The ground rumbled as the caravan arrived. Rolling in were several wagons, each adorned with First Steps’s crest. These wagons were drawn by hefty armored horses, animals trained to remain calm even under the eerie aura of treasure vaults.
From the caravan, passengers—Steps hunters—disembarked. There was no uniformity among them save for the clan’s crest they each wore in one way or another. These hunters looked neither free-spirited nor happy-go-lucky as they usually were; their serious expressions and efficient movements appeared like a military battalion on a suicide mission.
The hunters who’d been exploring White Wolf’s Den, except for the members of Obsidian Cross, watched with flabbergasted expressions as the reinforcements arrived. They’d expected a grim march of hunters, but certainly not reinforcements of this multitude. Never had such a large team of hunters set foot in White Wolf’s Den simultaneously before.
Gein, who’d been cursing and grumbling as he waited for their arrival, was taken aback. “How many hunters did you call? What? Are they trying to bring the whole vault down?”
A treasure vault encompassed the entire area on which it stood. Therefore, destroying a vault’s structures—underground or otherwise—did not erase it from the map by any means. Tampering with the ley lines below a treasure vault could theoretically destroy it for good, but that wasn’t realistic. Despite that, these hunters emanated such powerful determination that the thought of them obliterating the entire vault had crossed Gein’s mind.
Lyle, a young man with deep features, jumped out of the leading wagon and ran up to Sven. He was a year younger and was lower in level than Sven, but members of First Steps were all of equal rank within the clan.
“Hey, Sven, how’s it?” asked Lyle.
“Nothing has happened yet,” said Sven, quickly looking over the newly arrived hunters. “Is anyone in charge? We could do our own thing, but desperate times...”
Meanwhile, the other hunters swiftly climbed off of the wagons and spread out in formation ready to defend the area.
A hunting party, by design, was supposed to be complete and balanced on its own. Hunters from multiple parties would never follow a common leader under normal circumstances. But in an operation of this magnitude, operating without at least a common direction could lead to unnecessary casualties.
Lyle curled his lips and said, “Crosses are top dogs. Your party’s the highest level here. Krai told us to follow your lead.”
“I know Krai never shows up for these things. But where’s Liz? I know she’d kill to be here,” asked Sven.
“Krai took her and Tino aside. He’s got another gig for them,” said Lyle with a bitter expression.
Sven decided not to ask how that had gone down, and he said, “That’s...fortunate.”
He was curious about what the gig Krai had in mind for Liz was, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind. At any rate, he’d take the win that Liz—and her destructive lack of consideration for her clanmates—wouldn’t jeopardize the job at hand.
Sven had seen Liz as the crazed Thief who actively sought out mortal danger, and as a stupid self-centered hunter who could kick asses but wouldn’t give nor follow orders—only another Griever could reason with her. In other words, she’d make either a terrifying foe or a catastrophic ally.
And so, he called out to the group at large, “Gather ’round. We’re making a plan.”
At first glance, a slime was easily mistaken for a puddle. They were highly viscous monsters that lived in humid environments; they had no muscle, no bone, and no blood. As much as they didn’t look like so, slimes seemed to be somehow sentient: they slid slowly on the ground, catching and digesting small bugs with their bodies.
Slimes were magical creatures that could exist naturally but were also known to be generated by Alchemists. Yet despite them being magical creatures, Sven had always considered them unworthy of even a second thought—they could barely even be considered a monster. Slimes were terribly weak to both physical and magic attacks. In fact, their liquid structures were so very frail that they were easily split by a human with one swipe of a finger. And once a slime split, only the half containing its core would remain operational, leaving the other half a literal puddle.
While slimes were acidic enough to digest small insects and the like, they wouldn’t pose any threat to a human even if slimes swallowed them whole. And indeed, slimes were so weak that even normies considered them to be harmless. Frankly, treasure hunters, who had nearly superhuman strength, would find it a challenge to lose to a slime even if they tried. And that was why some hunters didn’t even consider slimes to be monsters.
Sven stood looking over his fellow hunters, who were armed and seated in a circle. “Has anyone here fought a slime before?”
“Nope.”
“No.”
“Never.”
“You don’t really fight them...do you?”
“I’ve accidentally stepped on one before...”
Sven frowned at the dismayed hunters.
The members of Obsidian Cross had fought monsters and phantoms of all shapes and sizes, more so than most of the other parties gathered here, and yet they’d never “fought” a slime.
