Ch. 13
Chapter 13: [The Cooing Chicken, the Grain Sack, and the Super-Painful Potion]
Three o’clock in the afternoon.
Five adventurers were moving along the road out of Thornfall Outpost—three in the front, two in the back.
“The Riftclaw Bird is a proud beast, a ferocious warrior! Alas, how tragic, how regrettable! Fate made that poor creature encounter me—the ultimate hunter, the destined warrior of the Riftclaw Raptors—Lucwin Rost! Claw and sword crossed in combat, just like snowflakes glinting in the icy winds of winter—”
The one rambling endlessly at the front was none other than the “famous” Captain of The Riftclaw Bird of Thornfall Outpost, Lucwin Rost.
Flanking him on the left and right were two adventurers following close behind—one was a short, mushroom-headed chubby swordsman, the other a skinny, bucktoothed mage wearing thick glasses.
“—At that moment, the Riftclaw Bird leaped up, its shadow blotting out the sky! Like the wings of a dragon!” Rost narrated passionately. “But as a warrior, the more dangerous the situation, the calmer one must remain! I turned around and slashed—”
The chubby swordsman was panting, clutching his sword, trotting along behind.
Even though he’d clearly heard the Riftclaw Bird story countless times before, his eyes still gleamed with admiration, his excitement unfeigned—clearly a devoted fanboy of Rost.
He was even dressed exactly like his idol, Lucwin Rost—leather armor beneath a cloak.
Unfortunately, the leather armor and cloak were both the same size as Rost’s.
On his plump frame, the leather armor was painfully tight, looking ready to burst any second, while the cloak was far too long, causing him to trip on the hem every few steps.
The frail, bespectacled, bucktoothed mage, meanwhile, kept his head down the whole way, watching his feet intently as if he might step on a few Edric Gold Coins at any moment. His nearsightedness must have been severe—the glass of his bottle-bottom lenses was so thick that wearing them probably made his vision and balance even worse.
As a result, he could only stare at the ground while walking to avoid falling over.
“...That was our team’s first victory! I chopped off the Riftclaw Bird’s head and plucked its finest feather as our first trophy! That’s also where our team name came from!” Rost finally concluded his long-winded story, proudly turning around to show the two tall knights behind him a stiff feather hanging from his neck.
The feather was about the length of a palm, brown with black and white stripes, coarse and stiff—clearly a flight feather from a bird’s wing.
Samael and Thaleia exchanged a look.
Thaleia was the first to laugh.
She coughed twice, raising her clawed gauntlet to cover her mouth.
“Oh, impressive!” Samael clapped politely while leaning his helmet closer to Thaleia’s, whispering, “What exactly is a Riftclaw Bird? Some kind of raptor?”
“Cooing chicken,” Thaleia replied under her breath, raising her clawed gauntlet to obscure their whispering.
“What?” Samael didn’t catch that.
“Riftclaw Bird, as the demons call it, is the Cooing Chicken,” she explained quietly. “A kind of medium-sized poultry species affected by the Demon Domain’s ecosystem. Fairly common in the wild. Non-poisonous, pretty much just an oversized pheasant that digs for worms—so it’s got sharper claws. Very timid; runs at the slightest noise, and only fights if it can’t escape.”
“Is it strong?” Samael whispered.
Thaleia thought for a moment, then replied with difficulty,
“Not as strong as a Root-Creature.”
Samael fell silent for a while.
“Then how has this Lucwin Rost managed to survive so long in the dangerous wastelands?” he wondered aloud, looking at the boastful man ahead. “Maybe he has some hidden, extraordinary talent?”
“No idea,” Thaleia shrugged. “But compared to this chicken terminator, I’d say your dung-digger friend’s team is much more tolerable.”
“Hey! Uh, Mr. Rost?” Samael rubbed his hands together and cheerfully called out, “Could you tell us what today’s team training mission mainly involves?”
Lucwin Rost, striding ahead, suddenly turned around with a bright, proud grin, giving a confident thumbs-up that made him look uncannily like one of those exaggerated comedy streamers Samael used to watch in his previous life.
“Don’t be scared, rookie! We’re going to hunt the most dangerous of monsters, the most terrifying beasts of the Demon Domain!” he said gravely, lowering his voice as he uttered the mysterious word—
“Riftclaw Bird.”
Samael was silent.
