One Hundred and Twenty-Four: Cannibalism

I have never experienced such a pathetic adventure in my life.

For some reason, I had been on the defensive and taking a beating right from the very start. My life force poured out of me as ceaselessly as the unending morning-sun river, surging and emptying out in a torrential flood. I was like a pool with its plug pulled; no matter how I defended or blocked, I could do nothing to stop the crimson fountain of life from gushing away. The only thing keeping me lingering on the brink of death was chugging down massive gulps of health potions even faster than my blood was spraying out. Every time I was forced, under a hail of heavy blows and at the risk of choking to death, to shove a large bottle of mucus-thick health potion down my esophagus, my eyes would brim with deeply emotional tears—these potions were just so damn awful to drink!

Something about the events unfolding here felt deeply wrong. It seemed as though some abnormal detail had been overlooked by us. I shouldn't have been this fragile and incompetent; apart from hunching my neck to take hits, I should have been capable of achieving much more. True, my mobility was severely restricted here, and this pack of brutal barbarians always outnumbered us—though more importantly, among the so-called "comrades" and "companions" by my side, not a single reliable soul could be found—yet none of this should have justified me being utterly useless.

You must understand that in the many adventures I had been through, the opponents I encountered were no more benevolent than these big-footed aborigines, and I had often faced groups of enemies of a higher level than myself. Yet I had never been driven to the point of complete helplessness like this; I had always retained a sliver of counterattack potential, or even served as a vital focal point for offense. You see, within this spatial plane, the balance of power always maintained a delicate equilibrium: regardless of how high or low your level was, when facing opponents of the same tier gap, the results you achieved were always roughly comparable.

And yet, here I was, being pushed to the point of being overwhelmed and unable to fight back by a bunch of blockheads generally one or two levels lower than me—which clearly defied the underlying common sense we all knew.

I felt something had gone wrong, and I was convinced that the fault lay with ourselves—and the most infuriating part was that countless facts in this cursed world kept telling us that the fault always lay with ourselves. So, while cradling my head, sticking out my backside, and enduring the relentless rain of cudgels, I calmly scrutinized my comrades, pondering the root cause that had plunged me into this awkward predicament.

Then, I discovered the crux of all our problems.

"Guild Leader..." I cried out miserably toward Feyn not far away, "...have you noticed whether someone seems to be missing among the companions you recruited?"

"Ah. Did you finally notice too?" Feyn was frantically dancing about, trying her best to rake a few copper coins out of a savage's corpse, while gazing at the higher-grade ores exuding a dark-yellow sheen scattered across the slope. She replied to me with heartbreaking grief, "If I had known there was so much adamantine ore here, we should have brought a miner..."

An angry ball of phlegm stuck in my throat, almost suffocating me to death.

"...I don't mean that!" I screamed hysterically, while using my left hand to valiantly hoist my shield to barely fend off a heavy blow descending from above, and extending my trembling right hand to point at the unreliable bunch around me. "Haven't you noticed yet? You recruited a claustrophobic who panics and shakes uncontrollably the moment he steps on a single brick. You recruited a mechanical madman who loves burying the most vicious traps right under the feet of his own people. You recruited a gunman who seemingly wants nothing more than to provoke every single savage on the entire mountain, plus you—an ice mage wearing top-tier gear worth over two hundred thousand who only shaves off seventy points of enemy health with a strike—thank heavens there's also a poor battle warrior who hasn't been beaten to death by a giant club yet, though he'll sooner or later be choked to death by potions, but who is unquestionably doomed by you anyway... Have you seriously never once thought that bringing along a healing class might have helped our perilous journey just a tiny, little bit?"

Yes, that was exactly what I meant. I had joined group adventures like this dozens of times, including many perilous and treacherous journeys, and had faced sieges by groups of enemies above my level on several occasions. Yet not once, not a single time, had it ever been like this—not even a companion who knew the most basic healing spell was by my side. You must realize that although the combat prowess of these frail battlefield medics was never particularly brilliant, for a crisis-ridden adventure, their presence and capabilities often determined the life or death, success or failure of the entire party.

An exceptional healer could spare the sharpest attacker in the party from any worries, allowing them to unleash maximum damage; could liberate the defender's combat potential, allowing the shield-bearing fighter to contribute with blade and sword as well; and most importantly, they could ensure that the entire team possessed sustained combat capability, preventing them from falling into desperate straits even when operating deep behind enemy lines.

The assistance that an outstanding healer brought to an adventure party was by no means as simple as four plus one equals five; conversely, the pathetic outcome of five minus one equaling zero due to the absence of a healer in a party was a frequent occurrence. For such a vital role to be entirely unrepresented in our roster—no wonder the battles we had encountered recently were so arduous and tragic.

As for my doubts, Feyn's reply was:

"This mission is quite special. Bringing a healing class would just be a waste of a slot."