But slimes weren’t all identical either. Sven had heard rumors of a bizarre treasure vault in the far east that only spawned slimes—even slimes powerful enough to kill hunters. Until today, those slimes seemed to only exist in the realm of rumors.
Scratching his head, Sven let out a long sigh and said, “Slime, of all things... I’d rather take on a dragon.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” jokingly interjected one of the hunters.
Sven wasn’t laughing. With thorough preparation and willingness to risk their lives, the Crosses had once fought and won a bitter victory over a dragon but not over a slime. To put it simply, Sven had no clue what to expect; he couldn’t even guess how this bizarre slime would attack, what its weaknesses were, or how he could gain an edge over it in battle.
He closed his eyes and waited a few seconds before saying, “Anyone wanna suggest a way to deal with this slime?”
Around the circle, the hunters responded with utter seriousness.
“My usual sword. Since cuts do well against them.”
“Brought my hammer. Heard blunt impacts do well too. I’ll crush its core.”
“Our Magus’s fire magic will fry it up.”
“It won’t stand a chance against my wind magic.”
“Bought a can of slime-repellent; 700 gild, available over the counter. Not sure if it works though...”
“I’ll crush it with my shield.”
Of course, their responses did nothing to quell Sven’s concerns. The slime-repellent aside, everything could deal with slimes. Likewise, Sven’s bow and arrow wasn’t always the easiest remedy for slimes, but shooting through their cores would get the job done at any rate. With his superb skills, Sven could shoot a hundred slimes in their cores without fail no matter how small they were.
“Did Krai say anything else?” asked Sven. There wasn’t enough information for him to work with, and Krai had a long track record of leaving out crucial information.
Sitting third to Sven’s left, Lyle answered pathetically, “Just that it’s not a normal slime...”
“Dammit, I knew that!” snapped Sven. “Why does he always have to drip-feed information?! Every! Damn! Time!”
“We asked him, but he just says he doesn’t know...”
This was Krai’s go-to tactic. And what’s worse, he really looked like he didn’t know. Sven had to admit: his clan master had a stone-cold poker face.
Silence befell the hunters.
Then, Gein spoke up from the edge of the circle in a mocking tone, “This is stupid! We aren’t gonna contemplate the slime to death. I don’t care if your CM can ‘see the future’ or whatever—we’ve got the manpower now, and we’ve got a job to do. If you bunch are too chicken to do it, we’ll take care of the slime—if it ever shows.”
The First Steps hunters remained silent and just turned to Gein with pitying looks.
Gein had expected some pushback, especially from these hunters who must have pride in their work. At this unexpected response, Gein twitched his cheek.
“Wh-Why are you looking at me like that?!”
“Don’t you get it? We all think you’ll be the first casualty,” said Sven. “Just know that I’ve tried to stop you; I’ve tried. Don’t come back to haunt me, all right? And...don’t die in vain. At least pass on some info on the thing. We’ll avenge your death.”
“You’re all nuts!” said Gein. “What are you going to do if nothing happens after all?!”
Sven ignored the question and returned his attention to the Steps hunters. At the end of the day, each hunter was responsible for their own actions and life. Sven had always striven to minimize hunter casualties on any quest, but he was ready to accept that a sacrifice may be necessary in this case to gain information on the target.
“No concrete idea then,” said Sven. “Then let’s—”
As he was about to continue, Sven spotted a small hand raised along the outer edge of their circle. Another large hunter was obscuring the owner of the hand, but when he noticed Sven looking in his direction, he moved aside to reveal a timid-looking girl behind him.
The girl looked rather reserved. Her eyes were concealed deep within her hood, but still, flickers of crimson shone from glimpses of her hair and eyes. Interestingly, she wore a pair of glasses—an apparel uncommon for hunters—with a thick rim.
Sven didn’t recognize the girl who must’ve been his clanmate.
“What is it?” he asked her.
The girl shook as if the question had stung her before quietly answering, “I’m Talia... Talia Widman, an Alchemist.”
“Alchemist?!” repeated Sven. “I didn’t realize we had another Alchemist in our clan but Sitri.”
Sven’s reaction made Talia shrink further into her hood.
Alchemists specialized in manipulating material through a combination of science and magic. They were usually a powerful asset to any party or clan. But a good Alchemist required vast knowledge and deep pockets, making them rarer still among hunters than Archers. Most of them were contracted to national academic institutions or trading companies that handled chemicals, and Sitri, the infamous Alchemist of Grieving Souls, was definitely the exception.
