Chapter 31 : A sellable bauble was a sellable bauble
Not a divine sign. Not a miraculous surge of power.
Geometry. The one thing even a slime couldn’t cheat.
The Fake Colossus had finally wedged its entire bulk into the alcove. Its limbs, which needed space to whip and snap, suddenly had nowhere to go. Two of the upper appendages tried to cross over each other, then—foolishly—tried to occupy the same narrow gap in the air.
They fused.
The creature’s whole upper mass sagged under its own stupid architecture.
There.
There.
Saint Merin Himself could not have crafted a clearer invitation.
[Slimebane Strike available]
The second stretched like eternity. My gauntlet-gripped sword felt impossibly heavy, yet impossibly true in my hands. I traced the sagging arc of its upper torso, calculating the angle, the depth, the sweet spot where the wobbling membrane thinned and the core mass—its pulsating nucleus—would be exposed.
By Saint Merin’s mercy, let this count.
I swung.
[Saint’s Precision activated]
DMG: (9 + 13) x (1.5 + 2) - 12 = 65 HP
Gelid Strider’s HP: -15/90
The sword tore through the sagging membrane like a knife through silk soaked in viscera. Semi-transparent goo splattered against the walls. I felt the vibration travel up my gauntlets as the blade cleaved through gelatinous tissue and the creature’s twisted pseudo-bones.
The creature ‘shrieked’, or at least, produced a wet, gurgling roar as it flailed in a spasmodic frenzy. Every movement expelled more slime, until it turned into a collapsed tower of goo.
The Gelid Strider was no more.
I lowered my sword slowly, breathing through the visor. Every nerve in my body was screaming relief and revulsion at once. Victory had never smelled so foul. It took way too much effort to best a fake colossus, and I wasn’t proud of it.
I would never fight another Gelid Strider again.
[Gelid Strider defeated]
Reward: 28 EXP
2 Slime Core (Common)
x1 Gelid Fragment (Uncommon)*
EXP: 1736/2750
*Gelid Fragment: a hardened shard of the Gelid Strider’s membrane. Can be refined into alchemical reagents or crafted into slime-resistant armor coatings.
Oh? A crafting fragment?
I picked up the Gelid Fragment. It was heavier than I expected for something that looked so delicate. The shard glimmered like a shard of wet crystal with a greenish-pink hue, which made it look more majestic than it actually was.
What could this do? Maybe Anabeth could—
“Oh!” Anabeth squeaked as she peered at the fragment over my gauntlet. “A Gelid Fragment! I have only ever read about these in treatises on slime aetherology. This could be . . . oh, the possibilities!”
I almost jolted and dropped the fragment. When did she even get here? If she could get here that quickly, surely she could’ve assisted when I was in trouble earlier. She just chose not to, which made sense, considering I was supposed to be the all-powerful god.
Anabeth waved a finger at the shard. “Collect five more of these, and you could double your toughness against gelatinous entities. I am not well-versed in crafting and enchantments, but I know those who do! Not that you’d really need it, mind you. But—” Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she bent over to retrieve her two slime cores, “—think of the applications!”
Doubling toughness against slimes . . . that meant even Slime Kings or multi-limbed abominations would barely scratch me.
Oh, I needed that. I really needed that.
Five more fragments. I would find every single Gelid Strider in this dungeon and slay them all.
[Gelid Strider defeated]
Reward: 28 EXP
2 Slime Core (Common)
x1 Gelid Fragment (Uncommon)
EXP: 1876/2750
I methodically hunted down every Gelid Strider I could locate. With my DEX returning to normal and me knowing these creatures were not smart enough to not get lured into alcoves, I managed to slay five more of them before my legs screamed at me to stop.
Stamina: 32%
Despite the slaughter, only two additional Gelid Fragments had been recovered. With this dungeon offering no higher-level creatures, all I could do was swallow back the disappointment. The final loot was not much better: two Potions of Minor Healing that I’d probably keep for myself instead of selling, a few low-level trinkets that I’d known exactly how much they’d sell for, and a rusted iron mace, dull-edged and unbalanced, clearly meant for some hapless adventurer. This was clearly below par for the level of effort I’d had to put in.
As I guided Silvermane out of the ravine and back onto the beaten trail, my legs still trembled from the ache of having spent far too long carving up jellied idiots in narrow hallways. My armor creaked, my joints complained, and my inventory felt heavier with every wasted trinket rattling at my hip.
Having not spent any energy at all, Anabeth happily shifted about on her sidesaddle and whistled. “You don’t have to clear lowly Slime dungeons just for my sake, Sir. If you wish for challenges better suited to your, ah, vigor, there are quite a few Grave-Class dungeons in the region, you know. They possess ossified guardians, spirit-etched sarcophagi, and skeletal wardens who would likely appreciate your decisiveness far more than gelatinous organisms do.”
Grave-class dungeons . . .
Anabeth leaned forward ever so slightly. “They might even offer you gear worth a second look. Should you ever desire to decorate your armor, of course.”
Those dungeons were the territory of elites, of veteran magi, of adventurers who had the funds and the arrogance to treat deathtraps like sightseeing tours.
And yet, I found myself yearning for those now.
I rolled the useless trinket between my fingers—a bent copper charm shaped like a frog, crudely lacquered and definitely not magical. A month ago, I would’ve pocketed it with a small spark of satisfaction. A sellable bauble was a sellable bauble. A meal was a meal. Now I was irritated that a Slime Fragment hadn’t dropped for the third consecutive Strider. I now had preferences.
If I could keep my mouth shut, this Ceralis could be a blessing—
“Sir Henry, look!”
Her voice hit a pitch of bright, delighted shock so unlike her usual scholarly chirp that I instinctively pulled on Silvermane’s reins. I twisted around in the saddle and saw her holding one of her glass vials. Inside it, the content was . . . moving.
No. Forming.
The murky green slurry within the vial condensed, and in a span of a heartbeat, it coalesced into a sturdy, pebble-skinned shape.
The vial rattled.
Then burst its cork.
A hand-sized stone golem plopped into her palm.
Anabeth gasped. “I’ve done it, Sir!” she squeaked, brimming with scholar-level glee. “I have summoned Durand from a Slime Core! And he’s . . . he’s different!”
Different? I looked at the creature now standing upright, and realized that it wasn’t just different. It was . . . menacing.