“Oh, that makes sense,” Thaleia whispered. “If all he hunts are Cooing Chickens, then yeah, it’s hard to die. They’re non-poisonous, weak, never attack other creatures unless cornered, and their only real defense is running in flocks—and running fast.”
“I admit, maybe I’ve been overestimating low-ranked adventurers,” Samael murmured. “Maybe you’re right, maybe I’m overthinking things—perhaps there’s really nothing to worry about… No, no, that’s wrong. Not all adventurers are the same. We can’t let one example lower our guard.”
He shook his head, pressing a hand to his helmeted face as if scolding himself for being too paranoid.
Thaleia watched him, quietly smiling.
As the five-person temporary team passed through Thornfall Outpost’s gates, familiar voices called out again:
“You two… monks?” Guard One and Guard Two eyed Samael and Thaleia, then glanced at Rost leading the group.
“Good afternoon, uncles,” Samael waved.
“Afternoon, monk. We thought…” Guard One hesitated.
“Where’s that kid Randall?” Guard Two asked. “Don’t tell me that brat ditched you?”
“No, no! We get along great with Randall. We’re planning to officially join his team tomorrow,” Samael explained. “But the Guild requires all new registrants to take part in at least one supervised training mission before they can operate independently or join another team.”
“Oh, I see! I thought that brat had some connections at the front desk and could skip the process entirely to pull you in…” Guard One began, but Guard Two immediately slapped a hand over his mouth.
“Nonsense! There’s no such thing! Even if the Demon King himself came to register as an adventurer, he’d have to follow proper procedures!” Guard Two declared righteously. “Rules are rules—everyone’s equal before them!”
“Yes, indeed,” Samael agreed. “That’s the truth.”
A dull thump echoed.
Samael looked down—Thaleia’s black-armored boot had stepped squarely on his foot.
He stiffly turned his helmet, struggling a bit before managing to pull his foot free from under hers.
If we act suspicious, we’ll only make ourselves look more suspicious! he tried to communicate with his expression—but since he had no eyes, no face, and no expressions, he could only give a symbolic nod of his helmet.
“So this chatterbox Rost snatched up the rookie training mission?” Guard One frowned, glaring at Lucwin Rost.
“Hey! Show some respect, gatekeeper! What’s with calling me a chatterbox? I’m about to be promoted to Rank 3—Lucwin Rost, the glorious Riftclaw Warrior!” Rost retorted, swinging his fists indignantly.
“The Guild’s Code of Conduct forbids guards from insulting adventurers without cause,” Guard Two interjected calmly. “In other words, we’re merely stating facts.”
The two guards exchanged glances and snickered.
“I’m magnanimous—I won’t stoop to your level,” Rost huffed, yanking up a roadside weed and chewing on its stalk.
“We did save you during that Corrosion Storm, remember? And this is your attitude toward us?” Guard Two said.
“Save me? You mean stopping me from going out to fulfill my glorious mission?” Rost glared sideways, the grass stalk bobbing between his teeth. “You were just jealous of my warrior’s spirit and the great hunts I bring back from the wasteland!”
“Right, right, we’ve learned our lesson,” Guard Two laughed. “Next Corrosion Storm, we won’t stop you. You can go right ahead.”
“Such a shame,” Guard One muttered. “You’re only annoying, not criminal. Personally, I think being an unbearable nuisance should count as a crime in the Adventurers’ Codex—punishable by a solid beating. Gods, I’d love to punch you.”
“Tch. Just a couple of gatekeepers,” Rost muttered, stalk still in his mouth. “I’ve got rookie training to conduct today, don’t waste my time.”
With that, Rost’s team of five passed through the gate, heading out toward the wilderness.
“You two monks, I truly pity you,” Guard One called sincerely after them. “The Guild ought to pay you mental damages for this. And if they don’t, find a lawyer and sue them—you’d definitely win.”
“Don’t listen to them—they’re just gatekeepers, what do they know?” Rost said. “Let me give you some advice—this is the Wasteland, a land of terror and savagery, the realm of adventurers.”
“Normally, rookies would start with something simple, but that’s too easy—how can you ignite your fighting spirit that way? So today, we’re hunting the fiercest, most terrifying beast—”
“Riftclaw Bird,” Samael said.
“Exactly!” Rost nodded solemnly. “Riftclaw Bird!”
Samael felt this man was wasted as an adventurer.
