Another few weeks had passed.
The morning sky was soft and gold, clouds drifting like rivers far below the mountain peak.
Matteo exhaled slowly, seated cross-legged beneath the red-leaf tree.
His chest rose and fell in rhythm with the quiet energy threading through his core.
The stillness was comforting now—almost like an old friend.
The Dragon Dance footwork had become part of his daily ritual, though he still hadn't mastered it. Not even close.
He stood now, stretching his sore limbs.
Weights clinked softly against his wrists and ankles.
"Another day, another mountain…" he muttered, adjusting the shoulder straps of his empty water buckets.
Yurisha skipped past him holding a flower crown.
"Bwuthur! Look! I made it for the trees!"
"...Right. Be careful not to fall into one."
---
The descent down the mountain to the cave had become a blur.
Rough stone. Loose gravel. Roots like claws gripping the side of the cliff.
He didn't complain. It was part of the training.
This would be his fifth or even seventh week collecting water from the cave's spring.
The downward climb still wasn't easy. But at least it was familiar.
Matteo reached the cave entrance, breath steady, the morning sun warming his back.
"Alright... in and out. No weird magical squirrels this time."
He entered the cave with careful steps.
---
Inside the cave....
The spring glowed faintly deeper within. The walls shimmered with damp crystal veins.
Matteo knelt and filled one bucket with care.
Crunch.
He paused.
Another sound echoed—wet. Skittering.
He straightened slowly, eyes narrowing.
Then—
CRASH.
A huge shape burst from the deeper tunnel.
Chitin cracked and shimmered as a centipede the size of a horse emerged, eyes glowing, feelers twitching violently.
"...You've got to be kidding me."
Matteo jumped back as the monster lunged forward.
He dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws.
"Nope. Nope nope nope—!"
He darted between rocks, weaving through stalagmites, trying to put space between him and the thing.
"Mischief! Come on, activate—!"
He willed the Rune to respond, but nothing came.
The familiar rush of heat, the pull behind his eyes—it refused to rise.
He clicked his tongue. "Seriously? Now of all times!?"
The centipede crashed through a stone column behind him.
That's when he saw it.
Behind the centipede—something shimmered.
A slime.
Small, jelly-like.
Its golden, honey-colored body slid quietly through the shadows.
"...Is that thing glowing?"
The centipede hissed, skittering violently, its attention flicking between Matteo and the slime.
"Wait... it's not chasing me. It's after that thing."
Matteo immediately made the most logical decision.
He ran.
Straight for the exit.
"You two have fun!"
But the moment he passed the slime, it suddenly flung itself up—
—and clung to his leg.
"H-Hey—! What the—?"
It vibrated softly. Warm. Sticky.
"No, no, no. Let go. I am not your taxi—"
He tried to shake it off.
Failed.
The centipede shrieked. Its target had moved. And now that Matteo was the target...
"Of course. Of course this is how I die."
Matteo pivoted around a sharp outcrop and ducked as the centipede lunged.
Clack!
Its mandibles hit rock.
Matteo spun behind a pillar, panting.
"Okay. Think. Think…"
He glanced at the slime on his leg. It blinked.
Actually blinked.
"...You've got eyes?"
The slime purred. Or buzzed. It was hard to tell.
"Great. You're sentient. Even better."
The Rune still wouldn't activate. Mischief felt… locked. Or sleeping.
But he wasn't helpless.
Matteo took a breath and let his training guide his feet.
One step. Twist. Draw. Strike.
Even without a blade, the form gave him movement. It gave him momentum.
The centipede rushed forward again—
—and he slid under it, rolled, kicked off the cave wall, and grabbed one of the stalagmite fragments.
A jagged shard. Not a sword, but it'd have to do.
He slashed at one of the creature's legs. It shrieked again and turned.
The slime chirped.
"Oh you're enjoying this aren't you?"
The centipede lunged—
And Matteo let his body flow.
It was a clumsy imitation of Dragon Dance, but the form worked.
The weight shift gave him power. The twist gave him leverage.
He ducked again. His breath was heavy. His legs trembling.
"Come on… just a little more…"
As the centipede roared, and the cave trembled with its fury—
Matteo stood his ground.
The cave shook with another impact.
Dust rained from the ceiling. Rocks cracked beneath the centipede's crushing limbs.
Its many eyes gleamed in the dark—locked onto Matteo.
