CHAPTER 48: SLIME

The sky had burned down to a bruised orange by the time I reached the slums. The air tasted faintly of smoke and old rain; even from a distance, the orphanage looked more like an abandoned warehouse than a place anyone should live. No laughter, no sound of life — just the brittle silence of a street that had learned to keep its head down.

An old woman stopped me at the corner. "You don’t seem to be from around here," she said without preamble.

"Hard to hide this uniform," I replied evenly. "Why do you ask?"

"Because if you were from here, you wouldn’t be standing out this late." Her tone carried a worn, weary warning. "Kids have been disappearing lately."

My answer came automatic, almost lazy. "Thanks for the warning, but I can take care of myself."

She stared for a moment longer — like she wanted to argue — then turned away, muttering something about fools in uniforms.

I didn’t linger. The spot I was looking for wasn’t far — a narrow opening half–hidden behind a pile of splintered crates and rotting planks. The kind of place no one would notice unless they were searching for it. I crouched, pulled the crates aside, and lifted the cover.

The smell that hit me was the city’s underbelly in its purest form — rot, oil, stagnant water, and old smoke all fused together into something that made my stomach tighten. I slipped my Winchester’s strap over my shoulder and drew the long knife from its sheath. Gunfire echoed far in tunnels like these; steel would have to do.

The passage was narrow, damp stone glistening under the weak glow of my lantern. Water dripped from above, slow and rhythmic. Bubbles rippled across a dark pool at the tunnel’s bend. A few small footprints, hurried and uneven, led deeper into the dark.

Good. I followed.

Something shifted in the corner of my eye — the faint scrape of claws over stone.

Then a blur erupted from the muck.

A rat the size of a hound lunged forward, its slick fur clotted with filth, teeth bared and eyes glowing like wet embers. The stench hit a moment before it did.

I moved without thinking. The rifle’s stock smashed into its flank with a crack of wood and bone, throwing it off balance. Before it could recover, I stepped in close and drove my dagger beneath its jaw — quick, precise, brutal.

The rat’s claws raked my forearm in its death throes, a hot sting across my skin, but I didn’t flinch. The creature went limp, collapsing into the sludge with a dull, wet thud.

Silence reclaimed the tunnel. The only sound was the faint drip of water echoing off the stone.

I exhaled slowly, wiped the blood from my hand against my sleeve.

I pressed on, deeper into the dark.

*****

As Lucien moved deeper into the tunnel, his boots sloshing through the murky water, the air grew thicker — heavier — with that sickly dampness unique to places the sun had forgotten.

Behind him, far enough not to notice, three other figures dropped into the sewers one by one.

The moment they landed, a chorus of disgust echoed down the tunnel.

"What the hell?!" Elisha gagged, pinching her nose. "It smells like something died down here — no, like everything died!"

"It smells so bad..." Mariella groaned, trying to cover her nose with her sleeve. "Whose bright idea was this again?"

"Huh? Regretting already?" Princess Celestia said dryly, waving her hand in front of her face as a light-blue mana orb flickered above her palm. "It was your idea to follow him."

Mariella shot her a glare. "Excuse me? You agreed to it, Your Highness."

Elisha groaned, exasperated. "Guys? Do you think this is really the time to argue about whose fault it is that we’re standing in a river of literal crap?"

"...Fair," Celestia admitted, pressing her fingers to her temple. "Let’s just find out what Lucien’s doing down here before we all pass out."

Mariella sighed. "Yeah, fine. But if we find out he’s just here to brood or something, I’m kicking him into this sewer myself."

"Now, now," Elisha said, raising her bow and channeling a faint glow along its frame. "Let’s go before he disappears on us."

They began tailing after me — carefully, silently, though their occasional curses echoed far enough that if I hadn’t been busy, I might have heard.

The group didn’t have much trouble with the monsters lurking here.

Sewer rats lunged from the dark, only to be cut down by Celestia’s conjured ice lances before they even got close.

A cluster of giant bats swooped from above — Mariella’s wind magic sliced them apart in one sweep.

Elisha picked off stragglers with unerring precision, her arrows striking through narrow shadows with sharp thunks.

In fact, Celestia froze half the tunnel just to keep her boots clean. The entire sewer turned into an ice-carved passage, glittering blue in the dim lanternlight.

Talk about being overpowered.

But before the three could celebrate their small victory—

BOOM!

A deafening crack echoed through the tunnels, rattling the walls.

All three froze.

"That—" Elisha began, eyes wide.

Celestia’s gaze sharpened. "A gunshot."

"There’s only one idiot who uses a gun in the academy," Mariella muttered, already breaking into a run. "That has to be him!"

They hurried forward, boots splashing through icy water.

******

Meanwhile—

I dove behind a half-collapsed support pillar as another glob of viscous green liquid splattered across the wall beside me, sizzling through stone like acid.

"Damn motherf*cker!" I shouted, panting. "Why the hell is there a Slime King here!?"

The thing loomed ahead of me like a glistening mountain of emerald tar, its gelatinous surface rippling with every shift. Inside its translucent body, I could faintly make out shapes — bones, armor fragments, maybe even skulls — dissolved and floating like decorations in its stomach.

Wasn’t this supposed to be a chimera?

Yeah. According to the game, the monster that attacked the slums was a chimera — dangerous, sure, but predictable. This thing? This was a goddamn nightmare.

Most people in other worlds think slimes are beginner monsters. Adorable blobs you squash for XP.

Here? They’re walking catastrophes.

Its body absorbed most physical damage; it could split, reform, and regenerate almost endlessly.

And worse — its acid could melt through steel in seconds.

And I, of course, was a gunslinger.

Physical damage specialist.

Just my luck.