Chase had had enough.
Gritting his teeth, Chase put every ounce of strength into his swing. The pick bit into the flesh of the dinosaur's neck, tearing through muscle and bone. Despite the spray of blood, the beast refused to go down. It bellowed in pain, its clawed hands flailing, trying desperately to reach Chase from his place on its neck, but he held on like a stubborn tick.
The ground beneath them shook as the dinosaur thrashed, its tail whipping up dust and debris. Chase tightened his grip on the pick, pulling himself closer to the creature's massive skull. Each heartbeat of the beast pounded against his chest like war drums, urging him to finish the fight.
With a fierce yell, Chase drove the pick deeper, aiming for the vital arteries he knew from his survival training were crucial. Blood gushed more profusely now, dark and thick, painting his arms red up to the elbows. The dinosaur's movements grew sluggish, its roars weakening into pitiful groans.
Just when Chase thought it was over, the beast gathered its last reserves of strength. It reared up on its legs, nearly throwing Chase off balance. He clung desperately to his weapon, aware that falling now meant death under the thrashing limbs.
As the dinosaur towered over the ruined landscape, it seemed for a moment as though it would prevail. But then its eyes rolled back, and with a final shudder that sent vibrations through the earth, it collapsed sideways. Chase barely managed to leap off in time, rolling away from the crashing behemoth.
He stood slowly, breath heaving in ragged gasps as he surveyed the fallen giant. The air was thick with dust and the iron scent of blood. Around him, the remaining two dinosaurs were bleeding out, the feathered raptor and the steg dying in pools of their own blood.
His gaze fell on the trio of wounded dokkalfar, their bodies littered with cuts and bruises. They were still breathing, but it was clear they needed medical attention soon.
Chase turned his gaze to the Uchmute, glaring at the hooting and shrieking chimp-like creatures, their faces painted in red war paint reminiscent of blood. His fists clenched and his jaw tightened as he glared up at the ape-like creatures, his eyes narrowed and his blood boiling at the sight of the blood-thirsty beasts.
Isushi, unlike the rest of them, was instead staring down at Chase, Thorir, Errsai, and Skeld, a contemplative expression on his face.
“You are stronger than I expected,” Isushi said, his voice booming through the room, echoing slightly, despite the lack of actual echoes.
“Then let us leave,” Chase called out as he wiped the blood from his face, ignoring the sting in his eyes. “Strength isn't just about raw power, it’s about determination and will.”
Isushi's gaze lingered on Chase for a moment longer before he turned to assess the rest of his tribe. The Uchmute chieftain’s expression softened slightly, a subtle sign of respect perhaps, but his posture remained imposing and authoritative.
“You have earned a brief respite,” Isushi declared, motioning to some of his underlings. Quickly, they scrambled forward, moving with a primal, simian gait that brought them from the stands to the arena with deceptive speed.
They didn’t touch Chase or the dokkalfar, instead making their way to the fallen dinosaurs and dragging the bodies away. Chase used the momentary distraction to catch his breath and glance around at his own group. Thorir was clutching his side, blood seeping through his fingers, but his eyes were alert and scanning for further threats. Errsai was helping Skeld to stand; the old warrior had taken a nasty blow during the fight and was noticeably limping.
Chase felt a rush of relief that he and his companions were alive and, relatively, unharmed. It could have gone much worse, but they had survived.
Isushi spoke again, his tone carrying through the arena, directed at the Uchmute who were growing more restless in the stands. “It has been some time since we have seen a battle such as this. The Cruel Spirits have given us quite a boon. Especially with the leader infected with the Umbulingo.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The crowd gasped, before bursting into an uproar, hooting, shrieking, and banging their crude weapons against the wooden barriers that separated them from the arena floor. The sound was deafening, a cacophony that reverberated in Chase's skull, but he kept his focus on Isushi, trying to decipher the cryptic mention of the Umbulingo. He’d never heard the word before, but it was probably the poison/virus that the assassin Uchmute had used.
