I woke sprawled in the Crystal Tarantula's glittering lair, head throbbing from last night's moonshine berries, N'Nazmuz's curse weighing 30 kg on my bones, creaking the cavern floor. Varkoth, my Peak Scholar Darkness basilisk, coiled around my arm like a Shadowveil bracer, red eyes glinting with smug menace. Bera, Middle Master Fire, 19 and curvy, snored, her corset half-unlaced, large nails gleaming in the dim glow. Tira, Beginner Grand Master Fire, muttered, phoenix tattoo pulsing on her thigh. Lila, Beginner Master Earth—Tight Back, my genius nickname—groaned, clutching her Earth Crystal Mushroom. "Up, goddesses!" I hollered, pinching Lila's thigh. Her earth spike grazed my groin guard, etched "Supreme Sword Sleeps Here." "My supreme sword!" I yelped. Tira smirked, "Tiny target." Bera cackled, "Pervert's due!" Varkoth hissed, and Tira, via spiritual sense, caught his "Chaos fleshling" vibe, chuckling. I grinned, "Quad Storm's alive, let's loot and scoot!"
We trudged through the Crystal Cavern's maze, stalactites dripping Qi mist. I scooped tiny glowing bugs—smaller than Stinky, my Beginner Novice Earth beetle—into a second glass vial, muttering, "Sparring partners for my champ." Bera raised a brow, nails tapping, "What're you doing, weirdo?" I smirked, "Building Stinky's fight club." Lila stared, "Seriously?" Tira laughed, "Varkoth says you've lost it, Killy." Varkoth's tail flicked, hissing sharply. I puffed my chest, "Laugh now, ladies! With my training, Stinky'll whoop your sexy rears in a few years. Legends got no limits!" Silence hit. Varkoth's hiss grew smug. The girls exchanged looks, turned, and marched on without a word. I winked at Varkoth, "They'll see, Crotch Cobra."
Scavenging, I nabbed 2 kg Crystal dust (20 Level 2 Spirit Stones) and a cracked Glowvine bulb (one-use prank fodder). We found three dead Mercenary Sect mates, their team badges—Iron Fang, not Quad Storm—stripped by foes. "Bastards," Bera growled, nails digging into her palm. I pocketed the badges to return, then looted their spatial rings: 5 Level 3 Spirit Stones, a cracked dagger (5 gold), and a healing potion. Lila glared, "Any limits, Killy?" I grinned, "Limits? Supreme Elf? Nah!" Tira snapped, "Supreme Fool, if you ask me." Bera and Lila nodded, stomping ahead. I chuckled, curse scarring the tunnel floor, Varkoth's tail flicking like he approved my greed.
Deeper in, tunnel walls shimmered with carvings—dragons, gods, and jagged script. The girls squinted, confused. "What language?" Bera muttered, nails tracing a rune. Lila frowned, "What's it say?" I shrugged, "Dumb stuff 'bout dragon-god wars. No Spirit Stones, useless." Tira's eyes narrowed, "How do you read it?" I blinked, "How don't you? I just… can. Prolly this annoying amulet pulsing again." I dangled my split-leaf amulet, smirking, "If it didn't have my name, I'd give it to Bera to stuff in her kitty for some pulsing fun, remind her of me." Bera's fireball singed my braid, Lila's earth spike bruised my shin, Tira's fire orb charred my tunic. "You're sick!" Lila spat. I leered, "Sick with charm, babe!" They pelted me—sparks, stones, flames—my masochistic cackle echoing, curse slowing my dodges. Varkoth hissed, Tira catching his "Foolish fleshling" vibe, smirking. My amulet pulsed, whispering, "The Child binds the Crystal." I slurred, "Shut it, ruin junk."