“I’m still a Level 3...” said Talia, with such little confidence for a hunter. “Sitri and I are the only Alchemists in the clan. We’re usually in the lab together...”
She would look more at home at a library than at a treasure vault. But then, Sven couldn’t think of anyone who could aid them better in this quest. Slimes were among Alchemists’ specialties after all, and that was why Talia spoke up.
A girl similar in age to Talia—most likely a party mate of hers—was patting Talia’s shoulder as if to encourage her. She didn’t look all that imposing, but her level indicated that she could handle herself in the field at the bare minimum.
Sven wondered if all Alchemists were oddballs. He was beginning to see a pattern between Sitri and Talia. But that didn’t matter—Sven was desperate.
“Alchemy is...a mix of science and magic...” continued Talia. “It’s...a vast field of study. Slimes and other magical creatures are a part of that.” Still very nervous, she went on and said, “Um...slimes aren’t the most popular subject of study, but Sitri and I had been researching them until very recently—”
“Studying slimes, you say? Any weakness?” asked Sven, forcing himself to sound optimistic. The situation has taken a turn for the better. But did Krai plan all of this? he thought for a brief moment.
Either way, this was a much-needed bout of good luck.
From a potion pouch twice the size of the average pouch worn by hunters, Talia carefully produced a glass cylinder. Within it, a dark-colored liquid slightly swirled.
Talia’s eyes widened behind her glasses, and her breathing hastened. “This chemical kills slimes,” she said. “It won’t work on any other monster—but it will kill ninety-nine percent of anything categorized as a slime.”
Quiet cheers came from the battalion. This was exactly what they’d been hoping for.
Sven was amazed by the chemical at first, but he soon frowned as he observed the cylinder once again.
“That is impressive...” he said. But is it safe? he wondered.
He’d never heard of a chemical that killed only slimes. And to begin with, why would she have something like that especially when slimes could be killed with just about anything? Besides, Krai had only announced that their target was a slime mere hours ago—it didn’t seem plausible that Talia could’ve concocted this chemical in just that amount of time. Also, their target was no ordinary slime, or so Sven had been told. It all seemed too convenient, especially since Talia was a Level 3; she was still very green compared to Sven. If she had been Sitri, Sven might have felt differently. Sitri was a perfectionist. In fact, she was perfect at her craft. Despite her now low level, Sitri’s prowess was well-known to most in the clan through the occasional potions she handed out. But ultimately, Sven didn’t trust Talia’s abilities enough to make her potion the ace up his sleeve. And by their looks, the other hunters shared Sven’s sentiment.
Talia chuckled, and spoke with confidence this time, “Don’t worry, Sven. I didn’t make this—Sitri did. I’ve only asked for a vial so I can study it further. She said she’d pay a billion gild for any slime that this doesn’t work on.”
Through their careers of hunting monsters and phantoms, members of Obsidian Cross were often praised for their bravery. Despite that, Sven Anger always thought the true key to his party’s success lay in their carefulness. The Crosses were strong, but not so when compared to the other insanely powerful parties of their generation: namely Grieving Souls and Ark Brave. While those parties had blown through every obstacle in their path with raw power and talent, Obsidian Cross managed to barely keep up with them only through careful decision-making. If the strength of Grieving Souls lay in their fearlessness of death, the strength of Obsidian Cross lay in the exact opposite.
The Crosses had vanquished many powerful foes through the kind of meticulous preparation they’d displayed today: deciphering Krai’s cryptic foresight, spending a small fortune on Sounding Stones just to stay on top of the intel, and forming detailed plans when working with other parties. While their process was the polar opposite of how normies imagined hunters to operate, it was undeniably professional.
Standing before the entrance to White Wolf’s Den, the hunters were wrapping up their preparations for the charge. And in the center stood the members of Obsidian Cross, charged with commanding the entire battalion.
The Crosses were clothed in their namesake—obsidian armor crafted with cutting-edge technology. Resilient against both blunt impact and magic, obsidian was supposedly the material most similar to that of Relics.
Sven’s highly trained muscles shook under his armor—not from fear but from the anticipation of the challenge ahead. Sven never suffered from delusions of grandeur in his abilities. Sure, he was a highly skilled hunter with a moniker, but he had no ability like Krai’s precognition nor strength to single-handedly decimate an entire army like Ark’s. Regardless, he was a hunter to the core.
