Chapter 23: Master of the Soil
"Ahem Little butcher i’ll make it as weird as I want," Hestia purred. "Love you, was it? Bold. Should I give you a ’Love Potion’ recipe next? Though with the pink kitten behind you, she already seems bewitched. You’re a brute, Liam. She looks at you like you’re the sun."
She’s a warrior, Liam thought firmly, the tension in his jaw betraying his determination to keep feelings out of it. He cut the goddess off, clinging to that line between leadership and intimacy. She needs a leader, not a boyfriend. We’re in a death game, not a dating sim.
"Whatever helps you sleep in that big, single bed of yours," Hestia laughed, her presence fading into a warm hum.
"Liam? You okay? You’ve been standing there staring at a mushroom for two minutes," Ellie asked, walking up behind him. Concern flickered in her voice, quickly masked by playful teasing as she reached out to poke his shoulder, her fingers lingering just a second too long on the cool platinum plate.
"I’m fine," Liam said, turning. "Just... checking the soil, for root vegetables."
"You’re so full of it," Elizabeth laughed, though her eyes softened with a warmth she tried to hide. She hated how much she liked his bluntness, a thrill she felt in her chest. Most guys before the game when they tried talk to her were to ’alpha’ or were too soft. Liam was just Liam, a force who knew how to sear a scallop, not like she ever had a boyfriend anyway.
"So, where to next, ’Master of the Soil’?"
"We move deeper," Liam said, sheathing his sword. "The rabbits in the southern sector have a rare drop called ’Lucky Foot Luck.’ If I can process that into a broth, our drop rates for the rest of the week will skyrocket. If we’re lucky, we can find a Hidden Boss before..."
Liam froze.
They heard the clash before they saw it: steel screeching against steel, the snap of high-tier mana scorching ancient bark. Liam halted, every sense tightening. A part of him buzzed with the thrill of a fight, but another, quieter part warned him to stay back.
"Those aren’t starter players," Elizabeth murmured, swivelling her ears westward. Relief and worry in her tone.
"No." Liam exhaled. He should keep moving, stick to the plan. But he couldn’t just walk on.
"Finally," Liam said, his eyes turning cold. "Something that isn’t a squirrel."
They tore through a briar patch.
Ahead, a hidden grove just under them lay sap-green ferns crushed underfoot, moss burned bare. At its heart, a Level 22 Elite Shadow-Stalker Alpha, an absurdly huge wolf, violet eyes blazing, reared over two figures scrambling for safety. Fury oozed from the beast like acid; the way it bared its teeth suggested a personal vendetta.
One of the fighters, a scrawny kid in a too-small leather vest, sprinted backward, daggers flashing uselessly.
"I’M TRYING, MILF, THIS THING CHEATS!" he yelled.
The second, a woman brandishing a staff, launched a wind cut.
"MOVE YOUR ASS, ROGUE," she snapped, her voice fraying on the edge of panic and exasperation. "No more mana pots, my back’s shredded, and if you trip again, I swear I’ll leave you."
Rogue threw another dagger. It pinged off fur. He skidded sideways.
Liam’s chest tightened. He hated interrupting someone else’s fight. But if they died, that’d be on his conscience. He exchanged a glance with Elizabeth. Should we? Shouldn’t we?
"Wait," Ellie whispered, squinting through the brush. "The short one... the way he trips and then blames the game engine and the woman who looks like she’s about to ask to speak to the forest’s manager... Liam, is that Rogue and Mirra?"
Liam sighed. Seventy-two hours ago, before the "Death Game" toggle was flipped and everyone was reverted to their physical bodies, they had quested together for exactly one day. It was supposed to be a quick trial run for a new party. Back then, Rogue had been a six-foot-tall brooding edgelord with a cape made of raven feathers. Mirra had been a nineteen-year-old healer princess with a voice like silk.
Liam himself? For two day’s of questing, he had been a two-foot-tall, fluff-ball wolf girl named "Little Liam" He’d told them it was a "tactical hitbox choice" for a high-mobility chef, but mostly he just liked the irony. "It’s them," Liam grunted. "The ’immersion’ is a real bitch."
"We should help them," she said, voice low. Worry flickered across her features. She’d seen too many good people go down once they hit Elite territory.
He nodded, though it felt like betrayal to the quiet approach they’d practiced.
He dropped off the ridge. No path just mass and momentum. His armor struck the grove floor like a hammer blow, uprooting grass in a ring. The wolf froze mid-leap. For a heartbeat, every chest went rigid. Then the forest exhaled.
He didn’t draw his sword. He just walked up to the monster, his [Vulcan Gauntlet] beginning to hum with white hot intensity. He caught the massive wolf by the throat and with a surge of strength that made the ground beneath his boots crack, he slammed the Level 22 Elite into the dirt and triggered [Absorption]. The wolf didn’t just die; after he of course bit into it, it was pulled into the furnace of his chest.
