Wraithwood Botanist

Chapter 40 - The Vraxle

The adventurer paused, looking at the ominous doors to the hanger and then back at the man. "I thought it couldn’t hurt us."

"It’s cursed, but it’s a centur. Get too close, and he’ll end you."

"The hell’s a centur?"

The warden scoffed and looked at the other adventures. "I thought we hired rank-three adventurers." The adventurer tried to protest, but the man shot him down. "Listen up! I’m sure everyone’s got some qualifications. You think you’re strong because you work Nyxvalley or cull Calyxus. Maybe you come from a clan or got contacts in the second domain. You got that shiny number on your badge for a reason, I’m sure—but compared to a rank three, you are a snack."

The female swallowed hard, looking away in shame. The others chuckling did the same.

"Most our avians came here as refugees," the warden explained. "Something out there was ripping them to shreds, so they flew right through the barrier, bloodied up and broken, and crash-landed in the Third Ring. That’s not what happened here. This vraxle flew over the wall to exact revenge on his child’s murderer and then continued to slaughter a whole battalion despite being heavily cursed. That only got worse after it hit the century mark. Now, one of its curses is gone. That’s what it means to be a ’centur.’"

"Wait—it started killing things over the wall?" the woman asked. "How’d it escape paralysis?"

"Paralysis is a myth. Domain exchange here’s the exact same as any other. The domain stripped its magic and zapped its energy. But for something of this size—it doesn’t need either. Besides... there’s something different about the spirit beasts in the Bramble. This is an example."

Aiden waited for him to elaborate, but he never did, leaving them in the dark. That only made him more nervous, trembling even, terrified that he was asking to tame such a beast—all for the sake of a supply drop. It was comical to the point of tragedy.

"Now that you’re taking this seriously," the warden said, turning to the man who was flirting. "Open the door." He and the other man did, exposing Aiden’s fate.

Aiden would never forget the sound the gate made when it opened. There weren’t any creaking or rusty hinges, just the sound of a massive metal object unlocking from its position and swinging.

He wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t. It was like watching a trainwreck—he couldn’t look away. So he held his breath and looked ahead, looking deep into the plane-hanger-sized room where a beast was lying down.

What is that? Aiden asked. He couldn’t have possibly known—but it wasn’t a dumb question, either. He compared these animals to ones from Earth and its mythologies—and this one looked relatively familiar. It had blue scales that moved from navy to sky blue in a gradient. On its chest and neck, there were white scales, creating a striking contrast. It was lying down but was still the size of a private jet.

Aiden used Identify on it.

—---

Common Name: Vraxle Cole

Type: Wyvern, Spirit Beast (Cursed [Second Tier])

Summary: Woooooooooza. Just one look at that beaut, and you can suddenly empathize with drug addicts who wonder how they ended up where they are! This guy’s as big and scary as he looks. Fourth evolution by nature, he’s finally released a curse and entered the second evolution inside this domain. What could possibly go wrong? (Plot twist: everything.) If I didn’t subsidize this place to keep ’em alive, this guy would’ve been sliced up for cheat steaks long, long ago. Luckily, he’s alive and well and ready to tell you to buzz off. Just be careful not to get too close. Without a contract, he will try to kill you. Then, it’ll be... well... awkward. Good luck!

Key Facts:

Unlike normal wyverns, vraxles can create invisible, impenetrable barriers of varying sizes and shapes, capable of stopping both physical and magical attacks. They are disorienting to fight without a mana visualization skill or tactics that expose barriers and still require challengers to adapt to the malleable barriers.

Vraxle scales are highly resistant to the elements except for ice, making it an apex predator that other creatures challenge with jaws.

Vraxles have slow yet reliable regenerative healing.

Vraxles can use magic spells; the spells are unique to each vraxle.

...

Weaknesses:

Vraxles have no camouflaging skills and are visible. Flying under the Areswood Barrier ensures that ground spells can hit it.

Jaws from other apex avians.

Ice magic.

...

Note: The name "wyvern" is a translation approximation.

—---

This thing’s a monster, Aiden thought. The others agreed, whispering to each other, nervous to enter.