In total, twelve parties had congregated outside White Wolf’s Den. And with an average party-size of six, there were less than a hundred of them there. That wasn’t an impressive number for a military battalion, but every one of them was a hunter trained by the treasure vaults. Their experience spoke louder than numbers, especially with several of them wielding Relics as their weapons. Yet not one of them had let their guard down—First Steps hunters knew full well the perilousness Thousand Trials could bring while the rest were afflicted by the intensity of the Steps hunters.
Being a cavernous vault, White Wolf’s Den was particularly ill-suited for large battalions trying to march straight in with all swords blazing. In fact, the same went for many other treasure vaults, and that very property had shaped many of the treasure-hunting industry’s standard operating procedures.
Sven’s plan was simple—in fact, he didn’t have much choice.
The parties would disperse and clear the vault with utmost caution. Each party would be designated to investigate a specific area.
Meanwhile, parties would communicate through whistles. By blowing their whistles a certain number of times in a row, hunters would be able to send different messages throughout the cave. An alarm would be sounded in case of any unexpected event, and the battalion would evacuate the vault to regroup.
And if anyone found the slime, they were to try to lure it outside if possible, where the entire battalion could take it on together. Even when no discoveries were made, the parties would reconvene outside the vault at scheduled times. If any hunter failed to return on time, they would be presumed dead, killed before they had a chance to blow their whistle. While each party would still be at risk of being taken out in the vault, Sven hoped to avoid the worst-case scenario where the mysterious slime wiped out the entire battalion at once.
Parties not entering the vault would remain outside as backup, guarding the entrance all the while of course.
This elaborate plan might seem unbelievably disciplined for a mishmash of parties, but it was laid out assuming that they’d be in for the long haul.
They couldn’t risk it especially when they had no information on the target to speak of.
Guess we’re lucky to know about the slime at all, thought Sven. We can brace ourselves now at least.
Sven clicked his tongue again and glowered at the treasure vault. “Trial this and Trial that... Damn you, Krai, for leaving us in charge of this. I’m gonna kick his ass when we get back.”
“Nah. You’re too scared of the Stifled Shadow to do that,” said one of his party members.
“Shut up. How am I supposed to hit her with a normal arrow? I’m doomed in that matchup,” snarled Sven.
With the vial of slime-killer in hand, Talia stood by with her party at some distance away from the vault entrance. She struggled to control her breathing; she was nervous, even though she was only the backup plan. If the target really was a slime, any of these hunters should be able to eliminate it without issue. They’d break the vial only if they ran out of other options.
What Alchemists lacked in combat strength, they made up for in their ability to solve problems with thorough preparations. And so, knowing Sitri well, Sven trusted Sitri’s product to get the job done.
Meanwhile, Henrik approached him and said, “Uh...who’s Sitri? Sounded like everyone knows her.”
“Oh, you haven’t met her yet...” said Sven.
When Henrik had joined Obsidian Cross half a year ago, Grieving Souls had already been the top dog. Renowned hunters often wore multiple hats, but none wore more than the brilliant Alchemist, Sitri, did. She’d been so busy that people seldom encountered her in the clan house lounge anymore, and they gradually stopped talking about her.
“She barely comes out nowadays,” reminisced Marietta the Magus. But hidden deep under her gaze, a hint of fear flickered.
Adoration and fear came hand in hand to those with extraordinary abilities. Sven received looks of both on a daily basis, and he assumed his party members had experienced the same. Sitri Smart was no exception: she had the kind of talent that everyone—even the extremely talented Alchemists of the capital—couldn’t help but envy.
Sven met Henrik’s timid gaze. The reserved look in his eyes somewhat overlapped with Sitri’s gaze in his memory. Sven held his breath for a moment before frowning.
“In short, Sitri’s...a strong weakling.”
“A strong weakling...?” echoed Henrik.
Sitri was strong. Brilliant. Talented. And above all, she was so peculiar that no one truly understood her. To all appearances, she was a friendly girl, but all who interacted with her couldn’t suppress a nagging feeling about her.
But now that Sitri had fallen from grace, First Steps members had stopped mentioning her in conversation as if they wanted to forget her entirely. As a result, now some members of the clan, like Henrik, hadn’t even heard of her at all.
