The Holy Chamber Pot and Treant Refugees

My imagination fell short when it came to picturing a fantasy world. "This is the power of the constellations...!" Fear surged through me at the terrifying might of the Metal Mimic (Chamber Pot). Even after swinging it, there was no weight on my wrist at all. It weighed about as much as an umbrella, yet it absorbed the impact too?

"The power of the gods...!!!" I slammed the Metal Mimic Smash into the oncoming horde of goblins. It was even better for throwing than a shortsword! I could just retrieve it with my hand right after tossing, or fill it with Create Water and splash them. This was skill synergy in action... I deftly blocked poison darts with my shield and crushed the last goblin's windpipe with the chamber pot in my hand.

Clang─

So the constellation gave me a Saint Chamber Pot... I was moved by its practicality. Come to think of it, even if they'd suddenly given me a sword or some weapon, I wouldn't know how to use it. A chamber pot was easy to grip, perfect for swinging—maybe it was the right choice after all. Constellations must see humans and the world from a different perspective. Maybe the one who gave me the chamber pot was a god of metal or a blacksmith deity?

Plus, even a plain Metal Mimic was insanely strong. This one had a curse-like condition: it only moved after holding contents for 24 hours. And there was no mention in the skill description about me being unable to dispel it. That meant I could use even it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠chasing me to kill me. If I felt like I was about to get attacked, I could just unsummon it, right?

Endless uses...! Was this a skill testing my judgment on how to use it?

I rubbed the smooth chamber pot in my hand and scanned the surroundings.

"...What did you summon? Isn't that just a chamber pot?"

"Uh... yeah, it is a chamber pot."

Now that I thought about it, Po'runga had only let 1 or 2 goblins slip through to me. Looking at the pile of goblin corpses around her, I really felt the skill gap. She picked up the chamber pot from my hand and examined it closely. She ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even swung it hard at something, but her gauntlet dented instead. Both she and I stared with wide rabbit eyes, blinking in shock.

"This is a Metal Mimic? Why would a god give you a skill like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this?!"

"...Beats me...?"

I had no idea since they handed out random skills whenever they felt like it. She explained that Metal Mimics were high-danger monsters that only appeared deep in dungeons. Even regular mimics could grab seasoned warriors with their long arms and legs and rip them in half.

"Tongues dripping paralytic venom, teeth that crunch steel. But the real headache is their durability." Unlike slimes, they were just purely tough. She said even if you knew it was a mimic, you could smash it—but Metal Mimics required Aura use or high-level magic circles as a baseline to fight.

"Even a Sword Master caught ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠off-guard might get their sword chewed up and shattered."

"...They wouldn't die, though?"

"Master is right below Overlord, right? Dying to a surprise attack would be a wasted life."

But a swordsman losing control of their own sword—especially a Sword Master? Their pride would shatter too, and the scratches from a Metal Mimic would injure them badly. ...To think such a ferocious beast was in the shape of a chamber pot. Suddenly, it seemed kinda pitiful... I felt sympathy welling up.

"It is lighter than a shortsword, and there aren't many weapons this handy."

"You think so...?"

I took the chamber pot back from her and held it in one hand. With enemies potentially jumping out anytime, and it being so light, it wasn't a burden. I'd hold my shield in one hand and draw the shortsword if needed. Thrilled at having an extra weapon, I tore the Constellation Ticket.

"..."

Not bad! This was a surprisingly good skill! And it didn't say the success rate dropped after enhancements. Meaning... no matter how many enhancements, it's always 70%? How does the probability even work...? Did the constellation that gave this skill handle the calculations?

I hesitantly drew my shortsword and tried the skill.

Psssh... The shortsword in my hand turned to dust.

.....I stared blankly at the hilt-only sword. Before Po'runga noticed, I shoved the hilt back into its sheath.

How could a 5% destruction chance roll a 5 on the dice...?

This sucks... Even if I enhance multiple times at 70%... Was the Dice Constellation just bad at rolling? Maybe I should quit dice games altogether? My life...

★

"Kwaaaang!!"

"Hup!!!"

While continuing our outer forest patrol, I encountered all sorts of monsters. The wild forest bear died instantly to Po'runga's punch. It charged roaring, but its head split with one hand strike.

"For monster byproducts, just take what you need—extra weight's a drag. Unless you're hunting specifically, grab the pricey parts."

Po'runga skillfully skinned the bear and took its gall bladder. She rolled up the bear pelt for a bear robe at the tailor and stuffed it in her bag. Goblin blowguns wouldn't even scratch her skin, but I was different, so gear mattered.

"Po'runga, you're so kind. Do you usually look out this much?"

"Ahem, well! I'm your senior in C-grade, and in life too, y'know..."

She shrugged, saying it was fine to rely on a C-grade senior. Her combat skills were obvious, but butchering and scouting too? If C-grade was this strong, B-grade was unimaginable.

"Forests make it easy to lose direction, so always stay alert." Without a compass, check moss on rocks, tree stumps, sun shadows, or night stars. We'd just plunged in blindly, but she had a compass.

