Chương 490: B7—Chapter 66: A Question of Proper Bug Care

The snow continued for another day and then stopped. Sadly, the temperatures stayed low, so it showed no signs of melting anytime soon. After huffing and puffing at it in irritation, I decided to make the best of it and have some fun instead. Some of the nearby hills were fairly tall but not too steep, which made them a perfect starting point for beginner skiers. The two mountains were taller and steeper, clearly reserved for when we'd reach the advanced level.

I even flew around to scout all the hills, picking out what looked like the best slopes, and that was when I hit a serious snag. I'd taken a ski lesson back in Switzerland and even earned the skill, which I later converted into an ability point. But I hadn't actually thought of buying ski equipment. By pure luck, Al had fallen in love with hockey in Canada and bought the gear. Otherwise, I'd never have learned how much fun hockey was. Especially cheat hockey.

For a whole day, I worked on making a pair of skis, and the last pair even came out good enough. Of course, there was another snag. I had no idea how to make the clasps that lock the boots in place. I tried explaining to Mahya what I wanted, but since she'd never skied and had no idea what I was talking about, she struggled to envision how to make something she didn't fully understand. I even searched through my library for a full day and discovered a glaring hole in my professional literature.

There wasn't a single book with a detailed description of skis. Bummer. While cooking dinner, I had another idea. If I couldn't make skis, I could make toboggans. The next morning, I got to work with renewed enthusiasm. The sled itself was relatively easy. Any solid board could serve as the base. The curved front, though, was another story. I wanted it made from a single piece of wood, without glue or nails, so the enchantment would hold better. That decision cost me a lot of wood.

I ruined more than a few trees we had pulled from the portal before I finally managed to shape a clean curve without splitting it. Once I had one good piece, I repeated the process for the other three, then engraved them with runes of strength, durability, friction reduction, and structural cohesion. Since I'd already decided to take the Enchanter profession, I took it a step further. Instead of adding a rudder or anything similar, I designed a string of magic script and runes that would let us steer the toboggans.

The outermost runes were the simplest part. Left and right, placed on the left and right sides of the sled, where they made sense. Each of them was tied into a line of magic script carved along the underside of the toboggan. The script acted like a distribution network, spreading mana evenly through the wood instead of letting it pool around the rune itself. That way, the sled behaved as one solid object rather than a board with a hot spot of magic.

When mana flowed into the left rune, the wood on that side gained slightly higher friction against the snow, while the script fed additional mana into the opposite edge. The right side lifted a fraction off the surface, barely enough to matter on flat ground, but more than enough on packed snow. The result was a smooth, controlled turn instead of a skid or a sudden yank. The more mana I pushed into the rune, the tighter the turn became.

A light touch produced a wide, gentle arc that needed several meters to complete. Feeding it more mana shortened the turning width, letting the sled carve a much tighter curve without digging in or flipping. Getting that balance right took a lot of trial and error on a piece of board. I pushed mana into the script, watched it misbehave, then sucked the mana back out, sanded the symbols, and tried again. Too much friction and the sled went into a spin, sending me flying off the board more than once.

Too little, and it barely responded at all, leaving me wobbling until I overcorrected and planted face-first into the snow again. I kept draining the mana, adjusting the flow, and reapplying it, over and over, until the response was finally right. The final rune-and-script sequence took longer than expected, but once I had it, I engraved it into the sled, and it worked on the first test. Happy with the result, I went to cook dinner, whistling to myself. This world was fucking with my Luck trait.

All in all, it took me five days to make the four toboggans, and I'd planned to surprise the gang the following day. During the night, it began to rain. I woke up to the sound of rain drumming on the roof and against my window, and couldn't help myself. I let out a string of curses I'd learned from Mahya's finest moments. Rue lifted his head and looked at me in shock.

"John okay?" I sighed.

"Yeah, buddy. I'm fine." He watched me for a moment, yawned, and went back to sleep. The rain dragged on for three days, on and off. The first day, I moped around, disappointed that the project I'd worked on so diligently wouldn't get any use. Watching the rain streak down the windows didn't help my mood. On the second day, I told myself to snap out of it and started thinking about how to improve the toboggans.

While working on the left and right control runes, I'd briefly considered making them do more than just turn. In theory, they could move forward on their own rather than just slide downhill. I'd dropped the idea back then because I didn't know any runes that could make that happen. I did learn a variety of movement runes while we were overhauling the boat back in China, but they only changed how movement worked. They didn't provide the movement itself.

