Strength Based Wizard

Chapter 32

Yer a Wizard, Joseph! Act Like One, Part II

And when I say I’m ‘attacked’ by squirrels, I mean I am immediately and mercilessly mobbed.

White fur, claws, screeching, fangs. Everywhere.

I don’t even see them coming. One second I’m standing there, shivering like a dumbass, about to explain my Cursed Daisy Dukes when—

SQUIRREL. DIRECTLY TO THE FACE!

I stumble back with a choked yell as a ball of writhing white fur and claws clamps onto my head like a god damned facehugger.

Another drops from the tree above, latching onto my shoulder.

A third goes straight for my exposed thighs.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” I scream, flailing. “WHY—WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!”

My Health bar appears in my System interface, though it barely budges.

Clyde, to his credit, is zero help. He’s dying—hands on his knees, wheezing with laughter.

Veronica, meanwhile, makes a valiant attempt to swat one of the squirrels away with her hands. It bites her coat sleeve and refuses to let go.

“Really?!” she yells, shaking her hand violently. “Why are these things so aggressive?!”

They’re everywhere. Chittering, screeching, relentless.

One of them yanks on my hair with surprising strength, violently shaking my head back and forth.

I grab it. I pry it off. I throw it into a tree.

Hard. Too hard. Way too hard.

It’s like my body suddenly forgets that I have Strength way above human baseline, because the second it leaves my hand, the damn thing rockets through the air like a furry, pissed-off bullet and—splat!

The squirrel explodes against the tree trunk. Like, full-on cartoonish blood splatter. A mess of fur, viscera, and tiny squirrel giblets paints the bark in a way that is both deeply unsettling and morbidly fascinating. I actually gasp out loud.

“Oh, oh shit.”

I do not have time to process the sheer magnitude of overkill I just committed, because there is still another tiny demon squirrel trying to eat my face.

I mentally cast Wizard’s Hand. The Spell triggers from my hotlist immediately and a familiar, shimmering spectral hand appears beside me. My ever-loyal Lefty, ready for action.

Lefty snags the remaining squirrel off my face like a claw machine from hell. It flails, screeching, tiny humanoid fingers scrabbling wildly at the air.

Without hesitation, Lefty spikes the little bastard onto the snow-covered ground like a goddamn football.

Crunch.

It dies instantly, and whatever mess is on the ground is barely recognizable as the squirrel.

Ding!

Two notifications pop up in my vision:

You have defeated Petite Yeti Squirrel, Level 1.

You have defeated Petite Yeti Squirrel, Level 1.

I barely have time to register this before the third squirrel— the one that had latched onto my thigh—scurries off me like its tiny life depends on it.

Smart move, pal!

The squirrel latched onto Veronica’s sleeve flies off, landing on the ground and scurrying to join my thigh-squirrel in the branches of the tall tree. I hear a chorus of angry chittering.

I look up. At least a dozen of them have retreated to the tree branches above us, their blue-frost eyes gleaming with menace. Their tiny, humanoid fingers clutch at the bark. Their unnervingly human-like hands curl into fists.

I swear to God one of them is shaking its tiny fist at me.

I scan the tree line. Pause. Did that one just flip me off?

A System notification appears over the cluster of retreating squirrels.

New Monster Identified: Petite Yeti Squirrel, Level 1.

Classification: Minor Yeti.

I squint at the small, white furred monstrosities.

Minor Yetis?

I glance at the tree trunk where I, uh… exploded the first one. I guess that makes sense.

And then, just like that, they flee. Gone.

The sounds of their angry chittering fade into the distance, swallowed by the trees and the snow-covered glade.

A long, heavy silence follows.

I breathe out. Hard. I try my best to control my breathing.

Then, finally…

“What the fuck was that?” I ask, exasperated.

Clyde is still laughing. A full-on, hands-on-his-knees, can’t-breathe, tears-in-his-eyes kind of laugh.

Veronica is less amused. She’s shaking her arm, flicking her wrist like the ghost of that squirrel is still clinging to her sleeve. Her expression is half-exasperation, half-why am I even here?

Meanwhile, I’m still standing there, legs bare to the icy chill in the air. I clutch my coat tighter around me and big to button it shut.

Finally, I turn to Clyde, scowling. “And why exactly are you laughing your ass off instead of, I don’t know, helping me?”

