POV : BELIEF SETTLEMENT
An hour later, Major Cromwell’s unit was packed and ready for the trek. His soldiers, standing in perfect formation, went through their final arrangements.
“Weapons check!” barked one of the sergeants, his voice sharp, cutting through the morning air.
The men moved efficiently, checking their loadouts: crossbows, carefully strapped across their backs, alongside 40-liter bags filled with rations, portable demon dog wards, medical supplies, and essential survival gear like ropes, bandages, and water. Their guns, now unreliable in this wasteland, had been replaced by crossbows, a weapon they had all spent some time getting familiar with. The transition had been smoother than expected—these soldiers were adaptable, and discipline ensured they learned quickly. The mana enhanced swords they now carried were a welcome upgrade from the standard-issue knives they once bore, and level one armor clanked softly over their military uniforms as they moved.
Uniformity was key. The Belief Settlement prided itself on maintaining its military structure, refusing to adopt the crude wasteland materials many other groups had resorted to. No bones, no mismatched gear. They were a professional unit, and Cromwell would have it no other way.
As they began their 50-kilometer march toward the flare—a beacon of hope—Cromwell kept a steady pace at the front, eyes ever forward, his men falling into formation behind him. The terrain was rough, and the march would take them two days, with a night spent in the wilderness.
An hour into the hike, they encountered their first test: trolls.
"Contact!" a scout shouted from the front.
Cromwell’s jaw tightened. Trolls. He’d only fought them once, but once was enough to know they were brutal. Hulking figures, their mottled green skin gleamed in the sun as they charged, jaws wide open, claws ready to rend flesh. Some carried crude clubs—primitive, but deadly in the right hands.
“Get the torches out!” ordered one of the sergeants.
“Crossbows ready!” Cromwell shouted, his voice hard as steel. “Fire at will!”
"THWIP! THWIP!, THWIP!," came the soft sound of bolts being fired from the crossbows, followed by a rapid ‘thud, thud, thud‘ as they struck troll flesh. The trolls, however, didn’t stop. They roared in defiance, still charging with savage determination.
The first wave of trolls crashed into the soldiers like a tidal wave of fury. Crossbow bolts sank deep into their flesh, but until the torches could ignite, the trolls tore through the front lines with terrifying strength. Soldiers screamed as claws slashed through armor, and crude clubs splintered bone and steel alike.
The battle erupted. Major Cromwell, his face a mask of rage and focus, barked orders. "Hold the line! Hold it, damn you!"
The soldiers fought back, disciplined but overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity of the trolls. One troll managed to tear through a soldier’s chest, sending him crumpling to the ground in a pool of blood. But the numerical advantage was with Cromwell’s men, and soon the tide turned.
With torches now burning, the soldiers pushed back, setting the trolls alight. The creatures screamed in agony as their flesh caught fire, the stench of burning skin filling the air. But not before the trolls had claimed the life of one soldier and left several others gravely wounded.
"Medic!" one of the sergeants yelled, his voice cracking under the weight of urgency. "We need medics, now!"
The newly drafted medical refugees—many with no choice in joining—rushed forward, pulling out medkits and stabilizing the wounded soldiers. Their hands shook, unaccustomed to the horrors of the battlefield, but they worked quickly.
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One of the doctors, pale but determined, knelt beside a critically injured man, his voice strained. "These men won’t make it if we don’t get them back to the settlement. We need proper medical facilities."
Major Cromwell scowled, his lips drawn into a thin line. "We can’t afford the time."
The doctor looked up, frustration and desperation flashing in his eyes. "Major, we have to. They’ve only been out here for an hour. If we move now, we can save them."
Cromwell’s second-in-command, a seasoned officer with a calm demeanor, stepped forward. “Sir, we could send fifty men back with the wounded. They can double-time it and rejoin us once the men are stabilized.”
Major Cromwell paused, considering the situation. The pragmatist in him wanted to leave the wounded behind—they couldn’t risk delaying the mission. But the commander in him knew that morale would shatter if they abandoned their own.
