The Great Cave belonging to the Holy Lord was the largest cavern in the kobold territory. Generations of Holy Lords had been ushered into its depths by the tribe. Inside lay a natural grotto—a place that, in the hearts of the kobolds, was both a sacred shrine and a forbidden zone.

  Big Silly Humph stood at the entrance, staring blankly at the kobold girl before him.

  This was a rare sight for him. Usually, he stood here alone, spacing out or sometimes even sleeping on his feet. He was used to it and never felt lonely. In fact, he was quite content; he no longer had to run around doing complex things he didn't understand, and his stomach no longer ached with hunger. Ever since he had taken up his post, his kin would present him with hearty, delicious food whenever his stomach growled twice.

  In his memory, there was almost nothing that didn't taste good.

  He looked at the girl's side, then behind her, then at her hands. No food. This puzzled him. He scratched his other forearm with a massive palm; the wound there was healing at an incredible speed, barely shedding a drop of blood. Ever since he had eaten the sour fruit given to him by the Holy Lord, his injuries healed almost instantly.

  Only then did he realize that the kobold girl had just cut him with a bone knife. To him, she was a very good-looking kobold, especially with those tufts of fur sticking out and those broad shoulders—likely the strongest female in the tribe.

  "Give me some of your blood. I can catch grubs for you to eat. Just a little. You have so much blood." Aiskin looked at Humph with desperation.

  If this had been the old Humph, she could have handled him. But the current Humph, though still dim-witted, was far too massive. She had skipped the tribal hunt led by Black-Claw specifically to come here for his blood. She had once accidentally witnessed a dying grub—intended as food—suck a drop of Humph's blood and saw its severed leg regrow instantly. Her recent attempt had partially confirmed her theory.

  She wanted to use Humph's blood to save a kobold. An old kobold she had intentionally kept hidden from Tars, never once mentioning him. In truth, she wasn't the only one in the tribe capable of communication; an old one named Old Gold-Tooth was another. She had been afraid to speak of it, fearing she would no longer be special, fearing that Tars would be taken away by Old Gold-Tooth.

  Rumble!

  A dark shadow streaked across the ground and walls, darting out from the high tunnel specifically widened for the sacred cave like a sudden, violent black wind. In an instant, Aiskin was swatted away, slamming hard against the distant cave wall.

  The shadow didn't lose its momentum; it pounced on Humph, pinning him down with tattered black claws. A monstrously large mouth clamped onto Humph's shoulder, nearly engulfing half his torso. Then came a sickening, slurping sound of suction.

  Tars carried his staff, stopping and starting as he followed his mental map. Around his waist was no longer a loose grass skirt, but a pair of shorts cobbled together from grub shells and beast hides. Having prepared and envisioned this for a long time, the actual crafting had been smooth. The softest side of the hide faced inward, and the edges of the grub shells were drilled with beast teeth and corded over the leather to prevent chafing while running.

  I think I've actually put on a bit of weight, he thought.

  He had only visited this direction a few times during his early days with the tribal hunting parties. He had only been near the Holy Lord's Great Cave once. To test the strength of his magic, the robust Humph was his best target. Perhaps he could even tease Aiskin a bit.

  If Fetid Skin worked as intended and he could maintain it indefinitely, he might consider using materials from the grub nests to reinforce his gear, upgrading from shorts to a half-plate harness.

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  The cave prepared for the Master was essentially a shrine; no kobold would dare trespass nearby. Yet this Black-Claw Master had still chosen a guard and granted him a magical fruit to make him stronger. Clearly, the Master disliked being disturbed—likely another one who enjoyed long naps.

  Tars was genuinely curious to see what that magical fruit had turned Humph into. If Black-Claw was out, he wouldn't mind using magic to gently put Humph down and explore the cave to see if there were any spare fruits. Ideally, Black-Claw would be out hunting, leaving Humph alone.

  Intersection after intersection passed. His pace varied, and after walking for a long time, he began to doubt himself. The further he went, the more he felt he was lost. A wizard apprentice who gets lost—that was a bit embarrassing.

