<figure></figure>
Chapter 39
A Royal Pain In My…
With Twitch off leading The Nutcrackers on their
first assignment, I finally get a chance to focus on Sprocket.
<i>[System Notification]
</i>
<i>Party Member "Twitch" has initiated Squad Formation
"The Nutcrackers" are now active.
</i>
<i>[Resource Gathering Task Assigned – Passive EXP Gain Active.]</i>
Good. That’ll keep them busy for a while. Less
babysitting, more time for dealing with this little pain in the ass.
I glance at Sprocket. He’s leaning against a
moss-covered rock, arms crossed, tail flicking like he’s waiting for something.
His glowing teal eyes are scanning the area, as if he’s already figured out the
punchline to a joke I haven’t even heard yet. And that smirk? It’s still there,
permanent and annoying.
I’m torn between wanting to punch him and
laughing at how much he enjoys getting under my skin. Twitch’s obsession with
strength is easy to understand. Hell, even back on Earth, guys would strut
around like kings whenever their bench press numbers went up. Gains meant
respect. Simple, universal truth.
But Sprocket? He’s a whole different problem.
<i>[Companion Analysis – Sprocket]
</i>
<i>Race: Aether-Touched Magic Beast
</i>
<i>Class: [Locked]
</i>
<i>Subclass: [Locked]
</i>
<i>[Abilities]
</i>
<i>Hyper Process – Increased mental processing speed. Can calculate probabilities
mid-battle.
</i>
<i>Scavenger''s Eye – Instinctively identifies valuable resources and dismantles
items without losing components.
</i>
<i>Locked –
</i>
<i>Locked –
</i>
<i>Snark (Passive) – Gains a morale boost when delivering a successful one-liner. </i>
<i>(Effect stack) </i>
<i>+ 1 to morale</i>
I rub my temples, feeling a headache brewing.
Yeah, that last one? It’s going to be a real problem.
Sprocket’s not just a smart-ass. He’s a
calculated smart-ass. Every quip, every smirk, every dramatic gesture is
perfectly timed. The little gremlin knows exactly how to get under my skin—and
worse? He enjoys it. Far too much.
“Oh, mighty Beast Lord, what ever shall we do
next?” he says with an exaggerated bow, his tail curling behind him like it’s
adding an extra flourish for effect.
<i>[Snark Activated – Sprocket Gains +1 Morale.]</i>
Great. Now even his smart-assery gives him buffs?
I glare at him. He just wags his tail and flashes
that damn grin. Damn it. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Sprocket,” I groan, pinching the bridge of my
nose. “You’re lucky you’re useful.”
His grin widens. “And handsome. Don’t forget
handsome.”
<i>[Snark Activated – Sprocket Gains +1 Morale.]</i>
This is going to be a long day.
I cross my arms, glaring at Sprocket’s status
screen like it just personally offended me. His stats are solid—not bad for an
Aether-Touched Magic Beast. Whatever the hell that means.
The idea of pumping more points into Charisma,
though? Absolutely not.
“With that attitude? No way in hell I’m adding
anything else to Charisma.” I flick the interface, dragging the slider away
from the black hole of social influence.
Sprocket clutches his chest like I just stabbed
him. “Hater!”
I shake my head. “Last thing I need is you
playing wingman for Twitch, Rizz’n everything from here to Nantucket.”
Sprocket squints. “Rizz? Nantucket?”
Right. Earth slang. Forgot that doesn’t
translate. Or exist here.
I mutter under my breath as I adjust his stats.
“I’m putting your points into Intellect, Wisdom, and Soul before you find a way
to scam me out of them.”
<i>[Stat Allocation Confirmed]
</i>
<i>Sprocket Gains +3 INT, +3 WIS, +3 SOL, +1 END.</i>
<i>[Updated Stats]
<b></b></i>
<i><b>Core Attributes:</b>
</i>
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
<i>STR: 5
</i>
<i>AGI: 5
</i>
<i>DEX: 5
</i>
<i>CON: 5
</i>
<i>INT: 24</i>
<i>WIS: 24
</i>
<i>SOL: 24
</i>
<i>END: 21
</i>
<i>CHA: 22</i>
<i>[New Passives Unlocked]
<b></b></i>
<i><b>"Silver-Tongued Tinkerer"</b> – Increased success rate when
bargaining, negotiating, or bullshitting in general.</i>
I freeze.
Wait. Wait, wait.
What?!
Before I can slam the interface shut and undo
whatever cosmic mistake I just made, a familiar presence slithers into my
thoughts. A cold, knowing whisper brushes against my mind.
<b>"What have you done?"</b>
Shaq’Rai’s voice drips with amusement—the
dangerous, razor-thin kind.
I hate it when she does that.
Then, a Ping. A Fanfare.
Shaq’Rai reads off the announcements:
<i>[New Class Unlocked – Druid]
</i>
<i>[New Subclass Unlocked – Healer]
</i>
<i>[New Ability Unlocked – Beast-Shape: Dire Wolf Form]</i>
I blink. Then again.
A <b>Druid</b>? <b>Sprocket</b>?
