Trulda listened to the sound of the dryad’s battle cry fade in the distance, as a notification lit up the party interface.

  Party member Ulmenglanz has activated the innate dryad ability “Natures Wrath”, draining her health to empower and overcharge all of her spells and abilities.

  She read the note aloud for the priestesses’ sake, while trying to keep an eye at all directions, to watch out for whatever hat caused Ulmenglanz to go all out.

  Mirabelle took on a scholarly tone: “That can’t be right. I read up on dryads at the Adventurer’s Guild. Dryads can’t use Natures Wrath, even if their lives depend on it. It can only be used to combat a threat to nature itself. Or to protect her home tree or forest. It’s the same ability her mother supposedly used to summon tree guardians during the last battle of the Border Forest.”

  Before anyone could respond, another notification appeared.

  Obligatory area quest issued!

  – This quest is automatically accepted by all sentients in the affected area -

  “Cleanse the Forest”

  Eradication Quest.

  A scourge type creature has been detected!

  Kill every member of this race, locate their nest, and destroy it.

  Reward: Variable XP based on contribution.

  Failure Penalty: Scourge type creatures multiply.

  Trulda exhaled sharply, gripping her lute-club as Skorr stowed his war-pick and drew a cudgel, better suited for smashing smaller enemies. She turned to the priestesses. “Okay girls, you stay back with me, until we’ve identified the threat.”

  After getting a solemn nod from each of the giddy teenagers, Trulda motioned for Skorr to lead the way. She followed closely, keeping the priestesses behind her like a mother hen herding her chicks. Even the farmer joined in, pitchfork in hand, his knuckles white as he gripped it tightly.

  Trulda remembered the scourge-squirrels in the Dungeon of Alchemy. This type of creatures was dangerous, rapidly multiplying and growing into increasingly menacing stages. The early stages were manageable, but if left unchecked, they could spiral into an uncontrollable infestation. They had to wipe those beasties out now.

  The points of light fanned out from the forest, followed by an enraged dryad.

  Mirabelle cast a quick spell and golden light surrounded her eyes. She let out an impressed whistle. “There’s a dozen or more owls with fiery feathers swarming out to circle the field. I think they’re some kind of summoned nature spirits.”

  They heard the window above fly open and Weylan quickly climbed down, jumped off and overtook them, running at the enemy’s location.

  Trulda could hardly see them, since the burning owls stayed at the edge of the field, occasionally darting down to grab one of the tiny beasts, then hold it and fold burning wings around it, until it was thoroughly incinerated.

  Outside the magical slowing field, the creatures darted and zigzagged with maddening speed, making them impossible to track. When Trulda reached the edge of the slowing field, she could finally follow the creatures’ sluggish movements, but the darkness still obscured their features.

  “Can someone light up the area?” she called, her voice steady despite the tension in her chest.

  Faya stopped Mirabelle from casting with a gesture and waved her hand high. “Welcoming Beacon of Light!” she declared. A glowing orb formed above her hand, floating upward and steadily growing brighter until it illuminated the field like a miniature sun.

  Weylan, already in the middle of the monsters, was the first to identify them. He cursed loudly, his voice cutting through the night. “Golgoroth’s foul breath! Kill them! For all the gods’ sake, kill them!” and started slashing with his short sword.

  As the light revealed the creatures, Trulda finally got a good look at them. They were lizard-like, with dark brown and black scales that blended seamlessly with the ground. Their most striking feature was their oversized cheek pouches, now empty and sagging with loose skin. Their tails were long and semi-prehensile, marked with faint stripes that resembled those of a chipmunk. The sight sparked recognition in her mind. Something from the knowledge she’d absorbed from the Adventurer Guild’s skill crystal. Then she finally managed to use the Analyze skill to identify one.

  Hatchling-Hoarderscale-Gatherer, Level 1

  Scourge type monster.

  Her stomach dropped. Now she remembered. Hoarderscales. The Cataclysm of Aeons. The Bane of Humankind. Hoarderscales, the beast wave that had quite literally eaten the Cathurian Empire and ended the Golden Age.

  These monsters were notorious for their rapid reproduction and their ability to adapt to their environment and needs as they progressed through multiple size stages. Her mind flooded with grim recollections: Titan-Hoarderscales killing actual dragons. Swarms of hoarderscales of all sizes devouring whole landscapes. Sandrunner-Hoarderscales scouring the desert, reaching even the most remote oases. Mossback-Hoarderscales consuming entire swamps. Frostskin-Hoarderscales eating even the snow itself in the Everfrost Plains.

  There had been a dark age lasting centuries until the hoarderscales were finally purged in a ritual so powerful that the combined archmages of five races had sacrificed themselves to cast it.

  But hoarderscale eggs could survive practically forever… Until disturbed and hatched.

  She’d not heard any mention of them since involuntarily joining the game. But hoarderscales were a big part of the game world’s lore. It was hard to remember those horrible times had never really happened. The devastation was only backstory, but now it could become reality… or what counted for reality in this situation.

  She tore herself from her grim reminiscence just in time to swing her lute-club and slam a leaping beast into the ground.

