The Hairy and the Hairless

Pain! Pain beyond bearing!

Ruger had never enjoyed such an explosively scorching full-body massage before. Blazing heat came mixed with bursting heavy blows, and the immense impact kept forcing him backward. Choked by the crushing pressure, it felt as though that instant of enormous force was not pushing him toward the wall, but toward another world. More than twenty fireballs rained down upon him in rapid succession, dense as a storm. It felt like being crushed over and over. Even the air churned beneath the spraying firelight, and every breath he drew burned his lungs with searing pain.

Yet he wanted to laugh. He had no idea what kind of skin Half-Man had given him, but it was astonishingly resistant to fire and incredibly tough. Resistant to fire was not even enough to describe it—it was as if it possessed a faint affinity for flames.

When he barely sensed the condition of that fellow recklessly tossing flammables around—

He wanted to laugh even louder, to shout that a level-five apprentice was nothing special. But his vision was already blurred, and he might not even have been able to shout. Tears, snot, and blood smeared his entire face. His head buzzed, his ears rang without end, and he did not even know whether any part of him was missing. This was only because he had instinctively shielded his head with both arms. Thank goodness for this dark-red skin. Thank goodness he had learned the Demon Skin Spell before running around recklessly.

Thank goodness. So many thank goodnesses had made him what he was now, keeping him from becoming a charred, broken corpse.

He breathed hard, unable to spare any thought for the discomfort caused by air still thick with heat waves.

Other than gulping down breaths, there was nothing he could do as he leaned against the wall.

After an unknown amount of time, the dizziness had eased considerably. He began trying to move his limbs, roughly cleared his mouth and nose to make breathing easier, then fumbled for his storage pouch. Only then did his mind, slowed from the beating, realize that the well-fitting robe he had only recently acquired was completely ruined. He took out a bottle of Big Silly Hum's blood, tilted his head back, and gulped it down. Without those preparatory motions, he was not even sure he could have swallowed the stuff properly.

Having used too much force, he toppled from his leaning position and ended up flat on his back. His body slowly recovered under the nourishment of Big Silly Hum's blood.

This blood had been stored for a few too many days. Its effect seemed to have weakened, he thought.

When his vision was no longer so blurred, he immediately used the back of his head to brace against the ground and turned his head sideways, looking toward the person on the other side of the passage, whom he had already passed by some distance.

Only when he saw that person lying on the ground as well, twitching now and then, did he relax.

He did not know whether the other man was recovering too, or whether he had some means Ruger had never encountered before. He forcibly suppressed the anxiety in his heart.

Every so often, he had to check on the other man's condition.

It was as if he were racing his recovery against an imagined enemy. He truly hoped he was worrying for nothing; if the other man was not recovering, it would be much safer.

Time slowed under anxiety and fear. Just like when those fireballs struck him—though it had happened in the blink of an eye, it had felt endlessly long, as if he could give each fireball that hit him its own little name. For example, the one that struck his armpit could be called Little Armpit, while the one that burned all the hair off his head could be called Bald Blaze.

Ruger stretched his legs. Feeling that he was more or less ready, he braced himself against the cave wall and stood up.

Unknown old brother, don't say I never gave you a chance. It's been long enough, he thought.

Of course, he had kept Foul-Smelling Skin active the entire time with great care. He had even feared that the man might move around and escape its range, so he had crawled forward a little, pushing himself along with his head against the ground.

Thanks to Big Silly Hum's blood. I'll give him an extra share of roasted meat when I get back.

He moved slowly along the cave wall, watching the other man. From his experience, judging by the man's convulsions, he could conclude that he was affected by Foul-Smelling Skin. Targets with physical bodies really were easier to handle. Or perhaps this man simply was not as strong as the near-spirit-body target from last time.

The man on the ground wore a hood, and only the stubble on the lower half of his face could be seen.

Ruger's barely recovered body still ached everywhere, and he had no mood to study this fellow.

He stopped at a suitable position.

From what had happened earlier, this man's zero-ring spell slot should have held a fixed Fireball Spell. And it was not merely fixed—it had clearly been modified, or paired with some other method or spell. Its power was astonishing.

Although the other man was already in such a state, Ruger still did not dare approach rashly. Wizard apprentices now cultivated third-generation meditation techniques; a level-five wizard apprentice had at least five temporary spell slots. If the man suddenly sprang a surprise on him, Ruger could not withstand it in his current state.

He cast Strength of the Savage Bull on himself again, then took a short spear from his storage pouch and weighed it in his hand.

He did not attack immediately.

First came three Freezing Rays in succession, all striking the man's ankles. They even froze his ankles to the ground.

Throughout this, the man still did not spring up to resist. It looked like he was not putting on an act.

Another Freezing Ray shot straight toward his face, but unfortunately, his sideways position left part of it blocked.

Then Ruger spread his stance, swung his arm in a full arc, and threw two short spears one after another.

Unfortunately, his skill was limited. Only one struck the torso squarely, while the other grazed the scalp. But that was enough to end the writhing of this unknown fellow.

Ruger's body swayed. He slid down the cave wall and sat on the ground.

Tap! Tap!

A burst of footsteps made him tense again. Though he had the enhancement of Strength of the Savage Bull, he still could not run fast right now. But even if he could not run fast, he still had to run.

"It's me, little one. Well done."

Baangte entered his field of vision slowly, carrying a grayish-white long snake. He did not look the least bit bedraggled.

This guy must have thought I was already dead, Ruger thought.

"This apprentice is probably called Lante. He's fairly weak, and I hit him twice myself. I figured handing him over to you would not be a problem. And at this level, once you chose to stay, you should have been prepared to face it. This may be the minimum standard from now on," Baangte said, looking at Ruger, whose bedraggled state was beyond words. "It seems he may have improved somewhat since we last met, or perhaps my estimate was wrong. Don't tell me you still haven't reached level three wizard apprentice?"

"I just... know fewer spells," Ruger said.

Foul-Smelling Skin had been tested in actual combat against a level-five wizard apprentice, and Ruger felt his confidence harden a little. Besides, he had only been playing along with their questions before. He had never intended to complete any wizard lord's commission. Getting the benefits, finding an opportunity to slip away, returning to hide and meditate, and completing his second magic mark as soon as possible—that was what he should be doing.

"Maybe in a few days, you really should leave with that fire-playing cook."

As Baangte spoke, he tossed over a bottle of dark-green potion.

"Free," he added.

Ruger caught it but did not drink it. Instead, he solemnly put it away in his storage pouch.

Baangte saw it and did not comment. He simply walked toward the corpse pinned to the ground by the short spear.

A storage pouch was tossed over. Ruger raised his hand and caught it again, tugging at the shoulder that had not yet recovered and had been strained further by forcibly throwing the short spears.

After thinking for a moment, he stood up and, under Baangte's surprised gaze, went over to the man and stripped away his robe and boots.

"I didn't bring spares," he explained.

The hooded robe was torn open at the damaged spot, then pulled over his body in a few quick motions.

Baangte stood to the side, examining Ruger's dog-headed body, and a look of sudden understanding appeared in his eyes.