Chapter : 497

  The effect was immediate, and spectacular. The slimes, whose simple, amoebic consciousness could process only two things—‘bounce’ and ‘move away from the scary, crackling thing’—reacted instantly. The ones at the outer edge of Fang Fairy’s path turned, bouncing frantically away from her, crashing into their fellow slimes, creating a ripple effect that spread inwards. The entire, vast section of the plain began to move, to flow, a river of translucent, jiggling bodies, all being driven, channeled, condensed towards a single, central point.

  It was a beautiful, almost hypnotic, display of crowd control. Within minutes, Fang Fairy had successfully herded a massive horde of several hundred slimes into a single, densely packed, and very confused, quivering mound of gelatinous despair. They were packed so tightly they could barely bounce, their individual inner lights merging into a single, large, pulsating blue-white glow.

  “Perfect,” Lloyd murmured, watching from a safe distance. He had his target. Contained. Concentrated. Now, for the delivery system.

  He raised his hands. He could have used the Spear of Justice, yes. But that was still a high-cost, single-target weapon, ill-suited for this kind of area-of-effect work. He needed something different. Something broader. Something that leveraged the sheer, destructive potential of his B-Rank Steel Blood in a new, more efficient, way.

  He focused his will, not on delicate, binding wires, but on raw, brutal mass. The air around him shimmered, and a single, massive chain of gleaming Ferrum steel erupted from the void before him. It was thicker, heavier, more menacing than any he had created before, each link the size of his head, the entire chain easily a hundred feet long.

  But he didn't send it out to bind. He had a different, more brutal, purpose in mind for it. He focused again, pouring his Void power into the steel, not just to shape it, but to control it. The massive chain rose into the air, hovering, coiling and uncoiling like a monstrous, metallic serpent.

  Then, he began to spin it.

  Slowly at first, then faster, and faster, and faster. The massive, hundred-foot-long steel chain became a blur, a shimmering, horizontal vortex of pure, kinetic death. The air shrieked as it was displaced by the spinning metal, the sound a rising, terrifying, high-pitched whine, like a jet engine preparing for takeoff. It was a man-made hurricane, a whirlwind of solid, unstoppable, crushing steel.

  He looked at the densely packed, quivering mound of slimes. They pulsed, their single, collective consciousness perhaps sensing the new, terrifying, screaming threat in the air.

  “Now, Fang Fairy,” Lloyd’s voice was a calm command amidst the rising shriek of the spinning chain. “The final ingredient.”

  He held the spinning, horizontal vortex of steel steady. And he felt Fang Fairy, who had been watching from a safe distance, channel her power. Not into him. But directly into the spinning chain itself.

  A brilliant, azure arc of pure lightning leaped from her outstretched hand and connected with the shimmering, spinning vortex of steel. The effect was instantaneous. The entire, massive, spinning chain became a conductor, erupting in a blinding, crackling, and utterly, comprehensively, terrifying aura of pure, high-voltage lightning.

  He had created a super-weapon. A hundred-foot-long, multi-ton, spinning, lightning-wreathed, steel chain of absolute, indiscriminate, and very, very messy, annihilation.

  A slow, cold, and deeply, scientifically, satisfying smile spread across his face beneath his mask. This, he thought, is efficiency.

  He took a single step forward, and with a grunt of pure, focused effort, he unleashed his creation. The spinning, lightning-wreathed vortex of death shot forward, not with the piercing speed of the spear, but with the inexorable, all-consuming momentum of a tidal wave, directly into the heart of the densely packed, terrified, and about-to-be-comprehensively-liquidated, slime horde.

  The result was not a battle. It was an industrial-scale, electrically charged, mulching operation. The grind had just become beautiful.

  The aural assault of the spinning, lightning-wreathed chain of death was a symphony of industrial-scale annihilation. It was a testament to Lloyd’s core strengths: the fusion of his analytical Earth mind with the raw, magical potential of his new world. The strategy was flawless, the execution brutal, and the result… immediate. The densely packed horde of glistening slimes, which had seemed like an insurmountable, jiggly ocean of tedious work, was simply erased, mulched into a vast, steaming puddle of bluish goo that smelled faintly of ozone and boiled gelatin.

