Interlude 03 #2
The localized explosion tore through the creature's jaw, shattering teeth into shrapnel and sending red black fluid pouring out of its mouth like water from a fountain. The giant beast let out a muffled, agonized roar, its head jerking violently backward from the force of it.
"What was that," Rhema said. "That wasn't you, right?"
Lance confirmed it wasn't.
He was already tracing the trajectory back to its source.
Up on the ridge of a narrow, wall-like rock outcropping forming one side of the natural corridor sat a figure on a mount that was neither horse nor vaulter, something ram-like and clearly feral, moving along the vertical rock face the way a spider crossed a ceiling, effortless, entirely unbothered by the drop below.
The rider moved with it as if the angle didn't exist.
Another glowing projectile already loaded, they drew back their slingshot again and loosed it toward the creature.
Activating his skill, Lance's Identification analyzed the projectile:
[ITEM STATUS]
Item Name: Trigger-Coded Spherulite
Type: Artifact / Alchemical Consumable / High-Yield Explosive
Class / Level Compatibility: S-Tier
Resource Value: [Appraisal Level Insufficient]
Boom.
In two attacks, this person had done more damage to the Goliath Grey Tortoise than the two of them combined had managed across the entire fight.
What remained of its mouth was now a ruined mess.
The creature swayed, still standing somehow, but more vulnerable than it had been since they'd first found it, vulnerable enough that a couple more of those explosives would probably finish it.
Instead of spamming more shots, though, which Lance would have considered the smart move, the rider urged their ram forward, closing distance on the creature, and swapped the slingshot for a great bow.
That would have made less sense if the bow had been any kind of upgrade over the spherulites, but it wasn't, which told Lance the man likely only had a limited supply of those explosives left.
The arrow the rider loosed with the bow was impressive but nowhere near as consequential, and it was clear this fight still had a ways to go, a fight Lance figured their mysterious savior could use help finishing.
He glanced at Rhema, who gave him a weak nod, agreeing to step in and help the rider against the Goliath Grey Tortoise.
???
[HARVEST WINDOW ACTIVE]
Congratulations. You have successfully harvested resources from an RU-wielding entity.
Mode: Assimilation
RU Harvested: 20,992.53
"Well fought, Master," praised the voice in his mind, always cheering when Lance managed to slay right about anything.
The creature came apart the way dungeon spawns did, dissolving into particles until nothing remained to prove it had ever existed, except a notification floating in Lance's field of view.
Except this wasn't a dungeon spawn. Goliath Grey Tortoises didn't do that.
They were native creatures, with hides and bones and bodies that, when killed, normally left a corpse behind.
That's going to confuse him, Lance thought, hoping the rider wouldn't mistake this for some kind of scam. He watched the man approach on his ram, seemingly unbothered by the creature's vanishing act, focus locked on the two of them as he closed the last half dozen meters, mask still on.
"Hey," Lance said. "Thanks for the help."
There was silence for a moment. Then the man climbed down off the ram, which regarded Lance and Rhema with the uncomplicated hostility of something wild, clearly not tamed so much as subjugated, before its rider finally pulled off his mask.
The man's face didn't match the energy his mask had projected, quieter, younger looking than his bearing suggested, with features that placed him slightly but definitely outside the range of anyone Lance had encountered in this part of Tutoria.
In the hundred and sixty-six years he'd spent in this world, he'd built up a fairly wide internal catalog for this sort of thing.
The people of this region fell into what Rhema called the Eurean phenotype, the same term used back in her world.
In Lance's world, they'd have called it Cataian. The man in front of him didn’t look Cataian, at least not fully.
The bone structure, the complexion, the particular set of the eyes, Lance had seen that combination exactly twice in the century and a half he'd spent here. Both times in people from a different continent entirely, one he'd only ever heard described as a place where people lived alongside demons.
"You can call me C," the man said, and offered a hand.
"C?" The name struck Lance as a little questionable, but he took the hand anyway. "I'm Lance. This is Rhema."
"Hi," Rhema said, likely sharing Lance's exact concern about who this man actually was.
"Nice to finally meet you," C said.
"Finally?" Lance frowned.
"Don't worry, nothing worth being concerned about." He glanced between the two of them. "I've been traveling a while. Heard news of a pair of travelers who might be what I was looking for."
"Which is?"
"Allies," C said simply. "People who also want to go home." He paused, giving the opportunity to digest that. "I heard you were heroes."
Heroes. Every time he heard that word, or thought of it, Lance found himself wondering who'd come up with the title in the first place.
He knew it had to be one of the two hundred and fifty-six souls brought to Tutoria, but which one, he had no idea.
He'd have preferred they'd been consulted before someone decided that's what they'd all be called.
He studied C for a moment, then asked, "Does that mean you're also—"
"Yes," C confirmed. "Like you, I'm not from this world."