The spot where I left the ring to explode wasn’t chosen at random. That thin wall had been built to separate the corridor from a chamber teeming with slimes—murderous ones, around level one or two.

  I sprinted down the tunnel as fast as I could and reached a fork. Andy’s knowledge of the caverns helped. To the right, in another spacious cavern, stood a solitary slime—an enormous one, a king among its kind, likely level seven. Without hesitation, I fired a thunderbolt at it and took off running, leading the massive creature in pursuit.

  The guards appeared on the left, but I pushed forward, reaching the far wall and scrambling up towards a ledge about five meters above the ground. The uneven rock partially shielded me from their view, but the real danger was getting speared before I made it to the top. They didn’t take the risk. If their spear ricocheted, it could hit the king slime. Or worse—they might miss entirely and be left defenseless.

  As they hesitated, even edging backward, I reached the platform and pulled myself up.

  “The king slime will lose interest, and then you’ll have to come down, you little shit!” one of them taunted. “You’re gonna get the beating of your life, cunt! Come down now, repent, and maybe I’ll go easy on you! I won’t even lay a hand on you if you surrender right now!”

  Oh, he wouldn’t—but his partner definitely would.

  Just to be sure, I fired another thunderbolt at the king slime. It barely noticed, just burbled in irritation.

  The guards stood there, eyeing the wall. The only good way up was the route I had taken—but the king slime was now blocking it.

  And then I heard it—the wet, sloshing chorus of slimes advancing from behind. My plan had worked. The explosion had collapsed the wall to their chamber, unleashing them.

  Now, all that was left was to rain down attacks on the guards while the slimes handled the rest.

  As the guard had said, the king slime would eventually lose interest and return to its chamber—but by then, the guards would be dead. That was the plan.

  One of them tried climbing the wall, and I pelted him with stones. I landed a few hits, but somehow, he managed to hold on, even though that spot was nearly impossible to climb.

  How the hell is he doing that?

  Then—he transformed.

  Oh, fuck me. They’re werewolves.

  I grabbed the heaviest stone I could lift and hurled it straight at his head. It landed with a solid thud. He slumped against the wall, then let out a furious growl as his body twisted and reshaped. He was fully transformed now. A cold sweat broke across my skin.

  Panicked, I fumbled for another stone with trembling hands—then heard that telltale, rabid growl. He wasn’t just mad. He was in a frenzy. A berserker skill? That meant he had to be at least level three!

  The moment I dropped my pathetic little stone on his head, I realized how screwed I was. He barely flinched. Instead, he dug his claws into the rock, found purchase in some unseen crevices, and launched himself upward.

  I fired an icebolt straight at his face. It hit clean, but it didn’t stop him. His momentum carried him forward, and his claws grasped the platform’s edge.

  Spinning on my heel, I fired another icebolt just as he hauled himself up with a triumphant growl.

  I was done.

  I bolted along the platform, feeling his breath hot on my neck. Desperate, I jumped—aiming to clear the king slime.

  Mid-air, I realized my mistake.

  That sickening realization gripped my chest—I was about to fling myself straight into a mincer.

  The werewolf lunged after me, claws outstretched. So close. But then—something weird happened.

  The instant my foot touched the slime, something helped me. It pushed me forward, and suddenly, I was sliding across its surface like a slick, rubbery slope.

  I barely had time to register that its "skin" wasn’t as corrosive as I’d feared before I hit the ground with a bruising thud. But the werewolf?

  A terrified snarl erupted behind me.

  I looked up—just in time to see him sinking into the slime.

  His limbs thrashed wildly, but it was useless. Within moments, I could only make out his dark silhouette trapped inside the gelatinous mass.

  I didn’t waste a second admiring the spectacle.

  I slapped a quick heal on my aching ass and sprinted down the corridor—only to come face-to-face with a patrol of four.

  This was so unfair.

  I skidded to a stop and spun around, firing off bolts as I retreated. Their screams and curses filled the air.

  "Escaped slave!"

  "There she is!"

  A spear whistled past me—I barely dodged it—and then I reached the slimes. What now?

  I hesitated. Just for a second.

  That was enough.

  Pain exploded through me as a spear pierced my back, the tip bursting out just below my left breast.

  The impact slammed me to the ground.

  A triumphant yell rang out: "I got the cunt!"

  With the spear still lodged in me, swaying like a grotesque balance, I screamed—raw, guttural—pouring out all my pain and fury. Then, teeth clenched, I kept crawling, dragging myself forward on all fours, slipping between the advancing slimes.

  I collapsed onto my stomach.

  I couldn’t move anymore. Every twitch, every shift, sent new waves of blinding, excruciating pain through my body. Even the slightest sway of the spear made my nerves scream.