Slowly, warily, I turn to look at the smug little
bastard. He’s lounging against a moss-covered tree like he planned this. The
air around him shimmers, his form shifting—subtle, but undeniable. His
once-fluffy fur now gleams with organic embellishments, bioluminescent script
curling across his body, pulsing in slow, rhythmic waves.
His tail—formerly just a lazy, fuzzy
appendage—has changed too. The fur thickens, darkens, golden threads of light
coursing along rune-etched rings like living tattoos.
And the antlers.
Curving upward, twisting with an intricate
elegance, they look both regal and completely ridiculous on his smartass,
squirrel-adjacent face.
I barely register that he’s taller
now—waist-height instead of knee-high. His form has stretched, gaining
something <b>fey-like</b>. His fur still looks sleek, meticulously groomed, but
there''s a weight to him now. An <b>aura</b>. A <b>knowing</b>.
And, of course, the glasses remain.
Thin-framed, round, perched low on his snout as
he peers at me with those lazy, self-satisfied teal eyes.
Sprocket stretches, slow and deliberate,
radiating the kind of confidence that says: <i>Yeah, I did that. What of it?</i>
His movements are smooth, effortless—like something ancient and far more
sophisticated than my system just rewrote every inch of him.
Finally, he tilts his head, smirking so hard I
can <i>feel</i> the impending bullshit.
I squint at the interface, the glowing blue text
searing into my retinas like some cosmic joke at my expense. My voice comes out
flat, dry as sunbaked earth.
"You? A Dire Wolf? You barely move."
Sprocket doesn’t even blink. Instead, he leans
back against the moss-covered rock, arms folded behind his head—the very image
of smug, self-satisfied arrogance. His newly sprouted antlers catch the dappled
light, making him look like some ancient woodland trickster—if that trickster
were also an insufferable little shit.
"Ah," he muses, voice smooth as silk
and twice as slippery, "but a wise healer knows the best way to heal is to
avoid injury in the first place."
I narrow my eyes. "By making everyone else
do the work?"
His nod is slow, deliberate, and so solemn it
might as well be performance art. "Precisely."
A muscle in my jaw twitches. I exhale sharply,
pinching the bridge of my nose as my patience—already thinner than a goblin’s
excuse—threatens to snap like an overdrawn bowstring.
"I have so many questions."
Before I can even begin unraveling this nonsense,
something shifts. A ripple in the air, a tremor through the unseen fabric of
the system itself.
Then—whispered silk against my thoughts.
A voice. Low, sinuous, curling through my mind
like a ribbon of shadowed smoke. Each syllable laced with an otherworldly
amusement that sends a slow shiver creeping up my spine.
<b>Shaq’Rai.</b>
<b>"Congratulations."</b>
A slow, deliberate clap echoes through my mind.
One single, mocking beat. Then another.
I stiffen. <b>"How the hell are you
clapping?"</b>
Shaq’Rai hums, her voice curling like dark smoke
in the edges of my mind.
<b>"Really… you’ve just unlocked one of the
Beast-Lord’s powers…"</b> A pause—long enough to be infuriating. Then,
with the flair of someone unveiling a grand spectacle: <b>"Soul-Shard
Evolution."</b>
The words hit like a hammer against stone,
reverberating through me, sinking deep into my bones. Somewhere, beyond sight,
something stirs. A feeling—not physical, not tangible, but immense. Like a door
nudging open to reveal an ocean of untapped power waiting just beyond.
Shaq’Rai continues, completely unbothered by my
moment of existential vertigo. <b>"And you’re worried about my disembodied
clapping?"</b>
I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling sharply. <b>"No,
no, you’re right."</b> Sarcasm drips from my voice, a weak defense against
the overwhelming realization that I am way out of my depth. I spread my arms,
gesturing at the sheer absurdity of it all.
<b>"Oh please… please tell me… WHAT THE FUCK
IS GOING ON?!"</b>
She laughs—soft, indulgent. Like a teacher
watching their most promising but painfully slow student finally ask the right
question.
<b>"Listen well, Beast-Lord."</b>
The title vibrates in my skull, heavy with
meaning. An undeniable truth.
<b><i>"There are two paths of change for
creatures like your dear Sprocket. The first is Physical Evolution—altering
form, muscle, sinew. It follows the laws of the body. Strength built through
battle, endurance forged through hardship. Fire refining iron into steel."</i></b>
The air crackles. The taste of static sharpens on
my tongue. Somewhere in the distance, wings rustle, and a low, rumbling growl
stirs beneath the surface of the world.
<i><b>"But Soul Evolution…?"</b> Her voice
dips lower, almost reverent. <b>"That is something far greater. It’s not
the flesh that grows—it’s the very essence of a being. The shattering of limits
imposed by birth. The rewriting of existence itself. The moment a mere ember
realizes it can burn as brightly as a star."</b></i>
A pulse of something vast and unfamiliar coils
deep inside me, pressing tight against my chest.
Shaq’Rai’s voice sharpens, the amusement fading
into something far more serious.
<b><i>"And you—whether by fate or sheer
reckless stupidity—have just triggered it."</i></b>