A clear lake sparkled under the night sky, its surface gently rippling under the caress of a light breeze. Near the shore, a modest campfire flickered and crackled softly in the dark.
Using the cover of night, three tall, muscular lizardmen silently slipped into the water from the opposite side of the lake. Their dark green, scale-covered backs melded seamlessly with the water's reflection, allowing them to glide forward undetected as they followed the current toward the campfire's glow.
And they weren't alone.
From three other directions, more lizardmen emerged—some groups three strong, others five. Altogether, sixteen of them moved slowly and soundlessly, closing in on the lone fire from all sides like shadows on a hunt.
A sharp birdcall broke the silence.
"Kur-REE!"
It was a fish-eating bird that lizardmen particularly loathed—and one that happened to be abundant around this lake. Its cry, blending naturally into the night chorus, did not arouse suspicion.
Roughly 150 meters from the fire, one group of four lizardmen lay flat in the grass. Through the gaps in the bushes, they watched their prey intently.
"He's in position," whispered a lizardman with a bow strapped to his back. His voice was a rasp, low and sharp.
"Tell the others to hold," the Hunt Leader murmured back, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "No one moves without my signal."
This was a first—a human hunt.
No Hunt Leader in their tribe's history had ever led such an operation. Even if the target was a magic caster, he had confidence in his strategy.
After all, the tribe's shaman was the strongest magic user he'd seen, and the old lizard could barely swing a stick. With proper weapons and close combat, he was sure he could overpower any so-called "spell-slinger."
Other tribes claimed to have powerful priests and shamans too—but he chalked that up to lizardfolk exaggeration.
Besides, this wasn't just any hunt. They'd mobilized their entire scouting squad—sixteen elite hunters—to capture a single human.
That alone would make history.
"When do we strike?" the bowman asked, after giving a soft birdcall signal to the others.
The Hunt Leader narrowed his eyes. "He's a caster. Could have alarms up. And that wolf-like beast next to him is likely his familiar. Dangerous."
He looked up at the faint lightening of the eastern sky.
"When dawn breaks. That's when people and monsters—tend to drop their guard."
Back at the fire, Lyle skewered a fish that looked suspiciously like a five-pound grass carp and held it over the flames. The scent of crisping fish skin and melting fat started wafting into the air.
The creature lying beside him, his Barghest —twitched its nose, sniffing the aroma. It glanced at the roasting fish once, then looked away with a disgruntled huff.
It knew better than to expect a share.
"No wonder lizardmen like fish," Lyle mused, flipping the sizzling meal. "This lake has some surprisingly good flavor."
With a flick of his wrist, he sprinkled salt and a pinch of chili powder onto the fish. These were part of a tiny cache of spices he'd bought back in the capital. Basic salt was affordable, but sugar and chili powder had cost him nearly a silver coin per pouch. There were supposedly other spices, but they weren't even sold to commoners.
Sure, there were spells in this world that could create spices, but he wasn't about to waste skill points on the culinary arts.
[Experience: 132,725 / 70,000]
A glance at his status bar made him smile.
In under two days, he'd earned about five thousand experience. The monsters around this lake were weak, sure, but they came in droves. Sadly, after a few rounds of extermination, the smarter ones had begun hiding.
"And now the lizardmen are making their move," Lyle murmured. "Question is—which tribe is it?"
The Lower Marshes were considered lizardman territory. The problem was that their numbers were so low, they were scattered across the region. Finding a group of them was like trying to spot camouflaged toads in a swamp.
He remembered that in the future, the Overlord himself had sent five thousand undead troops to fight them. The lizardmen responded with barely thirteen hundred fighters—and that included their women.
Lyle estimated the total population of the five tribes at around two thousand, maybe a little more. Divide that among the tribes, and you got barely four hundred lizardfolk per clan.
Finding one tribe in all this muck was never going to be easy.
Still, he was curious about them—their Four Tribal Treasures, their crude but unique magical technology...
As the delicious scent of seasoned fish drifted through the air, the hidden lizardmen twitched. Their mouths watered.
Sure, they could make fire now, but their diet mostly consisted of raw fare. The smell of cooked, spiced fish... it was maddening.
Still, none dared act without the signal.
The night deepened. The firelight dwindled, then finally died.
None of the lizardmen moved. They waited, as ordered, crouched in damp foliage or hidden beneath reeds, muscles tense.
Then—dawn.
A pale sliver of light appeared on the horizon.
The Hunt Leader straightened slightly, his gaze hard. He nodded to the archer beside him.
"Kur-REE!"
The bow-lizard gave a perfect imitation of a birdcall.
Instantly, the hunt began.
Three lizardmen burst from the lake, eyes locked on Lyle and the ghosthound.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Three crude but deadly fishbone spears sliced through the air.
The Barghest sprang up, its ears twitching as it launched itself between Lyle and the spears.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
With a vicious snarl, it intercepted the incoming weapons, its spiked chains slamming them aside.
"We'll handle the mutt!" shouted the lake trio, charging forward with reckless aggression. They were the distraction.
At the same time—
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
A volley of arrows tore through the morning air, coming from three other directions, all aimed at Lyle.
"Perfect timing," Lyle muttered with a yawn, as though he hadn't just been ambushed.
Still seated, he calmly pulled out a scroll and crushed it in his palm.
FWOOOM!
A towering figure of flame took shape—a Fire Archangel, wings flaring wide as it planted itself in front of him like a flaming wall.
Tink! Tink! Tink!
The arrows bounced harmlessly off its blazing armor.
The charging lizardmen skidded to a halt, blinking in surprise.
"Use the grappling hooks!" someone shouted.
Whip! Whip!
Several hooks attached to ropes flew through the air, wrapping around the Archangel in a desperate attempt to pull it away from Lyle.
"Casters really are dangerous…" the Hunt Leader growled, gripping his axe. "But we've got the numbers. Dabon, Ajeh—take your squads and pin down the summon. I'll handle the human!"
He charged, confident and brimming with battle-lust.
Everything was going to plan.
The familiar would be busy with the lake trio. The summoned creature would be pulled away. And then—the caster would be alone.
Vulnerable.
He didn't even mind if a few of his own were injured. That was the price of glory.
He was already picturing the scene—tying the caster up, dragging him back to the tribe in triumph.
But then...
The Archangel didn't budge.
The ropes went taut, the strongest lizardmen in the squad pulling with all their might—and nothing happened.
"W-What?"
The Hunt Leader's victory grin faltered.
And then—
FWOOOSH!
With a flap of its fiery wings, the Archangel launched into the air, dragging the grappling lizardmen along like balloons on strings.
Screams filled the air.
"AAAAAAGH!"
They fell like rocks, slamming into the ground with bone-crunching force.
The ambush paused.
Even the birds stopped singing.
Then, more screaming—this time from the lakeside.
The Barghest had decided to stop playing fair. One of the lake lizardmen howled in agony as the beast tore through his arm like wet paper.
The Hunt Leader stared in horror.
This was not going to plan.