Chapter : 589

  Lloyd stood on the hill overlooking the Slime Plains, a commander observing his new, perfectly efficient army of one. The rhythmic, almost silent extermination continued below him, a testament to his foresight. The gentle, persistent ping of the coin counter in his mind was a soothing, constant reassurance that his engine of power was running smoothly, generating wealth and resources without any further input from him.

  He could stay here and watch all day, basking in the glow of his own strategic brilliance. He could calculate the exact rate of return on his 500-coin investment, projecting his future earnings with the cold satisfaction of a master merchant reviewing his ledgers. He could, but he wouldn't.

  Because the entire point of this exercise was to buy himself time. And time, he knew, was a resource to be spent, not hoarded.

  With a final, satisfied nod, he turned his back on the plains and his tireless, spectral worker. The Echo of Will would continue its task for the next ten hours, a silent ghost toiling in his name. It didn't need his supervision. It didn't need his encouragement. It only needed to exist.

  He walked toward the shimmering, dark boundary that separated the open plains from the brooding, ominous expanse of the Shadowfen Forest. As he approached, the very atmosphere changed. The air grew cooler, heavier, carrying the thick, loamy scent of ancient, damp earth and decay. The cheerful green of the plains gave way to a riot of dark, twisted vegetation, and the clear, open sky was swallowed by a dense, light-devouring canopy of gnarled trees.

  This was his next frontier.

  A new quest notification had already appeared in his System, triggered the moment he had completed the last slime cull.

  [Primary Quest: Goblin Suppression]

  [Objective: Clear all goblin encampments within the Shadowfen Forest.]

  [Reward: 150 FC, Unlocks 'Goblin Chieftain's Lair' Sub-Dungeon.]

  One hundred and fifty coins. Compared to the single coin he earned per cluster of slimes, the goblins were a vastly more profitable enterprise. The System, in its cold, capitalist logic, was teaching him a fundamental lesson: greater risk yielded greater rewards.

  Previously, he had approached the forest with caution, his mind preoccupied with the need to conserve energy for the long grind that would follow. He had been forced to be economical, to avoid using his most powerful abilities, to treat every encounter as a careful calculation of cost versus benefit.

  Not anymore.

  The liberation was absolute. He no longer needed to conserve his strength for a tedious marathon of slime-popping. His full power, his entire arsenal, was now available to be unleashed on these higher-value targets. He was no longer a grinder. He was a hunter.

  A fierce, predatory grin touched his lips. This was a challenge he could sink his teeth into. Goblins were cunning, they set traps, they worked in coordinated packs, they had shamans who could sling crude but effective curses. They were, in short, interesting.

  "Let's begin," he murmured, his voice laced with a newfound, eager anticipation.

  He summoned his true partners. Not the pale, spectral imitations, but the real, terrifying articles.

  With a deafening crackle of ozone and a flash of brilliant azure light, Fang Fairy appeared at his right. The air around her hummed with raw power, her golden eyes burning with the focused intelligence of a patient predator. "The air is foul here, Master," her thoughts chimed in his mind, a cool melody laced with disdain for their new surroundings.

  On his left, the very air seemed to incinerate as Iffrit manifested in a swirl of black smoke and crimson embers. The nine-foot-tall demon of fire planted his colossal, flame-wreathed zanbatō into the soft earth, the ground hissing and steaming around it. "Prey," was the single, rumbling concept that flooded Lloyd's mind from his fiery familiar. It was a statement of pure, destructive intent.

  Lloyd stood between his two Transcended spirits, a nexus of storm and fire. He was no longer the weary laborer of the plains. He was a commander with his two elite legions, ready to wage a swift and brutal war.

  He stepped past the shimmering boundary and into the perpetual twilight of the Shadowfen Forest. His enhanced senses, no longer dulled by monotony, flared to life. He felt the subtle shift in the air that betrayed a pit trap twenty yards ahead. He saw the glint of a crudely sharpened bone tripwire. He heard the faint, guttural whisper of a goblin scout hidden in the high branches of a twisted oak.

  He smiled. "Fang Fairy, the scout in the oak tree, three o'clock high. Iffrit, the pit trap is a decoy. The main ambush is waiting in the thicket to the left. A frontal assault. Make it loud."

