Chapter 22: In the Swamp, With a Book


    After breakfast, Ezren approached the innkeeper, his tone clipped and direct. “Do you know where I can buy a map?”


    The innkeeper frowned, wiping her hands on a stained rag. “Go check the town hall. Not many merchants sell that sort of thing.”


    Ezren gave a curt nod and made his way to the town hall. The clerk, a frail man hunched over a desk littered with parchments, offered him a map for a few silver coins. Ezren paid without haggling, his focus elsewhere.


    As he turned to leave, he spotted Mark lingering near the entrance, his usual opportunistic grin plastered across his face. Ezren approached him, eyes narrowed. “I need information. Where can I find monsters around here?”


    Mark scratched his chin, feigning reluctance. “Information always comes at a price.”


    “Fine.” Ezren’s impatience bled through his voice.


    Mark’s eyes glinted with greed as he took the map from Ezren’s hands and began pointing out various locations. “Here—hives of killer insects. There—an orc encampment. Down by the marshes, a nest of oversized crabs. Crocodiles lurk along the river’s bend. Even a bandit lair or two.”


    Ezren frowned, his gaze tracing the crude markings. It was too much to remember. “Wait here.”


    He turned back to the clerk. “Do you sell quills and ink?”


    The man nodded and scurried to retrieve the items. Ezren paid for them, the silver coins clinking as they left his hand. As he walked back to Mark, his mind was already working. He would make a pen—something more efficient, something durable.


    Mark resumed his descriptions, pointing and explaining with enthusiasm now that he’d been paid. Ezren sketched and noted every location, his eyes cold and calculating. He had what he needed.


    With the map marked and the information paid for, Ezren left without another word.


    Ezren stepped out of the town and headed south, his steps sure and deliberate. After walking for several minutes, he paused to check the surroundings, his eyes scanning the horizon. He turned to the bird perched nearby.


    “Is there anyone around?” Ezren asked, his voice sharp.


    The bird squawked and flew in a tight circle, signaling that the area was clear. Without wasting a moment, Ezren conjured a swirling dark portal with a flick of his hand. From the depths of the rift emerged his latest creation—a massive werewolf chimera, its body a terrifying fusion of muscle and fury. Its skin, tough and ridged like turtle hide, glistened under the sun, while six thick, snake-like tendrils writhed from its back, each one ending in sharp, barbed tips.


    Ezren wasted no time. He climbed onto the beast’s back, his dark mana swirling as the six snake tendrils coiled around him, securing him in place like living ropes. With his arms wrapped tightly around the creature’s thick neck, he was ready.


    “Go,” Ezren commanded.


    The chimera surged forward, its speed incredible, as if the very ground beneath it had been set aflame. The creature dashed through the forest at an unimaginable pace—faster than any horse, faster even than a high-speed motorcycle. Ezren clung to its back, struggling to keep his grip as the creature tore through the underbrush. It was like hugging a bull on the edge of madness, its body bucking and twisting, trying to throw him off with every stride.


    The ride was brutal, unrelenting, and far from comfortable. For ten minutes, Ezren held on as the chimera followed the bird, racing toward its target. His body was tossed about, battered by the sheer force of the creature’s speed, but in the end, it was still better than trudging through the muck of the swamp.


    As they dashed through the underbrush, Ezren’s sharp eyes caught sight of a massive creature ahead. Emerging from a thick patch of swampy terrain was a gargantuan crab, its towering form looming at nearly four times the height of a man. Its exoskeleton was a mottled mixture of browns and greens, perfectly camouflaging it against the murky landscape. The beast’s monstrous claws, each the size of a tree trunk, clicked and snapped together with an eerie rhythm. But it was the creature''s mouth that truly commanded attention—wide and gaping, lined with jagged, razor-sharp teeth, it looked as if it could devour anything that came too close.


    The crab’s many eyes blinked in unison, fixing its gaze on the approaching chimera, its movements slow but calculated as it prepared to strike.


    As the massive crab came into view, its beady eyes locking onto the chimera, Ezren''s expression remained cold. The creature''s size was intimidating, but it was no match for the power he commanded.


    "Attack," Ezren growled, his voice cutting through the tension.


    The chimera responded without hesitation, its speed never faltering even on the slippery, mud-slicked swamp floor. The massive beast surged forward, its snake-like tendrils whipping and its claws digging into the earth as it dashed through the swamp’s muck. The crab barely had time to react as the chimera closed the distance in seconds.


    With a powerful roar, the werewolf chimera launched itself at the crab, using its strength to slam into the creature’s side. The force was enough to send the crab flying, its legs flailing in the air as the chimera’s massive paws pushed it over. The crab, helpless on its back, was no match for the chimera''s overwhelming power.


    The chimera wasted no time. With a snarl, it dug its claws into the crab’s soft underside, ripping through the tough exoskeleton. The beast tore into the crab’s flesh, its jaws snapping with vicious precision, until the once-mighty creature was reduced to a bloody mess.


