For the crabs on the flats, this was probably the most terrifying sight of their lives.
Imagine you're an ordinary iron-claw giant crab.
You're lazing through a summer's day amid familiar reeds.
Your tribe is the strongest monster band for miles.
Then—jackpot—meat walks right up to you.
You're thinking this might be the best day a crab could live.
The next instant—
the sky goes dark.
A soul-shaking pressure drops like a physical weight.
Your little eyes creak up.
A red dragon—the kind that only exists as a terror in ancestral memory, passed down in the blood—is staring at you as if you're a snack, sulfur smoke still curling from its maw.
How… how horrifying.
Heaven to Hell in a heartbeat.
That's what the iron-claw tribe at Shattered Shell saw.
"Grrr-rrr?!"
Crack!!!
After a heartbeat of dead silence came a wave of fear like a plague.
The swarm exploded.
Not one or two—almost all the ordinary crabs went mad. Those close to water bolted instinctively for the river—only to see a wall of fire raging ahead, throwing lethal heat and cutting off the way. Dragonfire isn't ordinary flame; even reeds rooted in water will catch and keep burning.
Only the elite crabs kept a semblance of calm—but just barely. Their shaking shells told the tale: a dragon had come.
"Rr—!"
Hephaestus roared. He was a petty drake—and the sight of panicked crabs stirred no mercy.
He beat his wings—and dropped like a red meteor into the densest knot of shells.
BOOOM!
The ground shook. Crabs too slow to flee were pulped on impact—shell shards, white flesh, and viscous fluids flying.
An ordinary iron-claw is huge for a crab—but under a red drake's talons, they're insects.
"Iron-Claw Giant Crab Slain ×1."
[Title Earned: 'Iron-Claw Crab Hunter.' This title will upgrade as kills increase.]
[Current Bonus: Armor Break – against iron-claw crabs and evolutions, shell damage +30%.]
Gauss flicked his eyes over the change. Not bad. Against fodder it barely mattered—his damage already overflowed. But versus elites and up, it would help—less effort to crack plate-hard shells.
The bestiary ticked to 48 ordinary species.
He left the panel and looked down. Hephaestus was still carving through fodder—every limb and tooth a weapon. A few crabs, driven to rare courage by mortal peril, brandished their impressive claws—and did nothing. The drake's hide was too tough.
With water blocked by fire and a furious dragon tearing up the center, the swarm streamed toward the flanks—right into Albena, Alia, Serandur, Ulfen, and a line of clay constructs.
Two "human walls" and control nets stood ready. Any crab that tried to slip out was locked down, cleaved in half, or strangled by clay hands.
The job's hard part had never been the fight—it was the net. From the look of it, the plan worked: a lot of crabs, yes—but all turtles in the pot.
From the saddle, Gauss nodded, then turned to the elites behind the swarm. The dragon's close presence had broken their hold; after a few failed commands, they gave up on their rabble and tried to slip into the trees.
"So much for 'stubborn and warlike,'" Gauss muttered as he read their intent. Fodder folding was one thing—but even elites and the chief?
Bullying the weak was in their nature.
Hephaestus, bored after dozens of fodder kills, turned on the bigger targets—especially the chief. The thought that the brute had eaten a share of his food rekindled his ire.
At Gauss' signal, he surged up on a gust. The chief froze—then looked up to see the dragon coming straight down. No escape. It planted itself, raising claws bigger than a man, black energy flooding over them until the iron shone with an ominous sheen. Its pinhead eyes flushed red; it sank in its stance—do or die.
Poison enchantment?
Gauss noted it and held his hand—he wanted to see what the sealed-down drake could still do. Besides, kills from the saddle still counted. He'd worked hard—he could enjoy the show and test the drake.
Hephaestus saw the energy—but didn't check his dive. At the last instant, his claws feinted—then slapped sideways instead of grabbing. A gale-backed palm hammered the softer side where leg meets body.
CRACK! THUD!
The strike launched the heavy crab—joint cracks sounding mid-flight. That gathered force had wrecked joints in one blow.
But the black energy discharged at point-blank, splashing the drake's chest with corrosive streaks. Hephaestus scratched at the mark, annoyed. At full strength, that slap would've powdered the thing—but his power was sealed; the whole world felt "soft."
The chief tumbled, then skidded to a stop, groaning. He tried to rise and stumbled like a drunk—broken legs wouldn't bear weight. Big as he was, the drake's hit had crushed hope.
Hephaestus took to the air—no more grappling. That black energy burned when it clung; there'd be no second dose.
"Rr!!!"
He dipped his neck and poured fire.
WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP!
A molten waterfall hammered the chief. The black shell flushed red. Most lethal—the dragonfire chased cracks and joints into the body, flooding inward.
"Ggaaa—!"
The chief screamed, rolling helplessly as fire rained. Broken legs and bulk made struggle pointless. Under the shell, soft meat and organs cooked, filling the air with a heavy, savory scent. Its eyes went dull, then white-hot—and stilled.
Seconds later, it lay still—sprawled on river-stones that had turned red with heat. The shell burst in places, exposing pure white flesh steaming like rice.
"Iron-Claw Crab Chief Slain ×1."
Gauss gulped. Alive, the shell had been glossy black; cooked, it was beautiful—deep and light reds marbled and mouth-watering.
But it wasn't meal time. He signaled Hephaestus away; the battle wasn't done. The drake obeyed—though he eyed the chief with longing.
With man and dragon in the fray, it was over in minutes.
"Iron-Claw Giant Crab Slain ×1."
"Total Monster Kills: 7,978."
Gauss swung down. Pity—just shy. No matter—there'd be river ghouls in the weeds to finish the tally.
He scanned bodies with the scoring stone.
213.
214.
…
The numbers climbed, stopping at 558. The chief had been worth the most—90 points. The other three elites gave 10, 15, and 30.
"Five-fifty-eight!" Alia clapped. "Based on this morning's board—top ten?"
"Hard to say," Gauss shook his head. "That was this morning. Others may be out there updating, too." In truth, he figured he'd cracked the top ten already—but caution cost nothing. He'd started late—but his edge was huge: time saved in travel and target search.
"Sir Gauss, what does first place get?" Albena asked.
"Top ranks get to pick magic items and spells—the higher you place, the more picks. Pretty sure there's some 'lake god's blessing' for first, too."
"Does that do anything?"
"Not really, from what I heard," Gauss said. Still—magic items were nice. Beast Bags, Folding Houses, the Eagle-Eye Monocle—those were still in heavy use.
"As for next…"
"Lunch."
They'd moved enough; breakfast was a memory. He and Hephaestus both eyed the gently smoking crab. They walked over.
"It does smell good." Even Alia, who usually balked at eating monsters, had to admit it was enticing. The fodder crabs, singed by dragonfire, didn't compare.
Maybe the "chief" really was special?
At Gauss' word, Albena raised her axe and broke it down.
CRRK-CRRK-CRRK!
The dragonfire had denatured the joints; the shell parted in a few strokes—two massive claws, four pairs of legs. When they lifted the top plate, a wave of rich aroma surged out.
Under the shell lay translucent, snow-white flesh and glossy roe. Heated evenly from within, the meat was perfectly done—billowing hot without a hint of scorch—its oils drawn out by heat, shimmering and inviting. The belly's huge roe was a pool of liquid gold, thick and fragrant.
Gulp.
Humans, dragon, wolf, raven—every throat swallowed.
Thank you, nature.
What a beautiful day.