Chapter 68 - 25: [Rotting Soil Roarers]

Chapter 68: Chapter 25: [Rotting Soil Roarers]

The skull wearing the Rusted Copper Bell-shaped Helmet flew high into the sky. Suddenly, the shadow of a dragon vulture swept across the dim firmament. Bathed in the brilliant glow of the Lighting Potion Bottle, the creature reached out its talons and snatched away the helmeted skull.

Norman froze. Recalling the previous knocking sounds and the Undead Swordsman’s gesture of striking its own helmet with an Iron Sword, he realized that the copper helmet might be the key to controlling the Undead! In his haste, he had completely overlooked this crucial detail!

But there was no time to dwell on that strange helmet! Manis and Zovin might have already fallen victim to the Demon Race commander. Why hadn’t they sent a signal? Activating [Footwork Focus], he bolted toward the grain wagons with his heart pounding in anxiety.

Norman Passat rushed back to the wagons, finding that the Little Mage and the Dual Blade Assassin had already arrived. Yet, to their surprise, the Hunter and the Alchemist were standing completely unharmed by the carriages, looking in confusion at the three who had hurried back.

Heavy white stones littered the ground around the wagons, and the canvas covers of the carriages had been crushed, tearing several large gaping holes.

"Uh... Boss?" the Hunter asked, scratching his head. "What’s going on? Has the Demon Race commander been killed?"

"Did you two... not face an attack from the Demon Race?" Norman hesitated. That strange feeling of "everything going off the rails" lingered in his mind once again. "That Undead Commander was just bait to stall for time. Logically speaking, if they lured the three of us away, they definitely planned to use the opportunity to ambush the grain wagons..."

"Oh, oh! After you guys went to intercept the commander, seven or eight dragon vultures circled in the sky, grabbing white stones the size of human heads and dropping them down," the Alchemist said, gesturing with his hands. "But Manis and I already drove them away. It only took a few Magic Potions and hunting arrows."

"They were fierce when they came, dropping stones down like rain. It caught us off guard, and the carriage covers got smashed full of holes," the Hunter added. "But it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like a few hits will ruin the grain."

"Smashed through the covers..." Norman scoffed. He pulled open the tattered, drafty canvas of the grain wagon to inspect the situation inside.

Inside the carriage were grain bags that had been slightly dented and deformed by the impacts, along with a few heavy white stones.

Norman ran his hands thoughtfully over the grain bags. Suddenly, he hoisted up one bag that bore no indentation from a stone strike.

"Fools! What the dragon vultures dropped might not just be stones; they could very well be Moldy Grain Bags mixed in!" he sneered. "Julian, Identification Magic."

"Swapping Catalysts is a real hassle, you know?" the Little Mage muttered. She switched the combination of Rune Stone Catalysts in her left hand, aiming three Beast Eyes at the grain bag in Norman Passat’s grasp.

"There is mold." She smiled. "Impressive, old man."

"Just as I thought." Norman tossed the grain bag casually to the side of the wagon. Suddenly, he heard the faint sound of shattering glass.

CRACK. The sound came from the grain bag that had just hit the ground.

"Get down!" Realizing what was happening, he screamed in terror.

In the very next instant, the mold-laced grain bag exploded violently. The foul, reeking slime and dark green viscous globs of the Rotting Soil Roarers blasted everywhere, coating every single grain wagon. The toxic sludge seeped into almost every bag of grain.

The bags at the bottom might have been spared, but at least three-quarters of their food supply was now completely inedible.

Centered around the spot where the Moldy Grain Bag had landed, a radius of seven or eight meters looked as though it had been bombarded with the yellowish-green snot of a heavily sick patient.

The five of them stood silently with their eyes closed within the blast radius of the snot-like explosion, resembling five tragic heroic statues sculpted entirely out of boogers.

"Bottled Magic. [Rotten Poison Bombardment]. Crafted using the venom glands of the Rotting Soil Roarers." A massive, dark green, booger-like glob slowly slid down Norman’s face. He calmly pulled a bottle of antidote from his waist, tilted his head back, and downed it in a single gulp, as if tossing back a shot of liquor. "It’s a homemade... a bootleg version. The payload is far more potent than normal Bottled Magic found on the market."

"D-Disgusting..." the Little Mage burst into tears, bawling as she sobbed out how gross it was while fumbling for the antidote at her waist.

"Ugh..." the Assassin slowly flicked the runny slime off his arm, wiped his face, and followed suit by uncorking a bottle of antidote.

"Sorry, Boss..." With the empty antidote bottles dangling from their mouths, the Hunter and the Alchemist bowed their heads in apology.

"It’s my fault. I didn’t realize it in time," Norman said, shaking his head.

Still choking back sobs, the Little Mage dodged the sludge that flew off when Norman shook his head. Suddenly, her tears gave way to a smile.

"What is it?" Norman asked.

"You were facing the explosion, so your entire front is covered in slime, but your back is completely clean... It’s so funny..." the Little Mage giggled through her sniffling.

Norman let out a heavy sigh. He reached up, peeled a giant glob of dark green sludge off his head, and tossed it aside.

"Our mission has failed... The toxic slime has contaminated the vast majority of the grain. Even if we transport whatever is left to the Underground City frontline camp, it won’t last them more than a few days." He gritted his teeth. "Tell them it’s time to evacuate. Otherwise, Valak’s counterattack will kill us all."