Linlin was, to put it mildly, tired. If Pansy had to squander more than one word describing their condition–––entirely wasted effort if anything–––he’d go for a description like the following:

Someone as tired as a one-legged tiny grasshopper who had successfully climbed the World Tree in one breakless go, twice as dirty, thrice as hungry and thirsty with other serious problems on top. System problems, to be exact. And multiple organ failure.

Given his nasty last week, the bosom he laid in felt like heaven on Central, but that's beside the point. Because there was one whole trekking week’s worth of bruises, abrasions, blood loss, skin problems, parasite infestations, sprained ankles, contusions, lesions... the list was rather long.

An ancient forest just wasn’t mother’s garden. Not that his she-monster ever cared for one. She was just an undisputed master in firing gardeners. And maids. And teachers. And... in short, an impossible to satisfy, incessantly bitching murderous staff sergeant of the lovely house.

Back to what really mattered, not even all that did disturb their calm. A cool head was the pillar of success and lasting safety, after all. Panic would only reduce the utility of skills, transforming any half-assed outburst into an opportunity to be exploited.

Even if the whole world was about to implode, Pansy for sure would only utter a scathing remark and utilise the rest of the time in coming up with alternatives to save their hide.

‘I have a theory that may be of use, care to listen?’ ‘Hmm.’ ‘Must warn you, the whole thing’s nothing more than just wishful thoughts held together by bumpy, scantly scientific logic.’ Pansy’s added pensively, his concerns getting through to the agent.

They really did. Just... what if one had no choice? His innermost desire–––according to the darn System–––in screwing over a wacky moronic group had succeeded masterly. Well, he cared little about that and more about the lucky sidekick it brought him.

A discovery worth celebrating. A limited gift in terms of whatever integrity. In other words, a quantitative contribution to stabilising his deteriorating condition, albeit sadly only a temporary one. Though, this didn’t mean time was on his side.

( う-´)づ︻╦̵̵̿╤── (˚☐˚”)/ Integrity -2.7 (low-level overcapacity) (˚☐˚”)/ Caution, Critical Levels Reached! (˚☐˚”)/ (˚°>°˚)/ Integrity +1 (Smouldering Desire Fulfilled, 4) (˚°<°˚)/ (˚☐˚”)/ Caution, Critical Levels Reached! (˚☐˚”)/ ( う-´)づ︻╦̵̵̿╤── (˚☐˚”)/ Integrity -2.2 (Overcapacity Bioenergy) (˚☐˚”)/ Caution, Critical Levels Reached! (˚☐˚”)/

The sooner they got their priorities straight and bested the war of wear and tear their body was battlefield to, the better their chances. ‘Hateful curse.’ ‘Now, now, such unproductive pessimism–’ ‘realism,’ ‘pessimistic realism is markedly exaggerated.’

The agent growled contemptuously in their mindscape, his personal way of refusing to listen to another novel’s worth of useless chatter. Pansy had clearly lost his attention and should be aware of that too, yet seemed to ignore the fact completely.

The Master Strategist continued passionately brabbling about impossible ideas, unbelievable theories, suicidal attempts, varying recipes coming to his mind, the question of the latter’s feasibility and usefulness and a wide variety of dubious topics of ill repute.

It really did not seem like they were in dire straits and obviously pressed for time. ‘…which leads me to suggest the most numerous skill upgrades possible.’

In the end, Pansy, fortunately, dished out something useful for once. His findings included, of course, any mistakes they should watch out for in the very near future and what to expect from Big Boss.

Strangely, among this sea of worthless rants, no word was lost on his faulty analysis, nor how bad his miscalculation turned out to be. Though the agent would’ve ignored the chatty alter ego the same.

His attention was indisputably directed at the pale-blue flickering panel that had apparently permanently settled in one corner of their mindscape and tyrannically exerted sovereignty over the place. Certain aspects of it, to be precise, namely:

Bioenergy │ 127 (490) Skills │

[Folly-a-Boo] Level 1 show/hide [ᚱᚨᚷᚾᚨᚱᛟᛖᚲ] [14.39] show/hide [Hivemind] Level 1 show/hide [Bloodoscope] Level 1

show/hide [Stinky Fingers] Level 1 show/hide [Gluttony Works Overtime (73.29)]–––urgh... [Gluttony Works Overtime (8.473)]–––help... so help this poor thing!!