Clyde waves a hand, trying to catch his breath. “Calm down, Legs.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He ignores me. “Look, I saw they were Level 1. And I also have this Trait that lets me get a little more info when I ID a new monster.” He pauses, cracks up again, doubling over.

I cross my arms, waiting. Veronica gives him a look that is this close to telling him to get his shit together.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps, straightening. He wipes a tear from his eye, then continues, grinning like an idiot. The expression is a bit jarring when paired to the dark bags under his eyes.

“I think… I think I recall exactly what it said.” He clears his throat. Then, with dramatic flair, he recites: “Petite Yeti Squirrels are usually docile creatures and only show hostility towards the Naked Sasquatch, who is their natural predator.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Veronica snorts.

I blink. “Wait.”

Clyde loses it all over again. He practically folds in half, laughing so hard he has to brace himself on his knees.

I point at myself. “You’re telling me… these things thought I was…”

“The Naked Sasquatch!” Clyde wheezes, almost collapsing into the snow.

Veronica is laughing now too, a full-bodied, head-thrown-back kind of laugh.

I stand there, stone-faced, bundling my coat tighter. My legs feel more naked than ever before. I silently curse the System for gifting me with the Cursed item.

Mentally, I equip all my gear. Boots. Cloak. Wizard’s Hat. Ring. Everything. I am done letting this realm humiliate me.

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“Okay. Whatever.” I shake out my arms, trying to ignore the way Clyde is still gasping for air like he just ran a marathon.

“Clyde,” I say, voice tight, “tell us where we’re going to harvest these Cold Shards. And let’s find the best way to get some off-path mobs. Don’t forget—I need a Monster Core, or I’m royally fucked.”

Clyde, still grinning like a bastard, finally glances down at the tablet in his hand. “Yeah, yeah. Good point.” He scrolls for a second, then shakes his head, glancing up at me. “Man, I still can’t believe the System did you dirty like that.”

I texted them both about my situation last night. If I am going to craft a Spell and avoid the Decay penalty in time, I needed their help.

“Yeah, the whole situation is fucked up,” Veronica agrees, shaking her head. “It’s like if I got punished for reading a book just because I picked the Warrior Discipline.”

“Exactly,” I say, stabbing a finger in the air.

Lefty floats over, placing a consoling hand on my shoulder. I dismiss the cantrip and the hand disperses into a puff of silvery mist. “Let’s just go collect these Cold Shards or whatever so we can get on with our real order of business,” I add.

The other two nod. There’s a brief flash of light. When it fades, they’re in their gear too. Veronica with her metallic breastplate, and Clyde has a pauldron strapped onto his left shoulder. With nothing else to say, we set off through the cold, bare trees.

Clyde leads the way, weaving through the trees with the confidence of someone following a very official-looking GPS marker on his tablet. His boots crunch over the snow, and the rest of us follow, breath misting in the crisp air.

The forest around us is quiet. Not in a peaceful, serene nature walk kind of way, but in the way that makes you feel like you’re being watched. Only a few Gates in and I realize that there’s something unsettlingly voyeuristic about the other Realms. Here, it’s like the trees have eyes. And also tiny, vicious squirrels that still probably think I’m some kind of hairless cryptid.

Eventually, the landscape changes.

At first, I don’t notice. But then Clyde stops, pointing ahead. “There.”

I look up.

The trees in front of us are different.

Their skeletal branches stretch outward, fingers grasping at the air. But more importantly, something floats near them. Suspended in midair, just barely shimmering in the light, are crystalline snowflakes.

I narrow my eyes and step closer. They aren’t falling. They just hover in the air around the branches and trunks of the tree. Like someone paused them mid-descent.

Clyde gestures. “Cold Shards.”

I focus on them further, summoning the System notification.

[Cold Shard]

[Description: A shard of ice mana.]

Nice.

I glance over at the others. Veronica is already gathering them, plucking the floating shards closest to the ground like they’re fruit on an invisible vine. Clyde follows suit.

I roll my shoulders and get to work, grabbing as many as I can. It’s strangely satisfying, like harvesting something that shouldn’t exist. The mindless task reminds me a lot of throwing stock at Save-Some-Bucks.

A few minutes in, Veronica glances at me. “Hey, where’s Jelly Boy?”

I pause. Good question.

“He’s in my backpack,” I say, adjusting the straps. Then I frown. The slime has been oddly quiet.

Which is… weird.