  Chapter : 498

  For a fleeting, triumphant moment, Lloyd felt the intoxicating rush of a general who has just broken the enemy’s main line with a single, brilliant, overwhelming cavalry charge. A progress notification flashed in his mind, a testament to the sheer efficiency of his new technique. He allowed the massive steel chain, its momentum bleeding away, to dissolve back into the latent Void energy within him. The terrifying, high-pitched shriek of spinning metal subsided, leaving a profound, almost ringing, silence in its wake, broken only by the soft, sizzling pops of the evaporating slime puddle.

  That, his internal monologue declared with a smug satisfaction, is how you deal with a pest infestation. Work smarter, not harder. He felt a surge of pride, looking at Fang Fairy, whose ethereal form still crackled with a faint, residual aura of azure lightning. They were a perfect team, a fusion of mind and storm, of steel and thunder. This grind, which had seemed so daunting, would be over in a matter of hours.

  But then, the cost of that single, spectacular attack made itself known.

  A wave of profound, bone-deep weariness washed over him, so sudden and so potent it almost made him stumble. His Void reserves, which had felt comfortably full moments before, now felt scraped raw, a dull, aching emptiness at the core of his being. The creation and kinetic animation of a chain that size, imbued with enough power to maintain its integrity while spinning at incredible speeds, had been a massive expenditure.

  He glanced at Fang Fairy. The brilliant, almost divine, luminescence of her Transcended form had dimmed perceptibly. The crackling lightning aura was gone, replaced by a faint, almost apologetic, shimmer. She was panting softly, her golden eyes, while still sharp and loyal, holding a new, deep exhaustion. The amount of raw power she had channeled into the chain, transforming it from a simple kinetic weapon into an electrified instrument of mass destruction, had drained a significant portion of their shared spiritual energy pool.

  Lloyd did a quick, grim mental calculation. That single attack, which had cleared perhaps three hundred slimes, had consumed nearly a third of their total combat-ready energy. He could maybe, if he pushed it, execute two more such attacks before they were both completely, utterly, spent.

  He looked out across the vast, teeming plains. The patch they had cleared was already being filled, a slow, inexorable tide of bouncing, gurgling blue blobs, moving in from the periphery to fill the empty space. His grand, decisive victory had been against a single, insignificant wave in an endless ocean.

  The smug satisfaction curdled into a familiar, frustrating reality. His super-weapon was a cannon that cost a fortune to fire, and he was facing an army of ants that stretched to the horizon. This was not a war he could win with overwhelming force. The initial triumph was an illusion. The grind was not just real; it was the only path forward.

  "Well," he muttered to the still air of the Farm, a wry, humorless smile twisting his lips. "So much for the 'work smarter, not harder' approach. It seems we have to work smarter and harder. And for a very, very, long time."

  He looked at Fang Fairy, whose golden eyes met his with a quiet, unwavering understanding. The path is the path, Master, her silent thought was a calm, steadying presence in his own turbulent mind.

  He let out a long, weary sigh. "Right. Back to basics, then." He pushed aside the temptation to unleash another glorious, but ultimately unsustainable, whirlwind of death. Efficiency was not about the speed of a single kill; it was about the sustainability of the hunt. They needed a low-cost, repeatable, and deeply, profoundly, monotonous solution.

  He returned to the tactic he had first devised, but with a new, grim sense of purpose. This was no longer an experiment; this was labor. He extended his will, his B-Rank Steel Blood answering his call, but not with a single, massive chain. He manifested a dozen smaller, thinner chains, each one a swift, silent serpent of gleaming steel. It was less draining, requiring finesse over raw power.

  He cast his net. The chains shot out, weaving through the oblivious, bouncing slimes, ensnaring a cluster of ten. "Fang Fairy," he commanded, his voice now flat, devoid of its earlier excitement. "Low-level current. As efficiently as possible."

  A single, thin tendril of azure lightning leaped from her fingertip, connecting with the steel web. There was a brief, almost pathetic, chorus of sizzling pops, and ten more slimes dissolved into goo. A progress bar, stark and unforgiving, appeared in his vision.

  [Slimes Killed: 310/1000]

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The number ticked upward, a tiny, almost insulting, increment. And so, the true grind began.

