Suchi, a private forest in whose treetops a bird with rainbow tail-feathers nibbled on iridescent berries, blissfully ignorant of the bipedal chameleon jogging below.

-Danontherightwing: Who do you think the intruder is, Big Bro?

'No clue.' Henry gave the footprints a closer inspection. ‘Woman, solo, 73 kg, jogging straight for the campsite. Nevermind.’ Coming to a sudden stop, he into a stallion, his transformation alerting the Rainbow Lark above into taking flight. ‘It’s just my friend.’

He needed to ease up on the sauce; it’d been impairing his judgement.

-Danontherightwing: Who?

‘The one you met this morning at The Horny Boar Fields. Her name’s Caramel.’

Waiting for Dan and Donkey Bro, he led them at a relaxed trot through the forest, sending a message ahead so that his guildmate didn’t kill them on sight.

A short while later, they arrived at a campsite consisting of a yurt by a pond. There, a Shaman—with hair the yellow of straw that’d been lying in a barn for 3 months and a Legendary rapier dangling from her waist—was tossing slabs of raw meat to a ravenous pack of wolves.

The pack, recognising Henry as he returned to his human form, gave him a sour look.

“Damn, I knew she didn’t claim the land after slaying him," muttered one.

“He might leave us alone if we ignore him.”

The wolves had been irritated with Henry ever since he shoved them into carts and relocated them here. With the enhanced cognitive powers of their Sentience, they'd realised that he'd probably ordered their initial abduction from The Forest of The Grey Wolves.

“The Earthfriend aesthetic suits you.” Caramel held up her wrist and pretended to snap a photo with an invisible e-assistant.

“Hilarious. What brings you here?”

The wolves didn’t need to be fed in person, an expensive Arcaneworker device having been installed to distribute food while Henry was away.

Caramel gave him a glare as sour as the wolves’. “I’m destressing. Because of a certain someone, I received some wonderful news after dinner that I won’t be sleeping tonight.”

The West Bank Autonomous Exclave was being redeveloped as part of Henry’s plan to undermine The Slum Empire. The overhaul was being conducted by the Ibanpita church, but the magnitude of the job required his guild to monitor it for potential threats to themselves. Caramel, being his inner circle’s representative in Suchi, had the responsibility of overseeing the operation.

Henry clicked his tongue. “That Ramiro’s a real stick in the butt.”

“Ramiro...yeah...What’s with the pick-up artist from the tutorial? Is it safe to show him this?”

Caramel, to maintain the secrecy of the monster army, hadn’t dared to bring her horse the whole way, hiding it in a bush off-road before running the remaining distance by foot.

Henry gestured at the handsome meathead. “Dan? Lop off the top of his skull, and I doubt you’d find a single conniving neuron. If any complications arise, I'll find a solution - exterminate all rats, confiscate everyone’s Bag of Rats, etc. Also, that’s his default avatar.”

Caramel, who’d thought little of most of her guild leader’s claims, swore at the last sentence. “What the heck?”

Dan, dismounting handsomely from the donkey, was surprised for his own reasons. “Big Bro are they tame?!”

“Didn’t I say that earlier? Please be careful around them. Being wild monsters, they’re very wary of humankind. It took me a great deal of effort to develop a delica—”

“Big Bro, I think they like me!”

A litter of wolf pups were darting in and out and around Dan’s legs.

“Handsome Human!” barked a she-pup with frosted tips. “You can call me Ifer!”

“My name’s Zimper!” announced a puppy previously too shy to move within 10 metres of Henry.

“What are you doing with a human like that?” sneered the pup whose nose Henry’d graciously repaired. “Want to wrestle?”

“Tapfar, with muscles so well-shaped and firm, he'd crush us! Human, human, let’s play wolf and squirrel!”

Dan, reading their mood, sprinted away innocently, the pups giggle-howling as they gave chase.

The adults, meanwhile, continued eating their meat, confident that one so handsome could have no ulterior motives.

“Ungrateful mutts!" shouted Henry, shaking his fist. "How many hours did I waste on you? How many tons of meat?!”

Beside him, the shabby donkey cackled. “What, you ask, is the identity of this familiar pain? This sting when the iron doors of a heart are flung open for another when moments earlier they were slammed shut in our face? What name we this throb on the tip of our hideous noses? Ah, it's our old friend, the cruel inequality of existence!”

“Agh!” Dan screamed in feigned agony when a pup nipped his ankle. Toppling over, he was smothered in fur as they climbed over him to be first to lick his handsome face.

Caramel nudged Henry. “Are you testing the language?”

“I am,” he grumbled, gathering 10 Fauna charges. “Alfgrim!”

