. The worn accessory ended up slinging itself across the animate box’s lid. Minic tried to shake this strange thing off, but it wouldn’t budge. The strap kept getting caught on the horn-like corners of Minic’s lid.

Minic then remembered why it came down here in the first place and promptly ignored the worn leather object. Minic climbed out of Minic’s hole while triumphantly clenching its present in its teeth. It approached Mr. Scuttles and set down its gift. The hermit crab stared in something resembling awe before it scuttled into the hard leather hat, running around its new super-deluxe home with great glee. It struggled to actually move with it, but that was just temporary. It would surely grow into it, over time. Minic was glad its side-quest of fluffiness was fulfilled and bounced in place happily. Ah, but it could not get distracted, as it still had its own mission to fulfil and no idea where to go. Perhaps Mr. Scuttles, being a resident of this sand-and-water-box, would have an idea?

“Yip, yap yap yap yip? (Excuse me, can you assist me in locating Her Softness and Big Sis?)”

“Click-clack snippity-snap! (Ayo, tanks, brudda. Ye be helpin’ me out-a big time!)”

The crab responded by waving and clapping its pincers enthusiastically. Minic had no way of interpreting that meaning, but… it didn’t seem like a ‘no.’

“Yip yip? (Are you sure?)”

“Snip-snip. (Dis be a bit heavy doe, can a brudda ride up on yo’ shell?)”

“Yap. Yipp. (Okay. Follow me.)”

Having reached the same conclusion through wildly different means, Minic loaned its flexible tongue for Mr. Scuttles and hoisted it and its ridiculously oversized headwear onto the animate box’s lid. Minic had also come up with a brilliant idea how to cross this enormous puddle. It remembered the exploits of Buck Tackular, a humble yet adventurous bucket that loved to float at any given opportunity. It just needed something similar to hold it aloft, and Generous Cousin’s remains fit nicely. Surely, Minic figured, that selfless hero would not hesitate to share its frame in Minic’s time of need. Indeed, the wholly inanimate and completely nonmagical crate offered no complaints as one half of its shattered shell was dragged off towards the water.

Minic spent the next few minutes failing to leave the tiny island. Though the half-crate was buoyant enough to float with both Minic and Mr. Scuttles aboard, the waves kept pushing it back onto the tiny island’s shore regardless of anything its passenger tried. This disappointed but did not discourage Minic. It didn’t know how to swim since it couldn’t float, but it had seen others do it and knew waving one’s limbs around in the water somehow achieved motion. Unfortunately, its own appendages were too short to do the job, and Mr. Scuttles didn’t seem any more proficient. So, the solution was simple – Minic had to acquire more allies. The over-energized box started running down the length of the coast in search of assistance. The crab riding atop it stayed put, glad to have someone else do all the legwork for once. It wasn’t until a few hours and several laps of the tiny stretch of land that Minic finally came to a stop. However, this wasn’t because it realized it had been going in circles, but because it found a potential friend. A green turtle, to be precise. He looked tough, strong, and was dragging himself out of the water, suggesting he knew the secrets of swimming.

But then, Minic’s fluffy senses tingled once more. The green shell-thing was losing juice from its neck. This did not bode well. After all, if shell-thing ran out of juice, it would stop moving, just like a fur-fruit. Minic could not allow this to happen, so it leapt into action. It darted back to the other half of Generous Cousin and used its flexible tongue to grab a miraculously intact vial. The liquid inside was a bright crimson hue similar to the juice flowing out of shell-thing. Ah, perhaps ‘shell-thing’ was too crude a moniker. Minic decided that if they were to travel together, the green one needed its own name. Luckily for him, Minic was really good at naming things. It had already come up with one by the time it returned to the turtle.

“Yith! Yith yith! (Here! Take this fresh juice, Hardle!)”

The reptile did not make any noises. He just stared blankly at the bizarre wooden thing and the extravagant crab riding on top of it. He didn’t even notice the shiny bauble the former one was holding out as its life ran out. However, this turtle was no pushover. It was a survivor, and it tried to snap at the strange thing in front of it in a desperate attempt to ward off more danger. But, it was too weak and could only stretch its neck and open its jaw before it passed out. Minic understood this motion to mean that Hardle needed help drinking the juice. Eager to assist, Minic shook the potion vial left and right in an attempt to open it. It did not succeed. However, the back-and-forth motion provoked Mr. Scuttles. The crab angrily reached out and pinched the vial’s crystal stopper while calling it a ‘good fer nuthin’ bombaclot.’ With its claw holding on tight and Minic’s tongue pulling the container away, the potion was successfully opened. Minic then sloppily splashed its contents all over Hardle’s face. Most of the restorative liquid was wastefully claimed by the sand, but enough landed on the dying creature’s skin and in its open mouth to work its magic.

Vitality restored and neck wound closed, the sea turtle named Gamu regained consciousness. Rather than retreat into his shell and cower, he chose to get a good look at the strange square thing.

“Hsss… Hshnshrr… Tak tak tak? (Thank you, stranger, but what sort of creature are you?)”

The turtle made a series of hisses and gurgles while snapping its beak. Such noises would normally be indecipherable to anyone outside his species. However, this particular specimen had gained the Aquatic Alliance Skill from reaching Level 15 of his Turtle Job. This ability allowed Gamu to convey simple thoughts and ideas to other sea creatures while discerning theirs in turn. Unfortunately, Minic was not a valid target for the Skill. The hermit crab riding atop it was, however, and it had no trouble understanding Gamu’s question.

“Clack-clack-crack-a-lack. (Dis ‘ere be me brudda. ‘E a bit thick, but ‘e solid.)”

The turtle’s head moved slowly from side to side as he processed the noises and motions of those claws. He couldn’t decipher the whole thing, but grasped the gist of the response’s meaning.

“Hiss. Hshhhh. Hrak. (I see. I thank you both for saving me. Is there some way I can repay you?)”

“Snip-snip. Clack. Clack. Clack. (Ayo, dat be mighty generous of ye shell-brudda. De thick-brudda’s shell be too ‘eavy. No good for de swimmin’. Be a star an ‘elp ‘im out, seen?)”

“Hhh… Hsh. (Hmm… I shall try.)”

The reptile hadn’t fully recovered, but he had enough vitality left for such an easy task. Having reached the pinnacle of his species as a Level 20 Turtle, Gamu was the strongest and toughest of his brethren. It wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but enough to carry two strange crabs on his back. Unfortunately, with only about fifteen points of Intelligence (INT) between them and no means of direct communication, it was impossible for the crab, turtle, and box to get on the same page. Or the same book. Or the same library, for that matter.

After spending the rest of the day trying and failing to invite Minic to ride on his shell, Gamu was forced to give up and went to sleep on the beach. The hermit crab was nocturnal and kept scuttling about the entire night. The mimic didn’t need to sleep in the slightest and spent the long hours walking around, thinking fluffy thoughts, digging holes, and generally having no idea what it was doing. Fortunately, the early morning brought with it a fresh batch of opportunities in the shape of a clump of seaweed that had washed up on the tiny island’s beach. Minic found this curious tangle of long-leaves while it idly explored the sandy shore for the thirty-second time. Minic tried licking them to test if they were edible. They were not. Too salty. Not at all yummy. But, maybe they were fun to sit on? Minic stepped, stomped, and pulled on the long-leaves to gauge their fluffiness. The verdict was ‘not fluffy in the slightest.’ They were too tough and stringy for any real bounce to happen, much like the dangling long-leaves that routinely broke Minic’s fall whenever Minic went adventuring.

“Hn… Yap! (Wait… Oh no!)”

Minic had momentarily forgotten, but Minic was on a vital quest of fluffiness and joy. How silly of Minic to allow something so important slip its tiny mind. But Minic still had a great hurdle to overcome. There was too much water everywhere, and Generous Cousin was a great floater but less-than-great swimmer. Maybe Hardle – Minic’s new green friend – could help? Ah, yes. Just like those wheel-boxes that had the cloppy-clops pulling them. These long-leaves Minic had just found would surely help make that happen. The only issue was whether Hardle would agree to doing so much work, but Minic had a feeling Hardle would not hesitate to help. Hardle was a lot like Minic, after all – hard on the outside and soft on the inside.

With such thoughts guiding it, the house mimic did what it did best – it mimicked. It grabbed the clump of seaweed with its flat teeth and dragged it over to where Gamu was sleeping. Minic had spent hours ‘introducing’ the turtle to its ‘Generous Cousin,’ so the reptile had dozed off right next to the remnants of the shattered shipping crate. Minic did its best to loop the seaweed around the shell and attach it to the wooden debris. It was no easy task considering the lack of grasping appendages. With a bit of nudging, a fair deal of pulling, some tongue-wagging, and an incredible amount of luck, Minic succeeded. The aquatic vegetation was caught on the edges of the veteran turtle’s shell and also looped around some nails sticking out of the crate. The two were thus tied together in a manner vaguely resembling a horse and carriage.

Feeling immense joy and pride in its exceptional work, Minic took a break. Its body still had plenty of energy, but its tiny mind was straining from the immense effort it had exerted. Minic didn’t need to sleep, but it knew how to rest. It couldn’t do that on the sand, though. It was coarse and rough and irritating, and it got everywhere. Not a good seat for Minic’s spoiled bottom. So, Minic climbed into Generous Cousin, as bare wood made for a much more comfortable seat. The critter closed its special red gem and went into mental neutral as its stressed psyche was allowed to relax. Minic didn’t get to nap for long before a sudden spray of water jolted it to full alert. As it drank in its surroundings, it discovered it was already out at sea. Gamu had reached the pinnacle of his species as a Level 20 Turtle, and was the smartest and wisest of his brethren. It wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but enough to glimpse at the purpose of the seaweed bindings he found himself in upon waking up. He stoically pulled the half-destroyed crate along while Minic was having a time-out. As for the fashion-savvy hermit crab, it was snoozing peacefully atop the animate box’s lid, pirate hat and all.

The brave trio thus began their long journey across the Shimmering Ocean… in completely the wrong direction. With no idea where they were or where to go, they wandered aimlessly with the currents. A constant flow of yips, snaps, and hisses emanated from the group as each of them, essentially, talked to themselves for the better part of two days. Food was surprisingly not an issue. Just as one of them got hungry, the team randomly happened across a patch of seaweed for Gamu to munch on or a patch of algae-rich water for the crab to feed on. As for Minic, it wasn’t moving around much so the Liquid Bread potion was still holding strong. The weather was quiet and calm, too. With such good fortune following them, it didn’t take long for everyone to become friends.

Then, on day three, the crew ran across their first spot of trouble. It was a fishing ship crewed primarily by dwarves and humans. Gamu spotted the vessel from far away and recognized it, much to his dismay. The scar on his neck ached as he remembered how those people tried to catch him not so long ago. Though he somehow escaped, he wouldn’t have survived the encounter had he not stumbled upon that shore and met the strange yet kind brown crab. Not wishing to endanger himself or his companions, Gamu did his best to avoid the ship. It was no use, however. The ship’s lookout was a skilled Ranger that did not fail to notice the rare delicacy towing what looked to be a sizable bit of flotsam with a tiny treasure chest on top. The vessel caught up with the group in no time flat. Its crew all gathered around the edge of the deck, harpoons in hand and excitement on their lips.

“Hshh. Hrashk. (I am sorry, friends. I was too slow.)”

“Snap! Snap-snap-clap-a-clap. (Be strong, shell-brudda! Deze bombaclots know not who dey be dealin’ with.)”

“Yip. (That’s a big bucket.)”

“Clack. Click. (See? Thick-brudda be on da case.)”

“Hisss. Shhhhshhsh. (I see. I suppose I shall trust your brother to protect us.)”

Though he said that, Gamu instantly regretted it. A steel harpoon flew towards him with pinpoint accuracy, much as before. The brave turtle stood his ground, for he could not imagine abandoning his savior in its time of need. Much to the reptile’s surprise, the projectile did not find its mark. Mere moments before it perforated his neck, a sudden shift in the water made Gamu and his ‘carriage’ bob down just enough for the harpoon to miss them entirely. They all then popped right back up, avoiding two more attacks.

“Yip! Yip! (Careful with those sticks! They might do an ouchie!)”

“Snip-snip! (You tell dem brudda!)”

“Hrhh… (By my mother’s shell…)”

As difficult as it was to believe, every single shot was off-target as either the wind or the waves interfered. Gamu had lived in these seas long enough to know that this was no common thing. Did this square crab truly possess such formidable power? There could be no other explanation. Feeling emboldened to have such a strong ally, the turtle paddled with all its might as it turned the raft around and retreated in the opposite direction the ship was moving in while angry voices erupted from its deck.

“Oi!” someone yelled. “What’re you idiots doing?! Skewer the thing already!”

“I don’t see you landing any hits, asshole!”

“You couldn’t harpoon the broad side of a whale!”

“Your mother would disagree!”

“Fuck this. Lightning Bolt!”

The frustrated crew quickly turned to magic. In a textbook display of excessive force, a streak of lightning flashed towards the harmless critters. Instead of frying them on the spot, however, it impossibly twisted and refracted around them, hitting the ship’s sails instead. The magic set the light fabric ablaze, throwing the crew into an outright panic as they scattered to put out the flames. Normally, the ship’s Hydromancer would instantly douse the flames, but the man in question was out cold with a killer hangover after drinking too much the night before. In all the confusion, someone ended up knocking over a certain barrel. It should have been clamped shut, but it just so happened that the deckhand who handled it was an apprentice, and he’d done a crappy job of it. When the heavy container slammed into the deck, its lid came loose, and the creature within was released.

[A special action has been performed. LCK +1.]

It was thus, through an incredibly unlikely and oddly specific series of incidents and accidents, that Minic and its buddies would find salvation.

“SKREEEEEEEEOOOOK! (Freedom!)”

A piercing screech echoed on the wind and sank deep into the waves, informing the ship’s crew that they had a whole new problem on their hands.

“Oh, fuck! The baby kraken’s loose!”

“Stuff it back in the barrel! Quick!”

“SKRAAAAAK! (Stranger danger!)”

“I’m trying! It’s too slippery!”

“Use the net, dumbass!”

“I will as soon as I find it!”

“SKRAAAAAK! (Stranger danger!)”

“Find it?! Where’s the bloody net?!”

“Jeff had it last!”

“Ravandil, you prick! It wasn’t me!”

“SKRAAAAAK! (Stranger danger!)”

“Fuck the net, just kill it before its momma finds us!”

The order came too little too late. Massive tentacles erupted from below the waves, enveloping the ship on all sides. The skies overhead turned dark and dreadful as the legendary beast channeled its innate magic into a terrible storm. Within moments, the sun was replaced by a downpour of rain and thunder. The ship’s crew flew into action as each and every sailor fought back against the monster. Their odds of killing it were slim to none, but they had a decent chance of stalling it long enough to escape its clutches.

Minic, Gamu, and their crustacean cheerleader were already pulling away from that mess with great speed. When the enraged kraken emerged, it produced a huge wave that quickly and smoothly pushed the trio out of the danger zone. Or, rather, the quartet. In all the commotion, the formerly captured baby kraken had fallen off the deck and landed atop Gamu’s shell while the turtle was moving past. The monstrous infant closely resembled a bright yellow octopus or squid about as big as the turtle, tentacles excluded. It was currently stuck to the reptile’s shell, quivering intensely.

Seeing this and not knowing its true nature, Gamu tried his best to calm his new passenger.

“Hissssshhhh. Hreack. (You are safe, boneless one. Those strangers will not harm you anymore.)”

“Blub? Blub-blug-blob? (Huh? What’s going on?)”

“Hiss. Snap. Hishhh. Grug. (The square crab behind you protected us with its magic while we escaped.)”

The kraken shifted its body around so its beady black eyes beheld the house mimic.

“Blab? Blrubulgurg? (Really? That stupid-looking thing?)”

“Hish! Snap! (Mind your beak! That is our savior!)”

“Blaaarb! Blub-blub-blub… (I’m sorry! I’m just so confused…)”

“Clip-clap-snippidy-snap. (Ayo, I know dat feelin’, mon. Me brudda be a strange one, but ‘e solid.)”

“Yip. Yip-yap? (You look quite soft. May Minic sit on you?)”

“Skreck!? Skak! (What?! No, you may not!)”

“Yaaap… (Sorry…)”

“Shhhack? (Wait, you understand the square crab?)”

“Blurble-gurle-blob. (Well, yeah, somehow.)”

Unlike Gamu’s Aquatic Alliance, the baby kraken had access to full-on telepathy that allowed it to communicate with all nearby sentient beings. Though, krakens very rarely spoke to anyone or anything outside their species, deeming all other creatures as food. Under normal circumstances, this infant would be trying to strangle Gamu. However, there was a runt in every litter, and this particular individual was the black sheep of its brood. Due to some anomaly with its birth, its monstrous instincts were a bit warped and dull. This defect was how and why it got caught in the first place, and also the reason behind its unusually docile nature.

“Hsshh. Snap. Hrap? (This is excellent news. Will you help us?)”

“Blarb? (With what?)”

“Clickity-snap-snap-clap. (Me brudda ‘ere need-a-to-go somewhere, but we not sure where.)”

“Blergh… Blub. Blurb. (What a pain… But alright. I’ll stick around.)”

“Hissshh? Shhergl? (Are you certain? Did you not wish to be reunited with your kin?)”

Gamu’s limited communication ability allowed him to catch some of the yellow stranger’s cries in all the commotion, including a few calls to its mother.

“Bleb. Blub. Blab. (Nah. Screw those guys. I’d rather hang with you.)”

To put it bluntly, this kraken didn’t fit in with the rest of its brood and was thus already an outcast at the tender age of three months old. Even its own mother despised it. The only reason she had shown up when it called for her was because she wanted to pick a fight on principle. If the infant stuck around, there was a fair chance it would get smushed for being weak. At least with these harmless things it had no such fears. Even better, it could, for once, feel superior to something else. Staying with them seemed like a far more enjoyable prospect than not. Well, that, and it wasn’t safe for an infant to be in the Shimmering Ocean by itself, even a kraken.

“Yip yap yip? (Pardon me, sir, may Minic sit on you now?)”

“Blap. (No.)”

“… Yap? (What about now?)”

“Blap! (No!)”

“Yap? (Now?)”

“Blurblurblurbl… (I think I’ve made a huge mistake…)”

Thankfully for the kraken, which Minic quickly named Puffalo, the animate box gave up on trying to sit on it after a few hours of persistently asking over and over. Not because it finally got the message, but because Puffalo had enough and just let it happen, at which point Minic discovered that Puffalo was squishy, not fluffy. Not a bad sit, but not great, either. That disturbance out of the way, it wasn’t long before the kraken got drawn into Minic’s fluffy pace and warmed up to it and the others quite quickly.

