Mangowo
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Chapter 72: Deadly Little Monster Train
🕑 Added 2024-11-04 00:30:01 +0000 UTC[Rewards received: +6 to all stats, +3 Skill Points, +20 Morphogen]
[Progress: ¼]
A grin split my face, but it was immediately replaced by a wince as I clutched my arms, skin scorched and burning, breaths coming out in ragged gasps.
Holy shit, maybe I'd gone a bit too far. I knew my Lightning Bolt spells were safely capped at 10 mana—anything above that risked ripping through my mana veins. Last time, I’d pushed to 15, felt a little burning damage to claws but came out fine. This time, though, I'd gone all-in, layering a full 25 mana into the spell: ten, ten, and five in all three runes. More just to punch through.
I felt the consequence, every inch of my veins fried from forcing that much lightning through them.
But it was necessary. If I hadn’t poured everything into that barrier, those elven bastards might've slipped away again, just like the last two times. I wasn’t going to let some mystical defense protect that damned obelisk they were huddled around. My veins would heal eventually. But if those elves had gotten their ritual off without a hitch, I’d be left gnashing my teeth over a lost chance. This? Worth it.
Still, I was uncertain. The screen had flashed the “success” notification, but my head was spinning from the aftermath. The recoil had launched me clear off the tree I’d been perched on, and I’d barely caught myself as I crashed to the ground below. When I shook myself off and looked back, I realized the clearing was empty. The lead mage had pulled some ring from his robes right before the lightning struck—it must have been enchanted for emergency teleportation.
Tsk. I was frustrated. Those pointy-eared bastards always had these tricks. Dodged me again. That was three times now—three! Every time I’d gone after an elf, they’d slipped right through my claws. Swiping the system screen away, I spotted a monster skulking near the edge of the clearing, a scaled bird eyeing me as if I were a piece of prey.
I grinned as I sprawled like the dead. Perfect. It inched closer.
In a flash, my tail whipped out, coiling tight around its neck. It thrashed, beak snapping in protest, but it didn’t stand a chance. A stage three against me, with gold-rank evolutions? Please.
YOINK!
One swift pull, a Spectral Crunch, and it went limp.
[You have slain a Level 4 Avesquamata Dracocinctus (III).]
[Experience Points acquired.]
[Level increased.]
[Skill point(s) obtained: +1.]
Ahh, there it was—the level up I'd been waiting for. With every new stage, the stat disparity between me and the other Stage 3 creatures around here only widened. My bonus stats per level were leagues above what any common-ranked monster would get. It made me wonder: what kind of monster could those rainbow-hued tomes have made me?
Just a little food for thought while I dug into my scaled snack, tearing into it with big, greedy gulps. And soon, two more morphogens added to the mix, seeping into my system as the familiar warmth healed my mana veins and replenished my stamina.
Ah, Macro-Trophic Sac, my cherished, repulsive sack of wonders! What in blazes would I do without ye?
But the feast ended quick as I caught sight of the lot that’d filled the clearing—monsters all around, milling about like they'd misplaced their marbles now that the elves had pulled a vanishing act. That’s when it hit me: they’d gone full horde mentality. Normally, these beasts would be at each other’s throats, right? But here they were, all shoulder-to-shoulder against a common enemy. More like the tales I'd heard of Waves, where hordes formed, the monsters acting as if there was a shared objective rather than a natural kill-or-be-killed law. Not a single gluttonous glance at each other; they were dead-set on sniffing out their missing prey.
Some of the winged ones took to the skies, the rest lumbered around clueless, even checking the bushes, like they were piecing together the world's biggest puzzle. I even noticed some with that faraway gaze—likely assigning their own skill points after gaining the shared rewards from destroying the obelisk. One massive ape-thing was even rolling around on the ground, mutating right out in the open. Good grief, no survival instincts whatsoever?
Well, one ritual was down, three more to go. And the way I saw it, the element of surprise was still on our side if we moved quickly enough. The surviving elves would likely be warning the others, but the shifting hues in the distance gave away the location of the next ritual site. And I couldn’t trust this horde to stumble on it by sheer luck.
