I wake in The Iron Bloom's lumpy bed, my backside howling from Bera and Lila's lava stunt last night—Fire and Earth Qi turned my pants to cinders. Tira's sprawled, snoring like a drunk Lava Dragon, her top slipping to flash that phoenix tattoo. Bera's curled up, skirt barely covering her thighs, midriff glowing like a Zenoite vein. Lila's muttering, hips twitching like she's dreaming Earth Qi spikes. My split-leaf amulet hums faintly, mocking my scorched rear. N'Nazmuz's curse drags on me, 30 kilograms slowing every move, like a Gromble's squatting on my soul. But Crestmoore's market's a canvas for chaos, and I'm the Supreme Elf to paint it.
We stumble to the tavern's common room, a sweaty pit of ale and morning grime. Barmaids dodge miners, their curves screaming for a prank, but my stomach's louder than a Zenoite Krovar. We claim a table, and Tira—Beginner Master Fire, my rival in chaos—piles her plate with a mountain of Gromble stew, Starshade roast, and bread enough for Opeka's Harvest Moon. She's devouring it like a furnace, cheeks bulging, eyes blazing. I'm stunned. "Tira, you're fire outside, but a black hole with no bottom inside," I grin, gold-flecked eyes wide. "Supreme Elf bows to your gut."
Lila snorts, tossing her hair. "Pity the man who marries her—he'll go broke just feeding that pit." Bera leans in, midriff bare, smirking. "Says you, Earth Queen, stealing every pie." Tira slams her mug, fire in her grin. "At least I don't flash my curves to every merchant, Bera." Oh, damn—sparks fly. Bera's Fire Qi flares, "My flames outshine your phoenix!" Lila snaps, "You'd both starve without my Earth growing your grub!" Tira laughs, her wit slicing like a mithril blade. "Keep dreaming, girls. My Fire Qi's the star, and Killy's hooked on my heat." She's right—I'm drooling—but her tongue's sharper than my swords. Tira owns them, Bera and Lila fuming.
I'm in paradise, picturing them naked in a hotspring, steam curling, hair-pulling, curves clashing in a sweaty, glorious brawl. Tira's phoenix glowing, Bera's skirt gone, Lila's hips rocking—Supreme Elf's masterpiece. My grin's pure pervert, eyes glazed. The girls catch it, faces twisting. "He's in that sick head again," Bera hisses. Lila nods, "Let's ditch this creep." Tira smirks, "First thing we agree on." They storm out to hit the market, sticking me with Tira's bill—a mountain of silver for her Gromble feast. I curse, tossing coins from my spatial ring, packed with mithril swords, Glowvine, Moonflower, Zenoite scraps, crystals, that blue shard, and the glowing egg. Chaos calls, but my purse's crying.
I head to Crestmoore's Beast Tamer Guild, a stone den reeking of fur and elixir dust. The egg's heartbeat nags, pulsing like my amulet since the fox's "egg's shadow" nonsense. I need answers. Brinkutz, a scar-faced tamer, eyes me. "What's your deal, elf?" he grunts. I flash the egg, its glow steady. "This thing's pulsing like Tira's phoenix. Wyrm egg? Feed it? Smash it?" Brinkutz squints, muttering about rare Spirit Beasts, maybe Crystal or Light. "Need Level 3 Spirit Stones for a contract scan," he says. "Good luck—those stones ain't copper or gold. Nobody in Crestmoore trades 'em for coin, not even Level 1 stones. Try Crestmoor's auctions or sacred springs, but they're guarded tighter than a dwarf's forge." I shrug, shoving the egg in my ring. I'm not quitting—egg's a mystery, and I'm hooked.
In the market, I'm setting a Feather-Tickler Trap for a smug merchant when the ground quakes. Stalls splinter, Zenoite and bronze flying, as a Crystal Wyrm—scales glittering like Crestmoore's quarry—bursts through, roaring. Its claws pulse with magnetic force, crystal shards spraying, revealing its Middle Grand Master Crystal/Magnetism Qi, a sentient beast with Mythical elements, far beyond the girls' Fire and Earth. "Surrender the egg, elf!" it snarls, voice like grinding stone, proving its sentience. My amulet pulses, the egg's heartbeat spiking—it thinks it's mama. The curse's 30 kilograms slows my dodge, stamina draining, but my blood's singing. "Time for art!" I yell, pulling Wind's Rebuke and Thunder's Edge.
Tira, Bera, and Lila sprint back. "You're a trouble magnet, pervert!" Tira shouts, her Fire Qi flaring. Bera's Fire Qi—Beginner Expert—ignites, her skirt riding up. "Showoff," Lila mutters, Earth Qi rumbling, likely Beginner Expert. Crestmoore's cultivators—mostly Beginner Experts or lower—cower, too weak to face a Level 6 beast. Only the Lord and his elite might match it, but they're nowhere, leaving us to die.
