Published at 9th of September 2025 12:38 pm

Book 5: Chapter 27 Hunger Unending [Part 1]

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In a tranquil marsh lived two frogs who often listened to the whispers of an ancient crane. Each day, one frog peered beyond the tall reeds and questioned the shape of the clouds, the flow of the water, and the flight of the herons overhead. The other frog basked in the mud, never pausing to wonder at the world outside his pond.

One evening, the ancient crane spoke to them: “Those who gaze at the horizon invite the dawn to reveal its secrets. Those who gaze only at their feet see no light at all.”

In time, the curious frog discovered hidden streams, tasted new things, and learned the ways of distant rivers. But the frog that stayed behind remained in darkness, content with only the shadows it knew.

- The Book of Wise Tellings from the Land of Streams.

Some things come naturally to some people, but for me, certain things I had noticed came unnaturally. A bond was forged between Longhorn and me—a mutual contempt for these arrogant creatures who paraded their superiority like a foul perfume. The elves were weak, yet somehow believed themselves above me.

Perhaps it was my Monster Taming combined with Riding. Maybe the beast was simply hungry. Or it could have just been my curiosity, an urge to experiment. Whatever the cause, the result was a swift, bloody end for the elves.

I am not sure how I knew what to do, but I kicked Longhorn on the left flank, then the right. The Lumashitu spun violently, its spiked tail slicing through the air. It crashed into armor of God-metal armor and unprotected faces alike, shattering the negotiating table and sending the poison-laced tea and blood splattering across the sandy beach.

I held nothing back.

Notifications arrived, messages from the “System” telling me I needed to feed it more. Sweet experience points flowed into me, paving the way for my next level. Truly, gaining experience was the nectar of the gods. And, there was a small cherry on top;

You have learned Improved Riding (lvl.1)

Atop my new mount, I hungered for more. More of everything. A familiar craving burned inside, and I felt no need to restrain it. The cup of my Asura gauge was filling.

Improved Entropic Aura howled as it burst from me, waves of invisible, roiling grey rolling over the survivors. They froze, their stupidly beautiful faces caught in a daze.

Fanon drew his sword, the silverine God-metal gleaming proudly. It looked almost pathetic, clasped in his hand even as Longhorn ground him into paste. The Lumashitu—an angry, living battering ram—bellowed and stamped the sand. In the still, quiet corners of my soul, I realized this was a beast of Iasis.

More experience flooded in, but still I hungered, still I thirsted.

Lechilod, the gnat leading this sorry expedition, took off running. His long limbs worked frantically, but he could not possibly move fast enough. I urged Longhorn into a charge, and the beast eagerly obeyed. His metal barding clanked with every thunderous step across the sands. Angling the Second Horn, the long lance meant for mounted combat atop a creature such as this, I aimed at the coward’s back.

The foul gods favored him, though. Still getting used to Longhorn’s tumultuous stride, I missed. Growling in annoyance, I commanded the Lumashitu to spin and strike with its tail. Trained to perfection, Longhorn obeyed, smashing Lechilod and sending him hurtling through the air.

Somehow, against all logic and reason, the cursed elf flipped mid-flight and landed on his feet like a cat. Life, it seemed, was never going to be easy. But I knew that if I could kill this expedition’s leader, I would break them all. Here and now.

“You treacherous cur!” he cried, drawing an elegant sword from his hip—a near mirror of Fanon’s own. It was a rich insult, coming from him.

Lechilod’s blade was a fine, serpentine weapon of polished Saint’s Silver, curved and double-edged, ending in a deadly point. Yet compared to the sheer bulk of my Lumashitu, it looked like nothing more than a fancy needle.

I answered with my crossbow, letting an Inferno Bolt hiss through the air toward his center of mass. He pulled off a minor miracle, slicing through the burning projectile. His defense wasn’t perfect, though—a blob of molten metal splashed against his cheek, making him shriek like a little child.

Urging the Lumashitu closer, I leaned forward and swept my lance, rather than stabbing. Infused with Power Strike, the banded wood cracked against his torso, bowling him over in a humiliating display.

By then, the other elves were rallying. I felt the pitter-patter of rain against my armor—arrows, the cowards’ weapon of choice.

I rested my lance across the saddle and cocked my crossbow again, keeping my gaze on the elven leader as he struggled to his feet. He was tougher than I had first given him credit for. Without looking away, I loosed a blind shot into the elven formation, letting my Blind Fighting skill guide my aim. A scream and a sudden death notification confirmed my hit.

“Struggle,” I laughed, ignoring another volley of arrows. “We are not yet finished, you and I.”

“How… this can not be. You are nothing more than a Dayspawn!” he spat, leaning on his sword. “HOW!? But yes, you are right, human. We are not yet finished, you and I.”

Almost in reply, Longhorn let out a wail, an arrow finding its mark in his hide. He was not quite as impervious to harm as me.

Smirking, I waited to see how Lechilod would entertain me. Our eyes locked, and I felt something crash into my mind—a blade of mental spite, disciplined and precise. It was my first time encountering such an attack, and the raw agony of it tore through even my Improved Pain Nullification.

I had known I had limited immunity to mental effects, but I never expected a psychic assault. Psychic elves—who would have guessed? His attack was potent enough to sap nearly a fifth of my Health. It was, I had to admit, worthy of minor applause.

Gripping the pommel of my saddle, I could still feel the spike of psychic energy surging through my mind, forging a bridge and a bond. I sensed his thoughts as he invaded me, a violation most vile. Pushing through the pain, I was determined to end this in the physical realm where I was still master and prepared to charge again.

But when a mortal looks into the void, sometimes the void gazes back. I was not alone in the corridors of my mind; I realized then that my very psyche was a fortress designed to be a trap.

I saw silent horror in his face. He felt it too, that dreadful truth. My suffering echoed in his expression, reflected tenfold as insanity started to claim him, his precious Mithril weapon slipping from his trembling grip.

“We are as far from you as you believe you are from mortal men,” I spoke in a voice that was both mine and not mine. “We are Justice incarnate. Tremble before the power of the Covenant.”

As the words left my mouth, they formed the chant to summon Holy Aura, pulling the spell into this plane. I blazed with the golden light of redemption—pure radiance made manifest.

A Holy, blazing gold that now danced with the darkness of the Entropic void.

You have learned Aura Manipulation (lvl.2)

“I judge you and your kind unworthy,” I declared, my voice solemn and unshakable. “For the crime of your very existence, the sentence is annihilation. I will cleanse your kind from this world wherever you hide, until no trace remains. I will tear down your halls, burn every scrap, every memory. Future generations will not even whisper about the First Children. That is the truth—for I am the flood, and you will fade from memory.”

“No… it cannot be! Too soon! This is not the Age of the La—”

A fresh volley splashed against my back, and an elven arrow, as if guided by prophecy, struck him in the eye, cutting short his final words. His pathetic denial and last confession died on his lips.

You have slain Lechilod Lugnarlinae. 500 experience gained.

I had been robbed of precious experience! Furious that his suffering ended too soon, I wheeled my mount around and fixed my fury on those responsible. They owed me a great debt, and they would pay dearly.

Despite their so-called leader’s death, the elven line held firm—a shining phalanx of long spears and shields. A blonde-haired elf woman rallied them, exhorting them to stand. I caught a snippet of her words in Elvish: He is but one man.

She was mistaken. I was one man astride a living dinosaur, bolstered by prophecy and inevitability—powers that defied any simple arithmetic of mortal strength.

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