  Chapter : 590

  His spirits didn't need to respond. With a silent, shared understanding born of their deep bond, they moved.

  Fang Fairy became a blur of silver and azure light, a single Lightning Dart streaking silently into the canopy. A strangled cry and a soft thud were the only sounds.

  Iffrit, in stark contrast, was anything but silent. With a roar that was a challenge to the entire forest, he charged toward the thicket, his flaming greatsword held high. The time for subtlety was over. The hunt had begun in earnest, and the forest would tremble before the fury of its new, liberated master.

  The oppressive quiet of the Shadowfen Forest was shattered by Iffrit’s earth-shaking roar. It was not just a sound; it was a physical force, a concussive wave of pure, aggressive intent that sent birds scattering from unseen branches and silenced the chirping of insects for miles around. It was a declaration of war, a challenge to every living thing in the biome: I am here. Come and die.

  From the dense, thorny thicket to the left, a dozen goblins erupted with guttural snarls of their own. They were wiry, hunched creatures with sallow green skin, clad in crude leather scraps and wielding rusty, notched blades. Their beady black eyes, filled with a low, cunning malice, fixed on the nine-foot-tall demon of fire charging toward them. For a brief, fatal moment, their predatory instincts were overridden by sheer, primal terror.

  That moment was all Iffrit needed.

  He didn't bother with fancy swordplay or tactical maneuvering. He was a force of nature, an avalanche of fire and rage. His colossal, flame-wreathed zanbatō came down in a single, devastating overhead cleave. The very air screamed as it tore through space, trailing a comet's tail of molten fire.

  The impact was cataclysmic. The sword didn't just strike the first goblin; it struck the earth itself. A massive fissure of fire erupted from the ground, a wave of incandescent energy that vaporized the front rank of six goblins instantly. They didn't even have time to scream. They were simply gone, their existence reduced to ash and the foul stench of burnt leather.

  The remaining six goblins, splattered with the molten earth and superheated steam from the attack, broke and ran. Their pack discipline, their ambush plan, their courage—it all evaporated in the face of such overwhelming, absolute power. They scrambled back into the trees, their panicked squeals echoing through the twilight.

  "Scalpel," Lloyd thought, his command calm and precise amidst the chaos.

  At his side, Fang Fairy, who had been watching with the detached air of a queen observing a peasant brawl, moved. She didn't run or fly; she simply flowed. She became a blur of silver and azure light, a living storm that weaved through the gnarled trees with impossible grace and speed.

  A volley of six Lightning Darts, each one a needle of pure, concentrated electricity, shot from her fingertips. They moved faster than the eye could follow, each one finding a fleeing target with unerring precision. One pierced the back of a goblin's skull. Another punched through a fleeing creature's spine. The others found their marks in hearts and throats.

  The squeals were cut short. Six bodies dropped to the forest floor, their limbs twitching for a moment before going still, small wisps of blue smoke rising from the entry wounds.

  The entire engagement, from Iffrit’s roar to the last goblin falling, had taken less than ten seconds. It was a perfect, brutal, and breathtakingly efficient slaughter.

  Lloyd walked past the smoking crater Iffrit had carved in the forest floor, his expression impassive. He nudged a dead goblin with the toe of his boot, noting the crude craftsmanship of its armor. He was no longer operating on the energy-conservation model of the plains. Here, in the forest, the strategy was overwhelming force. Maximum lethality for maximum speed. The faster he cleared these encampments, the faster he could get to the Chieftain and the sub-dungeon, where the real rewards lay.

  He could feel the faint, distant ping of his Echo’s work on the plains, a steady, rhythmic drip of coins into his account. It was a comforting background hum, the sound of his engine running smoothly. That passive income freed him to be extravagant here. He could afford to let Iffrit carve up the landscape and have Fang Fairy unleash her full power. The cost was negligible compared to the time saved.

  "Report," he projected to Fang Fairy.

  Her cool, melodic thoughts returned instantly. "Scout eliminated. This ambush party neutralized. I detect another, larger encampment approximately four hundred meters to the northeast. Cave system. At least thirty individuals. And… a shaman. Its spiritual signature is crude, but foul."

