System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 77
A plump, fleshy green orb sat in a palm, fingers closing around it, kneading; its springy warmth felt odd, even suggestive in a way that made one uneasy.
“Basic Green Mutagen.” Deeper in color and larger than a Lesser Mutagen, it gave off a clean fragrance utterly unlike the host’s filthy, nauseating stench.
“Worth the near sleepless fight these past two days.” The Smaerk Mine beneath Mount Carbon was no place for the faint of heart; Letho and Roy spent two more days in the tunnels and cleared another nest of some thirty Nekker.
Perhaps species etiquette held: different Nekker groups seemed to hold separate territories and did not gang up on one another. If they had united, the two of them would have been routed, not able to pick them off one by one.
As Letho put it, “Without a Nekker Warrior to lead, Nekker are loose gravel; cautious handling makes them little threat.”
Counting time in Smaerk Mine, aside from eating and sleeping, the days had been swallowed by fighting Nekker.
Roy’s body was crusted with old gore, blood scabs thick. His once-clean face had not been spared. He had slimmed, but his spirit sharpened and his bearing matured.
Two days of brutal combat yielded that rare Basic Mutagen and, more importantly, a clear jump in strength.
XP climbed to Witcher Lv3 (1590/1500), and a conspicuous level-up marker appeared.
He did not rush to spend it. Prudently, he planned to keep the Full Restoration effect until they were safely out of Smaerk Mine.
Repeated, intense fights had also trained his attributes; he felt a new command over his body, and could draw far more from each stat.
They had aimed for a week’s passage through the mine; three days in, the fourth should take them into Smaerk Mine’s interior. The tunnels were cunning and labyrinthine; wrong turns could strand a man in a maze.
When the dwarves first cut these galleries, they marked routes with Mount Carbon’s sigils so later travelers would find their way; at confusing junctions the marks were bold.
“No problem.” The Witcher stood before a tiny cavern and brushed his finger over a junction mark, two crossed forging hammers.
“Still that Nekker stench. Aren’t there any other monsters in the tunnels?” Roy’s patience with constant slaughter thinned; he wanted to see other creatures.
“Pray not,” Letho said flatly, “we’ve burned through Bombs, Blade Oil, Elixir. If something like a pack of spectres appears and you have no Blade Oil, your bolts will barely bite them. Me alone, I’d run.”
“If we’re unlucky and find Winged Brain Eaters or a troll, we’ll be dead.”
Roy sobered.
They entered a smaller, almost pocket-sized cavern.
It was bleak. Bare walls and floor. No ore, no herb, nothing.
“A strange smell...” Letho frowned.
Roy sniffed. A faint odd odor drifted from the nest; he could not place it.
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