Incidentally, Puffalo did not notice the aura of good fortune surrounding that strange box. Its kind were far more arrogant and self-aware than the rest of these critters, so it assumed all this smooth sailing and free food the group enjoyed were somehow its doing. After all, it had officially taken over as navigator for the S.S. Generous Cousin and her crew. It could communicate with its ‘captain’ and was intelligent enough to both deduce where it wanted to go and navigate the group in that general direction. Their course was entirely in Puffalo’s tentacles, so it surely deserved all the credit for the leisurely nature of their cruise.

Indeed, ‘leisurely’ was the only way to describe the fairly uneventful voyage that followed. The group met a few other aquatic creatures that tagged along, drawn in by the strange yet friendly vibes radiating from the tiny crew. By the time they approached the shores of Velos, the group had acquired a small entourage of fish, insects, and crustaceans. No birds, though. The feathered ones were unanimously seen as evil and universally shunned for their freakish defiance of gravity.

“Blarble-blap. (There are people up ahead).”

Puffalo gave a mild warning as the S.S. Generous Cousin and its faithful crew pulled into port.

“Yip? (Is Big Sis there?)”

Minic’s special gem was really good for looking at things up close, but its sight grew blurry that far out.

“Blub? (What does your sibling look like?)”

“Yip, yap, yop. Yip yip. (Soft, pointy, and juice-colored. Tickly tail, too.)”

“Blub-blub. (Yeah, there’s someone like that.)”

Puffalo still had no idea why Minic thought blood and juice were the same, but it had learned there was no point in questioning its indecipherable thoughts.

“Yip! (Hooray!)”

“Hissha? Hrruk. (Are you sure that’s her? They look nothing alike.)”

“Blurble. (I agree. She is not at all box-shaped.)”

“Yippay, yip yap yap yap yip, yep yep, yipayep. (Big Sis is very talented, Big Sis can also be a Box Bro or a Big Bro or many other things, but Minic can tell.)”

“Snap-clap. (Ayo, don’t be pickin’ on de box-brudda’s kin, now.)”

“Blarp-a-blub. (You’re right. I, of all things, should not judge.)”

As the group drew closer and Minic’s owners finally noticed the little guy’s arrival, an un-fluffy thing became suddenly apparent.

“Shhhhrhk? Hsss… (This is goodbye, isn’t it? I thought we’d be together forever…)”

“Snip-a-snip-snap. (Is okay, mon. Da box-brudda no belong in da sea.)”

“Blub-blob-blob-plop. (Who says we need to split up?)”

“Clack. Clack. Snip-snap. (De brain be right. Dis team be jammin’ like no otha, mon.)”

“Hrhk. Hshurgl. (You are most wise, Brother Puffalo. And Brother Scuttles as well.)”

“Clackaclacklackaclack! (Ayo, don’t be callin’ me dat! I told you I no be likin’ dat name!)”

“Blup. (Also, I’m a female.)”

“Shik. (You don’t smell female.)”

“Blarp?! (What’s that supposed to mean?!)”

“Snip. Click-tik-tik. (It means ya stank like a bombaclot.)”

“Blorp! (Bombaclot is not a real thing!)”

“Hrrrshhh. (I am certain I saw one when I was a hatchling.)”

The three of them continued bickering while Minic hopped happily up and down Generous Cousin’s floating remains. It wasn’t long before they were close enough for Keira to notice the animate box. She leaned over the edge of the pier to grab it, then brought it up to her head. Minic was so overjoyed to finally sit on Big Sis’s lid-fluff again that it almost forgot to say goodbye to its friends. Almost, but not quite. Minic was a good Minic, and made sure to once again thank Puffalo, Scuttles, and Hardle. Or, was it Gamu? Minic said goodbye to Gamu as well, just in case. Naturally, it acknowledged Generous Cousin’s many sacrifices with a silent salute as the valiant crate sank to the bottom of the bay.

As for the strongest turtle, the fanciest crab, and the lamest kraken, they stoically bid their own goodbyes to their captain, then ventured off into the sunset to face the Shimmering Ocean as friends for life.

Chapter Five
Flock Together

Part One

Jen kept marching onward, the entirety of her concentration fixated on putting one foot in front of the other. She had been at this for what seemed like hours, but it was difficult to accurately gauge the passage of time. At least, there was no chance of getting lost since there were no side paths, doors, or even turns in the dimly-lit hallway. It was so perfectly straight that it seemed to stretch out into infinity ahead of her, making it impossible to tell how long the passage actually was. She only had to worry about getting turned around since there were no markings or decorations to help her determine if she was still going the right way. Not even the torches lining the walls to her left and right helped since they all looked identical. The solution was simple – keep walking straight. It was a simple enough idea in theory, but this hallway was full of… distractions.

“Please, help me! Orcs captured my daughter, you have to save her!”

What looked like a distressed human villager stood in Jen’s way, but she didn’t even slow down as she pushed him over just by bumping into him. The man fell to the ground hard and practically groveled as he continued to plead for help to no avail. He even tried to grab the Monk by the feet, only to have Jen effortlessly slip out of his grasp without even breaking her stride. She was so completely unaffected that it was almost as if he wasn’t there at all.

Which, for all intents and purposes, was the case. Though the illusion of a villager in peril looked, sounded, and even felt extremely convincing, it was ultimately just that – an illusion. It was nothing more than a puppet made from light and magic that quickly vanished like mist in the wind. It was not the first time Jen had encountered such an entity, nor would it be the last. In fact, a new petitioner showed up before the previous one had fully disappeared. This time it was an injured raptor soldier sitting with his back against the wall to the left, the massive wound across his chest bleeding profusely with every pained breath he took. His scales were literally peeling off of his face like snowflakes, suggesting there was more wrong with him than the obvious injury.

“Please, stranger,” he whispered at Jen, “give me a clean end. Koff! Koff! I implore you, free me from this agony…”

He, too, was summarily ignored, as were the children begging for food, the armed knights challenging her to a duel, and the brigands demanding payment for safe passage. One after the other, these apparitions confronted Jen, attempting to either tug at her heartstrings, get on her nerves, or appeal to her love of combat. They had been doing so ever since that glowing doorway set her on this path, so it was quite obvious they were all a part of some bizarre mind game between herself and the dungeon. Having worked alongside a Psionic for many years, Jen knew full well that even responding to these illusions could open her up to a more powerful mental attack. Her Scribe Job did allow her a measure of defense against such things thanks to its Domination Resistance Skill, but she was doubtful whether it would help her here. The Gauntlet scaled in difficulty to truly challenge the ones seeking to conquer it, so it was safe to assume any mental attacks it used would easily overwhelm her barely-developed MNT Attribute.

The best course of action was to ignore these things completely, which was precisely what she did. With little difficulty, too. It was debatable whether this was due to her warped personality, her Monk training allowing her to maintain a firm grip on her emotions, or a mix of both. Ultimately, Jen’s mind was solely focused on clearing the dungeon, which was why she resorted to that surprise attack in the duel against Fizzy. Though she did feel a twinge of regret for doing that instead of challenging her normally, she knew she had no way of winning in a straight-up fight. The ease with which that shiny woman fought off the monsters in The Gauntlet’s early stages made that abundantly clear.

Truthfully, she somewhat envied the golem’s physical prowess and resilient constitution, but ultimately the radiant construct proved nothing more than a power leveler. Just another inexperienced fool that coasted on their inflated power without learning how to control it. At least that six-armed fiend Boxxy threw at her had realized her mistake after their first bout and had gone to great lengths to correct her failings by the time they faced off in Watford. Fizzy, on the other hand, seemed far too arrogant and full of herself to improve beyond just ‘stacking numbers.’ Then again, the Monk was a firm believer in the ludicrous idea that ‘real fighters talked with their fists,’ so there was a good chance her conclusions were based on imagination.

“You always lacked foresight, you know that?”

Jen’s attempts to distract herself with introspection were halted when she heard that gritty voice. It was a tone she was very well familiar with, but also one that she did not expect to hear again. On the other hand, this Hero tryout was administered by the recently deceased holder of the title, so meeting her old boss in this place was perhaps not all that strange.

“Always running around and doing what you want without any regard for the consequences, like a child playing grown-up.”

Even if it was just an illusion, the fact that it bore Edward’s form and spoke in his voice made it impossible for Jen to just walk past it. The way the apparition leaned its shoulder against the wall with arms crossed and a venomous scowl was just like him, too.

“Your attitude has its uses, I suppose,” he continued. “It made you easy to control. I just had to point you in a certain direction and you would carry out your orders without question, no matter your target. Too bad it was also a massive pain in my ass. You ended up turning at least half your missions into war zones. That’s why I gave you that callsign to begin with, you know.”

At this point, Jen realized she had stopped in her tracks to listen to the fake Spymaster. She hurriedly resumed her stride down the stone hallway, doing her best to stay calm.

“Face it, Zone!” Edward shouted after her. “You’re nothing more than a beast in the skin of a woman! The only thing you’re worthy of is a shallow, unmarked grave!”

Her face was still as cold as ever, but her quickened pace suggested those words had gotten to her. The apparition went quiet after that. It likely faded away into thin air, though Jen refused to look over her shoulder to check. Unfortunately for her, it wasn’t the last ghost of the past dredged up by the dungeon.

“I am disappointed in you, Jennifer.”

Up next was Milo Faehorn, her once comrade who she had personally thrown to his death during the Calamity Conflict. The old elf stared at her with that strict, demanding glare of his, which was impressive considering most of his face had been squashed flat from his fatal landing.

“I thought you better than associating with scum like the Emperor’s spies. You may have been a bit… odd, but at least you knew who your friends were.”

“You were weak, old man,” she couldn’t help but respond. “You couldn’t do anything by yourself.”

“Yes… that’s right,” he agreed after a short pause. “We all were like that, back in the day. None of us would have survived as long as we did if we hadn’t put our lives in each other’s hands. We had our differences, but I always considered you one of us, Jennifer. That is why I am so disappointed. I expected you to look me in the eye when you killed me.”

Jen once again forced herself to move forward, practically breaking out into a run in an effort to put some distance between herself and that unpleasant thought. Truth be told, she always harbored a bit of regret for what she did to the grizzled Ranger. He deserved a better end. However, it couldn’t be helped. Such was the cruel reality of war between nations. Wait, why was she even giving that illusion the time of day? Jen shook her head and attempted to get her rampant thoughts under control, but found it difficult to calm down with all these non-people badgering her. Each had been dredged up from her past, serving as a reminder of her every failure. She was even sure she caught a glimpse of her late raptor father, who merely shook his head in disbelief as she passed by.

Jen suddenly felt herself fall. She plummeted downward, tumbling and spinning like a rock rolled off a cliff. She landed on a patch of hard-packed yellow dirt before the thought of using her angelic wings even occurred to her. The hard impact with the ground seemed to snap her out of her anxiety, halting her mild panic attack. The Monk rose to her feet, only to find she was now back in the arena where she fought Fizzy, with Hesk’s ghost standing opposite her.

“Did you enjoy the Walk of Solitude?” the specter asked her calmly. “Probably not. It is… quite unpleasant.”

“… Affirmative.”

“That bloody corridor, it tries to open all of your old wounds. It even digs up memories you had either forgotten or repressed,” Hesk explained in a spiteful tone. “I know not what went on in there, but it seems you made it out without being overwhelmed by your past. This is good, as it means we can proceed with the final test.”

“Reporting that I am prepared,” the Monk immediately said.

“No, you are not,” Hesk replied grimly. “Nobody is truly prepared for the burden of being a Hero of the Sword.”

“I can handle it,” Jen insisted. “Requesting that we proceed with the trial.”

“If you’re so eager to begin then you best center yourself. Your opponent should be here shortly.”

The Monk didn’t even get the chance to ask what Hesk meant by ‘opponent’ when she heard another familiar voice, this one coming from above her.

“Cuuuuuunt!”

Something heavy, black, short, and rude slammed into the arena with the grace of a drunk griffin on ice. The newcomer slowly stood up amidst the cloud of dust her crash landing had kicked up, cursing and swearing under her breath all the while.

“I swear, if I don’t get to hit somethin’ I’m… What in my grandfather’s beard are you doing here?!”

It was Hilda.

The notion that this might be another illusion crossed Jen’s mind, but seeing the dwarf bring out her favorite two-handed axe from her Rearm Skill made it abundantly clear this was not the case. She also doubted an apparition would have the sheer mass to make an impact that heavy, or the durability to survive it. Illusory constructs were notoriously fragile.

“Returning the question,” she replied, readying her own staff.

“Me? I’m lookin’ fer the pub. Why the bloody fook do you think I’m here?!”

“How did you find this place?”

Though this dungeon’s existence was not the best kept secret, it wasn’t exactly public knowledge. Jen only knew of it because she used to belong to a temple of Axel here on Velos during her youth.

“Uh, my grandfather was a Hero of the Sword? Duh?”

“Ah, no wonder that weapon is so familiar,” Hesk glanced at the ridiculously large axe in Hilda’s hands. “The one who administered my exam held one just like it.”

Incidentally, he was also the individual who said Kaede was ‘kind of a cunt’ during the most recent invocation of the Eternal Crusade against Gutzstompa. Not that Jen had any way of knowing, though she really should have remembered the Berserker’s grandfather was a Hero of the Sword. In fact, Hilda had mentioned it numerous times back when they travelled together. Dwarves exalted their family’s lineage, history, and accomplishments, so it was only natural she wouldn’t shut up about it.

“So, what’s the deal, Hesk? Why’d you let this problem child even attempt the trials?” the dwarf asked, jerking her head towards Jen.

“Axel has given her a chance to prove she is capable of redeeming herself,” was the ghost’s dry answer. “Which brings me to the topic at hand. As you might have guessed, this is another trial of combat. Not against an ally, but a rival. The rules are the same as before, except there is no time limit.”

Hesk clapped twice and the pageantry and heraldry fell away once more, leaving nothing behind but a ring of dirt floating amidst a sea of darkness.

“You may begin.”

Those three words barely even left the ghostly raptor’s mouth before Hilda hurled her axe at Jen. It was dodged effortlessly, after which it fell into the surrounding abyss. The dwarf surged forward with a war cry and a smaller axe in each hand. Unlike their last meeting at the siege of Fort Yimin, the dwarf skipped the warm up and jumped straight into consecutive rapid strikes to try and overwhelm the Monk’s defenses. Jen had also picked up a thing or two since then and used her staff’s reach to strike at the Berserker while dancing around just outside of her shorter effective range. The raven-haired human wasn’t inflicting much damage this way, but she was also taking none in return. This slow and steady approach would, in theory, result in her eventual victory.

It seemed to work until Hilda changed up her approach and forced the Monk to revise her battle plan. Then, as soon as Jen adapted to it, the dwarf did it again. This happened so many times that the angel lost count. Spears, staves, daggers, poleaxes, swords, shields, bows, crossbows, smoke bombs, hammers, maces, flails, axes, spiked gauntlets – every weapon under the sun and then some was brought to bear against the Monk. Hilda wielded each of them like a master, and knew several distinct styles of handling them. She also kept in mixing so many Martial Arts that Jen couldn’t help but think even Rogue and Ranger moves were mixed in. She also changed gear sets, swapping between equipment that boosted her speed, strength, or defenses to keep her opponent guessing and on her toes.

This highly variable assault made the fight felt less like a duel and more like a one-versus-twenty tag-team match. It put Jen on the backfoot the entire time, as she was forced to constantly rebuild her mental image of her opponent while also being mindful of all the discarded weapons littering the arena. The Berserker strained the Monk’s focus and concentration to its limits, even pushing them beyond what Jen thought possible. This was it. This was the fight that Jen had been chasing for so long. There were no superior officers barking orders, no random soldiers prancing around a battlefield, and no larger picture to worry about. The only thing on her mind was herself, her opponent, the ground under her feet, and the breath in her chest. Having achieved the battle-born high she desperately craved, the Monk couldn’t help but become entranced by the glorious moment. She didn’t even realize she was sporting the biggest grin of her life as she kept dodging and weaving between a hailstorm of blows, nor did she have any idea how long the fight had gone on. But, like all good things, it had to eventually come to an end.

The fight drew to a close when Jen kicked one of the dwarf’s custom-made shields, sending it flying from its resting place on the ground straight into Hilda’s arm. The metal disc’s sharpened edge sliced deep into the inside of her left elbow where there was a gap in the armor, lodging itself all the way to the bone. Of course, being a Berserker meant this deep cut made the dwarf that little bit stronger, but it also robbed her of the use of a crucial limb. The Monk stepped aggressively forward, thrusting at her opponent’s other arm. Her adamantite staff had been bent in several places and she was missing an eye thanks to a well-timed trident throw, so it was not as accurate a strike as she would have liked. Even if it was sloppy, however, the thrust impacted the dwarf’s limb all the same, slamming into the battered armor hard enough to break the bone underneath, just below the shoulder.

With both of her arms crippled, Hilda finally relented. The blazing rage burning within her eyes began to die down and the twin swords she was holding slipped out of her grasp. She stumbled backwards a few steps and then, finally, fell over with a pained groan and loud thud. Her helmet rolled off her head, revealing her bloodied and beaten face as she gasped for air, eyes rolling around in a daze. Though she put up an admirable fight, Hilda’s broken body and shallow breaths were a testament to Jen’s dueling prowess. And, with the Berserker’s various blood-rage effects subsiding, she was made acutely aware of the unimaginable pain coursing through her entire being. She couldn’t even tighten a fist, let alone swing a weapon. Broken in both body and spirit, there was no doubt about it – Hilda had been defeated.

In her delirious state, she didn’t even notice the butt of Jen’s staff as it stamped down on her forehead, cracking her skull and driving it into the dirt. The Monk didn’t let her off with just that one hit, as she repeated the motion again and again, flattening Hilda’s head into a disgusting mess of blood, brains, and bone while sporting the smile and eyes of a madwoman. She kept beating the dead dwarf over and over for a solid minute before her battle frenzy finally began to subside. As the Monk’s adrenaline wore off, all of the injuries she had sustained throughout the fight cried out. It was now Jen’s turn to stagger and stumble, forcing her to lean against her staff while panting heavily. Her efforts to remain standing were for naught as all strength and energy drained away from her body, forcing her knees to buckle and her butt to hit the blood-soaked dirt. It was at this moment that Hesk’s spirit chose to show herself in front of Jen once more.

“Well… I guess that settles that, doesn’t it?” she said casually.

“Indeed it does.”

A second voice echoed throughout the arena, this one deep and smooth, not at all hissy or throaty like the spectral lizard’s. Jen didn’t even have a chance to collect her thoughts when the ground she was sitting on began to rumble and quake. It fell out from under her and the woman felt herself plummeting into nothingness once more.

“RRAAAAH!”

