Chương 57: Nature Spirits

The sudden arrival of six more of these overgrown, toxic salads did absolutely wonderful things for my immediate peace of mind. They dropped out of the purple haze with the synchronized grace of a deeply corrupted acrobatic troupe, landing squarely on the rotting thatch roofs of the crumbling village houses. The ancient timber groaned under their weight, dripping violet slime down the eaves like a cheap horror movie special effect.

They crouched there, twitching those creepy insect wings and tilting their bulbous flower heads in our direction with a terrifying amount of focus. It was a look I recognized instantly from every time I've ever stared down a plate of free appetizers.

"Great, just great," I yelled, my voice hitting a pitch that was entirely too high for someone pretending to be fearless.

"Now they are looking at us like we are the dessert menu!" I didn't wait for a polite response or a strategic team huddle. My fingers, tightly wrapped in my Trigger-Finger Wraps, squeezed both triggers in a heartbeat. The Training Prototype-7 roared in my right hand, while the Practice Piece flintlock let loose a matching blast from my left. A pair of glowing blue mana bullets tore through the violet smog, screaming toward the original Creeper that was still casually snacking on the poor old man's remains.

Apparently, the thing possessed reflexes that made my training weapons look like they were moving very slow. With a sudden, sickeningly fluid jerk, it leaped straight into the air, abandoning its mid-morning meal and leaving my projectiles to violently detonate against the mud behind it, throwing up a lovely spray of boiling purple sludge. Before I could even register the miss, the real fun began.

The other six Creepers sitting on the roofs didn't just jump; they completely deleted themselves from my field of vision. [Activating Ability: Shadow-Root Dash.] The clinical, monotone voice of the female System echoed directly into my brain, confirming my worst fears. The air warped with a series of frantic, high-speed zig-zags as the creatures dissolved into a synchronized blur of motion. They didn't push forward into our faces, though.

Instead, they zipped right back into the dense, tangled canopy of the Whispering Weald, vanishing into the thicket with the raspy, sliding sound of retreating vines. Once again, we were left standing in the middle of a literal graveyard, staring at a wall of rustling emerald leaves and toxic fog. My hands were vibrating against the grips of my guns, the weight of the iron the only thing keeping me from sprinting backward toward the first floor.

"Wow, okay, so they are apparently professional champions at hide and seek," I barked, squinting through the smoke as my copper sight-ring caught the dim light.

"We need to force these things out and smash them to pieces before they decide it is officially lunchtime!" June shifted her gaze toward me. Her high society mask was still visibly cracked from the sheer horror of the village graveyard, but watching my spine magically stitch itself back together seemed to act like a bucket of cold water to her royal system.

She took a sharp, shaky breath, her regal posture fighting to assert itself over her shivering limbs as she realized her "favorite" meat shield was back in fighting shape. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. With a practiced flick of my wrists, I sent my trusty training revolver and scuffed flintlock vanishing back into my inventory space. In their place, a ridiculously oversized, primitive iron tube materialized into my grip.

The Field Lobber hand mortar was heavy enough to give me a minor hernia, but the solid weight of the iron felt beautiful. A deeply irresponsible smirk spread across my face.

"Time to give these overgrown house plants a little taste of unauthorized urban development," I said, adjusting my grip on the handle.

"Who is up for a little light arson?" I raised the heavy metal tube, leaning into the weight as I aimed it squarely at the dense canopy where the rustling and clicking sounds were the loudest. The deep cup of the barrel hummed with sudden, violent activity as I forced a single drop of my mana straight into the weapon.

"Witness the glorious majesty of the Tier 1 Hand Mortar style," I yelled, completely ignoring the fact that the weapon was technically a Tier 0 training tool as the iron began to vibrate violently in my hands. The barrel was turning a dangerous, pulsing shade of blue, sparks flying off the rim as it clearly overloaded from the sudden magical surge.

"Arcane Discharge. Unstable Field!" The weapon let loose a deafening roar that almost made me regret not wearing double layers of my Gunsmith's Stud earring. A massive, unstable sphere of brilliant blue mana shot out of the barrel, leaving a blazing trail through the purple smog as it rocketed toward the treeline. The moment it collided with the ancient, rotting trunks, it didn't just explode.

It erupted into a violent, churning inferno of magical flames that instantly caught on the dry, necrotic vines of the forest. The sheer heat stripped away the toxic purple haze in an instant, replaced by a blinding, brilliant flash of solar-grade light that illuminated every single dark corner of the thicket. A chorus of agonizing, high-pitched shrieks echoed through the burning woods.

Stripped of their precious shadows and watching their agile joints catch fire, the Creepers completely panicked, scrambling and scurrying away like a bunch of terrified cockroaches exposed to a sudden spotlight. One of the burning, highly offended vine-monsters apparently decided that I was personally responsible for its new, non-consensual haircut. It burst from the smoking foliage in a furious blur, tearing across the purple mud with its wooden talons bared and aiming straight for my face.

Before I could even think about scrambling backward, a glorious wall of dented iron and pure, fatherly devotion threw itself into the line of fire. Dimitri's heavy boots churned up a massive wave of violet sludge as he intercepted the beast, slamming his rotting barrel lid forward with the force of a runaway freight train. The Creeper hit the weathered wood with a dull thud, its sharp claws scraping uselessly against the makeshift shield.

"Do not fear, my brilliant companion," Dimitri rumbled, his thick Russian accent booming with absolute, unwavering kindness right in front of me.

"The dark shadow may strike with fury, but a true shield of friendship will never crack under the weight of malice!" Just as I was about to thank him for being a living, breathing motivational poster, a high-pitched, piercing shriek echoed directly behind my ears. I whipped my head around just in time to see another Creeper dropping from the sky like a giant, murderous spider.

Its razor-sharp wooden talons were already positioned to stab downward, aiming to give my lungs a very thorough and very fatal ventilation session. The thing was moving with a liquid, supernatural speed that completely left my reflexes in the dust. I was completely frozen, my jaw locked as my brain frantically sent a message to my legs that read: move now or die. Before that message could even clear the queue, a massive, towering shadow suddenly blotted out what little light was left in the village square.

The air grew intensely heavy as a literal mountain of muscle, coarse red fur, and raw fury crashed into the space right beside me. A massive, brick-shaped paw swung through the violet smog with a deafening roar, swatting the airborne Creeper right out of the sky with the casual ease of a man swatting a particularly annoying mosquito. My jaw practically detached itself from my face and hit the mud.

I stood there, utterly paralyzed, watching this absolute beast of a crimson bear turn the highly agile, armor-bypassing monster into a deeply tragic pile of shredded kindling. It was a whirlwind of claws, teeth, and pure forest rage, leaving absolutely nothing behind but a few stray splinters and a puddle of smoking purple ooze.

As the giant red predator shook its heavy head and let loose a low, rumbling huff that smelled faintly of crushed mint and wildflowers, the pieces finally clicked together in my overloaded brain.

"Please tell me that terrifying engine of mass destruction is actually Fiona," I squeaked out, my voice cracking under the sheer weight of my awe.

"Remind me to absolutely never, under any circumstances, complain about her language or get on her bad side."