Reincarnated as a Duck: A beast progression litrpg isekai-Chapter 245: Meetings of dangers

“Ip'ur Mountain, huh?” Razmund stated, glancing at a massive mountain that hadn't reached the edge of the cliff.

Crouching down, he wondered where to start his course. Using the actual path down was far too much of a bother, so he jumped down, drawing his claymore and squeezing Lint's spine. Guide screamed, panicking when he went down, dragged by this lunatic who jumped from this kilometer-tall cliff.

He crawled with his single arm up, forcing himself to float, but to no avail. It didn't work with the drag below, while his arm just scratched the air, and his flying wasn't perfect.

Razmund swung his claymore; its tip penetrated the stone of the cliff, guiding him down as he fell. Lint above him was just a precaution, as he was quite good at keeping himself alive and lessening his weight. Guide depended on their Challengers, so what Razmund did was shameless in his Soul Flames as slaps or spits to his face.

He didn't like it, but there was no point in resisting. Cursing and crying, that much was acceptable.

Soon, they reached the pit of Ip'ur Mountain, right below the scorching sun, which kept hot air trapped there, making this place hell on earth.

Razmund began sweating immediately, his eyes squinted after a long time of being wide open. He knew his fight hadn't ended.

Landing with grace, Razmund secured his cloak back to his bag and looked at the surroundings of this many-kilometer-wide hole.

Around one upper side, there was a long road etched into the stone, creating a way from the cliff to the bottom in a spiral. Official road, he knew. It would take some time to get down in that manner, so it was adequate path for caravans and businesses.

A much more extravagant way of travel was a one-way minor teleportation array for those who could afford it. Many businesses and caravans would pay for that, lest they fall down with their goods or waste their time. However, such minor teleport arrays weren't that stable because of heat and maintenance, so they weren't useful or common all over this Province.

Similarly to this idea, many mines had rare use of those minor arrays as well, operating for multiple better companies who managed them at their expense and rare big hauls. They would work only one way anyway, either down or up, depending on where they were mining or going.

It was to their advantage since one wouldn't have to deal with entering from the very beginning or returning. Still, one always had to leave through the official exit and forfeit everything they mined.

Surface Challengers didn't have to do that; they could just give up and teleport out of this temple altogether. Some rare cases were Surface Challengers who would use this time to train, eat, and do their business in the mines, absorbing the Gems or using them without imploring any rules.

Teleports involved a lot of things to work, ranging from a mage willing to work on these arrays to those willing to pay for them and use them. Some places or companies wouldn't afford them, but here in this Scorching Light? Hellscape was one of the best mining locations in the Somalis continent, yet also the most dangerous and savage because of its location.

For miners, less travel was a godsend no matter what. Companies had their quotas to meet and choices worth pursuing. With Rataratan watching this place, no troubles should arrive or look for them.

Those who would do something underhanded would pay many times the price. Few things would go unnoticed, especially when these mines made up such wealth.

A system was put in place for the sake of companies, who provided spatial rings and pouches to their miners as long as they were contracted and worthy enough to organize. Slaves had fewer such obstacles, as the power of the slave seals or other forms of ownership ensured good enough trust.

The best companies even provided equipment to their workers and slaves, easier travel with arrays, or with wages, food, tools, and a proper work schedule. Other balancing factors were alliances, various trading, and ensuring no problems would arise from within, or against any opposing company.

Throughout the history of this Province, it was said that miners were worth much more than some adventurers or mercenaries from the Surface within the same Level.

It was mostly a gibberish of politics, thanks to the hellish attitude toward the Surface. In this place, spatial equipment and powerful figures were no longer as rare, but Surface had many equal, if not better places. This place was small in companies, frankly, and many didn't know the terms of Mount Tai.

Razmund wondered who he had to deal with first.

Glancing to the entrance—that he saw upon his descent—it looked as he expected. Large gates were protected by half a dozen soldiers carrying weapons and wearing armor even in this hellish heat.

Razmund hated it, though he had no desire to leave his clothes. He reached them in no time, causing the soldiers to brandish their weapons and tense their bodies in shouts and cluttering noises. He still went at them, looking as if he was ready to kill them as his left arm rested on the claymore's handle, and his right one swayed free aside.