Jen suddenly stood up, leaping to her feet while screaming and looking around herself in a panic. She was still in the middle of the arena that lay in the deepest parts of The Gauntlet, complete with stands, banners, and a clay-faced crowd. However, unlike before, the statues were not cheering or smiling, but staring down as if judging her. Only then did she realize they had all taken on a lot more detail than the vague nondescript humanoid forms they had before. Very… specific details at that. She saw Edward’s near-constant scowl, Faehorn’s judgmental stare, and a plethora of others she had encountered during the Walk of Solitude. Even Fizzy was among them for some reason, though she looked distinctly more gnomish than the last time Jen saw her. Only when the Monk laid eyes on Hilda’s cocky clay grin did she realize there was no sign of the dwarf’s corpse or gear. The only thing in the ring was Jen, whose body was in perfect shape, including her supposedly destroyed eyeball. Even her weapon was completely devoid of any of the damage it had sustained in that glorious duel, which was easily the best fight the Monk had ever experienced. The realization that it hadn’t been real crushed Jen’s spirit worse than when she lost to Boxxy’s crew at Watford.

The magical doorway Jen stepped through after triumphing over Fizzy had not transported all of her, just her mind and soul. It delivered them into a certain being’s personal space, where she had been presented with The Gauntlet’s final trial without realizing it. That wasn’t the real Hilda, merely a figment of her imagination given life by a higher power. The being responsible for all this manifested itself in front of her in a flash of light. It took on the shape of a humanoid figure clad head-to-toe in ceremonial armor that shone in a surreal, bright red hue. It also had an impractically large gold-threaded cape, its tattered ends fluttering behind it like a cloud of cloth. The figure’s wide hands rested on the hilt of a sword that looked slightly too small for its wielder, its tip resting against the sand-like dirt underfoot. It was almost as if the apparition was using it as the world’s sharpest cane.

Jen momentarily forgot everything else when she spotted the weapon. A long and elegant double-edged blade made from a sky-blue metal with glowing arcane sigils running its length. It was an item that the Monk was able to instantly recognize from the sacred texts she had perused, and was the main reason she was in here. Even her goal of becoming a Hero of the Sword had merely been a stepping stone towards obtaining that weapon. Admittedly, swords weren’t exactly her forte, but she knew enough to use them competently. Not nearly as well as her staff, though she wouldn’t necessarily need to if she had this relic.

Its name was Peacekeeper, Blade of the First Crusader, and it was a Divine-ranked item that had slumbered in this temple for centuries. If used against enlightened, it would only act as a very sharp sword with no unique or particularly remarkable properties. However, if brought to bear against a monster, it would effortlessly cut through all forms of protection. No armor, magic, or Skill could save a monster from this holy edge. It was so powerful that it could, in theory, gouge out an elder dragon’s heart with very little effort. Needless to say, neither the legendary flying lizards nor a certain incomprehensibly resilient Hero of Chaos would stand a chance against Jen if she were to wield it.

“My eyes are up here.”

Unfortunately, if that slow and thoroughly displeased tone was any indication, that wasn’t about to happen. Jen’s glance wandered away from the weapon and up the crimson-clad figure’s body, settling on the hollow eye sockets of its face-concealing, horned helmet. She immediately dropped her weapon and knelt down in front of it, lowering her head and clasping her hands together as if in prayer. She wasn’t about to actually offer any words of worship to the deity before her, nor did she have a habit of doing so. Jen was only going through the motions, which, incidentally, was part of the problem.

“You are a disgrace.”

Jen felt those words pierce like a dagger through the heart. They were slow and deliberate, each word enunciated in such a way as to make it impossible to misconstrue their meaning.

“Never have I ever seen one as despicable as you trying to pass themselves off as a follower of Mine.”

“But I-”

“SILENCE, WENCH!”

The God’s angered voice echoed all around, threatening to rupture the mortal’s eardrums. The guy could have easily given a certain flaming Overlord a run for his money in the loudmouth department.

“First, you bring a monster into this sacred place. That I was willing to overlook, as she had served My will as High Templar of the First Lunar Crusade. Then, you disrespected the ring of honor. That I also forgave, though at Hesk’s behest. She believed, saw potential in you. She asked that I allow you to complete the gauntlet, just in case. So, I did.”

The deity’s avatar moved its head as if to spit on the ground, though it obviously produced no saliva, even if it made the noise.

“What a waste of time and energy,” Axel groaned. “You may have talent, but you care not for your fellow man. You care not for the rules of engagement, nor do you have any respect for those you see as weaker than yourself. All you care for is the lust of combat and the thrill of victory.”

Hesk had clearly stated that cold-blooded murder would not be tolerated in the arena. Yet, Jen had done precisely that to the illusory Hilda. She had been so lost in her own world that she completely lost sight of where she was or what she was doing. Even if it was a manufactured scenario with no real world repercussions, the Monk didn’t know that at the time. In short, the brutal sight she showed Axel was none other than her true self.

“You are but a bloodthirsty wretch. A dishonorable, disreputable, incorrigible failure of a human being who is incapable of learning from your own past. Your only goal in life seems to be to inflict violence upon others for your own enjoyment, almost as if you were a filthy orc in the guise of a person! And yet you are still brazen enough to shamelessly covet my divine relic?! You are not, were not, nor will ever be worthy of it!”

The God of War and Combat paused for a moment to pull back his ire. He didn’t want to give that asshole Freddie a reason to lecture him on the subject of why giving into his anger was ‘not healthy’ for the hundredth time. He continued a few heartbeats later, his tone as level as it had been when he first spoke.

“You are lucky I do not end your miserable existence here and now. Staining this sacred place with your wretched blood would be a disservice to all who have come before, and all who will follow after. Your arrogance will not go unpunished, but know that it will bring me no pleasure.”

Axel’s avatar held its armored hand out, prompting an invisible force to grab hold of the flabbergasted human’s body. It held her so tightly, so completely that she could barely even breathe, let alone struggle. As strong as she was, she was ultimately nothing more but a plaything before the might of a God, rendering her helpless to prevent what was about to happen. A pair of spectral blue figures walked out of Axel’s billowing cape. The one on the left was Hesk and the other was Hilda’s grandfather, if the axe hanging off his back was any indication. They stood on either side of the bound woman and reached out, grabbing the air just behind her with both hands. They pulled on what appeared to be nothing until, after a brief moment of struggle, the angel’s ethereal wings materialized in their grips.

“Jennifer Jackson. No more shall you have wings to bear you heavenwards,” Axel declared. “Henceforth, you shall walk.”

“No… No!”

Ignoring Jen’s pleas, they each gripped their weapon of choice and with a swift, unified motion severed the limbs at their base, forcing them to disperse in a flutter of radiant feathers.

[Proficiency level decreased. Divine Flight is now Level 0. AGI -20. FTH -20.]

“NOOO! I NEED THOSE!”

Hesk swung her spear and sliced at the air just above the screaming Monk’s head, breaking the normally invisible and intangible halo that served as her symbol of divinity.

[Proficiency level decreased. Disciple of War is now Level 0. STR -20. FTH -20.]
[Feat of shame performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Faithless Servant. FTH -25.]

The former Heroes calmly walked back into the floating cloth they had come from, though not before the raptor looked over her shoulder at the distraught human one last time. She stood up for Jen because she reminded the raptor of her younger self. Unlike her, however, the Walk of Solitude had helped Hesk realize that seeking power for power’s sake only led to disaster. Then again, perhaps she was expecting too much of the human. That woman had spent a lifetime as someone who had to put on that fake face just so she could hide her bloodlust. The weight of that past was simply too heavy, which was probably why the Gods typically picked youngsters as their Heroes. In the end, Hesk concluded that she had been far too naive, or perhaps too eager to find a replacement. She was honestly on the fence about letting Jen and Fizzy in considering the latter was a monster, but it was now clear she made the right choice. It was a mistake that she learned much from and would not repeat again.

The spectral raptor then disappeared within the folds of Axel’s cape, leaving the deity in question to wrap things up.

“Begone, and never return!”

One flick of the wrist and a dimensional rift later, Jen found herself tumbling down the steps of the Temple of the First Crusader. She didn’t even try to fight gravity and just sort of let it happen, rolling heels over ass as if she were a rag doll discarded by an owner who had grown bored of it. She only stopped when her back hit the dirt at the bottom, leaving her staring idly and absentmindedly at the heavens above. She had spent so long in that dungeon that it was now late morning.

The sky sure is blue…

In her dazed, confused, and distraught mental state, the only coherent thought that seemed to emerge within her was a rather… puerile one.

“You alright over there?”

Almost as if on cue, Keira’s smugly grinning face bobbed into view as the catgirl-shaped monster leaned over the Monk. One could practically see the ‘I told you so’ written all over that smile, even though Boxxy had never declared she would fail. Not out loud and to her face, at any rate.

“Have you come to kill me?”

Jen seemed oddly at peace considering she was talking to her future murderer. Or, it might have been the concussion talking. Hard to tell at this point.

“Hah! Please,” the shapeshifter scoffed. “If I wanted you dead, you’d never have made it out of our initial meeting.”

“What do you want, then?”

“Many things. So many that we’d be here all day if I started listing them out. However, what I need from you specifically is the weapon I was promised. So, where is it?”

“Heh. Hehehe.”

Jen let out a humorless chuckle as she forced herself to stand. She looked the monstrous beastkin right in her yellow eyes and openly admitted her honest intentions.

“I never intended to give you anything. Even if I did obtain what I was after, I would have used it to end your life without a second thought.”

“Yes, yes, you want to regain your honor or avenge your fallen comrades or whatever, I honestly couldn’t care less. Or, wait, maybe I could? Can you have negative care capacity? I’m pretty sure mine would be approaching negative infinity if that were the case.”

It chattered away seemingly without end while the Monk wallowed in defeat, despair, and self-pity.

“Then again, they say each person is born with a limited amount of these so called ‘fucks’ to give, but I’m not sure if that anecdote applies to monsters. Even if it did, I most certainly would not want to spend such a limited resource on someone like you. What I’m getting at is that your intentions are of minimal concern to me. I just need to collect what I am due, and I’ll be on my way. So, let’s have it.”

Jen was understandably confused, and not entirely because of her currently unstable mental condition. She expected Boxxy to be angry with her, to strike her down and snuff out her life. Some part of her wanted it, even. She would’ve preferred that to being buried in a deluge of nonsense that drowned out whatever resolve or resolution she might have had left. It didn’t feel great to hear she was so insignificant that her plans to end its life were as inconsequential a topic as tomorrow’s weather.

“I already told you, I don’t have it,” Jen stated after a few moments. “I don’t have anything right now. My wings, my faith, my hopes – all were taken from me.”

For the angel, having her wings and halo stripped by the very deity she was supposed to worship was a soul-crushing experience. Axel had looked deep within her, and He saw that she somehow completely missed the point of his teachings, perverting them to suit her own needs. He likely intended for her to bear that scar for the rest of her days as a sort of penance, as even a belief as hollow as hers would leave a void behind after being literally ripped out of her.

“I will never be whole again.”

“That simply will not do,” Keira said with a tone of mock concern. “I didn’t go through the trouble of allowing all this to happen only to end up with damaged goods. That’s alright, though. I think this will buff out.”

“… What?”

“You see, I always collect what I am owed. In this case, it is a weapon, but that need not necessarily be a heavy object with sharp edges or some other tool meant to inflict harm.”

Keira’s smooth, sun-kissed skin slowly morphed into malformed gray flesh as the monster within began to emerge.

“There are a multitude of ways and means to injure someone, many of which cannot be fended off with something as mundane as sturdy armor or quick reflexes.”

It cast off the trappings of civilization with practiced ease as the athletic, crimson-haired catgirl slowly but surely turned into a well-built doppelganger with bark covering the length of its arms and legs.

“Words, looks, emotions, sex, money, influence – everything can be a weapon if used right.”

Those soft lips twisted into a freakish vertical mouth that ran the length of the creature’s otherwise faceless head, its voice gradually transitioning into the sleazy hiss of a deceitful monster.

“Though, I personally find the greatest weapons are those who can think for themselves.”

Standing before Jen in its natural form, Boxxy slowly extended one of its hands with the palm facing upward, its four spindly fingers spreading out as if expecting something.

“Join me,” it beckoned. “Cast aside the humanity that is holding you back, and I will see you become the most lethal weapon you could ever hope to be.”

Under normal circumstances, one would instantly assume that such an offer was highly suspect at best. If this proposal, such as it was, had been made at any other time, the Monk would have shot it down ten out of ten times, even if she would have hesitated a little. But these weren’t ‘normal circumstances,’ nor was it ‘any other time.’ It was ‘right here’ and ‘right now,’ and the fallen angel that Jen was at this singular, specific point in time had not a single doubt in her mind.

She grasped that hand and clung to it like it was the only thing she ever wanted.

Part Two

Rancid Rock was a lonely mountain that stood amidst the endless Velosian jungle, inconveniently located eighty kilometers from the nearest settlement. The place got its unfortunate name from its surrounding environment, which was overgrown with toxic, thorny, and otherwise unpleasant plants. The flora was so voracious that various species of barely sentient vegetation fought each other for sunlight and soil on an hourly basis. The air was so heavy with spores and pollen that it made the area seem it was perpetually drenched in a green-blue mist. This stifling miasma reeked intensely and actively attacked the lungs and throat of any flesh-and-blood creature that inhaled it. The entire region surrounding Rancid Rock was so thoroughly inhospitable that not even orcs could live here, let alone people.

Incidentally, these traits also made this a perfect place to hide a dungeon.

A Gate Spell opened halfway up the mountain’s southern slope, and two figures stepped out of it. The first was Boxxy, still in its true form, followed closely by Jen, who clung tightly to its hand after accepting the creature’s proposal minutes ago. The shapeshifter rolled a nearby boulder out of the way with its free hand, revealing a deep crack in the barren cliffside. It silently led the fallen angel inside, guiding her deeper and deeper into Rancid Rock’s underbelly. The dim and tight passage opened up into an extremely spacious cavern that proudly announced itself as soon as the visitors set foot inside.

[You have entered the Dark Eyrie.]

This was the latest addition to Boxxy’s dungeon network. It was rather remote, yes, but as the shapeshifter’s only means of instantaneous cross-continental travel, it needed to stay as hidden and secure as possible. Rancid Rock was as perfect a hiding spot as the shapeshifter could hope to find. The only people that ventured into the venomous region were adventurers looking for rare plant materials, and the mountain itself was utterly bereft of such vegetation. It had moss and weeds aplenty, yes, but those could be found in far more accessible places with greater abundance. The summit was also home to a tribe of poison-attuned harpies that fed off the toxic flora. They were of no consequence to the dungeon far below their nests, other than serving as inspiration for its haphazardly chosen name and adding one more reason for people to stay away.

The rocky lair was quite bare-bones at the moment. The core responsible for maintaining the hollow space hung idly in the air at the top of the cavern, bathing it in a soft white light. The interior was mostly empty, save for a doorway in the wall opposite the entrance. Fizzy was standing next to it with her arms crossed, her spark-filled eyes glaring at Jen so hard one would think she was trying to make her head explode. The Monk, on the other hand, did not even register the golem’s presence. This only pissed off the Paladin even further. Jen wasn’t ignoring her on purpose, though. She was in a fragile and vulnerable state of mind that made it impossible to focus on anything other than the monster leading her by the hand as if she were a child. She obediently followed it into that tiny side room, which turned out to be akin to a jail cell. It was about five meters wide in every direction, with impossibly smooth walls that made it seem like someone had just erased a cubic area of solid rock from existence.

Boxxy led Jen to one of the far corners and motioned for her to stand there, which she did without saying a word. The shapeshifter then took a strongbox out of its Storage and placed it on the ground. It twisted the dials on its face a few times until it unlocked it with a heavy click. A chilling white mist poured out of the enchanted container as soon as its door was opened. The shapeshifter reached inside and took out a large crystal syringe with a ten-centimeter-long mithril needle. The tool was filled to the brim with a thick red fluid that gave off a very slight glow.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Boxxy turned to the new recruit. “I’m going to jab this into your back and pour its contents inside. It’s going to hurt like your spine is being ripped out, and your body will want to reject it. You need to do everything in your power to suppress the instinct to fight it and let it do its thing. If you cannot, it might kill you. If it doesn’t, then I will. However, if you heed my words and survive the procedure, you will become something far greater than a mere human. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.”

The one word answer was uttered without hesitation or doubt. It was a sign that she was as ready as Boxxy could’ve asked for.

“Very good. Now, turn around and stand still.”

The shapeshifter positioned itself behind Jen, now staring at the cubic chamber’s corner. She didn’t even get the chance to have second thoughts before the monster drove that needle into her back, between the gaps in her vertebrae, and into her spine. It began administering the alchemical concoction with a smooth motion over the course of the next two seconds. It pulled the needle out as soon as the syringe was empty.

[You are now under the effects of an Essence Transfusion Serum.]
[Your body has begun to mutate.]

“Ah. Ahh! AAAAAAACK! RAAAARGH! AAAAAAHAAAHAAAAAAH!”

And none too soon, either, as Jen began convulsing and screaming within moments. She fell forward, slamming her fists into the bare rock wall with enough force to break it if not for the dungeon fortifying this place. Boxxy calmly exited the chamber and sealed it with a solid stone door, leaving the woman to thrash around and scream her lungs out in solitude. The shapeshifter could still hear the thundering impacts and muffled wails as the Monk went berserk from the pain. It was probably a good idea it prepared that space, as it doubted whether anything else could contain her while she was in that state.

“Sweet Arnold,” Fizzy exclaimed. “What was that stuff?”

“… Oh, right, you weren’t there at the time,” Boxxy realized. “You remember when I told you about my escape from the Foundation facility?”

“Yeah, the think-tank you blew up on your way out. What about it?”

“I did more than blow it up. I looted the place, took everything that looked like it might be valuable or important. And this stuff,” the monster held up the empty syringe, “is what they used to create their number one living weapon.”

The former house mimic called Wardrobzilla had been imbued with the liquefied life force of several monsters, giving him access to their respective Jobs and Skills. The process was documented as ‘essence transplantation,’ and it was responsible for turning the harmless piece of sentient furniture into a deadly abomination. More specifically, a changeling, a being that was many things at once, yet also none of them. As such, it was completely incapable of achieving a Rank Up, even if it did gain strength and magic far beyond its original form.

“I stole eleven doses,” Boxxy added in a jovial tone. “Never thought I’d have a real use for it, but I’m glad I kept them.”

The monster couldn’t exactly manufacture more of them since it knew very little of the science behind them, but it knew what these serums were capable of after running a few trials.

“Wait, that was over two years ago. Are you sure that stuff is even still good?”

Many alchemical solutions had a very limited shelf life, with extreme examples losing their potency mere hours after they were completed. That much was common knowledge, so Fizzy’s question was hardly unwarranted.

“I’m not too sure to be honest,” the shapeshifter admitted. “However, they were all in these magical ice boxes, which I assume are meant to preserve them. It’s probably fine, though. I don’t think it would’ve done anything if it had gone off.”

“Mind telling me why you’re even bothering with that stuff?” Fizzy asked with a hint of jealousy in her voice. “She’s plenty strong as a human, so why do you insist on turning her into a literal monster?”