With his phrasing, performance, and knack for dramatics, he could’ve been an exceptional bard traveling town to town telling tales.
Somewhere along the way, perhaps he made the wrong career choice—causing the bardic world to lose a rising star, while the adventuring world gained a piece of unnecessary, sticky dung clinging to its heel.
He led the group stealthily across the plains, stepping over a few bone-white boulders, and motioned them to crouch behind one.
“Look there! Riftclaw Birds!” he whispered excitedly, peeking from behind the rock and gesturing for the others to come closer.
The chubby swordsman hurried up eagerly, only for Rost to shove him aside.
“You’ve seen them before—you’ll get another chance later. Let the rookies have a look first! This is a training mission!” he said in all seriousness, beckoning Samael and Thaleia forward.
Thaleia ignored him.
“Oh, I’ll take a look,” Samael said agreeably—after all, as a transmigrant, everything in this world was new and fascinating to him.
Beyond the boulder lay a small patch of flat land covered in dry yellow grass.
A dozen or so massive brown birds—each about as tall as a person—walked through the weeds, dragging long tail feathers and pecking at something among the grass.
“See them?” Rost whispered. “Those are Riftclaw Birds—beasts of great warrior spirit! They never gang up unfairly. Now we’ll pick a worthy opponent from among them and charge straight in to create a fair dueling ground…”
He scanned the area and pointed at a slightly larger one near the edge—then suddenly leapt out from cover, shouting,
“Follow me! Prepare the arena for our duel!”
The chubby swordsman and the bespectacled mage dashed after him!
The Riftclaw Birds let out panicked cooing cries and scattered instantly into the grass.
The targeted bird tried to flee too, but was caught between the chubby swordsman and the mage.
Frantically glancing about, it found its final escape route blocked by Rost—so it dug its claws into the dirt and lunged at him!
“Let’s have a fair duel!” Rost cried, grass stalk still in his mouth, drawing his longsword and holding it proudly before him, facing the bird head-on!
Coo! The Riftclaw Bird shrieked, suddenly flapping its wings violently as its claws lifted off the ground.
Years of digging had honed them into sharp, powerful talons—it slashed at Rost!
Clang!
Sparks flew as Rost barely blocked one strike—but another, hidden behind the first, raked across his left arm.
“Gah! What a formidable opponent! Now it’s my turn!” Rost shouted, retaliating with a thrust that wounded the bird’s wing, leaving a bleeding gash.
“Rookies! Be careful! Stand back and watch! Don’t get hurt by the Riftclaw Bird!” he called out between swings.
“My, such a balanced fight. Truly thrilling,” Thaleia said dryly from the sidelines, resting her hammer-spear on her shoulder and yawning. “Wow, so exciting. I might faint from fear.”
She turned to look at Samael, only to see him staring at Rost and the bird in silence, deep in thought.
“Samo? Want to see something more exciting?” she asked mischievously, leaning close.
“…What?” Samael blinked, not following.
“Watch,” she whispered, and beneath the horns of her demonic helmet, faint azure light flashed in her eyes.
The Riftclaw Bird froze for an instant—then a ghostly blue gleam flickered within its eyes.
It was as if a monarch’s decree lashed its soul, a king’s power drove its body! It would shatter its limbs, break its neck, or crush its own body to obey that command!
The next second, it suddenly spread its wings and leaped high into the air!
Rost’s eyes widened in shock—he raised his sword to strike!
The Riftclaw Bird neither dodged nor fled. Its torso twisted unnaturally under the force of some invisible power, folding into a distorted shape just barely enough to avoid the blade! The motion snapped its own bones, yet driven by the frenzied will of its sovereign’s command, it charged straight for Rost’s chest with reckless momentum!
Its steel-like claws flashed.
A sharp tearing sound cut through the air as leather split open—blood sprayed out in a crimson arc.
It splattered, drop by drop, across the dry earth.
Under the horrified screams of his two devoted fans, Rost slowly fell to his knees.
The Riftclaw Bird’s broken bones could no longer support its body.
The overwhelming command of the monarch had shattered it completely.
Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, life ebbed away from its ruined form.
Using the last of its fading strength, the Riftclaw Bird staggered forward several meters before crashing into the ground, its skull bursting open.
Thaleia yawned.
“Fun, right? That was much faster. Now we can finish up and get some rest,” she said near Samael’s ear, her tone half boasting, half seeking praise.
