The water exploded upward, a curtain of mud and slime obscuring the dim light of the bioluminescent fungi. Three Lizardmen scouts, their green scales slick with marsh water, lunged through the spray. Their obsidian-tipped spears were aimed with lethal precision—one for the throat, one for the heart, one for the groin.
Minoru didn't panic. He didn't even activate Hunter's Stride. To his evolved eyes, with the kinetic processing power of a Hobgoblin Variant, they were moving in slow motion.
"Too slow," Minoru muttered.
He didn't dodge the first spear; he caught it. His hand, coated in the shimmering black of Magius Armament, clamped around the wooden shaft just below the spearhead. With a sharp twist of his wrist, he snapped the weapon like a dry twig.
The Scout, wide-eyed, hissed in shock, but Minoru was already moving. He pivoted on the floating log, using his momentum to deliver a spinning backhand. His armored fist connected with the Lizardman's snout, sending the creature skipping across the surface of the water like a flat stone.
The other two hesitated for a fraction of a second—a fatal error.
"Artemis," Minoru commanded softly.
His shadow elongated and snapped forward. Artemis surged out of the darkness, her form a blur of black smoke. She slammed into the second scout, pinning him to the log with her massive paws, her jaws hovering inches from his exposed throat.
The third scout, realizing he was outmatched, dropped his spear and reached for a bone dagger at his waist, screeching a warbling, desperate cry.
Minoru stepped forward, grabbing the scout by the throat and lifting him effortlessly into the air. The creature kicked and clawed, its tail thrashing, but Minoru's grip was absolute.
"Weak," Minoru growled, staring into the scout's vertical slit pupils. "Is this the best the First Stratum has to offer?"
"Wait!" A voice boomed across the marsh, deep and guttural, resonating with the sound of grinding stones.
Minoru paused, his grip loosening slightly on the choking scout.
From the murky water twenty meters away, a massive shape rose. It was a Lizardman, but twice the size of the others. His scales were a deep, bruised purple, scarred from countless battles. He wore a necklace of crocodile teeth and carried a massive staff topped with a glowing blue crystal.
The massive Lizardman didn't raise his weapon. Instead, he slammed the butt of his staff into the water and fell to one knee, bowing his head low.
"Cease!" the leader roared at his scouts in their native tongue, a series of clicks and hisses. Then, switching to a broken, guttural form of the common tongue, he addressed Minoru. "Great One... Mercy. We... submit."
Minoru dropped the scout he was holding. The creature splashed into the water and scrambled behind the leader, coughing. Artemis stepped off her victim, trotting back to Minoru's side, a low growl rumbling in her chest.
"You speak Common," Minoru noted, crossing his arms. "Who are you?"
"I am Zesshi," the leader rasped, not daring to look up. "Chieftain of the Black-Scale Tribe. We... we thought you were His enforcement. We attacked out of fear."
"His?" Minoru narrowed his eyes. "True Appraisal, analysis."
"Target: Zesshi (Lizardman Chieftain)," True Appraisal's voice echoed. "Magius: 380. Status: Malnourished, High Stress. Affiliation: Dungeon Denizen (Subjugated). Note: His linguistic structure suggests high intelligence. He is desperate, Minoru. He smells the Dragon on you."
"Stand up, Zesshi," Minoru ordered.
The Chieftain rose. He towered over the other Lizardmen, but even he flinched when he looked at Minoru's emerald skin and the crackling Magius armor.
"Why attack me?" Minoru asked. "I'm a Hobgoblin. I'm not exactly standard dungeon security."
"You carry the scent of the Storm," Zesshi said, glancing nervously at the monolithic archway portal far behind them. "And you have the strength of a Guardian. We thought He sent a new executioner to punish us for the missed tribute."
"Tribute?" Minoru's corporate ears perked up. Tribute meant resources. Resources meant value. "Take me to your village. If you waste my time, I'll feed you to my wolf."
Zesshi bowed again. "Follow, Great One."
The village was hidden inside a massive, hollowed-out root system of a petrified tree, rising out of the swamp like a fortress. It should have been a stronghold. Instead, it was a refugee camp.
As Minoru walked along the wooden walkways, he saw Lizardmen huddled in corners, their scales dull and grey. Hatchlings were crying softly, their ribs showing. There were no stockpiles of fish, no drying racks of meat. The place smelled of despair and slow death.
"We are starving," Zesshi explained, leading Minoru to the central hut. "We cannot hunt in the deep waters anymore. He forbids it. He takes everything."
They entered the Chieftain's hut. It was sparse, lit by a single dying magoi-lamp. Zesshi gestured for Minoru to sit on a pile of furs, while he sat on the floor.
"Tell me about this 'He'," Minoru commanded, leaning back.
Zesshi shuddered. "Gylmaros. The Bearded Tide. The Ancient Serpent."
"A snake?" Minoru asked.
"Not just a snake," Zesshi corrected, his voice trembling. "An Eldritch variant. He has been here since the dungeon was young. He controls the water levels. He controls the fish. For generations, we offered him a portion of our catch, and he let us live. But three moons ago... he changed."