There were a multitude of reasons. One was the delicious irony of coercing a follower of Axel to willingly become that which their patron hated more than anything. Another was that this painful process technically counted as revenge on Zone for taking away its Warlock Job back in the day, something it had never completely forgiven her for. There was also the fact that past experiences had taught Boxxy that monsters worked better with other monsters than enlightened. That way there was less chance for a conflict of interests caused by silly things like morals. Jen’s loyalty was hardly guaranteed, of course, but the shapeshifter had a way to fix that.

Ultimately, however, the defining reason for choosing this course of action was relatively simple.

“Because I can.”

“Fair enough,” Fizzy shrugged. “What about me? What’s my part in this?”

“I need you to stay here and keep an eye on her over the next few days. Monitor her condition and heal her with your magic should her HP drop too low. Then, once the screaming stops, I need you to contact me. In order for you to easily do all that, I need you to agree to something that might seem… unpleasant.”

“What’s that?”

“Appoint Dungeon Master: Fizzy Rustblood.”

A message asking the golem to become the steward of this freshly-made hideout popped into her mind.

“It’s entirely temporary, I assure you,” Boxxy said in a slightly apologetic tone. “Ideally, I would’ve liked to have someone else handle it, but this was rather short notice.”

In fact, the dungeon didn’t even exist until fourteen hours ago. Boxxy tried putting in a request to hire a dungeon master from Demons ‘R’ Us, but, unfortunately, there seemed to be no takers. It was hardly surprising considering this place was supposed to remain a secret, meaning its caretaker would have nothing to do if they did their job correctly. And, if there was one thing all demons hated, it was boredom. Fizzy was therefore the next best choice, but far from ideal. Boxxy wanted the position filled permanently since this dungeon was of high logistical importance. Perhaps it might grab a random harpy from the summit and force them to do it, but that experiment would have to wait until this one concluded.

“I don’t mind,” the golem agreed with a nod and a smile. “Just promise me you’ll give me a rub down with that special Sun God oil later.”

“Deal.”

Fizzy accepted the offer and officially became the Dark Eyrie’s active dungeon master. Boxxy gave her a quick rundown of all the features and functions, as well as full access. Unfortunately, it had responsibilities to take care of as Keira, so it didn’t have time to go over all of the intricacies of dungeon management. It trusted the golem would be able to figure things out, though. She was a clever girl.

“Oh, one more thing before you go,” Fizzy exclaimed. “You can instantly hop between here and Azurvale with Nexus Access, right?”

“Yup. How else do you think I managed to fetch that syringe?”

Being able to do that was kind of the whole point of setting this place up. It was not exactly free, however, as the sheer distance between the two continents meant it took over 90% of the dungeon core’s 20,000 MP capacity to transport Boxxy to Atica. Even then, it couldn’t send the once-mimic all the way to Azurvale in one shot. The shapeshifter had to first stop over at one of the southern dungeons under its control, then use its MP reserves to transport itself further up north.

It was a pain in the lid, but still infinitely faster than spending two weeks on a ship and another two by carriage or caravan. Unfortunately, Boxxy and Fizzy would still have to take the long way back home once Keira left Velos if they hoped to maintain their public image. Showing up at the elven capital nearly a month ahead of everyone else was sure to raise questions. Admittedly, it wasn’t as if owning nearly a dozen empty dungeons was illegal, but it was probably for the best if the authorities never found out. Plus, Keira still had to pick up Teresa’s bastards from Sigmund’s headquarters in the Empire.

“Then, could you do me a favor and grab a bunch of stuff from back home?” the radiant construct asked. “If I’m gonna be stuck here for Bob-knows how long, then I might as well get some work done.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“Let me see… I’ll need a good deal of mithril. We have a bunch left over from our last deal with Stain, right?”

“We do, yeah. About thirteen kilograms.”

“Good, bring me all of it. Also silver, platinum, brass, copper, and bronze – twenty kilos of each and another hundred kilos of steel. Going to also need three or four of those five hundred carat star sapphires, and eight hundred grams of volcanic quartz. Oh, and alchemical conductive fluid. The good stuff, and lots of it. Two barrels should do it.”

“That’s a lot,” Boxxy remarked.

“I doubt I’ll use all of it, but I’ll be experimenting a lot and will have to make a few prototypes, so I’m not sure how much I’ll need exactly. I figure you can bring me as much as you can carry and put the leftovers back afterwards.”

“Makes sense. What are you working on, anyway?”

“My wrench.”

“Hm? Something wrong with it?”

Boxxy glanced at the gnome-sized, bright-red tool leaning on the wall next to the golem. It had come a long way since its humble start as a one-off gag gift and mantlepiece with no practical application. Fizzy had been swinging it around as an improvised mace ever since her initial golemification, and it was arguably as much a part of her as the cursed Artifact integrated into her left arm. The mildly enchanted tool had seen its fair share of abuse over the years, leaving its paint scratched and chipped all over, but its owner always made sure to fix it up with her metal-mending trick. There didn’t seem to be any obvious problems with it at present, which led Boxxy to believe the issue was unrelated to its integrity.

“The wrench is fine. That’s the problem,” Fizzy stated. “If we’re going to that Festival, ‘fine’ won’t cut it.”

Though the golem’s ‘old friend’ had served her faithfully and reliably, it could no longer keep up with its owner’s power. That much had been made abundantly clear when Jen dented it earlier. The instrument would surely not last long if Fizzy brought it to that event as-is.

“I suppose not,” Boxxy agreed. “I’m amazed it’s held together this long. Basic steel is kind of a joke at our level.”

“Uh… Huh,” Fizzy seemed confused for a moment. “Wait, did I never tell you I had it transmuted?”

“No? When did that happen?”

“Two years ago? Y’know, on the moon?”

“Oh! Right, right. Sorry, that just slipped my mind.”

It didn’t help that the wrench looked more or less exactly as it did when Boxxy first saw it in Fizzy’s shop three years ago. Well, aside from the small box and the cables she attached to it during the aforementioned adventure. They were part of a mechanism that opened and closed the oversized tool’s metal jaws with crushing force, hence why the weapon’s owner had named it ‘The Iron Teeth.’

“What was the metal called, again? Titan-something?”

“Titanium. Actually, that reminds me. I think I still have a few chunks of it in my workshop. Can you swing by and get them while you’re there?”

Those pieces were hardly in the best shape since they were salvaged from the Original Artificer’s base after Fizzy did a Boxxy to it. She’d been mildly curious about working with the stuff once her Blacksmith Job was far enough along, and she figured now was as good a time as ever.

“You sure? Isn’t that stuff super-rare?”

As far as the shapeshifter was aware, the metal wasn’t natural, but synthesized through alchemy. The details of the process were unfortunately one of the many secrets that went up in smoke following the crater-shaped climax of the First Lunar Crusade. In other words, titanium was an exceedingly finite resource. Abundant in the wreckage on the moon, but still finite.

“Well, yeah, but what’s the point of having it if I never use it?”

“Good point. Also, if you’re thinking about upgrading your weapon, shouldn’t you have Nao take a look at it?”

“Uh… No?”

The golem clearly disliked that idea, and with good reason.

“That guy broke one of your favorite daggers. I’m not letting him near my Iron Teeth.”

“Just hear me out. He’s been to Tascuna, so I’d wager he’s studied this titanium stuff. If anyone knows whether your weapon can handle extra enchantments, it’ll be him.”

“Hmm… I suppose. Think he’ll actually do it, though?”

“Are you kidding me? Knowing that guy, he’d probably pay you for the privilege.”

Fizzy squinted dubiously at the shapeshifter.

“I meant he’ll be eager,” it quickly added. “I’ll make sure Keira foots the bill if he asks for one.”

“Just making sure, and thanks. I’ll make sure to catch him while we’re all on Velos. Actually, he won’t randomly shove off, will he?”

“Don’t think so. Last I heard he was knee-deep in some investigation with the other Heroes. Seems like it’ll take him a while.”

The whole thing also sounded like a whole lot of ‘not my business’ to Boxxy.

“Should I still fetch those materials for you?”

“Yes, please. I still need to pass the time somehow, and it’s a good opportunity to test out some ideas Null and I have been cooking up lately.”

“Alright. Speaking of which, your sisters gonna need their spare bodies?”

“Not really, but might as well grab them anyway. The girls wouldn’t mind stretching their legs.”

The objects in question were a trio of mithril dolls made by Fizzy for the sole purpose of bringing them to life through her Animate Armor Skill. She had a set of them shipped to Velos along with herself, but there was another batch hidden in Boxxy’s primary dungeon. There were only six in existence and making more was extremely difficult due to the scarcity of the necessary materials. Not the precious metal that made up their outer shell, though. That could be procured easily enough with the power of money. The same couldn’t be said of the war golem parts they required.

Those cores, voice boxes, and audio-visual sensors were what allowed Fizzy’s alter egos to gain such complete and total control over the armored dolls. The only way to obtain these, at least as far as the shapeshifter’s troupe was aware, was through the Golem War Zone instant dungeon, courtesy of Patrick’s Divine item. Simply gaining access to it was difficult enough, as it had to be randomly selected out of a pool of about fifty or so presets, and the Atlas of Dreams could only be activated once every five days. Even then, there were a bunch of hidden objectives that had to be cleared before one could earn the inert and intact war golem cores vital to make those dolls truly come to life. Thankfully, the Golem War Zone seemed to be one of the more common instant dungeons, so odds were good that Fizzy would have plenty of spare parts going forward.

Boxxy double checked its ‘shopping list,’ then tele-relayed back to its home base. Lavender the alraune greeted it with her normal enthusiasm, despite the fact that it had been less than a day since she last saw it. Ambrosia was still in the middle of her ‘quick six-month power nap,’ so it was unlikely she’d be up anytime soon. Regrettably, Boxxy wouldn’t get to enjoy her nectar-based cuisine for a while, but it could always use the Elder Dryad’s Authority to wake her up should its cravings get too strong. Ambrosia loved to spoil her surrogate child, so she would probably not mind indulging its selfishness for a bit.

The monster was still in the middle of sorting through its coffers when a message popped into its head.

[Fizzy: Uh, Boxxy? Hello?]
[Fizzy: Is this thing on?]
[Lavender: Oh, it’s the shiny friend! Hello!]
[Boxxy: Lavender, please don’t interrupt me when I’m talking with Fizzy.]
[Lavender: Sorry, Boxxy! Whatever you say, Boxxy!]

Well, that was surprising. The monster had never had multiple dungeon masters, so it had no idea they shared the same cross-dungeon communication channel. This had the potential of becoming annoying, but wasn’t an issue at the moment.

[Boxxy: What is it, Fizzy?]
[Fizzy: You know how you told me to contact you when Jen stopped screaming?]
[Boxxy: Yes?]
[Fizzy: She just did.]
[Boxxy: Ah. That’s unexpected.]

The few times the shapeshifter experimented with the essence transplantation concoction, its test subjects writhed around in agony for two to three days before expiring. According to the documents it had pilfered along with the serum, these fatalities were caused by a ‘synaptic something-something bonding failure.’ In layman’s terms, there was poor compatibility between the host and the implanted monstrous genes, and their body was too weak to handle the stress of the transition. Thus, it chose to give Jen a dose of harpy serum. It wasn’t the strongest monster it could have turned her into, but it seemed the most fitting considering harpies looked half-human to begin with. Not to mention that giving the Monk her wings back was a good way to earn some loyalty and goodwill.

[Fizzy: Oh, no, never mind. She just started again. Must have passed out or something.]
[Boxxy: Huh. That’s new.]
[Boxxy: Next time, try checking her condition with the Prison Management module before you jump to conclusions.]
[Fizzy: Duh! Will do.]
[Fizzy: For the record, if she lives through this, I’m going to hit her again. This time with everything I’ve got.]

It would seem the golem was still carrying a grudge over the way Jen sabotaged her jetpack and tossed her out of the ring during their last tussle. That said, if she truly did go all out on that one hit, there was a good chance even that Monk would be turned into a bloody smear, defeating the exercise’s purpose. Boxxy made a mental note to placate her as much as possible before it came to that, then finished packing the materials, tools, and items its trophy wife had requested. It promptly returned to the Dark Eyrie and dropped everything off with Fizzy. A quick spit-shine later, it left the dungeon and returned to Oar’s Rest with a Transfamiliar and a Gate then resumed masquerading as Keira. It did a number of Quests the local guilds were offering, mostly to gain reputation and favor. It had two whole rooms overflowing with gold and treasure back in Azurvale, so the amount earned here was paltry at best in comparison. Not that it was complaining about getting more gold, but it wasn’t nearly enough to salivate over.

The shapeshifter’s hard work since coming to Velos paid off the next day when Keira was invited to stand before the Council of Elders, the ruling body of the Eight Tribes’ government. As one might expect, they were made up of eight wizened raptors, each representing a branch of raptor society. They held a small ceremony officially thanking and commending the catgirl for her contributions towards quelling the massive orc Rampage that Gutzstompa started. The whole thing reeked of politics. They were treating Keira as if she were a foreign dignitary despite the fact she had come here in a purely personal capacity. Their sentiments were so hollow that the monster’s Doppelganger Job didn’t budge a single percent closer to the last Level. Still, the Council rewarded Keira with a shiny medal unique enough to be worth collecting, so Boxxy didn’t mind the pointless pageantry too much.

The doppelganger spent the rest of the day playing nice with the locals and that evening playing nicer with Rowana. The couple had just gone to bed when Fizzy contacted it for the first time since they last saw each other.

[Fizzy: Boxxy, Jen went quiet again. I think that monsterfication serum has run its course.]
[Boxxy: Did it work?]
[Fizzy: I think so. Her Status doesn’t say Angel (Human) anymore.]
[Boxxy: Oh-hoh! Alright, I’ll be over as soon as I can!]

[Your species has become Changeling.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Divine Beast.]
[Congratulations, you are now a Level 1 Harpy! DEX +3. AGI +3. END +3.]

The tortured woman in question panted heavily within her stone cell. She was splayed out with her back against the cold floor, staring absentmindedly at the only witness to her ordeal – the magical lamp embedded in the ceiling. Its dim white light shone upon the walls, which were plastered with several layers of the Monk’s dried-up blood. This was mostly a result of her thrashing about, as the only way she could bear the pain was by repeatedly smashing her hands and feet against the confines of her new home until she passed out. The self-destructive behavior might have gotten her killed if not for Fizzy dropping in to mend her wounds whenever she blacked out.

But, that was then. At present, Jen could only be described as a freak. Though she maintained most of her human features, all of her hair had been replaced with soft black plumage. Several rows of giant raven-like feathers ran down her shoulders all the way to her wrists, giving her a pair of bizarre half-wing, half-arm limbs. Her feet and ankles had become bird-like talons without a single trace of humanity in them. If Boxxy were to see her current form, it would most definitely brand her a failure. She looked weak and miserable, and her body was noticeably thinner and feebler. The inside fared no better, as her bones had turned light and hollow like a bird’s, rendering them many times more fragile. She was likely to break her own arm if she tried to throw a punch with the same force and speed she normally did. Though the transformation into a half-harpy might have been an upgrade for a regular human, it was a step down for the former angel. This unfortunate outcome was why the Foundation discontinued testing this serum on people. An enlightened subject wouldn’t survive the process unless they already had a Rank Up, and, if the result was a downgrade, then that defeated the purpose of the experiment.

Thankfully for both Jen and Boxxy, the latter was still on its way, otherwise the shapeshifter would have disposed of her without realizing there was more to come.

[The effects of Essence Transfusion Serum have been amplified.]
[Your body has begun to mutate.]

A myriad of compounding factors triggered this secondary stage. Her raptor lineage, her desperate desire to achieve a stronger form, her absurd vitality, and the unknown abnormality in the slightly-expired monster serum all fit together like an unseen jigsaw puzzle. The extremely unlikely combination forced her unstable biology to adapt and overcome all the defects she had acquired. Another round of pain coursed through Jen, but this time it was of a different quality. It was an oddly satisfying pain, like vomiting after eating something rancid, popping a pus-filled pimple, or pulling a thorn from one’s palm. Even though it still hurt like her entire body was on fire, Jen’s responses were only grunts and snarls as opposed to the wails and screams of the past two days.

The changes brought on by this second round of mutations were much more severe, but also much faster. The plumage covering her scalp fell out all at once, instantly replaced by a luscious, black, shoulder-length mane. A disgusting ripping noise could be heard as a pair of triangular feline ears eerily similar to a beastkin’s popped out of the top of her head. The raven feathers on her arms fell away while a massive pair of hawk-like wings sprang out of her upper back, much larger in size than the ones Axel took from her. Her arms drastically transformed as well. The nails on her hands formed into short, sharp, and sturdy claws. Golden brown fur rapidly grew out of the skin on her forearms, covering them from the tip of her fingers all the way to her elbows. The same lion-like pelt enveloped her legs from the lower thighs down until it reached her raised ankles. Her bird-like feet remained, though the talons became noticeably larger and blacker while the leathery hide covering them grew thick and heavy as they filled up with new muscle. The rest of her also bulked up considerably. Whatever muscle mass she lost during the last two days was returned with interest, as her body visibly grew until it was one or two sizes larger than it used to be before this all started. Jen let out a bestial roar as a long, slender, and flexible tail covered in more brown fur and tipped with a tuft of soft white hair rapidly grew out of the lower end of her spine, completing her transition.

[The Essence Transfusion Serum has expired.]
[Your species has become Harpy (Griffin).]
[Congratulations, you are now a Level 1 Griffin! STR +5. END +5. AGI +2.]
[Proficiency level increased. Wind Assisted Flight is now Level 1. INT +4. END +2.]

It was at that moment that the door to Jen’s cell slid open to reveal the world’s most dangerous hylt creeper.

“RRRAARGH!”

The newly reborn part-harpy, part-griffin didn’t seem to appreciate this, as she lunged at it like some sort of feral creature. Boxxy immediately dashed forward to intercept her, grabbing her by the throat and choke-slamming her into the ground. Jen continued to snarl, growl, and thrash about in a truly inhuman, but also highly irrational manner that forced the shapeshifter to pin her down with its dense biomass. It coiled a series of muscular tentacles around her head, arms, and legs to keep her from thrashing out. She tried to bite and claw at the limbs like the caged beast she was, but she was still mostly humanoid in shape, and Boxxy was well-versed in incapacitating such creatures.

As she continued to snarl and struggle, the shapeshifter realized that Agent of Chaos was still in effect despite the extraordinary transformation having run its course. It had a hunch that its next move would either snap Jen out of this bestial frenzy or condemn her to it. While leaving her mindlessly ferocious seemed like fun, it would make her worthless as a recruit. Physical prowess was certainly important, but it was Jen’s copious battle experience and single-minded personality that truly made her a force to be reckoned with. It was therefore preferable that she be returned to her previous state of mind. And who better to reign her savage side in than the last man to have held her loyalty.

“Calm yourself, Zone!” it shouted in Edward’s perfectly mimicked voice. “Is this any way for an agent of mine to behave?!”

