The Zenoite mine squatted at Opeka's edge like a forgotten tomb, its stone mouth gaping with dust and shadow. Killyaen stood before it, his twin swords—light, curved blades forged in Marko's smithy—hanging at his hips. Shaman N'Nazmuz's curse, a thirty-kilogram weight grinding his bones, made every step feel like wading through mud, but Killy's grin was sharper than steel.
The Stinking Blind Moozzes waited inside, and he was ready—or at least stubborn enough to fake it.
"March into that reeking pit, Supreme Elf," Marko called, leaning against a nearby fence, a fresh horseshoe for a Zeltar in hand. "If you come back smelling like moozzes, Bera won't let you near the tavern."
"Marko, my man," Killy shot back, bowing theatrically, "my charm outstinks any stench. Besides, this is just a warm-up for the First Altar. Moozzes? Pfft, just ugly pets!"
He winked, but a fire burned in his chest—Vuk's tales of an Altar near Solarija, marked by Azurion's Scale, haunted his thoughts.
Bera stepped out from the Black Stone Tavern, brandishing a wooden spoon like a spear. "If those moozzes chew your swords, don't ask me to forge new ones," she said, her eyes twinkling despite her scowl.
Since their night in the kitchen, their spark was back—no love, just jabs, laughs, and the occasional spoon-swat. "And don't start singing 'Cursed Cat' down there. Janko's mad enough."
"Janko? That Cursed Cat's probably still untangling Flaevyn feathers," Killy snorted, lifting a sword to check its balance. "This is my moment, Bera. Mine, then Altar, then—boom!—Supreme Elf becomes a cultivator!"
Goran, looming at the tavern door, grumbled, his beard bristling. "Focus, you fool. Moozzes aren't Zeltars—they bite, stink, and swarm. Your Wind's Rebuke and Thunder's Edge better work, or you'll be moozze chow."
He tossed Killy a leather satchel with bread and a torch. "And don't wreck the mine. Zenoite's our lifeline."Killy saluted, the satchel slung over his shoulder, and stepped into the mine.
The air inside was thick, reeking of rot and damp earth, laced with a sharper tang—the stench of moozzes, like Gromble oil left to fester in the sun. His torch cast flickering shadows on the Zenoite walls, their silvery ore glinting like distant stars. Killy gripped his swords, the curse pressing his bones, but its stamina kept him sharp.
The first moozze skittered from the dark, melon-sized, eyeless, its sharp teeth snapping as it sniffed. Killy swung Wind's Rebuke, using the curse's weight to anchor the strike, and the blade sliced through with a wet squelch. "One down!" he muttered, but a rustle echoed—dozens, maybe hundreds of moozzes, crawling through the tunnels, their stinking hisses filling the air.
"Oh, by Azurion's scale," Killy grumbled, but his grin held. As the moozzes swarmed, he danced, swords flashing in tandem—Wind's Rebuke in a low arc, then Thunder's Edge in an upward slash, carving through the wave of creatures.
The stench was vile, but Killy hummed a verse of his "Ballad of the Cursed Cat," tweaking the lyrics: "Oh, Stinking Moozze, crawling in the gloom, but the Supreme Elf hacks with a blade of doom!"Suddenly, the ground trembled. Something bigger—much bigger—stirred from the mine's depths.
Killy paused, torch flickering, his gold-flecked eyes narrowing. "Well, that's no moozze," he muttered, tightening his grip on his swords. "Time for a legend, Opeka!"
The Zenoite mine's air was a choking stew of rot and dust, the torch in Killyaen's hand sputtering as shadows danced across the silvery ore veins.
The Supreme Elf, his twin swords gleaming like Marko's finest work, carved through a swarm of Stinking Blind Moozzes, their melon-sized bodies bursting under his Wind's Rebuke and Thunder's Edge. The curse's thirty-kilogram weight dragged at his bones, but its stamina kept his swings sharp, his gold-flecked eyes glinting with defiance.
The ground shuddered again, deeper and angrier, halting Killy's tune. The moozzes froze, their eyeless heads twitching, then scattered into the tunnels like a tide of reeking pebbles.
The torchlight flickered, revealing a hulking shape lumbering from the mine's depths—a beast that made the walls groan. Its hide was crusted with Zenoite shards, glinting like a jagged mirror, and its six legs, thick as tavern beams, ended in claws that scraped sparks from the stone.
A maw of jagged teeth gaped, dripping a foul ichor that sizzled on the floor, and four glowing, gem-like eyes burned with a hunger that screamed Peak Warrior cultivation.
This was no mere pest—this was a Zenoite Krovar, a beast born from the mine's qi-soaked depths, its power honed to the third level's peak, far beyond Killy's unawakened qi."By Azurion's scaly tail," Killy whispered, his grin half-cocked with thrill and dread. "You're a big one, aren't you, sparkles?"
The Krovar roared, a sound like a collapsing forge, and charged, its claws gouging the tunnel floor. Killy dove, the curse slowing his roll but not his nerve. He spun into Wind's Rebuke, both swords arcing low, using the curse's weight to anchor a strike at the beast's foreleg.
The blades bit, chipping Zenoite scales, but the Krovar barely flinched, its Peak Warrior qi pulsing in a faint, silvery aura that stung Killy's skin like static."Alright, ugly, let's dance!"
Killy taunted, dodging a claw swipe that shattered a stalactite. He chained Thunder's Edge, pivoting to slash upward, the curse's momentum driving the blades into the Krovar's flank. A scale cracked, oozing ichor, but the beast swung its massive head, knocking Killy back. He hit the wall, torch skittering away, the curse making the impact feel like a Gromble stampede. His vision swam, but the curse's healing kicked in, knitting bruises as he scrambled up.
The Krovar's eyes glowed brighter, qi coiling like a storm. Killy's mind raced—Peak Warrior meant it could crush him with raw power, maybe even channel Zenoite's qi for a nasty trick. He had no qi, just swords, wits, and a stubborn streak wider than Opeka's square. "Come on, Supreme Elf," he muttered, "you've faced Janko's fists, Bera's spoon, and a whole tavern's laughter. This is just a bigger Cursed Cat."
He darted forward, weaving through claw strikes, his dual swords a blur. Wind's Rebuke slashed at a leg joint, Thunder's Edge followed, aiming for an eye. The Krovar howled, ichor spraying, but lashed out with a tail Killy hadn't seen—whip-fast, tipped with a Zenoite spike. It grazed his shoulder, tearing his tunic, and the curse's weight made dodging harder. Blood trickled, but Killy laughed, wild and unhinged.
"Nice try, sparkles! You'll need more than a fancy tail to outshine the Supreme Elf!"The mine shook as the Krovar charged again, its qi flaring.
Killy spotted a narrow tunnel to the side, too small for the beast but perfect for a slippery elf. He bolted, the curse dragging his steps, and slid into the gap, the Krovar's claws scraping inches behind.
Panting, he grinned in the dark, torch gone but his mind blazing. "Alright, big guy," he whispered, eyeing a loose Zenoite boulder above the tunnel's mouth. "Let's see if you like rock as much as I like paint."