The latest addition to his skillset, [Stinky Fingers], came about to be after Linlin blacked out for an hour or so between the second and the third time the stele had sent him flying.

Neither of the two personalities had any reason to worry about it at the time. So the skill came largely unnoticed and remained that way until now.

By focusing on the interface, Linlin managed to make all unnecessary information fade out. What remained was a hollowed-out display of the System:

[ᚱᚨᚷᚾᚨᚱᛟᛖᚲ] [14.39]

[...]

[...] [...] [Folly-a-Boo] Level 1

[...]

Level-Up Requirement │ Bioenergy (50)

[...]

[...]

[Bloodoscope] Level 1

[...]

Level-Up Requirement │ Bioenergy (68)

[...] [...] [Hivemind] Level 1

[...]

Level-Up Requirement │ Bioenergy (125)

[...] [...]

When it came to the newest skill, Pansy hesitated for a bit before changing the other personality's input and making the notification appear in all its translucent glory. One must always be informed, no? The additional information... packed a punch.

[Stinky Fingers] Level 1

Your hand mutated. The number of joints is no longer related to human anatomy, nor is structure nor use comparable. Caked in dirt, your hands are surprisingly nimble. Medium energy and concentration consumption while active.

Level-Up Requirement │ Bioenergy (77)

Comment │ By what time will you get it that jugging down unknown Cores is bad practice?

Not much of a surprise, [Stinky Fingers] was a skill as useless as its name already implied. Pansy felt ashamed and even the agent blushed at the especially direct as insulting comment. The title was also quite direct.

Before the Master Strategist could stop him, the other personality had already visualised the master comment, making the duo only feel worse!

Master Comment │ You finally did it. Took you long enough to take your first steps, yet beware of resting on your laurels. Either perform close-up cultivation right now, or decide on the godforsaken place where a deep crater shall appear.

All things considered, Pansy’s idea at least felt right. By upgrading newly acquired skills in exchange for bioenergy, both problems should eventually be no more. Easy, no?

But as many things in this forest had taught the agent, there was no guarantee for the smooth working of perfect logic–––for very little could be taken at face value, if anything at all. The System, too, lacked clarity as much as a detailed manual... and sincerity.

What they learned up to date was either meticulously pieced together with the help of educated guesses and rational deductions, or had been tested first hand.

No test subject and close to no information was available. Therefore, the duo had to take up that dangerous mantle and think thrice at each step they took. There simply was no other way. They had but one single life!

‘Dammit!’ Linlin felt like an edgy pioneer in a novel world in search of even his underpants. Perhaps that he was, yet such thoughts were seriously not required as of late.

As both knew by now, the System continued to follow a certain, quite aggrieving protocol. Just take the prime culprit [Gluttony] as an example. First, a Core had to be swallowed, then it was a matter of waiting and drinking tea.

With Lady Luck not on one's side, the countdown would end when the least expected, at whose end many hours of deadly powerlessness awaited in ambush, and–––drumroll–––a skill was added!

Yet there was not only [Gluttony] to worry about. The acute lack of transparency culminated in Linlin's increase in cultivation happening according to unfathomable criteria.

What if something went wrong without anybody noticing? Or–––worse still–––what if our hero engaged in activities or digested stuff he absolutely should not, thus unwittingly endangering his well-being?

Activities such as levelling up? Did the best condition to do so remain static at all times, or did it fluctuate widely? Depending on the answer, the spike in danger levels would be extreme...

Such a critical lack of information demanded careful deduction. Yet what if there was no time such as now? Were they forced to believe in the goodwill of the System?

Forget about cooperation, neither of the two knew if their goals aligned! Pansy absolutely didn't want to lose even more sense of self and dance to someone else's tune. After whatever the System continued to modify them after, would the duo still be the same?

Just who could guarantee that?! The more changes were made to their genetic chain, the further the distance between Linlin living on Central and the old Linlin existing on Earth.

