Regain. Stamina.

BOOOM!

Regain. Power.

BOOOOOOM!

Regain. Honor.

BOOOOOOM!

The Minotaur continues to launch himself towards the unyielding tree trunk thicker than three men standing side by side. Sweat runs down his chest, while droplets sting his eyes as they drip from his mane.

Burning with a fiery purpose, he’d ram his head into the tough Ironwood tree, over and over and over. He didn’t care if the trees hadn’t even dropped a leaf at his first attempts, for all the strength he’d boasted. He didn’t care as the Ironwood Bears ignored his attempts to down the tree, munching away on the branches that were harder than any iron with their powerful jaws.

They didn’t mind the Minotaur whose body was as large as them. They recognized him as a sort of neighbor now, as he offered them gifts of fallen Ironwood branches that the bears themselves had already chewed off.

Crixus huffs out heavy breaths, chest heaving as he breathes deeply out flared nostrils.

No, this Minotaur had a purpose.

His mind was full of only becoming more powerful, to become worthy of serving the Lady.

The Minotaur Herd bowed to no one, yet Crixus had bowed to her. Something about this Raven, with her blue-black, glimmering wings, shiny, inquisitive eyes, and her every fluid motion drew him in.

She was the only bird he considered beautiful. Greater than even the Rook Eagles that soared above the plains with their wings stretched wide over the vast plains. Lady was perfect in shape and form. Brows furrowing, Crixus groans again. He deeply regretted harming her in that first encounter. He should have listened to the hag from the beginning. The Dryad was right. Lady would save his people from their plight. And he, Crixus who’d gathered honor by fighting against those without in the Cages, would help her do it.

It was the conviction that drove him.

This. This must be the reason why he’d been torn from his Herd in the vast Plains, stolen away from them as a young child across the Seas. Minotaurs were desired as tough fighters, a rare breed from the other Continent to entertain the masses. Many a companion he’d lost as there, as he grew unchallenged, fighting and winning every challenge thrown his way.

He’d gone so far as to fight a match before the Emperor himself…before that incident.

It was all to meet her, to bring the honor he’d earned back to his Herd.

Crixus thinks backs to the Lady, the mysterious Raven herself. She’d fought wonderfully with that goblin pet of hers against them. And then she’d even taken them in and called strangers, expendable slaves like them, as her family, her Kin….Even..called his broken horns beautiful...

Not since his mother had Crixus’ horns been called beautiful.

Crixus stretches out his neck, feeling the uneven weight of the broken horns sitting atop his head. The horns of a Minotaur were a mark of pride. To have unsullied horns boasted of prowess in battle. Sadly for Crixus, they’d broken off long ago in his first fights in the Cages.

The few who mockingly called his horns beautiful after that ended up dead.

The longer he spent with her, the more her every action reaffirmed his conclusion.

To meet her must be why he’d gone through all the pain and suffering till now….Finally, with her, his people would be able to live freely on the Plains, free to roam where they wished, to play, and to mate as they desired.

Crixus huffed wearily, leaning his head against the thick bark of the Ironwood tree he’d been training against. It wasn’t enough to be content with what she provided them. Lady was destined for the wider Plains, the vast distances where many would benefit from knowing her.

..But to be of any use to the Lady, he must become stronger. Without any arms, he couldn't wield any sort of weapon... All the experience and skill he’d earned in the Cages, lost because he refused to kneel.

Though he hadn’t regretted the decision then, even when the handlers wrapped heavy chains around his neck...Even as they’d chopped his arms off with all the dull bravado of a pig at the butchers.

Crixus grits his teeth, making his molars creak as they grind against each other.

How he wished he could wield weapons again. To feel the bite of wood in his palm. The reverberations from the crowd as bones broke to pieces under the sheer force accompanying his dulled sword. The strain of his arms as he blew away his opponents with a shield bash.

Groaning, he knocks his head against the wood again.

Use your head Lady had said.

What wisdom was contained in her words!

Back in the Empire, fighting in the cages taught him that it wasn’t flashy swordsmanship that kept a man alive. To earn a victory, a man had to be willing to do what it took to get the job done. And so Crixus had fought. Using all manner of weapons, calculating in his head the most efficient reactions to take against his opponents.

