The crimson-backed lizardmen were not only physically stronger than their green-backed cousins but also possessed significantly worse tempers.

  The green lizardmen of the past would usually bark or hiss upon meeting, showing a brief transition of expression or emotion—a slight tilt of the head to glance at a companion before attacking, a flicker of hesitation. These crimson-backed brutes, however, simply roared and charged the moment they made eye contact. Their eyes bulged with a fanatic intensity, and not a single one of the dozens of spear-wielding warriors showed a hint of wasted movement or individual thought.

  "I just wanted to find a pair of boots, and yet you keep making trouble for me," Tars muttered. He wasn't afraid of these "little" lizards, even if they stood three or four heads taller than him. Watching them collapse and struggle in various states of paralysis actually made them seem more "alive" to him than their blank-faced charge had suggested.

  This region had long been kobold hunting ground, but as the tribe's "Lords" were slain in successive conflicts and their strength waned, the lizardmen had begun to appear in scattered groups. Now, they seemed poised to occupy the area entirely—encroaching right onto the kobolds' doorstep. The lizardmen already possessed a vast territory of their own; if they secured this area as well, their expansion would be unstoppable, especially with the mysterious appearance of meat-grubs making every acre of land far more valuable.

  Tars shouldered his staff, his storage pouch now heavier by two carefully selected short-spears.

  Before he knew it, he found himself approaching a dense, towering thicket of strange, tree-like plants. Neither kobolds nor lizardmen usually dared to enter this "forest." It was a pathetic irony, he realized: these races fought tooth and nail over territory, yet their domains were filled with places they were too terrified to step into. They weren't masters of their world; they were merely scavengers struggling to survive in the cracks of the great subterranean vaults.

  He immediately changed course, deciding to bypass the thicket.

  As he traveled, his initial tension began to fade, replaced by a sharpened caution. Looking at this environment—this silent, shadowed world of constant crisis—he felt as though he were on a dark-themed spring outing. The only difference was that the tourist had to carry a heavy staff and keep spells ready at a moment's notice. Exercising caution was the mental puzzle of this trip; the occasional spray of blood was the "spring breeze," carrying a hint of warmth amidst the prevailing chill.

  Unfortunately, he had no aspirations to become a kobold poet. Even as he marveled at the strange scenery, his mind was busy calculating how to combine his mastered spells to solve potential problems and debating what his next spell should be. Perhaps this journey would yield a new discovery, so he kept his options open.

  He walked until his legs ached, ignoring anything that didn't require his direct attention to save time. Kobolds possessed decent endurance, and with magical enhancement, the fact that he felt his legs giving out meant he had covered a truly impressive distance. He slowed his pace but didn't stop immediately, searching instead for a patch of ground solid enough to prevent any danger from burrowing up from beneath while he rested.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  He recalled a spell mentioned in Karyu's diary that could turn soil into solid stone. He made a mental note to learn it if he ever got the chance; it had countless uses. But as a small kobold, such opportunities weren't easy to come by.

  In a state of semi-consciousness, he found himself snapping his eyes open at the slightest sound. Each time, he felt a desperate longing for a bound familiar.

  The Black Book contained a method for contracting a familiar that complemented the Mana Scar meditation, but he had held off. He feared the rumored "lethal loophole" where an enemy could harm a master through their pet, and he hadn't found a suitable candidate. He had high hopes for the little guy in the nursery pouch, but it refused to hatch, content to sleep away the days inside its shell.

  He couldn't tell if it was noon, morning, or night. He simply woke, meditated briefly, and set out again with his staff on his shoulder.

  Boom!

  A massive crash echoed in the distance, followed by the dry, rasping sound of something heavy dragging across the earth. Tars lunged into a nearby shallow pit and pressed himself flat against the dirt. After a moment, he peeked out to see an old friend.

  The Grey-Neck Lord's massive form was weaving left and right, slithering away at high speed. It smashed through everything in its path, carving a literal road through the cavern.

  Even after the serpent passed, Tars didn't move. He lay perfectly still.

  Sure enough, shortly after the Grey-Neck Lord vanished, a humanoid figure sprinted past in hot pursuit. This time, Tars waited even longer before climbing out of the pit.

  "Not another kobold, was it?" he wondered. The figure had moved too fast and stood too tall; it looked more like a human—a powerful, athletic human. He didn't dwell on it, hoping only that these unexpected encounters wouldn't knock him off his route and lead him to get lost.

  Perhaps his wish was granted, or perhaps his kobold sense of direction was simply that good. After another long stretch of restless trekking, he looked up with joy. The entrance to the target tunnel system was finally visible in the distance.

  He might even have the lizardmen to thank for that. He looked at the dozens of lizardmen lying unconscious or dead near his feet—a mix of the new crimson-backed ones and his "old friends," the green-backed variety. He had lost count of how many parties he'd run into; one larger group had even posed a genuine threat. If it weren't for these lizards serving as milestones, he might have drifted off course. He had also managed to blunt the momentum of their advance toward his home tunnels.

  The lizards seemed to be moving in waves toward a specific gathering point, but since he didn't speak their tongue, he couldn't ask questions.

  Though the cave mouth looked close, it took a grueling amount of time to actually reach it. Ever since his last experience, he had pinned his hopes for a real rest on this smaller tunnel zone. Sleeping in the open spaces of the great cavern only made him realize how small and vulnerable a kobold truly was. It was likely a pack-animal instinct, but he attributed it to his own weakness.

  While the entrance had looked small from the perspective of the Great Cavern, he found that the tunnels here were three times the diameter of those in the kobold home. After walking for a bit, he felt a biting, oppressive chill coiling around him.

  He stopped, deciding not to push further into the dark. He found a corner and sat down to rest. The presence of Fetid Skin was the only thing that gave him the confidence to fall asleep alone in the wild. As his body relaxed, the fatigue of the past several days surged like a tidal wave through his muscles. His eyelids struggled against the flood before finally, inevitably, snapping shut. Deep, dreamless sleep followed the rhythm of his steady breathing.