This might seem like a small problem, but it absolutely was not. Losing one's self was worse than death! But... regardless of how many considerations one made, was it easy to choose death due to suspicion? It was not. It was also stupid.

Returning to the main problem the agent faced… what should he expect from a level-up? Little, according to Pansy, since no data meant no concrete, scientifically justifiable answer.

Trying to ignore that obvious fact would only lead to pointless analysis and ridiculously long probability calculations worth no penny. Therefore, somebody had to bite the bullet before it was too late.

And that somebody was the agent, as he could endure a harsher beating than the Master Strategist. ‘Eyes, fingers or blood. Only one seems expendable to me, comparatively speaking, of course.’

With the worst possible scenario in mind, Pansy decisively filtered through the available options. Linlin could’ve done well without his comment, though. For he made a decision long ago.

Considering the importance and complexity of human blood, it wasn’t strange to believe everything that could go wrong might really do so. It didn't feel right for a glorious beginning!

And between eyes and fingers, the former definitely won the competition of whom to spare. Privations that lost sight entailed couldn’t be accepted no matter what.

Especially not in a dangerous place like the Lost Woods where life and death were often a matter of readiness and swift reaction. As for [Hivemind], only the braindead would choose it since that one was obviously linked to the brain and perhaps the soul also.

For this reason, Pansy struck that option off, refusing to even mention it lest the soldier got any strange thoughts.

Warning! Warning! Warning! Level-Up Intention Detected–––Launch Security Protocol 8 If Not Ready Cease Immediately! Repeat: If Not Ready Cease Immediately! Ready In... 3... 2... 1...

Linlin groaned at the ice-cold, mechanical reminder. The agent calmed his mind as much as possible, dialled down on the connection to Pansy as best as he could for safety’s sake, armed himself with patience and nerves of steel and–––when he felt like he had hit his peak–––he forced the overflowing bioenergy running rampant in his veins to gather at his fingers.

Obeying his iron will, the energy concentration there underwent an abrupt spike closely supplemented by abnormal heatwaves irritating the nerves, then rapid swelling of tissue and, of course, pain.

Lots of it. Lots and lots... Though it did not contort his apathetic face, it definitively sufficed to turn out quite memorable. By the time the harmful pressure decreased evenly in every other part of his body, Pansy’s theory surfaced again in his thoughts and was promptly ignored.

Next, an uncontrolled tremor ran through him, announcing the start of it all. By going beyond the point of no return, Linlin lost the freedom of movement, and an explosion of colourful particles went off in his head as if his retina had ruptured, which catapulted the agent into a dreamy world enveloped by dense fog, hardly ever penetrable–––the characteristic of subconsciousness.

The young monkey has succeeded.

The suns before three suns, and definitively before the beginning of Allape’s tantrum that left the priests drooling in a corner like trembling infants, he has taken big strides forward in boosting all-important manly appeal.

Exuberant and on cloud nine, the beast spends his time squeaking and singing all the while meticulously scratching off the persistent crusts of dirt that have settled on his oiled ass cheeks since forever.

For this most holy ritual, the tool he requires–––his one arm with seven five-jointed fingers–––is his most prized gift after successfully overcoming the first threshold.

The evolution has been painful.

Excruciating.

But it is all worth it.

A new life awaits him!

Special attention and tender care are paid to all those itchy spots previously out of reach.

The whole charade of the overeager monkey business concerning the Allape’s allegedly dissatisfaction with the tribe’s liberal considerations on how life should be lived properly is just utter nonsense to him.

Smelly farts, to be precise.

Banter that pales considerably in comparison to his shiny, bare arse radiantly glowing in the afternoon suns as he lays there like the accomplished youth he is, garnering him many interested stares of the opposite sex.

Fluttering eyelashes!

Drooling smiles!

Its new life has truly begun.

The vision shattered into countless fragments, reflections as different and plentiful as there were shards. Nonetheless, they all featured one common insight: The profound art of arse-scratching.

With omnipresent and long-lasting impressions bombarding the agent's consciousness, it overloaded his thoughts with a bundle of cryptic emotions and urges, incomprehensible wishes, strange notions never before conceived.

