Chapter: 406

All around, many other groups of adventurers were on different hills, each fighting their own brutal battles.

These types of monsters had to be dealt with on a hill, otherwise they could simply roll right after you, the swarm surrounding you as they latched onto your flesh with their razor sharp spiny teeth.

The hill would force them to crawl upwards, slowing down their swarming speed – though even then it was still a challenge.

“Thanks for saving me,” a manacrafter behind Matheson called out.

Matheson squinted with disdain, remembering how he was weak… in fact, he still felt weak.

The manacrafter had no hope here as he only had a high damage single target attack; it was quite foolish for his party to come here.

“Next time save yourself.” Matheson bitterly said; he despised weakness – though more so in himself than others.

“Uh… right…” the manacrafter awkwardly scratched his head.

He thought about asking to party with Matheson, but quickly shot down the idea as soon as he heard Matheson’s harsh reply.

Now that they weren’t within the aggression range of any monsters, the manacrafter promptly left the dungeon. Next time, he would find a party that didn’t leave him behind as they desperately rushed to another hill.

Matheson began looting the hundreds of tiny corpses around him; some of their bodies rolled back down the hill before he could reach them, only to be consumed by a smaller swarm of them.

Matheson easily made short work of them since he was now level 8, not to mention his dexterity-based swordsman class. It was like a perfect match, he was like a demon to the grobs.

He was a little high level for this dungeon, but he was solo too; to him, this was a decent workout plus a way to get easy exp – the last battle giving him 600.

The grob’s didn’t always drop loot, but it was enough for most adventurers to save some money for better weapons.

[Yellow grob eye] x 63

Who used these? And for what purposes? Meh, who cares? As long as they paid for them… This was the mindset of most adventurers here… most…

Matheson was different, he had other plans compared to other adventurers who were simply trying to get by. He had zero thoughts about the low level loot since he had plenty of money after all – what he was trying to do was build the act of looting into his muscle memory, making it like a natural instinct.

He would be relying on selling loot when he eventually got cut off from his fathers wealth, but for now it was all as good as trash to him.

For him, battles were not really about loot, they were just another stepping stone to his strength; each one making him stronger than the last.

“Only strength ensures freedom” he thought, gazing into one of the yellow grob eyes before crushing it in his hand, the juices coating the grass; He imagined that crushed eye as himself in the hands of someone more powerful.

Other adventures would think he was mad if they could see him crushing some precious loot, but Matheson only gained from doing this since he imagined himself being crushed – it created a drive in him, a hunger, and so he continued onwards, towards the next hill.


Jay gazed at the being on the throne; it was old, wrinkled and seemed like it was on the verge of decaying.

Parts of its skin were black but somehow seemed to retain its life – of course, its life force was driven by intense hate as well as all the strange chemicals and magic surrounding its chair.

“Is this a hexamist?” Jay raised a brow, he couldn’t be sure.

Whatever it was, it was nothing like the soldiers or the lab experiments, there was not a single piece of the black stone on its body. It seemed that this one didn’t go through with the altar conversion ritual.