Round Ten: The Cave

O’Sullivan stood on cracked ground in front of the mage tower, complaining nonstop. The morning sunlight in the swamp made his skin appear pale, his dark hair slightly curly, and his pupils black—a rarity in Rain City and utterly uncommon in the swamp, where monsters with black eyes were usually less terrifying than those with red eyes.

Dressed in black, his attire was distinctly different from that of the mages. His form-fitting robe hung softly and naturally, his pants were sharply tailored, and his shiny leather shoes reflected the twisted image of the mage tower. Not a single speck of mud could be found on his pants or shoes; he certainly didn’t look like a traveler. At that moment, he raised his head, chin in hand, examining the pile of rubble before him as if scrutinizing some meaningless artwork in an art gallery.

He was worried about finding a way in. Two others were with him, wearing white and red mage robes respectively, standing behind him. The man in white casually fiddled with his wand, while the man in red searched through his pockets.

At the top of the tower, six orange-yellow eyes, three pairs of them, were staring at him. The troublesome predators of the swamp had awakened from their slumber, perhaps sensing something delicious. The Acid Snake Lizard glanced at the three dishes—black, white, and red—on its “menu” and decided to make a good start.

Although it tried to hide itself to strike suddenly, it was too large, even bigger than the one O’Sullivan had encountered before. It might be the largest Acid Snake Lizard, or not. Its entire body was pressed against the other side of the tower, so O’Sullivan didn’t notice it due to the sunlight.

Its hind legs gripped tightly the edge of the tower’s roof, and its body arched. Now, even if it was discovered, it didn’t matter—human legs couldn’t possibly escape its leap from such a height.

The top of the tower collapsed with a roar, and the massive body of the Acid Snake Lizard crashed to the ground along with the ruined mage tower.

O’Sullivan seemed calm but clearly unprepared. He frantically reached into his arms. The man in red stepped forward, blocking O’Sullivan, shielding him and the man in white with his left hand while raising his right hand high.

Fire erupted from the man in red’s palm, fierce and blazing.

It was called an eruption because the force instantly counteracted the momentum caused by the Acid Snake Lizard’s huge weight, making it seem as though the lizard was hovering above them.

For several seconds, the only sound in the scorching air was the lizard’s painful screams, as its most formidable weapon—its venom—was vaporized inside its body.

Suddenly, the man in red roared, intensifying the fire into a pillar that pushed the Acid Snake Lizard back. Its body flew over the mage tower and turned to ashes before hitting the ground.

“Impressive,” the man in white said, utterly fascinated.

The man in red said nothing, just giving a slight smile as thanks. O’Sullivan looked displeased at his hand, still held by the man in red, which was clutching a handkerchief.

He cleared his throat as a reminder, and the other man immediately let go.

“Ah, right! We could just lift off the roof to get in. How did I not think of that?” O’Sullivan muttered to himself, covering his mouth with his handkerchief as he stared at the ruined roof.

Just now, two more reckless swamp creatures were burned to death. Hearing Sullivan’s words, the man in red began preparing the materials needed to make a ladder. The roof that 47 used to like the most was now completely in ruins. Looking down from above, a long stretch of cracked mud behind Sullivan resembled the trail left by a snail against the surrounding swamps. Bloodaxe swung his axe with force, knocking over the last decay wolf. As its massive body crashed to the ground, the entire pack was annihilated. The filthy blood smeared across the swamp’s muddy ground, forming a path of blood. Despite being surrounded by wolves, Quick kept talking nonstop—though not in a way that was particularly annoying. Yet 47 had no interest in him at all. Returning to the swamp reminded him of many past events. Even though he had only stayed in Rain City for a short time, 47 still felt as if it were a long time ago. They had been traveling through the swamp for two days. Bloodaxe stubbornly refused Moriel’s suggestion of using predictive magic to determine their direction. He simply picked a path to follow without changing direction, no matter if they encountered impassable mud pits or ferocious swamp creatures. In just two days, it seemed like they had slain countless swamp creatures and massive decay wolves. Bloodaxe demonstrated his incredible strength with his great axe, making it nearly impossible for the others to join the battle while he killed. 47 witnessed the dwarf warrior Bloodaxe’s immense destructive power. His axe spun in his hands, accurately hitting targets from afar, while for close-range enemies, a single punch from Bloodaxe was enough to send them flying. No matter what, although Bloodaxe appeared clumsy, his strength was astonishing, and his speed during attacks was also remarkable. He truly was the strongest warrior in Rain City. It was a pity for those who usually acted tyrannically—they often didn’t even get a chance to attack, let alone harm others. But the legendary Spiral Axe still hadn’t appeared, and 47 was eager to learn more about it. However, Moriel and Quick successfully stopped him from doing so. Bloodaxe had no goodwill toward 47. If 47 were his personal property, Bloodaxe would likely treat him as roughly as he treated that werewolf. On the third day, the group camped by a shallow lake—though it was actually just a large pool of water. 47 took off his backpack and Moriel cast a spell on it, quickly unfolding a tent. These days, Moriel had been sleeping in this tent, while 47 couldn’t enter and had to stand outside, serving as the night watch for the entire group. Bloodaxe faced more trouble. Quick and Kane each carried heavy loads, and after arriving at the campsite, they busied themselves setting up tents. Bloodaxe sat leisurely on the back of the kneeling werewolf, with the young dwarf standing behind him. Jason sometimes slacked off by going to one side and sometimes came to help. Often, by the time Moriel fell asleep, only half of the tent had been set up.