An unknown time later, Linlin snorted loudly and opened his eyes, bringing an abrupt end to the hocus-pocus. ‘The humiliation... oh, the shame.’ The agent thought he perceived Pansy’s resentful groans, but couldn’t be sure and pushed the scrap idea to the forgetful back of his mind.

After decently making heads and tails of the emotional luggage plugging his brain and erasing what was impossible to make sense of, Azariah’s fair face suddenly burst through the shimmering fog of cryptic content and appeared before their eyes much like a mangled ghost at midnight.

Any sane, half-asleep person should’ve cried out in horror at the sight of her protruding ethereal feelers, but the agent failed to even consider it strange. Only this inexplicable look on her fair face was.

A mixture of amusement, bewilderment and disgust dancing within her amber, beguiling eyes. Another enigma, the second after awakening…?

At some point during his vision, he must’ve shifted his posture and mimicked the ape and… what was that soft feeling on his hands, why did he feel it twice?

Could these be the dreaded unknown side effects Pansy had warned him about? Wait, were there crumbs stuck to his fingers? ‘What’s going on here?’ ‘Bloody barbarian! Do you have any idea when we last saw water?

Days ago, but here you are…’ Pansy’s uncharacteristically angry roar rocked back and forth in their shared mindscape several times. Yet the agent still couldn’t grasp the reason. All he did was take note of something seemingly unrelated.

The addictive feeling of hormonal fulfilment that inexplicably swelled up in his hands was so strange... This, at any rate, was something they definitively had to investigate further if they desired not to go crazy in the near future.

Linlin groggily turned his head, looked down and... an uncanny shadow of bewilderment flashed over his abyssal black eyes. Long story short, the monkey in his version had been him all along. Thoughts, feelings... actions!

For the first time in his turbulent life, our hero’s pale cheeks turned a glaring pink never seen before. ‘…?!’ Today’s disgrace had reached such proportions that even the most emotionally lacking hero of all time could do nothing but look at the half-removed rags dubbed underpants in utter shame.

Much undue pestering followed suit. ‘Obnoxious. Donkey.’ Pansy hollered as a waterfall’s worth of reproaches began taking shape, which the agent had to endure.

‘Got it. Shut up, things look bright.’ His response was almost instinctive. It might not have been the best call, though. ‘As bright as certain cheeks?

Where’s the goddamn phone when you need it? Gotta call the movers, hire a lawyer, chase law with fanfare–––this is unforgivable. Intolerable!’ ‘Wanna move? Good. But may I ask where to?’ ‘You fucking savage may not. Ah, the embarrassment! Oh, the shame!’

Amid their unsatisfying exchange, Azariah had joined them, grinning from ear to ear. Obviously, the Queenant had regained her calm in time and felt ready to address our hero for possibly a joke or two to break the ice.

“Very educating presentation, but could have done without.” The smile did not reach her eyes as she spoke frankly, her chosen tone definite enough to scare the duo.

“Please utter a warning next time.” All in all, her reaction revealed that today’s embarrassment could hardly be swept under the carpet and would be an undisputed advantage for many negotiations to come.

Before Pansy could groan again, she went on, enriching their already bursting to-do list. “You have two naughty guests awaiting arbitration.”

Azariah gave Linlin no time to understand the underlying meaning hidden in that simple sentence before proceeding, “the poor first is about to croak his last, so hurry up.”

Said her piece, the assembled, chitinous flock proceeded to split into two rows with such coordination that the agent wondered if a lifetime of practice could lead to the same tacit understanding. A narrow corridor appeared thereafter.

“Know, my Master Strategist, the man refuses to die except after proper summons. If not for the juicy information he promised, the pest would've no chance but to accept his fate.”

“Where’s the… pest?” Pansy took over pre-emptively. This way, he could do something other than endlessly reminiscing about the disgrace that befell him.

Despite the fact that a certain amount of pressure remained locked away within Linlin's body still, nothing on his weakly smiling face betrayed his many worries. Azariah gave him a meaningful smirk before she looked ahead. Pansy frowned.

Several daggers were buried in that smile, so much was certain. But this feeling of being seen through–––though hopefully not completely–––made the Master Strategist feel uneasy.