At his call, a red-streaked wolf, the most obedient of the lot, jogged over and sat before him.

“Human?” it barked.

“Stay,” said Henry, casting on the creature.

The wolf was alarmed by the grey steam rising from its body, but, at the human’s repeated assurances and the realisation that the procedure was painless, it calmed down and told its family, who were setting up for an ambush, to back off.

After a minute, Henry’d absorbed the Grey Wolf form, which at Tier-0 had the abilities , , , and a that’d replaced .

Randomising a generic wolf avatar, he , grey fur sprouting from his face, his nose elongating into a muzzle, his legs shrinking, and a fluffy tail sprouting from his tail bone.

The transitional state blending human and monster features disgusted the wolves.

“Revolting.”

“I feel that steak coming back up.”

A she-wolf sniffed. “At least he’s shedding the human stink.”

“Wait! Doesn’t he understand us? Maybe he’s a not a human but a wolf trapped in a human’s body.”

“Don’t even say that!”

“Horrifying...”

“He was a horse before," observed Alfgrim, "so perhaps he has obtained a magical ability to transform into creatures. The methods of the humans are mysterious and infinite.”

“Correct!"

The wolves, their freeze response activating, became motionless.

“Did it work?” continued Grey Wolf Henry. “This should be the one, Rigan Grey Wolf (Suchi Dialect).”

Like humans, the Sentient monsters from different parts of Saana spoke distinct languages. Henry, while battling The Wolf Empress and her hundreds-of-thousands-strong horde summoned from across the globe, had learned a couple dozen. Suchi’s wolves used a dialect native to Riga, Volefa, where the monsters had originally been imported from after the drought curse was lifted from the zone.

“You speak wolf!” howled a wolf.

“Impossible!”

Henry attempted to shrug, but his wolf shoulders were incapable of the motion. “It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. After comprehension, speech is a small leap.”

However, like Tornadese, he could not pronounce the words with his human body. According to the Language Books in his Mental Library, in order to condense a sentence into a bark or a howl, nanoscopic variations were interwoven into the sound that could only be produced with specialised monster vocal organs. The variations were so subtle that, without a cheat skill like , they could not be discerned by the human ear. The languages of other Sentient Monsters were designed similarly; hence, even a God like Karnon struggled to communicate with them.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Oh, that makes sense then,” agreed a wolf.

Another nodded. “That’s reasonable.”

“Mhm.”

During the transformation, Dan had come over to watch, Caramel giving him a brief explanation. A pup on his shoulder with white fur around its eyes shaped like spectacles leapt down and bounded over to Henry.

“Hey, deceptive guy, can you teach me to shapeshift?”

“What do you want to learn that for, you nerd?” derided the pup with the repaired nose. “To become a stinky, soft-skinned human? Gross!”

“There might be a method.” Henry thought of The Redeemer’s years masquerading as a human, then connected up five obscure items from some of his ignored Legendary quests. “Realistically, you can’t afford the price.”

“Damn!” The pup lowered its head in disappointment. It’d briefly dreamed of becoming a fish and breathing in the rivers, a hawk and exploring the endless skies.

An over-sized white wolf, the pack’s matriarch, addressed Henry in a respectful but hostile tone. “Why did you abduct us, human? Is it as Melde claimed, that you wish to defang the pack into dogs?”

In the past, Henry would have lied here, but he decided now to be frank. “The emaciated wolf wasn’t entirely off base. The plan, overall, is to build an army of Sentient monsters to power farm through high-level dungeons and, in desperate times, act as a secret weapon of mass destruction. It’ll consist of a core unit of Tunnel Rats being augmented by monsters with group buffs, such as yourselves. What I want from your pack specifically is a regular source of volunteers to serve in one of these auxiliary roles. In exchange, the pack will be provided with a spacious territory, larger than this, a constant supply of game to hunt, medical care for injuries and disease, and protection from humans.”

“What are the risks?” asked Alfgrim, smelling no trace of deceit.

“For the majority of the pack, death by anything but senescence and in-fighting will cease, and your numbers will swell and swell. For the volunteers, you’ll have maybe a 20% chance of reaching retirement. For the duration of service, you’ll also be restricted from siring offspring since we'll be elevating you to the power level of this she-human; I can’t have packs of super wolves popping up everywhere.”

Hearing these conditions, most of the pack were put off from the deal, except a few males who showed signs of being persuaded. The she-human, they’d sensed, could wipe all of them out with a swipe of her man-paw. If this shapeshifting human wasn’t howling falsities, then they were being offered the opportunity to become creatures of legend, wolves that inspired enough dread and respect to command a mythical hundred-thousand pack.