  Let them finish me.

  This was it.

  I was angry. I was sorry. But… I was also a little proud of what I’d managed in the short, brutal hours of my existence. Shame it hadn’t worked out in the end.

  My vision blurred. My thoughts swam. The pain was too real. There was no suppression of it. Had the gamers screwed up the settings?

  Do I reroll now? Try again with a different character?

  I hit the ground, my cheek pressing against the cold stone. The wet sloshing of slimes surrounded me.

  Fuck it. The next avatar won’t be a dark elf.

  I lay there, panting, waiting for the end.

  Each breath was a knife in my ribs.

  Each breath was one more than I should have had.

  I moaned, shuddered—waited to die.

  I must have blacked out for a moment.

  When I opened my eyes, I was… still here. Still alive?

  A pool of blood spread beneath me. Behind me, the patrol was locked in battle with the slimes, thrusting their spears to keep them at bay.

  Why am I still alive? Why haven’t they devoured me?

  I lifted my head slightly, scanning my surroundings. The slimes were everywhere—but not a single one attacked me.

  Slimes weren’t intelligent creatures. Even if they were, why would they spare me?

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  "Maybe because of that coating you got from the king slime?" Flo said.

  Shit. That could be it. Do they think I’m part of it? ‘Think’ might not be the right word. Feel was probably more accurate.

  I stopped questioning it. I had bigger problems. I needed to fight for my life. Now.

  First—I had to get rid of the damn spear.

  Breathing was agony. My left lung must have collapsed. No surprise there.

  I considered pushing the spear backward, but… then what? How would I get it out?

  I twisted my head as far as I could to get a look at it. The shaft had no barbs, no protrusions—just smooth wood. Good. The thickest part was already through.

  I gritted my teeth, grabbed the spear’s tip with trembling hands, and pulled.

  Nothing.

  I tried again, using every ounce of strength I had left. It shifted a few centimeters.

  I screamed, the pain splitting through me like fire.

  Heal. Just enough to stay alive.

  Then I did it again.

  Slow. Agonizing. Centimeter by centimeter.

  It felt like an eternity—hours, maybe. The start was unbearable, but once I got past the worst, I found a rhythm. Pull. Scream. Heal. Repeat.

  Every motion nearly knocked me unconscious, but the healing magic kept me just on the edge of survival.

  Finally—it was out.

  Only then did I glance behind me.

  The noise had died down while I was struggling, but now it was rising again. At first, the slimes had pushed the four guards further down the corridor.

  But now—they had reinforcements, and they were pushing the slimes back.

  I wiped the sweat from my brows and had to grin as I encountered two bumps on my forehead.

  “Congratulations, Flo; your horns are growing!”

  "Don't be ironical; that is really a good thing!"

  "How so?"

  As she was in the lead, she flapped my mini wings on my back.

  "This is what rescued us from falling on the giant slime!"

  The extra push that helped me to over-jump the king slime.

  “How comes those little stubs could help propel me?”

  “The wings work with magic as a multiplier. With fully developed wings, Andy should be able to fly.”

  “Really? Cala too?”

  “Yes!”

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Increasing that congruence spell. We need it to work faster!”

  “But will that not strain the puny mana resources Andy has?”

  “Yes, but the horns also help with mana regeneration. With bigger horns, your mana regeneration is faster, and your mana control better.”

  “I hope you will not make Andy have two meters horns?”

  She laughed:

  “Above ten to fifteen centimetres, there are diminishing returns. Mature horns are at ten centimetres, after which they grow very slowly or even stop. It doesn't make sense to grow your horns bigger.”

  “That is very reassuring… What are you doing?”

  “The slimes are losing. I need to help them.”

  “Help the slimes?”

  “On which side are you? So yes, we help the slimes!”

  She advanced between slimes towards the 'fighting line' and shot an ice bolt in the face of an attacker. The timing was such that it made him miss the stab with his spear; the attacking slime passed under his spear and snatched his foot.

  He screamed as he was overwhelmed, but the others became again aware of me.

  “That damned slave has survived!”

  "How can she stand already? Is this the same one?"

  “Bring a mage and archers!”

  Oh well, until then, I'll continue to help the slimes.

  They tried a couple of spear throwing in my direction, but I had high mobility, and my emerging wings helped me move even faster. Mana regeneration was becoming good, and I could shoot almost continuously my little bolts, and with the death of the next spear wielder, I got one level.

  “Finally!”

  I ran away from the fighting and tried the lightfire spell. The spell started and failed again.

  “We need more mana, more levels.”

  “Will one level be enough?”

  “No. I don't think so.”

  Oh fuck. One level per night was a fantastic performance. Two or three levels? That's impossible. But none of us spoke that word. Flo went back to the fighting area.