"Changed how?"
"He began to speak," Zesshi whispered, his eyes wide with horror. "He even grew... hair. Long, grey tendrils like an old man's beard, but living. They feel the water. They taste the fear. He demanded not fish, but Magius. He even demanded our eggs. Our young. He eats their potential to feed his own growth."
Minoru felt a spike of disgust. Eating eggs was one thing… Minoru wasn't above survival—but holding a sentient race hostage to farm their children was inefficient and cruel management.
"Why not fight back?" Minoru asked. "You have spears and you guys have numbers."
"We tried," Zesshi said, looking at his scarred hands. "Gylmaros is not flesh and blood like us. He is... slippery. He speaks into your mind. He knows your moves before you make them. And his scales... nothing pierces them. We sent our best warriors after the serpent but Gylmaros ate them while reciting poetry….."
"Poetry?" Minoru raised an eyebrow.
"He believes he is a philosopher," Zesshi spat. "He mocks us while he digests us."
"Appraisal," Minoru thought. "What kind of snake recites poetry and has a beard?"
"Likely an Elder Hydr serpent that has undergone a cognitive awakening due to consuming a high-level magic item or adventurer," True Appraisal theorized. "The 'beard' is likely a cluster of highly sensitive neuro-tendrils used to detect Magius currents. It creates a pseudo-omniscient awareness in the water."
"Magius estimate?" Minoru asked.
"Based on the subjugation of a 380 Magius Chieftain... likely in the 1200 to 1500 range. It is a Floor Boss candidate."
Minoru's grin stretched across his face. A Floor Boss candidate… and it's sitting on 1,500 Magius? Now that was worth getting excited about.
"Zesshi," Minoru said, standing up. The Chieftain looked up, hopeful but terrified.
"If I kill this Gylmaros," Minoru began, "what do I get?"
Zesshi blinked. "If... if you kill him? You would be our Savior…. No scratch that you'd be our king. We have no gold, Great One. But we know the secret paths of the First Stratum. We know where the Magoi Geysers erupt. We would serve you. The Black-Scale Tribe would be your army."
Minoru looked at the map in his mind. He had a Shadow Wolf pack. Adding a tribe of amphibious warriors would secure his control over aquatic environments. It was a good acquisition.
"Deal," Minoru said. "I'll kill your snake. You prepare the—"
BOOOOM.
The entire hut shook violently. Dust rained down from the ceiling. Outside, screams erupted—the high-pitched shrieks of hatchlings and the roar of warriors.
Minoru rushed to the door, tearing the flap aside.
The swamp water surrounding the village root-fortress was bubbling. It wasn't boiling; it was churning, as if something massive was displacing the entire lake.
From the black water, a head rose.
It was colossal. The head of the serpent was the size of a carriage, covered in scales the color of wet slate. Its eyes were milky white, blind but seeing. And hanging from its lower jaw, swaying wetly in the air, was a mass of long, grey, writhing tentacles that looked exactly like a wizard's beard.
"Ah," a voice echoed, not from the mouth, but vibrating through the very air. It was a smooth, oily voice, cultured and terrifyingly calm. "I smell a guest. A visitor from the surface world? Or perhaps... a new flavor?"
Minoru stepped out onto the walkway, Artemis flanked beside him, her hackles raised.
The serpent, Gylmaros, turned its blind, milky gaze directly toward Minoru. The grey beard-tentacles twitched, tasting the air.
"You have a distinct bouquet," Gylmaros mused, the voice sliding into Minoru's mind. "Wolf blood. Demon slime. And beneath it all... ah, the unmistakable, spicy tang of a Human soul trapped in a monster's flesh. How... exquisite."
Minoru froze, a tremor running through him as the thought settled because it knows.
Gylmaros lowered his massive head until he was level with the walkway, the grey tentacles reaching out to caress the wooden railings, rotting the wood instantly upon contact.
"I am Gylmaros," the serpent whispered. "Philosopher of the Deep. Weaver of the Rot. And you, little green thing, are trespassing in my pantry."
The serpent smiled, revealing rows of needle-like teeth that curved backward into a throat of infinite blackness.
"Tell me," Gylmaros purred. "Before I peel you apart to see how you fit together... do you prefer to be eaten screaming, or silent? I find the screaming adds a certain... zest to the vintage."
Minoru stood his ground. Not even the thought of escape tempted him. He felt the Devourer skill pulsing in his gut, reacting to the massive Magius signature of the beast before him.
Minoru stepped forward to the edge of the broken railing, staring into the blind eyes of the Elder Serpent.
"I prefer," Minoru said, his voice cold and amplified by his Magius, "to be the one doing the eating."
Gylmaros paused. Then, a low, rasping sound bubbled up from his throat. He was laughing.
"Delightful," the serpent hissed. "Simply delightful. Let us debate then, little meat. The topic is: Mortality."
The grey beard tentacles shot forward like harpoons.