No, once more, I’d have to be the bait, drawing them all to the second ritual like a twisted Pied Piper. My grin widened. They’d never see it coming.
A quick hop into the air, and there it was: my target. A grin split my face as I swooped down and planted myself right in front of it—our red ape friend from before, still nursing a few bruises. The moment it laid eyes on me, a vein popped on its thick skull. I gave it a cheeky little tail wiggle, raising my posterior high and swaying it. Ahh, I winked at it, an audacious little lure if I do say so myself.
It worked a charm. The ape's eyes bulged, and it let out a roar of pure rage, thundering after me like its life depended on it. And it wasn’t alone. A serpent I’d managed to snag noticed me too, along with a few other Stage Four brutes. Oh, they took the bait alright. With a wicked laugh, I sprang to the side, bolting away just as the mob lunged after me.
“AHAHAHA!” The thrill shot through me, raw and electric. My life was hanging by a thread, yet I was pushing it, dancing with danger as I lured these beasts. By Thalador, I’d never felt more alive.
Left, right, up, down—I darted like a whisper in the wind, skirting around trees and diving through brush. A growing mass of fur, scales, claws, and venom surged behind me, the line of beasts swelling by the second. And I, the twisted conductor, was leading this monstrous parade straight to elven doom.
The hues in the distance shifted faster, the ritual site drawing close. More monsters from surroundings piled into my deadly little train, their snarls and roars growing into a symphony of chaos.
These elves? Oh, they were utterly, gloriously FUCKED!
***
A dull ache thumped in Carel’s skull as he stirred, the sting in his ribs reminding him that waking up could indeed be an unwelcome affair. By Selene's name, what in the realms had happened? They’d almost had that beast cornered, and then—just like that—his world had flipped on him, hitting him with a pain unlike any he'd felt before. With a groggy squint, he took in his surroundings: the healer’s tent, where the healer herself hovered over him, hands glowing softly as she muttered under her breath.
Why this particular memory resurfaced now, he didn’t know. Better a scar than a story, his father used to say, tales were only worth telling if they had to be. And here he was, barely clinging on, another tale gnawing at him from within.
He couldn’t help it; a sardonic chuckle escaped, but it quickly turned to a grimace as pain shot through his ribs. “Merde,” he hissed, clutching his side. “Remind me next time not to believe we’ve got the beast cornered. It seems… unwise, in retrospect.”
It came back to him: they had cornered the beast—until something hit him, and everything went dark.
The healer, a young, pale elven woman with a bundle of bottles rattling at her side, shot him a fierce glare. “Keep wriggling, Carel, and you’ll have more than that to regret,” she muttered, dabbing a pungent green potion onto his bruised side. “Honestly, you delvers think you can just keep gulping down potions for any and every injury. Your body is not a pack mule.”
Carel let his gaze drift to Soril, who stood nearby with a dazed expression. He vaguely recalled the sharp taste of potions forced down his throat. “Ahh,” he grunted, “so it’s you who’s been so liberal with the potions?”
Soril, suddenly leaped with a startled expression, blinked as if she’d only just realized he was awake. “I… well, you weren’t waking up, Carel. You convulsed, and there was foam at your mouth when Lira tried one of those potions—”
Carel gave a rough laugh, which sent another jab of pain through his ribs. “That tall wretch must’ve done it on purpose,” he joked, wincing at his own words. But Soril didn’t catch his jest and plunged into an earnest explanation. Carel held up a hand, shaking his head with a faint wince.
Once the healer had gathered her things and stormed out, Carel turned back to Soril, his tone low as he watched the tent flaps still quivering from her departure. “Alright, Soril. I know something’s eating at you—out with it. And where the hell is Lira?”
Soril shifted uncomfortably, glancing down before meeting Carel’s gaze. “It’s… well, it wasn’t just some random ambush. You were hit by lightning spell, Carel. And it wasn’t from any monster.”
