Through the surge of unpleasant emotions, Daisuke shifted his focus to the creature’s name, intrigued by its correlation with “Honeywasp.” Consulting the Monster Guide Handbook, now seamlessly integrated into the System interface, he discovered that Honeywasp Orcs inhabited the Thra’gul Mountains.
Upon reaching maturity, these Orcs permitted Honeywasps—a winged insect—to inhabit their hollow tusks. In exchange for providing a safe haven from predators, the Orcs occasionally received honey. It was a perfect example of symbiosis—a mutually beneficial relationship.
Daisuke wasn’t impressed. “Well, I hope I never have the pleasure of crossing paths with one on a straight and narrow road,” he muttered sarcastically.
“Rawrwu~”
“You’re right, buddy—let’s dive back into the heart of the matter,” Daisuke remarked, his hand coming up to cup his chin in contemplation. “If I could store twenty-five corpses, does that mean I can also store the same number of live monsters?”
In response to the rhetorical question, Zephyr seized the initiative and darted into the thick foliage in pursuit of prey. Daisuke nodded appreciatively, acknowledging his companion’s instinctive action, before reaching into his inventory to discard a single corpse.
The Forest Imp quietly materialized on the ground, its still form enveloped in a faint blue glow that dissipated like pixie dust. It was one of the earlier monsters Daisuke had salvaged on his way to Elmridge with Elena and the others. Like food, he noted that the corpse hadn’t decomposed at all.
It didn’t take long for Zephyr to return, his jaws firmly gripping a flailing Horned Rabbit. It was evident that the effort had taken a toll on the pup to bring it back alive.
“Great work!” praised Daisuke, his hand promptly grasping the creature by its long, furry ears. “Now, let’s put that theory to the test.”
DING!
[Your inventory has reached its maximum capacity for storing monsters.]
“Darn. Well, so much for that idea,” Daisuke muttered, effortlessly dispatching the white-coated fiend with a swift slash of his blade. “But hold on a sec!” he exclaimed, a memory of hunting expeditions with Professor Bayley surfacing in his mind. “What if I use a magic bag? Could I haul more mobs that way? The real kicker is the cost; they’d likely demand my organs as payment.”
“Krrk,” Zephyr growled, tugging on Daisuke’s pants with his teeth, harmless yet insistent.
“What’s the matter?” Daisuke inquired.
Zephyr twirled around, as if chasing his tail, then darted ahead and stopped to gaze intently at his comrade.
“Do you want me to follow you? Is that it?” guessed Daisuke.
“Arf!”
“Now that I think about it, you weren’t running away from those Kobolds, were you?”
Zephyr barked in confirmation.
“In that case, I’m right behind you,” Daisuke said as he inventoried the Horned Rabbit instead of the Imp. “Just lead the way.”
***
In the suffocating embrace of darkness, a lone girl sat, her skin slick with sweat, her delicate face marred by soot. Memories stirred within her as she slept, flickering like wildfire in her mind’s eye. The ominous rattle of chains, the chilling touch of metal restraints, the monstrous profile of a crazed butcher, futile attempts to escape, excruciating pain, and then, enveloping blackness.
Morgana’s eyes snapped open in alarm, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. As she sat on a bed of hay against a cavern wall, a wave of nausea washed over her, and her memories felt distant and hazy. Yet, a dull ache and a vague recollection drew her attention to her waist.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Gasping in horror, Morgana’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of her amputated and cauterized leg. A surge of grief twisted her expression, and she began to sob uncontrollably, careful to stifle her cries so as not to alert the savage beasts prowling the chamber.
***
Amara felt like a lost lamb surrounded by a pack of ravenous wolves. She knelt inside a half-destroyed chapel, a waning barrier barely keeping her lustful enemies at bay.
The bandits sprawled across the dimly lit chamber, indulging in food and drink with rowdy abandon. Despite their feast, their hungry glances would occasionally fixate on Amara—a hunger that meat and wine couldn’t satisfy.
Once a sanctuary for worship, the chapel had been transformed into a base for hooligans and their nefarious agendas. Yet Amara refused to see it as such. Despite her dire circumstances, she clung to her faith, spending every moment in captivity devoted to prayer.