“You must understand that your proposal has unsettling elements,” said the matriarch flatly.

“It does! So I won’t hold it against you if you decline. You’ll be returned safely to The Forest of The Grey Wolves, and I’ll try again with a different pack.” He omitted that this meant they’d be slain by noobs for XP; willing subjects were superior to those who felt coerced since they required exponentially less monitoring for backstabbing. “Anyway, I’m not here for an immediate answer. I’m heading to a dungeon now to level up, and since I have spare space in my group, I figured some of you could tag along to witness whether I’m a man of my bark. When I drop you back in a few hours, you’ll be Level 21 and have metamorphosed into a stronger form. Yes, Fliiz?”

The pup with spectacles lowered its raised paw. “What’s a dungeon?”

“Really...”

The whole pack was confused. The Sentient Bloodlust had expanded their intelligence, but their knowledge was still restricted to their personal experiences.

“Dungeons are special sites where the apparitions of powerful beings and significant moments in world history are stored. For example, today I battled with a house-sized wolf who could transform into a wave - you may have received telepathic messages from him."

"That was you!?"

"Yeah, but he instigated it. Anyway, after his death, a portal opened up beside his corpse for anyone who wishes to experience a simplified version of the encounter - a dungeon! From your end, you’ll be able to eat the apparitions I slay for XP. I have 3 spaces; you have the same number of minutes to decide. Fear not, this one'll be less dangerous than a pack hunt.”

The wolves discussed the issue amongst themselves in a hushed whisper. Then Alfgrim asked Henry to explain his certainty in their safety. In response, he had them gather around, cancelled his wolf form, ripped a stat scroll, then encouraged them to test the buff on the forest.

While the wolves and Dan were chomping through tree trunks, Henry and Caramel watched their assault, simultaneously envisioning the real terror once the rats were tamed.

“It’s happening,” said Caramel with a sigh. “The Supreme Cheat Magnet lucks into the next unbalanced mechanic.”

“There’s no luck, only genius.”

She laughed.

“Right, you haven’t explained how we get them into the dungeons with us.”

“That part’s easy. There’s a Peopleworker variant of ,” a skill that allowed NPCs to join a player's group, “that works for monsters. Funnily enough, it’s actually from Kanaru, invented by the Svabhaavaya Nomads of Thiimina.”

“Never heard of them.”

Henry cringed.

The drinking again...

Entering his Mental Library, he added a note to his calendar to concoct something to restrict his duelling power-level to a point where plebs could pose a challenge without making him stupid.

Afterwards, sneaking a glance at Caramel, his gaze was drawn to her avatar’s pot belly.

A potion to double his weight?

She suddenly clapped her hands, an epiphany smooshing together between her palms. “That’s Nerin’s 46th Trial, form a spiritual bond with a Macha Rhinohog! Your report stated that it was unsolved...a lie...meaning you’ve been withholding information…”

“Hey, it’s been lovely catching up,” he mumbled at an inaudible volume, “when you’re feeling tired tonight, imagine your pony farm.” He shapeshifted into a wolf and whisper-barked. “The jig is up, wolves! Make a decision, in or out!”

Alfgrim puffed out his chest. “I go alone. The pack won’t risk more until we’ve confirmed your trustworthiness.”

“Perfect, a respectable compromise!”

Henry messaged Dan to jump on the donkey, then the four of them made a quiet exit.

“...to keep my zone underdeveloped,” continued Caramel, “...because you have a grudge against it. Henry!”

Spinning around, she saw his tail vanishing into the forest.

On the way out, he filled his wolf mouth with plants and mushrooms. When they reached his mount outside, he mashed the ingredients together into a sedative paste and rubbed it onto the horse’s gums, causing it to calm down in the presence of their new wolf companion.

Throwing Alfgrim onto the drugged-up horse’s back, they rode onwards north.

As the miles accumulated behind them, the sparse forestland gradually transitioned into a semi-dense jungle, and the wolf steadily bulked up from monster hearts fed to him to get to level 11, the minimum to enter the dungeon with them.

After an hour’s ride, they forded the Suchi River on an improvised boat of reeds. Sailing across, the donkey showed off by using its to split a monstrous alligator that attacked their vessel in two.

The wolf froze in terror.

“Nice one, Donkey Bro!”

Henry threw a reed at the dumb donkey’s head. “You’ve been warned about using that in public! You’re going to get dissected by mad scientists!”

The donkey snorted. “I’d like to see them try!”

“Dude, you’re a literal one-trick pony! At least, wait until you’ve unlocked a second ability.”

“I have !”