The warden turned to Aiden. "Don’t worry. It’s shackled in mana deprivation cuffs—it can’t use any barriers. If it tries to harm you, we’ll kill it before it even reaches you."

"Alright..." I clapped twice. "Come out now."

"I’m not a side show," Lithco complained, walking through the front door. It always looked and sounded so surreal to hear him interact with the world as if it were real, going so far as to create invisibility illusions to cover up his tracks.

"Stop being rude to me, and I’ll be nicer to you," I said.

"So you just want to be rude to me forever. Such cruelty."

I chuckled, feeling a bit relieved. I liked Lithco a lot. His dickish side made him feel more human—which made me feel less lonely. I had only been a week—it was hard to believe I’d live my entire life out here.

Don’t think about that...

"Before we get started, I must warn you," Lithco said. "This’s your final night in this shelter. If you’re not out by eight, you will be locked in here for the rest of your life."

I swallowed hard.

"Would you like to set an alarm?" he asked.

"I can do that?"

"Yes."

"Then yes!"

"Alright... I’m setting it for six. I know you’ll panic at anything more."

I nodded but smiled wryly. It was already eight. I didn’t know if I could do much mental shielding. It made me slightly bitter.

"I know what you’re thinking," Lithco said. "But don’t worry. Mental Shielding helps protect and strengthen your connections. So it can double for sleep."

I eyed him suspiciously. "So what’s it like? Meditation?"

"Close. It’s another form of threading that focuses on the mana that flows into your mind. By strengthening that connection, you shield your mind from magical backlash and sensory overload by controlling it with your mind. At first, it will feel like a marathon as you’re working on strengthening, but once you ease up and relax, it feels like you’re walking. It gradually disappears until you enter a dream-like state."

"I’ll believe it once I experience it," I said, sitting down on the floor. "Knowing you, it’ll cause my head to crack in half."

"Oh, it’ll do that, too."

My jaw jerked, and my neck throbbed.

"Marathon," he repeated.

That only increased the twitching. I knew full and well that whatever he was going to teach me was going to feel like someone sticking a needle into my spinal cord. I just knew it. I did.

"Okay, let’s do this," I said, closing my eyes.

"If you insist," Lithco said. "There’s six stages to the mental shielding you have. We’ll start with the first. Repeat after me..." He began chanting, and I started chanting with him, frustrated that my mind wasn’t snapping with his like it did when I was chanting with Yakana—frustrated that I knew that the things that I was doing were wrong. It was like Yakana showing me a pure white canvas and telling me to create that, but I could visually see that my mind was plastered with hundreds of different small colors and blemishes—and I didn’t have the skill to fix them. Yet I tried and tried and tried, and before I knew it, my mind started to... change.

That was the only way to explain it. Suddenly, I felt like someone injected a numbing agent into my brain, and it webbed out like spider cracks, encompassing my entire mind. My body shivered when it happened, but my chanting didn’t stop. It was horrifying, but I was too engrossed, too curious—too involved. It was unnerving, but it felt surprisingly fine, so I pushed on.

Slowly yet surely, that creeping sensation crawled down my spinal cord and webbed into my limbs like novocaine, moving all the way to my fingertips. It was slow and arduous—

—and only the eye of the storm.

The second that numbing sensation reached the very tip of my fingers, it reversed with the feeling of warm liquid shooting up my veins all at once. I knew that it was going to my brain, and I wanted to stop it—but couldn’t. My body was frozen. So I had to feel it warm my arms and ribs, chest, neck, and face before it hit my brain, sending my mind into a Kaleidoscopic frenzy.

I cannot explain that feeling to anyone who hasn’t experienced it. It was like a warm shower for the brain, massaging the mind, wringing it dry, and letting it fill like a sponge after being squeezed. It was sharp and gentle and strange and euphoric and painful in cycles.

Throughout it all, I didn’t stop chanting.

That was the strange part.

At some point in that strange and twisted experience, I woke up enough to notice that I was still chanting but then submitted to the feeling once more, riding the crazed wave of mental sensations, weaving in and out of consciousness.

About thirty minutes in, I started to feel like someone who had taken a shower too long and aimed to stop, but the real fun had just begun.