Boxxy’s quick thinking seemed to have done the trick, as the monstrous woman instantly ceased her struggling and stood perfectly still. She kept staring up at the creeper’s misshapen head and beady yellow eyes for several seconds until some semblance of light returned to her previously vacant eyes. She blinked several times as she finally awoke from a two-day-long nightmare.

[The flows of chaos have returned to their default, causal state.]

The doppelganger relaxed a little once it saw the turbulent period of heightened uncertainty had finally passed.

Or, it could just be starting, if Jen’s next word was any indication.

“Mas… ter?”

“… Whut?”

The drowsy voice, dumb look on her face, and the softness of her gaze were so foreign they momentarily threw Boxxy for a loop. She looked like a completely different person, to the point it wondered whether her mind had survived the agonizing transition to monsterhood. Fizzy most certainly suffered some irreversible changes during her transition, so permanent brain damage was a very real concern. Thankfully, that didn’t seem to be the case. Jen shook her head a few times as if to dispel some sort of lingering daze, causing her usual emotionless mask to reappear moments later.

“Reporting that I have survived as promised,” she said calmly. “Requesting release from bondage.”

Boxxy nodded and freed the griffin-girl from its grasp, allowing her to stand up and look herself over. She had certainly become something that would never pass off as human. A skirt could theoretically conceal those freakish legs, but no disguise would be able to effectively hide her enormous wings. Her new body was also significantly taller than it used to be, as the serum had given her an entire head’s worth of height. Nowhere near fiend levels, but certainly enough to stand over most people.

“How is your condition?”

Jen opened her mouth to answer Boxxy’s question-

*Krrrrrrrrrrrrr*

-but her growling stomach beat her to the punch, causing her to blush lightly from embarrassment.

“Hehehehe, I see, I see, that is a feeling I understand very well,” the shapeshifter nodded with a light chuckle. “I also get absolutely ravenous after a Rank Up. Come on, let’s put some fresh meat in you, then we can see about finding you a new deity to worship. Truth be told, my friend Fizzy and I already have one in mind. He can be a bit of an asshat sometimes, but you don’t need to worry.”

The shapeshifter threw an arm around Jen’s shoulder and ushered her out of her cell.

“Something tells me you two are going to get along juuuuuuust fine.”

Part Three

Two raptors were sneaking through the dense jungle, their slim bodies gliding between the foliage while making minimal sounds. Their names were Thisk and Rask, a pair of brothers that hailed from the Greentail tribe. This name was commonly associated with farming, fishing, and other activities related to food production. These two were hunters, though their quarry today was not meat. They were looking for hydra eggs, typically as big as a person’s head and laid in clutches of ten to fifteen. Their nutritional value was high enough for a single one to feed three people for a whole day, and a skilled chef could make them delicious enough to be a delicacy. However, raiding a hydra nest was easier said than done. More often than not, the eggs were guarded by a fully-grown female with as many as nine serpentine heads. Her equally terrifying mate would not be far away. Challenging those things with just two people was borderline suicide. Even if they somehow won, there was a good chance the eggs would get smashed up in the scuffle.

Thus, Thisk and Rask were taking the silent approach. Their target was the nest of a particularly nasty hydra referred to by locals as ‘Black Betty’ due to the color of her scales. The biggest and toughest monster in the region, this self-proclaimed queen had grown quite complacent resting on her laurels and could often be found lazing around. To top things off, it was now high noon with absolutely zero clouds in the sky, which were just the sort of conditions that tempted hydras into napping while sunbathing. The Greentail brothers only had to make sure they snuck in, grabbed the goods, and ran away before their Odor Blocker elixirs wore off and Black Betty caught their scent. They had pulled off egg heists like this many times before, so it really was just another day at the office for them.

As they approached the nest in question, however, they began to hear odd sounds. It wasn’t the orchestra of hissing, rhythmic stomping, or guttural snoring that usually gave those massive snake-beasts away. No, this was a combination of wet squelches and sporadic snapping that suggested Black Betty had found herself a sizeable lunch. The area around her nest was always deathly quiet, so Thisk and Rask easily identified those sounds. This was good news, as the coal-scaled hydra would sleep soundly with a full belly. After nodding at one other to quietly affirm their intentions matched up, they slowly and silently poked their heads through a series of thick bushes.

However, it would appear their deduction was slightly off. While one monster was indeed feasting upon the other, it was Black Betty that had become the prey. Squatting on top of her bloodied, house-sized corpse was a harpy the likes of which they’d never seen. Admittedly, harpies were an invasive species with only a tiny presence on Velos, but even experienced northerners would be taken aback by this one’s odd features. She was black-haired, white-winged, brown-furred, cat-eared, covered almost head-to-talon in fresh blood, completely naked, and far prettier than she had any right to be. The mix of brutality, beauty, and supple thighs gave off a strong atmosphere of animal magnetism. Even the raptor brothers found themselves momentarily mesmerized by the sight, despite the fact neither had a smoothskin fetish.

Unfortunately, they ended up lingering a bit too long. As the winged female ripped out another handful of hydra flesh to feast on, her head suddenly snapped towards her voyeurs, locking her yellow eyes with theirs. Realizing they’d been found out, the brothers attempted to run, but the griffin-harpy was on them immediately. She landed on their upper backs, pinning them to the ground beneath her powerful legs. Her feet clenched around their shoulders and necks, digging her talons deep into their scales. With an egg poacher in each of her leathery grasps, the cat-bird-woman flapped her wings and dragged them up into the air. Her victims naturally screamed and pleaded, but their captor had grown deaf to pleas of mercy long before she had officially become a monster. The raptors also struggled, of course, with the one called Rask trying to stab at the massive foot with his dagger only to have the weapon bounce off the skin with a metallic clang. His brother Thisk attempted to pry himself free the hard way, but his efforts were met with similarly futile results.

Meanwhile Jen felt rather disheartened underneath her blood-soaked, ice-cold facade. Boxxy had told her to get in touch with her primal side in order to better understand her new instincts, but she hadn’t realized she had strayed this close to civilized territory. Her new boss wanted to keep her existence a secret as much as possible, so being found out by these amateurs made her feel inadequate. Unqualified, even. On the bright side, correcting her mistake would be simple enough, as she just had to dispose of the witnesses. She just had to figure out the best way to do so. They had reached an altitude of about a hundred meters, so simply dropping them would probably be enough to make them go splat, right? No, wait, that was a terrible idea. They were in the middle of a jungle filled with trees, vines, and shrubs – plenty of things that could cushion a long fall. What about bringing them back to Boxxy as a sort of gift? No, that wasn’t a good idea either since she would have to admit she messed up.

[Proficiency level increased. Wind Assisted Flight is now Level 2. INT +4. END +2.]

That message was rather fortunately timed, as it reminded Jen that she should decide on this quick. Though the Griffin Skill in question allowed her to fly despite her wingspan being inadequate for her weight, it continuously drained MP – or in the Monk’s case, Ki – while in use. Its efficiency would raise significantly as it increased in Level, but, at this early stage, she had a rather limited time frame where she could maintain her flight. This window was made even smaller by the two dead weights she was dragging along.

“P-p-please! Put us down! We promise we won’t tell anyone!”

“We didn’t mean any harm! We just wanted to eat! Was that so bad?!”

Her two captives’ constant whining and winging wasn’t helping her think clearly, either. In fact, they had been growing significantly more annoying with each syllable, to the point Jen wanted to shout at them to-

“Just! Shut! Up!”

*CRUNCH*

“Ah… oops.”

Her anger had momentarily gotten the better of her, and she ended up squeezing down on them hard enough to crush their upper bodies into paste, killing them instantly. It might have been unintentional, but it did the job of silencing them for good. All she had to do was let go of their corpses and let some lucky monster on the ground gobble up their remains. She thought of having a taste for herself, but she still had some reservations about eating people. Harpies were omnivores and she much preferred fish, so it wasn’t as if she necessarily had to chow down on everything she killed. The only reason she was even bothering with that hydra meat was because she had worked up an appetite while fighting it. Its massive HP pool and seemingly endless regenerative abilities made it so resilient that it took more than half an hour of ripping heads off before it finally died. Eating it raw was a bit disgusting, but having worked hard for the meal made it oddly satisfying. It was also pleasantly spicy, though she’d probably think otherwise if she wasn’t all but immune to poison.

To put things simply, the hydra was tasty in its own way, though Jen felt she would’ve enjoyed the meal a lot more if it were properly prepared, perhaps with a serving of vegetables. That aside, why was she still holding onto the dead raptors? Didn’t she decide to drop them and let the jungle handle the corpse disposal? It was the most logical and efficient solution, yet she felt strangely unwilling to release her grip on their remains. Just the opposite. Something within her demanded she squeeze down even harder. It was… strangely tempting. Why was she even resisting the urge? Indeed, her orders had been to specifically get in touch with her monstrous instincts, so she did just that.

*SQUELCH*

*SNAP*

*BLORCH*

It felt amazing. Feeling their bones splinter and break between her avian toes was such a satisfying sensation that it made Jen shiver and shudder with delight. It felt so good she was downright disappointed when the mangled bodies within her talons’ grasp exploded and fell apart like rotten vegetables. Eager to experience more of that exhilarating feeling, Jen spent the next few hours grabbing and squeezing the life out of various things. Orcs, baby hydras, sentient man-eating flowers, giant crocodiles, overgrown insects, random adventurers – all were put to the stress test of her bird-feet’s vicious grip. None survived.

[Level up!]
[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a Level 6 Harpy! DEX +3. AGI +3. END +3. FTH +1.]
[Congratulations, you are now a Level 6 Griffin! STR +5. END +5. AGI +2. FTH +1.]

“Ah… oops.”

Jen had grown so engrossed in what she was doing that she completely forgot that she had hit Level 5 in both of her new Jobs after killing that black hydra. She was still deciding on what new Skills to take when those two raptors rudely interrupted her celebratory luncheon. Then she got carried away exploring her newfound hobby. And now she was here. In the middle of nowhere. Completely naked. Covered in the blood and brains of an orc whose head she just crushed between her thighs.

Realizing she’d gone slightly overboard with her self-exploration, Jen decided to head back, though not before she found a running stream to wash herself off. Once she had soaked herself neck-deep in the cold and clear water, she considered her new Skill options. At first, it was a bit odd that her Griffin and Harpy Jobs were so perfectly synced when it came to XP gain, but it made sense considering she needed both at Level 25 to Rank Up. She had no idea what a griffin-harpy would evolve into, but it was an exciting prospect. It was almost as thrilling as how quickly her new Jobs were gaining Levels. It had been many years since she had the chance to experience this sort of explosive growth. If this rapid development was the norm for monsters, then she somewhat understood why and how Boxxy went from harmless critter to indomitable behemoth in just three years.

[Proficiency level increased. Dustoff is now Level 1. INT +3. AGI +2. WIS +1.]
[Proficiency level increased. Rip and Tear is now Level 1. STR +4. END +2.]

The two new Skills Jen settled on were the ones she thought would have the most impact. The first was something Boxxy had absorbed by chance while traveling through the Empire. A hylt creeper had little to no use for it, but it allowed a harpy like Jen to rapidly gain altitude by conjuring a powerful updraft underneath her wings. It allowed her to disengage from ground-based enemies and increased her maneuverability while she was already in flight. The latter was especially useful since three-dimensional mobility was of utmost important when it came to aerial combat. Rip and Tear, on the other hand, was a passive Griffin Skill that amplified the slashing damage of her claws and talons, as well as any lingering bleeding damage they inflicted. It had a good amount of synergy with the Monk’s Path of the Tiger Skill, since many of its Martial Arts were designed to draw copious amounts of blood. She didn’t even need to use them to rip someone’s throat out thanks to her new limbs, but combining those Arts with her natural weapons allowed her to sunder meat and bone like never before. Indeed, her monsterfication drastically improved all her basic abilities in a way that no Skill or Job could.

Of particular note were her kicks, which had nearly doubled in power thanks to her new legs. The altered ankle joint allowed her to produce whip-like blows with greater ease and force. The foot and toes were so dexterous that they almost felt like an extra pair of hands, making it theoretically possible to swing a staff with just her legs. Jen wasn’t sure why she’d want to do that or what use would it be, but it definitely seemed like an option. Maybe she could learn to wield two staves using all four limbs? No, that was just silly. Besides, her lower end didn’t need help inflicting significant damage. Between her extraordinary kicking power and the griffin talons at the end of her feet, she could easily punch a hole through most types of plate armor. Or so the bird-lady assumed. She hadn’t had a chance to test that out yet.

Having finished bathing and picking new Skills, Jen pulled herself ashore and tried to take off, but found that her wings refused to work. She then remembered that water was the Bane of many feathered flyers, including both griffins and harpies. Drenched as she was, her innate wind magic couldn’t assist with keeping her afloat, and she was far too heavy to fly without it. The rookie monster made a mental note to be extra wary of water-based attacks. Getting grounded on top of taking nearly double damage did not seem like a fun time. On the upside, there weren’t all that many offensive water Spells available to adventurers. Hydromancers technically had a lot, but they were also exceedingly rare. The Job as a whole was so lackluster compared to its peers that its practitioners were rightfully ridiculed as ‘splashy boys.’ Realistically, the only people she’d have to worry about were Casters with access to ice magic, but she wasn’t sure whether that even counted. Time and testing would tell.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to find out about her Bane the hard way like Boxxy. The Monk had spent so much time playing and fighting with Bandit’s pets that she ended up learning almost everything there was to know about griffins. Like the fact that harpies were one of the species used in their creation, as they were one of the few flying monsters that were also mammals. Admittedly, the Monk wasn’t a hundred percent clear on the details, but she heard it was vital that all the creatures making up a chimera shared a reproductive system. Something about giving the new species the ability to procreate and stabilize. That said, Jen found the thought of her hybrid species both bizarre and unsettling. Surely it was physically impossible for a person-sized harpy to breed with a house-sized griffin and survive.

However, it would appear that the world ‘impossible’ did not exist in Benjamin’s dictionary. Or, if it did, its definition was most probably scribbled over with crude drawings of flowers, pancakes, and butts. The Monk came to this unnecessarily colorful conclusion because, as of last night, she was officially a Disciple of Chaos. The conversion was relatively simple. It involved Fizzy saying a few prayers and performing a short ceremony that ended with her breaking the acolyte’s nose with her mithril fist. Jen suspected that last bit might not have been a legitimate part of the ritual, but she wouldn’t complain about the results. Initially, she had only accepted the deal to get rid of that Faithless Servant ‘Perk,’ which prevented her from gaining FTH. This was a problem, as that Attribute determined the maximum amount of Ki she could store. Her relatively low Ki reserves had always been a bit of an issue, so the amount she lost after Axel ‘fired’ her could have been a crippling blow. One could argue that she could just use MP instead, but many of her Skills – including her Ultimate – had to be fueled with this Monk-only resource. She was therefore rather pleased that converting to Seth’s religious order refunded the 25 points of FTH she lost when she initially got saddled with Faithless Servant.

However, matters of religion and faith were never as simple as numbers ticking up and down on one’s Status screen. The instant Jen accepted chaos into her heart and spleen, she felt something she had never experienced in a lifetime of service to Axel – the presence of her God. She just wished it didn’t manifest itself as an occasionally distant, barely audible cackle or in a dream where she was a perfectly round turnip bouncing atop a pile of pink fish. She would have seriously doubted her own sanity if Fizzy didn’t warn her ahead of time that their patron did not seem to take his job too seriously.

Serving Wallace did have its good sides, though. Like the fact that he was always there to listen, and that he seemed to strive for quality rather than quantity when it came to his worshippers. He also didn’t seem the type of control freak that would strip away one of his strongest followers’ faith without so much as hearing them out, even though that was the first time he’d even deigned to notice them. Literally all the Goddess of Dice Rolls required of her followers was that they be interesting and otherwise did her best to avoid directly interfering with their lives. It was known to happen by accident, like the time Patricia inadvertently sent two of her followers and her own Hero on a three-month-long wild goose chase. Boxxy and Fizzy had never quite forgiven her for that one.

Admittedly, Jen was a bit skeptical about the usefulness of the Disciple of Chaos Skill until she tried it for herself. Her doubt was understandable since it had zero combat applications, but the way it guided her towards her larger and loftier goals was honestly mind-blowing. She only had to sit down and meditate really hard on something she wanted to find or had to do. Then, after an undetermined amount of time, she would suddenly know which way to go in order to advance her goals, almost like a homing instinct she could control. It wasn’t without its flaws, of course. It didn’t always work and had outright led her the opposite way at least once, but she was slowly getting the hang of it. One of the tricks she was able to figure out was that the more abstract and generalized her objective, the more likely it was that she would be guided to what she was truly after. Finding that rare black hydra, for instance, was a result of her attempting to locate ‘a living punching bag.’ With its mountains of HP, tough hide, and seemingly endless regeneration, it turned out to be the perfect opponent to let Jen put her new body through its paces.

Disciple of Chaos was also really useful in her current predicament, as Jen had no idea where she actually was. She’d grown completely lost while flying around and crushing things to death within her talons’ grip. It was an issue she was currently attempting to resolve by sitting down on the ground cross-legged with her eyes closed. She directed her thoughts not towards Rancid Rock specifically, but ‘a really stinky place full of poison and plants.’ The answer came to her before her wings had even fully dried off, but she didn’t wait and immediately ran in the general direction she felt was right. Well, technically it was on her left, but it was nevertheless the correct way seeing as how she arrived at her destination without difficulty.

[You have entered the Dark Eyrie.]

*CLANG CLANG CLANG*

The rhythmic echoes of Fizzy’s smithing greeted the harpy as she entered the hollow, core-lit cavern. That was expected considering the golem had been at it for forty eight hours straight with no signs of stopping. She had even used her authority as a dungeon master to create a massive forge and workshop right beneath the crystal core. Fizzy’s three alter egos were also there, but they were too busy playing some kind of card game to actually help her out.

“Hey, Jen’s back!” Plus suddenly exclaimed. “How’s it going, number one disciple?!”

*CLANG CLANG*

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Minus snapped at her. “You’re not going anywhere until you finish this hand!”

*CLANG CLANG*

“Her probability of victory is zero-point-five-three percent,” Null’s mechanical voice chimed in. “Surrender is her wisest and most expedient course of action.”

*CLANG CLANG*

“But then I won’t get to rub her face in it!”

*CLANG*

“Girls, do you mind keeping it down?” Fizzy shouted from the side. “I’m in the middle of something!”

“Yes, boss,” the other three replied in unison.

Minus and Null returned to killing time, while Plus went over to properly greet her ‘number one disciple.’ And she wasn’t calling her that just because Jen was the multi-minded golem’s only disciple. The Monk had proven herself a cooperative and attentive student that was eager to serve. Almost too eager, at least in Minus’s opinion.

“Boxxy stopped by a few hours ago,” the bubbly personality spoke quietly. “It had to leave to take care of something else, but not before it dropped off some stuff for you over there.”