“That doesn’t count. Even this horse has it.”

Dan gave his handsome chin a professor’s insightful rub. “Big Bro, you talk to Donkey Bro like he’s a person."

“That's because he is. Sort of. He’s sentient like the wolf, except I also taught him to understand human speech. Don’t spread that news either or he’ll be dissected. Seriously, I’m not exaggerating; there’s a lab in Nilke dedicated to hunting down exotic monsters and extracting their abilities for their demonic princes to absorb.”

Dan, discovering the donkey's secret, directed a stern glare at the monster-animal-king. “Why did you pretend you couldn’t hear me?! I told you to stop eating their beef goulash!”

The donkey hee-hawed arrogantly. “I will swallow whatsoever I desire!”

“Donkey Bro!”

Shortly after the crossing, they came upon an excavation site hidden in the jungle.

After three stories of earth had been stripped away, an ancient temple complex had been uncovered with diamond-shaped stones ornamenting the rooves and statues of longhorn beetles quadruple the height of an adult man.

The history of this place was likely unknown to any players in Suchi but Henry.

It’d been a place of worship for The Mammoth Beetle Theocracy, a state composed of human slaves to a Beetle deity that controlled the area during the age of The Redeemer, when monsters ruled.

In 6334 B.P., after The Redeemer’s downfall, this area along with the rest of Kanaru had been ‘liberated’ from its monstrous rulers by The Tyrant of Sokygemant a.k.a. The Deathless One - coincidentally, a former owner of Henry’s Ring of a Thousand Souls. In turn, The Deathless One, having an obsession with immortality, conducted human experiments on the freed slaves, transforming them into mindless undead automatons.

After that guy's assassination in 5148 by his generals, all mention of his abominable experiments were expunged from the historical record, the automatons were slain, and the remnants of their cities were buried beneath Suchi’s red clay.

Thus, The Mammoth Beetle Theocracy faded into the obscurity of time until one of their temples was unearthed today, as a dungeon for noobs.

“Mother and father,” bark-gasped Alfgrim. “They’re denser than an ant swarm!”

The wolf was overwhelmed by the sight of tens of thousands of humans crawling over the temples, which had been smeared with The Slum Empire’s flags and pockmarked with NPC stalls. Two-hundred thousand more were jammed within glowing portals spread around the complex, looting the apparitions of the past.

In The Slums and Saana in general, the popularity of PVE dwarfed that of PVP. Most players preferred the relaxed pace. Mutilating monsters was also less traumatising than people.

“Where to, Big Bro?”

Henry pointed to a set of obnoxious neon signs that indicated the direction of the temple’s various dungeon wings.

"Pick one."

"Assault On The Shrine of Baku...Bakuk..."

"Assault On The Shrine of Bakukkang, it is. Let's go."

Pushing through the crowd, they descended down a zig-zagging ramp into the excavation site, passing a station where teams were submitting their dungeon run-times to be displayed on a leaderboard.

"Can we participate in that?"

"Nope."

No one paid much heed to the Grey Wolf riding with them. Some stubbornly stupid Earthfriend roleplayers had a habit of befriending Sentient monsters despite the inability to converse. The practice was called ‘building Fuzzy Friendships’. Like all other forms of roleplaying, Henry was disgusted by it.

In the corner of his eye, he spotted the Byzantine PVErs having their gear repaired at a pop-up smithy.

-Graeme Walker: Mr Flower, north-east!

'Hi.'

He gave a wave.

-Graeme Walker: Did the rest of your pals get eaten in the jungles?

‘The two of us rode ahead. I’ll be power-levelling us with my Spelltomes so we can link back up when they get here.’

-Graeme Walker: You're still 0-3? You know, I’ve spied a staggering number of lowbie teams begging for tanks and healers. Why not accept them into your fold? Gamble on the serendipitous chaos of the pick up group!

Walker was a firm adherent to the school of dungeoneering.

Tossed together with randoms, clashing over strategies and roles and personalities, overcoming your differences to defeat something beyond yourselves, feeling the heart pumping at whether someone will steal the boss’s loot, and, on rare occasions, emerging from the trauma with a new lifelong friend - this was the stirring romance of pick up group PVE!

Henry shook his head. ‘Nah, I’m not interested in any of that.’

He had his party continue on.

They soon pulled up to the ruins of a shrine that’d been rended into 6 segments by a giant claw. Its crumbling entranceway was blocked by a portal sucking in and spitting out a continuous stream of dungeon teams.

After sticking a note on the horse reading ‘finders, keepers’, he formed a group with the others, then he, the meathead, the donkey, and the wolf entered the portal.