“I hear.” Krug stood up.

He walked out to the Plaza. He didn’t call for Iron-Scale, who was needed to command the defense. He called for the heavyweights.

Gorak (The Vanguard) dropped his shovel, wiping coal sweat from his brow. The Root-Father (Treant Elder) unrooted himself from the defensive line, his leaves wilted but his bark hard as iron. Old-Shell (The Tank) lumbered forward, his massive form casting a shadow over the square.

“Load up,” Krug ordered.

Gorak grabbed two heavy sacks of Refined Coal Dust. He patted Old-Shell’s flank. “Don’t sink, old man,” Gorak grunted.

The Root-Father, too large to fit inside, latched onto Old-Shell’s back. His roots wove into the ridges of the shell, anchoring him like a turret. He would be the external filter, absorbing the worst of the toxins to protect the hull.

Krug and Gorak climbed inside the hollow cavity beneath the shell. The membrane sealed shut.

“We go,” Old-Shell rumbled.

They bypassed the gate and plunged into the Black River.

The water was a sludge of green algae and necrotic parasites. Old-Shell sank like a stone, his webbed claws churning the mud.

[ SPEED: 15 KNOTS ]

Inside the shell, it was dark and cramped. Gorak sat huddled against the curved bone wall, clutching the coal sacks. Krug sat opposite him, his hands glowing faintly violet to provide light.

“It is quiet,” Gorak whispered, listening to the muffled rush of water.

“The river is dead,” Krug replied. “The Druid killed it.”

Above them, on the outside, the Root-Father was fighting a silent battle. As they moved through the toxic water, parasitic vines lashed out from the riverbed, trying to entangle the tank. The Root-Father used his own branches to slash them away, fighting nature with nature.

THUD.

Something massive slammed into the hull.

“Croc!” Gorak yelled.

A Rot-Maw Crocodile had clamped its jaws onto Old-Shell’s rear leg.

Old-Shell didn’t stop. He simply… vibrated.

[ ABILITY: RESONANCE QUAKE ]

He drummed his massive body against the water, creating a concussive shockwave. The crocodile’s inner ears shattered. It let go, stunned, drifting away into the murk.

“Keep moving,” Krug ordered. “We are on the clock.”

“They just got rid of a level boss like that…” Red muttered in awe.

Ten hours later. [ FUEL AT BASTION: 1 HOUR REMAINING ]

Old-Shell surfaced in a swamp clearing ten miles south.

The air here was thick with green fog. Visibility was zero. The ground was carpeted in pulsating fungal mats that squelched underfoot.

The membrane opened. Krug and Gorak spilled out, tying medicinal moss rags over their faces.

They looked up.

The Spore Tower loomed ahead—a three-hundred-foot nightmare of throbbing purple flesh, pumping clouds of death into the sky.

But between them and the tower stood the guard.

[ BOSS: MYCELIAL COLOSSUS (RANK C+) ]

It was a thirty-foot giant made of rotting wood, corpses, and moss. It held a club made from a petrified tree. Around its feet scuttled hundreds of Spore-Thralls.

“Big,” Gorak grunted, hefting his rusty spear. “But slow.”

“Root-Father,” Krug barked. “Clear the small ones. Gorak, take the big one. Old-Shell, be the wall.”

“And you?” Gorak asked.

“I light the fuse.”

When the Colossus saw them. It roared—a wet, tearing sound.

“FOR THE FIRE GOD!” Gorak screamed.

He didn’t run; he charged. A suicidal, straight-line sprint directly at the giant.

The Colossus swung its tree-club. It was a blow that would have flattened a house.

Gorak slid. He dropped to his knees in the slime, sliding under the swing. He thrust his spear upward, jamming it into the Colossus’s knee joint.

CRACK.

The wood splintered. The Colossus stumbled.

“IT BLEEDS SAP!” Gorak laughed, rolling away as a massive fist slammed into the mud where he had just been.