She pointed towards a small table pushed against the nearby wall. Jen’s eyes went uncharacteristically wide in shock when she saw what lay on top. It was her old Artifact-grade staff, the same one she had lost in the battle of Watford. That greedy ‘ganger had collected and stowed the weapon away since it was a valuable piece of equipment and was now giving it back to her since the shapeshifter didn’t have a better use for it. The ex-angel walked over and picked it up, feeling its familiar weight and heft. Her claws and talons were excellent weapons, of course, but they couldn’t match up to the destructive power of her oldest, arguably only friend.

“Don’t forget the clothes,” Plus added.

She was referring to the revealing yellow outfit next to the staff. It consisted of a string-tied cross-top, a cloth neck brace, and a three part skirt that resembled the gear she wore during the whole Gauntlet thing. Though seemingly not all that durable or protective, this clothing was specially enchanted to help circulate her Ki better, thereby improving the efficiency of Skills that used it. It was also loose enough that she could still wear it comfortably enough despite her increased bulk. Laid out on the table next to the unnecessarily revealing outfit were a purple cloth sash, a pair of hard leather bracers, and a few other accessories.

“Requesting clarification – did Boxxy have these specially made for me?”

“Probably not, I’m pretty sure it already had them lying around,” the mithril woman shrugged. “Boxxy has a lot, and I mean a lot, of random stuff stored away. I don’t personally approve of its hoarding habits, but they are useful at times like this.”

“Agreed.”

Jen certainly wasn’t about to complain about getting some actual gear so soon. She was pretty sure she had torn her old equipment to shreds during one of her transformation’s violent fits, but it would appear Boxxy had found adequate replacements. It probably wasn’t all that difficult for that shapeshifter since this type of garb was something of a specialty of the local artisans. Either way, Jen was glad to have these since she didn’t like walking around naked if she could help it. Not because of shame or humility, though. She had done away with those bothersome things many years ago. Her problem with walking around in her birthday suit was that only a hopeless idiot wouldn’t take advantage of wearing magic items if they had the option to do so. Also, she needed something to hold her breasts in place. Her combat style was very mobile, so having those things bounce around freely made it unnecessarily hard to maintain her balance. She yet again silently lamented the fact that her Perfect Physique Skill somehow saw fit to keep those lumps of fat full and perky. As per usual, she would soon remind herself that maintaining optimal muscle mass with no effort was well worth the inconvenience.

Those were the thoughts that swirled around in her head while she quietly slipped into the provided gear as Plus helpfully listed off how each of them had been enchanted. The items bore bonuses that would be useful to the monstrous Monk, such as water resistance, fire resistance, and generous Attribute boosts to her AGI, STR, END, and even FTH. Jen was quite thankful for the equipment, especially since she personally found them aesthetically pleasing. Practicality came first, of course, but if one could look good without sacrificing performance, there was no reason not to. Granted, that was most likely coincidental rather than deliberate on Boxxy’s part, but she wasn’t about to look a gift chest in the hinges.

“Hehe, you seem to like ‘em, don’t you?” Plus noted with a delightful smile.

“… Requesting your pardon?”

“Even if you insist on acting cool and collected, your throat and tail are pretty honest.”

Only when Plus mentioned it did Jen realize she had subconsciously been letting out a quiet purring noise not unlike a common house cat, though much deeper in tone. As for the fluffy appendage poking above her toned backside, it was pointing almost straight up and swaying gently without her knowledge or permission. It would appear that, though the Monk had a habit of hiding her emotions as a means of controlling them, these new body parts had a mind of their own.

“Well, kind of you to finally show up.”

Her poorly concealed joy didn’t last long, as Fizzy had put away her smithing hammer and was walking over with a scowl on her face.

“You’re late. You were supposed to be back here at noon.”

“Dispensing apologies. Reporting that there were unforeseen circumstances.”

“Is that a nice way of saying you lost track of time because you were too busy playing around?”

“… Affirmative.”

Jen wouldn’t have described her behavior quite like that, but she wasn’t going to argue semantics.

“I suppose can relate somewhat. I went through a period of acclimation as well when I gave up on being a sniveling weakling of a meatbag. I know how hard it can be to keep those new and unfamiliar urges in check.”

“Hah, that’s one way to put it,” the mithril doll next to her chuckled. “She used to strip herself without realizing it. Took her weeks to break that habit. Not to mention the exhib-”

“Plus,” Fizzy calmly interrupted her, “why don’t you go back to the others? I think they’re waiting for you to start another round of Three-Dragon Downs.”

“Oh, right-o! Later, Jen!”

The positively-charged construct skipped away, leaving the other two to talk in peace.

“Listen, meatbag,” the golem said sternly. “I don’t give a damn where you go and what you do with your time. I don’t care if you die in a ditch never to be heard from again. But Boxxy does. It put a lot of resources and effort in you, so it was quite cross when you failed to show up at the agreed upon time. Living a double life as Keira is a full-time job, so it doesn’t have a lot of free time. The last thing it needs is for you to mess up its timetable by not being where and when you are supposed to be. Understood?”

“Affirmative,” Jen nodded. “Expressing desire to dispense apologies at earliest convenience.”

“Apologize all you want, but you took an Oath of Arms. Next time you slack off you just might end up as a faithless wench again. And that’s only if you’re lucky.”

Jen scowled inwardly, though not because of that ‘wench’ comment.

“Reporting that said Oath was completely unnecessary,” the harpy claimed. “I’d never betray Master.”

“… Do you mean Boxxy?”

“Confirming that is indeed what I said.”

“Uh, no you didn’t. Pretty sure you said ‘Master’ just now.”

“Ah… oops?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Boxxy is pretty great, but ‘Master’ seems a bit much.”

Jen agreed. While the shapeshifter was certainly a benefactor, their relationship wasn’t something she would describe as ‘master-servant.’ They were boss and employee at best, so how come that word slipped out of her lips in such a natural and effortless manner? Thinking back on the events of the last twenty four hours, Jen realized this wasn’t the first time she’d unintentionally referred to Boxxy as ‘Master’ or ‘owner,’ either. Did it do something to her mind while she was passed out to make her more obedient? No, that didn’t seem the case. The shapeshifter had stated multiple times it wanted Jen to expand her horizons on a mental level more than a physical one. Twisting her psyche with magic would surely be counter-productive.

Unless, of course, it was lying to her face, but Boxxy would never do that to-

“Ah!”

The explanation hit her like a bolt from the blue. Through some miracle of luck, she had become part griffin and shared some of their instincts and mannerisms. One of their unique traits was that they imprinted upon the first living thing they saw after birth, even if it was of a different species. This trait was the reason why they were abnormally loyal for a monster, as some part of them genuinely saw themselves as their handler’s ‘child.’ This was what must have happened between Boxxy and Jen, as the shapeshifter was the first creature the griffin-girl laid eyes on after her rebirth.

“Reporting that I have determined the cause of that verbal slip. This body recognizes Boxxy as a parental unit due to presence of griffin instincts.”

“Oh-kay? That’s super weird, even for a nutjob like you,” Fizzy remarked in clear disbelief. “Still, I hope that’s true for your sake. Trust me, you don’t want to get… educated, as I was.”

“Curiosity engaged. Requesting clarification on Fizzy’s training method.”

The golem glared at her for a few silent moments, then let out a breathless sigh and spoke in a calm, dispassionate tone.

“It was an endless stream of mental and physical abuse as basic survival and combat skills were literally beaten into me over the course of a month. It was, without a doubt, the lowest and most miserable point of my life. I became much stronger as a result, but it also made me want to die. I think the sleep deprivation is probably to blame for that.”

“Don’t forget the rape!” Plus shouted from across the room.

“Yeah, that, too.”

“Rape?” Jen asked, her voice showing a hint of confusion. “Questioning whether Mas- Whether Boxxy has deviant preferences.”

The Monk understood that, from a biological standpoint, genderless creatures like mimics and doppelgangers should not possess libidos or fetishes. Yet, as unlikely as it was for Boxxy to have such tastes, Jen couldn’t help but remember the time she saw Edward’s notes regarding the creature’s interrogation. More specifically, the words ‘perverted box,’ which had been circled and underlined for some unknown reason.

“Nah, nothing like that,” Fizzy brushed off the ludicrous statement. “From Boxxy’s point of view, it was just a shapeshifting practice session that got a bit out of hand. I assure you, there was no other intent.”

That might not have been completely true, but the golem would rather not dig up those unpleasant memories, so she did her best to change the subject.

“Anyway, Boxxy said it’ll drop by around sunset. I strongly suggest you wait here until it comes back.”

“Understood and agreed.”

“Good. And, while you’re here, how about you make yourself useful and help me with my current project?”

“Affirmative. Requesting assignment.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

The golem cracked a rather unnerving smile and stretched her right hand out towards the workshop behind her. It was only at this point that Jen noticed the vertically-challenged Paladin had a mithril band of some kind bolted around the width of her palm. Her body momentarily crackled with electricity as she kicked her internal power generator into high gear. In the next instant, a steel hammer with a weirdly-shaped cylindrical head flew out of her workshop and towards her open palm. The golem effortlessly snatched it out of the air and gave it a quick twirling flourish before gripping it with both hands.

“You’d be perfect to help me calibrate my new DILDO.”

“Requesting clarification on what you are referring to,” Jen asked in a rapid monotone.

“Oh? Just my Direct Impact Lightning Discharge Oscillator.”

The golem reached up and firmly tapped her prototype weapon’s business end with a finger, producing a series of crackling sparks every time it touched her frame.

“Here, let me show you how it works!”

She swung the thing with all her might, only to get bird-kicked in the face hard enough to make her stumble backwards for a step before her hit could connect. Fizzy shook the blow off as if it was nothing more than a light shove and stared at Jen with even more ferocious glee than before.

“You were supposed to let me hit you!”

“Ah.”

The corners of Jen’s mouth curved ever-so-slightly upwards.

“Oops.”

[General Information]
Jennifer Jackson
Harpy (Griffin), Female, 79 years old
Level 100.00 Monk (MAX)
Level 66.45 Administrative Scribe
Level 50.00 Warrior (MAX)
Level 6.03 Harpy
Level 6.03 Griffin

5678/5678 HP (+17.9/sec)
702/702 Ki (+15.0/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 1203, DEX 498, AGI 402, END 895, INT 376, WIS 381, FTH 234, PER 96, MNT 120, LCK 8

[Monk Skills]
Disciple of Chaos – Lvl 3.15
Ki Manipulation – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Flow Perception – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Empowered Strikes – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Parry Expertise – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Ki-Imbued Skin – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Projectile Deflection – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Path of the Tiger – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Wholesome Being – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Strength of Stone – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Purity of Thought – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Healing Hand – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Diamond Soul – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Flurry of Blows – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Timeless Body – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Unleash Potential – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Perfect Physique – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Spirit Guardian – Lvl 1.00 (MAX)

[Administrative Scribe Skills]
Item Identification – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Language Comprehension – Lvl 5.31
Basic Appraisal – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Advanced Penmanship – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Contract Magic – Lvl 3.71
Eidetic Memory – Lvl 6.84
Advanced Appraisal – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Fraud Detection – Lvl 7.52
Domination Resistance – Lvl 6.75
Job Manipulation – Lvl 5.51
Administrative Oversight – Lvl 2.84

[Warrior Skills]
Toughness – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Evasion – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Penetrating Strikes – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Blunt Weapon Affinity – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Blocking Expertise – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Dense Muscles – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Deep Reserves – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Armor Break – Lvl 9.16

[Harpy Skills]
Dustoff – Lvl 1.22

[Griffin Skills]
Rip and Tear – Lvl 1.00

[Other Skills]
Wind Assisted Flight – Lvl 2.09
Brawling Mastery – Lvl 25.00 (MAX)
Staff Mastery – Lvl 25.00 (MAX)
Spear Mastery – Lvl 15.00 (MAX)
Sword Mastery – Lvl 15.00 (MAX)
Projectile Mastery – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Shield Mastery – Lvl 8.30
Meditation – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Stealth – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)

Part Four

“Really? Already?” Keira asked with a cocked eyebrow. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but aren’t you a little young for retirement?”

“I just look damn fine for my age,” Opia replied with a wry smile. “I’m actually getting on in years. I’d rather quit while I’m ahead.”

The elf and the beastkin were currently seated inside the latter’s room in the port town of Oar’s Rest. Opia had popped in out of the blue, requesting a chat with Keira. Being the relatively decent person that she was supposed to be, the catgirl offered to hear her out over a cup of tea. Boxxy wasn’t sure why this woman started talking about retirement, nor why she approached its Facade with this information in the first place. Then again, she did bring that shiny snake mimic with her, so it decided to at least humor her. It then realized that this was as good an opportunity as any to tie up a potential loose end.

“What about your business partner? I know it’s been a few days since she and Fizzy left on that Quest, but shouldn’t you check with her first?”

“There’s no need. Before she left, Jen told me that we’d never meet again, regardless of whether she succeeded or not,” the elf revealed with a frown. “She’s been telling me she was bored of Velos for months now, so I guess she decided to move on after wrapping up whatever business she had left.”

This was actually welcome news to Boxxy. The newest addition to its ranks had not made any demands or put forth any conditions, but she did request that Opia be spared if at all possible. Something about ‘owing her a debt of gratitude’ or some similarly banal excuse. The shapeshifter would have preferred to simply gut the elf and be done with her, but that didn’t seem to be necessary. Though Opia and Jen had a bond, it didn’t seem all that strong if a few words was all it took to break it. Unless they were so close that a few words was all it took, but Boxxy sincerely doubted that weird Monk had the social skills to forge anything resembling a meaningful friendship.

Either way, Opia seemed content not to chase after Jen and vice-versa, which was ultimately for the best. The elf was a specialist in toxins and diseases, and such learned people were useful should their expertise ever become necessary. Not to mention that, even if it was just a little, killing her right after she met with the Hero of Chaos might raise suspicions. Simply put, Boxxy determined that leaving Opia alive would have more benefits than drawbacks. That did not, however, answer the question of why she was here to begin with.

“Okay, but why are you telling me all this? We’re not exactly close,” Keira bluntly stated.

“Truth be told, I actually wanted to speak with your betrothed, but I didn’t want to seem like I’m going behind your back. No offense, but I heard from a human merc you had a habit of being, uh, overly protective of her.”

“Human merc? Wait, do you mean that creep who tried to hit on her? Black hair, tattooed, shirtless?”

“That’s the one. Can you believe he actually walked up to me with this cocky attitude, thinking he’s the Gods’ gift to women or something? What a jackass. And those tattoos, don’t even get me started! You should’ve seen his face when Spittles showed up and hissed at him from six different angles. I’m pretty sure he shat his pants right then and-”

“Opia. You’re rambling.”

It was an unfortunate side effect of having a high Charisma (CHR) Attribute. Being able to more easily convince others to open up to Keira and coax extra details out of them was definitely handy, but there was such a thing as ‘too much information.’

“Right, sorry. Here’s the thing – though it only lasted two years, my partnership with Jen was superbly profitable. Combined with my savings, I now have enough of a nest egg to try being a business owner.”

“Ah, I think I see where this is going. You’ve decided to go into the potion business and wanted to see if you can maximize your profits by working out some sort of supply contract with the Slyth family.”

“Woah,” Opia exclaimed wide-eyed. “How’d you guess?”

The elf was in the process of buying a local potion brewery. Personally, she was never very good at the whole mixology thing, but she had a good eye for people and a decent number of connections, so she had confidence she’d make a great boss. She had much to learn, of course, which was why she was starting off with a safe investment. Alchemists on Velos were always in high demand, so the only way her new business could go bankrupt was through mismanagement. It was a sound and safe strategy, though competition meant that she definitely needed an edge to break into the market. It might’ve been easier for her to do that back on Atica, but she liked the Eight Tribes a lot more as far as governments went. The lizard-folk were surprisingly lenient when it came to certain recreational substances and… experimental stimulants. With a bit of luck, she’d be able to convince her future employees to mix her some extra-special blends, maybe even join in on some ‘team building exercises.’

However, in order to let the good times roll, Opia first needed the financial stability of a profitable business, which was what brought her to Keira’s doorstep this evening.

“You’re not the first one to approach Rowie or myself with this kind of intent,” the feline beastkin said matter-of-factly. “Won’t be the last, either.”

“Oh… Well, now I feel like a scumbag.”

“It’s fine, I completely understand. Here’s the thing – you’re barking up the wrong tree. Heh, bark-ing,” the redhead chuckled.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the phrase implies the presence of a dog, but bark also-”

“No, wait!”

The elf wasn’t sure why, but she had a feeling this was a ride best stopped before it took off.

“It was my impression Miss Slyth was here on business. Was I mistaken?”

“Yes. Rowie’s here for personal reasons. She doesn’t want to get involved in her family trade at all if she could help it.”

“Damn. Now I feel like a scumbag and an idiot. I guess I really shouldn’t listen to rumors, huh?”

“No. You absolutely should not. Especially if they’re about me.”

“Hahaha…”

Judging by Opia’s nervous laugh, she definitely bought into some of the more ridiculous tales surrounding the Crimson Lotus.

“Lucky for you,” the redhead continued, “Rowie’s big brother is here specifically to help expand the family business. His name is Elias, and I’m sure he’d be happy to hear you out.”

“That’s great news! Are you sure that’s alright, though? I don’t want to come off as pushy or needy.”

“It’s fine. If anything, he’d probably get mad at me if I didn’t send you his way. If anyone’s needy around here, it’s that guy.”

That elf’s thirst for profit was quite remarkable, to the point he would’ve earned Boxxy’s approval if not for his unwillingness to get his hands dirty.

“If that’s true then I look forward to meeting him,” the elf said politely. “Where can I find him?”

“You know that old lighthouse by the docks?”

While the two women continued conversing, there was another, far more heated discussion taking place atop the queen-sized bed on the other side of the room.

“Yip?”

“Snek. Snek snek snek, ssssnekek?”

“Yip! Yip! Yip!”

“Snek? Sneksnek, snek.”

“Yap. Yiapyapyap-yap!”

“Snek. Snek?”

“Yeeep…”

The topic of this particular debate was impossible for even Boxxy to decipher since it had no idea what these two were saying or how they understood each other in the first place. Information was definitely being transmitted, however, as their discussion clearly had a flow and rhythm to it. The gold-plated serpent seemed to arrive at some sort of conclusion after a few more minutes and leapt off the bed. It skillfully slithered across the floorboards until it was close enough to poke at Opia’s exposed ankle with its cold metal snout.

“Eeek!” she let out a startled shriek. “Snek! How many times do I have to tell you to warn me when you do that!?”

“Snek! Snek!”

She sighed, reached down, and let the house mimic climb into her hand, after which she brought it up to the table where both women could see it.

“Alright, what is it?”

“Snek. Snek, snek. Snek,” it said firmly.

“What, just like that?”

