Chapter Six: The Great Dog-Slaying Adventure

We returned to the city of Campnavia and sold off the spoils we had gathered in our previous battles. During the transaction, Niu Baiwan was delighted to discover that while being an apothecary was a common profession among the bullheaded tribes that revered strength and lived close to nature, it was a rare craft among the city-dwelling humans. In the entire city of Campnavia, there was not a single alchemy trainer; apart from Elder the Apothecary's shop, there was nowhere else to purchase the potions people needed.

So, he set up a temporary stall right in front of the apothecary’s shop, selling his own brews at two-thirds of the shop’s price. Although he could only produce the most basic, small-dose healing potions, their affordability was irresistible to aspiring adventurers with shallow pockets. It was not long before all thirty-some potions had sold out, leaving his purse considerably fatter than most adventurers of his rank.

Besides the potions, we also brought along other items—chicken feathers, cat pelts, dog bones, and the like. These were of little value to us and fetched only a handful of copper coins when sold to the general store as raw materials. Yet, even for such petty business, Niu Baiwan insisted on maximizing the profit. He persuaded Xian Ge Yayi to hand over everything to me, so that I, with my race’s “mercantile” human nature, could negotiate with the shopkeeper’s wife and wring an extra twenty percent from the transaction.

In truth, I never understood why the Creator bestowed this “mercantile” nature solely upon humanity. Just look at the gleam in Niu Baiwan’s eyes when he received his money—one could easily argue that the word applied even more fittingly to him. The shrewdness and sharpness he displayed in these dealings were at odds with his rugged appearance and the general perception of bullheaded folk. By tradition, his kind ought to be…

But never mind that. Who in these times still clings to tradition? In just half a day, I had already witnessed too many things that flew in the face of convention: the sudden, deathly silence of darkness; shifting identities; a fiercely valiant hen; a nearsighted elven ranger… I couldn’t tell whether I was simply having an unusual day or if the world itself had always been unpredictable and beyond our understanding.

Before leaving the city, we remembered to visit the weapons and armor shop. After some deliberation, Xian Ge Yayi purchased enough arrows for our next hunt and replaced his weapon with a powerful new bow. Its sturdy wood and more elastic beast sinew string extended its range, and its attack power was ten points higher than his old longbow. Yet, to my mind, for an elf who saw double beyond five paces, even the legendary Elven magical bow “Song of the Wind” would not have improved his effective range—and given his chronic inaccuracy, his increased firepower might not be good news at all.

Niu Baiwan chose a sturdy set of leather armor. During our previous battles, the horned warrior had suffered enough from charging into combat clad only in leather trousers; his low defense had always weighed on his mind. Now at last, escaping his state of near-nudity, he was visibly elated. The gleaming armor accentuated his already robust physique, making his muscles seem even more full and his bearing more imposing. This transformation filled him with pride, though judging by the three or four spectacular tumbles he took just outside the shop, it would take him some time to get used to the new gear and regain his balance.

As for me, I kept most of my equipment, selling only the iron helmet and adding a few coins to buy a lightweight metal shield. I found it unbearable to have that hard, narrow thing pressing on my head, and while it only marginally increased my defense, the shield could do much more for me.

When we stepped out of the city gates again, we were very different from before. Our new weapons and armor bolstered our confidence. We passed through the bustling gate district and headed deeper into the jungle along the path we had come. Along the way, a number of lynxes and wild dogs attacked us, giving us an excellent opportunity to test our new equipment. After a dozen small skirmishes, we were all satisfied with our gear’s performance, and both Niu Baiwan and I had collected the wild dog pelts needed for our quest. With Niu Baiwan and me covering him, Xian Ge Yayi could get close enough for accurate shots, and his formidable firepower let us hunt and level up at a faster pace. Before long, Xian Ge Yayi had reached level seven, Niu Baiwan level five, and I was only fifty soul points away from hitting level five myself, with a health of 240, combat energy of 120, and both attack and defense over twenty. By then, ordinary beasts of level five or six could no longer threaten me.

It was only much later that I realized how terrifying killing truly is. The horror of it does not lie in the violence or the bloodshed—that merely breeds revulsion and fear, driving people away. Its true horror is in the illusion it gives every participant: the belief that they are powerful enough to conquer and dominate other lives, and thus have absolute rights over the weak. When you dispatch foe after ferocious foe, a rush of pleasure fills your whole being, driving you on to seek the next opponent. It is an intoxicating joy, one that blinds you to the carnage and cruelty, letting you revel only in the constant affirmation of your own strength.

At first, all I wanted was to gather enough wild dog pelts to finish the job and claim my reward.