  He briefly thought about wizard familiars. It was said they had an innate sense of direction. Originally, every new apprentice would bond with a familiar immediately, but times had changed. Aside from Beast-King wizards, few bothered with them anymore. This was because someone had developed a spell that could target a familiar to harm its master across vast distances, or even kill the wizard on the other end of the contract. Beast-King wizards had ways to counter this, but other schools didn't want to waste a spell slot on a potential fatal flaw.

  I should find a familiar that others can't see or find, he mused.

  Suddenly, he caught a strange scent. Kobolds. And more than one; they had passed through here recently. His confidence returned.

  As he navigated several forks, he spotted a group of kobolds taller than himself running in the distance. Delighted, he strode toward them. They saw him too and came running with yaps and shouts. More noisy sounds echoed from the tunnels. As the distance closed, he noticed their crude clothing and the low-quality, ugly iron tools in their hands.

  His heart jumped as he realized the truth. These were kobolds, but not from his tribe. These weren't the destitute wretches he knew. Simultaneously, his Light of Spirituality sensed a heavy wave of malice directed at him from these strangers.

  The source of the mixed scents appeared as a group of lizardmen wielding short spears suddenly ambushed the kobolds from a side passage. It seemed the two groups had already been clashing. The lizardmen had the numerical advantage. Although the foreign kobolds were strong and armed with iron, half were cut down in the blink of an eye.

  He deduced these lizardmen were the "old neighbors" who had been crossing the borders lately. The kobolds, however, came from a distant and powerful tribe—at least one with a mine to dig in. Two groups of uninvited guests were fighting in his home. This was not a good omen.

  Already annoyed at being lost, Tars suddenly felt a surge of grim amusement. The Fetid Skin spell seemed to pulse with his mood, emitting ripples of dark gray energy invisible to the naked eye. He didn't stop, but for the first time, he ceased the maintenance of Fetid Skin. Guided by his spirituality, he sensed that if he didn't do this, he would lose the chance to test Bull's Strength.

  With a thought, he tapped into his temporary spell slot for the first time. The stored spell vanished as if swallowed by the Sigil.

  Bull's Strength activated.

  He felt an inexhaustible torrent of power surge through his body. His strides lengthened, a single step covering the distance of four or five. These creatures—be they lizardmen or kobolds—were all malicious thugs bringing disaster to his home.

  He swung his arm wide, lashing out with his staff. First two kobolds, then a pair of entangled combatants—they were sent flying like ragdolls, completely unable to resist. He couldn't help but laugh out loud as lizardmen flew and kobolds scattered in his wake.

  He turned the scene into absolute chaos in an instant. These intelligent races didn't cross borders unless they were looking for trouble or had lost their minds. Perhaps they needed a necessary deterrent.

  He decided not to let a single one escape. He would pile their corpses at the widest intersection nearby. Since they liked coming here so much, they could serve as a landmark so he wouldn't get lost anymore.

  After swatting away two more lizardmen, he suddenly felt bored. He stopped moving, and his skin, which had briefly returned to its normal color, shifted back to a bruised black-purple.

  The expected screams never came. The remaining kobolds and lizardmen collapsed silently, one by one. Terrifying black veins crawled across their cheeks as their eyes bulged. They lay on the ground, twitching uncontrollably.

  He wanted to ask them if it actually smelled bad, but it was clearly unnecessary. He roamed the area, observing the lizardmen, occasionally turning the spell off to see their reactions. Finally, out of mercy, he picked up a sharp spear and ended their twitching.

  The only regret was that they had stood too close and fallen too fast; he hadn't been able to measure the exact range of the spell.

  "With all these bodies, I wonder if it will attract something," he mused, piling the dozens of corpses together before turning to leave.

  Though he was lost, his wizard apprentice brain could still backtrack to his starting point. He judged that if he re-routed from there, he would find the Great Cave within three tries. He was still intent on scavenging those fruits. Even if he didn't eat them, he could give them to Aiskin to keep her safe. This place was about to get very crowded.