Some runes could redirect an existing force to the left or right, which I already used for the sleds. Another could convert straight movement into a curved path. Others controlled acceleration, deceleration, rotation, vibration, or the transfer of force between components. They were useful tools for shaping motion, but none of them created propulsion. Something still had to supply the energy and force in the first place. That was the problem.

I had plenty of ways to tell something how to move, but no way to tell it to start moving on its own. At least, not with runes alone. Still, with nothing better to do, I revisited the idea. On one hand, I still didn't know the runes I'd need, and I couldn't remember seeing anything similar in any of the magical worlds. The closest thing was the carriages that took us out into the desert in Tatob. They hovered using wind magic, but lizards still pulled them. Everywhere else, movement relied on wheels.

On the other hand, I hadn't exactly been looking for self-propelled vehicles at the time. Most of the magical worlds we'd visited had more important things to worry about than transportation, and I wasn't paying attention to every wagon, carriage, or boat we passed. It was entirely possible I'd seen something relevant and simply failed to recognize it for what it was. Of course, Rue's Skyrush flew on its own, but it was core-powered and would explode if opened, so it was off the inspection list as well.

Running through my memories, I suspected for a moment that it might actually be impossible. That idea didn't sit right. Malith's glider didn't just move left and right. It also went forward. Unfortunately, he'd never taught me any rune that handled propulsion. I'd only examined the wings and the upper structure, the parts responsible for lift and gliding. If there were directional enchantments, they were probably carved somewhere underneath or inside the frame.

The glider had been lying on its belly, and I'd never thought to flip it over and check. Another bummer. I went back to the drawing board and played with different magic script puzzles, but none of them solved the core problem. No matter how I arranged the runes or symbols, something was missing. Turning was easy. Reducing friction was easy. Forward motion wasn't. Something had to push the sled. There had to be a force acting in a single direction. Once I framed it that way, the issue became obvious.

Without an external push, the sled would just sit there, no matter how clever the symbols were. I briefly considered adding two narrow channels along the sides, something that would pull in snow and blast it out the back to create thrust. The idea still felt wrong. It felt like giving up. I wanted the movement to come from magic itself, not from a glorified snow blower bolted onto a sled.

Yes, magic would be involved in making the channels pull in snow and fire it backward, but the result leaned too heavily on mundane mechanics. The magic was doing the plumbing, not the actual work, and that wasn't what I was aiming for. I even learned and cast MAKE IT SO, channeling mana into the toboggan. Nothing happened. That didn't surprise me. The spell finished projects. Mine hadn't even started yet. With a quiet sigh, I rubbed my temples, hovering just short of defeat. Just short.

I wasn't ready to give up yet. Learning that spell made me think about the other two we'd picked up from the dungeon. I pulled up their descriptions again and read through them, trying to decide whether either was worth learning. ALMOST RIGHT (Probably Works) highlighted the parts that were wrong. That was its entire job. EH… CLOSE ENOUGH did even less. It merely let you know something was off without telling you what or where. They were clearly designed as a progression. One spell told you there was a problem.

The next one pointed out the problem. The last one, the good one, showed you how to fix it by brute-forcing it with mana. A neat little gradient. And of course the egg actually did it instead of you. But if I already had the final good spell, did I even need the other two? My Personal Information was already long enough. I didn't want to choke it with more stuff I'd never use.

After waffling over the decision for a while, I finally dropped the other two spells into the sell pile and made a mental note to visit a gnome city before we left this world. There was no chance I'd be able to sell those spells, or the Jump skill with the gnomish description, anywhere else. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

With another sigh that came from the depths of my soul, I climbed the stairs to the library and started browsing through the magic script and rune books, hoping something in there would spark a bit of inspiration. Mahya cut my browsing short, and I didn't even need to ask why. The radiant smile she wore was answer enough. She wanted to run the last dungeon. The rain had stopped, but we still had to trudge through mud to get there.

Of course, we could've flown, but it was close enough that I started walking instead, and the others kind of followed along. Maybe I was being childish, but watching Mahya wade through mud felt like fair compensation for cutting short my thinking time. Outside, the black balls were gone. That was unexpected. I actually rose into the air and did a quick flyby over the area, scanning for any sign of them, but came up empty. With a shrug, I landed, and we headed inside the dungeon.