The Wyrm's magnetic pulse yanks swords from miners' belts, pinning Tira against a stall, her ribs creaking. "Get… off!" she gasps, fireballs scorching its flank, but its crystal armor holds. Bera's flames sear its tail, but a shard storm slashes her arm, blood dripping. Lila's earth spikes trap its leg, but the Wyrm's tail smashes her wall, knocking her back. I toss Zenoite scraps, their glow mimicking its scales. "Shiny like Bera's curves!" I grin, ducking a claw, but my stare at Tira's "beacon" earns a fireball graze. "Focus, idiot!" she snaps.
The Wyrm's cunning, weaving magnetic fields to deflect Tira's flames and pin Bera's feet, its shards slicing her thigh—she's screaming, barely dodging a crushing claw. "You'll break before my egg's stolen!" it taunts. Lila's earth wall saves Tira from a crystal spike, but the Wyrm's pulse yanks her into the air, slamming her against a cart—her breath's ragged, ribs bruised. I set the Feather-Tickler Trap, aiming for its eyes, but it misfires, tickling a merchant, who flails, toppling a stall. Tira cackles, "Your pranks are cursed!" Bera groans, "I'd hit it better blindfolded."
The Wyrm lunges, its magnetic grip crushing Tira's arm, her Fire Qi dimming—she's fading, blood trickling from her mouth, eyes desperate. Bera's pinned, shards at her throat, her thigh a bloody mess—she's barely conscious, death looming. My stamina's fading, curse dragging like a Gromble's carcass, but my training under that 30-kilogram pressure built a fortress of endurance. I channel every scrap, swords raised, and unleash Heaven Splitter. The curse's weight fuels my strike, mithril blades screaming as they slice the Wyrm's neck clean through. Its head tumbles, scales dimming, and the ground splits—a five-meter fissure gapes, dust rising. The crowd freezes, whispering, "No Qi… killed a Level 6 beast?"
I turn, panting, gold-flecked eyes gleaming, and point at the fissure. "Tira, this crack's just a bit smaller than yours…" Silence grips the market, every eye locked on us. Then the ground trembles—not from the Wyrm, but Lila's Earth Qi, erupting in fury. Her face is a storm, eyes blazing as she snarls, "You dare joke while they're dying?" The market quakes, stalls cracking, Zenoite shards skittering like frightened mice. Tira, slumped against a broken cart, coughs blood, her Fire Qi flickering, too weak to retort. Bera, barely conscious, arm and thigh oozing, mumbles, "Pervert…" Lila's earth spikes jut around me, caging me in, her voice like grinding stone. "Tira's ribs are crushed, Bera's bleeding out, and you're cracking jokes about her? You're worse than a Rotting Blind Mouse!" The curse slows my dodge, stamina screaming, as a spike grazes my leg, drawing blood.
I'm grinning, loving the chaos, even as Lila's tremors shake coins from merchants' stalls. "Lila, your hips quake better than your Qi!" I taunt, tossing Moonflower sap from my ring to douse a toppled cart, its illusionary mist sparking panic. The crowd's a mess—some cheer my Wyrm kill, tossing silver, others curse the destruction, diving behind wreckage. Tira stirs, gasping, "You're… dead, Beacon Boy…" Her Fire Qi sparks faintly, a weak fireball singeing my braid. Bera, propped by a merchant, glares, blood staining her skirt. "Hit him… for me," she rasps. Lila's earth cage tightens, but I slip through, curse dragging but my heart racing. "Goddesses, your anger's hotter than a Lava Dragon!" I wink, ducking another tremor. A barmaid's curves catch my eye through the dust—damn, chaos is my art.
Merchants haul Tira and Bera to the Alchemy Guild, their wounds grave but treatable. Lila storms off after them, earth still rumbling, muttering about my "sick head." No one dares touch the Wyrm's corpse—cultivator's code says the kill's mine. I carve its Beast Core, pulsing with Crystal/Magnetism Qi, worth a handful of Level 3 Spirit Stones. I strip scales, eyes, claws, teeth, stuffing them in my ring with my other loot. I haggle with a few merchants about prices, but their eyes gleam at the core and scales—too valuable to sell cheap. Crestmoore's auction starts in seven days, and these are prime goods. I'll hold 'em for a stack of Spirit Stones.
Two cultivator guards—Beginner Experts by their Qi, likely city watch—approach, armor gleaming. "The Lord of Crestmoore requests you and your companions at his villa," one says, voice stiff. I know better than to stir more trouble; Crestmoore's Lord could crush me if I push it. "Thanks for the invite," I say, wiping blood from my swords. "I'll visit once my goddesses recover from this mess." They nod, leaving me to the wreckage. The egg pulses harder, tied to the fox's "shadow" babble, and my amulet hums, nagging about ruins. I'm too beat to care, the curse easing as I rest, healing my cuts slightly. The crowd's buzzing, praising my "no-Qi" kill, cursing the wrecked market. The luminescent fox slinks in, smug. "The egg's shadow grows," it says. I lob more Moonflower sap, missing. "Piss off, Sparkles," I snap. That Beast Core's my ticket to a pile of Level 3 Spirit Stones at Crestmoore's auction—egg's my next masterpiece, and Lila's quake's worth the scars.