    Ezren observed the carnage with detached satisfaction. Another monster, crushed beneath the weight of his power.


    With the battle over, Ezren turned toward the open portal, extending his hand to command the chimera. “Bring it inside.”


    The werewolf chimera obeyed, dragging the massive crab’s corpse effortlessly toward the rift. Ezren stepped back through the portal and remained outside, watching the chimera haul the dead creature inside.


    Once the crab was secured in the forge, Ezren focused on his next task. He turned to Graos, who was already at the ready. "Analyze the crab," Ezren ordered, watching as Graos moved to inspect the creature’s remains.


    As Graos worked, Ezren turned his attention back to the chimera, already thinking ahead. “Now, drag an elk corpse back from the swamp.”


    The chimera nodded and disappeared into the swamp, returning a short time later with the carcass of a large elk, its lifeless body draped over the chimera’s back. Ezren, standing outside the portal, watched closely as the chimera bit into the elk, tearing away chunks of meat before spitting them out in the mud.


    "Let’s see if the crab will react to fresh meat," Ezren muttered under his breath.


    The strong scent of fresh meat carried through the air, drifting across the swamp. It didn’t take long before Ezren heard the rustling of movement from all directions. Slowly at first, then faster, more crabs began emerging from the swamp, drawn by the smell of blood. The first massive crab appeared from the left, then another from the right, and soon there were multiple crabs advancing from different directions, their many legs dragging through the muck.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Ezren smiled slightly, watching as the chimera stood at the ready, its body tense. It was time for the hunt.


    The chimera let out a growl, its muscles rippling as it lunged toward the first crab. With a vicious snap of its claws, the creature flipped the crab onto its back, its sharp fangs sinking into the creature’s soft underside. But the fight was far from over—another crab charged from the right, snapping its massive claws toward the chimera. It didn’t stand a chance.


    The chimera leaped away from the downed crab, spinning around to meet the new threat. With one swift strike, it tore into the second crab, its claws rending through the creature’s armor, pulling apart its exoskeleton with brutal efficiency.


    From the other side, a third crab appeared, and Ezren watched as the chimera danced between the crabs, moving faster than they could react. It spun, flipped, and struck with deadly precision, using its monstrous strength to take down each crab that came near. The chimera’s speed was unparalleled, and its focus unrelenting.


    With each crab that fell, the chimera dragged the corpse toward the open portal, its body a blur as it continued to hunt, pulling each creature into the rift as it finished them off one by one. The hunt was relentless, efficient—this was true auto-hunting.


    Ezren stood back and observed, a twisted sense of satisfaction creeping through him. “Auto-hunting is fun,” he murmured, watching as the chimera continued its work, dragging crab after crab into the portal.


    Once the last of the crabs had been dealt with, Ezren climbed a nearby tree, finding a comfortable spot at the top. He settled in, pulling the book he’d purchased from the town and opening its pages, allowing the sounds of battle and the swamp to fade away as he lost himself in the reading.


    <hr>


    The Black King’s Wrath


    For centuries, the human continent has been torn apart by relentless war. Kingdoms clash, alliances shatter, and the land is soaked in blood. The people yearn for peace, but no ruler has been able to end the conflict.


    Solomon, a newly crowned king and mage, rises to this challenge. Though not yet a powerful mage, his ambition and sharp mind drive him to wage war in order to bring an end to the chaos. With his magical abilities growing stronger with each battle, Solomon leads his forces with precision and unmatched determination.


    Over twenty years, Solomon’s power as a mage flourishes. Each victory brings him closer to his goal of uniting the continent. His strategy, cunning, and strength on the battlefield lead him to crush his enemies and break the endless cycle of war.


    By the end of the long conflict, Solomon achieves his dream. He stands as the Sage Emperor, having united the human continent under his rule and brought peace to the land. His journey, fueled by a desire to end the war, has forged a new future for his people. Solomon has done what no one else could—he has brought lasting peace through his strength, magic, and unyielding will.


    "Years later, the same dream reoccurs, having forgotten its origin. The empire, once united under Solomon''s rule, begins to splinter as factions rise, signaling the beginnings of unrest."


    As the years passed and Solomon’s health began to decline, he sought ways to prolong his life, desperate to hold onto his power and control over the empire. He hired human mages, dwarves, and elves, each bringing their unique expertise to the research in hopes of discovering a way to preserve his life. Despite their combined efforts, time was running out.


    One day, Solomon fell ill and was confined to the temple, a place of both healing and reflection. Surrounded by the constant hum of healing magic and whispered prayers, he lay in his bed, growing weaker with each passing day. Yet, amidst the bustling temple, Solomon began to notice something strange. He saw fleeting shadows moving in the corners of his vision, and heard faint whispers—words he couldn’t quite make out. Though his body was failing him, his mind remained alert, sensing something far beyond the mundane sickness that plagued him.