***

"What are we supposed to do now..." Looking at the endless expanse of indigenous villages rolling across the distant mountain ridge, Chang Sanjiao clearly did not harbor a single shred of romantic, revolutionary, heroic grandeur in the depths of his heart. "...I only have thirteen health potions left. If we keep fighting our way through like this, I'm afraid I won't even make it halfway up the hillside before I'm skinned, deboned, and turned into a big pot of fragrant spicy-oily offal soup, sucked down to a pair of bone shards by this bunch of long-haired fat-pots..."

Saying this, the half-orc, who was clearly already hungry, smacked his lips unresignedly and swallowed hard, as if he could already smell the alluring, faint body fragrance of a half-orc virgin gradually diffusing as he drifted around in a boiling soup cauldron.

"Don't worry, your end won't be that miserable..." I retorted with absolute conviction.

"How do you know? Could it be that you still have some good way to help us get through this crisis?" Chang Sanjiao looked at me full of expectation.

"No! I mean, they don't even have a pot..." Overwhelmed by despair and grief welling up from within, I inevitably joined the misguided half-orc fatty in burying our heads and weeping bitterly. "...We'll only be roasted alive on a fire and eaten by them instead..."

Yanzhen looked at the two of us daydreaming about how well-done we would be roasted, then looked at the white-haired fat-pots who undoubtedly had very healthy appetites judging by their sizes, and shook his head thoughtfully:

"...How do you know they don't prefer eating things raw while fresh?"

"You guys just ran out of potions, what is there to be afraid of..." Hearing our pessimistic tune, our esteemed guild leader narrowed her small eyes and looked at me with an innocent and untroubled expression. Her rosy lips parted into a faint smile—was I seeing things, or was a string of crystal-clear drool actually hanging from the corner of her mouth? It made me deeply comprehend the realization: "I am a whole roasted lamb served upon the dining table."

"...You don't have any. But I do!" With that, Guild Leader Feyn raised both hands and hauled two dozens of purplish-red "Large-bottle Potent Health Potions" out of her backpack. And that was merely the beginning; our advanced ice mage excitedly waved her arms, dragging out bottles of all sizes filled with various colored potions from her backpack, bundle by bundle, until they quickly piled up into a mountain nearly as majestic as Mount Kokla—at least it looked that way to us. While expertly sorting the different varieties and types of potions into small piles, she delivered a passionate and enthusiastic speech:

"These are the extra-large bottled potent health potions. A single bottle replenishes one thousand five hundred points of life force. With powerful efficacy, one bottle is worth five; drink it and I guarantee your waist won't ache, your legs won't hurt, and you'll have energy for anything! These are the standard-dose potent health potions; although the restored life force isn't as potent as the large bottles, they are low in price, averaging five health points restored per copper coin. Their ultra-high cost-performance ratio surpasses every single variety of health potion out there—whoever uses them knows! At critical moments, how can you be without battle Qi? These are the battle Qi recovery potions that every single one of you desperately needs, instantly restoring one hundred and twenty points of battle Qi to ensure your combat skills execute smoothly. They are absolute essentials for staying at home, traveling, and committing murder or mayhem! And these are the magic potions for restoring mana value—the blue bottled potions, the delicious potions. These... although none of you are classes that fight using mana, these potions feature exquisite packaging, a sleek and minimalist style, and a shape filled with the most popular current Apple aesthetic. They possess extremely high viewing and collectible value, plus their taste is fresh and smooth—you're OUT if you don't try them..."

Amidst our gazes of infinite adoration, our guild leader seemed to have found her true value in life, pouring her finite life into endless street-hawking. Despite the fact that the surrounding audience consisted of no more than three and a half potential consumers, including ourselves and Strings Singing and Artistic Intent, Miss Feyn demonstrated professional ethics and standards far exceeding the ordinary level of a corporate titan. She introduced the products eloquently and passionately for over ten minutes—of course, had those big-footed savages not been completely uncommunicative and genuinely pitifully poor, I had no doubt that Guild Leader Feyn would have unhesitatingly sold this entire pile of potions along with our very heads to these cannibalistic barbarians who didn't even spit out bones.

"Guild Leader..." I raised my hand with a troubled expression, finally interrupting her stirring speech, "...I suppose... these items... you probably aren't giving them away for free..."

To my surprise, our guild leader categorically denied my conjecture: "Wrong! To reward the long-standing affection of our broad membership toward the guild leader, and to celebrate the tenth anniversary of Taiwan's return to the motherland, I am specially launching a guild potion exhibition and giveaway event. During the promotional event, I will provide the potions needed by members at cost price, with a buy-two-get-one-free offer! Buy more, get more, while supplies last. Don't miss out, buy quickly while supplies last..."

It sounded as though our guild leader had miraculously manifested a rare trace of compassion, making me feel as though her thickly gold-plated conscience still retained a single soft, vulnerable crack.

"How much for this per bottle?" Chang Sanjiao asked, pointing at the pile of "Large-bottle Potent Health Potions."