I take off my backpack, kneeling in the snow as I unzip it. Inside, Jelly Boy sits, his gelatinous body gently rising and falling. His eyes are closed.

I stare, waiting the his usual series of vibrations.

Is he… asleep?

Veronica steps closer. “Oh my god.”

I glance up. “Yeah, uh. I think he’s sleeping?”

She claps a hand over her mouth. Then, with the excitement of someone who just saw a kitten in a tiny sweater, she crouches down next to me.

“That is so adorable.”

I shake my head. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll wake him up when it’s time to slay mobs. Guy must have been watching reality T.V. pretty late last evening.”

Veronica leans in. “Look at his little jelly belly… Wait, did you say reality T.V.?”

I zip the backpack halfway shut, just shaking my head in response.

“Alright,” I say, hoisting the pack back on. “Let’s finish up and get moving.”

We do. And by the time we’ve stripped the area of every last hovering Cold Shard, my inventory is looking a lot fuller.

Clyde taps at his tablet as we walk, the soft crunch of boots in the snow the only sound for a while. His brow furrows. “Alright, so… I think I’ve found us a spot. Should be off the main cleared paths, but not too far.”

I glance at him. “How long do you think it will take us to get there?”

“How strong will the monsters there be?” Veronica asks.

Clyde shrugs. “The map doesn’t say what Dungeon level it’s from, just that it’s an unexplored sector. Think it will take us… Half an hour, maybe, to get there. Another half an hour back?...”

Veronica tightens her coat around her. “Well, if it was that high leveled, we wouldn’t be able to reach it this close to the entrance, right?”

I nod. “Good point. I wouldn’t think so.”

Clyde shrugs again, the universal gesture for we’re probably fine, but also maybe not. “I guess I don’t know enough about the Gates. What if they loop back on themselves. Like how in games some higher leveled areas can be unlocked, and they’re near the starting point.”

“Let’s not speak that into existence,” says Veronica.

I nod. “I agree… But maybe we should be ready to run. You know, just in case?”

Veronica laughs. “Hope I’m faster than you if that’s the case.”

I smile. “I just need to be faster than Clyde.”

“Hey!” interjects Clyde, looking up from the tablet.

We move.

The landscape shifts as we push deeper into the forest. The trees get taller, their bare, skeletal limbs stretching into the sky. The branches stretch out over the forest paths—gnarled, clawed hands. Not ominous at all. The further we go, the quieter it gets.

Then, faint noise shatters the silence.

Voices. No, chittering. The low growl of something frustrated.

We slow, creeping toward the source. We reach a clearing and…

Huh.

The scene in front of us looks like the world’s worst holiday special.

Two small trees stand in the center, looking like miniature Christmas trees with arms and legs. Each is about five feet tall, green needles bristling as they flail their bark-covered arms wildly, trying to fight off the creatures circling them.

Ding!

New Monster Identified: Winter Meliad, Level 3.

Classification: Tree Spirit.

Oh, tree people. That’s interesting!

And judging by the System classification, they’re some kind of spirit-based monsters. But they look pretty corporeal to me.

One of the tree-things—er, Meliads—swings a short, branch-like arm at one of the other type of creatures in the clearing. It chitters angrily.

Four creatures move around them, short and covered in long, white fur. They’re squat, only about three feet tall, dressed in ragged cloth and furs that barely cover their thick, muscular builds. Their beards are long and white, blending into their fur, and three of these albino-looking mini-wookies clutch well-crafted axes in their hands.

I stare at them.

“What the hell are those things?” Veronica asks in a hushed tone at my side.

I focus my attention, and the System triggers a message, as I intended.

Ding!

New Monster Identified: Yeti Goblin, Level 6.

Classification: Goblinoid.

A Yeti Goblin?...

I guess goblins and yetis got real friendly at some point.

One of them isn’t holding an axe. Instead, it stands behind the others, barking out orders in a guttural, chittering language.

Ding!

New Monster Identified: Yeti Goblin Warlock, Level 7.

Classification: Goblinoid Spell-Slinger.

Great. So, this one’s a magical Yeti-Goblin hybrid. Before I let myself get too side-tracked at the anxiety of facing my first spell-casting mob, I realize this is just what I wanted. The Discussion Channels discourse on the topic of monster cores had made one thing clear: if a monster had the capability for magic, it more likely than not had a core that could be harvested.

