A slew of notification filled Kael's vision. But he immediately disregarded them.
They stacked over each other like a bad hand of cards, lines and numbers and titles trying to demand his attention at the exact wrong time. His eyes flicked across them out of reflex, loot, contribution, rewards, and then he shoved the whole mess into the back of his mind. Reading was a luxury. Breathing room was a luxury. Standing still in a tunnel full of survivors with knives in their hearts was suicide.
He didn't need the system to sing him praises to know what just happened. He could smell it. He could hear it in the last crackle of electricity fading into silence and in the wet, cooked stink hanging in the tunnel like fog.
He didn't need to carve and dismantle the basilisk anymore, the moment he killed it, all its materials were immediately transferred to his inventory.