All that remained was the hiss of the cooling of his chest and Rogue’s ragged breathing.
"Big guy," Rogue said, voice trembling. "We’re good you can take the loot just don’t, you know, eat us."
Rogue, the twenty-year-old Korean kid who barely hit 5’6" in real life, stared up at the mountain of black steel and silver hair, a mixture of awe and fear frozen on his face.
Mirra, a woman in her early 40s who looked like she’d just come from a PTA meeting, clutched her staff tightly and backed away, anxiety etched into her features.
The woman, Mirra, edged backward, staff raised. Her eyes darted between Liam and Elizabeth’s pink-eared silhouette sliding down the slope behind him. Concern and disbelief competed in her gaze.
"Elizabeth? Is that you?" she asked, worried.
"How’d you get that armour?" as she raised an eyebrow towards Liam.
"Long story," Elizabeth said, voice tight. She glanced at Liam, pride, embarrassment, and something unreadable.
Rogue circled, scanning Liam’s bulk like it might vanish if he turned away.
"Silver hair, red eyes... and that specific ’I’m-surrounded-by-idiots’ expression..., and you’re holy crap, you’re huge." He pointed both daggers at Liam.
Rogue’s jaw dropped. "No way," Rogue whispered. "The Little Kid? The two-foot-tall dog girl from Monday? This... this is you? Are you a dude? And you’re... huge?"
Liam shrugged, the question echoing uncomfortably in his mind: tactical hitbox, or did he crave the weight? "Yes, it was a tactical hitbox choice."
"A TACTICAL HITBOX," Rogue repeated, more wonder than accusation. He leaned towards Mirra, "That’s the KID. He hid this on purpose. What the hell?"
Mirra took it in, calm analysis flickering across her face. Gauntlets, armour plates, cratered earth, scorched grass.
"You really absorbed it," she said flatly. "All of it."
"It was Level 22," Liam offered defensively. To him, that wrapped everything in neat logic, even if his heart still pounded at the thought of swallowing something so alive and so deadly.
Elizabeth cleared her throat. "He also ate a Lava Golem core and a Void Shaman." Her tone was both proud and weary, as if she’d carried this secret too long.
Mirra’s eyes flicked from Elizabeth back to Liam. Long moments passed, like she ran final verdicts in her head. Then she spoke, "So... you need a healer? Or are you okay?"
Liam hesitated. He hated admitting dependency, hated that Elizabeth always ended up bruised. "I need one. She..." He jerked a thumb at Elizabeth. "She keeps running into things."
"I do NOT," Elizabeth snapped, cheeks flushing. "It was a strategic misstep."
"She literally tripped," Rogue reminded her, camera whirring. His stream had gone live thirty seconds ago; the chat was already erupting in panic emojis and caps lock.
Mirra sighed, then squared her shoulders. "All right. Everyone, regroup. Watch your spacing."
She met Liam’s gaze, then scanned the ruined grove floor and the dark treeline beyond, and fear flickered.
Rogue leaned forward, adjusting his camera. "So... when you say ’cleared,’ does that mean eaten or killed?"
Liam swallowed, battle-scar tissue and new doubts twisting inside him. "Both."
He turned away, heading into the dim forest. Elizabeth followed, ears pricked, tension coiled in her stance. Rogue trailed with his camera, Mirra bringing up the rear, eyes never leaving the shadows of the forest.
Above them, the trees whispered of something waiting deeper in Tana’s heart, an event they’d unwittingly triggered before.
Liam glanced back at the scorched patch, felt his chest tighten with responsibility and dread.
"We move deeper," he said, voice quiet but firm. "Stay close. Don’t touch anything I haven’t cleared."
Meanwhile, in the Rogue’s live stream chat.
[ElfRehab99]: LITTLE LIAM IS A GIANT MAN."
[FootLover]: THEY’RE WALKING INTO A CORRUPTED FEAST."
[Rogue_Live]: Is he a player or a natural disaster? Asking for a friend who doesn’t want to be digested.
Liam swallowed. Conflicted as ever, he stepped into the gloom.
[TOOL TIP: THE "TACTICAL HITBOX" INTERVENTION]
Status:Uninvited Guest / Professional Monster Disposal.
Target: One Level 22 Shadow-Stalker Alpha (currently transitioning from "Elite Threat" to "Liam’s Afternoon Snack").
The Rescue: Liam dropped into the grove with all the grace of a falling piano, uprooting the scenery and ending the Alpha’s career via manual throat-clogging.
Inner Logic: To Liam, eating a Level 22 wolf is just basic math; to everyone else, it looks like he’s playing a horror game where he is the jump-scare.