Chương 22: Titan

The final Bovine Crustacean hit the ground with a wet, heavy thud that sounded like a side of beef falling off a skyscraper. I stood there for a long moment, basking in the glorious silence that usually follows a successful monster-slaying session. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding, feeling that weirdly addictive buzz of victory hum through my veins. It was a good feeling, like finishing a really difficult level in a game on your first try without looking up a walkthrough.

Right on cue, the light show started. Three glowing orbs drifted upward from the cooling heaps of stone and steak, bobbing in the air with that familiar, radioactive firefly glow. They drifted toward me with a sense of purpose, circling my head for a second before they solidified into physical reality. The light dimmed, revealing three more of those hairy, stony Chitinous Rib-Plates.

They hung in the air just long enough for me to appreciate how truly gross they looked before they spontaneously combusted into sapphire particles. The blue dust zipped straight into my chest, merging with my body as they tucked themselves away into my digital pockets. [Three items of Chitinous Rib-Plates have been added to your inventory.] I let out a small, satisfied chuckle as I holstered the Prototype 7.

"Well, Big Sunshine, I have to say this little quest is sailing along quite smoothly," I remarked, leaning back and feeling remarkably proud of our pest control service.

"We've got the rhythm down, we've got the loot, and I haven't even had a panic attack yet. I could get used to this hero business." Dimitri turned toward me, his face glowing with a kindness so pure it was practically its own light source, but his expression carried a weight that suggested the tutorial was officially over.

"You speak with the optimism of a young bird finding its first worm, my brother Arthur!" Dimitri boomed, his thick Russian accent making every word feel like a warm, heavy blanket.

"But do not let the ease of the morning cloud your vision of the coming storm. The spirits of the meadow tell us that the real trial still waits for us with its teeth bared. Those beasts we have crushed here are but the softest petals compared to the iron thorns we will face at the Whistling Windmill." I felt a cold drop of reality splash onto my parade, and I rubbed the back of my neck as the memory of the quest log flickered in my mind.

"Right, the Alpha," I muttered, my voice losing a bit of its cocky edge.

"I almost forgot that there is a giant, boss-sized version of these things waiting for us at the finish line. That is where the real nightmare begins, isn't it?" Elias stood there with a face that looked like it had been carved out of a very worried piece of driftwood. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper as if the very wind might carry his words back to the monster and offend its royal sensibilities.

"The Iron-Ribbed Monarch is a freak of nature, an extremely rare evolution that only happens once in a blue moon among those shell-backed kine," Elias lamented, his eyes darting toward the horizon as if he expected a giant pincer to drop from the clouds and snatch us up.

"Whenever one of those horrors rises, it claims the very earth and stream as its own. For us simple village folk, tis a force of nature as unstoppable as the winter frost or the plague in a dry season. We can but pray and stay clear of its path." Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. The old man stared at us with a look that was about eighty percent pity and twenty percent waiting for us to sprint for the trees.

He was basically measuring us for our graves with his eyes, clearly convinced that our next stop was a one-way trip to the great respawn point in the sky. Dimitri, however, just adjusted his tracksuit and let out a laugh that sounded like a warm fireplace in a blizzard. He stepped forward and placed a hand on the villager's shoulder with enough gentleness to not crush him, but enough weight to make sure he felt the sincerity behind the gesture.

"Do not let the shadow of fear dim the light of your soul, my good friend Elias!" Dimitri boomed, his Russian accent turning the words into a majestic anthem of positivity.

"The reign of this iron beast reaches its final sunset today. The universe has brought us here to be the shield that does not break and the sword that does not falter. Where there is darkness, we shall be the beacon of hope!" I checked my mana count and let out a dry, slightly manic snort. I was already hungry, and the idea of wrestling a giant, monarch-level crab cow was only making my stomach growl louder.

"Yeah, what Big Sunshine said," I added, spinning my revolver with a flair I definitely hadn't earned yet.

"Let's go evict this king of the cows so we can get back to the village for a lunch that doesn't involve us being the main course. I'm thinking something with a lot less chitin and a lot more bread." Dimitri beamed at me and shot me a massive, enthusiastic thumbs up that probably could have been seen from space.

"That is the spirit of a true champion, Arthur!" he cheered, his face glowing with pure pride.

"To feed the stomach is to fuel the legend! It is a magnificent plan!" Elias looked between the two of us, probably wondering which one of us was crazier, before he let out a resigned sigh and began to lead the way. We followed him through the swaying grass, heading straight for the Whistling Windmill and whatever oversized nightmare was currently occupying it. We trekked for a few more minutes until the horizon finally decided to give up its secrets.

Sitting right on top of a solitary hill was the Whistling Windmill, its giant wooden sails turning lazily in the breeze with a rhythmic creak that sounded like a giant door needing a serious dose of WD-40. It looked peaceful enough from a distance, but the vibe was definitely off. We scrambled toward a cluster of oversized boulders, pressing our backs against the rough, sun-warmed stone to play a quick game of "don't let the giant monster see the squishy humans."

I peeked around the edge of our rocky fortress, squinting at the landscape.

"Okay, I see the windmill, and I see a very lumpy, suspiciously mossy hill," I whispered, my voice dripping with the confusion of a man who had been promised a dragon and was looking at a pile of dirt.

"But where exactly is the Iron-Ribbed Monarch? Is it hiding in the basement? Or did it decide to take a nap in the tall grass? All I'm seeing is a scenic overlook that desperately needs a lawnmower." I turned to look at Elias, expecting him to point out a hidden cave or a massive burrow. Instead, the old man looked like he was vibrating at a frequency high enough to shatter glass.

His eyes were wide and shivering in their sockets, reflecting a level of pure, unadulterated terror that made my stomach do a nervous little somersault.

"By the ancient roots and the falling rain, lad, you are looking right at the beast," Elias choked out, his voice a ragged thread of rural dread.

"The hill is not a hill at all. The Iron-Ribbed Monarch has grown so vast and so terrible that it has claimed the very earth as its shell. That monster took our precious windmill and turned it into its own personal hat!" I froze. I slowly turned my head back toward the scenery, my gaze traveling from the grass at the base, up the moss-covered slopes, and finally landing on the wooden structure perched right on top.

I looked back at Elias, then back at the "hill," my brain currently buffering as I tried to process the sheer, ridiculous scale of the problem.

"Wait," I muttered, my brain finally connecting the dots with a horrifying click.

"You're telling me we aren't fighting a monster at a windmill. We're fighting a monster that is wearing the windmill like a jaunty little fascinator?"