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  Chapter : 591

  A shaman. That complicated things. Goblin shamans were known for their irritating, low-level curses—spells that could cause debilitating weakness, confusion, or temporary blindness. They were glass cannons, easy to kill if you could get to them, but a significant threat if left unchecked.

  "The shaman is the primary target," Lloyd decided instantly. "Iffrit, you will provide the distraction. A direct, noisy assault on the cave mouth. Draw their warriors out. Fang Fairy, you and I will take the high ground. We find the shaman and eliminate it before it can cast. Understood?"

  A wave of eager, destructive joy came from Iffrit. Break them.

  A cool, professional assent came from Fang Fairy. As you command, Master.

  Lloyd’s lips curved into a thin, predatory smile. He felt alive. The strategic part of his brain, the part that had been slowly suffocating under the weight of the slime grind, was now fully engaged. This was a proper tactical problem. An enemy force, a fortified position, a high-value target.

  This wasn't a grind. This was war. And war was something he understood very, very well.

  Lloyd and Fang Fairy moved through the undergrowth with a silence that was supernatural. While Iffrit began his noisy, deliberate approach to the goblin cave, a one-demon wrecking crew crashing through the forest, they circled around, using the noise as cover. Lloyd’s own senses, passively enhanced by his bond with two Transcended spirits, were a formidable tool. He saw the world not just with his eyes, but with an intuitive understanding of energy and intent. He spotted the crude, camouflaged goblin sentries hidden in the dense foliage, their faint auras of malice like foul-smelling candles in the gloom.

  He didn't need to speak. He simply projected the targets' locations to Fang Fairy. She became a ghost, a whisper of movement. A flicker of azure light, and a sentry would slump over, a tiny, smoking hole in its neck. They cleared the perimeter of three lookouts without a single alarm being raised.

  They found a rocky outcrop that overlooked the entrance to the goblin cave—a wide, dark maw in the side of a moss-covered hill. Below, the scene was one of crude, chaotic industry. Goblins sharpened rusty blades on whetstones, others gnawed on questionable-looking pieces of meat, and a general air of filth and low-level menace hung over the camp.

  Then, Iffrit arrived.

  He didn't sneak. He burst from the tree line like a natural disaster, his flaming zanbatō held high, his magma-plate armor glowing with internal fire. His roar was a physical blow that sent the goblins scrambling in a panic.

  As planned, the goblin warriors, their terror quickly turning to feral rage, swarmed out of the cave to meet the threat. They poured forth, a tide of green-skinned fury, waving their crude weapons and shrieking their war cries. Iffrit met them with glee, his greatsword scything through their ranks, sending bodies and fire flying in a beautiful, terrible arc of destruction.

  The distraction was perfect.

  "The shaman," Lloyd projected to Fang Fairy, his own eyes scanning the cave mouth. "Where is it?"

  Fang Fairy’s golden eyes glowed with power. "Inside. Near the back. It is beginning a ritual. I feel the gathering of negative energy. A curse of enfeeblement, targeted at Iffrit."

  They didn't have much time. An enfeebled Iffrit, while still a threat, would be far less effective.

  "I need an opening," Lloyd thought. "A clean line of sight. I'll handle the shaman."

  It was a risk. He could send Fang Fairy, the faster and more lethal of the two, but he wanted to test his own precision under pressure. His B-Rank Steel Blood was more than just chains; it was about absolute control over refined metal.

  He reached into a pouch at his belt and drew out three small, perfectly smooth steel spheres, each the size of a marble. He had forged them himself back at the manufactory, a quiet experiment in ammunition.

  He watched the chaotic melee below. Iffrit was a whirlwind of destruction, but the goblins were numerous, swarming him like enraged ants. Lloyd needed the shaman to show itself.

  He focused his will. His Void power surged, but this time, he didn't manifest chains. He used a subtle, kinetic pulse, an invisible wave of force, and directed it at a precariously balanced rock formation just above the cave entrance.

  The rocks tumbled, crashing down with a deafening roar, not on the goblins, but right in front of the cave, creating a partial blockage and a cloud of dust. The chaos forced several goblins who had been hanging back to rush out, and among them, Lloyd saw him.

