Humming
Rusalka’s soft hum floated over the gurgling river, sunlight dappling through the trees and glinting off the water. She wiped her body with a towel, her skin still damp from the bath I’d insisted she take alone. Her ears drooped slightly, a hint of disappointment—she’d hoped I’d join her. Tough luck, I was still figuring out my lizardfolk… everything.
As she reached for her gear, a sharp rustle came from the nearby bushes, leaves trembling in the breeze. My enhanced vision caught a faint shadow moving within. Rusalka froze, her long ears twitching.
“Hmm? The only ones here are master and myself. Wait! Does that mean… master wants to peek at me!? I knew it! He does have those kind of thoughts after all!!” is what she thought.
Her mind raced with scenarios, her cheeks flushing green. She’d seen enough leering customers in the slave market to know what a male in heat looked like.
“I know. I’ll take him by surprise and act first! I’ll muster the courage and leap on him,” she decided, convinced my shy nature meant she’d have to make the first move.
Without warning, she sprang forward. “Eeeeiyyyy!!”
“Gotcha!!” she shouted, diving into the bushes.
“What the…!!!??” a voice yelped—
Rusalka’s hands clamped onto something—a cat-like tail. Her brain stalled, processing the scene. Before her crouched a beastfolk woman, pants down, mid-pee, her amber eyes wide with shock. A musky scent hit Rusalka’s nose, mixed with the earthy tang of the bushes.
“Aaaaa!!!” they screamed in unison, scrambling apart. The woman yanked her pants up, fumbling to cover herself, while Rusalka averted her eyes, her heart pounding.
“Tsk! The nerve of you… I suppose I shouldn’t have let my guard down. But to think a pesky goblin would be lurking around…” the woman growled, brushing leaves off her pants.
“Who are you calling pesky? It’s your fault to begin with because you kept rustling the bushes and startled me!” Rusalka shot back, her ears flattening.
“Huh? A goblin capable of speech? That’s rare. Well regardless, I’ll have you pay for the humiliation you made me endure.”
The woman’s hand moved to her sword, her tall frame towering over Rusalka. Long red hair in a ponytail, amber feline eyes, and sculpted abs gleamed in the sunlight. Her longsword gleamed with four runes etched into the blade.
“Oi! Don’t you think pulling a weapon is too much? It’s not like I saw you masturbating or something!!”
Rusalka protested, stepping back.
“Filthy goblin!! You dare embarrass me further!? I’m talking about you touching my tail! That’s an insult I can’t accept. As an apology… I won’t settle with anything other than your head!!” the woman roared.
She dashed forward, her speed a blur. Rusalka’s instincts screamed, and she stumbled left, barely dodging as a powerful slash tore into the ground, leaving a crater like a jagged scar. The force sent a gust of dirt stinging her face. That swing could’ve turned her to mist.
“Hmm? You managed to dodge that one? Well, it matters not, because this is over!” the woman snarled, her blade flashing again, faster this time.
Rusalka froze, her novice skills no match for the sheer speed. Tears welled in her eyes. “Master… I’m sorry…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “In the end… having a happy life was impossible, after all.” She closed her eyes, bracing for the end.
Clang
A metallic clash echoed, followed by a gust of wind that ruffled her hair. Rusalka’s eyes snapped open. She was in my arms, my scales glinting as I carried her back, putting distance between us and the beastfolk woman.
“Master!!” Rusalka cried, clinging to me.
Phew! That was too close for comfort. My tail stiffened, heart racing from the sprint. I’d heard the commotion from the riverbank, thinking Rusalka was just fooling around. But an attack? And by her? This was a bad scenario. One second later, and I wouldn’t have made it.
“Oi! You lizard! You dare to get in the way of my pride? Just who the fuck do you think you are? Moreover… what you just did earlier… that was impossible. Name yourself!” the woman demanded, her sword still raised.
“But of course. Forgive my manners. I am Magnus, a humble mage. And this is my slave, Rusalka.”
“A goblin slave? Now that I take a better look she does have the slave collar. You got some weird tastes. Well whatever. How the hell did you do that earlier?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb!”
“Master… your left hand…” Rusalka whispered, her eyes wide.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
Fine my ass. That fucking hurt. My hand trembled, the pain throbbing through my scales. To make it in time, I’d wrapped my fist in multiple layers of Life Saver, a potent defensive spell. Without it, her swing would’ve sliced my hand clean off. I’d punched her sword aside, but the force was unreal—my arm still shook from the impact.
“Bastard… answer me!” she barked.
“Please calm down, lady Leona.”
“Huh!? You know who I am?”
“I doubt there is anyone who can’t recognize the legendary sword saintess. Your reputation precedes you.”
Well… I’m going to exclude Rusalka from that list.
“That’s former sword saintess for your information, buddy.”
No mistaking it—Leona Ironwill, the Former Sword Saintess. Level 300, a battlefield legend, as Zecros had described her back in Crimson Raid.
“Could you please lower your weapon? I don’t understand the scenario, but it seems my slave was rude towards you. Can we perhaps, calmly, reach a friendly resolution to this misunderstanding?”
“Misunderstanding? She grabbed my tail!”
My tail twitched, recalling Zecros’s words. He was a pantherian I’d hung out with in Crimson Raid—mostly for my skills, but still. He’d said beastfolk tails and ears were sacred, only for mates to touch. For them, it was like sexual harassment. Rusalka, you picked the worst person to mess with.
“A friendly agreement? Sure. Let me slice off her head and I won’t take things any further.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that. She’s my property.”
“Then should I slice off your head instead?”
What’s with this woman and head slicing? For a “saintess,” she was anything but saintly. Fighting her was a bad idea—level 300, countless battles, and I was still adjusting to my lizardfolk body. I wasn’t confident I could match her. What to do… oh right! Zecros’s last resort for beastfolk disputes.
“Anshivita Maglaive El Lyrian!”
.
.
.
“Those words… you really want to go that route?” Leona’s eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on her sword.
“Umm… I suppose?”
“Although I don’t know how someone like you knows that, my pride won’t let me turn a blind eye. It’s your funeral. I accept your challenge! Ashante!!”
Challenge? Zecros, what the hell did you tell me?