“Snek. Snek snek, ssssnek.”

“I can’t believe this. Jen, I can understand, but you?!”

“Snek.”

“You tiny little ingrate. Is this all the thanks I get for looking after your scrawny ass all this time?”

“Snek! Snek, snek! Snek!”

“Get real! What’s this hussy got that I haven’t?!”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Keira’s objection was completely ignored, as Opia and Snek were too caught up in their argument.

“Snek! Snekek! Snnnnek!”

“My wrists are not clammy! The goddamn heat makes people sweat! Even a double-crossing fashion statement like you should know that!”

“Sneksneksnek! Snek!”

“And? Is that supposed to impress me?!”

“Sssssssss!”

“Don’t you hiss at me, you little shit! Wait, I get it! This entire thing is because of that tiny square moron, isn’t it?!”

*THUD*

A steel knife stabbed into the wooden table with enough force to make the cheap tea set rattle loudly and spill out a few drops. This abruptly ended Opia and Snek’s heated exchange, drawing their attention back to their clearly peeved host.

“Listen here, lady,” Keira spoke coldly. “I don’t understand what you two are going on about, but if either of you think I’ll sit idly by while you disrespect me and my pet, you have another thing coming. A very sharp, pointy, and painful thing.”

She pulled the Wellness Knife free and pointed it squarely at the elf’s big mouth.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“… Yes, ma’am.”

“Snek, snek.”

“Good. Now, then.”

She put away the blade and settled back into her seat, though she was still visibly peeved.

“What’s this all about?”

“Snek here says it wants to abandon me so it can stay with you, completely disregarding my opinion on the matter,” Opia explained.

“Is that how it is?”

Keira stared into the beady ruby eyes of the golden serpent, but it neither flinched nor cowered. It had resolved itself to take the risk of attempting to ally with the strongest being it had ever encountered purely as a means of self-preservation. Opia and Jen had been excellent caretakers, but with the latter gone and the former retiring to a life of debauchery, it needed to reevaluate its options. That was why it spent so long talking with Minic on the subject of how well it was cared for. Granted, even the insightful serpent had trouble understanding everything that box-shaped scatterbrain said, but it was quite clear that its sibling was living a life of leisure and luxury. Deep down, Snek was a cunning and selfish creature that always looked out for itself first and foremost, so it wanted in on that action.

“Haaah,” the beastkin sighed. “Alright, how much?”

“How much what?”

“How much money do I need to give you to leave the mimic behind and get out of my room?”

The elf opened her mouth as if she was about to protest or object, but immediately gave up on wasting any more of the Hero’s time and considered the offer. Though her feelings were hurt when Snek suddenly told her it was going to leave, she couldn’t force it to stay against its will. The traitor was dead set on going its own way regardless, so adding some extra weight to her retirement fund was not a bad deal at all. Furthermore, though her words were harsh, she still cared for the animate bracelet. Knowing he and Keira would be keeping each other safe was a comforting thought. Granted, she didn’t know the redhead that well, but she seemed like a nice person… knife-happy outbursts aside.

In short, the Hero’s proposition was less of a choice and more of an intelligence test – Opia would be stupid to decline.

“A thousand,” she finally said. “One thousand GP and Snek is yours.”

She gambled a bit and stated a slightly outrageous price by commoner standards, but Keira Morgana was anything but ‘common.’ The elf’s hunch proved to be on the money when the beastkin wordlessly stood up and went over to the strongbox that came with the inn’s room. She opened it and rummaged inside for a bit before tossing a pair of small satchels at the elf. The big-bottomed woman gingerly caught them with a hand each, making both containers clack with the familiar sound of coins. She quickly verified the amount before she stood up, thanked Keira, and promptly excused herself from the room.

Business transaction settled, the beastkin took Snek and went to introduce Rowana to the newest member of their household. The elf was at a nearby potion shop where she was being tutored by Alchemists from the Rockjaw tribe. This branch of raptor society had a reputation for being full of skilled artisans, so they seemed like Rowana’s safest bet to learn about the local ingredients and traditional lizard-folk formulas. The craftsmen were surprisingly open to the exchange of knowledge and ideas, so all they asked in return was to learn about elvish alchemy. It was fortunate Keira had asked her girlfriend to show her the basics of her Job. That experience gave Rowana a single Level of Mentor, which was proving a great help in overcoming a certain… issue.

“No, I said seventeen grams of powdered juniper. Not… whatever that is.”

When the redhead entered the potion shop, she found the platinum-blonde elf chastising a very puzzled she-lizard.

“Isss two and a half pinchessss,” the local argued. “Isss same amount I alwaysss use.”

It would appear the snake-headed woman was utterly baffled by the idea of using scales to measure the quantities of ingredients.

“And I’m sure it’s very close to seventeen grams, but it’s not exactly seventeen grams. Trust me when I say this – the difference might seem minute, but it can and will cause defects in the final product.”

“Oh. Ohhh! Isss that why Nook’s bug repellant alwaysss makes me itchy?”

She pointed at a male raptor carrying a crate in the back of the shop.

“I’d say so,” Rowana nodded. “By the look of him, his ‘two and a half pinches’ are much bigger than yours.”

The snake-lady nodded gracefully and resumed mastering the fine art of actually using instruments in an exact science. The elf let out a deep breath of relief as she finally got her point across, and only then did she notice who was waiting at the door. She quickly excused herself, stood from her seat, went around the counter, and greeted her future spouse with a hug and a kiss.

“Hey, love,” Rowana smiled deeply.

“Hey, honey. Trouble?” the redhead nodded at the raptor in the back.

“Oh, no. Just a bit of… cultural friction. What about you? Weren’t you going to relax at the inn today?”

“I was, but I got a visitor, and, long story short, I ended up with a new… friend.”

The beastkin lifted her left arm to show off her new sentient accessory. Rowana was a bit surprised when the gold-plated serpent uncoiled itself and slithered up her lover’s open palm. The elf’s face then adopted a distinctly peeved expression.

“Really, Keira?” her tone matched. “You just went out and bought some weird thing without asking me first?”

“No!” the catgirl protested. “It, uh, came to me. Kind of.”

“And that makes it better, does it?! How do you know this isn’t some, I don’t know, spy or something?!”

“Rowie, relax. It’s one of Minic’s siblings.”

“Oh. Is that right?”

“Snek,” the serpent resolutely nodded.

“Wait, did it just… respond to me?”

“Snek,” it did it again.

“Yeah! This guy’s pretty smart for his size.”

“Snek, snek snek. Ssssnek.”

“Oh, my. And so polite, too. Are you sure they’re related? No offense to Minic, but you know how unruly it gets.”

“I’m positive. Here, see.”

Keira took a small slice of honeyed hylt fruit from the Aethereal Repository around her waist. The sweet treat was a staple of field rations back home, and the redhead had brought a whole bunch, just in case. She brought the snack up to Snek’s tiny maw, and it eagerly gobbled it up in a few bites.

“Aw… Alright, that’s pretty cute,” Rowana relented.

“He’s actually useful, too. Here, try him on.”

The golden serpent was promptly transferred to the elf’s wrist.

“It’s not exactly my style, but it’s nice. What does it do?”

“It tightens up when it senses danger. Like this.”

The redhead shot the sentient jewelry a murderous glare that made it instantly clench down on Rowana’s pink wrist, and relaxed moments later when the sudden pressure disappeared.

“Oh! A clever little bugger, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. I dunno if I wanna bring him on adventures yet, but I figure he could look after you if I’m not around.”

“That’s sweet of you.”

“So… we can keep him?”

“Well, I hardly can say no at this point. But, yes, I don’t mind.”

“Thanks, Rowie. You’re the best.”

She gave the elf a quick peck on the cheek.

“I know,” the blonde winked. “Now, I really should get back to Shia before she loses any more of my weights.”

“Alright. I’ll see you later tonight. Come on, Snek.”

The redhead held her wrist out next to Rowana’s, yet the serpent seemed unwilling to change hands.

“Snek? Something the matter?” the beastkin asked.

It looked right at her, then turned back to the elf.

“Snek. Snek sssssnek.”

“Now, now. Flattery will get you nowhere. Off you go, little guy.”

Rowana peeled it off her wrist and handed it back to Keira. The lovebirds exchanged goodbyes, after which the redhead left Oar’s Rest. She stepped through a Gate Spell as soon as she was outside the walls, putting dozens of kilometers between herself and civilization. With no one around to eavesdrop, the monster finally had a chance to ask the shiny critter something that had been bugging it. It kept the Keira mask on, though. Just in case.

“Alright, what’s your deal? How come I can’t understand you, but everyone else does?”

“Snek? Snek snek, snek. Sne-snek.”

“… Say that first part again, slower.”

“Sssnek? Snek, snek, snek.”

“Ah. I think I see what’s going on. You have Thought Whisper, don’t you?”

“Snek?! Snek! Snek! Snek!”

Though surprised, the golden serpent excitedly nodded its head in confirmation.

“I see. That would explain a lot.”

As far as Boxxy was aware, house mimics were created via an unknown method that fused doppelganger flesh with demonic essence. The monster had deduced this after seeing Minic’s Status years ago. However, there was no guarantee that all of Tol-Saroth’s pets would be innocent idiots whose only asset was reality-warping luck. If some could achieve a high enough Level in their Mimic or Doppelganger Job, they’d surely gain access to a related Skill. That was how Snek got Thought Whisper. It was a Level 5 Doppelganger Skill that tapped into the species’ considerable psychic potential. It allowed its wielder to add a subliminal message to their spoken words, like a whisper that would embed itself in the back of the listener’s mind. A skilled doppelganger could use this to convey suggestions and ideas in a way that made it seem like the other party had come up with them on their own. It was the Skill Boxxy would’ve gotten at Level 10 if not for Pheromone Control’s ability to make an entire room more compliant in an instant, which it judged more important. While it could have picked it later, there always seemed to be a better ability around the corner.

Meanwhile, Snek wasn’t using Thought Whisper for its intended and nefarious purpose, but as a means of communicating with other sentient beings. It was still unclear to Boxxy how it understood Minic, but that wasn’t important at the moment. What mattered was that the doppelganger could actually talk to its shinies’ latest addition now that it was aware of the Skill. The larger monster’s near-legendary MNT had made it subconsciously block off Thought Whisper’s effects, and it wasn’t until it was completely alone with the serpent that it realized what was happening. Once it did, it was a simple matter of consciously allowing the living bracelet’s second voice to sink in.

“In that case, I feel I should lay down some ground rules. You seem clever enough, but I want to make sure you don’t think yourself too clever.”

“Snek,” it firmly nodded.

“I own you now. You no longer have a choice in where you go or what you do. Next time I tell you to get off Rowana, you do it immediately.”

“Sneeek. Snek snek, ssssnekek.”

“I don’t care how ‘soft and comfy’ her hand is. You obey, or I’m stripping the gold off your hide and throwing you in the trash. Do I make myself clear?”

The serpent reflexively coiled itself tight around the monster and nodded frantically. Honestly, if the price it had to pay for luxury and security was its freedom, it could live with that arrangement. It wouldn’t have survived this long on its own without having made similar deals in the past.

“Good. Furthermore, you are to not even attempt to warn people of my true nature. Nobody would believe you anyway.”

The house mimic had no objections after thinking back on how their first meeting went. The fact that Opia trusted a total stranger over her companion’s warnings was all the proof it needed that it was hopelessly outmatched when it came to powers of persuasion. It relaxed its grip on Boxxy’s arm and repeated the affirmative gesture.

“Excellent. In that case, I think it’s time you had a glimpse of what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

The shapeshifter let a devious smirk float onto its face as it fell into its own Storage portal, dragging Snek along with it. A human-sized Sandman-esque figure emerged moments later, leaving the golden serpent thoroughly confused as to what just happened.

“S… nek?”

“Long story short, I’m a shapeshifter,” Boxxy stated bluntly in a much deeper, more masculine tone. “This is merely one of the faces I wear.”

It only dared utter those words out loud because Claws had already swept the area clean of potential eavesdroppers.

“Snek… Snek? Snekek?”

“Indeed. Hylt creeper, specifically.”

Boxxy waved its other hand at a nearby shrub, bending its leaves into a super-sized depiction of the living ornament as proof of its mastery of Phytokinesis.

“Snek. Snek snek.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” the shapeshifter rolled its eyes. “Look, I have some thinking to do, so don’t bother me unless it’s important.”

“Snek!”

The serpent saluted with the tip of its tail and returned to being as inconspicuous as a thick golden bracelet could be while the cloaked figure continued walking southward. After about fifteen minutes, Snek noticed something quite bizarre. It hadn’t sensed a single shred of danger this whole time despite the fact that several of the jungle’s creatures had assaulted its new owner. Of particular note were the swarm of hawk-sized insects commonly known as kill-buzzers. As the nickname implied, these bugs were quite lethal. They were so fast that adventurers only had moments to react to the buzzing of their wings before they were skewered by the insects’ spear-like mouths. That was why bug repellant was so vital in these wilds. Snek could sense them coming, of course, and would give much more ample warning to their owner.

Yet, the serpent’s instincts had failed to identify the kill-buzzers as a danger. The reason behind this gap in awareness became evident when Boxxy instantly vaporized them with a dragon-like flame breath. It was actually a salamander’s version, but the flabbergasted mimic couldn’t tell the difference. The only thing it knew for certain was that absolutely nothing in this jungle was even remotely a threat to its new owner, hence why its finely-attuned danger radar wasn’t going off. It had a feeling the doppelganger was powerful, but it had clearly underestimated just how much.

It was strange how… comforting that realization was. Snek thought back to its last chat with Minic. The hyperactive box spoke at length about ‘Big Bro’ and ‘Big Sis,’ though only now was the serpent grasping its meaning. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was kinship, maybe it was the monster’s intoxicating power, or maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever the cause, there was no denying that the living ornament experienced a sensation it had long thought forgotten. It was at peace. Yes, it was strapped to the wrist of an incomprehensible creature that oozed deceit and death while it took a leisurely walk through the world’s most hostile environment. Yet, despite all that, or perhaps because of it, Snek felt truly safe for the first time in centuries. It felt like… home.

Either that or it was still feeling giddy after finally being worn by a proper and refined lady that truly deserved the luxurious title ‘Her Softness.’

Epilogue

“Snek?”

“Hm? What it is?”

The serpent had enough basking in fluffy memories of Rowana’s beautiful hands for the moment and decided to approach its new owner with a certain… offer.

“Snek snek. Snek, snek snek snek?”

“I refuse. That just seems like a massive waste of my time and energy.”

“Snek. Snek, snek. Sneksnek, sssnek. Snekekekekek.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Snek, snek. Sne-snek?”

“Yes, that does change things. Alright, I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not making any promises.”

“Snek snek snek, snek,” the serpent graciously bowed its head.

“Save your thanks for later. I also trust you’re not suicidal enough to lie about that, yes?”

“Snek! Snek snek snek!” the shiny mimic frantically reassured it.

“I suppose we’ll find out.”

“Sneeeeek…”

The serpent let out a long sigh of relief. Fortunately, it had accurately deduced that Boxxy was obsessed with shiny things, otherwise that could’ve gone very poorly.

“Snek, snekek?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Ah, actually…”

The monster stopped in its tracks and stared up at the rapidly darkening sky. Though the sun had only started setting when this nature walk began, it was now fully under the unseen horizon. Twilight enveloped the jungles of Velos, which were plunged into darkness so quickly that one might think a curtain had been dropped. Usually this was bad news, as it meant all manner of nocturnal creatures would start leaving their nests, hives, and dens. However, to one such as Boxxy, the sun’s absence was preferable to its presence, and not just because it liked to skulk around.

“Yes, this should be good enough. Hold on tight.”

The figure’s heavy cloak was flung aside as a pair of massive raven-like wings erupted from the back of its waist, giving Boxxy a wingspan of roughly five meters. A dark miasma began seeping out of its feathers and completely enveloped the newly-sprouted limbs. A powerful flap later and the monster flew off silently and smoothly, like a shadow with a will of its own. This magic was the product of Darkflight, a Skill Boxxy had pilfered through Cadaver Absorption. This ability originally belonged to a species of nocturnal desert-dwelling birds of prey called yogarasu. They had the appearance of giant four-eyed crows with serrated beaks and lived in the Pearly Dunes of Atica. Unlike griffins or harpies that relied on wind, a yogarasu augmented its flight by using a mix of highly compatible dark and gravity elements. The combination almost completely eliminated their weight and propelled them forward by expelling condensed shadows as a form of thrust.

Naturally, this wasn’t Boxxy’s only means of flight. It could also cast a Spell, though the concentration required to maintain it was not ideal. Alternatively, it could fly through shapeshifting and muscle power alone, but that method had two major issues – it was extremely tiring, and the ridiculous wingspan required made it a huge and obvious target. Its final option was to employ Keira’s Bursting Steps. The jets of flame produced by those Masterwork-grade boots had a number of applications. The redhead could use them to imbue a kick with explosive force or propel herself into the air as a means of emergency evasion. The creature that cosplayed her liked to do that second thing the most since it was good fun, decently effective, and sufficiently flashy. However, while actual flight was technically possible, they weren’t designed for it. The mana-fueled flame-throwers hidden in the boots’ heels would overheat and fail if used for more than a few seconds.

Comparatively, Darkflight was the best option by far. Its MP consumption was low, it required no concentration, was completely silent, and totally effortless. The feeling of freedom the shapeshifter felt whenever it soared through the shadows was unparalleled. It enjoyed this sensation so much that it preferred to travel like this whenever it wasn’t in a rush. Yes, flying was slower than using Gate and riskier than Transfamiliar, but also significantly more fun than waiting around for MP to recharge. It would have been the perfect Skill if not for a major flaw inherited from its original owner. Darkflight just flat out wouldn’t work if any of the sun’s rays reached Boxxy, even if the sky was thick with the blackest thunderclouds. This limitation was a part of the Skill and likely connected to the fact that a yogarasu’s bane was light. The shapeshifter wasn’t aware of that quirk until after it had sunk a considerable amount of time, effort, and resources into obtaining the Skill. Oh, well. It wasn’t a total loss. It also managed to snatch Dark Affinity from those stupid birds, which was worthwhile on its own.

On the subject of moronic avians, the monster arrived at its destination before long. It glided silently to a certain spot about halfway up Rancid Rock and landed with a heavy stomp, not even bothering to mask its presence. Upon entering the dungeon, the shapeshifter couldn’t help but notice the place was a mess. Entire chunks of stone were gouged out of the walls, dust and debris littered the ground, and there were dozens of scorch marks all over the place. The only part of the central chamber that wasn’t a complete mess was Fizzy’s temporary workshop, with the golem in question hammering away at her ongoing project as per usual.

The radiant Paladin stopped what she was doing and looked towards the shapeshifter with a beaming smile.

“Hey, Boxxy! Had a nice trip?”

“Very.”

“And you brought someone with you?”

“Indeed. Allow me to introduce Snek, it’ll be joining our little club from now on.”