Sven gazed in Talia’s direction, and he said, “Several parties, including ours, were persuaded by Sitri to help establish First Steps. You know, she once was the second highest in level among the Grievers, after only Krai.”
“Sven, we’re ready,” called Lyle.
“Got it,” answered Sven, taking a step forward. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”
Sven took in the sight of his fellow First Steps hunters, and none of them were afraid of what lay in the cave ahead. Every one of these highly capable hunters were ready to fight.
There was a reason First Steps boasted a high average level of its members: the weak had long been culled; cowards had fled the clan before long. Everyone who remained was an elite annealed by a series of trials.
Surviving those battles had made them comrades, and that camaraderie was what was giving them strength now. The top-ranking parties, state-of-the-art facilities, well-organized structure, etc., of the clan were all just icing on the First Steps cake. What truly made First Steps a force to be reckoned with were the bonds, grown from surviving trials together, between its members. And this history was symbolized in the clan’s name—these steps they took together were their pride, something worth risking their lives for. And this sense of pride extended also to all the other outside hunters involved here today.
Sven took a deep breath. “Focus up!” he boomed. “Trample this place! Leave behind our footprints! Everyone’s gonna make it out of here alive and tell that dumbass CM of ours this was a piece of cake!”
Explosive roars from the hunters shook the surrounding woods. Steps or otherwise, all hunters shouted until their voices went hoarse as they flooded into the treasure vault to begin their invasion.
***
“The time has come, and we have made it,” said Noctus.
All members of his research team save for Sophia were present. They’d left the lab underneath White Wolf’s Den in favor of this place. Here was a fruit of their research—a defense system programmed to protect Noctus’s team.
Their new location was easy to defend and offered a way out if things went south. Combined with Noctus’s spell to project images from a faraway location, a catastrophic loss as they’d initially feared was no longer likely to happen.
Full of confidence, Sophia’s voice came through the Sounding Stone atop the table, saying, “Your experiments are powerful, Master. Now that we’ve had a chance to prepare, there’s not even a one-in-a-million chance that we’ll lose.”
Designed by Noctus and Sophia, the defense systems were a revolutionary breakthrough, a top-tier invention even among the entire Akashic Tower catalog.
Noctus showed confidence in condoning Sophia’s decision to strike. The other researchers did not protest because they, too, knew full well the capabilities of the defense systems.
“Nearly a hundred hunters, some of them even with monikers,” continued Sophia composedly. “We’re outnumbered, but that shouldn’t be an issue. Taking on this many hunters at once will help accredit the research—this is a golden opportunity.”
The other apprentices only glared at the Sounding Stone with detest.
“So what will be your first move?” asked Noctus.
With all of their ears on the Sounding Stone, Sophia went on to calmly describe her plan.
***
A significant time had passed without a single whistle being blown to indicate an emergency.
Sven had a map of the vault open on the ground as he took reports of the investigation parties. As a relatively easy treasure vault, a detailed map of White Wolf’s Den was easy to come by. Sven marked off areas of the vault as the areas were cleared.
Their careful approach had slowed their progress, but seventy percent of the labyrinth was already marked.
“Nothing new, huh?” asked Sven.
“The phantoms are still high-level, but that’s about it,” answered a fellow hunter.
After fearing the worst, Obsidian Cross returned to the surface without any casualties. There were a few injured among the entire battalion, but none had died; even the injured should be healed by now.
Now, even the boss room, which they’d been warned was the most likely place for the slime to appear, had already been checked off of the map. Sven had reminded the party in charge of investigating the boss room to pay particular attention, but apparently there was nothing there to document either.
The remaining thirty percent of the vault was dead ends. In a few hours, they would’ve fully traversed the vault.
Most of their initial sense of danger had already dissipated. But Sven, of course, knew the usual modus operandi of the Thousand Tricks: things usually went down in his Trials when they least expected it. And so he kept his guard up, but the group couldn’t remain that vigilant for long.
“Maybe Krai’s precognition was a little blurry on this one,” said Sven jokingly.
“What if nothing happens?” asked one of his party mates.
“We’ll count ourselves lucky,” said Sven.
As the investigation continued, some parties had begun to give dirty looks to members of Obsidian Cross. Sven understood that they’d draw some ridicule if he’d gotten them all riled up for nothing, but Henrik would always return the dirty looks in kind. Of course, there was nothing they could do about a few parties just having a laugh at their expense. They seemed to be biding their time until the rest of the vault was cleared, then they’d openly prosecute Sven.