Samael stood silent, gazing at Rost lying in the pool of blood, and at the two weeping followers beside him.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Samael said quietly. “He… yes, he’s arrogant, boastful, annoying, and foolishly unaware of it, but that doesn’t make him deserve death. He even cared about his rookie-training duty the whole time—called me over to observe, warned us not to get too close…”
He pushed Thaleia aside and ran forward to check Rost’s condition.
Thaleia stayed where she was, silently watching Samael kneel and lift Rost’s upper body to inspect his wounds.
“It’s fine… I’m fine! Just a scratch…” Lucwin Rost’s face was pale as chalk, his voice weak and strained. “Ah… battle scars are a warrior’s glory. A wound from a fair duel—it must look so cool… urgh…”
Samael activated the scanner in his helmet’s UI:
【Target Species: Human】
【Biological Integrity: 54% (Rapidly Declining)】
【Stamina: 20%】
【Spiritual Energy: 26%】
【Status: Severely Injured, Near Death】
【Estimated Time to Death: 36 Minutes】
His abdomen had been ripped open.
Without proper treatment, he wouldn’t last long.
Beasts driven by a monarch’s will always bore a mad, self-destructive ferocity.
Even a timid, harmless Cooing Chicken could become a frenzied, bloodthirsty fighter under the lash of spiritual command.
“Don’t you have any emergency medical supplies?” Samael asked. “Aren’t adventurers supposed to bring plenty of provisions?”
He suddenly remembered—back in his past life, whenever he played Darkest Dungeon, the narrator would always taunt him before an expedition:
‘Now you pay in gold… later you’ll pay in blood.’
So Xia Mo’an would always curse the greedy merchant’s pricing, yet still buy mountains of supplies anyway.
“I… I haven’t learned any healing spells yet,” the bespectacled mage stammered, clutching his bottle-thick lenses.
“Healing potions… are expensive. Captain Rost said they’re a scam…” the chubby swordsman sobbed.
“Ah… of course it’s a scam! No way they should cost that much!” Rost groaned weakly. His face had gone utterly white, and beads of cold sweat trickled down his forehead.
At least he was tough—his guts were nearly spilling out, yet he still held back from screaming.
Samael’s helmet metaphorically blacklined.
Where in the wilderness could they possibly find medical tools now? He thought hard—and then suddenly remembered the strange weight at his waist.
Randall had handed him a leather pouch filled with potions earlier.
Among them was a chain of over twenty glass vials of healing potion.
“You should thank Randall… If you make it back alive, remember to apologize to Randall Ryska,” Samael muttered as he opened the pouch, pulled out the chain of vials filled with murky crimson liquid, and yanked one free. Without asking permission, he uncorked it and poured it into Rost’s mouth.
A moment later, Rost screamed like a slaughtered pig.
“AAAAAAAHHHH! IT HURTS—AAAHHH IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS!!!”
“What’s going on? Isn’t it working?” Samael frowned, inspecting the wound.
The torn flesh was writhing, granulating slowly as it began to knit together.
【Biological Integrity: 56% (Rising)】
Clearly, the potion was working.
“Oh! Then one bottle isn’t enough. I knew it—how could such a tiny vial be enough?” Samael realized, grabbing another potion and forcing it down Rost’s throat.
“AAAHHHHHH! IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS—STOP—AAAHHHH!” Rost shrieked.
【Biological Integrity: 60% (Rising Rapidly)】
“This vial’s too small—he’s in pain because the dose is too little. It’s healing potion; one more should fix it!” Samael reasoned aloud and pried Rost’s mouth open again.
“N-no—stop! N-noooAAAHHHHHH—” Rost’s protests turned into another scream as he was forced to drink a third bottle.
【Biological Integrity: 68% (Accelerating)】
【Biological Integrity: 75%… 82%… 91%… 99%… 100%】
【Status: Stable. Unconscious.】
“Alright, that should do it,” Samael said, releasing him. “Rost, how do you feel?”
“Captain Rost?” The chubby swordsman and the mage shook him.
Rost’s eyes rolled back. He’d fainted from sheer agony.
“It’s fine now. Stable,” Samael said, scratching the side of his helmet while glancing at the empty vials. “Why would a healing potion cause that much pain?”
