The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 210: Plan A

Cleanse the roots. Don't kill anyone. Sure, Mason thought, no problem.

He got as close as he dared to inspect the 'root slaves' with his camouflage, and it became quickly apparent there was two different kinds.

The first looked like those desiccated addicts in an opium den, horribly unhealthy, but not trying to get away. The second looked like slaves chained to the hull in some Barbary galley. Type one weren't bound at all, just lying in the dirt with vague expressions of bliss or oblivion.

But the second was bound or chained, their hands usually tied, some of them gagged. These ones didn't have roots sticking through them, just in them, and Mason guessed it took time for the process to get to the other stage. His task seemed obvious enough.

Kill the bugs as fast as possible before they realized what was happening; hack apart the rotten roots; try and save everyone who was chained; ignore, or maybe kill the addicts if they attacked.

Whether that would both satisfy his quest and Rebecca he wasn't sure, but he called this Plan A.

Plan B was slaughter everything and everyone until there was nothing left moving. This plan brought him a kind of warmth in his gut, but was probably not very moral or conducive to his relationship. He supposed Plan C was flee down the tunnel. But he didn’t intend to need Plan C.

He crept to a good, central location with a clump of roots blocking him from half the cavern, then counted walking insects.

Seven. Maybe eight. Not counting the hundreds of ant-dogs, of course, but they seemed like workers and not a threat. If that changed, well...he'd deal with that when the time came.

For a few moments Mason waited and imagined his attack in his mind. He wanted at least three of the insectoid guards reasonably close together. If he was lucky, he could maybe bring them all down before the others were alerted.

Unless they had some kind of bug hive mind, or something, but he doubted it. Back in the Devourer's lair they'd made a lot of noise, very likely to warn the others.

No doubt these would do the same. So he had to be quick, and deadly. He fingered his shitty goblin bow and winced. Maybe the first thing was to pick the right arrows.

He opened his very neglected Endless Quiver and scrolled, seeing the list of 'elements' like fire, acid, electricity. Fire was his usual but he didn't want any light or attention.

There was also poison. Mason was no expert on bugs, but that seemed the usual way to exterminate them. Maybe it would hold true for the walking kind?

He chose and waited, watching as the creatures patrolled, wanting a few close together, and the others as far away as possible.

"What...are you?"

Mason blinked and realized one of the nearby root-slaves was staring in his direction. It was the second kind, and a human—a young Asian man with his hands tied, his face bruised and bloody.

Mason was still camouflaged and probably looked slightly confusing, and maybe terrifying. He didn't want to attract any attention and tried to just stand absolutely still.

"Help me," whispered the young man. "Please. There are others, too. I can see you. You must be a player. Are you alone? Did you come..."

"Quiet," Mason hissed, very seriously considering putting an arrow in the poor bastard's eye if his voice got any louder. Fortunately the angry command did the trick, and the young man slumped a little and silenced, though hope still shone in his eyes. Mason waited, and waited.

There!

Two of the guards stopped and seemed to communicate, a third not far and standing still. It was now or never. Mason raised his bow, and cycled a Power Shot.

* * *

Power Shot didn't much care about the quality of Mason's bow. It streaked from his hand like a thunderbolt, literally slicing off the head of his first target. But he didn't spend any time celebrating.

Before the thing's corpse had even fallen, Mason was pulling back and loosing another arrow.

He struck the first, then the second with torso shots, and both mostly just stumbled in surprise as Mason kept shooting. What he needed, he decided, was some kind of bloody silencing arrow. The thought was reinforced when the first creature shrieked.

Mason's arrow took out its throat less than a second later, and all three insectoids lay dead or dying. For a still moment he just stood waiting, wondering if the sound had been heard, and if it was enough to warn or concern the others. In the silence, he heard skittering claws across the cavern.

Well shit.

Mason stepped out slightly from the roots and searched for the other targets. Some were running across to investigate, but others were disappearing into tunnels. That didn't seem good. But there wasn't a damn thing Mason could do about it, so he started demonstrating what curiosity did to cats.

Another insectoid dropped after a Crippling Strike and a follow up to the gut, and Mason decided his poison was indeed putting in some work.

"Fuck yeah!" said the young man in the dirt, obviously watching, and Mason couldn't help but wince.

Another insectoid turned at the sound, and charged straight at the root-slave.

It was running at an angled cross, and Mason missed with two shots before dropping his bow and summoning his swords.

The young man cried out as the creature leapt with three sets of clawed hands extended, then Mason reached him. He hacked off all six claws in two sweeping slashes, then sort of accidentally met the thing's continued charge...with a headbutt.

It hurt. It also exploded the air with an awful sound as insect carapace met human skull. The skull won.

"Holy shit, that was badass." The young man wiggled and stuck out his leg, apparently thinking Mason couldn't see the giant root slowly growing into his thigh. "Can you cut it out? And the things on my hands. They aren't that strong. I've been wearing them down just with a rock."

Mason winced, already regretting his decision, first cutting the sticky bonds, then the vine about a foot over the man's leg.

"Oh man, th-thank you, that feels amazing. I've only been here a few days. We have to help the others. There's at least…three more..."

The cavern shook from above, and Mason looked up with a sigh. As usual, he decided, his very worst instincts were correct. He grabbed the young man and lifted him to his feet, which prompted a slightly girlish cry and complaints about his leg.

"Shut up. If you want to live, run that way, right now, until you find people. Do what they say. Go now."

The kid said something back, but Mason had already dismissed him from his mind, his life no longer a concern. He walked forward as rubble and dirt fell from above, trying to see what was happening.

More roots were emerging from the cavern ceiling. These were black as pitch with purple barbs, the stink like rotten death and clearly what Mason had been smelling since the start.

He heard himself growling.

He felt the sneer creeping across his face, the pure disgust shivering up his spine. The sensation was strange, but not unnatural, like it was real feeling deep in his gut, reacting to something he knew but didn't yet comprehend.

It wasn't the druid in him, he expected. It was the same thing he'd felt in Cerebus' test. The urge to eat the animal's hearts. The urge to fight, to kill.

As he saw and smelled and felt the rotting husk of what was once a beautiful thing, now corrupted and despoiled, Mason knew why the ranger existed.

Some things could be saved, could be cleansed, could be restored to balance. No doubt that was why the druid existed. But some things were too far gone, too unbalanced, too rotten. Some things you just culled.