“It’s really convenient to be a magician, while we work from dawn to dusk like slaves,” Quick grumbled softly as he kept busy. At that moment, Bloodaxe approached, and Quick immediately fell silent. He watched as Bloodaxe went over to Forty-Seven, who was standing outside the tent. Bloodaxe glared at him, and Quick promptly returned to working on the tent.

Morriel was in meditation inside the tent. Today, they had encountered several young sour snake lizards—these creatures, as the rulers of the swamp’s food chain, rarely acted in groups even in their juvenile, less venomous state, unless under special circumstances. It took everyone working together to defeat them, and Morriel had spent too much magic power on this. Meanwhile, Forty-Seven, due to his tragic past, contributed little to the effort.

“I’ve seen many constructoids, but I’ve never met one like you!” Standing in front of Forty-Seven, Bloodaxe indeed seemed very small, but no one would dare underestimate him, especially with that huge axe he carried behind his back.

“You mean you’ve never seen such a tattered constructoid? Mr. Bloodaxe,” Forty-Seven said, lowering his head slightly as he looked at this violent, angelic-looking dwarf.

“Hmph!” Bloodaxe snorted. “At least I’ve never seen a golem that knows how to joke…” At that moment, the werewolf let out a low growl behind Bloodaxe. He had pulled out a strange fish with seven fin-like legs from a muddy hole and was frantically tearing at its carcass. The sound of him chewing loudly, along with his heavy breathing, was rather eerie.

Bloodaxe suddenly drew out a whip wrapped around his waist and swung it hard backward, hitting the werewolf on the back. The werewolf angrily raised its head to find the attacker. When it realized it was Bloodaxe, it whined once and left obediently.

“Your pet is interesting,” Forty-Seven said, raising his head again to signal that the conversation was over.

Bloodaxe wasn’t expecting Forty-Seven to react that way. From his observations, Forty-Seven wasn’t an ordinary constructoid, yet he didn’t seem different from others. Bloodaxe didn’t want to think too deeply about it. As long as this golem—or whatever it was—helped him get what he wanted, it didn’t matter what it really was.

Bloodaxe was upset by the earlier conversation, so he took his anger out on the werewolf who had caused trouble.

Nights in the swamp were especially long. Two tents stood alone in the swamp, with a dying campfire emitting its last traces of heat. Forty-Seven stood at the entrance of Morriel’s tent, Jason and Copperhammer slept near Bloodaxe’s tent, while Quick and Kane lay on blankets by the campfire.

Forty-Seven glanced at the campfire, turned his head to look into the dark swamp, then turned it back again. Suddenly, he stopped. If he had eyelids, he would have blinked hard to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. But since he didn’t, Forty-Seven simply stared at the campfire as if lost in thought.

Quick disappeared along with his blanket. There was a hole where he had been lying; though it wasn’t very noticeable due to the weeds covering it, 47 was sure it was a pit large enough to hold Quick and his blanket. Quick and his blanket simply turned into a hole, silently.