Talia’s party, as they hadn’t gone into the treasure vault, was taking some heat along with Obsidian Cross. Sven felt some guilt for them, but he was confident in his decision.
“We’re not done yet,” he said.
“We would’ve been if it wasn’t for you,” said Gein, who’d been criticizing Sven’s decisions at every turn.
With ear piercings and highlighted hair, Gein looked almost like a common thug. Still, he’d followed Sven’s direction through moaning and grumbling. His entire party seemed to share his sentiment as they stared at Sven with animosity.
“Complain all you want later,” said Sven. “You just got out of there. Take it easy.”
Gein clicked his tongue. He appeared to be smothering the flame of his wrath. “I guess pray to your almighty CM who isn’t even here,” he spat and walked away with the rest of his party.
Sven understood his sentiment though. If the battalion hadn’t taken on Sven’s careful approach, they would’ve cleared the remainder of the vault by now, and they could be wrapping up their day at a bar if nothing had gone awry during the investigation.
Seeing that Gein had strayed from his party and into the bushes away from the vault, Sven called out to him, “Hey! Stay at your post!”
“What, I can’t piss?! I’ll be right back!” said Gein as he slapped his sword on his belt. “Taking a weapon with me too.” Quickly, he disappeared into the woods.
Sven let out a long sigh.
Well, the rest of his party was still here, and it wasn’t like Gein was going back into the vault either. And since he should also be aware that the surrounding area was dangerous, Sven could see no harm in it as long as Gein returned quickly.
“And...we never saw him again,” jested Henrik.
A grin crept onto Sven’s face as he said, “Be careful what you wish for.”
Even though the newbie had been skeptical of the Thousand Tricks’s prediction at first, Henrik strangely became more comfortable with it as the Crosses’ position deteriorated.
Henrik gave an embarrassed chuckle. “I don’t know Krai very well, but I trust you with my life,” he told Sven.
“Let me pray to our brave CM that I don’t disappoint you then.”
Gein made his way through the woods, stomping on the thick underbrush.
He hadn’t expected the Crosses, whose leader even had a moniker, to be a bunch of cowards. Gein had a long career in treasure hunting. And though he hadn’t earned a moniker himself, he’d made a living as a hunter in the capital. He respected the Crosses for steadily climbing the ladder to greatness one step at a time despite not having flashy talents. But it was precisely that respect that fueled Gein’s fury towards the Crosses, so much that he couldn’t even pity them for their blind obedience. He couldn’t understand their faith in the words of a man with a career shorter than half of his, who hadn’t even bothered to show up to the front lines. If this supposed prophet had been the descendant of the famous Rodin, the subject of many legends, it would’ve been one thing. But Krai was an outsider who barely went into treasure vaults himself. And so no amount of justification from Sven could quell Gein’s outrage.
He called the appearance of a treasure vault? wondered Gein. Not in a million years.
He’d sooner believe it was just an innocent outing that had just so happened to bring Sven and the others to the wrong place at the wrong time.
Gein had heard many accolades of Grieving Souls. But still, he couldn’t understand how that pathetic-looking Krai was their leader and was even considered to be on an equal footing as the Ark Rodin. Gein expected Krai to crack sooner or later and reveal his true colors—a mere mortal like him couldn’t possibly foretell events in distant treasure vaults while sitting pretty in the capital.
White Wolf’s Den was surrounded by dense forestry. Waist-high underbrush made it very difficult for hunters to traverse, and the thick branches shaded most of the daylight. Monsters occasionally appeared in these woods, but there couldn’t be sustainable populations of them this close to a treasure vault. Powerful monsters didn’t appear near the capital anyway.
He thinks there are slimes somewhere in these woods? thought Gein. The very idea of this was so outlandish that it couldn’t even pass as a joke.
Gein made his way through the quiet woods and put some distance between himself and the treasure vault. Keeping one eye on his surroundings, he answered nature’s call.
He was beginning to wonder if the recent activities in White Wolf’s Den really were indications of abnormalities. Though, while he wouldn’t be paid less for the lack of evidence, Gein had expected to find at least something. It was rare to not find any clue about the cause after such a thorough investigation.
If nothing turns up, thought Gein, even that stubborn Stormstrike will have to admit his mistake.
