Chapter Thirty-Five:
“A Lovely Brunch”
Roland had been walking since before dawn, making sure to break camp before the fire’s enchantment wore off. He wasn’t about to be caught sleeping when whatever lurked in these woods realized he was no longer protected.
He had made it through the night just fine, but the feeling gnawed at him, things had been too easy.
He bit off the last strip of his roasted rabbit, chewing slowly as he followed the narrow game trail. His Map marked Emberwood Village only a few miles ahead. Finally.
Maybe, if the place was safe, he could actually get some answers. He sighed, stretching his neck before muttering, “You know, Geeves, for all your love of pain and suffering, you’ve been awfully quiet. Didn’t get your morning coffee?”
Silence.
Not even a whisper of amusement from her. No mocking laugh. Nothing.
He frowned, slowing his pace slightly. That couldn't be a good sign.
The usual sounds of morning had faded. No birds chirping, no rustling from small creatures darting through the brush.
Just the faint whisper of wind through the canopy and the crunch of his boots.
Then, a sound. Faint, dry.
A rattle. Definitely not good.
Roland froze mid-step, instinct taking over before logic could catch up. His eyes lowered to the ground, scanning the path ahead. His foot hovered inches from a coiled form nestled between two fallen logs.
A massive serpent, its thick, patterned scales blending almost perfectly with the dirt and debris. Its head lifted slightly, forked tongue flicking out, tasting the air.
The name hovered just at the edge of his vision.
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Venomfang Vipers, Level 3
Weakness: Ice.
Suddenly Roland began to notice the movement coming from all around him.
One snake was bad enough.
Then he heard it again, not one, but multiple rattles.
He wasn’t just looking at a snake.
He had walked into a nest.
And they had already tasted his scent, and they were hungry.
The first viper struck fast. Roland barely wrenched himself back in time, the venomous fangs grazing his coat instead of sinking into flesh. But that was just one. More slithered from the underbrush, emerging from every direction, the dry sound of rattling filling the air like an unholy chorus.
And then the ones from above came.
He caught sight of them dropping down from the canopy—some hanging from branches, others coiling before launching themselves toward him. Nowhere to run. No clean escape.
"Why’d it have to be snakes?" he muttered under his breath. Then he smirked. "Now I know why Indiana Jones hated these things."
"Oh, Roland," a voice purred, rich with amusement. Gameweaver. "I do apologize for being so quiet. You're right, I hadn’t had my morning coffee."
A rush of hisses surrounded him, bodies tightening, muscles ready to strike.
"And just like my dear little friends here, I have yet to enjoy breakfast."
One of the larger vipers lunged, and this time, Roland wasn’t fast enough.
Fangs pierced his neck.
No pain, just the overwhelming sensation of fire flooding his veins. His HP began ticking down, 1 point per second.
He cut through the viper with a desperate slash, sending it writhing to the ground before its body disintegrated into colored dust. The others did not retreat. If anything, the scent of blood only made them more aggressive.
Roland's world grew fuzzy.
Another strike, this time from the side. Fangs found purchase in his leg.
-2 HP per second.
Roland’s vision blurred. His health was draining.
His body felt heavier with each second.
He swung wildly, cutting down another, then another. His mind screamed at him to move, but the poison was slowing him down. He needed to end this.
Now.
Ice.
Roland growled through clenched teeth and forced his remaining strength into one final move. He slammed his fist into the ground.
“CHILL!”
A wave of frost exploded outward, the temperature plummeting instantly. The ground froze solid within a six-foot radius, ice creeping up the surrounding trees, engulfing the nest in a freezing grip.
The vipers didn’t retreat. They didn’t have time.
They shattered.
The battlefield fell silent, save for Roland’s ragged breathing. EXP notifications blinked in his vision, Coins tallying up beside them.
But he couldn’t stop. Not yet.
He turned, staggering forward. His HP was still ticking down, the poison relentless.
He raised a shaking hand and muttered, “Soothe.” A warm glow pulsed over him, stabilizing his health, but his MP wouldn't last forever.
He looked at his Map. Emberwood Village was there. Not out of reach. He could make it.
Maybe.
His legs felt like lead. His heartbeat slowed. His vision blurred at the edges.
"Thank you for joining me for brunch, Roland," Gameweaver whispered.
The world swayed.
And Roland pushed on.
Humbled.