"Fine," he said, his tone clipped. "Fifty men. Get them back to the settlement, then rejoin us. No delays."
The soldiers quickly mobilized. Fifty men broke off from the main unit, carrying the injured back toward the settlement. The rest of the army, undeterred, began looting the trolls' bodies for mana coins, their faces a mix of satisfaction and weary relief.
‘‘‘
POV : WILDERNESS OUTSIDE OF FORT BONE
Marnie and Derek were out on their slime farm harvesting slimes, when Marnie broke the silence. This was nothing but laborious.
“With the King Pod slime gone, Fort Bone really reduced the bounty.”
“Yeah,” Derek agreed, slicing through another slime with a grunt. “We were rolling in it for a while. Now slime farming’s still profitable, but not as good as before. How are we even gonna explain hauling in this many damn slimes without looking like total psychopaths?”
PLOP
Another slime full of Soylent: Green twinned itself.
Marnie shrugged, “I don’t know. Slimes reproduce fast, and everyone knows the risks of letting one grow big enough to turn into another King Pod. So yeah, we’re culling them like crazy. But buying so much Soylent Green’s getting expensive, and I swear, we’re almost spending more on feeding them than we’re making on their gooey corpses.”
“Yeah, and we can’t keep dumping this many slimes on Abdul or the merchant group without getting busted. It’s not illegal, but it’s definitely... slimy.” Derek chuckled at his own bad joke.
“Alright, our wagon is getting full, and these slimes are looking good. Let's head back to Fort Bone.”
“To take over the world? “
“No. To sell the slimes Derek.”
***
POV : FORT BONE
They hauled their latest batch of slime corpses back to Fort Bone, lugging them toward the market when they overheard Isabella and Barbara chatting.
“So, Barbara, what do you think? Is the menu set for Bone Appetit?” Isabella asked, practically bouncing. They had picked out the architectural plans already and were eager to hit the GO button.
“I am most eager for its debut,” Barbara replied, a hint of pride in her voice. “Though the task of establishing the Wasteland’s largest restaurant is indeed daunting, I am confident that with your latest revisions, we shall be successful. However, the matter of our ingredient procurement remains. Relying on vending machines is hardly cost-effective.”
Isabella nodded, “We’ll put up bounties, just like we did with the slimes.”
“How many adventurers do you believe will be enticed by these bounties? It hardly like they’ll be responsive,” Barbara inquired.
“Enough for a steady supply,” Isabella replied, glancing at her list. “The big question is, what are we low on? Let’s see… mutant deer, we’re good. Giant ants, eh, not so bad. But slimes? That’s where we’re really hurting.”
“Slimes?” Barbara tilted her head. “I assumed there was an abundance.”
“Not since the King Pod slime’s gone. The dungeon’s giving us a few, but nowhere near what we need. The Portal Crushers can only find so much. And, well, I’ve been buying up all the corpses instead of handing them over to the crafters.”
Amber, strolling by, caught the tail end of that. “Yeah, we noticed. We didn’t receive many slime corpses today.”
Isabella shot her a guilty grin. “Hey, a girl’s gotta eat, right?”
With fewer slime corpses coming in, the slime gambeson prices had been slowly trending upwards.
Amber chuckled as she walked off. “Hustle game’s strong on that girl.”
Barbara, with a determined look, said, “Very well. Let us post these new bounties at once and hope for ample returns.”
‘‘‘
Marnie and Derek glanced at each other, and the same thought clicked. They hadn’t really been paying attention to the chatting women nearby, until the words “increased bounties” and “slimes” hit their ears like an overzealous algorithm with a censor function.
Derek’s eyes lit up, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking Marnie?”
Marnie grinned, “Yes, Derek. Tomorrow, we take over the world.”
If there was a way of seeing inside the heads of the two adventurers it would show two fat white mice grinning while rubbing their paws together, dead slimes around them and lots of golden coins. It probably would be drawn in an anime style.