THE GRAND, GLORIOUS, MANY-LEGGED PARADISE OF CLICKING WONDER Welcome, welcome, welcome, oh fortunate visitor, to a place of unparalleled beauty, industry, and extremely justified mandible use! Behold a world where everything skitters with purpose, where the walls hum softly with industry, and where the floor is never truly empty, only temporarily between legs. Marvel at the elegant geometry of tunnels lovingly carved by countless diligent workers. Here, life thrives in glorious abundance.

Antennae twitch with curiosity. Chitin gleams with pride. Every surface crawls with cooperation, hierarchy, and an aggressive commitment to teamwork. Observe how the swarm moves as one, how the many become many more, and how individuality is bravely sacrificed for efficiency. Isn't it beautiful? Isn't it organized?

Listen closely, and you will hear it: the click-click-click of success, the gentle rustle of wings testing the air, the soothing scrape of mandibles refining the walls for the hundredth time because perfection demands it. This is a place of growth, molting, rebirth, and occasional screaming, all woven together into a harmonious tapestry of legs and purpose. Food is plentiful. Space is optimized. Everything has a job. Everything is a job.

Visitors often ask whether they, too, have a role to play in this magnificent ecosystem. What a wonderful question! The answer is yes. Every creature contributes. Every resource is valued. Every nutrient finds its purpose eventually. While individual experiences may vary, statistical projections indicate an exceptionally high probability that you will become food. How exciting! Few guests are granted the opportunity to participate so completely in the local culture. You are not lost. You are surrounded.

Please enjoy your stay. Participation is mandatory. Consumption is highly probable. I groaned. Al looked disgusted. Rue growled. After a moment, Mahya straightened and set her shoulders, her expression turning determined.

"So it's bugs. Not a big deal. We've dealt with bugs before." Rue growled at her, louder this time. She grabbed a handful of his neck fur and gave it a shake.

"I thought I was your bestest friend." He looked at her and gave such an exaggerated eye roll that only the whites of his eyes were visible. My jaw dropped. That was new. The dungeon turned out to be the strangest one so far, in my opinion, but Al thought it was the most normal. Mahya and Rue didn't have an opinion on the matter. Once the flavor text disappeared, I looked around and said, "Huh?" with nothing smarter coming to mind.

Al slowly turned in a circle, scanning the space, while Mahya frowned and tilted her head. They both wore the exact same expression. We stood in the middle of a lawn, with a wooden bench off to one side and gardening, or maybe farming, tools spread all around. They even looked new. I recognized three shovels, a spade, a hoe, and two scythes. There were more, but I didn't know their names. The downside was that all of them, including the bench, were gnome-sized.

Opposite the portal of doom stood a waist-high wooden garden gate, quite ordinary-looking. What lay beyond it, though, was completely invisible. Mahya snapped out of it first, stored all the tools, and tried to store the bench. It was attached to the ground, so she had to yank it hard to free it, and the legs came out with clumps of earth. Mahya stared at it for a second, shrugged, gave it a good shake, and stored it anyway, dirt and all. We exited to the first section and stared again.

It was an extensive field with rows of giant leafy plants. Tabaya Lettuce I walked up to the first lettuce. It reached my chest. I eyed it, trying to make the size make sense. While I was distracted with measuring it, a black bug exploded out of the leaves and slashed at my shoulder, but the armor stopped its blade-like leg. I only felt the solid impact and staggered back a few steps, my heart kicking hard from the surprise. The bug skittered, clicked, and lunged at me again.

I reacted on instinct, snapping my foot out and kicking it. It sailed over the heads of lettuce before vanishing into the distance. That must've been some kind of battle cry, because bugs burst out of the other lettuces too, one from each. I straightened up and took a better look now that I wasn't busy being attacked. They were the same bugs I'd seen outside the dungeon before, the ones that liked rolling themselves into balls. Clearing them turned out to be easy.

Their legs looked like blades, but they weren't sharp enough to get through our armor, or even through Rue's fur. One solid sword strike was enough to cut them clean in two. It took us about half an hour to clear the whole section, mostly because of its size and the sheer number of bugs, not because they put up much of a fight. The last two didn't break into motes of mana, and there wasn't anything else that looked like loot. Once again, we ended up just standing there, looking around.

"I think the loot is the lettuce," I said, sweeping a hand toward the field. Mahya sighed.

"I was afraid of that."

"Why the gloom?" I asked.

"You like salads." She gestured at the field.

"Even if I raise my Vitality to five hundred, I don't think I've got enough years left to eat all of that."

