Mangowo
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Chapter 78: Sneaking In
🕑 Added 2024-11-13 00:30:01 +0000 UTCNotifications flashed in the corner of my vision as each of them fell, but I closed them with a thought, keeping my focus sharp on Tharen. His sword remained taut in his grip, his face still red with fury. For now, I let the technique fade, saving the stamina. But before I could speak, Tharen cut in, his voice raw with something beyond anger—fear, perhaps. “You’re… not a monster, are you?” His grip tightened on the sword.
I tilted my head, feigning contemplation. “Hmm,” I murmured, taking a leisurely step forward, relishing the way his posture tensed. “If I’m not a monster, then what am I, Mr. Tharen?”
His jaw clenched and unclenched as he fumbled for words—disbelief? Hatred? “Monsters… they don’t think like you, don’t talk like you…”
“Is that so?” I mused, circling him with a slow, predatory gait. I was small, much smaller than him, no bigger than a large cat perhaps. Yet the shiver that seized him as I neared made my heart race all the more. “Maybe I’m just a clever monster. Or maybe…” I raised my head, voice dropping to a whisper that cut cleanly through the forest’s hush. “Monsters aren’t as simple as you think.”
But I had my own curiosities. “Well then, to answer your question—I’m not really a monster.” I saw the way his eyes flickered; I knew they thought me as a familiar of some high-cored pathwalker? Why not play along? “A bond,” I continued, “sent by my master to meddle in whatever grand ritual these cultists are brewing, while she lingers, observing.” I shrugged, feigning disinterest. “Gold cores do love their games, don’t they?”
The mere mention of “gold core” had Tharen’s shoulders drooping in resignation. “Apologies, but you lot never stood a chance.” I shrugged again, as if brushing off a minor inconvenience. “It may seem I’m up against it, but trust me—I doubt she’d let me die so easily. Might be wrong about my value,” I said, throwing in another casual shrug, “but eh, if she wants whatever they're doing in that dungeon disrupted, who am I to argue?”
Tharen stayed silent, his sword still raised, but I continued, as though I hadn’t noticed. “Didn’t want it to come to this, you know,” I sighed, looking at his fallen friends. “I trusted my master to mask me from divination, but it seems even that was too much.” I let a hint of regret color my tone, letting my gaze fall to the bodies around us. “I know what you think of monsters, but I feel the same,” I lied, with a long-suffering sigh. “They’ve been like blasted mosquitoes, chasing me down, so I understand why you reacted as you did. Could have taken you all out here, of course, but truthfully, I had my sights on the divinator.”
He wasn’t softened, not by a long shot, but his sword hand twitched as he processed it all, his fury at his friends’ deaths still simmering beneath the surface. Just as I prepared to push further, my air sense picked up the faint drift of approaching breaths. Ah yes, I’d nearly forgotten those three. Time to wrap this up.
“So,” I said, my voice dropping to a businesslike tone. “Answer a few questions for me, or join your friends. Don’t mistake me, Tharen—I’ve no empathy for your lot, and you’ve seen I don’t hesitate. Who hired you, and what is it you’re after in the dungeon?”
Tharen’s face twisted with fury, his sword trembling—whether at me or at my supposed gold-rank master, it was hard to say. It was enough, though, and I kept a sliver of focus on the three signatures lingering at the edge of my air sense, a good twenty meters away, likely plotting their next move. But Tharen spoke up first, his anger making his voice shake. “What the hell do you think we all want here? Came for fucking coin! How were we to know we’d stumbled into a gold rank’s bad graces?”
He scoffed, but his words tumbled on. “Handlers didn’t tell us a damn thing. Just said these people were trying to stop the waves and were hiring delvers for a good payout to clean out the dungeon. Contracts were shady, sure, but if they were stopping a wave, we weren’t exactly questioning it. Besides, they’ve got the House Valendris seal to back them up—seemed official enough.”