The cloaked figure lifted its left arm, showing off the golden serpent around its wrist. The house mimic shifted its position up to the doppelganger’s fingertips and offered the mithril golem a firm greeting.

“Snek.”

“Huh, that’s the thing you were telling me about earlier, right? Whatsherface’s living alarm system?”

Fizzy stepped up to the creature on Boxxy’s hand and stared at it so hard that it made Snek feel strangely uncomfortable.

“Can I take it apart to see how it works?”

“Snek?!”

“Fizzy, this is a living being, not a machine. Though it looks shiny on the outside, it’s still a meatbag.”

“Oh. Never mind then.”

“Sneeek…” the serpent sighed in relief.

“What about you? Did you manage to shake off the rust?”

Fizzy grimaced a bit when she heard the ‘R-word,’ but there was no other way to describe her previous condition.

“Quite a bit, yeah. My head’s not completely back in the game, but I’ll get there,” she stated confidently. “Just like you said, duking it out with that bird-brain is a good way to get the old current flowing.”

She had spent so much time focusing on her crafting over the past two years that her combat sense had grown quite dull. While she hadn’t completely abandoned battle during that period, her encounters hadn’t been challenging. She was grossly out of practice, which she deemed the main reason for her loss against Jen back in the dungeon. It was also why she forced a rematch between them earlier this afternoon. That said, it wasn’t as if the excuse she gave the Monk was entirely fabricated.

“And your new weapon upgrade? How’s that coming along?” Boxxy inquired.

“Better than expected. Jen’s face was a great help in calibrating the DILDO’s trigger sensitivity and electrical output.”

“What do you mean by ‘dildo,’ exactly?”

“Why do you meatbags look at me weird when I say that? It’s just an acronym for Direct Impact Lightning Discharge Oscillator.”

“Because ‘dildo’ is also a sex toy, typically shaped like the genitalia of enlightened males.”

“… Oh. I, uh, did not know that,” Fizzy awkwardly admitted.

The golem’s ignorance could be forgiven given her aversion to biological functions. Plus, the product in question was something of an uncommon luxury, albeit one that Keira and Rowana had gotten very well acquainted with over the past two years.

“I’ll put off renaming it for later,” she brushed it off. “Right now, I need to figure out the power balance for the attraction mechanism in the P.O.S.”

“The what?”

“Polarized Omnidirectional Synchronizer. Wait, P.O.S. isn’t another disgusting meatbag thing, is it?”

“No, I just have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The golem lifted her right palm, showing off the mithril band fastened across it.

“I’ve been toying around with this idea of a device that will let me fetch something from far away,” she merrily explained. “Basically, when I feed it enough of an electrical charge, it begins pulling in whatever I attuned it to, like a powerful magnet that only works for specific objects. This particular unit is paired with the receiver in my prototype’s handle.”

“I see, but why would your weapon need such a function?”

“Well, that duel in Axel’s dungeon made me realize I need more long-ranged offensive options, so I figured I’d try to do something with the Hammer Toss Martial Art. It can send my weapon flying far and fast, and even has a bit of a homing effect, but I have no way of retrieving the weapon once it leaves the range of my Geomagnetic Grip. And trust me, it covers that distance fast. That’s where the P.O.S. comes in.”

Her hand sparked and crackled as she gave her voltage a spike, but nothing happened other than the device lighting up briefly.

“Unfortunately, the mechanism is extremely delicate,” she continued. “It can’t take impacts like the DILDO, so it broke after the first swing. I theorize I can make it work with some adamantite, but that’s nowhere near as good a conductor as mithril or orichalcum. I guess an alloy might do the job if I had-”

“Fizzy?” Boxxy butted in. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I make a suggestion?”

“Uh, sure. Go ahead.”

“Why not just have Nao imbue your wrench with Recall?”

The shapeshifter made an excellent point. The magical enchantment in question would serve Fizzy’s purposes in a much more reliable way than the magnetic reel she had in mind. Normally, Artificer devices had too many small individual parts that would break under the stress of a high-grade enchantment like Recall, but Fizzy’s ultimate goal was to upgrade her trusty wrench. She still hadn’t had a chance to ask the Hero of Magic about titanium’s magical conductivity, but spatial manipulation was his specialty, so it was safe to assume he’d find a way to squeeze it in.

“… Sure. Just kill all the fun,” the ex-gnome grumbled. “Put the fun in a sack and drown it in a lake, why don’t you? Next thing you know, you’ll be a Slayer of Fun!”

While its suggestion was definitely practical, Boxxy had completely missed the point. Fizzy wasn’t trying to make an awesome weapon. That was her long-term objective, yes, but, at present, she was most concerned with solving a challenging issue. Not because she absolutely had to make it work, but because she wanted to. After all, her Artificer and Blacksmith Jobs would not progress if she didn’t stress-test her technical and metallurgical expertise every now and then.

“Oh. Sorry if I ruined your motivation,” Boxxy apologized.

“Nah, it’s fine. You’re right, I shouldn’t waste my time on something when there’s a better option available.”

“What about Jen? You didn’t cripple her as part of your ‘calibration,’ right?”

“Of course not.”

Though, not for a lack of trying. The golem hated to admit it, but, as she was right now, Jen was incomparable to her old self. Her physical prowess had increased significantly, and her fighting style had evolved. Maybe it was the absence of Disciple of War, the influence of her new patron deity, or her new instincts influencing her actions, but she was significantly less predictable. Even Fizzy’s Champion of Chaos Skill was having trouble keeping up with her instantaneous arm, leg, and wing movements. Her talons and claws were even capable of scratching the radiant construct’s shell, though she had a long way to go before she inflicted any serious harm without her staff.

“Come to think of it, shouldn’t I train her as a Paladin?” the golem suggested. “She says she can’t read enemies all that well without Axel’s Skill, but maybe Champion of Chaos can help her make up for that. She could use the extra Faith, too.”

“I’d rather not,” Boxxy declined. “She already has four melee-oriented Jobs, a fifth one does not seem like a good idea. Ideally, I’d want her to Rank Up before D-Day arrives, and I have no idea how long that’d take if her XP gain gets diluted any further.”

As someone who already had thousands of Attributes and dozens of Skills at her disposal, Jen’s efforts were best spent upgrading her body’s basic physical abilities. Her prowess had already advanced leaps and bounds from her initial monsterfication and would surely do so again if she were to advance one step higher on her evolutionary ladder. That would not be easy since she had to get two Jobs to Level 25 instead of one. Sure, getting both to Level 6 in just a day was a good start, but Levels became exponentially harder to raise the higher they went. Thankfully, she’d have no shortage of prey in a land this teeming with hostile wildlife.

“Where is she anyway? Wasn’t she supposed to be waiting for me?”

“Hm? Oh, right. She and the rest of me went into the prison cell to kill some time. Apparently, my hammering was ‘too loud’ for them.”

“I see. I’ll go check on them.”

“Take your time.”

Boxxy left Fizzy and strode off towards the sealed door on the far wall, curious to see what the bird-woman was up to.

“Snek snek, snek?”

The house mimic had read the mood and avoided interrupting the conversation until now, but it couldn’t help but ask whether this was the same ‘Jen’ that Opia worked with.

“Yes, and no,” Boxxy replied. “Though she’s technically the same individual, I wouldn’t call her ‘the same’ as she was before.”

“Snek?”

“Just be quiet and observe, you’ll get the gist of it. Also, I need to have an important talk with her, so stay out of sight for a while.”

“Snek.”

The house mimic agreed and crawled up Boxxy’s sleeve so as to not be a distraction. Once it was hidden, the shapeshifter slid open the door to the chamber where Jennifer Jackson had abandoned her humanity, only to be greeted by a surprisingly intense game of Three-Dragon Downs. Null, Minus, and Jen were seated in a circle and staring each other down while peeking over their cards. Plus was there, but she seemed content to just watch. The impressive pile of steel chips between them signified the stakes were quite high, which was probably why they were so engrossed in the game. However, the Monk’s concentration was shattered the instant she caught Boxxy’s visage out of the corner of her eye. She stood up, throwing away her cards and knocking over the pile of not-money as she dashed over to the monster and gave it an Imperial salute.

“Hey, watch it, bird-brain!”

Fizzy’s alternate egos were obviously none too pleased by this disturbance, especially since her tail smacked Minus in the face. It didn’t hurt anything other than the Parallel entity’s pride, but that was arguably the deepest wound one could inflict on her.

“Reporting for duty and expressing remorse over having missed your earlier arrival, sir!”

Boxxy sternly looked her over, then turned to the mithril dolls.

“What’s all this?”

“Oh, we’ve just been handling Jen’s religious training,” Plus helpfully answered. “Playing the hand you’ve been dealt instead of complaining about it, that sort of thing.”

Gambling did seem to make sense as a way to familiarize the Monk with the ins and outs of her new religion, but that wasn’t what the monster was asking about.

“I mean this unnatural manner of speaking. Weren’t you supposed to fix that?”

“Hey, don’t blame us, we almost had it,” Minus grumbled. “She was talking more or less like normal until you barged in.”

“Addendum – the meatbag possesses questionable instincts that interpret you as a parental unit,” Null offered matter-of-factly. “There is a 78.16% chance these faulty biological directives are impairing her rational judgement.”

“What, the griffin imprint thing? Is that really one of your new traits, Jen?”

“Affirmative, sir.”

It sounded a bit dubious, but it would certainly explain why she was so visibly tense that neither her tail nor her ears could stop twitching. As ridiculous as the notion seemed, the Monk must have missed Boxxy during the twenty four hours they were apart. Now that the shapeshifter had returned, the harpy found herself unsure of how to deal with this awkward sense of relief.

“Reporting that I require more time to adapt,” she added.

“Alright, you seriously need to stop speaking like that,” the shapeshifter stated firmly. “As your sworn Hero, I hereby order you to speak casually when addressing me, my minions, Fizzy, or her alter egos. Understood?”

“Affirmative, sir.”

“Wrong!”

*SLAP*

The monster smacked her across the face with enough force to give her a bloody nose, mostly to snap Jen out of her stiff state of mind rather than as a form of corporal punishment.

“Let’s try that again,” it said calmly. “Do you understand?”

“… Yes, Boxxy.”

“Better.”

It may have seemed like a trivial thing to flaunt one’s strength and authority over, but it would appear drastic measures had to be taken in order to break that deeply ingrained habit. Prefacing almost every sentence with ‘reporting,’ ‘questioning’ and other such statements was something that she had picked up after decades of working for Edward. Her old colleagues might have seen it as a sign of her obedience, loyalty, or respect, but Boxxy found it nothing but a waste of time. It was also slightly irksome, as it reminded the creature of all the trouble it had to go through because of that old man and his stupid ambitions.

“Now, come with me,” the shapeshifter beckoned. “We have much to talk about, and I don’t want to disturb the girls’ game.”

Which was a nicer way of saying they’d probably butt in constantly.

“Aff- Alright.”

Boxxy led Jen out of the tiny room and used its authority as the dungeon’s owner to make a second chamber next to it. This one was far more spacious, big enough to fit Rowana’s old house, at the very least. It proceeded to furnish it with a bed, a wardrobe, a desk, some chairs, a carpet, several empty shelves, and even added a bathroom and other basic amenities, all via the dungeon core’s features.

“May I ask something?”

Boxxy was busy picking out a suitable container to conjure when Jen finally decided to pipe up.

“Asking is free,” the shapeshifter casually replied.

“Will I be living here?”

“Yes. I need you to remain here on Velos and Rank Up as quickly as harpily possible.”

“Remain? Then, you are leaving me behind?”

“I can’t exactly bring you with me back to Azurvale, now can I?”

Regardless of who or what she had become, Jennifer Jackson was still a wanted war criminal. She was also the one responsible for killing the mentor to Boxxy’s primary Facade. She could change her own name since she was a Scribe, but her face and Ultimate Skill were the same. If she tried to reintegrate into society like Fizzy, she would need to be Appraised, which would raise all manner of red flags with the authorities. Especially if those results found their way into the hands of the Imperial Inquisition or the Republic’s Foreign Intelligence Bureau. Those were the two organizations burdened the most by the Gilded Hand’s machinations, so it was only natural they’d have detailed information on the spy ring’s top brass. Keira could theoretically use her influence to vouch for Jen, but she wasn’t the kind of character that would forgive her teacher’s killer.

“I see… So I will be alone again…”

One didn’t need to be a mind reader with supernatural perception of social cues to sense the sadness in Jen’s voice, though it certainly helped. Boxxy hung its head in exasperation, as this was why it was not a fan of parent-child instincts. Sure, they could be used to foster trust where none should exist, but it was not a fan of the worthless mushy stuff that came with it. Thankfully, there was a simple enough solution to this harpy’s worries.

“You do realize I can drop by and visit any time, yes?”

“You… can?”

“Part of why I set a dungeon up on this continent was so I could instantly travel from Velos to Atica.”

“… Dungeons can do that?”

“Yes, but we’ll cover that at a later date. Right now, I need to put the finishing touch on your room.”

A solid gold chest materialized out of thin air and landed on the floor with a heavy thud, right in the center of the room.

“There, how do you like it?” Boxxy asked jovially. “A fine place to store items of great value, is it not?”

“It is certainly… shiny?”

“Well said! Fake, but shiny, nonetheless. Which brings me to the matter at hand, and the main reason why I sought to recruit you in the first place. Five months and eight days from now, my public persona’s marriage will take place. It will be a significant event that I expect will allow me to both Rank Up and obtain an Ultimate Skill.”

Though none of this otherwise impressive news had anything to do with Jen at first glance, she couldn’t help but notice the significance of the time frame.

“Care to take a guess as to what other momentous occasion is expected to take place shortly afterwards?”

“The Dragon Festival.”

Boxxy smacked its gloved hands together in a singular display of approval.

“Nailed it like a fiend.”

The Dragon Festival was the slightly ironic name given to an event that took place once every twenty one years and three months. During this time, a region known as the Shattered Isles would quite literally pop into reality. These islands had enough landmass between them to form a small continent and could appear anywhere on Terrania, including high above the clouds or deep underwater. Those were edge cases, however, as the Shattered Isles would most likely materialize near the coast of one of the existing continents. Then, precisely thirty two days and nine hours after their initial appearance, the Shattered Isles would disappear without a trace until the next Dragon Festival.

“I do not believe attending the Festival is a wise decision.”

Jen had some obvious reservations about the event.

“This is surprising,” the shapeshifter noted. “Wasn’t that the whole reason you approached me?”

“That was before. As I am now, Dragon Festival attendance is no longer required for me to Rank Up.”

The fact that monsters could grow into more powerful beings without ever having to risk entering that nightmarish realm was one of the things Jen secretly envied about them. It was arguably one of the many underlying reasons that led to her abandoning her humanity.

“Hmm, I suppose that’s true,” Boxxy conceded. “However, there are many things besides Levels that can be gained at the Shattered Isles.”

The anomalous region was, as the name of the associated event suggested, where dragons came from. The Shattered Isles were widely believed to originate from a different realm altogether, which would mean that Terrania’s mightiest beasts weren’t actually native to it. This idea made a good deal of sense considering their disproportionate strength, power, and longevity in relation to other living beings. The Shattered Isles also held a large number of minerals, gems, herbs, gas deposits, and other raw materials that could not be found anywhere else. Though the area’s alien origins had never been definitively proven, those foreign elements made it hard to imagine what other alternative explanation could exist.

It was also these extremely valuable and otherwise unobtainable resources that Boxxy was referring to. While the vast majority of enlightened adventurers would be on the Shattered Isles chasing Job Levels, Ultimate Skills, and Rank Ups, the shapeshifter would be lining its Storage with the shiniest of shinies. Raw materials aside, there were a plethora of magic items that had taken on fantastical new properties after spending decades basking in the volatile mana permeating the Shattered Isles. Which, incidentally, was the only known method through which Phantasmal-grade items were created. These legendary objects were supposedly on par with god-forged Divine equipment in terms of performance and abilities, but obtaining one was no simple task. In fact, it was practically impossible to get one without personally visiting the Shattered Isles due to a certain trait they all shared.

All Phantasmal items were transient existences. Once such an object was taken out of the Shattered Isles, it would become a ‘phantom’ that appeared transparent, as if it wasn’t all there. The only one that could use or even grab hold of the potent relic at that point was the individual that it had been bonded to over the course of the Festival. Stealing such a thing was practically impossible, as were any other attempts to seize control by force. Even killing the owner was futile, as the item would vanish the instant its bonded individual’s life force had run out. It would then either return to the Shattered Isles or, depending on the nature of the item and the availability of a suitable candidate, be inherited by one of the previous owner’s biological children.

Long story short, the only way Boxxy could hope to obtain these delicious relics was to search for them during the Dragon Festival. This wasn’t going to be easy considering the hazardous conditions and anomalous weather patterns caused by the wild and uncontrollable magic permeating the Shattered Isles. Blazing blizzards that boiled the blood, acid rain that melted the soul, and lightning bolts that peppered the ground like hail were but a few examples of what was considered ‘normal’ over there. Jen was intimately aware of these dangers. She had personally seen people liquefied by a seemingly harmless breeze, yet the nightmarish environment was the least of her worries.

“Do you believe that the residents of the Shattered Isles will sit idly by while you plunder their nests and lairs?”

As deadly as the incomprehensible climate was, it paled in comparison to the destructive potential of pissing off an entire brood of dragons. Those terrible and prideful beasts laid claim to any object of value on the Isles and hated greedy ‘tourists’ more than anything. Which, considering that Boxxy did not have a single altruistic fiber in its being, was a disaster waiting to happen.

“Not an issue. I’m not aiming for the dragon hoards.”

“… You aren’t?”

“Of course not. I may want shiny things, but I’m not suicidal.”

Thankfully, it would seem the shapeshifter was fully aware of the dangers its avarice could attract and had decided to prioritize its wellbeing over its desire for treasure.

“Just to be clear,” it continued, “I would not be opposed to finishing off a dragon or stealing their treasure should a tasty enough opportunity present itself. Nor would I complain should a Phantasmal item happen to fall into my possession. However, those are merely optional targets of opportunity. My main goal will be the other sources of shinies and XP present at the Shattered Isles.”

Jen’s eyes momentarily widened in surprise and her lips curled into a barely noticeable smile of delight as realization hit her.

The Dragon Festival was a chaotic event with a staggeringly high mortality rate despite the relatively high power level of its attendees. Anything could happen during those turbulent thirty-odd days. It was not uncommon for VIPs to simply vanish into the Shattered Isles with their entire entourage, never to be heard from again. Very few people questioned how and why such influential individuals met their ends, and even fewer would be stupid enough to try and recover their bodies. Or their equipment.

In other words, it would appear the participants of this year’s Festival would have something besides dragons and freaky weather to worry about.

Table of Contents

- Prologue
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Part Four
- Chapter Three
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Chapter Four
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Part Four
- Chapter Five
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Part Four
- Epilogue