The Winter Meliads swipe at the air, their little tree fists whiffing wildly, but the goblins dodge, jeering at them, sharp teeth bared in laughter.

I glance at Clyde and Veronica.

“So,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Time to save some innocent Christmas trees?”

“For all we know those tree creatures killed the others’ mother or something,” Clyde responds.

“Oh my god, shut up,” Veronica says, rolling her eyes. “One the count of three. One… two…”

I don’t wait for three.

With a flick of my wrist, I whip out my wand—it materializes in my hand as I pull it from my hotlist. Then, I summon both of my Wizard’s Hands.

Lefty and Righty materialize in a flash of blue light, spectral fingers crossing each other and flexing like they’ve just woken up from a nap. I send them forward.

I lean in, whispering to Clyde and Veronica, “Stay hidden. Let my hands soften them up first.”

Clyde nods. Veronica lets out a slow breath, lowering herself behind a snow-covered bush.

Behind me, Jelly Boy stirs. My backpack wobbles slightly, the gelatinous mass shifting inside. Not now, buddy. Not yet.

The Wizard’s Hands shoot toward the Yeti Goblins.

At first, the goblins don’t notice. They’re too busy taunting the little tree people, jeering and waving their axes around. But then Lefty slaps one across the face.

The goblin snarls, teeth bared, and swings its axe—straight through the hand. The blade passes through harmlessly.

That doesn’t stop the goblin from trying again. And again.

Meanwhile, Righty grabs another one by the head and repeatedly slams it face-first into the snow.

The goblins panic. They shriek, swinging wildly, but their attacks do nothing.

The Winter Meliads take the chance to flee, their tiny root legs scrambling through the snow.

The Warlock yells something at the others. The voice comes from the warlock—but for a split second, it sounds scrambled, distorted, before suddenly shifting into English.

“Idiots! Don’t let them get away!” It screams. “We need the spell components!”

Spell components? My ears perk up at the words.

The closest yeti goblin snarls and charges after the fleeing tree spirits, raising its axe—

Bang!

The goblin’s head jerks forward. A hole appears dead center in the back of its skull. It collapses, twitches once, then goes still.

Clyde lowers his pistol, blowing out a breath. “One down.”

The warlock whirls toward our position, its frost-blue eyes narrowing.

Shit.

“Three!” I shout.

Veronica bursts from cover, summoning her hammer mid-stride.

She hits the clearing like a goddamn wrecking ball.

One of the yeti goblins snarls, raising its axe, but Veronica’s hammer is already in motion.

CRACK!

The goblin flies backward, skidding across the snow, landing flat on its back with a wheeze.

Veronica plants her feet, twirling her hammer in one hand. “Is that all you’ve got?” she taunts, eyes flicking between the two remaining goblins.

They don’t answer. They just snarl and charge, axes glinting. They run towards Veronica, flanking her.

Idiots, I think. They completely ignore me, Clyde, and Jelly Boy as we emerge from our covered position. Big mistake.

I mentally command my Wizard’s Hands to attack the Warlock.

Lefty swings. Righty jabs. The Warlock twists and dodges, narrowly avoiding each strike. The bastard is fast and far more nimble than I gave it credit for.

The Hands pause. Hovering. Reassessing.

Then they come in again, moving differently this time.

Jab. Jab. Cross. Jab. Hook!

Are my Wizard’s Hands incorporating my boxing lessons? I pocket that thought for later.

Lefty lands a mean left hook.

The Warlock staggers, clutching its face. It snaps its head toward me, frost-blue eyes narrowing.

It thrusts out a clawed hand.

Oh. Oh no. That can’t be good!

A pulse of energy rips through the air. I try to move, but it’s too fast. The Spell—or whatever it is—hits me square in the chest.

Something quakes in my core, like a rubber band snapping. A System notification pops into my vision.

You have been hit by the Disable Skill.

[Wizard’s Hand] has been disabled.

You no longer have access to the Spell [Wizard’s Hand].

[Disable effect will expire in: 1 minute.]

A timer appears in the corner of my vision, counting down.

00:00:59 … 00:00:58

Across from me, my Wizard’s Hands throw themselves dramatically skyward as if screaming, “Nooooooo!” before vanishing in a puff of silver mist.

I blink.

“Well… fuck,” I say.

The Warlock’s face splits into an all-too-wide, shark toothed grin.

Frosty blue and silver motes of magical energy swirl around its open hands.

That can’t be good.