I bloody knew it. Those cultists had the backing of Lithrindel’s nobles, clear as day, while these delvers—well, they weren’t exactly at fault, were they? So I prodded with a few more pointed questions. Either he truly didn’t know a damned thing, or whatever contract he’d signed with those cultists had him gagged tighter than a banker’s purse. Judging by his frustration, I’d wager they hadn’t bothered filling him in much anyway.
All the while, I kept my air sense and shifting lenses primed, taking in every detail. Then, I caught a flicker—hues shifting behind Tharen. Odd. He was still holding his sword, though one hand had slipped behind his back. He droned on, griping about the handlers as if that’d win him sympathy. I kept my gait easy, pretending not to notice, but the way the hues had moved? Strange.
Not that it mattered. I reactivated my technique, and he must’ve known I wasn’t letting him just walk off. He spilled only that the cultists had some “special” tent pitched in the camp ahead, nothing else of value. He knew as much too, so when a round, badge-like trinket shot from his hand towards me, I was ready. Waited just a beat, timed it right, and dashed—phasing clean through it. A moment later, it hit the ground behind me in a cracking blast of ice. I launched myself skyward, wings unfurling.
And Tharen? Vanished, at least to the eyes. Breathing gave him away, though—must’ve been some enchanted trinkets, one for the icy blast, another for the illusion cloaking him. Pity for him; hues avoided his spot entirely, marking his position all the clearer. He swung something down, and an arc of razor-sharp ice sliced through the air towards me. I dodged it with ease, but blimey, why hadn’t he used it earlier? Ah—friendly fire, perhaps.
Didn’t matter. Fire Gland charged, I released a stream of flames dead-on at his location. He let out a scream, and now I sensed other breath signatures edging into my Air Sense range, closing in fast. No time to linger. I lunged, claws out, landing squarely on the screeching Tharen, his face still smoking from the flames. His sword clattered as I tore into him, ending the struggle swiftly.
Wasn’t having second thoughts, mind you, though it seemed we’d both begun with the same intent: test the other’s limits. But by end, he knew a head-on fight with me was a losing game.
The other elves were drawing nearer, and with my stamina waning, I couldn’t dawdle. I darted off, putting as much distance between us as I could.
***
After a bit of a trot, I stopped, snatched a deer-like beast and made a decent dinner of it, restoring my stamina to full and patching up my wounds—the ones I could feel, anyway: a likely snapped spine, a little tear in wing, and a few generous gashes that halfwit’s blade. Oddly enough, none of it really seemed to slow me down.
And then, I could finally turn my attention to those notifications I’d been so artfully dodging.
[You have slain an Elf - Level 37 Geomancer (IV)/Level 2 Crafter (II)]
[You have slain an Elf - Level 32 Starcaller (IV)/Level 7 Enchanter (II)]
[You have slain an Elf - Level 40 Frost Knight(V)/Level 12 Wraith Duelist (II)]
[You have slain an Elf - Level 43 Frost Knight(V)/Level 17 Frost Hexer(II)]
[Massive Experience Points acquired from defeating higher-level targets.]
[Level increased.]
[Level increased.]
[Level increased.]
[Level increased.]
[Level increased.]
[Level increased.]
[Level increased.]
[Level increased.]
[Level increased.]
[Skill point(s) obtained: +9.]
[+1 Skill Point for each Elf killed.]
[MISSION COMPLETE: Elf Eradication]
[Objective Accomplished: All 4 Elves Killed.]
[Total Reward: Rewards received: +10 Morphogen, +1 in all stats. Bonus reward for creative agony: mana core size slightly increased, +2 maximum mana.]
Thalador’s Beard! I just found myself staring at the screen, trying to take it all in. I’d already grasped the mission and its rewards, but that maximum mana boost? That took me quite by surprise. Yet, there was one glaring thing that truly held my attention: the levels behind those Elves I’d dispatched.
My slitted eyes were wide, thoughts whirling more and more. I drew a steadying breath. I knew what had to be done and took a moment to dive into deep breathing. Not that I needed stamina, mind you, but it always helped me settle down. And in that calm, the pieces began to fit.
