Primal Devourer: A Monster Evolution LitRPG by Zaxus Void

Author:Zaxus Void [Void, Zaxus]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-12-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23: Guild’s Reckoning

The Fractured Wilds outskirts sprawled like a corrupted loading screen, the fog rolling thick and unyielding over twisted trees that clawed at the mana-veined ground like glitchy models refusing to despawn. Late afternoon sun struggled through the haze, casting everything in that washed-out gray filter, the air heavy with the ozone tang of gathering storm clouds that rumbled low like a raid warning no one heeded. Thorny underbrush snagged at my retracted tentacles as I crept forward in Mimic form, shape-shifted into one of the devoured scouts from the outpost raid—a lanky human with a scarred cloak and a bow slung loose over my shoulder, the illusion holding seamless under the thermal bloom of my Shoggoth core. Level 101 now, post-Seraphina integration, the void blade mastery syncing smooth with the shadows, letting me ghost through the ruins like a rogue on full stealth buff. But the meta was tilting hard—Kael Drakenshade’s guild vanguard marching in from the heartlands fringe, 20 strong by Elowen’s count, tanks up front with plate gleaming under those stupid flame motifs, DPS mages trailing with staves humming mana, healers clutching relic orbs like plot armor cheats. Guild farm run—easy XP for them, but I’m the hidden boss now. Slip in, sabotage the supplies, queue the wipe. From slime trash to raid inverter; let’s see if their strats hold against the meta flip. Sarcasm buffered the caution, that sovereign edge sharpening as the core thrummed steady—Soul Bloat stabilized from Ylira’s grove purge, but the wilds’ anomalies pinged faint warnings, rifts whispering in the distance like unread quest logs.

Elowen’s telepathic ping sliced crisp through the bond, her voice layered with that pragmatic fire: “Sovereign, vanguard’s crested the ridge—Kael’s leading, barking orders like a noob guild master. Tanks in wedge, mages on flanks, healers central with wards up. Ragnarok’s pack is lurking east, drawing eyes; your window’s narrow—sabotage the wagons, then signal the pull.” Saintess to strategist—her Church days make her read formations like open chat logs. I projected back smooth, the mental tone laced with command: “Sync confirmed. Hold the shadows with Seraphina; Ylira’s roots on standby for the flank. No full agro yet—let them queue the probe party first.” The bond hummed affirmation, Elowen’s corrupted light flickering faint in the thermal as she coordinated from the ruins’ edge, the legion primed like a well-oiled party: Ragnarok’s dire wolves low-prowling in the fog, Ironclad Behemoth coiled behind a crumbled arch like a siege tank on wait, Sylvara’s thermal vision scouting the rear. The vanguard pressed on, boots crunching thorns, their banter carrying faint over the wind—cocky laughs about “easy Calamity farm,” underestimating the wilds like a bunch of overgeared casuals queuing normals.

Kael Drakenshade rode at the head, a rugged human in his forties, broad-shouldered with that grizzled beard streaked gray, his greatsword strapped across his back like a +10 threat magnet. The guild master cut an authoritative figure, plate armor etched with flame runes that glowed faint against the fog, his green eyes scanning sharp but overconfident, like he’d farmed this zone a hundred times.

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