Isushi continued, raising his voice to be heard over his tribe. “This one,” he gestured toward Chase, “bears the mark of the Umbulingo, yet stands victorious. A rare strength, worthy of respect. For that, he and his companions will be permitted to live the night.”
“How generous,” Chase drawled under his breath.
As the Uchmute continued their raucous celebrations and discussions about the implications of an ‘infected leader,’ Isushi motioned for silence once more. The crowd gradually settled, their attention snapping back to their chieftain.
“We will observe a night of peace,” Isushi pronounced after a weighty pause. “Heal your wounds, refresh your spirits. Tomorrow at dawn, we convene here again for the Feast of Strengths. Bring forth your capacities; prove your worth anew.”
With those ominous words hanging in the air, Isushi descended from his viewing stand, moving with a fluid grace that belied his powerful build. He stopped briefly by Chase, leaning in close, baring his teeth and speaking quietly.
“I hope you don’t die too quickly, you are by far the most entertaining human I have met,” Isushi said, and Chase was sorely tempted to swing his pick into the smug chimp’s face.
But he restrained himself, knowing that to strike now would doom him and his companions. Instead, Chase opted for a tight-lipped smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. “We have more surprises in store,” he replied, voice low and even, the threat veiled thinly beneath civility.
Isushi's laughter was a low rumble that echoed off the arena walls as he turned away, swaggering back to his entourage. Watching him go, Chase allowed himself a brief moment to feel the weight of the day's struggles—the physical pain, the mental exhaustion, and that renewed, gnawing fear about the poison. Then, he pushed those weights aside, it would serve no purpose to dwell on it now, not when survival was still uncertain.
Once Isushi and his troops had left the arena floor, Thorir staggered over to Chase, his face pale but his gaze sharp, “We need to find out what this Umbulingo is—and fast.”
Chase shook his head, “I already know enough about it. Our current priority is to get you lotpatched up.”
He glanced at Errsai and Skeld, who were struggling to remain standing. Thorir followed his gaze, and let out an annoyed huff, “I have some medicines in my pack, but it’s not going to be enough to get the three of us to full.”
“Errsai, Skeld, either of you know any healing spells?” Chase asked as he made his way over to where the raptor’s body had been.
“A weak one,” Skeld said weakly, his hand pressing to his chest, a faint light emanating from his hand.
“Better than nothing,” Chase mumbled, reaching down and picking up several teeth, feathers, and one of the sickle claws, all having come off the raptor during the battle. “Get yourselves as patched up as you can, we’ll rest and prepare ourselves for what our…hosts have in store for us tomorrow.”
As the dokkalfar patched themselves up, Chase pondered their next moves. The Feast of Strengths sounded ominous and mysterious—likely another series of brutal tests or combats. They would need every advantage they could muster. Which was why he scoured the arena for anything and everything that might have once been part of the dinosaurs they’d just fought.
Upon gathering everything he could find (mostly odd feathers, scales, teeth, a spike from the steg, and a lot of blood), Chase opened up his crafting menu, hoping beyond hope that maybe he would be able to craft something useful out of the bits and bobs. After fiddling with the menu and the resources he had available, Chase held his most recent creation in his hands.
Primal Raptor Kerambit (K)
Offense: 145*
Durability: 75
Magic Resistance: 250
Special Features: Armor Piercing (Cunning), Assassination, Blood-Bound, Spell Disrupting (10% Cunning)
Taking a moment to get a feel for the curved knife, how it moved in his hand, Chase examined the two new special features. He had a strong suspicion as to what they’d do, as one in particular seemed fairly self explanatory.
Assassination: When striking a vital area, a weapon with this property has an effective Offense value of (Base × 5).
Spell Disrupting: Attacks by a weapon with this property have a chance at dispelling magical effects on the target.
Chase’s eyes widened and he whistled in surprise. This would be a lot more valuable than he’d been expecting, on top of that, it was the first item he’d crafted that was ranked at K rather than L.
“Lord Newell,” Errsai’s voice pulled Chase from his examination, and he slid the new blade into his belt as he made his way over to the dokkalfar.
“What is it?” he asked.
“We have a serious problem,” Thorir said bluntly.