Chapter 404 – Spoils of War

“Share and share alike! I almost lost my life taking down this old Minotaur Shaman. I deserve a share of the spoils. Besides, with our ironclad friendship, hoarding loot would be downright dishonorable…”

As Punk retrieved two or three crudely crafted gems from the crushed sand, Kane, who had just emerged from the Ancestral Spirit’s corpse, eagerly scurried over.

These gems were clearly the Minotaur Shaman’s storage ring—or perhaps a storage necklace. But whether ring or necklace, they were merely vessels; the core storage function lay in these magic gems.

Though Kane had indeed contributed significantly to the battle and by conventional rules deserved valuable spoils, the crucial problem remained: all the loot was in Punk’s possession.

“I must inform you, this Minotaur Shaman was quite poor. He seems to only have some dried fruits. You can have them all if you want—no need to thank me.”

With practiced nonchalance, Punk dumped the Minotaur Shaman’s dried fruits onto the sandy ground right before Kane’s eyes, then promptly pocketed the gems himself.

Of course, as a Master-Level powerhouse, the Minotaur Shaman’s storage ring couldn’t possibly contain only shoddy dried fruits as Punk claimed. In reality, Punk had found numerous valuable items: desert-exclusive magical materials, damaged low-tier magical artifacts, and… a dormant Mother Magic Worm!

The slumbering Mother Magic Worm was undoubtedly the most precious find. Though Punk disdained the worms’ offensive capabilities, their unique traits sparked inspiration for spell improvement. With the Mother Worm in hand, Punk was confident he could develop something new—at the very least, completing the spell enhancement for “Soul-Eating Worm” would be guaranteed.

These spoils held substantial value, convertible to significant contribution points back at the Thought of Truth. Yet Punk had no intention of sharing with Kane. With utter composure, he appropriated every remotely valuable item from the storage ring, leaving behind only rotten dried fruits to fob off his companion.

“Really? Just these… rotten fruits?”

Kane stared at the shriveled dried fruits being gently swept by desert winds, his face etched with the unmistakable expression of “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Really, just these rotten fruits!”

Meeting Kane’s blatantly distrustful gaze, Punk remained as unflappable as ever. While his lies might lack Kane’s florid elegance, he delivered them with flawless, emotionless fluency.

Naturally, just as Punk never bought Kane’s smooth-talking, Kane couldn’t possibly believe Punk’s claims. But regardless of his skepticism, Punk wouldn’t spare him a single valuable item—this was beyond doubt. Staring into Punk’s icy pupils, Kane clearly read the message:

“Want the spoils? Fine. Let’s fight. Win, and all the loot is yours!”Gripping his lance tightly, Kane ultimately abandoned any thought of battle with resignation.

As a knight who constantly walked the line between life and death, Kane possessed keen intuition. He could sense that if he were to fight Punk now, escaping might be possible, but achieving victory was nearly impossible.

There was no helping it—such was the nature of seizing equipment: the swift succeed, the slow lose out. No matter how displeased Kane felt, he could only swallow this bitter pill in silence.

“Alright, my old friend, you haven’t changed a bit… Regardless, we’ve won this battle. Celebrating with only some dried fruits as spoils is far too disappointing. How about…”

In an instant, the fighting spirit in his eyes faded, and Kane’s voice regained its hearty tone. However, when it came to celebration, the knight in gleaming golden armor pointed his lance toward the devastated Goat-headed Tribe. Under the sunlight, the tip of Kane’s lance flashed with a cold, sharp gleam.

“Let’s plunder this tribe. After all, it’s a large settlement with sixty to seventy thousand inhabitants. They must have some collection of magical materials. Moreover… the quality of minotaur souls is no less than that of ordinary humans. Opportunities to gather so many souls are rare indeed.”

Kane spoke to Punk with his usual cheerful and spirited demeanor, his golden hair and armor shimmering brilliantly under the radiant sun. Standing atop the equally golden desert, he resembled a hero setting out on a righteous campaign. Few would imagine that the “expedition” he proposed was the slaughter of a defenseless large tribe.

Without much thought, Punk agreed to Kane’s decision.

As Kane had said, the souls of intelligent creatures like minotaurs could be quite valuable in large numbers. Additionally, minotaurs were widely regarded as beings of the evil alignment, so killing a large group of them wouldn’t provoke retaliation from those of the good alignment.

Moreover…

Punk couldn’t ignore the “Demon God” mentioned by the Minotaur Shaman. A mere Sub-Lord from the Abyss wasn’t particularly fearsome, but if a cult formed around the power transmitted by this Sub-Lord, it could become troublesome. Especially since the Minotaur Shaman had so blatantly used Abyssal energy to corrupt the tribe’s ancestral spirits—this undoubtedly indicated that the tribe, home to tens of thousands of minotaurs, was steeped in fanatical belief.

A group of fanatical followers might not pose much destructive power, but they were certainly annoying. To avoid endless entanglement, Punk felt it best to clean up these potential fanatics.

Glancing at Kane, who stood brimming with fighting spirit on a small sand dune, Punk narrowed his eyes. He was certain that Kane had some other objective, and now, he couldn’t help but feel curious about Kane’s intentions.

“Never mind, it’s just a defenseless minotaur tribe. Since we can’t catch up to Ovakain for the time being, a little delay won’t matter now.”Thinking this, Punk, like Kane, silently turned to face the Goat-headed Tribe. A wide-scale slaughter spell was already slowly gathering at the tip of his Emerald Staff.

In this wind-swept quiet tribe, strong and tall goat-headed commoners were cautiously peeking out from cellars dug into the sandy soil. To them, the terrifying roar had passed long ago – the battle outside should have ended, and they, the survivors, should be safe now.

But unfortunately, while the battle had indeed ended, these goat-headed beings were never destined to obtain so-called “safety.” When they cautiously turned their gaze toward the battlefield, what they saw… was only a knight with an eerie smile and a mage with ice-cold eyes.

In the cruel Multiverse, for the weak, disaster might pause, but it never truly ends!

(End of Chapter)