The spell model for Mage Armor resembled a leaf with sharp, upturned tips. It drifted slowly through his mental space, orbiting the solitary Mana Scar alongside his other models like a loyal guardian. High above, at the zenith of his consciousness, the solidified Zero-Ring slot for Fetid Skin shone like a fixed star, illuminating the depths below.

  Tars was working tirelessly to welcome his second Mana Scar.

  Having restored his mental state, he immediately began casting, imbuing the spell model with energy again and again. He managed seven consecutive successes, but by the eighth, the effort became a desperate strain.

  That seems to be my limit for now, he thought.

  He scratched his skin with a claw. Under the spell's stimulation, the surface of his body had developed a texture like fine, leathery folds covered by a semi-transparent layer of keratin. It felt adequate—nothing extraordinary—but its greatest advantage was its weightlessness; he could jump and move without the slightest discomfort.

  After a brief meditation to recover, he pulled out the "gift set" provided by the half-man: a palm-sized piece of hide and a matching vial of potion.

  By focusing his mental power on the vial, he could read the warnings etched into it. At first glance, the process looked dangerously volatile. First, he had to choose an attachment site. Since this was meant for defense, his philosophy was to keep it hidden. His knowledge was too limited to identify what kind of creature this hide came from, but that didn't mean others wouldn't recognize it. If an enemy had a specific way to counter this material, or if a wizard apprentice saw a conspicuous patch of strange skin, they would immediately deduce that he knew Mage Armor and used it frequently.

  After a long search, he settled on the underside of his upper arm.

  He started by casting Depilation on himself. As he raised his hand, he couldn't help but think of Bald-Tooth; however, his precise control of the spell ensured he wouldn't end up looking like that. Once the back of his arm was cleared, he broke the seal on the vial and slowly poured the viscous liquid down his elbow. The potion was thick enough that it didn't run too fast. A sharp hiss filled the air as his skin began to corrode. It didn't hurt as much as he expected; instead, an intense, bizarre itch radiated from the site, reaching deep into his very soul.

  Counting the seconds in his head, he waited for the perfect moment and then pressed the mysterious hide firmly onto the spot.

  The hide, which had looked somewhat irregular before, instantly bonded to him as if it had been grown specifically for this corroded patch. He smoothed it out with his hand, and under the potion's influence, the two became one. It was a perfect fit, save for a dull, throbbing ache that set in a moment later. To the touch, it now felt like a slightly rough birthmark.

  Zero-Ring Spell: Mage Armor.

  He cast the spell again, focusing his mind to sense the change. This was his first time using a spell with the aid of a material component—and a highly specialized one at that, now permanently bonded to his body. He also noted the shift in mana consumption. He hadn't had time to experiment with this during the chaotic birth of Fetid Skin.

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  First, he felt a numbing sensation in his arm. The palm-sized hide, which had looked black, shimmered as the spell took hold, and his entire body transformed along with it. When he raised his hands, his skin had turned a solemn, dark crimson.

  He pulled out a claw left behind by the Grey-Neck Lord and scraped it hard against his forearm. It left nothing but a faint white streak. However, his casting limit had dropped; he could now only cast it five times instead of eight.

  Clearly, the original owner of this skin was a creature much stronger than me, he mused. Poking it with his claw, he felt a resilient toughness beneath the hardness.

  He lay on the ground, eyes closed, enjoying a moment of relaxation. With a flick of his mind, he successfully triggered Fetid Skin. No conflict.

  After a final rest and meditation, he would begin his "condolence tour" of the wizard remains. As a small kobold, there wasn't much he could do besides make good use of what they left behind and give them a simple burial. Of course, being a kobold, he wouldn't let anything go to waste; even their shoes might be scavenged.

  He had already made all the necessary preparations and didn't plan on saying goodbye. If Aiskin or Bald-Tooth couldn't find him, they would simply assume he was out hunting bugs nearby.

  His kit was simple: two small vials of Humph's blood (exchanged for shaved ice), the broken hilt of Bald-Tooth's metal blade (which served as a decent war-hammer), and some spare rations. Choosing his most reliable long staff—one tipped with a fixed beast fang—he departed the labyrinthine home that had allowed him to survive this far.

  As he left, he briefly thought of heroic tragedies where the protagonist is stabbed in the back the moment they step out the door. He shifted his staff to his shoulder, looked down at his short legs, and relaxed. He wasn't a hero, so he probably didn't have to worry about that.

  His first target required him to cross the kobold-controlled tunnels and head toward the larger, open cavern where the tribe had hunted for generations. It was a subterranean wonderland. His path took him diagonally across its edges, a route that saved him several days of travel. In a smaller adjacent tunnel system on the periphery lay the bones of a wizard.

  Likely a wealthy wizard apprentice, he corrected himself.

  In a way, this journey was a luxury. Back when he didn't join the tribal hunts, he never dared to stray a step from home. The vast, mysterious underground was filled with danger for a weak race like the kobolds. Their reliance on "Lords" and their obsession with serving powerful outsiders was born from this environment. Hard lives bred strange survival strategies.

  But now, Tars felt that as long as he wasn't careless, he was more formidable alone than the tribe's strongest hunting party. He periodically cast Bull's Strength on himself, the surge of stamina allowing him to keep up a brisk pace while managing his intervals so his mental energy remained at a satisfactory level.

  After hours of steady trekking, he finally stopped. Before him was a beauty he hadn't seen in a long time. Upon entering the great cavern, he looked up to see towering, spindle-shaped mushrooms rising like giant trees in the distance. The first time he'd seen them, he'd been so dazed he'd gotten a kick in the rear from the kobold behind him. He had never been near those "trees" during his two hunts; that area was known to be one of the more dangerous parts of this world.

  Tars pulled his gaze back and scanned his surroundings, keeping his footsteps light. He had been maintaining the second form of Fetid Skin throughout the walk, which had already allowed him to pick up a few small, "fainted" prey. He didn't bother killing anything he didn't recognize or plan to eat, not wanting to get blood on his staff for no reason.

  "Lizardmen?"

  He rounded a bend and came face-to-face with a group of them. These were different from the green-backed ones his tribe usually fought; they had deep, crimson ridges along their spines. They looked stronger, with a row of thin, membrane-wrapped spikes protruding from their backs as if the bone had pierced through their tough skin.

  Looking at their trajectory, these little lizards seemed to be heading straight for kobold territory.

  I really wish I had a mind-control spell right about now, he couldn't help but think.