Guards recognized him right away and did one shocking thing. They made a path and let him in without causing any trouble. They had long sent words to their superiors, who would contact Rataratan or various companies.

Everyone should be aware of the current situation, and how the Encounter's both Sides came to their place. What to do? How to deal with it? Perhaps one or two companies would know, while Rataratan had yet to make his voice heard or make any moves. Mindarch and Levandis were out of the picture as well, leaving the low denizens helpless.

Razmund's visit was the start of one massive nuisance.

Rataratan didn't know about Murai, however. That went against his logic, as evidenced by Bagus, who left for the mines all alone while the rest disappeared under the veils of the unknown. They looked and found nothing. Down, Bagus went deep enough so no news came out either, and no help, scouting, or Mindarch helped.

Time lacked purpose, and communication was slow at this point.

So when Razmund arrived, the overall situation became complicated so much more. The moment Razmund reached the shaded city, the temperature dropped, so he took a deep breath, still held onto his claymore, and appreciated this city's shade and work of many ages. Right away, he noticed bustling streets, which turned into something else when he stopped walking and looked around in interest.

Many figures winced in their steps, stopping after recognizing him. Then, more followed, and some shouted, with most scrutinizing him before fleeing or hurrying away.

It was a different picture from the previous visitors, who didn't make things difficult. They increased them, giving Hunters more appeals and miners a new chance. Razmund met them.

This one would kill the world if the world wasn't spinning right. Well, their looks and actions might have been caused by a noticeable Guide, wheezing and barely flying behind Razmund like a homeless dog.

Interestingly, this human Challenger was met with much more hostility from those who could afford it than in any previous place. Many miners were great, and many bodyguards and mercenaries were the same, hoping to try their best or find some hope. Many held weapons and stopped in groups, lessening the noise of the street.

It wasn't a surprising action, as Razmund's Token pinned to his chest showed his status like his claymore or Lint. Everything had its meaningful glint in his vision, so this Ip'ur Mountain better survive and not take him head-on. Lint hoped for that, while Razmund did not. He looked at them, breaths escaped, rustling got louder, and nobody moved.

It wasn't a neutral ground for someone like him. Military or Rataratan could do many things to trouble him, as troubles had come.

Considering the Surface and how the numerous histories and fights between the Hells and the Surface went, humans were lowlifes to demons. An inferior race, although that was far from the truth. Everyone thought of the other as worse.

Prejudice was a very potent weapon that was older than this world, going for generations and planets far away. Razmund had seen it in numerous ways from his last or current life.

Some things were unavoidable, and whatever the deal with this world was, he adapted, overcame many insane instances, and grew up in this mess. His past was like a fever dream. His claymore was his only remedy.

When it came to the many Depths, it was neither a problem nor a blissful realm for people or demons. They were true neutral grounds where nothing and all was fair and chaotic. It was a place for no wide troubles, for there were tests, trials, and Dungeons to be looted. The Depths ate and crushed any visitors.

Yet Razmund bet he could enter just fine if he was clever about it or not bother with the remnants of some rules or new rules. He did so numerous times, so he thought of an oath that he wasn't here for mining.

He was naive, not knowing that no one would listen to him. Mindarch didn't for sure. It was reasonable because he arrived at a rather terrible time. His visit was far from a big deal in his opinion, yet his status was opposite to his hope or for those of this city.

Rules under Rataratan were firm, and Hunt was even better, guiding steps and ideas Razmund was certain about.

They stopped him. A group of nearly a hundred fools from numerous gangs brandished their weapons and looked at him with greed.

“Who do we have here? How do we greet this, in this place?” Razmund said, letting his claymore hit the ground as he drew it and rested both palms on the tip of the handle. He gave no care for small fries, though his stance was stable and unmoving like his eyes, and he would give them what they asked. If they attacked. If not...

They attacked straight away; Orcuns swung their maces or axes, various demonics skillfully crated formations while holding spears and shields or wands, and there were even some mercenaries with bows and magic, aiming or Shaping for the time being, lest they attack others in the incoming melee.

They didn't care for Lint. No one did for now. Everyone had eyes on the Token, and their numbers became their greatest hope.

