As soon as the molten pit cooled a little, Gauss and the others moved in.
The charred ground still smoked; the once white-hot, flowing metal had congealed into hard, dark lumps.
They started gathering the scattered nuggets. Alia pulled out a small trowel and dug with care, unwilling to leave a single dent in the ground untouched—every lump was glittering coin to her.
Materials from extraordinary monsters fetch high prices, and a basilisk bull's iron shell is an excellent mana-conductive metal—top-tier stuff for forging mage armor and fine weapons, worth even more. No wonder she'd winced earlier.
After a bout of hard work they'd heaped a rough 200 kilos of metal. "The loss might not be as bad as it seems," Gauss said. "What survives that heat is the good steel—the true essence. What vaporized was impure to begin with and worth less."
"True," Alia nodded, brightening. Most of the bull's value was indeed concentrated in that metal. How much they'd sell for—or whether to have some made into gear—would wait until they asked around in town.
With the remains cleared, their eyes turned to the low hills nearby. If the bull had camped here, that was the reason—its den? Basilisk bulls prefer open plains but need cover from rain, so a natural shelter made sense.
"There's a rock cave," Alia said—she'd been watching. "Maybe there's loot to make up the loss."
"Let's see," Gauss said, and added, "but stay sharp." A basilisk bull wouldn't share its territory with another big threat—but caution is a rule, especially before you've actually handed in a commission. Until you're back in town, it's not over.
They advanced in a defensive shape. The mouth of the cave, on a sunny slope, came into focus; a narrow path pressed through clumps of pale green needlegrass, the breeze setting the stems and yellow gorse flowers nodding. Not a bad lair—more "habitable" than a goblin hole.
Shadow flowed into shadow and slipped inside. A heartbeat later, a black ribbon slid back out; she reappeared. "No life."
"I thought there might be a calf," Alia said, dropping that hope. "Even if there were, they're too stupid to tame," Gauss shook his head. A basilisk bull's a brute, not an ox.
They went in. Gauss lifted the White Wand; Light flared like a steady lamp. Dry cave, scattered hay and leaves, grit and gravel everywhere: the bull's stone stores, plus dull stone dust—its petrified leavings. Not so different from goblins—just less smelly.
"Looks like its lair, no doubt," Alia said, prodding straw piles with her staff for hidden "treasure." Gauss's attention went to the walls—rough, primitive patterns, as if someone had carved them. Had someone lived here before?
"Gauss, over here," Alia called. She'd raked aside leaves to find a small box worn by years—once a piece of art, from the look of the battered ornamentation. She didn't touch it.
"Coming." Gauss's Mage Hand formed; the invisible palm lifted the box, flicked the clasp, and opened the lid. Inside lay a single crystal monocle—lens clear as ice, elegant and slim, gold rim and arm filigreed—and, unlike the box, it gleamed like new.
"Jewelry?" He touched it with the wand; Identify lit it deep blue:
[Eagle-Eye Monocle]
Rarity: Rare (Blue)
Description: Crafted by an ancient elven master; lens ground from manacrystal; the slim gold arm is etched with micro-runes of "Eagle Eye," granting extraordinary distance vision.
Enchantment 1: Razor Sight — greatly enhances far vision; see a gnat's wings at 100 meters, extend clear range to over a kilometer.
Enchantment 2: See Invisibility — chance to reveal nearby invisible/illusory creatures or objects.
Enchantment 3: Arcanum Sense — occasional awareness of magic auras.
…
"Another trinket," Gauss said, and explained. Smiles all around—an unexpected windfall—though the delicate monocle wasn't something you'd wear long in a fight.
"Scouting a wide area just got easier," Alia said. With Fly, Gauss could climb high and sweep huge swaths—and a sight spell could push it further. Close in, Shadow was their fieldwork; at range, Gauss gave the "god's-eye view."
Gauss thought of a private bonus: maybe now he could fill in his mental map from above; until now, even with Fly, it only lit up where he'd walked.
Spirits up, they combed the cave again and found two more items—both magic: [Thief's Gloves] and a [Master Key]. The gloves glowed blue under Identify; the plain brass key… flared dazzling violet—Gauss's first purple.
…
[Thief's Gloves]
Rarity: Rare (Blue)
Description: Black soft leather gloves tanned from a stealth panther's belly; as thin as cicada wings. Finger pads woven with micro light-absorbing fibers; palm lined with a rune lattice of dexterity.