Naked. The conversation she desired before... something told him that there was a surprise in store. Question was, of which kind? After he snapped back to reality, a walking corpse had already stumbled close enough to prostrate at their feet.

Feeling Linlin’s ominous attention, the corpse's trembling hands froze and before long, he stuttered a story. The agent couldn't care less about whatever story.

All he had eyes for was the skill upgrade he went to such lengths to get. Delving deeper into their mindscape, he soon found the Sytem panel and what he was looking for.

[Stinky Fingers] Level 2

The prized evolution of one-armed Lesser Alpine Water Monkeys. As per popular ape lore, hurting the shiny ass cheeks summons the fury of the suns, smithing down the brainless offenders. Your hands have disregarded every aspect of human anatomy. For each finger, you get to choose your preferred number of joints up to a total of seven. High energy consumption when enacting the change.

Level-Up Requirement │ Bioenergy (297)

Comment │ The best a lesser species has to offer. Very curious choice.

Pansy sure wasn't interested in what was essentially no pressing matter, so the agent's fury went unanswered. The Master Strategist had all hands full listening intently to the servant's tragic story.

As for what he thought of the agent... he was happy the latter was occupied with something even if it was bitching incessantly, keeping calm and letting him do his thing.

“My name’s Dure...” The story he told under a lot of coughing and wheezing served but one purpose–––suggesting a deal. It was to compel both to find out if a certain special someone was still alive, and if so, to care about her till the end.

Advanced babysitting, in other words, which the two of them hated the very idea of. In return, he shall satisfy their desire for information. Who the enemy clan was. How the decision to conquer the Verdant Valley came to be.

Possible masterminds and some such. Yet the people in front did not take the attractive bait, much to his despair. Only silence came to his ears. The soon-to-be corpse had trouble keeping calm.

The beautiful girl remained as mute and apathetic as ever, and the shabbily-clad man, whom Dure had immediately identified as the butcher from earlier, still showed the same fake professional smile seemingly glued to his face.

At first, Dure was not sure, but now the ever-smiling young man had speedily joined the monstrous class of nightmarish entities to truly fear.

Although he showed emotions and behaviour patterns like any member of the servant's race, it was far too clean, too… rigid. With disciplined control that looked more like a rehearsal of somebody who needed to go out of his way to actively move muscles just to bring forth an expression.

As slimy as his face were also the words he uttered. “Interesting for sure, but hardly warranting that sort of promise.” Dure's thoughts on a rollercoaster were interrupted by such a friendly answer it sent shivers down the servant's spine.

He could smell the rejection. It was imminent. That… couldn’t happen! The broken man was willing to give up everything to see this injustice paid back in full plus interest, for his lover to be safe. For their suffering to have meaning. For vengeance!

Alas... the next sentence confirmed Dure's worst fears. “After all, the burden of feeding one additional useless mouth weighs heavily out here.”

Useless... he withheld a stream of hot tears with all his might. Useless indeed! Dure was shaking all over, his blood forming a murky puddle below him. His time was almost up, he knew it–––and yet he hadn’t achieved anything.

Came not even close. In an act of desperation, he went through his memories looking for useful chips to squander, ending up bitterly disappointed. His life had just been that uneventful. At the last moment, uncontrollable fury bubbled up within him.

“What do you heartless devils want then? You have power and wit, so use them for justice! This is a commission, no?! All I have is yours after I die, so are the answers you seek. What else do you want?!” Dure howled, grief-stricken.

“My, my, that’s for you to know and us to validate,” the horrible man was devilishly smiling still! 'Wait... the Devil? Could it be?' “…my soul, my memories–––I give it all!”

Dure ignored the pressure pressing down on him from all sides, jumped up in defiance and rebelled in one final effort before losing balance and falling to his knees. This was the end of his jumpiness.

Monstrous wardens came and suppressed Dure further. Not that it had meaning any longer. “Did you say memories?” The girl suddenly lost her uninterested demeanour and asked sweetly. “Yes!” Dure croaked gargling.

Azariah nodded slightly then turned directly to her ever-smiling companion and both began a discussion so silent it sent violent shivers down Dure's spine. He clung to the last bit of hope he had.

End of Part V