Chapter 43
Written by Bayzo Albion
I tilted my head slowly, and a curse nearly escaped my lips. Perched on a thick branch mere meters overhead was a two-meter-tall sloth, its elongated limbs dangling limply toward the ground. Its claws gleamed like polished steel, catching the dappled sunlight, while its yellow eyes burned with a feverish, predatory gleam that sent a chill straight to my core.
"How... many hours since our last encounter?" it croaked, cocking its head sideways in a mockery of curiosity.
"You talk like it's been years," I replied, forcing my voice to stay steady, even as my heart hammered against my ribs.
With each word, its speech devolved further, human tones dissolving into guttural snarls that vibrated through the underbrush.
"Insolent... little... human..."
In a fluid motion, I yanked my sword free, the blade singing as it cleared the sheath. The Fortune skill throbbed in my temples, a subtle hum building like a storm on the horizon, ready to tip the scales.
"Alright then..." My sword ignited with a faint azure glow, casting ethereal shadows on the leaves. "Let's dance."
"No need for that," a familiar, melodic voice interjected, cool and commanding.
A silvery flash cleaved the air—slender threads of magic materialized from nowhere, weaving into a intricate web that ensnared the sloth's limbs and throat. They tightened with unyielding force, suspending it mid-air like a marionette caught in its strings. The Forest Queen stood off to the side, her expression one of detached indifference, as if deciding the fate of an overgrown weed rather than a living beast.
The monster crashed to the ground with a thunderous impact that shook the earth, kicking up a three-meter plume of dust that swirled toward the canopy like a startled flock of birds. Its yellow eyes rolled wildly, a chaotic brew of fury and terror churning within.
"Finish it," she commanded, her voice ringing with icy finality—a tone more terrifying than any primal roar.
*No thrill, no adrenaline, no real fight... Maybe ditch the 'Fortune' crap and go back to basics?* my clone suggested lazily, his mental tone dripping with sarcasm.
"A hero who slays foes not with steel, but sheer dumb luck..." I muttered, hefting the wooden blade like a club, feeling its weight settle comfortably in my grip.
The sloth's muzzle twisted into a grotesque snarl. "What... cowardice..."
"Fortune's only unfair when it's not on your side," I countered. "We're just stronger... and we remember our failures more than our wins."
The sword whistled through the air, embedding itself with a sickening crunch between its eyes, piercing the skull in one clean thrust.
> **Interface:** [Victory over Gorgon Sloth (Level 50)]
> [+450 Experience | Level: 3 → 4]
> [Loot: Meat (10 kg), Bones, Warm Hide]
> [Special Magic Stone Found (+2)]
I wrenched the blade free, exhaling heavily as I surveyed the spoils. "Math's never been my strong suit, so screw the numbers..."
*We've got five hundred logs stashed already,* my clone whined. *What are we, elf lumberjacks?*
"Double's been a real lifesaver," I said aloud, ignoring him as I pocketed the magic stone. It felt warm and substantial in my palm, pulsing faintly like a miniature heart, alive with untapped potential.
The Forest Queen watched the entire exchange with arms crossed, her snow-white hair swaying gently in the breeze, framing her face like a halo of frost.
"Convenient division of labor," she drawled, twirling a strand of hair around her finger with deliberate slowness. "I bind, you butcher. But one condition: make it quick."
Her gaze ignited with amethyst fire, and on that final word, a palpable tension hung in the air—like an invisible timer had started, ticking down to some unspoken deadline.
I traced a finger along the sword's edge, feeling the magic thrum beneath the rough bark—warm, vital, as if the weapon had awakened a soul of its own.
"Do I have a choice to disobey?"
"Not yet," she smiled, the expression solving an invisible puzzle, her eyes gleaming with a warning more ominous than any threat. "But don't fret—I'm not babysitting forever. You're dismissed."
> **Interface:** [Sword Successfully Upgraded!]
> [Wooden Sword:
> ▸ Sharpness: 41/100 ("Slightly hazardous to furniture")
> ▸ Durability: 40/100 ("Looks worn but holds together")
> ▸ Magic: 2/10 ("Barely flickering")
> ▸ Extra Skill: "Verdant Regeneration" (Heals cracks in 3 hours)]
As much as I chafed at winning battles so effortlessly, there was an undeniable allure to the simplicity—no grueling clashes, just clean, inevitable victory.
"Everyone carves their own path to power," I murmured, my eyes lingering on the holographic stats, their glow casting a soft blue tint on the forest floor.
*True,* my clone chuckled. *When fate hands you a gift on a silver platter, it'd be rude to refuse. Especially when you're... well, practically a god in this world.*
"With your permission, I'll get back to building," I told the Queen, stepping toward the nearest tree, axe in hand.