"Nah, you humans can't read maps anyway?"

She hadn't brought one because I couldn't use it. I knew basic directions, though... She thumped her chest: "Just follow me."

"Bears, goblins... and king spiders are all?"

"Human-sized spiders aren't much...?"

"Web-spinning ones are fine. The burrow ambushers are trouble."

Imagining that from her words creeped me out. Web spiders on trees were scary enough—I nearly fainted seeing one munch a moth my size.

After more searching, killing goblins, wolves, and bears...

"...Weird, nothing special."

"Grrr..."

A T-Rex loomed between the trees, staring down at me. I poked Po'runga's back; she turned, saw it, and made a "what?" face.

"What's up, first T-Rex?"

"Uh, u-uhh... uh."

"Deinous ancestors were T-Rexes, they say. They're docile—won't attack unless provoked."

".....For real?"

"Short arms are decorative; hit the legs and it topples. D-grade at best here."

What kind of power balance was this world? She roared "Kwaang!" and it fled into the woods. She cackled at the sight, but something huge approached behind her. Looking up slowly, it was a tree with eyes, mouth, and demon claws. A tree-disguised monster? Like the ents from Lord of the Rings.

"Po'runga, what's that?"

"Huh? Another T-Rex, human─ Gyaaaah!!!!"

She scooped me under her arm, screaming, and bolted at full speed. Scenery whipped by like a speeding bike, wind roaring in my ears.

"Why's a Forest Trent wandering the outskirts?!"

"What's that?!"

"A-grade giant!"

"But it's huge—shouldn't it be slow?!"

"What? Forest Trents are squirrel-fast!"

"Squirrel...?"

It was skyscraper-sized. How fast in dense woods? She asked me to check if it was chasing; dangling, I glanced back.

"Gyaaaah!!"

A horrific sight made me scream. It coiled through trees like a squirrel. A giant tree as fast as a squirrel? Unfair! It blinked closer like a horror flick. Its eerie wail was silent on stumps—stealthy, so it got close undetected. Even Po'runga hadn't noticed till now. Pure luck I looked back.

Kieeeek─!

The Forest Trent roared, slamming trees; roots burst from earth, wrapping us everywhere. Bound upside-down, helpless.

"...Sorry, human... That's why I stuck to outskirts..."

Po'runga wailed, dying a virgin. Limbs fully tied, nothing to do. Forest Trent: giant tree monster at Dplrus Forest core. Old trees mutate into them.

.....I thought it was a ghost at first.

"Not one...!"

Outskirts, yet four Forest Trents surrounded us. The chasing one shoved its face at me, tilting head, chatting with kin, short cry, then opened mouth.

".....? You can talk?"

"What? You see trees talking?"

"....It is talking?"

No, really? ...Right, I had Plant Conversation. Why call me young branch? Do I look like a tree? Forest skill used like this...?

"W-wait! Party! Friends! Allies!"

I blurted words, not knowing Trent language. From their view, Po'runga kidnapped a baby Trent. They hesitated, tilting heads. Roots set us down, unbound; Po'runga shivered.

"...Four Trents...?"

"How strong?"

"Three in a forest? A-grade party becomes fertilizer that day."

First time seeing real ones—only read books. "Usually die meeting running Trents!"

Yeah, that speed, tree help—survival unlikely.

I nodded at her "another skill?" question.

"Uh, what do I call you...?"

Trents murmured. Trees mutate after millennia? Few Trents? Like humans with chicks, they poked me with branches, crowding curiously.

"Wh-why outskirts?"

"Gnawing bugs drove 'em to outskirts?"

"White Ants? At forest core? Figures."

White Ants: literal white termites. Even Trents lose to numbers; root-gnawed, legless Trents become ant food. Weird food chain—A-grade killers, termite chow underground.

"Snails flee ants, hit Trents, head to plains? Trent migration means big trouble."

"Why?"

"Ask destination?"

"Uh, 2,000-year-old trees. Where to?"

"Over plains?"

"Far... Usually short moves, so huge colony."

Termite-chased tree monsters migrating. Fine if to another forest, but scout teams on outskirts? Trents massacre. Weaker outside woods, but wall-punching beasts.

"Map?"

I spread it; she pondered, pointed west.

"Can you go that way?"

"Yes, 2,000-year-old trees. That direction?"

They nodded easily.

"Uh... n-no. Can't get sun. Ant nest direction?"

Kind words, eyes blinked—they vanished ghost-like. Silent appearance and disappearance. Tension released; Po'runga collapsed, gasping.

"Thought we were dead... What a day..."

Outskirts Trent encounter like bumping a dragon on the road. Bad luck, she shook her pale head. Trents usually stay still as trees. No axe or fire? Ignore passersby.

"They're moving 'cause roots gnawed—Trents can't help it."

"Search over?"

"Check south ant colony size first?"

Half-lidded: White Ants E-grade, one punch wins unlike Trents. Soon gloomy, asked for towel.

"...Wash in river...?"

Best not ask why.