Then, a faint growl came from deep in the woods, so faint that it was nearly drowned in the ambience of leaves rustling. Only hunters whose senses of hearing had been enhanced by mana material could’ve picked up on it.
Wolf knight, thought Gein. This one has got out of the vault, I guess. Better take care of it to be safe.
Technically, White Wolf’s Den encompassed the cave itself and its surrounding area. Before entering the vault, Gein and the other hunters had taken out most of the phantoms in the area so they could set up camp. Still, it was possible that new phantoms had spawned. Gein double-checked that his whistle was ready to use, and he drew his sword as he carefully made his way towards the source of the sound.
What was that sound?
Gein frowned. He’d heard plenty of wolf knights howl and growl during the investigation, but this sound from the woods was unfamiliar to him. In it, Gein had sensed anger, fear, sorrow, and anguish—whatever had made that sound wasn’t all right.
Then, Gein came to an abrupt opening in the woods. Shocked by what he saw, Gein ducked behind a tree and peered around it.
Out there was a silver-furred wolf knight, the variant more powerful than its crimson-furred counterparts. Gein and his party had encountered one in the vault, and they’d dubbed it Moon Knight. But this one before him now was shackled at its neck and limbs, and its snout was muzzled. Chains wrapped around its torso and led into the ground. The wolf knight was shifting in vain in an attempt to free itself.
Beside the phantom stood two men dressed in black robes; each of them held a staff that signified that they were Magi.
“Are we sure this is the best opening move for us?” asked one of them to the other. “We’re dealing with almost a hundred hunters.”
“That damned experiment maniac. She can barely use magic and doesn’t have the guts to get her own hands dirty. Just because she’s the teacher’s pet doesn’t mean she owns us. ‘Failure is not an option.’ As if we need her to tell us that!”
What are they talking about? wondered Gein. But whatever it was, it had to be sinister. Or why else would they have a captive phantom? Are they causing the abnormalities in the vault? That thought of that possibility made Gein shudder.
Magi were generally powerful. A well-trained Magus could blow a hunter of other classes out of the water when it came to sheer destructive power; therefore they were always welcomed to any party. Gein’s party had one too, and so he knew their glaring weakness: it took time to cast magic. That’s why any Magi in a hunting party had to be protected by hunters of other classes who could hold off potential threats until they charged up their magic. In other words, an unguarded Magus was a sitting duck.
Gein could only see the pair of Magi. He could take them both out before either of them could cast a spell. Neither of them seemed very experienced either; they clearly hadn’t noticed Gein behind the tree.
“You have to concede that this serum is powerful. She might be the first to discover it, but we’ll be the first to experiment with it,” said one of the Magi.
The other snarled and said, “Forced transmogrification using mana material... Dammit, is this supposed to be some sort of charity from her?!”
“Let’s get started already,” said the first Magus. “Let’s see what her breakthrough is all about.”
I’ll have to strike fast once I see an opening, thought Gein.
Not only did they outnumber him, but the fact that the pair of Magi stood alone in the presence of a wolf knight, albeit constrained, indicated their confidence in their own abilities. Surely they must’ve taken in some mana material regardless of if they seemed inexperienced or not.
But I can’t kill them, Gein told himself.
While this situation was as incriminatory to the Magi as it could get, he couldn’t just kill them without getting the full picture out of them.
His mouth went dry from the growing tension. Gein had decided: his opening would be when the Magi looked away from his direction. The wolf knight shouldn’t pose any threat anyway.
And soon, his moment came.
One of the Magi produced a syringe as large as his forearm, and both men turned their attention to the phantom.
Instantly, Gein leaped out from behind the tree, closing in on the Magi. He was a few steps away from them.
The wolf knight shook.
By the time one of the Magi finally turned to him, Gein’s sword was already in the air.
“Wh-Who are you?!”
“A hunter!” spat Gein.
The Magus raised his staff in defense, and Gein’s sword clashed against it. Gein frowned at the unexpected result, but he didn’t hesitate and kicked the Magus’s unguarded abdomen. The kick was too powerful for the less physically trained Magus, and he went flying then rolling on the ground.
With that, Gein turned his attention to his other foe.
Despite being confused by the ambush, the other Magus was already pointing his staff at Gein with five burning arrows floating around it.
I barely gave them a second, and he’s already got a spell going?! thought Gein. He shuddered at the sight of the spell.