“Because rookie potion-makers are terrible at purification,” Thaleia’s voice came from beside him. “Healing potions use Blood Thorn as one of the ingredients. It contains a thorn toxin that causes severe pain—it’s hard to completely remove. Beginners can’t purify it properly. Doesn’t affect the healing, but it’s excruciating.”
Samael turned his head.
Thaleia’s helmet was just a few inches from his own, a few strands of gray hair fluttering from the gaps in her helm. Her hands were clasped behind her back as she leaned down to inspect the vials in his grasp.
“Your dung-shoveler friend probably forgot to tell you—impure healing potions should be taken with painkillers. He even packed the same number of painkiller vials in the bag,” she said, flicking a clawed fingertip at the twenty-two small vials in the leather pouch. “Healing potion is potent—a single vial works slowly but steadily. You force-fed him too many, so he passed out from the pain.”
“…Could’ve said that earlier,” Samael muttered, looking at the unconscious, white-eyed Rost before quietly packing the pouch away.
“We should head back,” he said, crouching down to hoist Rost onto his back.
“The… the trophy! We need to take the trophy too!” the chubby swordsman pointed at the Riftclaw Bird’s corpse.
Samael glanced at Thaleia.
“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Thaleia sighed, grudgingly lifting the heavy Riftclaw Bird carcass with one hand.
As the body was dragged aside, it revealed the grass beneath.
“Wait.” Samael stopped abruptly. “What’s this…”
Scattered among the weeds were pale brown granules—the same things the Riftclaw Birds had been pecking at earlier.
“…Wheat grains?” Thaleia said, her tone uncertain.
Why would there be wheat grains in the wilderness? Ordinary human crops shouldn’t be able to grow in the magically saturated soil of the Wasteland.
Following the trail of grains, Samael stepped toward the center of the field.
There lay a coarse burlap sack, torn open by beaks and claws, half-filled with wheat.
“Take that too,” he said, glancing at Thaleia.
Thaleia nodded and picked up the sack with her free hand.
There were faint, partially torn words printed on the bag:
【Deliver Grain to Karna… (rest torn away by claws)… City】
…
Thornfall Outpost — Old Timber Street, the public workshop across from the barracks.
Among adventurers, there was no shortage of skilled craftsmen—potion-makers skilled in alchemy, hunters adept at making traps and explosives, mages and elven enchantresses crafting magical tools, dwarven smiths forging armor and weapons, and more. Yet the barracks rooms were cramped and unequipped, hardly suited for production.
Thus, every Guild outpost had a public workshop near the barracks, filled with professional-grade crafting equipment. Members could rent both the rooms and tools for a fee—far more convenient and affordable than owning personal facilities.
Inside one such potion-maker’s studio, a short blonde alchemist stood on a stool, stirring a cauldron full of raw materials on the wide worktable.
Tubes, extractors, and droppers surrounded her in a chaotic but functional array.
Randall sat nearby, using the large table to organize and bind his study notes.
“Using my workspace again…” the short blonde potion-maker grumbled.
“Just borrowing the table. I’ll leave once I’m done sorting my notes,” Randall replied, tapping the stack of bestiary and herbology notes to align their edges.
Achoo! Randall turned his head aside, covering his mouth as he sneezed.
“Caught a cold, Captain?” the apprentice potion-maker, Ruby, asked while stirring and heating the cauldron.
“N-no, I’m fine,” Randall answered, frowning. “I just feel like I’ve forgotten something…”
“You forgot to pay me, that’s what! You’re using my rented workspace to sort your notes—split the rent! Pay up!” Ruby said, holding out her hand.
“Nope… I’m pretty sure what I forgot isn’t that,” Randall replied, dodging her grab with a hunter’s agility.
“Why are you suddenly here asking for more potions anyway? Didn’t I already make enough for the team?” Ruby asked.
“I gave my share to the two new teammates joining tomorrow,” Randall said, rubbing his chin. “Didn’t I tell you? Two fully armored knights… oh!”
He suddenly gasped.
“What now? You startled me!” Ruby snapped.
“I forgot to tell them your healing potions hurt like hell! They need to drink the painkillers with them!” Randall shouted, springing up and knocking his chair over.
Ruby pouted. “They should be grateful they’ve got healing potions! It doesn’t affect the effect anyway! It’s not my fault Blood Thorn toxin’s hard to remove—I already reduced the impurities as much as possible! Do you know how much work it took to do that? Picky much!”