Yet, her words had put everything into perspective. A True Minotaur could, and should, win by strength, and strength alone. This must be why a Minotaur’s head was the hardest part of their bodies. It made more sense why Minotaurs had horns in the first place. The horns must have been put there to be used to fight, not adorned with metal rings like the men of his Herd had done.

Stomping back he stomps at the ground, glaring at the tall Ironwood tree before him.

He would keep training. Keep pushing. Until he became an unstoppable force, so powerful in his forward momentum that he became invulnerable to attacks and mowed down everything that blocked the Lady’s path.

Skreeeei!!

Greenie gives a whoop, leaping out from behind the rock with light footsteps as he goes around poking every single wolf there. Those with an especially clean, solid-colored pelt, the goblin would stroke. Their hides were pretty. Might be nice to make a bed for us to sleep on.

Yep. They were pretty.

If this was my old world, I would very much be interested in having a fur coat the exact shade of light tawny brown like the female wolf Greenie was patting.

A large breath blows out of me. The first test had gone well. The wolves were dead.

Screeek.

Blood splatters across Greenie’s chest as he cuts one of the wolves open with his Soldier’s Dirk, the red creating modern art-style red polka dots against his pink blade. He moved quickly, already removing the front leg of a young wolf with mottled fur and offering it to me on his shoulder.

As a Savage Goblin Rare, it was easy enough for Greenie to slice jagged cuts through the ball and socket that connected the wolf’s front forelimb to its torso. Easy, but rough. He was using his shorter blade to hack into the flesh and then use his new strength to rip and pull until the limb came loose.

Holding up the large forelimb like it was a turkey leg at a fair, Greenie grins widely at me.

Master food! Better rat?

It was sweet of him to offer me the first taste. Our breakfast eating the last of the rat meat we’d rationed out seemed so long ago...And it did look kind of yummy…

Slight steam rose from the raw meat that made me lean towards it, beak opening as if to eat it, before I realize and hurriedly pull myself back.

Greenie, we can’t eat that. The wolves’ meat must be poisoned now. We might end up like these wolves if we ate them, Greenie.

Or would it?

Stroking the white feathers at my throat with my good wing, I ponder.

We both had Rot Resistance, but would that work against poisons? But rot should point to decay, meat that was expired, not to poison itself. Or did the system count poison as a sort of Rot? Hmm...

I wasn’t going to like it, but there was only one way to find out.

Not now, but later.

If I controlled the amount we ate, it shouldn’t be life-threatening.

Greenie’s hand seems to waver as he looks at me, then back at the wolf leg.

I mean, we didn’t have to eat the wolf meat to try and get poison resistance if there was still the meat left in the Ice Cavern…

The urge to take the easy way out nudges at me.

No, it was better to become stronger. It was always the apex predators that lived well. My goal was to live comfortably, eating delicious food, and spending my days in a soft comfy bed. I was going to get there, even if it meant the road might be covered with something terrible like the Siphon Bush vines. Or something even worse. That didn’t matter.

It was better to become stronger and get that Poison Resistance if we could.

If I didn’t, I’ll end up miserable, betrayed…

Bile rises in my throat as a boiling, murderous rage makes my mind blank out. All I could hear was the sound of my blood rushing through my head.

….like my old life?

What was that?

I shake my head to get rid of the strange, unwarranted emotions, the shiver that starts from my head reaching down to my neck, then down my wings and jolting my entire body.

Master?

Greenie sets down the wolf leg dripping blood and cups me in his leathery hands. I barely notice the blood that gets on my feathers and soaks into the dry clay when he does that.

The scene around us whirls as I continue to shake my head.

No, No, No.

That wasn’t right.

My life was hard, but it wasn’t miserable. I still had my family, a home to go back to. A soft bed to sleep in, though I hadn’t been able to use it often.

And no one had betrayed me.

Did it have to do with that dream I had when I’d evolved??

I’d chosen to get rid of this pack because they were the ones that wandered around the area that was in front of our Ice Cavern. Right at the foot of the enormous mountain that had multicolored lights flashing atop the clouds there.