While this was a novice spell, it took long and hard training for Magi to learn how to cast even a simple spell on reflex alone. Apparently, Gein’s enemy was even more skilled a spell caster than he’d thought.
So Gein made a split-second decision: he charged at the blazing arrows, guarding his face with his left arm.
If he’d kept his distance from the spell, it would’ve given the Magus breathing room to fire more powerful spells. That would’ve wasted Gein’s advantage of the element of surprise.
An arrow, originally aimed at his head, struck him on his arm. While his wrist guard prevented the fire arrows from charring his arm, searing pain shot through it. Still, Gein’s gambit had worked.
Gein tackled the Magus and sent him flying back with a scream. Then, he turned to the first Magus, who was still lying on the ground, and kicked him again.
Casting spells required deep concentration, and Gein knew that. As long as he could continue disrupting the Magi’s concentration by inflicting pain on them, they could only cast drastically less effective spells, if at all. As a Swordsman whose job was to tank attacks for his party, Gein could withstand those spells.
Through his heavy breathing, Gein cursed at the Magi, “That freaking hurt! You’ll pay for this!”
He inspected his left wrist guard, which was now visibly singed. Gein curated each piece of his armor carefully, and his wrist guard offered some defense against magic. Only a first-rate Magus could’ve damaged it this much with a novice spell.
“Your spells might be good, but you’re a third-rate fighter!” said Gein.
Physically, Gein was in worse shape than either Magus, but he’d won the fight.
Kicking their staffs far away from the Magi on the ground, Gein assessed his foes. He might’ve broken a rib or two on them, but the Magi were definitely still conscious and could answer questions.
Now I just have to request backup from Sven. Judging from that convo, these two gotta have decent intel. What a score!
“Talk! Tell me everything,” demanded Gein.
“You’re...part of the investigation,” said one of the Magi. “How did you find us? Could it be the Thousand Tricks again?!”
“That makes no sense!” shouted Gein. “He’s not coming! You’re flat on the ground right now because of me! Not anyone else!”
Can everyone stop talking about the Thousand Tricks?! What’s so impressive about him?
Gein kicked each Magus once more for good measure before tying them up with the rope he carried with him. And once he was done, he wore a fervent grimace. Below him, one of the Magi matched his expression by curling his lips. Then Gein heard a painful growl from behind him, so he snapped around to see what that was about.
“It’s just like Sophia has said: he’s not here.” The Magus chuckled through shallow breaths.
The giant syringe was sticking out of the gap in the wolf knight’s wrist guard. At least half of its content was already injected into the phantom.
An eerie feeling ran down Gein’s spine at that sight.
Injecting a phantom? What kind of serum is that? What kind of “experiment” are these two idiots running anyway?
Gein glared at the two on the ground, but the Magi only returned cruel smiles.
“What did you do?!” asked Gein.
A heavy snap.
The sound of metal smacking the ground boomed.
Gein turned.
The chain was no longer constraining the wolf knight but spooled on the ground. Its muzzle flew off in pieces, followed by its shackles. It was as if they couldn’t withstand an invisible force tearing them off the phantom.
Inspiring more fear in Gein than the chains on the ground, however, was the wolf knight’s looks: Its head, adorned with the half-skull mask, was melting, as was its entire body that was covered in black metal armor. Its coat of wiry fur had been completely liquefied, resembling the oily coating of an amphibian. From its disfigured body, melted flesh dripped onto the ground. Its glowing eyes—the only feature resembling that of its original form—stayed affixed on Gein. When it lifted its ooze of an arm, the air around it blurred like a heat haze. Gein wondered if anyone would recognize the thing as a wolf knight in its current form.
What is...this thing?!
Gein had fought plenty of hideous monsters during his career, but he’d never encountered anything like this.
“Forcibly transmogrified phantoms seek out mana material in high densities,” said one of the Magi who chuckled. “Who among us do you think has taken in the most mana material?”
Gein stopped listening, his mind preoccupied with visceral confusion and fear. With its body and armor continuously melting into itself, the phantom was beginning to resemble something that didn’t belong here: a slime.
Gein’s instinct for self-preservation drove his body to move. With his eyes still glued to the monstrosity that used to be a wolf knight, he jerked backwards. Without realizing it, he’d reached for his whistle.
“This can’t be happening... Only if I had charged a second earlier...”
The whistle blow cut through the silence of the woods.
No Comments Yet
Post a new comment
Register or Login