One Hour Later.
34 Chaos Spawn down.
My loot piles? Huge.
Pile One: Teeth, eyes, at. Disgusting, but expected.Pile Two: 14 more Chaos Fragnts.Pile Three: Weird random crap.I scan the last pile: Crude Serpent Dagger, cast iron pot, wooden flute, broken ceramic plate.
…What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Hopefully, stronger monsters drop better loot.
For now, it is what it is.
I still have 30 minutes before Wave 2. Two things to handle:
Use the second Minor Chaos Shard.Have a long-overdue heart-to-heart with Mischief.Priorities first.
I grab the Crude Serpent Dagger and the Chaos Shard and repeat the process. Channel mana. Infuse the shard. Press it to the dagger.
Pop.
Zzzt.
Pain. Sharp, brutal, electric pain.
“MOTHER OF—”
I yell and drop the knife. My hand burns like I just grabbed a live wire.
What the hell just happened?! I shake out my fingers, glaring at the dagger. Did it just electrocute ?!
Heart pounding, I pull up my status screen.
Crude Serpent Dagger of Shocking
This dagger doesn’t discriminate—it will shock any creature it contacts, including the wielder.
…
What.
WHAT?!
What kind of absolute trash-tier upgrade is this?!
I glare at the dagger like it personally insulted my ancestors. This isn’t an upgrade—this is sabotage! Is that even allowed?!
I think back to the Chaos Shard's description. What did it say again?
"Can be combined with items to produce unknown effects."
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
…Right. UNKNOWN effects. Nowhere did it promise "good" effects.
No safety net. No guarantees. No "Are you sure?" pop-ups. Just raw chaos.
And—stupidly enough—that actually sounds kind of fun.
I let out a sigh and drop the dagger back into the loot pile. Not touching that again.
With the shard spent and my “upgraded” dagger in ti-out, that leaves one last issue before Wave 2.
Mischief.
I turn toward where I left the oversized nace—only to freeze.
Mischief is no longer sprawled out, weak and dying.
He’s sitting. Alert. Healthy. Watching . My grip tightens around the club.
How? How is he already back to full strength?
I replay the last hour. I cast Weak Heal. Then Weak Regen. That’s at least 17 HP recovered, maybe more since I boosted Intelligence.
That ans Mischief has been at fighting strength for at least twenty minutes.
And he didn’t move.
I narrow my eyes. Mischief tilts his head slightly, watching . Sizing up.
I exhale slowly, but it’s forced—like my body is trying to steady itself before my brain catches up. What the hell is going on here?
No reaction.
“Didn’t you try to eat earlier?” I press. “You… not hungry anymore?”
Still nothing.
I cross my arms. Fine. Let’s see if this thing really understands anything.
"You saw what happened last ti. Another wave is coming." My voice is steady, but my pulse isn’t. "We fight, or we die."
Silence.
Then Mischief stands. I go still. He walks toward .
My muscles coil, every instinct screaming at to raise my weapon. But sothing—instinct?—tells to hold my ground.
Mischief closes the gap, brushing against my hand. A deliberate nudge. I blink.
Then, as if I don’t exist, he pads to the loot pile, sniffing through the ss. He pauses at the at. Looks back at .
Waiting.
Is he asking for permission?
I hesitate. Then shrug. “Go ahead. I’m not exactly dying to eat gray, stinky monster at.”
Mischief doesn’t wait. He leans down and tears into the Chaos Spawn flesh.
I don’t have ti to dwell on this. A system notification flashes.
1 Minute Until Wave 2. Prepare Yourself.
My stomach drops.
Mischief jumps slightly. His ears flick toward . His tail twitches.
Did he just get the system notification? I narrow my eyes. "Did you see that?"
Mischief flicks his tail. Looks at . Doesn’t confirm or deny it.
If he did see it… what language did he get it in? Does the system adjust for him? Does he even think in words? This is all so weird.
I shake my head. No ti for this.
"I'm moving to the flattened grass to fight—if you understand , don’t get too close." I swing my club in a wide arc to illustrate my point.
Mischief watches. Fine. That’ll have to do.
It's an uneasy alliance. At least, I know I’m uneasy about it.
But what choice do I have? The wave is coming.
I jog back to the clearing. The once-tall grass has been trampled, leaving with a rough 20-foot oval to work with.
It’ll do.
Reviews
All reviews (0)