First revelation: levels, and something… familiar, echoing from dreams — “classes.” Could these titles be classes, then? This only served to confirm it. Lotte had been right all along, perhaps still was. These Elves had a progression system strikingly similar to my own evolutionary paths. Just as I held the title of Voracious Manaweaver (III), they, too, advanced with names like Geomancer (IV) and Frost Knight (V), climbing through layers of some sequential system, much like mine.
Yet here they were, advancing despite losing access to the system. Gaining experience by their own mysterious means, without so much as a hint of system guidance. Their growth reflected a semblance of advancement, but one without clear purpose or precision. The system was still nudging them, though, in its own subtle, passive way.
Still, they felt a touch weaker than I might’ve expected, though I’m hardly the most impartial measure. Any other Stage 3 or 4 beast would’ve fallen to them easily; I just happened to be an outlier. But for Tier 5? Perhaps they hadn’t quite grasped how to fully harness their growth. Unlike me, with my tidy allocation of skill points and morphogens, these Elves, with no system to hand-hold, were left to stumble blindly, squandering resources left and right, no doubt.
Now I understood what they meant by "path advancement" and bottlenecks. For me, the system took the hassle out of it all. But for them? Not so. I hadn’t the faintest idea how paths worked for their kind, but there was a pattern here, and it made me question just how much I depended on the system. Even if it were just a facilitator, issuing quests and rewards to support my growth, I was still bound to it in more ways than one. I shook my head as my focus broke, stopped my deep breathing, and stood up.
I realized I’d gone on a right ramble. How much of it was true? Perhaps none of it. Yet, it must mean something. The system’s disdain, calling them thieves of gifts, its thirst to watch them fall, eager to reward me for pushing them toward despair — all of it was tinged with bloodlust and something deeper. I hadn’t a clue. Each revelation unraveled new questions, and I wasn’t even sure I wanted the answers anymore. Each pursuit took me further from where I began, veering into the unknown.
For the moment, I set it all aside, shimmied up the nearest tree, and took in the camp below with a hunter’s eye. It sprawled through the forest like a quaint village, snugly nestled among the trees, with tent after tent pitched in neat, military rows, as if drawn by a meticulous hand. Mana lamps hung between them, casting a soft orange glow that barely brushed the surrounding shadows. A grand open space lay at the heart of it all, where Elves milled about, going about their business. Crude barricades lined the camp’s perimeter, made of sharpened stakes and dense logs. Those masked warriors prowled the edge in pairs, footsteps quiet yet deliberate, their eyes sharp as hawks scouring the trees.
Encircling the camp was a shimmering shield, faintly blue and thrumming with energy. Every now and again, some poor daft creature dared too close, maybe egged on by the system’s promise of rewards. But any who ventured too near were dispatched with ruthless efficiency. Archers and mages, perched on watch, unleashed arrows or spells with practiced precision, a quick flash cutting through the air, and soon another beast lay sprawled in the dirt. Scavengers lurked in the undergrowth, quick to claim what was left behind.
I slipped back down, swatting away yet another mission notification. Another system kill order — hardly tempting. The camp was packed with Elves, and I’d scarcely begun to test the mettle of my new technique. No point getting cocky with survival hanging by a thread.
I glanced back the way I’d come. Part of me itched to retrieve the corpses, to see if a feast of Elven flesh would yield morphogens or if they had cores within their bodies as well. I’d bolted too fast, head spinning, perhaps half-reluctant to feast on creatures that mirrored my own former form so eerily. That one ear I’d tasted? Scarcely a snack, let alone enough to gauge their flavour or strength. A dark curiosity gnawed at me all the same.
And as for cores — I’d left my bag of them behind, along with my badger friend when the delvers had snatched me. I could only hope she’d slunk away unseen, dodging both predators and prying eyes.
But enough mulling. My focus swung back to the camp, and more to the point, that one special tent where the cultists stayed. If any monster could slip in and catch them at their tricks, well — it was me.
