Chapter 320 The End of a Swampman
Flotog was a 33-year old peasant and believer of Sothos, the God of Herbs and Poisons. He lives at the common residence on the east district of Crookes and was unmarried.
He worked at a nearby Sothos potions chain store-an enterprise founded by the believers of Sothos and the source of their religion’s main income, it was a common establishment in most major cities which majorly traded tobacco and potion ingredients.
Be that as it may, Flotog tend to work overtime every single day, and would not go home until the stars were twinkling brightly over the night sky.
Moreover, although his work was connected to tobacco, he didn’t smoke, and he also did not drink frequently.
He would go to bed as the stars shone directly above his head, sleeping for eight hours every night with a goblet of hot ale and twenty minutes of prayer just before. He would fall asleep the moment he hit the bed until daytime, all his tension and fatigue never carrying on to the next day
Even the acolyte from the Temple of Life claimed that he was very normal.
Indeed, Flotog wasn’t behaving out of the ordinary at all until he went off work today.
That was, aside from the fact that he was an impersonation-a swampman had taken his place.
Ordinary people like him who was somewhat isolated and without strong ties with others were swampmen’s favorite food: there were very low risks in taking their place since others would hardly notice, and the swampmen could easily play their role despite their lacking wit.
***
At present, Flotog the Swampman was kneeling before an idol of Sothos and praying. Swampmen were creatures without faith, nor would they gain the gods’ favor through prayer. However, after they had impersonated any human, they would inherit everything from appearance to habits and memories. It was why even if its prayer now served no function at all, it would keep going about the routine.
Thud, thud.
That was when someone knocked on the door.
Flotog frowned.
In his memories, Flotog was an orphan with no familial relations, and what passed off as friends for him were his colleagues at the potion chain store. They were certainly not close enough to randomly visit each other houses, and no one should have come calling at this hour.
That said, Flotog shouldn’t be ignoring the guest. “Who is it?”
He stood up and went to open the door warily, and was taken aback by the scene outside.
Three youths who stood out like a store thumb were standing there. In truth, two of them looked normal, but the one on the right was such a strapping figure that he resembled a clothed bear at a single glance.
The silver moon had just rose to the skies, at an angle which prompted the illusion that the three youths were standing right beneath the moon.
“Sorry for disturbing!” The bearlike youth exclaimed loudly. “It’s Uncle Joe!”
“Please don’t be alarmed, this is just a small survey.” The youth on the right had a slim figure, but despite having the looks of a sincere and guileless farmboy, he gave the impression of being cunning and shrewd for some reason.
“Are you a swampman? Actually, you don’t need to answer that.” The youth standing at the center then spoke. He was holding something that was either a magic staff or a torch and looked like the leader of the trio. “We could see for ourselves.” Nonetheless, his words left Flotog apprehensive.
“Ho? Looks like there’s no need to confirm it…”
Even before the youth holding the fiery staff could finish, Flotog’s muscles suddenly expanded as it promptly tore the door out of its hinges and flung it at the trio. At the same time, it promptly shot out like an arrow, aimed for the empty space on the left and fled!
“Spirit familiar!” The bearlike youth cried.
A human silhouette immediately appeared beside him, unleashing a barrage of punches that smashed the door into tiny chips of wood
-a much harder feat than sending the door flying
However, several city watch soldiers who had been ordered to hide nearby immediately appeared out of the two alleys on both sides of the path, intent on stopping Flotog-however, they clearly couldn’t stop the swampman when its basic stats was a notch higher than ordinary humans.
Flotog merely threw himself into them to scatter the soldiers like bowling pins.
“Sirs, that’s an area we’ve checked before! If it escapes, we’ll have to scour it all over again.” One of the city watch soldiers who came out of nowhere told the three youths.
“Relax, it’s not getting away.”
The cunning youth said, raising his hand-the gauntlet over it rapidly changed form then, clinging and clanging as it automatically assembled itself into a golden, sparkling wristbow.
“Split Shot.”
All at once, a bolt loaded itself and was let loose in one swift stroke. It was a movement that went as smoothly as water flowing down a stream, taking less than a second!
In fact, when the sound of the shot could be heard, the head and legs of the swampman which had gotten quite far away were blasted into pieces-it was a strike that could pierce a dragons’ wings after all, and it certainly could destroy a normal human with a single shot.
Around him, the city watch soldiers watched as the cunning youth’s wristbow reassembled itself into a gauntlet, their faces looking just like envious eighth-graders who saw the Ironman’s suit for the first time at the movies
-power notwithstanding, that contraption was just so cool!
Nonetheless, the swampman was no human.
Even without brains or legs, it was crawling swiftly over the ground. Thus far, the Players didn’t know where their vitals were either—they could only kill them by emptying away all their HP or vaporize them.
While the swampman naturally wouldn’t crawl to the area that was checked before and hide once again, there was a ditch nearby-unlike Lancaster’s aqueducts, the sewers in Crookes couldn’t fit a person, and the only available drainage was the drains on both sides of every street.
The drains were cover with stone grates, having an opening every few paces that stank because it wasn’t cleaned periodically.
And since the true forms of swampmen were basically no different from piles of mud, it would be very difficult to dig them out if they could hide inside.
‘Just a little bit… if I could just get inside…”
Despite being headless, Flotog crawled as hard as it could towards the drain and eventually reached inside, shrinking itself amongst the mud and melting into it.
It was relieved, as a smug thought arose in its not-so-smart mind.
‘Damned humans, none of you expected that, did you!? This is where I was fleeing to in the first place!
However, it saw an unbelievable sight through the one pile of its own body that it deliberately kept at the opening of the drain.
The youth who had been holding the fire staff raised his hand, summoning black flames.
The fire promptly converged into the shape of a black dragon with red eyes, and directly its infernal breath down into the sewer.
In the next split second, all the drains in the street were covered in black flames.
The fire faded another moment later—there wasn’t even a single roach left, let alone swampman.