  Chapter : 499

  It was a special kind of hell, a purgatory of gelatin and boredom. Lloyd’s life, both of them, had been defined by high-stakes, high-intensity challenges. He had wrestled with complex engineering problems that pushed the boundaries of known physics. He had commanded divisions in battles where a single decision could mean life or death for thousands. He had faced down assassins, monsters, and angry princesses. He was a man accustomed to conflict, to strategy, to the sharp, exhilarating thrill of a challenge met and overcome.

  This… was none of those things. This was work. Tedious, repetitive, utterly devoid of any intellectual or tactical stimulation. Bind. Squeeze. Jolt. Pop. Over and over again. The slimes offered no resistance, no variation. They simply bounced, gurgled, and died, their gooey demise a constant, unchanging punctuation mark in the endless, silent sentence of the grind.

  His mind, a formidable instrument accustomed to complex calculations and strategic foresight, began to rebel against the sheer, soul-crushing monotony. He tried to occupy it, to distract himself from the tedious reality of his task. He ran through the schematics for the Radiance laundry powder production line in his head, mentally optimizing the gear ratios for the new pulverizing mill. He composed and then discarded a dozen different opening lectures for his next class at the Academy, trying to find the perfect, provocative question to throw at his students. He even, in a moment of sheer desperation, tried to recall the lyrics to the bawdy sea shanty about the farmer’s daughter and the scarecrow he had overheard in the market. He couldn’t remember the third verse, a fact that was, for some reason, deeply and profoundly irritating.

  Hours passed. Or at least, what felt like hours. In the timeless, perpetual midday of the Slime Plains, the only clock was the slow, agonizing crawl of the kill counter in his mind’s eye.

  [Slimes Killed: 567/1000]

  [Slimes Killed: 578/1000]

  [Slimes Killed: 589/1000]

  His body began to ache, not from injury, but from the sheer, repetitive strain of maintaining his focus, of constantly manifesting and controlling the steel chains. His Void reserves, though not being drained by massive attacks, were being slowly, relentlessly, siphoned away, a low-level but constant expenditure that left a dull, throbbing ache behind his eyes.

  Fang Fairy, his beautiful, powerful storm goddess, was now sitting on the ground, her legs crossed in a posture of serene, meditative boredom. She no longer even bothered to lift her hand to unleash the lightning. She would simply flick a finger, a gesture of almost contemptuous indifference, and the necessary jolt of energy would leap forth, dispatching another cluster of the jiggly abominations. They were no longer a warrior and his spirit partner in glorious combat. They were two factory workers on a very long, very strange, and increasingly sticky, assembly line.

  Master, her silent thought was a hum of pure, unadulterated ennui. The lifeform designated ‘slime’ appears to possess a level of tactical ingenuity roughly equivalent to that of a puddle. Is it possible that we could simply… ignore them? Perhaps they will bounce themselves into oblivion out of sheer, existential pointlessness?

  A tempting theory, Fang Fairy, Lloyd sent back, his own mental voice a dry, weary rasp. But unfortunately, the System seems to require a more… proactive… approach to their eradication. We need to reach the one thousand mark to secure the next reward. Just a few hundred more to go. Then we can take a break and contemplate the sweet, sweet release of unconsciousness.

  He gritted his teeth, forcing his aching mind back to the task. He cast his chains again. He ensnared another dozen slimes. He gave the mental signal. Fang Fairy flicked her finger. A dozen more pathetic, sizzling pops.

  [Slimes Killed: 998/1000]

  [Slimes Killed: 999/1000]

  One more. Just one more cluster. He gathered the last dregs of his focus, his will feeling frayed, stretched thin. He manifested the chains one last time, the steel feeling heavy, sluggish, reluctant. He snagged a final, small group of the bouncing blue blobs.

  Now, he commanded.

  Fang Fairy, with a silent sigh that seemed to resonate through their very bond, delivered the final, merciful jolt.

  [Slimes Killed: 1000/1000]

  The kill counter vanished, replaced by a new, glorious notification.

  [Kill Quota Met: 1000 Glistening Slimes Eliminated.]

  [Reward: 100 Farming Coins (FC) Issued.]

  [Current Farming Coins: 100 (Previous) + 100 (Reward) = 200 FC]

  Two hundred.

