Mad-Eye Mordok, the Gnoll Chieftain.

He was a Field Boss. And not just any boss, but a rare spawn. So rare, in fact, that running into him on just the second day felt like the universe was either mocking them or handing out early death certificates.

Judging by the state of Muradin's team—bloodied, scrambling, more than half their members already down—it was clear they hadn't planned this encounter. It was pure misfortune.

The thing is, a Field Boss never comes alone.

Mordok had brought friends, a full-blown gnoll war party, ranging from the usual snarling Gnoll Archers to the nightmare-inducing Bandersnatch. And among them? A rare variant, the Fangbone Sorcerer.

When I stumbled onto the blood-soaked ridge, the scene looked like a battlefield scraped straight from a nightmare. Bits of armor and cloth, severed body parts, Mana Stones, and loot drops littered the ground like confetti at a very violent party.

The only enemy still standing was Mordok himself, towering over Muradin like a nightmare made flesh.

And there it was.

Lying half-buried under a heap of ash and torn robes, glowing faintly like a dying star…

"Wait... is that Fangbone Scepter?" I muttered, half in awe, half in disbelief, staring at the glimmering weapon abandoned in the dirt like someone's spare sock.

It was a very rare item dropped by Fangbone Sorcerer.

That was all the reason I needed.

I jumped into the fray.

Was it selfish? Maybe. But in a world like this, where one wrong step could end your story for good, you didn't pass up a golden opportunity. You calculated. You moved. And when fate handed you a golden egg wrapped in chaos?

You grabbed it without hesitation.

***

1793 Mana Stones.

Compared to the pathetic 29 I'd managed to scrape together solo, this was an absolute treasure trove.

"Hah! Looks like Lady Luck finally remembered I exist," I muttered, grinning as I slipped the two Gnoll Tails into my pouch. I needed at least one to help me in the labyrinth ahead.

And then, there it was. the true prize of the battle.

The Fangbone Scepter.

A special drop. Which meant one glorious thing: it had an active skill.

"Woah… so this is how it feels in real life," I said eagerly, barely able to contain my excitement as the raw energy of the scepter pulsed through my hands.

[Eryndor Leafshade]

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. [Soul Level: 1 Vitality: 3 Strength: 4 → 11 Agility: 3 → 5 Wisdom: 22 → 31 Mana Regen: 9 → 11 Willpower: 134] [Spells: Rejuvenation, Windstride, Wind Cutter]

***

After a quiet moment of silence for Muradin's fallen comrades, half-buried beneath bloodied rocks and broken spears, we finally had time for proper introductions.

"This is the first time I've met a druid," said Darwyn, the elven archer, brushing dirt from his tunic. His emerald eyes gleaming with curiosity. "And I owe you my life. Twice, I think."

"Well, at least we paid him handsomely for his troubles," Muradin quipped with a playful smirk.

I shot him a grin, "If that was handsome, I'd hate to see what you call pocket change."

Muradin let out a hearty laugh, slapping his armored thigh with a loud clang. "You've got a sharp tongue for a nature lover."

"Nature's full of thorns," I said, dryly.

Darwyn chuckled and clapped a hand on my shoulder. "We're headed for the second-floor portal. Why not join us?"

"Fair share of the spoils," I said plainly. "That's all I ask. My path leads in the same direction anyway."

With our combined strength, I no longer had to take the long and winding paths to my destination. Instead, we could cut straight through enemy-infested zones while hunting along the way.

A pack of Hoblins snarled from the ridge above. Darwyn reacted first, loosing an arrow that found its mark in one's throat. Another charged down the slope, jagged axe raised. Muradin stepped forward with a roar, his hammer meeting flesh and bone in a burst of red mist.

Behind them, I raised my staff.

[Wind Cutter cast]

A blade of compressed air shot forward, slashing across the Hoblin's shoulder. It staggered, but kept running.

[Wind Cutter cast, effect successfully stacked – extra damage dealt]

The second blade carved into its thigh, drawing a spurt of blood. It roared in pain but still didn't stop.

"That spell of yours," Darwyn said, "looks like it hurts more than it sounds."

"It hurts where it counts," I muttered, casting again.

[Wind Cutter cast, effect successfully stacked – extra damage dealt]

The third strike hit true, through the last Hoblin, cleaving through its torso mid-sprint. It never even hit the ground, just dissolved into particles of fading light.

Finally, I was dealing real damage.

Unlike most weapon-bound skills, Wind Cutter was a spell. It consumed Mana with every cast. But thanks to its low cost and short cooldown, I could spam it endlessly, replacing basic attacks entirely.

While the damage was low, the true strength lay in its stacking mechanic: consecutive strikes increased its damage exponentially, punishing any enemy foolish enough to let me chain my attacks uninterrupted.

Gnolls, Bandersnatches, Hoblins, every monster that dared step in our way was cut down in moments. Our team composition was nearly perfect for Redridge Range: a durable frontline melee warrior, a ranged damage dealer, and a versatile support.

We tore through Red Murlocs near the marshy ravine, their high-pitched gurgles silenced beneath Muradin's hammer and the sharp crack of Wind Cutter. A small one lunged from the reeds, spear first.

I ducked, rolled, and struck back.

Splaash!

The monster let out a shrill gurgle before its body was torn apart by a relentless barrage of Wind Cutter. Its form broke down into particles of fading light.

"Brutal. I like it," Darwyn snorted.

Everything had been going smoothly, almost too smoothly. Yet, for some reason, my heart pounded in my chest, a nagging sense of unease creeping up my spine.

Given my notoriously terrible luck, this could only mean one thing. Something bad was waiting just around the corner.

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