We emerged into Crestmoore's sunlight and hit the Mercenary Sect hall. We turned in the Beginner Knight Crystal Orchid and Iron Fang badges. The clerk, a scrawny Wind cultivator, bowed. "Quad Storm, mission complete. Here's 120 Level 3 Spirit Stones and 3-star badges—congrats on the rank-up!" I grinned, "Ladies, 3 stars! Now jump on me tonight to celebrate, eh?" Bera's eyes blazed, nails glinting, "Oh, we'll jump ya… to pound ya!" In the hall, they tackled me—Bera's nails scratched my chest, Tira's fire orb singed my thigh, Lila's earth spike bruised my ribs. Grinning through the pain, I purred, "So, I plan a new revenge prank, hm?" They froze, fists mid-air, like statues. Tira coughed, "Nice weather, huh?" Bera nodded, "Real nice." Lila chimed, "Perfect for a walk and shopping, right, girls?" "Yeah, yeah!" they chirped, bolting. I lay battered, chuckling, "Tch, can't handle a legend's fun."
Brushing off, I sauntered to Crestmoore's square, Varkoth coiled smugly. Zephyr, Peak Master Darkness, lounged by a fountain, singed tail a Tira memento. "Kitty cat, still not roasted?" I taunted. He smirked, "Heard 'bout your new trick, Elf." We swapped tales—his bandit hunt, my tarantula kill. Vortex got his ears up, so we hit the training field. I warned an Alchemy Guild elder, "Prep for a patient." Zephyr snorted, "Cocky." I grinned, "Hit me with your best, cat!" He unleashed Umbral Fang, a dark Qi claw. I planted my Pyroclast swords parallel to the ground, one above the other, and spun, curse's 30 kg pressure fueling Vortex. The fire-darkness whirlwind sucked air, Zephyr gasping. He tried retreating, but I spat Zenoite barbed wire—longer than my swords—snaring his thigh. As I spun, it dragged him closer, blades gleaming. His bloodline skill, a shadow burst, flared, but he passed out, air-starved.
Zephyr came to, gulping a healing potion (consumable), wounds closing. "Maniac," he rasped, "That skill's deadly." I bowed, "Supreme Elf, baby. Thanks for the spar!" I whispered, "Tira ain't slept with me yet. Want her? Move fast 'fore she feels the Supreme Elf's might." Zephyr's tail twitched, hiding a grin. "Alpha cat don't lose to no Elf," he muttered. We parted, him limping, me smirking.
At the market, I bought two energy potions, a strength elixir, and pet food (10 Level 2 Spirit Stones).
Back at The Iron Bloom, I built a tiny fenced arena on my table, dripping a few drops of strength elixir on Stinky to keep him strong. I tossed him in with my scavenged bugs. "Go, champ!" I roared, as Stinky tackled a glowbug. Without the girls' interruption, he'd have hit Middle Novice. A crowd—drunks, mercenaries, a barmaid—yelled bets. "Stinky's king!" I hollered, tossing a copper. Varkoth hissed, Tira's spiritual sense catching his "Fleshling's madness" vibe, giggling from afar. The tavern shook as Bera, Tira, and Lila strutted in—red mini-skirts, crop tops screaming curves. They posed, expecting gasps. Nothing. Every guy was glued to my beetle brawl, roaring, "Stinky! Stinky!" Varkoth's hisses sounded like cheers. The girls stood, stunned, for five minutes. "Bugs over us?" Bera whispered, nails tapping. Lila's earth Qi quaked the floor. Tira's tattoo flared, "Freaking bugs?"
The tavern trembled. I scooped Stinky into his vial, bracing. "Tsunami's coming, Crotch Cobra," I muttered. Varkoth's tail flicked, ready. The girls stormed over, eyes blazing. Bera snarled, "Bugs over us?" Tira snapped, "You're dead!" Lila's earth spike loomed. I grinned, "Stinky's a legend, like me! Jealous?" Their magic erupted—fireballs, earth spikes, flame orbs—pummeling me. The curse slowed my dodges, floor gouging, but I cackled, masochistic thrill surging. Varkoth hissed, Tira catching his "Supreme fool" vibe, smirking. Bruised and singed, I clutched Stinky's vial, murmuring, "We'll show 'em, champ." The crowd cheered, tossing coins, mistaking the brawl for a show. My amulet pulsed faintly, but I ignored it, dreaming of pranks, curves, and a beetle king.