But gradually, things slipped out of control. I found myself helplessly addicted to this slaughter, trading the souls of savage beasts for greater power. With my shield, I blocked their claws; with my sword, I cut through their flesh; and in their blood and cries of pain, I found pleasure.

“They are beasts that attack humans!” “I am protecting the townsfolk!” I told myself again and again, searching for excuses for my brutality.

But this was self-deception, pure and simple. I just wanted to kill them, to grow stronger, and perhaps to kill even more afterward. That was all.

Just as we were all lost in the thrill of the slaughter, a silver-white form slipped from the depths of the forest into view, prowling stealthily behind a thicket.

It was a massive wild dog, the likes of which I had never seen. Its body was sturdy and long, as big as a healthy calf. If it stood on its hind legs, its forepaws could easily rest on my shoulders. What set it apart most from other beasts was its extraordinary silver-white fur—smooth as satin, shimmering faintly with a soft, silken glow.

Clearly, this creature was ill-tempered. It paced slowly, emitting cruel growls from its throat, baring its formidable teeth and shaking its head. Its paws were twice the size of an ordinary wild dog’s, and although its sharp claws were hidden, their murderous aura was unmistakable. The thick saliva dripping from its jaws betrayed its hunger as it eyed the surrounding bushes with greedy anticipation, searching for its next fresh meal.

Matching its abnormal size, this beast also bore a name unlike any other wild dog: “Rabid Dog Caplan.” I used the Soul Mirror to check its level—an eighth-level beast. Uniquely, beside its level, two words were inscribed in silver: Leader. If I had truly understood then what those two little words meant, I can promise I would never have made the bold and reckless decision that followed.

“We…” Niu Baiwan also noticed the beast at once. He nervously licked his parched lips, his voice full of palpable doubt and hesitation. “...maybe we shouldn’t mess with it. I think it’s safer to stick to hunting regular wild dogs.”

On my other side, the elven ranger Xian Ge Yayi displayed a completely opposite enthusiasm for battle. “It’s one level higher than me, and a leader to boot, so it’s probably tougher than your average level eight beast, but…” He paused, then said with certainty, “...there are three of us. If we work together, we have a chance.”

Both had their reasons, making it hard for me to decide. Seeing my hesitation, Niu Baiwan grew flustered, glancing from Xian Ge Yayi to me. “You’re not serious, are you? That’s a level eight leader beast—it looks tough. Honestly, I have a bad feeling about this.”

Xian Ge Yayi was clearly unimpressed by the minotaur’s caution—usually called “cowardice” by others. “Your feelings are never any good! I don’t see what’s so special—just a bit bigger, that’s all. Besides…” He shot a sly glance at the towering warrior, mocking him, “...as we’ve seen, being big doesn’t necessarily mean you’re tough.”

Flushed with anger at the elf’s jibe—something I always found curious, since it seemed odd for such thick bullhide to turn red so quickly—Niu Baiwan shot back, “You ‘see’? Can you actually see it? The way you talk! To you, it’s probably just a slightly bigger shadow. If its name didn’t show up, you’d probably think it was a giant white mushroom.”

“You… I…” Exposed so bluntly, Xian Ge Yayi’s face fell, but he had nothing to retort with. After mumbling for a while, he could only stubbornly insist, “Anyway… I strongly suggest we go after the leader. If things go bad, we can always run. Besides…” He paused, and then coaxed, “...leader beasts always drop good loot, right…?”

With three of us and no consensus, both turned to me for the final decision.

I must admit, though Xian Ge Yayi had lost the war of words, his last point was hard to ignore, and I found myself tempted. I knew this rabid dog would be a formidable foe, and that the battle would be dangerous, but the lure of valuable spoils stoked my greed, pushing me toward a risky choice. Moreover, hunting easy prey for so long had made me overconfident and bored with unchallenging fights, awakening a desire to face stronger opponents and seek greater thrills. Perhaps it was the thrill of slaughter itself—once begun, it is hard to stop. The rush of growing stronger is an addiction; overwhelming victories only temporarily sate your hunger, but deep down a new longing stirs, driving you to seek even greater foes, to mark your growth with their blood.

Now, my body was seized by this feverish craving, impossible to suppress. I glared at the rabid dog, drew my sword, and nodded to my companions.

“Let’s go!”

Moments later, Xian Ge Yayi crept up behind the beast. The elf’s innate lightness served him well—even in a forest carpeted with dry leaves, his footsteps were nearly inaudible, blending with the whisper of the wind. Soon, he was within five paces of Rabid Dog Caplan, bow in hand.

