Ten Wild Sheep. Incapacitated or killed in less than thirty seconds. The entire engagement conducted from range, minimizing exposure to the curse aura, maximizing efficiency.
Lloyd rose slowly, letting the adrenaline fade. He dismissed the remaining heated wires, feeling the faint drain on his Void reserves. Minimal cost. Maximum result. He looked down at Fang, who stood amidst the carnage, lightning faded, panting slightly, golden eyes burning with predatory satisfaction.
"Good work, Fang," Lloyd murmured, pride swelling in his chest. "Flawless execution."
He started cautiously down the slope, carefully avoiding stepping too close to the downed sheep, the air thick with the lingering psychic static. He needed to harvest the pelts carefully, avoiding direct skin contact with the wool. Gloves and specialized tools would be required, tasks perhaps best delegated later. For now, confirming the kills and assessing the scene was paramount.
As he surveyed the results, feeling a grim sense of accomplishment, he noticed something else. The feeling of being watched by the followers… it was gone. Completely vanished. Not just faded, but extinguished.
He glanced towards the ridge line behind him, picturing Ken Park melting back into the shadows, perhaps wiping a spot of blood from an unseen blade.
Message received, Lloyd thought, a cold smile touching his lips. Swiftly. Silently. Threat neutralized. Ken Park was terrifyingly efficient.
Now, he had ten valuable pelts (once carefully harvested), a demonstrated mastery over a dangerous beast his past self couldn't handle, and confirmation that his hidden bodyguard was ruthlessly effective. Profit, practice, and pest control all rolled into one productive afternoon. Things were definitely looking up. Next stop: figuring out how to skin a cursed sheep without going mad.
----
The silence that fell over the shallow depression in the Whispering Hills was profound, almost unnatural. Ten shaggy carcasses dotted the rust-colored grass, stark against the swaying green, testament to a hunt executed with brutal, calculated efficiency. The sighing wind, carrying the faint, unsettling psychic static of the Cursed Wool, seemed to whisper secrets only the dead could hear. The metallic tang of ozone from Fang's lightning strikes mingled unpleasantly with the coppery scent of spilled blood and the underlying, greasy aroma of the sheep themselves.
Lloyd Ferrum stood amidst the aftermath, the adrenaline of the swift engagement slowly receding, leaving behind a familiar weariness and the low-level hum of depleted Spirit Energy. He wiped his hunting knife clean on a clump of untainted grass, the movements precise, economical. Harvesting the small, milky Spirit Stone fragments had been a messy but necessary task. Five shards. Pathetic, really, considering the effort, but better than nothing. Every copper coin, every sliver of value, mattered now.
As for the main objective, he remove the wool from the sheep and put them into bag carefully, as it may still be cursed.
The System notification confirming the kill count and the meager two-coin reward felt almost like an insult.
Two coins, Lloyd mused grimly, securing the small leather pouch containing the fragments to his belt. One coin for every five moderately dangerous magical creatures. At this rate, I'll need to exterminate half the pests in the Duchy just to afford a decent Spirit upgrade. His current balance glowed faintly in his mental vision: 15 SC. Ten from the Gold Coin he'd 'borrowed' (a necessary ethical compromise, he told himself firmly) and converted this morning, three leftover from previous exploits, and two from this bloody sheep massacre. Still eighty-eighty short of the hundred needed just to start the Maternal Bloodline Awakening task, let alone the thousands required for everything else on his rapidly growing wish list. (Task instruction was a gathering of 100 SC excluding existing 3 SC, that's why eighty eight required)
He glanced at Fang. The magnificent wolf-spirit sat beside him, panting slightly, the usual crackling aura around him noticeably subdued. The bursts of incredible speed, the repeated channeling of the Thousand Chirp Strike – it had taken a toll. Spirits didn't tire like mortals, their endurance linked intrinsically to their master's own pool of Spirit Power. And Lloyd's pool, thanks to his single, infuriatingly sluggish core, was less a deep reservoir and more a shallow puddle.
Damn it, he cursed internally. Need more power. Need a better core. Need more efficient energy transfer. Need… Coins. It always came back to Coins. The cosmic currency that governed his path back from mediocrity.
He knew pushing Fang much further today was unwise. Performance would degrade. Reaction times would slow. The Thousand Chirp Strike might fizzle instead of striking like lightning. They needed rest, recovery, and a more sustainable income stream than bounty hunting low-yield monsters. The soap. It had to be the soap. Or something equally clever he hadn't conceived yet.