Jace collapsed onto the ground with a groan, fumbling in his inventory until he pulled out a squat jar of healing unguent. Without ceremony, he scooped out a greasy handful and began smearing it onto the raw gouge in his thigh, paying no attention to the rivulets of blood still dripping down his leg.
"Why in the hell can an eel fly?" he muttered, wincing as the pungent paste sank into the wound.
The bite was in a particularly uncomfortable spot—high on the inside of his leg, just shy of an area he really did not want experimenting eels anywhere near. The flesh was ragged where the creature had torn into him, and the sting lingered even as the magical balm went to work. Slowly, he watched as skin knitted together, pink muscle smoothed out, and the bleeding ceased. It hurt like blazes, but seeing an injury vanish before his eyes never stopped being surreal.
After nine different monster encounters, Jace had gotten far too much practice in rapid patch-jobs. The three tins of unguent he'd started with were nearly gone—most of it smeared across his battered body. One whole tin had been burned through in a single fight, courtesy of something called a malicious hedgehog. That one had been much less cute than it sounded.
Still, there were small mercies. Jace had discovered he didn't have to gag on the noxious black smoke that erupted from monsters as they dissolved into loot. All it took was a touch—just a hand on the cooling body—and he could step well away before the creature began evaporating into oily fumes. The loot would still pop directly into his inventory, nice and clean.
Well, mostly clean. Any blood that splattered on him during the fight dissolved too, and that carried the stink straight onto his skin. Jace had learned quickly that burning monster ichor was not a scent that washed away easily.
The rewards, however, were at least predictable. Every creature dropped one lesser monster core and ten spirit coins, no exceptions. Beyond that, the system seemed to have a sense of humor—or maybe just very strange priorities. He was grateful for the steady supply of healing ointment, but the rest of the loot was often bizarre. Animal parts appeared neatly prepared as if gift-wrapped by an otherworldly butcher. The bundle of spines he pulled from the malicious hedgehog came tied up with string, and the tyrannical pheasant had provided a neatly wrapped parcel of meat straight from some cosmic deli.
All of it was categorized as "crafting material," and some clearly belonged to the "cooking" subset. Jace wasn't opposed to trying new food under normal circumstances, but tossing monster meat into a frying pan felt like the sort of thing that would earn him a very short obituary.
While waiting for the last traces of his thigh wound to finish sealing, Jace unfolded his map again. The hedge maze now showed a respectable portion sketched out, a messy web of pathways and dead ends. Even so, the thing was sprawling, and he'd wasted plenty of time doubling back when paths cut off. He traced a finger along the paper, marking out a fresh course. With a resigned sigh, he capped the ointment jar, pushed himself to his feet, and set off once more into the maze's endless green corridors.
The path ahead wasn't empty this time.
Growing right in the middle of the walkway stood a lone flower, rising half a metre from the grass. Its stalk was thick and twisted like a rope of gnarled wood, and the petals—if they could even be called that—were a sickly shade of brown. Instead of a gentle bloom, the head resembled a balled fist, knuckles clenched in anger. Against the endless uniformity of neatly clipped hedges and manicured lawn that had defined the maze so far, the thing was an eyesore, glaringly out of place.
Jace eyed it from a safe distance, every instinct telling him it was trouble. Still, it did nothing—no movement, no sudden lunge—just a plant, standing there in defiance of symmetry.
"…Yeah, I'm not buying it," Jace muttered.
He edged forward carefully, eyes never leaving the ugly blossom. Keeping his distance, he skirted around, giving it at least a metre of space. For a moment it seemed he'd overestimated the threat. He almost sighed in relief—until the flower shuddered.
A puff of spores burst from the petals, a cloud of dust that clung to him before he could react. Jace's head swam, dizziness striking him like a hammer. His knees buckled, and the world spun as he hit the ground.
Something heavy latched onto his leg. Jace blinked through the haze to see a vine, thick and writhing, erupt from the soil at the flower's base. At its tip was a swollen bulb, pulsing like a heart as it coiled around his thigh.