"We can sell it," Al said. Mahya pulled a face. I got it. Somehow, selling vegetables, even if they were dungeon loot vegetables, felt strange. We got to work harvesting the lettuce. Spirits, there was a lot of it. Even with my Harvest Crops spell doing most of the job, it still took hours. The next safe zone looked almost the same, except the tools were strange. They all had long handles with either baskets or scoops at the end.

"I think those are tools for picking fruit," Mahya said. Al, Rue, and I took her word for it. She was right. The other side was an orchard, with large fruits in orange and pink, like peaches, but shaped more like squash and covered in small black thorns. Penkra The name didn't tell me anything, especially about whether they were edible, so I used Appraisal instead.

Penkra 1 gold per gorbel I had no idea how much a gorbel was, but since they didn't look like alchemy herbs and Appraisal had attached a price to them, there was a very high probability that they were indeed edible. This time the bugs didn't surprise me. Even while I was busy figuring out the nature of the fruit, I kept my senses tuned to my surroundings. So when the first bug burst out of the tree, I was already moving. One step in, a clean swing, and its head hit the grass before the body followed.

Up close, the bugs matched the orchard a little too well. Their bodies were orange with light pink touches and small black spikes, the same colors as the fruit, and every time a cluster of them launched from the trees to attack us, the branches they left behind looked noticeably barer. This section was also easy to deal with. The bugs had stingers at their butts, like bees, except these were long, orange needles.

They bounced off our armor without doing any real damage, but one slipped past and stung Al in the cheek. His face immediately drooped on one side, and he froze. Neutralize Poison fixed that quickly, returning full control to the right side of his face, and after that, we finished clearing the section with no trouble. The fight itself barely registered. Again, picking the "loot" took far longer than the combat. Once we were done, I opened the house, and we spent a quiet evening at home.

The less said about the next section, the better. The safe zone was in a cave, with an assortment of wide shovels, a wheelbarrow, and, of course, a bench. The fighting section had big black beetles in twisting tunnels full of "loot." Sadly, it was manure. As Mahya so eloquently put it, "I'm not storing shit, and I don't care how useful it is." That section led straight to the final boss, with no safe zone in between.

I kept casting the Clean spell on myself, Mahya, and Rue, trying to get rid of the awful smell, when my red light blinked to life. I walked straight into Mahya's back as she suddenly stopped. We stepped out into a vast cave with spiderwebs draped across everything. Yeah. I could understand why she'd stopped. The spider itself was invisible, but judging by the sheer amount of webbing, it was big. And very industrious. A big black thing landed in front of us. It was not a spider.

It had six legs in a row instead of set to the sides, a tail that resembled a scorpion's, and mandibles that looked like open pliers. It hissed and clicked in unison, shooting webbing straight from its mandibles. The webbing slammed into Al, throwing him back into Mahya. I shot the thing with lightning. It died.

"Really?" Mahya asked. It was hard to tell whether she was asking Al or the dead boss. The boss stayed where it fell, but the webbing broke into motes of mana and coalesced into a single spell scroll. Just one. I turned the boss into a crystal, and we all crowded around Al as he picked up the scroll. Scroll of Entomological Commitment Single-Use Familiar Binding Scroll This scroll allows the user to bind an insect as a familiar, provided the process begins before the insect hatches from its egg.

Attempts to bind fully grown insects, half-grown insects, or insects that "look cooperative" will fail, sometimes loudly. Once bound, the insect must be raised properly from the larval stage onward. This includes: Adequate feeding, with a strong preference for the insect's favorite food Reasonable rest periods Respectful handling Complete lack of shouting, poking, overworking, or "character building."

Failure to meet these conditions will result in the immediate and irreversible termination of the familiar bond, usually accompanied by offended clicking, sulking, or dramatic molting. The bound insect will grow normally, enter its pupal stage, and eventually emerge as an adult familiar. During this time, the bond strengthens through care, routine, and mutual understanding. Insects raised with kindness perform better, bite less, and complain more quietly.

Important Notes (Read Carefully, or Don't): Long work hours are considered cruelty Forced labor is considered betrayal Forgetting feeding time is considered unforgivable"It is just a bug" is grounds for immediate bond collapse. Results may vary depending on the insect's temperament, the user's patience, pheromone drift, seasonal brood cycles, ancestral grudges, and whether the insect feels appreciated on an emotional level, respected as an individual, or recognized for its contributions. Huh?