Standing atop his shoulder among the dead wolves, my wings twitch at the tangy scent of blood from the Antora and the faint, muted scents of the wolves’ blood underneath it.

I’d been a city girl in my old life. Most of the meals eaten in my life were either prepared by my mother. Towards the end, when my workload continued to increase as the additional roles of my quitting female counterparts were given to me, most of my meals had come from the nearest 24h burger joint. There was no time to relax in the newest, most aesthetically pleasing cafes like the girls my age were doing. Heck, what my sister got to do while I worked my butt off.

Slowly but surely, I was starting to get it.

I’d come a long way from that small kid that thought that cuts of fish swam in the ocean already wrapped in plastic. Somehow, in my mind, it seemed feasible then that raw slices of orange salmon meat would be waving in the salty waters, swimming about.

Many, many times now, I’d been proven wrong. Each time we ate the foreleg of a salamander. Each time I had to skin a rat and tear it into portions for Greenie, Andvari, and I to eat.

Everything here was as real as could be.

Master??

Greenie strokes his wet thumb over my head in worry, which makes me startle to awareness.

Greenie, don’t stain the backpack!

I tilt my body away from his touch, the iron scent of wolf’s blood practically punching me in the face with how strong it was. My thoughts were replaced in a moment from survival to needing to protect my brand-new backpack.

It was a backpack that contained Caïssa’s precious seed.

Andvari did such a great job with it, I’d feel bad if we came back and he found out we’d dirtied it already. And not just that. The fabric of my backpack was made with what was left of Caïssa’s clothes. During one rainy day when the mists were too strong for us to venture outside, I’d spent the day cleaning and decorating the cloth to make a backpack that could carry Caïssa’s seed in it.

Using some red berries and crushed up Crescent Moon leaves, I’d decorated the rough yellowed cloth with red droplets. I’d tried my best using my beak to dribble them in the shape of flowers, but they looked more like blobs. Around the red dots, I’d trailed decorative grasses around the flowers, just like the flowers that marked her grave at the lake. There were also some empty blank spaces left on the top flap to decorate that I’d left on purpose. Soon, when I found some purple, yellow, or blue berries, I would add their colors to my backpack, complete the rainbow of flowers just like the song Caïssa liked.

Though it wasn’t perfect, it was sort of- rustic? I thought having a pretty design was nice to carry what was Caïssa’s child.

It didn’t feel right to have her seed that she’d given her life for sitting hidden in a dirty corner of our cave. So I carried it with me, the thin leather tips of the rat tails worked into a sort of harness over and across my legs by Andvari and sitting on my back.

Sometimes as we’d watched the wolves, I’d even talked to the seed, singing simple songs to it and rocking my body like I had a baby on my back. A bit embarrassing if Andvari or Crixus saw me, but it was all good since it was only Greenie and me out in the forest, hunting for scraps and observing the movements of the wolves.

Greenie was the one I could trust more. Because he wasn’t human he didn’t have common sense, wouldn’t consider any actions I made to be ‘strange’ or ‘abnormal’. Well, Andvari and Crixus weren’t human either, but... Starting from the way they treated me, calling me Lady and treating me as if I was some great savior…It wasn’t exactly easy to relax..let my beans out completely, so to speak.

Welp. This was my life now. I needed to deal with it.

Stretching my neck out side to side, I refocus.

This was one of the smaller packs. There were 9 dead wolves here. Thankfully, two out of the nine were still much younger, bodies small enough that we could sling them over Greenie’s shoulders.

I dig my claws into the fur perched atop them, enjoying the warmth of their soft pelt.

Alright, Greenie. Let’s start taking them to the Ice Cavern.

Grnngh!

Greenie groans as he pulls another large wolf behind him, dragging the grey wolf by its hind legs.

One pack down, around 5 more to go.

A cold gust of air makes Greenie shiver, jostling me atop the wolf slung over his thick shoulder.

Though I had a feeling that Wolf King wasn’t going to let us get rid of the large pack so easily. I could only hope that we moved fast enough. If we could whittle down the enemy’s numbers, the final fight against the Wolf King would go a lot easier.

….Though a niggling feeling told me things weren’t going to go as smoothly as I hoped.