"Oh, no you don't," Jace growled, trying to kick it away. But his limbs felt like lead, his movements clumsy and weak. The vine ignored his flailing and slithered higher, wrapping around his torso. The bulb split open with a wet sound, revealing a ring of toothlike ridges. It lunged for his face and clamped down over his skull like some parasitic lamprey.
Jace's vision blurred, his mind fogged, but anger cut through the dizziness like a blade. He bit down hard, jaw clenched, and seized the vine with both hands. Muscles strained as he pulled with every ounce of strength.
The ground erupted. Soil heaved upward as something monstrous pushed free. At first it looked like a giant root vegetable dragged from the dirt—except this "root" had limbs. The thing was the size and shape of a human infant, its pale, tuber-like body grotesque in its imitation of flesh. The vine sprouting from its stomach connected it to the flower on its head, like a warped umbilical cord feeding a parasitic bloom.
Jace dropped the vine and lunged at the true body, wrapping his hands around it. He heaved it up, slammed it down across his knee with brutal force.
"People. Are. Vegetarians!" he shouted, each word punctuated by another savage crack.
"Vegetables. Aren't. People-tarians!"
With a final roar, he lifted the creature high and smashed it down with everything he had. The thing shattered apart in a spray of pulp and roots, bursting like a potato hurled from a rooftop onto concrete. Pieces scattered across the grass, twitching briefly before collapsing into inert mush.
Jace stood there panting, sweat dripping down his face. He glanced at the remains and muttered, "Salad's off the menu."
You have defeated [Carnivorous Mandrake]
Quest: [No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service]
Bonus objective complete: Defeat ten lesser monsters (10/10)
[Simple Footwear] has been added to your inventory
Primary quest objective still available
A chime echoed in Jace's head, followed by glowing text hanging in the air. He blinked at the notifications, then reached into his inventory and withdrew his newest reward. What appeared in his hands was… a pair of sandals. Plain leather straps, a thin sole, the sort of thing you'd expect to find in a bargain bin at a beach shop.
Jace stared at them for a long moment. After all the blood, sweat, and monster goop he'd slogged through, after fighting creatures with names like tyrannical pheasant and malicious hedgehog, the grand prize for killing ten lesser monsters was footwear so unimpressive it looked like it belonged to a discount souvenir stand.
"Really?" he asked no one in particular. "That's what my life has become? RPG flip-flops?"
Still, he slid them onto his feet. The thick grass beneath him had been surprisingly soft and almost comfortable, but the sandals offered a welcome layer of protection. Standing there now, Jace had to admit the situation was ridiculous. He was still completely naked—except for his brand-new sandals.
He looked down at himself: pale skin, scuffed legs, blotches of dried monster blood that hadn't dissolved away, and his glorious reward—strappy sandals.
"I think I might actually hate this place," he muttered, his voice dry as sandpaper.
A beat later, he sighed and added, "At least I'm finally wearing something."
Jace scowled at the latest object in his hands. For all its trouble, the carnivorous mandrake had at least been generous in death. Its loot included not only another tin of the life-saving unguent—something Jace was quickly learning he could never have enough of—but also something altogether new.
Item: [Trowel of the Blood Cult] (Iron Rank, Uncommon)
A gardening implement infused with twisted enchantments designed to influence particular species of plants. (Tool)
Effect: Improves health and growth of carnivorous plants.
The item shimmered into being, and Jace held it up to the light. At first glance it was just a trowel, but its details betrayed something darker. The tool was forged from a strange black metal that caught the light with a faint red sheen, as though it had been polished with dried blood. Its handle bore the scars of long use, pitted and worn, yet the edge of the blade gleamed sharp and thin, more like a knife than a spade. There was absolutely no reason for a gardening tool to have a cutting edge like that—unless your idea of gardening came with ritual sacrifice.
Jace grimaced and reread the description aloud. "Blood cult? Really? Who even gardens with an evil trowel? What kind of lunatic designs a hedge maze with loot drops like this?"
He turned it over in his hands, weighing it. Sinister or not, it was still sharper than his fingernails and definitely better than bare fists. With no better options, he decided to keep it close. The trick was making sure it didn't accidentally improve the health of his own flesh while he was swinging it around.