Carel blinked, letting the words sink in. “A fucking elf?! Another delver?! Don’t be absurd, Soril! Why would anyone target us? There are plenty of missions, and only a few teams. No one else signed up for this creature—let alone tagged along to sabotage us.”
Soril’s expression hardened. “Oh, really? Then how else would you explain it? You think that a monster suddenly took up spellcasting? I heard the casting of the spell, Carel. Only one way that happens, and a beast can’t do that.”
Carel winced as his head gave a sickening swirl, forcing him to steady himself. “So… we’re dealing with an elf delver, someone from our own ranks, hitting us with lightning magic? I thought it was the creature’s mother or some higher-stage beast.” He shook his head. “What about Lira?”
Soril hesitated, her lips tightening. “She went to report it. Apparently, we’re not the only ones who’ve been hit. The handlers think it’s this.” She pulled a mission pamphlet from her pocket, unfolding it to reveal a shadowy sketch of a serpent-like creature with elongated claws and a tail like a whip, the details hazy and almost ghostly. “They’re saying this is responsible for the attacks. I don’t know much more, but they’re in a right fury about it. They’ve questioned every delver on-site, asking if anyone’s run into high-level lightning magic recently. Even offering to pay for the information.”
Carel squinted at the drawing, letting out a disbelieving huff. “Like the spell we got hit with—but you’re saying it wasn’t from the creature.”
“Exactly. And that’s why Lira’s reporting it. If there’s a high-level mage messing with us, maybe they’re cloaking themselves behind the creature. Could explain why no one else heard a spell being cast.”
Carel mulled this over, a deep frown setting into his face. “Doesn’t add up. If they’re issuing missions for us to capture this thing, why are they so convinced this creature is to blame? They’re cagey at the best of times, but something here reeks.” He looked back at Soril. “Did you ask for more details?”
Soril let out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, right. Information exchange with those handlers is as one-sided as it gets. And I don’t trust them. They’re hiding something big—I don’t know what, but I’m getting a bad feeling it’s more than just a ‘creature.’”
Carel pondered for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. “You’re holding onto that mission pamphlet pretty tightly for someone who doesn’t trust the handlers. Something tells me you weren’t just waiting to inform me about it.”
Soril scoffed, flipping the pamphlet and tapping the rewards section with a grin. “Why do you think the three of us even signed up for this? Look.”
Carel leaned in, and his eyes widened. The reward listed was staggering, nearly five times what they’d ever seen for a single hunt. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, barely able to contain his shock.
Carel shifted, careful not to reopen the wounds that had finally begun to mend. Frustration flared in him, sharper than the physical ache. Growing up in Lithrindel’s capital, city of Éravenne, had been filled with dreams—until his father’s untimely death and his uncle’s ruthless grab at the family estate. In the blink of an eye, he’d been left nearly penniless. Now, every coin he earned at the border barely covered his needs, let alone the life he’d envisioned.
A single windfall, enough for the Éravenne’s Academy tuition… it would solve everything. He’d been bottlenecked at low yellow core for a year now, the point where almost everyone needed guidance to advance. Without it, he could be stuck forever, unable to reach red core, let alone gold. But with proper training? He could rise through the ranks and finally delve with the best. This was their shared goal—his, Soril’s, and Lira’s. They’d been scraping by and saving every coin, all for the Academy. Desperation had brought them here.
He looked at Soril. “One thing doesn’t make sense. Why the hell are they offering this much for one beast?”
Soril shrugged. “Lira’s already been talking about adding a divinator to the team. If nothing changes after she reports back to the handlers with what we know, it’ll only mean one thing.”
She looked him dead in the eye. “Either this creature’s bonded to someone, or it’s smart enough to cast spells.”
A hint of unease prickled at Carel, but he pushed it aside with a wry grin. “None of that matters to us.”
“Right,” Soril agreed, her grin matching his. “Since we’ll be the first ones to hunt it.”
Comments
Shelbo
Huh, I’m surprised the elves could understand our dragon