Matteo's breath was ragged. His arms ached from swinging the makeshift stalagmite-blade.
Blood ran down his left forearm. A graze from one of the monster's near-misses.
Still, he stood.
His stance was sloppy. Weight shifted forward.
But his eyes—burning with quiet defiance.
The slime on his leg pulsed again.
"Seriously… if you're not going to fight, at least be armor or something—"
The centipede lunged.
Matteo dodged—barely. His shoulder scraped the wall, sending fire through his nerves.
He retaliated with a wide arc, slicing across one of the creature's forelegs.
A hiss.
It recoiled. Only to surge again.
"Mischief!" Matteo roared in his mind. "Wake up, dammit!"
No response.
The Rune on his shoulder glowed faintly, but the form remained locked.
"Tch—fine. I'll do this the hard way."
Matteo pivoted mid-step, letting his training kick in.
Each shift in balance, every planted foot—it echoed the pattern the old man had drilled into him.
Not perfect.
But fluid.
The centipede struck again. He weaved low, dragging his wounded leg, using the terrain.
Control the angle. Control the momentum.
He wasn't faster than the creature—but he could guide it.
He ducked under another swing of its pincers and turned deeper into the cave—
But then suddenly shifted back toward the entrance.
"Come on…" he whispered, baiting it.
The centipede shrieked and charged again.
Matteo rolled forward, tumbling past it.
It skidded on stone.
He bolted toward the mouth of the cave, bleeding and breathing hard.
The path narrowed—a steep incline that led to the opening in the cliff wall.
Behind him, the centipede thundered forward.
It was too big for these turns. Too wild. Too fast.
Matteo ran in zig-zags, using his footwork to slow himself—
But keep it moving forward, off-balance.
Almost there.
"A few more steps—"
They reached the drop...
He hit the ledge.
The wind greeted him. Open sky. The vast drop below.
He stopped just shy of the edge, pivoted—
And the centipede, too fast to correct, too heavy to halt—
—lunged past him.
Its scream was guttural as its body carried forward, mandibles snapping too late.
CRACK.
Its body launched off the edge. Stone shattered beneath it.
Matteo dove to the side just as the ledge crumbled.
The beast vanished below.
The sound of impact far beneath.
Silence.
Then—
Splat.
The slime plopped next to him, having been shaken off mid-roll.
It blinked at him with wide amber eyes.
Matteo groaned and sat up.
His side throbbed. His shoulder was bloodied.
He had shallow cuts along his ribs and a nasty scrape on his knee.
But he was alive.
"...You okay?" he asked, breathless.
The slime squeaked. Then rolled into his lap like a cat demanding warmth.
"Ugh. You are way too clingy."
---
But something flickered in Matteo's eyes.
Just before the final lunge, when the centipede had caught him—he'd seen it.
The slime had stretched and covered his chest for a moment, hardening into a thin plate.
It had taken the brunt of the blow.
He looked down.
The little blob was now pressed to his stomach, soft and humming gently.
"...So you did help, huh?"
It wiggled proudly.
Matteo smirked, despite the ache in his bones.
He let his head fall back, staring at the open sky.
"Guess I owe you one."
The slime chirped.
---
It took Matteo twice as long to climb the stair path back to the manor.
Blood dried against his shirt. The buckets were long lost.
But the slime stayed with him the entire way—happily hopping after him or clinging to his shoulder.
By the time he passed the manor gates, he was on the verge of collapse.
The old man stood waiting.
His eyes scanned Matteo's injuries. His brow furrowed.
"…What happened?"
"Cave… centipede… slime… cliff…" Matteo panted.
The old man exhaled deeply and muttered, "I leave you alone for one afternoon…"
He glanced at the slime now coiled around Matteo's neck like a scarf.
"That thing… hmm. That color… curious."
Matteo collapsed onto the grass.
Yurisha came running.
"Bwuthur's hurt!! Sticky save him! Sticky is hero!"
The slime bounced proudly in response.
---
That night, Matteo didn't cook.
He was passed out, wrapped in bandages, with Sticky snoring quietly on his chest like a warm jelly blanket.
Outside, the wind howled softly across the cliffs.
Inside the old man stood near the fire, gazing toward the stars.
"So… that slime chooses him too, huh?" he muttered.
His golden eyes flickered.
"Interesting..."
Maybe his intuition was way too sharp...