    Solomon’s First Encounter with Death


    The stench of blood and incense clung to the air. The temple-hospital, once a place of healing, had become a tomb. The groans of the dying filled the halls, their bodies frail, their magic failing. No spell could stop what was coming.


    Solomon stood among them, watching. He had seen wars, plagues, and suffering before. But this time, he felt something different.


    Then—a whisper.


    Not from the healers. Not from the priests.


    Something beyond the veil of life itself.


    His vision blurred. The torches dimmed, shadows stretched unnaturally along the walls. And in that moment, he saw it.


    A figure—tall, skeletal, draped in black that bled into nothingness. Its empty gaze swept across the dying, not with malice, nor with mercy—just indifference.


    There, in the absolute stillness, he heard something no living being should.


    A voice. Cold, distant, absolute.


    “All things return to me.”


    It was the Death.


    Solomon knelt in the darkness, his mind racing. The words were not spoken—they were understood. The voice did not echo in his ears but in his soul. He realized then that Death itself had a language, one that no living mage had ever recorded.


    A mad idea took root in his mind.


    If the gods’ language shaped the world, then perhaps Death’s words could reshape it.


    For months, he obsessed over the memory of that single phrase. He broke it down, translated its meaning, and with his unparalleled mastery of runes, he formed a new symbol—one that had never existed before. It was neither Life, nor Creation, nor Chaos.


    It was Death, bound into written form.


    This was his first dark rune.


    The moment he etched it into existence, the air grew heavy. Mana warped, turning thick and sluggish—almost liquid. The world itself recoiled from what he had done. This was not magic as the gods had given it—this was something unnatural.


    It should not exist.


    And yet—it did.


    Solomon, driven by his fear of mortality, continued. He mixed Death’s runes with those of Creation, Life, and Chaos magic. He altered the laws, twisted their meanings. He created spells that stole life rather than gave it. Magic circles that did not draw from the ambient mana of the world but required liquid dark mana—something only he knew how to produce.


    The gods must have sensed it, but they did not act—not yet.


    For a time, Solomon believed he had won. His body, once aging, was now restored and strengthened. He had not achieved true immortality, but he had bought time.


    And for a man who had conquered empires, time was enough.


    Until it wasn’t.


    Solomon’s thirst for power grew insatiable, and as his body aged, he became desperate. He delved deeper into the forbidden magics of dark mana, seeking immortality at any cost. His people, once loyal followers, were sacrificed for his experiments—each one willingly or unknowingly becoming part of Solomon’s twisted path to eternal life.


    His scholars and mages, experts in their various fields, were forced to work with dark mana, harnessing its power to create new and terrifying forms of magic. But as they delved deeper, the consequences became clear. Corruption spread among them, both physical and mental, as they twisted their own magic and lives to Solomon’s will.


    Soon, rebellion sparked. His followers, the ones who had once served him faithfully, realized the monstrous path Solomon had chosen. But it was too late. They rose against him, hoping to reclaim their freedom and the world Solomon had stolen from them.


    Yet, Solomon crushed them with ruthless precision. Those who resisted were turned into resources, their bodies and souls drained to fuel his experiments. Those who survived were transformed into undead servants, their wills bent to his power. His empire of darkness grew as he used the corpses of the fallen to bolster his undead army.


    The gods, watching from their distant realms, sensed the growing threat. Solomon had defied the natural order, and his actions threatened to unravel the very fabric of life. They sent their power to defeat him—but even this divine intervention came at a price. The gods summoned a hero, a warrior born from all the races of the world: human, elf, and dwarf. The last hope to restore balance.


    The rebellion spread, as remnants of Solomon’s former followers—the last of the free humans, elves, and dwarves—joined forces. United under the banner of the hero, they fought against Solomon’s undead army and his dark followers. Cities fell, forests burned, and the battle raged across the continent.


    In a final, climactic confrontation, the hero and the united forces of the rebellion faced Solomon. It was a battle of life against death, creation against destruction, with the fate of the world hanging in the balance. But Solomon, now a shell of the man he once was, had become something more—his power drawn from the dark mana that flowed through his veins.


    The hero, wielding the combined might of their race’s strengths, clashed with Solomon in a battle that shook the earth itself. In the end, Solomon’s hubris proved to be his undoing. The hero, wielding the power of unity and hope, struck the final blow, shattering Solomon’s reign and banishing the dark magic that had consumed him.


    But even as Solomon fell, he remember, his last words echoed in the air:


    “All things return to me.”


    The world, though freed from Solomon’s reign of terror, would never be the same. His dark legacy would leave scars on the land and on the hearts of those who fought to end it. And though peace was restored, the fear of death, and the temptation to conquer it, would always linger.


    <hr>


    Ezren sat perched on the thick branch of a tree, the book now closed in his lap. The wind rustled through the leaves around him, but his mind remained locked on the words he had just absorbed. His cold eyes stared blankly ahead as if seeing through the fabric of the world itself.


    What the f*ck did I just read?