NOVGO.NET Chapter 23: The Poison Track
Chapter 23: The Poison Track
Fin traced his thumb along the bottom edge of the bulletin board, studying the yellow paper flimsies posted across the registration hall.
The Association opened an emergency hunting window for District Four, offering triple experience yields on every registered Named bounty this week.
Bram leaned over the low railing, reading the five-digit compensation numbers out loud with the frantic enthusiasm of a lottery gambler.
"Look at the payout on the Rust Mire gate," Bram shouted, pointing his scarred thumb toward a stamped assignment slip.
"Nobody with ordinary sense enters the swamp," Corin grumbled, adjusting his faded robes while checking the copper fittings of his staff.
"That is precisely why we should take the contract," Jax argued, spinning his bone blades across his knuckles with rapid twitches.
"The elite guilds avoid wading through knee-deep muck, which leaves the clearance bonus wide open for hardworking veterans like us," he added.
Fin calculated the numbers against his personal progress bar, knowing that twenty thousand five hundred points still left a mountain ahead.
’Fifty thousand points requires slaughtering thousands of ordinary orcs,’ he thought, tapping the yellow slip with his index finger.
One Named monster kill yielded more growth than a month of honest warehouse shifts, making the swamp contract an unavoidable tactical necessity.
"We sign on as an independent support team," he told the trio, pulling the yellow assignment sheet from the cork board.
They entered the spatial portal thirty minutes later, stepping through the distortion into the stagnant air of the Rust Mire gate.
Reddish water reached their knees, smelling of sulfur and rotting vegetation while dead crane gantries leaned crookedly against the misty horizon.
Insects hummed through the thick reeds, circling their heads while the Iron Dogs advanced along a submerged ridge in formation.
Rumbling artillery fire detonated half a kilometer ahead, sending plumes of muddy water splashing high above the stunted cypress trees.
The Pyre Syndicate strike team established a defensive perimeter, mounting two mobile cannons on a dry mud berm.
Gage stood upon the highest rise in crimson armor, watching his gunners pound an encircled beast with deliberate, calculated patience.
The target was a Named Toxic Basilisk, six meters of scaly green hide thrashing helplessly inside the concentrated barrage of explosive shells.
"That is not a fair hunt," Bram muttered under his breath, lowering his dented shield as floating camera drones circled overhead.
"That is a sponsored execution staged for evening broadcast ratings," Jax whispered, crouching low beside a rusted pipeline to avoid notice.
The corporate gunners continued their steady bombardment, waiting for the monster’s protective neck scales to crack before claiming the exposed core.
He kept his distance on the outer boundary, adjusting his tool straps while observing the creature’s erratic thrashing through the rising smoke.
A sudden concussive detonation tore through the mud berm, throwing two Pyre gunners off their platform into the swirling green sludge.
The wounded basilisk broke through the artillery cordon, roaring through the reeds with venomous bile spraying from its splintered jaws.
The beast lunged toward the open boundary where the Iron Dogs were hauling secondary supply crates along the shallow mud.
"Brace for impact!" Bram bellowed, planting his feet into the mud while locking both hands behind the central boss of his shield.
The monster slammed into the frontline brigade line, knocking Corin backward into the reeds while its whipping tail shattered an empty crate.
Gage shouted orders from the distant embankment, his gunners scrambling to reposition their portable cannons before the target escaped their perimeter.
The final blow remained legally unclaimed under Association rules, presenting a clean opening that required neither permission nor corporate negotiation.
Fin drew his hatchet and one dagger, activating Overclock before the monster recovered its footing.
[ Active skill: Overclock initiated ]
[ Stamina: 100 → 60/100 ]
[ Agility: 58 → 174 (temporary surge) ]
Forty points of stamina burned through his veins like liquid frost, slowing the surrounding chaos into a frozen tableau of flying droplets.
He crossed twenty paces of swamp water in three strides, leaving twin wakes of pressurized spray behind his accelerating sneakers.
He leaped off a submerged log, driving the reverse spike of his hatchet clean into the hinge of the creature’s lower jaw.
The basilisk hissed in agony, its head rearing backward to expose the soft underbelly beneath its armored plates.
He stored the hatchet and drew his second dagger into the freed hand.
He drove both daggers upward through the unarmored throat, penetrating the glowing core from beneath the jawbone.
The twelve-second timer expired as the monster convulsed, its green scales turning dull while black blood poured into the surrounding muck.
The giant reptile collapsed onto the berm with a impact, sending a wave of murky water across the mudflats.
A radiant prompt unfurled before his eyes, confirming his ownership of the final strike under the official free-agent charter provisions.
[ Named monster slain: Toxic Basilisk (D-Rank) ]
[ Kill-share and lesser mire kills: +5,000 EXP ]
[ EXP reward: +8,000 EXP ]
[ EXP: 33,500 / 50,500 ]
The eight-thousand experience dump flooded his status ledger, pushing his progress bar over thirty-three thousand points in a single rewarding surge.
He pressed his left palm against the dead creature’s skull, opening the absorption interface before the corporate hunters could reach the bank.
The menu offered the usual physical attributes alongside a rare resistance passive derived from the monster’s poisonous biological makeup.
He bypassed the raw statistics without hesitation, claiming the defensive skill that would prepare his body for harsher battlefields ahead.
[ Skill absorbed: Toxic Blood Inoculation ]
A bitter taste settled beneath his tongue, burning through his veins like swallowed vinegar before his circulatory system adapted to the venom.
He performed the arithmetic in his head, realizing that seventeen thousand points still separated his current standing from the Rank D threshold.
The fifty-thousand wall looked momentarily conquerable, yet he knew that unranked porters rarely survived enough Named encounters to clear the gap.
"Pack mule, step away from that carcass!" an arrogant voice barked from the top of the mud ridge above them.
Gage strode down the embankment with his blazing broadsword drawn, the edge crackling with bright orange flames fueled by his patron deity.
Six Pyre Syndicate mercenaries fanned out behind their captain, raising their weapons while three automated recording drones hovered in the air.
"You stole my kill, rat," Gage hissed, pointing the blade directly toward the young porter’s chest with trembling fury.
Bram hurried forward with his dented shield raised, placing his broad shoulder between the corporate captain and their hired pack mule.
"The Association open-season rules were printed on yellow paper," Fin answered calmly, wiping swamp water from his hatchet with a rag.
"If your syndicate wanted the core, your gunners should have landed the final blow before the monster reached our line," he added.
Gage stepped past Bram’s guard, raising the weapon until the searing tip hovered two inches from his unprotected throat.
"I do not care about yellow paper or lower-city scavengers," the corporate captain snarled, narrowing his golden eyes with deadly intent.
"You will surrender that core voucher right now, or I will burn you into grease before the cameras turn their lenses," Gage threatened.
He did not flinch or reach for his concealed daggers, holding the captain’s gaze with the icy stillness of an experienced butcher.
The broadsword began its downward chop, but a loud clang shattered the tense silence across the muddy extraction pad.
A kite shield stamped with a C-rank insignia slammed into the flaming weapon, knocking the blade aside with tremendous force.