Awakening (3)
Zeke had shaken down the Adventurer's Guild master for every scrap of information.
And for good measure, he hadn't paid a single copper for it.
"Rank! I'll guarantee your rank without even hunting a monster. Just that orb!"
The man had clung to Zeke's ankle, begging, but all he got was a thorough thrashing with the baguette club.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
"Gaaah! M-mercy! Y-you'll kill me!!! K-kill... guh...!!"
Oh right, this baguette's made for monster-bashing.
Zeke eyed the guild master's battered, bloody face with an awkward expression.
Still, he'd pulled his punches, so the guy should be fine.
*
With the intel secured, Zeke stepped out beyond the capital's walls.
And moments later...
A weary band of adventurers trudged back toward the city, catching Zeke's eye.
"Halt and state your business."
"Who the hell are you?!"
They drew their weapons, wary of the stranger.
Clashes between adventurers happened out here all the time, so even this close to the capital, they couldn't let their guard down.
Especially not when exhausted, hauling their hard-earned loot home—that was prime pickings for trouble.
As Zeke approached, the adventurers shuffled back uneasily.
He held out a heavy bundle wrapped in cloth.
The bushy-haired adventurer, suspicious but curious, took it.
"What's this?"
"A head."
"Eek!!!"
He dropped the bundle like it burned him.
Thud.
The cloth fell away, revealing a caved-in skull with lifeless white eyes staring out.
"What the fuck?!"
A woman nearby thrust her sword forward, her voice sharp and threatening.
"Just a commission for you."
"C-commission!?"
"Yeah. Take this head to the guild master."
"Oh, uh. Bounty hunt?"
At the word "commission," the bushy-haired man straightened up, polite now.
"I'd go myself, but I'm busy. Tell him I'll drop by later."
"H-how much?"
"It's right next door, basic delivery—10 silver."
"10 silver... fair price."
"And that bastard's not on any bounty board, so don't get ideas about claiming him yourselves. Just deliver it proper for the 10 silver. The guild master'll hook you up with some perks."
The adventurers flushed, caught red-handed.
"Then write up the request form. We don't want trouble."
"Fine."
Zeke scribbled the details on their portable form, signed it, and added a P.S.
[Last chance. Pull this shit one more time, and this head's yours. - Zeke Clayman]
He handed over 10 silver.
"Commission accepted."
"Good."
Zeke watched them bundle the head back up and head into the city.
Damn, must be pretty important. Makes sense if it's some imperial magic tool.
Zeke tossed the orb in his hand up and caught it.
He'd install the filter and check what was on it later.
But sending an assassin right after he left?
Zeke held grudges like fine wine.
* * *
Two days later, under cover of night.
Zeke crouched in the reeds, caked in mud.
'Lizardmen. Pitch-black bodies—main planet variety. Intel checks out.'
They hunted by day, slept at night.
In those two days, Zeke had cleared four goblin villages, two werewolf packs, and two lizardman lairs.
Yield: six magic stones.
He still needed four more.
He'd slain hundreds by now, but the drop rate was abysmal.
'Iriel... kinda owe her one...?'
He hadn't slept a wink, just hunted nonstop.
His body ached with familiar fatigue.
'Hah, fuck. Feels just like the Dave Continent.'
Kill more monsters, get more stones.
For efficiency, Zeke's method was "herding hunts."
To test if his old Dave Continent tricks worked here, he'd experimented with monster habits suited for herding.
Luckily, minor differences aside, they held up.
Goblins lured by lust herbs, werewolves by alluring scents, lizardmen by heat.
Fire for lizardmen, obviously.
The lair was pockmarked with swampy pools, crude reed huts scattered about.
Zeke watched the patrolling guards.
When he slipped their range, he moved silently.
Swish.
He poured oil from a shop-bought jug, circling the village.
Swamp humidity guzzled mana for basic fire spells, so oil it was.
'Not letting a single rat slip out.'
Full circle complete, Zeke sparked a flame at his fingertip.
Whoosh!
Fire raced along the oil trail.
Once it spread enough...
'Wind Fan.'
His baguette whipped up a gust.
Fwoom!
The small blaze erupted, engulfing the village.
Scorching heat hit; guards noticed.
"Krek!?"
"Krraaak!!!!"
"Krek!! Krraaak!!!!"
The night swamp belched black smoke, lit hellish-bright.
Their fire-weak skin sent half-asleep lizardmen scrambling in panic, converging at the one unburned exit.
A man stood there, cold eyes on the horde.
"About fifty lizards. Hope I get four stones."
They spotted the arsonist.
"Krraaak!"
"Krek!!!"
Ten burly ones bared claws, charging.
"Scouts first."
Oil jug still had some left.
Zeke toed it up.
Then stab—the jug shattered with a crash.
'Wind Fan!'
The technique swept again.
Splatter!!!
Oil rained on the frontrunners.
Embers leaped, igniting them.
"Krrak!!"
"Krak!!!"
They rolled in the mud, too late.
Zeke was already there.
Splat!
Splat!
Splat!
Baguette blows pulped their heads.
Ten down in seconds.
Zeke strolled forward calmly.
"I'll go easy. Don't move, or it'll hurt."
They backed off, trapped by flames—couldn't advance or retreat.
Some tripped over each other.
Fwoom!
Splat!
Like a wolf in a sheep pen, Zeke smashed heads.
Rats in a trap, no escape.
As death loomed, even non-warriors bared claws and fangs on instinct.
"Krrak!!"
"Krak!!!"
Fwoom!
Whoosh!
Desperate attacks, but none touched him.
Not even their own blood splattering from shattered skulls.
*
Headless corpses piled around Zeke.
'Whew. One stone. These take longer to drop.'
He rummaged through 53 lizard bodies, finding one tiny stone.
Too small for reckless swings—had to target hearts for instant kills.
'Three more to go.'
The swamp was charred reeds and corpses, unrecognizable.
Acrid burned-flesh stench lingered.
Flutter—
As he checked request forms for the next spot...
Chill.
Killing intent prickled; Zeke whipped around.
Something massive slithered in the dark.
"Shhh-shh. Shh-shh. Shhh."
Eerie wind from the shadows.
"That sound... Yutra...?"
Zeke dropped his guard to bait it.
A beast dropped from the trees.
One glowing red eye.
Teeth like spines.
Writhing, venomous hair.
Snake tail, muscular torso with four arms gripping crude weapons.
This wasn't romance fantasy.
Wrong genre.
"Yutra alright. How the hell's this thing here?"
Zeke tilted his head at the monster he never expected here.
Yutra couldn't survive mana-scarce spots like this.
An old dark fantasy pest—tough, stringy, nasty taste.
"Can this world's people even take one down?"
Far above local power levels.
'If it's the one I remember... definitely has a stone.'
His current body was weaker than fresh-summoned on Dave Continent.
Couldn't waste mana—oil for fire, herding weakpoints to save stamina.
Even 53 lizardmen took tedious one-by-one work.
Objectively, Yutra outclassed him in strength, senses, mana use.
But Zeke licked his lips.
'Dunno why it's here, but perfect.'
Old acquaintance felt welcome.
Back when it'd flee from a glare.
Zeke had hunted them for five years straight.
After year five, skipped 'em—too time-wasty.
Better to rush the Demon King, minimize damage.
He knew every habit, weakness, pattern, attack, dodge.
Mana handicap or not, it was just a big, slow trophy.
'Like a vet noob-tanking a boss with basic attacks in a game.'
Zeke gripped his baguette tighter.
"Cough up a proper stone."