  Nearby, Weylan swung his short sword at one of the arm-long lizards. The creature dodged nimbly, even within the slowing field. His backswing connected, slicing it cleanly in half, but there were too many of them, darting in all directions like living shadows.

  “Stay close!” Trulda barked at the priestesses as she stepped in front of them, raising her lute-club defensively. Her grandmotherly instincts surged as she positioned herself to shield the girls. Her sharp eyes scanned the chaos, searching for any stray lizards that might slip through.

  Golden light flared as Mirabelle cast another supporting spell. Alina swung her quarterstaff wildly once, then adjusted her grip and stabbed downward with both hands, expertly crushing a hoarderscale into the dirt.

  A piercing scream rang out. One of the tiny beasts had latched onto Faya’s arm, sinking its sharp teeth into her flesh. She shrieked and, with a frantic motion, drove her dagger into its neck, beheading it. The severed head hit the ground, its mouth still opening and closing.

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  Trulda hurried to her, inspecting the wound. It was shallow, and there was no sign of poison. Faya quickly cast a weak healing spell, shaking her head to signal she was fine.

  Nearby, Skorr crushed another lizard with a swift swing of his cudgel, his face set in grim determination.

  Then the air was filled with whistling sounds.

  A sudden volley of small projectiles shot out of the darkness. Stones and hardened nuts pelted the area, ricocheting off the glowing stakes or embedding themselves in the soft earth at their feet. One projectile glanced Mirabelle’s shoulder, slicing her robes open and leaving a shallow cut.

  “What the hell was that?” Trulda growled, instinctively stepping in front of the priestesses to shield them.

  “They’re spitting stones at us!” Mirabelle gasped, her golden-tinged eyes darting toward the tree line. “Over there! There are some bigger lizards puffing up their cheek pouches before spitting stones. They hit as hard as slingshots!”

  Trulda’s grip tightened on her weapon. She saw them and the grinning beasts stood still long enough to analyze them.

  Juvenile-Hoarderscale-Spitters, Level 3

  Scourge type monster.

  They already had more evolved types. This was bad.

  She directed her small group closer to the barn, ensuring they had cover from at least one direction. Turning to Weylan, she called out, “Take care of the ranged attackers! We’ll cut down anything that gets near the barn.”

  The assassin was already in motion, whirling and dodging as he reached the edge of the slowing field, sidestepping a second volley of stones. “No need,” he called back. “Ulmenglanz is already handling them.”

  Trulda glanced toward the forest, where the dryad had charged straight into the group of ranged attackers.

  Ulmenglanz’s voice rang out over the chaos. “Die, vile creatures! You have no place in nature! Ash and drought take you! Stand still and let me kill you!” Her targets scattered and disappeared into the woods. Screaming some more incoherent threats, she followed them into the underbrush.

  Trulda cut down two more of the slowed attackers and then turned, as Alina got out of formation.

  “Oi, watch out!” Alina called, shoving Faya aside. She hefted a head-sized stone and slammed it down at a Hatchling that had tried to get in position to jump at the priestess. Slowed, it was a target she could not miss. The stone, as well as the priestesses that had cast the spell, weren’t affected by the magic. The stone flew straight at the creature flying through the air in slow-motion. Just before the stone hit, the creature opened its maw wide. Space warped, and in an instant, the stone vanished. One of its cheek pouches bulged, now inexplicably filled, but not nearly big enough to fit the stone that had been bigger than the whole monster. The monster seemed to grin broadly, right until Trulda’s lute-club smashed it into the ground. A second ripple of warped reality followed, and the stone reappeared beside the flattened monster.

  Trulda’s gaze flicked around the battlefield. “Where’s Selvara? We could really use some area damage.”

  Alina retrieved her quarterstaff from where she had leaned it against the barn. “Who’s Selvara?”

  Trulda scanned the surrounding area for more attackers, while also searching the sky for the raven. “Weylan’s familiar. She was supposed to try to find out where the monsters are coming from and follow them to their nest, but we need everyone for the fight.”

  As if answering her summons, another hatchling suddenly leaped a few steps in front of her. Mid-air, tiny sparks of lightning crackled from its body. Then it exploded in a wave of cold and ice.

  A dazed raven dropped down amidst a spray of blood and scale fragments. Selvara hit the ground in a heap, her feathers ruffled and ice crystals clinging to her wings. She barely lifted her head, looked at her audience and let out a weak, defeated “Caw.”

  Trulda rushed forward, scooping up the injured familiar with both hands. Faya quickly took her lute-club while Mirabelle and Alina formed a protective barrier around them. With swift movements, they retreated toward the barn, where Faya crouched and cast a healing spell on the raven.

  Less than five minutes into the fight, the rune-stakes flickered. Their glow dimmed rapidly.

  Alina’s eyes darted around in alarm. “The slowing field won’t hold much longer,” she warned. “There’s just too many of them.”

  Mirabelle nodded, then swung at a hoarderscale, but missed. “I didn’t expect the field to last this long. These hatchlings don’t have much power behind their movements. Their speed seems to come more from their minuscule mass rather than muscle strength. They use extradimensional expansion magic to swallow and carry far more than their size should allow. I theorize they also use this ability to reduce their own mass, which drastically increases their speed.”