Meanwhile, the Root-Father was a whirlwind of violence. He stood rooted in the center of the clearing, his branches lengthening into whips. He thrashed the swarm of Spore-Thralls, shattering their brittle bodies before they could reach Krug.

Old-Shell positioned himself in front of Krug, acting as a mobile shield against the acidic spit of the flying insects.

Krug sprinted for the base of the Tower.

He reached the Intake Vent—a gaping, heaving hole sucking in air.

He unslung the sacks of coal dust. He didn’t just throw them. He ripped them open and spun, turning himself into the center of a black cloud.

“Gorak! Move!” Krug shouted.

Gorak was currently climbing the back of the Colossus, stabbing it repeatedly in the neck. Hearing the order, he didn’t hesitate.

He jumped.

He fell twenty feet, landing hard in the mud, rolling behind the armored bulk of Old-Shell.

“Root-Father! With me!”

The Treant uprooted and lumbered behind the tortoise.

Krug stood alone at the vent. The coal dust was swirling into the intake, mixing with the methane of the swamp.

Red manifested the Violet Fire in Krug’s hands.

“Eat,” Krug whispered.

He threw the fireball.

WHOOM.

The dust ignited.

The flame front traveled inside the tower, finding the pockets of compressed spore-gas.

KA-BOOOOM.

The sound was deafening. The base of the tower expanded like a balloon, glowing bright orange. Then, it shredded.

A shockwave of fire and pressure erupted outward.

The Colossus, stumbling toward Krug, was caught in the blast. The superheated air vaporized its moisture instantly. The giant wood-golem exploded into splinters and steam.

The Tower itself was sheared off at the base. The massive upper stalk, weighing tons, groaned and toppled sideways, crashing into the swamp with an earth-shaking thud.

The shockwave hit Old-Shell. The tortoise dug his claws in, his shell glowing as he absorbed the kinetic impact, shielding Gorak and the Root-Father behind him.

Krug was thrown backward, tumbling through the mud, his armor smoking.

Slowly, the smoke cleared.

The green fog in the sky stopped moving. Without the tower to pump it, the pressure dropped. The wind died.

Gorak stood up, coughing up black phlegm. He looked at the crater where the tower had been.

“Dead,” Gorak rasped.

He walked over to the pile of splinters that used to be the Colossus. He kicked a piece of burning wood.

“Wood burns,” Gorak spat.

Krug limped over, supported by the Root-Father. His white armor was scorched black, but he was grinning.

“The air clears,” Krug said, taking a deep breath. It still smelled like smoke, but the sweet rot was gone.

Old-Shell retracted his head, looking tired. “Home now?”

“Home,” Krug agreed.

Red watched the green cloud over his city dissipate. The thermal trench sputtered and died as the last of the coal was consumed.

The sky turned blue.

The citizens of Bastion cheered. It wasn’t a cheer of conquest; it was a cheer of survival.

[ QUEST COMPLETE: THE ROTTING TOWER ]

[ REWARD: 5,000 DP ]

[ REGIONAL EFFECT: ROTTING DRUID INFLUENCE REMOVED ]

Red checked his stats.

[ DP: 249,600 ] [ CHARGE REMAINING: 800% ]

“What the fuck is this reward…? 5000 DP only? I wasted like ten times more.” Red let out a frustrated sigh. “But oh well, even 5000 DP is equal to 500,000 faith. And if I had that much faith, converting it to DP using my 100x would have given me 500,000 DP, which would have made me a rank 4 deity instantly.”

He looked at the small group of heroes trudging back through the mud on the map. They were battered, covered in slime, and exhausted.

“Good work, boys,” Red whispered.

He looked South. The fog of war had lifted. The land was scarred, but it was his.

“Now,” Red said, opening his build menu. “Let’s pave it.”

Red was now relieved that the danger was gone. He stretched his hands in the air and purchased Mana-Hardtack.

“Time to eat.”

Red opened his mouth to have a bite but suddenly—

Buzz.

The obsidian slab suddenly vibrated.

[ INCOMING CALL: THE ROTTING DRUID (RANK 4) ]

“…!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep