The collision of 122 Million SP (Us) against 31 Million SP (Them) wasn't a battle. It was a geological event. The "Humming Choir" of our depressed army vibrated the very bones of the enemy fortress, while the Flesh-Hulks of the Skullwardens threw entire horses into the air like ragdolls.
Melina stood on a hill, protected by a phalanx of weeping soldiers. She wasn't fighting. She was... pulsing. "Group hug formation!" Melina squeaked"Don't let the scary meat-men touch you! Radiate love!"
Her "Love" was Hard Radiation. The front line of the Flesh Pits was vomiting and blistering before they could even swing their swords. Moro Milkwright, her father, was directing the supply lines. "Cheese wheels to the left flank! Rolling cover! Go, go, go!"
I didn't have time to admire the absurdity. I was in the thick of it.
I rode Coin-Biter through a wall of Bio-Knights, decapitating them with Cinderbrand. But then, the ground erupted.
A massive hand, made of Tumors and teeth, grabbed my horse's leg. CRUNCH. Coin-Biter vanished into blue pixels (desummoned just in time). I hit the ground rolling.
Standing before me was Ser Tumor Growth (Commander of the Cancer-Ward). He was twelve feet tall, a blob of constantly regenerating flesh in rusted plate armor. He had four arms.
"Pretty gold man," the monster gurgled from three mouths. "Soft skin. I will peel."
He swung a massive, fleshy hammer.
"Too slow, ugly!"
I triggered [Boots of Arestro Mistbourne]. I vanished in a cloud of ash, appearing behind him.
I drew the Aurean Glassbow. TWANG. A spear of solid glass slammed into his back. [DAMAGE: High Penetration].The glass shattered inside him, tearing organs. Black blood sprayed everywhere.
[ PASSIVE: AUTO-SIPHON ] Range: 20m. The spray of blood didn't hit the ground. It curved in the air, turning into red mist, and rushed into the crystal at my throat.
SLURP.
"Infinite Blood glitch!" I laughed. "Spider Web!"
I fired a web line at his helmet, yanked myself into the air, and landed on his shoulder. "FUS RO DAH!"
BOOM. The shout point-blank blasted his head backward, snapping his neck. But... his neck just cracked and reset. The flesh knit together instantly.
"He regenerates faster than I can kill him!" I realized with horror.
The monster grabbed me. His third arm, hidden in his chest cavity, shot out.
The hand crushed my chest. I felt ribs crack.
My Vial flashed empty. The blow drained every drop of stored blood and then ate into my real HP. I coughed up blood.
"Got you," Ser Tumor laughed. He raised his hammer to squash me flat.
I was pinned. My Vial was empty. I couldn't cast.
"Wilhelm!"
A white blur slammed into the monster.
Freyda Skullwarden She didn't attack me. She attacked him.
"Stand down, Abomination!" Freyda roared.
She drove her massive greatsword, Oath-Keeper, between the monster's arm and my chest. She leveraged the blade, using her own massive [STRENGTH 434] to pry his fingers open.
I fell to the ground, gasping.
Freyda stood over me. She blocked the hammer blow with her shield. CLANG. The impact drove her boots into the mud, but she didn't buckle.
"Why?" I wheezed, looking up at her. "We are enemies."
Freyda didn't look down. She kept her eyes on the monster. "You are my enemy, Merchant. Not food for a mutant. Get up."
She parried another blow, protecting me. She was saving my life. She was fighting her own kin to keep her honor clean.
"Freyda, look out!" I screamed.
But not at the monster. At the shadow behind her.
Ser Erebus Crux (Commander of the Weeping Cross). He had shadow-stepped through the battlefield. He saw a Skullwarden Commander. He didn't care about the context. He didn't care about honor. He cared about Efficiency.
Freyda was distracted parrying Ser Tumor. Her back was exposed.
SHINNNG.
Erebus's black iron greatsword impaled Freyda through the back. The blade punched through her white armor and erupted from her chest.
Freyda gasped. Her eyes went wide. She looked down at the black blade sticking out of her heart. She looked at me. She didn't look angry. She looked... surprised.
"Efficiency," Erebus whispered in her ear. "No joy. No honor. Only death."
He kicked her off his blade. Freyda fell into the mud next to me.
"NO!" I roared.
My rage spiked. The Blood-Leech Vial sensed the fresh blood Freyda's blood pooling in the mud.
I didn't think. I screamed. "THERMAL SHOCK!"
I slammed Cinderbrand into the ground. A massive explosion of Fire and Ice consumed Ser Tumor. Without Freyda protecting him, and with my rage fueling the efficiency, the monster shattered.
I scrambled over to Freyda. She was bleeding out. Massive damage. Ser Erebus stood over us, wiping his blade.
"Target eliminated," Erebus droned. "We must advance, Master Storm."
"You idiot!" I shouted at him. "She was saving me!"
"She is a Skullwarden," Erebus said simply. "She is the enemy."
The Flesh Pits horn sounded. Ser Pus Weep (The Acid Commander) detonated himself on the front lines, creating a massive wall of acid mist to cover their retreat.
Duchess Morwena screamed from the distance. "They killed Freyda! Retreat! RETREAT TO THE OSSUARY!"
The enemy army broke. They ran.
I knelt in the mud, holding Freyda. Her HP was dropping to zero. She looked at me, blood bubbling on her lips.
"Merchant..." she whispered. "You... owe me..."
Her eyes rolled back. She didn't die she was a High-Level Commander, she had a 'Downed State' but she was unconscious.
I looked at Erebus. I looked at the retreating army. I looked at the woman in my arms.
"We won," I whispered, feeling sick. "But I think I just went into debt."
The battle was over. We had won. The Gate of the Flayed Ram was ours.
But I wasn’t celebrating.
I was lying on a stretcher, staring up at the spinning sky.
I had bled myself dry to cast the final Thermal Shock
and then bled myself again, deliberately, forcing my own blood into Freyda Skullwarden to stabilize her shattered chest.
“I need…” I mumbled, trying to sit up.
“I need a juice box… or a transfusion…”
"Hush, foolish boy," a sharp voice commanded.
Lady Olenka Falken loomed over me. She wasn't holding a potion. She was holding a ladle the size of a shovel and a pot that smelled like heaven and cholesterol.
"Dr. Fenris is busy sewing the pretty giantess back together," Olenka declared, pinning me down with surprising strength. "So you are my patient now."
"Lady Olenka," I wheezed. "I need medical attention, not soup."
"Nonsense," Olenka scoffed. "You are pale. You are thin. You look like a starved ferret. In the North, we fix this with Stew."
She jammed the ladle into my mouth.
GLORP.
It wasn't just soup. It was a tactical caloric Dragon. Venison, potatoes, heavy cream, lard, and herbs that probably only grew on mountains where goats feared to tread.
"Eat," Olenka commanded, shoveling another spoonful. "You gave your blood to the enemy girl? Very romantic. Very stupid. Eat the potato."
"Mmph!" I protested.
"Don't talk. Chew."
She fed me with the ruthlessness of a siege engine. Spoon after spoon. My stomach expanded. My cheeks flushed.
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"I'm full!" I gasped, rolling off the stretcher. "I'm going to explode!"
"You look healthy," Olenka nodded, wiping the ladle on her apron. "Now go exploit someone. I have to feed the glowing girl; she looks peaky."
I waddled toward the massive Gate of the Flayed Ram, feeling like a stuffed turkey.
King Brandan stood before the gruesome wall of bone and skin. He raised Thunder-Fall.
"This gate offends me," Brandan roared. "It smells like Morwena's perfume. CHANGE IT!"
He slammed the hammer into the ground.
KRAKOOM.
The Stormsong Aura flooded the structure. The calcified bones didn't break; they morphed. The white bone turned into dark, petrified Iron-Oak. The stitched human skin burned away in a flash of blue lightning, replaced by massive plates of cold iron and woven thunderclouds.
The gate grew taller. It stopped looking like a butcher shop and started looking like a fortress of the storm.
"Much better," Brandan grunted. "Now it smells like Storm and victory."
Below the gate, the mud of the road shimmered and hardened. Gold veins pulsed through the cobblestones.
And then, I heard the most beautiful sound in the world.
- Wheels clattering.*
- Coins jingling.*
A caravan of twenty wagons was waiting on the other side. They had been stuck behind the Skullwarden lines for weeks. Now, the road was open.
"Toll booth is open!" I shouted, sprinting (waddling) to the front. "1,000 Gold per wagon! No refunds! We accept credit, gems, and promises of firstborn children!"
The merchants didn't even argue. They threw bags of gold at me just to get away from the Flesh Pits.
CHA-CHING. CHA-CHING. CHA-CHING.
"I love capitalism," I wept, hugging a bag of coins.
Suddenly, the sky split open. A massive, golden crate descended on a parachute made of light.
I touched the box. The energy rushed into me.
Then, the world paused. The grey text of the System turned Gold.
"OH THANK GOD!" I screamed, falling to my knees. "NO MORE CALCULATOR! I CAN JUST CAST SPELLS LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!"
"Option D!" I yelled instantly. "I am the Broker!"
I stared at the new skills. Chrono-Hemorrhage was a god-killer. 2,000 ml was dangerous (almost half my life), but it could stop a speedster like Alexander. The Ledger of Hands... was insane. I could steal skills? But I could be robbed?
I looked up. Vasco Vane was watching me from the shadows. He licked his lips. "You look... valuable, Wilhelm," Vasco whispered.
"Don't even think about it, Vasco," I warned, clutching my chest. "I have 5,000 HP and a grandma full of stew. I will eat you."
I stood up, Level 45, richer than a dragon, full of soup, and finally free of math.
"Alright," I dusted off my coat. "Who wants to invade a Duchy?"
The massive iron-and-bone doors of the Gate of the Thundering Oak groaned open. Behind us lay the horror of the Flesh Pits and the endless grey rain of the Moonclaw.
Ahead of us lay... a nap.
We stepped through the gate and stopped. The entire Grand Army Coalition over 2,000 hardened soldiers, depressed nihilists, and radioactive mutants froze in collective confusion.