Enchantment 1: Nimble Fingers — greatly increases finger agility/stability for lockpicking, trapwork, pickpocketing; (active: periodically use [Steal] to snatch a random item from a target).
Enchantment 2: Silent Touch — absorbs most sound from friction/impacts when handling objects.
Enchantment 3: Scent Veil — masks the wearer's hand scent.
All eyes slid to Shadow—just her style.
…
[Universal Key]
Rarity: Exceptional (Purple)
Description: Opens most locks and mechanisms. Uses remaining: 3/3.
…
Barebones text—but purple items were beyond most adventurers, and three charges was extravagant. Used at the right moment, it could be worth far more than itself. In this world, locks and mechanisms are often magical; without the exact key, you rely on artifacts like this, and even a pro's picks won't crack some mana-bound latches.
Gauss's mind drifted to the jade birdcage pavilion in the Barry Labyrinth—locked when they'd found it. Maybe this could open it—someday, when the labyrinth reopened.
They cleaned the place out and left, pleasantly loaded. "Looks like a rogue once lived here," Gauss mused. The kit fit a type: monocle, gloves, key—scout, steal, unlock; and when all else fails, a skeleton key.
"Why leave it?" Alia said. "Probably long dead—otherwise a basilisk bull wouldn't have moved in. Maybe an accident. Either way, lucky for us."
They pushed a wider sweep. Outside the bull's range, other monsters and tribes lingered. The monocle earned its keep immediately; Gauss went aloft, marked several camps, and then they headed back—rest first, continue tomorrow.
…
Next day, with scouting done, Gauss brought a handful of trainees for live reps. On the road, Serandur picked herbs and taught the villagers where to find what, what it healed, what it harmed.
"Total Monster Kills: 5,655."
Just over 300 to the next 6,000-kill milestone. He frowned—the local count might not be enough; he might have to hunt farther by night.
First contact: a small band of lizardfolk—common, primitive reptilian humanoids of swamp and shade. Amoral, they hunted anything: human, beast, monster—it was all meat to them.
Like goblins, kobolds, gnolls, they were born dragon-thralls; some higher castes even spoke basic Draconic—said to be a gift from ancient dragons and a point of pride.
Tribes under a dragon brought tribute—slaves, gems, metals, food—to win favor. To common folk, lizardfolk were raiders and takers.
But when Gauss walked up, these green-scaled, upright reptilians, wood spikes and turtle shields in hand, shook. Before he lifted a finger, most dropped to their knees, prostrating, chattering in a tongue he didn't bother with. The rest turned to flee—half awe, half terror.
Gauss frowned—and then guessed why: [Ironscale Bloodline]. A higher reptilian strain, angled toward the dragon path—and lizardfolk were born to fear and worship dragons. That, and the gulf in strength, explained it. This was ten or so—no real threat; a tribe with a chief would be different.
He didn't flinch. Whether they bowed from reverence for his blood, worship, or simple fear of death wasn't his concern. He wouldn't spare monsters because they grovel. He hadn't spared a goblin whelp before—he wasn't a mind-reader; he was a monster killer.
White blade flashed—throats opened; green heads thumped and rolled.
"Lizardfolk Slain ×7."
[Title Earned: 'Lizardfolk Hunter.' This title will upgrade as kills increase.]
[Current Bonus: Bane – Lizardfolk and related evolutions suffer a stat drop when facing you.]
His first lizardfolk kills—less common in human lands than goblins, usually cowering in monster territory under dragons or drakes, only spilling into the world when their master waged war.
Shadow's Shadow Bind snapped up the runners. "Ross—you and the others—take them," Gauss told a teen. Ordinary lizardfolk are tougher than goblins, but with Gauss's presence suppressing them, they'd do as practice.
Maybe it was his aura—or the first day's bandit kill—but the youths didn't hesitate. Shadow released the bind and stood behind the lizardfolk to block retreat. Gauss watched, ready to intercede if needed.
Pinned between a tiger and a wolf, the lizardfolk crumpled under raw pressure. Even newbies, puffed up by a borrowed terror, pressed them. Better than Gauss expected; he'd been ready to step in.
Steel flashed; red blood sprayed a young face; a few more fell. They stared at their blades, shocked at how "easy" it had been.
"Congratulations—your first battle," Gauss said. "But those were already broken—their strength blunted. If you meet them again, be careful."
Title aura or not, the trainees' effort counted—they still had to swing true.
They moved on, found other camps, and Gauss let the villagers take a few more before cutting them off—winded, they'd done enough. After that, it was almost a solo act; the kill counter climbed fast.