  The number glowed in his mind, a testament to his own insane, stubborn, and brutal, endurance. He had done it.

  Chapter : 500

  He collapsed. Not onto a bench, not into a chair. He simply folded, his legs giving out completely, and slumped onto the soft, impossibly green grass of the Slime Plains, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps. Fang Fairy, her duty done, dissolved into a swirl of moonlight and silver, her presence retreating back into their shared core to begin the long, slow process of recovery.

  He lay there, alone, exhausted, and covered in a thin, sticky film of evaporated slime goo. But he had done it. Two hundred Farming Coins. He was still three hundred short of his goal, but he had proven the viability of the Farm. He had proven his own endurance. The war was long. The grind was hell. But he was winning. One pathetic, jiggly, and deeply, profoundly, satisfying, slime at a time.

  The Southern Reaches were a world painted in warmer hues. The harsh, martial greys of the Ferrum Duchy’s heartland gave way to rolling hills of vibrant green, to fields of golden wheat that shimmered under a sun that felt gentler, more benevolent. The air here was softer, carrying the scent of sea salt from the distant coast and the sweet, heavy perfume of the lush, semi-tropical flowers that grew in wild, riotous profusion.

  The Kruts family estate, perched on a cliff overlooking the sparkling Azure Strait, was not a fortress like the Ferrum manor. It was a villa, a sprawling, elegant structure of pale, cream-colored stone and terracotta tiles, its walls draped in flowering vines, its courtyards filled with the gentle, musical splash of fountains. It was a place of art, of culture, of a quiet, ancient wealth that was built not on iron and war, but on trade and the sea.

  In a sun-drenched, open-air pavilion overlooking the glittering expanse of the strait, Lady Faria Kruts sat before a small, portable easel. A light, warm breeze, carrying the scent of salt and jasmine, stirred the loose, rebellious strands of her crimson-violet hair. Before her was a blank sheet of fine, textured vellum. A stick of charcoal rested, forgotten, in her long, slender fingers. Her amethyst eyes, usually so sharp, so focused, so filled with a fierce, competitive fire, were distant, unfocused, staring out at the endless blue horizon, but seeing something else entirely.

  She was supposed to be sketching. Her mother had suggested it, had insisted upon it, with a gentle but firm concern. “You are distracted, my love,” the Marquess-Consort had said, her voice a soft, melodic counterpoint to her daughter’s restless energy. “Your mind is a turbulent sea. Go to the pavilion. Let the sea air calm you. Let the charcoal ground you. Find your center again. Your art has always been your anchor.”

  And so, Faria had come here, to her favorite spot, the place where she had created some of her finest, most passionate landscapes. She had set up her easel, taken up her charcoal, and prepared to lose herself in the familiar, comforting discipline of her craft.

  But the art would not come.

  Her mind, usually a sharp, clear instrument, was a chaotic, jumbled mess. Every time she tried to focus on the sweeping curve of the coastline, on the dance of light on the water, another image would intrude, sharp, vivid, and deeply, profoundly, unsettling.

  She would see a dusty, repurposed mill, the air thick with the clean, invigorating scent of rosemary. She would see a pair of dark, intelligent, and surprisingly amused, eyes, watching her as she passionately argued the merits of earth-tone underpainting. She would see a rough, but brilliant, charcoal sketch of a woman transformed, a story told in a few, clean, devastatingly effective lines. She would hear a quiet, calm voice, a voice that held no hint of artistic pretension, explaining the principles of high-contrast lighting and aspirational narratives as if it were a simple, logical engineering problem.

  She would clench her jaw, trying to banish the memories, trying to force her focus back to the sea, to the sky. But then, another memory would surface. A dark, terrifying, goblin-infested forest. A silent, white-masked figure moving with the impossible, preternatural grace of a predator. A spear of pure, solidified lightning, beautiful and terrible, obliterating a nightmare from existence.

  She sighed, a long, frustrated sound, and let the charcoal stick drop from her nerveless fingers onto the stone floor of the pavilion. It was useless. She couldn’t concentrate. Her mind, her very soul, felt… disordered. Unsettled. Ever since she had returned from the Ferrum capital, from her strange, intense, and utterly, comprehensively, bewildering collaboration with him.

  Lloyd Ferrum.