"By all means," she waved dismissively, and from the earth erupted a throne of intertwined roots, coiling into an elegant seat. She sank into it with regal nonchalance, crossing her legs. "Nothing beats watching others toil."
"But not mine, right?"
"Less philosophizing, more chopping," she retorted, her long nails tapping rhythmically on the armrest—a steady, irritating cadence that echoed like a countdown to some veiled fate.
Forty minutes blurred by. The air grew thick with the scent of fresh sawdust, tickling my nostrils and coating my lungs, while my hands turned sticky with resin mingled with silvery magical residue.
"Aren't you tired of mindlessly slaughtering my trees?" the Queen squinted, watching as I transformed a centuries-old pine into flawless planks with a single swing.
*Five hundred logs in storage now,* my clone griped. *We're turning into elf lumberjacks?*
"I've cleared the site and built the frame at the same time. What's the issue?"
*We've got cement, remember? Or are we slumming it in a log cabin?*
"Damn, how'd I forget!" I smacked my forehead, dislodging a shower of sawdust from my hair. From my pocket tumbled the +2 magic stone, rolling to a stop at her feet.
She scooped it up, turning it over in her fingers, a shadow of a smile crossing her lips. "Ah, the joys of construction woes. Maybe sketch a plan first? Or keep winging it and hope for the best?"
– – –
A week vanished in a haze of labor.
By the end, I stood before a completed house—no, a mansion. Towering walls, a sprawling porch, sturdy beams... yet utterly barren inside. No windows, no furniture, not even plumbing—just echoing emptiness that swallowed sounds and light.
The Forest Queen flitted in and out like a specter, never lingering more than five minutes, as if merely ensuring I hadn't bolted.
The irony? We still camped in our tent—pitched smack in the center of this cavernous hall, a tiny sanctuary within the grandeur, like a dollhouse nested in a palace.
"House within a house," Siesta remarked one evening, tracing a finger along the smooth floorboards. "So childish... and so very you."
I glanced at her and grinned. She might be right.
In that cramped space, we felt safer than amid the vast, soulless expanse. The tent's fabric walls fluttered with our breaths, enveloping us in a cozy cocoon, shielding us from the alien wilderness beyond. Here, the barriers—thin as they were—felt intimate, warm, reliable, unlike the cold, imposing logs outside.
The distant roars of beasts, the wind's howl, the rain's relentless patter, the piercing chill—all filtered through as muffled echoes, like sounds heard underwater. They reminded us danger lurked... but not here, not with us.
Inside reigned a soft twilight, where time oozed like honey—slow, unhurried, dulling anxiety and the urge to flee. Each moment stretched, granting respite. It seemed the night itself guarded our threshold, warding off intruders and preserving our fragile peace.
The door I'd hung yesterday swung open soundlessly. The Forest Queen strode in as if she owned the place—which, in a way, she did—halting in the hall's center. Her footsteps echoed dully off the walls, her gaze lazily roaming the high ceilings.
"Mmm..." She paused, as if savoring the room's ambiance like fine wine. "Spacious. Majestic. And utterly pointless."
I frowned. "It's a home, not a throne room."
"Oh, trust me, the difference is negligible," she replied, trailing a hand along the wall; the wood quivered faintly under her touch, recognizing its mistress. "This spot's for my throne. Over there—for audiences. And that corner? A fountain. Blood, perhaps."
"I thought I was building this for myself," I muttered.
She turned, her eyes flashing with that amethyst blaze that brooked no argument. "Everything you craft in my forest is mine. Even if you haven't grasped that yet."
*Congrats,* my clone whispered snidely. *Now it's not our home—it's her royal gift. Guess who sleeps on the floor?*
I sighed, realizing our tent nook now resembled the quarters of captive guests rather than owners.
The next day, she appeared unannounced, as usual. In her hands, a bundle wafting a sharp, pungent aroma—herbs, resin, and a metallic tang like rust.
"Rise and shine, builder," her voice sliced the quiet. "Today, we tackle the interior."
"We?" I echoed, but she was already sweeping past, heading for the hall's heart.
A snap of her fingers—and thick roots erupted from the floor, braiding into a high-backed throne. Leaves unfurled along its frame, breathing softly.
"My seat," she declared without glancing back.
Another snap transformed a section into a low, wide table edged with thorn-like spikes.
"For entertaining guests. Sit at your peril without my say-so."
One more—and roots snaked along the walls, forming shelves that birthed oddities: vials of shimmering liquid, small creature skulls, stones emitting a gentle green glow. Some items whispered faintly to themselves.
"You... call this furniture?" I ventured cautiously.
She pivoted slowly, her smile baring teeth like a predator's grin. "Decorations. Furniture comes later."
*Yep,* my clone hissed. *This place is now straight out of a horror flick.*
I held my tongue. Arguing in her forest, her domain? A fool's errand.