  Alina glanced up mid-strike. “Can we try to catch one of the bigger ones? The hatchlings are too small, but the skins of the bigger ones would make a perfect material for making bags of holding. The Mages’ Guild would pay a fortune for something like that.”

  Mirabelle nodded, but did not take her gaze from her surroundings. “Natural extradimensional enchantments are exceedingly rare.”

  Trulda raced in a wide arc, swinging her lute-club with practiced efficiency, smashing hatchlings left and right. But after barely half a dozen kills, the slowing field failed. The rune stakes shattered with a sharp crack, and in an instant, hoarderscales surged forward from all sides, racing toward the barn like a living tide.

  A fierce battle ensued. The priestesses and Trulda fought in a half-circle, with the barn’s wall covering them from one side.

  Selvara, dizzy from mana exhaustion, hopped around near the wall. A single hatchling slipped inside the protected perimeter to attack her. The tiny mouth of pointed teeth flew at her in a high arc. Sensing the attack at the last moment, she hopped up with whirling wings and immediately dropped down as the monster passed below her and held fast with her claws. With her last mana reserves she cast Shocking Grasp, instantly killing the level 1 beast.

  The moment Weylan and Skorr noticed the situation, they returned to join the fray.

  Trulda roared a battle cry but held back from going into a full rage. She needed a level head to protect her charges.

  Within moments, everyone had suffered multiple bite wounds. Even Weylan, usually swift on his feet, couldn’t dodge creatures attacking from all directions. Two scrambling hatchlings sank their teeth into Trulda’s left ankle, while another tried to climb into her cleavage. She slapped it away with a growl of frustration.

  Cries of pain erupted around her, nearly sending her into a panic. She stomped down hard, crushing the creatures latched onto her ankle.

  Golden light flared beside her, drawing her attention. Mirabelle had cast a spell. "Aura of Slowness!"

  The enemies in her immediate vicinity slowed. Not as much as with the earlier ritual, but just enough to make them easier to hit.

  One hatchling approached in a straight line. Mirabelle hesitated, staff raised, as the creature stared up at her with almost comically large eyes.

  Alina, however, had no such reservations. With a savage grin, she slammed her staff down, crushing the monster. She raised her weapon again, ready to strike another, but the spell’s effect faded too quickly, and the hatchling dodged out of reach.

  Skorr arrived, staying outside their formation to form a secondary line of defense alongside Weylan.

  Then, suddenly, Skorr dropped with a strangled grunt, clutching his left leg. Blood gushed between his fingers.

  Weylan reacted instantly. He sheathed his weapon in one swift motion, grabbed the duskgnome under the shoulders, and dragged him backward. “We need to get inside the barn! It’s getting too dangerous out here.”

  Trulda and the priestesses surged forward, covering their retreat. As she moved, Trulda’s sharp eyes scanned for the attacker that had managed to injure Skorr. It didn’t take long to find them.

  Three Juvenile-Hoarderscale-Spitters emerged from the darkness, leaping forward in long, powerful bounds. The cat-sized lizards had bloated cheek pouches, stuffed to bursting.

  Twenty steps away, they started firing.

  Trulda stepped between the retreating party and the new threat, parrying one of the stone projectiles with her lute-club. She only had to hold her ground for a few moments—just until the others had made it inside the barn. But even as they reached the entrance, a grim thought crossed her mind: How were they supposed to stop them from shooting straight through the flimsy wooden walls?

  A sharp pain in her side snapped her focus back to the fight. A stone had struck her, leaving a deep gash. She ignored it. They had healing potions and four healers. Though… She grimaced. How much mana did the priestesses have left? They’d burned through a lot with the ritual and their spells. Ulmenglanz had been unleashing her full power from the start of the fight. This might be worse than she thought.

  Then, something at the edge of the field leapt high into the air and swallowed one of the fire owls whole.

  The monster landed with a dull thud, then turned its gaze toward her.

  Trulda’s stomach clenched.

  It stepped fully into the open, revealing its massive frame. A lizard the size of a pony. With its shorter and stocky tail, it had only a vague resemblance to its brethren. Fiery light flickered inside its bloated cheek pouches as it chewed. Then, a glow spread across the ridge of its back, ember-like scales igniting.

  It opened its mouth… and spat a flaming projectile directly at her.

  Trulda threw herself to the ground in a desperate dive. The fireball scorched past her, barely missing.

  “Oh, come on! That’s getting ridiculously unfair!” she growled, scrambling to her feet and sprinting toward the barn. The others had already made it inside. Weylan stood at the door, holding it open for her.

  She lunged through the entrance. Weylan slammed the door shut behind her, then closed the wooden latch in place. He shot her a wild grin.

  “I’d prefer a bigger holding bar, but hey, should be enough for the tiny critters.”

  Alina peeked out through a cracked-open shutter. “The hatchlings might have trouble breaking the door down,” she said, “but what’s our plan to stop them from burning the barn down around us?”