"What..." King Brandan squinted, lowering his hammer. "...is this?"
The Duchy of Woolhaven did not look like a country. It looked like the inside of a very expensive mattress.
The sky was a pale, creamy blue, dotted with clouds that looked suspiciously like perfectly carded cotton. The sun didn't burn; it glowed with the gentle warmth of a heated blanket.
But it was the land itself that defied logic.
There was no dirt. No mud. No jagged rocks.
The rolling hills were made of Cashmere. Endless, soft, golden-white waves of fabric that rippled in the breeze.
The trees didn't have bark; they had Braided Yarn Trunks, rising high into the air, with leaves made of delicate Green Lace and Velvet.
"It’s..." Melina Milkwright gasped, her eyes wide. "It’s so FLUFFY!"
I looked down at Coin-Biter. My golden warhorse took a step.
POOF.
His hoof didn't clop. It sank two inches into the ground with a soft, satisfying sound. The ground wasn't earth. It was a high-density Memory-Foam Moss.
"System," I whispered, activating my Merchant appraisal. "Tell me I'm hallucinating."
"It is the White Sea," Livia Whitefield announced.
She walked to the front of the column. She wasn't bound anymore (since she helped negotiate with Rowan, I had given her 'parole').
She looked at the landscape with tears in her eyes.
"Home," Livia sighed. "Look at the symmetry. Look at the thread count. It is perfect."
The Moonclaw Soldiers were panicking.
A soldier from the Barony of Lament tried to kneel to check for traps.
SQUISH.
His knee sank into the plush ground. It felt like kneeling on a cloud.
"It is soft!" the soldier screamed in horror. "The ground... it does not judge me! It holds me! I hate it!"
"It is a trick!" another soldier yelled, stabbing the ground with his spear.
The spear didn't hit rock. It pierced the fabric earth, and when he pulled it out, there was no dirt. Just a tiny puff of white stuffing.
"No resistance!" Gutrum Falken grunted, poking a tree made of felt. "How do you sharpen a blade here? How do you find a rock to sit on and brood?"
He sat on a "boulder."
The boulder squished. It was a giant, grey Beanbag Rock.
Gutrum sank into it, looking like a grumpy cat trapped in a marshmallow.
"This is undignified," Gutrum scowled, but he didn't stand up. "It is... regrettably comfortable."
Gerald Falken walked over to a stream.
"Water source found," Gerald called out. "We can refill canteens."
He dipped his hand in.
It wasn't water.
It was Liquid Silk. Cool, flowing, shimmering fabric that moved like a fluid but felt dry to the touch.
"You can't drink this," Gerald said, bewildered. "You can... wear it?"
Livia laughed. "The rivers are Spun-Silk, you savage. We harvest them for gowns. We drink from the Morning Dew collectors."
Suddenly, the ground rumbled. Or rather, it wobbled.
A herd of animals crested the cashmere hill.
They weren't sheep. They were Poly-Fiber Boulders.
Round, legless balls of absolute fluff that rolled down the hill, baa-ing softly.
"Hostiles!" Prince Volpert shrieked from his carriage. "They are coming right for us!"
One of the Rolling Fleeces bounced off a soldier's shield.
BOING.
The soldier didn't die. He just fell backward onto the soft ground, giggling involuntarily.
"It tickles!" the grim soldier of death cried out. "Stop it! I am a vessel of sorrow! I am not... hee hee... stop!"
Melina ran forward. "Mr. Fluff!"
She hugged one of the rolling creatures. Her radiation didn't hurt it; the wool acted as a natural lead shield. The creature purred, a sound like a vibrating pillow.
"Can we keep him?" Melina begged, looking at Brandan.
Brandan looked at the soft hills. He looked at the lace trees. He looked at his army of 2,000 killers who were currently poking the ground and realizing they could sleep anywhere.
"We are going to lose our edge," Brandan grumbled, leaning on Thunder-Fall. Even the hammer didn't look heavy here. "Two days in this place, and my men will be too soft to swing a sword."
"Or," I corrected."We are going to be rich."
I knelt down and grabbed a handful of the "grass." It was Velvet.
I pulled a leaf from a tree. High-Grade Lace.
"Livia," I said, my voice trembling with greed. "Are you telling me... the dirt is textile? The trees are fashion? The water is merchandise?"
"Everything in Woolhaven is harvestable," Livia preened. "We are the Clothiers of the World. Why do you think we are so arrogant? We walk on money."
I stood up. I looked at the vast, white, fluffy horizon.
"Gentlemen," I announced to the confused army. "Put away your swords. Get out your shears."
I patted Coin-Biter, whose hooves were now silently bouncing on the memory foam.
"We are crossing the Paradise of Pillows," I declared. "Try not to fall asleep. And if you see a zipper... do not pull it. We don't want the world to deflate."
We marched on, the sound of 2,000 boots muffled into silence, entering a world so soft it felt like a hallucination.
And somewhere in the distance, Freya Skullwarden groaned on her stretcher.
"Why..." she mumbled in her sleep. "...does it smell like... laundry detergent?"
Welcome to Woolhaven. The deadliest nap in the world.
———————————————————————————————————————————————Battle Log----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------