The leader of the bandits abruptly pushed to his feet, brushing off the lackey who was just about done applying the bandage to his swollen nose. “This is the last straw,” he declared venomously, commanding the attention of his comrades. “That damn goblin has made a fool of us for the last time!”
The bandits, clad in the gear they had plundered from adventures, surged upright and brandished their weapons, their faces reflecting their leader’s fury and determination.
“We’ve amassed enough wealth from this unsavory alliance,” the man reasoned, his voice filled with conviction. “Now we can procure all the horses we need and expand our forces.”
The men raised their weapons and roared in agreement.
“The goblins are nothing without the might of the Orc. While the beast is still outside the village, it’s the perfect time to strike. We’ll pay those damn green bastards back for every ounce of humiliation we’ve endured.”
“YEAH!!” the bandits gave another thunderous cheer, their spirits soaring with anticipation.
“What about the girl?” Queried one of the men.
The leader strode confidently toward the golden barrier and lashed out with his knife, but the blade failed to penetrate the glowing sphere. Nonetheless, the sound of impact visibly unsettled Amara, causing the barrier to fluctuate as her concentration wavered.
The man smirked. “It’s just a matter of time before she runs out of mana and the barrier dissipates,” he informed, a knowing glint in his eye. “Norman. Egga,” he gestured at the two men, “you’ll remain behind and keep our hostage secure. But don’t you dare get ahead of yourselves. I’ll be the first to take that woman; I didn’t get my nose crushed out of simple charity, y’know.”
Laughter erupted from the group.
“That only goes without saying.”
“Roger that!”
Norman and Egga replied with matching grins, their eyes hungrily tracing the girl’s features like a physical caress.
“Alright, you bastards,” the leader declared, his tone full of resolve. “Let’s go and slaughter some shitty goblins! I’ve had just about enough of this blasted place!”
“OHRAHH!”
***
Morgana felt herself emerging from her stupor to a cool sensation enveloping her injured leg. Her vision sharpened slightly, allowing her to discern a lone woman nearby, her hands emitting a soothing white light.
“…A-Amara?” she muttered weakly, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.
“…I think you have me confused with someone else, dear,” the woman replied with a wan smile.
Morgana’s body tensed at the realization. She attempted to shift her leg away, but the movement only rewarded her with a jolt of excruciating pain.
“Careful,” the woman cautioned softly, her voice carrying a hint of concern. “You wouldn’t want to reopen the wound; you’ve already lost quite a bit of blood.”
“…Who are you?” asked Morgana defensively.
“A prisoner, like yourself,” came the straightforward reply. “I’m Gloria. And you are?”
“…Morgana,” replied the girl, her gaze assessing the nun whose burly disposition almost rivaled Gretchen’s. “I’m an adventurer,” she began, then glanced down at her leg with a sigh. “Although, with this kind of injury, it might be more accurate to say I’m a former adventurer.”
“I see,” said Gloria, her attempt to console the girl falling short as she struggled to find the right words.
“…Where am I?”
“We’re inside a goblin’s cave.”
Closing her eyes, Morgana pressed her fingertips to her temples, hoping to untangle the threads of memory that eluded her grasp. A relentless headache pulsed behind her eyes, complicating her efforts to piece together the events leading up to this moment. Even the ordeal of losing her leg felt like nothing more than an incoherent nightmare. And yet it was undeniably real.
“…That goblin with the staff,” Morgana began, her voice quivering with uncertainty, “it didn’t seem like your typical monster at all.”
As the woman rose to her feet, the faint clink of her shackle echoed in the dim cave, the long chain connected to it disappearing among the large rocks and hordes of old furniture cluttering the cave.
“Very perceptive,” Gloria acknowledged with a wry smile.
Using the wall for support, Morgana gingerly stood up. Beyond the chaos of the clutter, she glimpsed several crudely made tents illuminated by the soft glow of mana crystals. To the far left, near one of the tents, a group of goblins labored with primitive tools, their movements frenzied yet purposeful.
“What are they building?” she inquired, her gaze scanning the area in a futile attempt to locate her bow and quiver.
“…Your tent,” Gloria informed flatly, a hint of hopelessness tainting her tone.
Morgana’s eyes quivered. At the woman’s ominous words, she felt a sense of dread settle over her. She somehow knew that a fate awaited her that was far more painful than the loss of her severed leg, and more terrifying than death itself.