The vast, silent void, coupled with the subpar vision of a kobold in the dark, naturally made him uneasy.

  He could feel the viscous stickiness beneath his feet. He took five or six careful steps, but the sparse hair on his ankles had already matted into clumps, and the pungent stench of raw blood clung to his nose. The only reason he hadn't turned tail and fled was that he had caught a whiff of Aiskin within that metallic odor; yet, as he tried to isolate it, her scent was quickly overwhelmed by the reek of slaughter.

  Looking at the staggering amount of blood, his first thought was of the Gray-Long-Neck or Black-Claw—only behemoths of that scale could bleed this much. Since no carcass remained, either the beast had escaped or been dragged away by an even larger predator. In this world, power was almost always synonymous with size; rule-breaking supernatural entities like wizards didn't belong here.

  He blinked in disbelief and accelerated his pace, splashing through the crimson puddles with a wet splat-splat.

  A massive, disconnected black claw sat solitary in the middle of a pool of blood. He knelt and gingerly nudged it with his staff. The cut was exceptionally clean, struck at an angle by something incredibly sharp. There were no signs of hacking or repeated blows.

  Seeing this, he retracted his previous judgment. This was not the work of a subterranean beast.

  He stood up abruptly, hesitated for a heartbeat to cut off the maintenance of his Fetid Skin spell, and then broke into a run—faster than when he had first seen the claw. Following a sudden catch of scent, he reached the cave wall. The strong kobold girl, Aiskin, lay there, her breathing steady as if she were merely asleep. The stench of blood had not yet reached her side.

  Beside her loomed another massive figure: Humph, whom he hadn't seen in days. Unlike Aiskin, Humph was soaked in blood. Some was clearly the foul reek from the floor, but another part of the stains carried a faint, sweet fragrance.

  "Aiskin." He patted her shoulder gently.

  When she didn't respond, he used his staff to help hoist her onto his shoulder. This was no place to linger. He moved a few steps, felt the weight, and decided to trigger the Bull's Strength spell from his model—this time as a normal casting, saving his temporary slot. After a thought, he grabbed Humph's ankle as he passed. He'd just drop the big oaf wherever looked decent along the way.

  He stopped after a short distance. "It would be a waste to leave that big claw behind..."

  Like a greedy hamster bolstered by Bull's Strength, he ran back with one comrade on his shoulder and the other in tow, using his storage pouch to snatch up the black claw.

  Had Aiskin not been there, he might have hesitated. Had he not seen the clean cut on that claw, he might have risked a peek into the Holy Lord's Great Cave. Humph bumped and scraped along the ground as he was dragged, but even as the fur on his back wore thin, he didn't wake.

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  After running a while longer, Tars suddenly stopped his hand mid-motion. "You've been awake for a while, haven't you?"

  He looked at Humph, whose eyes were squeezed shut so tightly it looked painful, wrinkles bunching up at the corners. He was about to sigh at the fool's antics when Aiskin suddenly spoke.

  "I... I'm sorry."

  Tars exerted himself, dropping both kobolds, who were significantly larger than him, onto the ground.

  "Is this Black-Claw's?" He pulled the severed claw from his pouch and waved it before them. "What did the enemy look like? Don't rush—tell me in your own words."

  He expected the communication to be grueling. But when he saw Aiskin's blank look as she leaned in to identify it, contrasted with the immediate, visceral terror on Humph's face, his heart sank. If Aiskin hadn't seen the fight, relying on Humph for information was a total waste of breath.

  The three kobolds shared a moment of tense silence. Suddenly, Aiskin let out a cry, lunging up from the ground and trying to pull Humph away. Despite his bulk, Humph couldn't stand; even with her help, his legs were weak and unsteady.

  "Brother Tars..." Aiskin looked like she was on the verge of tears. Tars had never seen her like this; usually, if another kobold tried to steal her prey, she would swing her fists and fight back.

  He walked over and hoisted Humph onto his shoulder without a word, silently following the frantic Aiskin.

  They soon reached a particularly noisy area—the main colony of the tribe. Most of the kobolds lived here, crowded into tunnels and grottos. The mixture of various stenches was so potent that Tars felt it rivaled his own spell. Led by the girl, they reached a relatively quiet corner.

  An old kobold lay there, frail and weak. Tars grabbed Aiskin's shoulder, holding her back to stop her from getting closer.

  "Old Gold-Tooth won't eat bugs. I tried to tell him... he's too old and he's hurt, so he can't hunt. For a long time, I gave him... I gave him meat, but he wouldn't take it," Aiskin whispered.

  The old kobold was emitting a noticeable, faint glow, which was why the others kept their distance. This light wasn't magic. In this dark world, luminescent plants, bugs, and mushrooms were forbidden. Eating them turned you into a glowing target in the dark, but that wasn't the worst part. If one consumed too much, "light-threads" would sprout from the body, eventually spiraling upward into the air. A kobold who sprouted these threads would wither like a plant and die; furthermore, prolonged contact was contagious.

  Tars frowned. He knew that many injured or elderly kobolds, driven by hunger, would secretly eat those glowing mushrooms because they were easy to find and no one fought over them.

  "Oh, it's little Aiskin! Is this the clever friend you mentioned? He certainly is tall."

  The old kobold spoke with a fluency that surpassed even Aiskin's, leaving Tars wide-eyed with shock.

  "In all my life, I've never seen such a tall kobold, not even in the great tribes that serve the dragons. I'm dying soon—look, I'm glowing. I wonder if it's as bright as the legendary sun..." The old one chattered on, like a dam that had finally broken.

  Tars stared at Old Gold-Tooth. The way this old kobold spoke with such logic and clarity completely shattered his understanding of their race. This old man was not normal.

  Old Gold-Tooth kept talking, seemingly wanting to get everything out before the end. Perhaps like Aiskin, he had spent a lifetime in this place without ever finding a fellow kobold worth talking to. The short light-threads on his body pulsed in rhythm with his excited words, as if they were breathing.