System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 306: The Clay Guardian
“Gurgle, gurgle...”
A chain of swallowing sounds echoed through the cave.
The five Witchers each drank a bottle of Cat. Black, hideous veins crawled up their cheeks.
Five pairs of slit pupils, each a different shade, turned slowly, glowing like beasts in the night.
The potion took effect. The blurred darkness sharpened until it was clear as day.
Roy looked around. The cave was narrow, jagged with strange stones, its ceiling hung thick with stalactites. Small oval fungi grew everywhere.
A colder breath blew from some unfathomable depth, as though something nameless and dreadful hid in the dark.
Roy made a gesture for silence. The five men at once restrained their breathing and rose onto the balls of their feet.
Like cats stalking prey, they moved forward without a sound.
They had gone less than two minutes deeper when they passed through a narrow tunnel and entered a broad, flat, empty space like a plaza.
Not far ahead, ornate stone pillars of man-made craft could be vaguely seen. The ground was paved with old marble slabs, and cold braziers stood at intervals.
This was clearly some place abandoned by men.
The five hid behind a stone pillar. Their gazes kept moving, passing over the long-dry fountain in the center of the black plaza, then narrowing into slits.
A huge black thing stood silently beside the fountain.
It had a human head and limbs, and stood at least three yards tall. Its massive build radiated pressure.
Bands glowing faintly coiled around its entire body, covered in dense, obscure magical runes.
Charcoal-like columnar growths rose from its limbs and brow.
It looked simple, grotesque, and terrifying.
Clay Golem
Identity: Guardian. It loyally watches over this place, repelling and killing all intruders.
HP:?
Attributes:
Strength:?
Agility: 12
Constitution:?
Perception: 10
Willpower: None
Charisma: 4
Spirit: 20
Skills:
Body of Clay, Passive Trait: As a construct of clay and magic, it possesses immense strength and durability. Constitution +10, Strength +10.
The Clay Golem requires no food or water. Its golem core and surface runes automatically absorb ambient elemental energy from the air to sustain continuous operation.
Immune to fear and all mental abnormalities; immune to bleeding, fire, and toxins.
Vulnerable to strong acids.
...
Hiss.
Roy’s eyelid twitched as he looked at that long string of immunities. He was profoundly glad he had brought his companions along. Had he come down alone and fought it one on one, he would have been beaten badly.
After all, this thing had hide and flesh thick as a fortress. If he hacked at it alone with a weapon, he would likely exhaust himself to death before killing it.
And it had no Willpower. Simply put, it was as firm as rock and could not be shaken.
The Witcher did not believe the hidden Assassin’s Mace, nor Intimidating Strike, would have any effect on a golem.
...
The thing was too conspicuous. The four older, well-traveled Witchers recognized it at a glance, their faces either grave or excited.
That counted as common knowledge.
Many powerful sorcerers liked buying or personally making golems to serve as loyal guards.
Compared with another cost-effective bodyguard, the troll, golems were expensive, but required no steady supply of large amounts of food.
They were more rigid and dull, and could not communicate with their masters, but because they could not be bribed or swayed, they would not be fooled in a few words by sharp-tongued humans like some slow-witted troll.
Which meant this fight was unavoidable.
Bald Letho thought for two seconds, then took blade oil for constructs from his Ring of Holding and handed it out.
Golem oil required only two common ingredients, dog fat and hairy ball mushroom, so the Witchers kept it in their space, ready for use at any time.
They took the blade oil.
The five Witchers sat cross-legged on the ground and, each according to his own rhythm, dipped their fingers in the slick paste and smeared it along their bright sword blades.
Their arm movements were uneven, yet carried an indescribable harmony.
“Gurgle, gurgle...”
Each man drank a bottle of Thunderbolt.
On their cheeks, the terminal-disease-like black veins grew heavier.
After drinking, bald Letho drew the symbol of Aard on the ground with his fingertip, then pointed at himself, Orin, Kael ... Roy.
He arranged the casting order.
His lips opened and closed silently, forming a few words.
“Dodge the charge.”
If such a huge thing charged, the impact would probably be no less than a basilisk’s. No one present could withstand it head-on.
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