Geometry. That was the one thing even a slime couldn’t cheat.
The Fake Colossus had finally wedged its entire bulk into the alcove. Its limbs, which needed space to whip and snap, suddenly had nowhere to go. Two of the upper appendages tried to cross over each other, fighting to occupy the same narrow gap in the air.
They fused.
The creature’s whole upper mass sagged under its own stupid architecture.
There.
Saint Merin Himself could not have crafted a clearer invitation.
I could see the angle, the depth, the sweet spot where the wobbling membrane thinned and its pulsating nucleus would be exposed.
By Saint Merin’s mercy, let this count.
I swung.
The sword tore through. Semi-transparent goo splattered against the walls. The creature ‘shrieked’, or at least, produced a wet, gurgling roar as it flailed in a spasmodic frenzy. Every movement expelled more slime, until it turned into a collapsed tower of goo.
The Gelid Strider was no more.
I lowered my sword, panting. Every nerve in my body was screaming relief and revulsion at once.
A miracle had just happened before my eyes. I could destroy a monster of this caliber in one blow now. Even first-year thaumaturges-in-training at official academies were warned to steer clear of Gelid Striders. They were considered dangerous enough that students around fourteen (over ten years younger than me, but that was unimportant) were told not to touch them. And yet here I was, cleaving one with ease.
It would’ve felt great, had I not failed the math. I wanted the creature to die at 0 HP, and it had died at -1 HP. Unacceptable.
Oh? A crafting fragment?
I picked up the Gelid Fragment. It was heavier than I expected for something that looked so delicate. The shard glimmered like crystal with a greenish-pink hue, which made it look more majestic than it actually was.
What could this do? Maybe Anabeth could—
“Oh!” Anabeth squeaked as she peered over my gauntlet. “A Gelid Fragment! I have only ever read about these in treatises on slime aetherology.”
I almost jolted and dropped the fragment. When did she even get here?
Anabeth waved a finger at the shard. “Collect two more of these, and you could enhance your toughness against gelatinous entities. Five more of these, and you could even double it! Not that you’d really need it, mind you. But—” Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she bent over to retrieve her two slime cores, “—think of the applications!”
Doubling toughness against slimes... that meant even Slime Kings or multi-limbed abominations would barely scratch me.
Oh, I needed that.
I would find every single Gelid Strider in this dungeon and slay them all.
I methodically hunted down every Gelid Strider I could locate. With my DEX returning to normal and me knowing these creatures were not smart enough to not get lured into alcoves, I managed to slay five more of them before my legs screamed at me to stop.
Only two additional Fragments dropped. With this dungeon offering no higher-level creatures, this would have to do.
+7 END was not scalable, unlike a percentage boost. I’d have rather seen something like 125%; small now, great later. However, one couldn’t expect much from something dropped by a commonly found monster. 7 extra END against slimes was better than nothing, and the cold resistance might come in handy in certain areas.
More notes were to come below.
I checked my armor’s description, and it said:
This was great. I could attach the infusion into my armor now, and remove it later for something else once I was done with it. The problem now was to find a Fragment Crafter, or anyone with a Fragment Crafting skill.
The final loot was not much better than the fragments: two Potions of Minor Healing that I’d probably keep for myself instead of selling, a few low-level trinkets that I’d known exactly how much they’d sell for, and a rusted iron mace, dull-edged and unbalanced, clearly meant for some hapless adventurer. This was clearly below par for the level of effort I’d had to put in.
As I guided Silvermane out of the ravine and back onto the beaten trail, my legs still trembled from the ache of having spent far too long carving up jellied idiots in narrow hallways. My armor creaked, my joints complained, and my inventory felt heavier with every wasted trinket rattling at my hip.
Having not spent any energy at all, Anabeth happily shifted about on her sidesaddle and whistled. “You don’t have to clear lowly Slime dungeons just for my sake, Sir. If you wish for challenges better suited to your, ah, vigor, there are quite a few Grave-Class dungeons in the region, you know. They possess ossified guardians, spirit-etched sarcophagi, and skeletal wardens who would likely appreciate your decisiveness far more than gelatinous organisms do.”
Grave-class dungeons...
Anabeth leaned forward ever so slightly. “They might even offer you gear worth a second look. Should you ever desire to decorate your armor, of course.”
Those dungeons were the territory of elites, of veteran magi, of adventurers who had the funds and the arrogance to treat deathtraps like sightseeing tours.
And yet, I found myself yearning for those now.
I rolled the useless trinket between my fingers—a bent copper charm shaped like a frog, crudely lacquered and definitely not magical. A month ago, I would’ve pocketed it with a small spark of satisfaction. A sellable bauble was a sellable bauble. A meal was a meal. Now I was irritated that a Slime Fragment hadn’t dropped for the third consecutive Strider. I now had preferences.
If I could keep my mouth shut, this Ceralis could be a blessing—
“Sir Henry, look!”
Her voice hit a pitch of bright, delighted shock so unlike her usual scholarly chirp that I instinctively pulled on Silvermane’s reins. I twisted around in the saddle and saw her holding one of her glass vials. Inside it, the content was... moving.
No. Forming.
The murky green slurry condensed. The vial rattled, then burst its cork. A hand-sized stone golem plopped into her palm.
Anabeth gasped. “I’ve done it! I’ve summoned Durand... and he’s... he’s different!’
I peered at it. It was... different, indeed.