"One gold coin and sixty silver coins a bottle." Feyn beamed, nodding, bowing, and narrowing her eyes as she looked at her subordinate with near-flattering affection.

"What? They only sell for one gold coin a bottle in the apothecary!" Chang Sanjiao yelled, wearing the expression of someone bitten by a vicious dog.

"That's the apothecary price, not my promotional price." Feyn instantly withdrew her smile and looked at the half-orc rogue with absolute indifference.

"Didn't you say you were selling at cost price?" Chang Sanjiao argued logically.

"Yeah, transportation costs are factored in too. A delicate girl like me, carrying so many heavy potions all by myself from a hundred thousand miles away to this ghost of a place where birds don't speak, flowers don't smell, and even your piss freezes into an icicle—do you think it's easy? Shouldn't transportation fees be factored in?" Feyn stated righteously.

"I..." The half-orc rogue was momentarily at a loss for words, stammering and unable to speak. After a long while, he said fiercely, "...I'd rather die here, resurrect back in town, buy enough potions, and come back..." His voice grew softer and softer, completely devoid of righteousness.

"Hmph hmph..." Feyn chuckled coldly, twitching her slender, delicate eyebrows and casting a disdainful glance at Chang Sanjiao. "...You better calculate carefully. If you go back and resurrect, all the potions you used along the road will have been completely wasted. Plus, you'll have to walk that whole stretch of road again after coming back, consuming just as many potions all over again. Add in the repair costs needed for the gear wear and tear after dying—is that more expensive, or is buying my potions more expensive? If you think going back is more cost-effective, then go ahead and die back. We'll all be right here waiting for you..."

"I... You..." Chang Sanjiao stared with wide, angry eyes at the profiteer before him, then turned his head back to look at the big-footed savages strolling leisurely on the distant hillside. I guessed he genuinely struggled to tell which of these two life forms was more savage. The big-footed savages would at most gnaw clean our bones and chew our flesh and skin, whereas our guild leader... she was truly determined to drain our blood, sweat, lung water, gastric acid, insulin, and lymph fluids all at once, boil them down for oil, and refuse to stop otherwise!

Very soon, Chang Sanjiao's gaze was blanketed by a drab, gray hue, devoid of a single flicker of vitality. His complexion turned deathly pale and stiff, completely saturated with despondency and despair toward this world. He raised his head toward the horizon, where the sky was choked with gloom, preventing the warm, bright sunlight from illuminating a single inch of the frozen earth.

For a split second, a look of resolute defiance flashed through the half-orc's eyes. He looked once more at the three big-footed savages lingering in the distance, then turned back to take one last, lingering look at this vast land and the friends who had once fought side by side with him. Gritting his teeth with absolute resolve, he brandished his warhammer and daggers, lowered his head, and charged forward without a backward glance, shouting as he ran:

"I can't live like this anymore! I'm done for. I'll fight them to the death! At least when they eat people they spit out the bones, but if you eat us not even the渣 will be left..."

We watched our half-orc friend embark on this final journey of his life. This chubby rogue, accustomed to ambushes from behind and vile, sneaky tactics, erupted with a rare, lifelong burst of heroic valor when driven to despair over his life. When the three savages discovered his presence and strode toward him to kill him, he made no attempt to conceal his form using the "Stealth" skill, but instead charged forward bravely and clumsily, smashing his hammer straight into the face of the savage in the lead, then driving his dagger hard into the opponent's belly. However, the half-orc rogue's heroic exploits ended right there. The three ambushed savages quickly reacted, hoisting their giant clubs and surrounding him in the center, teaching this insolent intruder a lesson with blow after heavy blow. Cries of "Awoo-awoo" echoed continuously from the front—shrieks so tragic that anyone smelling it would grieve and anyone hearing it would weep.

A minute later, Chang Sanjiao scrambled out from the savages' beating, tumbling and crawling, and then rushed back toward us at a speed far exceeding the pace with which he had charged over. As he ran, he shouted: "Guild Leader! After deep reflection and on-site investigation, I feel that sticking with you still holds a much brighter future! Ouch... so painful... I'll buy it, I'll buy it, no matter how expensive the potion is I'll buy it, okay?! Help me..." Having narrowly snatched back his life, Chang Sanjiao stood once more before Feyn. Confronted with the choice between life and death, the half-orc re-ignited an infinite craving for life, hurriedly pulling a large handful of gold coins from his backpack and shoving them into Feyn's hands, then hastily grabbing a huge stack of potions from her grasp and stuffing them into his own pack as if afraid she would change her mind—or rather, afraid she would raise the price—before finally letting out a relieved sigh of satisfaction.

Looking at the gold coins clutched in her hands, Feyn beamed from ear to ear, her mouth unable to close. She stuffed all the coins into her backpack, leaving only two in her hand to tap against each other, producing a crisp "clink-clank" metallic sound. Then, she turned her face around, gazing at me with a flattering smile, bowing slightly, and asking me most amiably:

"Dear sir, what would you like to buy?"