  Chapter : 592

  The shaman was a gnarled, wizened creature, smaller than the others, hunched over a staff topped with a leering, carved skull. Its eyes glowed with a sickly green light as it chanted, its foul magic coalescing around Iffrit.

  "Target acquired," Lloyd murmured.

  He held up one of the steel marbles between his thumb and forefinger. He channeled the power of his Steel Blood, not to shape it, but to propel it. It was the principle he had discovered in the tournament, refined and perfected. A precise, controlled application of kinetic force.

  He took aim. The distance was nearly eighty yards. A difficult shot with a bow, an impossible one with a thrown rock.

  But he wasn't throwing it. He was launching it.

  With a final, focused pulse of his will, he released the marble. There was no sound, no explosion, just a faint, silvery shimmer around his hand. The steel sphere vanished. It crossed the eighty yards in less than a second, a silent, invisible bullet.

  The goblin shaman's head exploded in a shower of green gore and shattered bone. Its chant died in a wet gurgle, and the curse unraveling around Iffrit dissipated harmlessly.

  The remaining goblins froze, their tiny minds struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Their spiritual leader was gone, killed by an unseen force.

  "Now," Lloyd projected, a cold satisfaction settling in his gut.

  Down below, Iffrit and Fang Fairy, freed from their assigned roles, began the cleansing. The forest echoed with the sounds of fire, lightning, and the final, fading screams of the goblin horde. The hunt was efficient, brutal, and a magnificent success.

  —

  The afternoon sun, a cascade of liquid gold, poured through the impossibly pristine arched windows of Rosa Siddik’s private suite. It was a chamber that felt less like a living space and more like an art installation dedicated to the concept of cold, untouchable beauty. The tapestries, woven with threads of silver and frost-blue, depicted the sweeping, glacial vistas of her northern homeland, each scene a monument to serene, unyielding ice. The furniture, hewn from a pale, almost luminous varietal of ironwood, was arranged with a precision that felt less like interior design and more like a complex geometric proof. In this room, chaos did not exist. Disorder was a foreign language.

  Rosa sat enthroned in a high-backed chair, an imposing volume titled Harmonics of the Ancient Spirit Core resting open on her lap. Her gaze, the precise color of a winter sky just before a blizzard, was fixed upon the elegant, hand-scribed text. Yet, she wasn't reading. The same complex theorem on spiritual resonance had passed before her eyes five times, its meaning failing to penetrate the fortress of her thoughts. Her formidable, analytical mind was occupied with a far more immediate and infuriatingly illogical problem.

  Laila, her handmaiden and confidant, stood like a statue near the door. She was a ghost in a servant’s uniform, her movements silent, her presence felt only when she wished it to be. She had just concluded her meticulous daily report, a summary of estate activities delivered with the dispassionate clarity of a military briefing.

  "And that concludes the report, my lady," Laila’s voice was a respectful murmur, careful not to disturb the room’s profound stillness. "Lord Lloyd returned from the Royal Academy shortly after midday. He met briefly with the head of his commercial enterprise, Mistress Mei Jing, and then retired to his personal study. He has remained there since."

  Rosa’s lips, a perfect, pale rose, barely moved. "The sealed study," she repeated, her voice a soft, crystalline echo. "This marks the sixth consecutive day he has maintained this routine."

  "Yes, my lady. The seals are his own. They are… formidable. He allows no one entry, not even to deliver his meals. The trays are left outside the door and retrieved later."

  A heavy, contemplative silence descended once more. Laila, a master of her craft, understood the nuances of her lady’s moods. She knew this silence was not one of peace, but of intense, churning calculation. She remained perfectly still, a silent component in the chamber’s frozen elegance.

  Rosa’s mind, a place where emotions were treated as corrupt data sets to be isolated and purged, was wrestling with a system that refused to compute. The Lloyd Ferrum she had been married to was a known quantity. He was a baseline, a control group. His powers were documented, his ambition negligible, his potential capped. He was a political necessity she had analyzed, categorized, and filed away as irrelevant.

  That file was now on fire.