Even at such close range, with such a large target, the strange affliction of our elven companion’s archery skills left us all dumbfounded—he missed, twice in a row. I could hardly believe it. At that distance, close enough to stick a longsword up the mad dog’s backside, with its bulk filling two-thirds of your vision, our elven ranger managed to shoot his arrows into a tree trunk thirty paces away. Even if I tried, I doubt I could have done the same. “Clumsy” is far too mild a word for his archery—this was a miracle of ineptitude!

As we considered a new plan, the elf finally succeeded in drawing Caplan’s attention—not because his arrows hit, but because the beast, after a lazy stretch, happened to turn around.

Seeing the silent dog’s rear suddenly sprout fangs and snarl, Xian Ge Yayi froze. Then, realizing what had happened, he let out a piercing shriek and bolted. Once again, the elves’ agility saved him—the rabid dog’s frantic pursuit only managed to leave two scratches on his back.

Though the process wasn’t quite as we’d planned, our first goal—to lure Caplan closer—had been achieved. The furious beast gave relentless chase, determined to make a snack of the skinny, long-eared elf. Just as it was about to close in, its “snack” abruptly veered around a thick tree and vanished.

Caplan whirled to pursue, but as it dashed past the trunk, a massive wooden stake suddenly hurtled from behind the tree, propelled by a howling whirlwind straight into the beast’s midsection with a thunderous crash.

Niu Baiwan’s ambush was even more effective than we’d hoped—the huge silver beast was sent flying, losing over a seventh of its health. As it staggered to its feet, its injured back revealed the heavy blow had likely fractured its bones. But instead of retreating, the attack only seemed to enrage Caplan further, awakening the last traces of savage fury in its blood. Lowering its body, it glared at us with a murderous gaze, muscles drawn taut by bared fangs. Its growls were thick with menace, and the madness and wrath in its eyes turned them a blood-chilling red.

Watching its berserk display, the mighty minotaur warrior showed his “valor” in a rather unconventional way.

He immediately retreated behind me, pushing me forward as a shield. His massive frame hunched down, trying desperately to hide behind me, but with those two enormous horns sticking out from under my arms like banners of shame, his attempt was in vain.

Even after pushing me to the front, Niu Baiwan forgot about the massive weapon in his hands—a giant stake far too large for me to conceal. The moment Caplan spotted it, it recognized the culprit of its injury. With a furious roar, it charged like an arrow straight at Niu Baiwan. Though its limp slowed it slightly, its speed was still astonishing; in a blink, the silver beast was upon him.

There is no doubt that, when driven to extremes, fear can unlock a person’s hidden strength. That was the case with Niu Baiwan. As Caplan lunged, he let out a shriek, raised his heavy stake, and swung it blindly at the oncoming beast, eyes squeezed shut, head turned away, shouting, “Stay away! Help! Somebody help me!”

When I guarded the city gates, I’d occasionally heard the “Voidwalkers” talking about a disease called “mad cow,” and it seemed quite serious. I think this must be what they meant. A mad minotaur is a terrifying thing—even one driven mad by fear. His wild swing encompassed both me and the wild dog within its shadow. The blow came so fast and hard, surpassing his usual strength, that I had no way to help—even dodging was a struggle.

I rolled away just in time to escape his indiscriminate assault, leaving only the silver beast in Niu Baiwan’s range. As I regained my footing, a rush of wind whooshed past my head, sending a chill down my spine.

Yet, that same wild, desperate attack was equally dangerous for the beast. We watched as the stake descended toward Caplan’s skull, certain the leader would not survive the blow.

But at the last instant, Caplan dodged left, springing onto a tree trunk and rebounding behind Niu Baiwan. In a flash, a rending sound tore from behind, and we saw the minotaur’s new armor shredded by three deep gashes, blood spurting from the wounds.

“Aaaaargh…” Caught off guard, Niu Baiwan howled in pain, tears welling in his huge, round eyes.

“...Who said the pain control system was perfectly safe? Nonsense! Let those irresponsible programmers try it themselves—this hurts worse than an actual dog bite…”

While he wailed, the silver beast wasted no time, whirling and charging straight at me. I meant to parry with my sword and strike back, but the sight of Niu Baiwan’s bleeding wounds made me hesitate. At the last moment, I abandoned my counterattack, bracing my shield and pressing forward…

A foul wind crashed into me, nearly suffocating. I felt a tremendous force slam into the shield, numbing my arm and nearly knocking the breath from my chest.

Caplan was knocked back, rolling on the ground before crouching to glare at us once again.

In retrospect, my last-minute caution was wise—three claw marks now scarred my brand new shield, the metal visibly gouged.

I had chosen this shield for its toughness, believing even axes and swords would hardly mark it—yet this beast had left its mark with ease. Were its claws sharper and stronger than any blade or hammer?

I couldn’t help but wonder: if I had tried to take that blow head-on, what would have happened to me?

I had no desire to find out…