Razmund swung his claymore, clashing against the starting groups of Orcuns. Their bodies were firm and tall, looking like small boulders with thick arms and small heads. Their weight and power were exceptional but tame and laughable when compared to Zao.

Razmund went ahead, using claymore's range for his advantage, and his arms tensed up and flexed, flaring in speed and slices as he moved. Since they didn't seem to care for anything, he didn't either. Some manners had to come with a price, so Razmund unleashed his Flying Steps.

Forward and back, his Steps went in many routes and leaps toward some houses and walls, giving his speed and momentum advantage in limited crowded space. As he flew and leaped, his claymore moved alongside him, creating cuts and waves of mana behind.

He wasn't using any Dance for now; his Sharpness and mana were enough on their own, while his Intent was trying to seep in as well. His enemies couldn't move within his speed and acrobatics, and every Step and cut crushed several foes.

He cut and cut, looking as if his mere flight cut things apart. Until blood flowed to the streets and demons dropped lifelessly, cut in pieces, or stabbed and kicked, he didn't stop.

Nearly half of the groups scavenged for their lost pride, either leaving this street or forcing themselves onto Razmund at their last stand.

In a minute, the street was empty.

“Who were those guys again?” Razmund asked Lint as he stopped his Steps, swinging his claymore to the air to make it clean.

“You are ridiculous,” Ling mumbled, still going over his previous flight experience. He didn't care for some gangs; he knew clowns would attack him when he was so far open and offered, and these didn't care for some peace or deals. They were like grass. They didn't attack him before because Razmund was away from their choices, aiming at others, or being careful.

Since when there was time for doubts, could there be more powerful gangs willing to avenge them? It sounded wrong because it was wrong; no one would think or play like this. Everyone was thinking for themselves.

“What are you planning with this place anyway? Don't stir too much trouble, I say. Rataratan won't like it.” Lint argued.

“Rataratan? Don't give a fuck about some owner of this place, let alone devil or demonic assholes. I am here for my business. Not theirs, so they shouldn't care for mine.”

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“Obviously, you don't think that is correct. Your Token, asshole. Don't forget you are Hunted and being unreasonable.” Lint sighed, noticing some shadows beside some streets and windows that caught his attention. At last, they moved. Lint scowled inside and hoped this wouldn't end up poorly. They were fast, hiding and making no sounds.

“Military is clever, right?” Razmund asked the street. “Not as if some gangs know much since even a military could be just a name for a gang. It is the same on the Surface. Here? It is just larger and not different.”

Nobody answered. Everyone fled for their lives, apart from some lurking shadowy figures that didn't flinch or flee.

Then, someone moved.

In his full glory and ridiculous entrance, a thud echoed from high above, hitting the street afterward. A figure landed before Razmund, looking tall, menacing, and bloody. His bare, long hands held some blood, looking kind of thin, yet shredded with muscles and contorted skin of many years of torturous training and killing.

“Oh, who might yo...” Razmund spoke, half impressed and not surprised to see some boss move. That went on until Lint bumped him from behind, and he stumbled, his face hitting the ground.

“Rataratan! Good to see you.” Lint laughed and went ahead, greeting the boss of this place. He found fingers closing on his sockets straight away, snapping and chopping deeper, or was that just a feeling? His skull was unfathomable, and Rataratan wouldn't dare to break it.

Rataratan caught him anyway, snatching him close to his three-meter tall size and rather thick and vicious head. Looking at his Soul Flames, he had many wonders and ideas in mind.

A pair of horns were on each side of Rataratan's scalp, curving forward, enunciating the ashen skin, red eyes, and bare upper body full of dense, yet small muscles. His feet were bare, devoid of protection apart from surging waves of blood all over them. His trousers were his only clothes, as being naked wasn't something a boss of this mountain could do.

“Lint?” Rataratan asked in an uncharacteristically young voice. “I took you for someone clever to trouble me again, but here you go, causing a ruckus and where... or, why, and with whom?! Wait, what is it about? Why are you here, in Hellscape?”

Teeth clattering, Lint laughed back, finding his chances laughably small like appeasing this devil. He was stubborn, yet very attached to the valuables that Levandis liked, so there was a way to haggle with this devil. It was almost shocking, considering Murai came here, and Lint knew that Levandis was very curious about that duck.

Lint found it shocking that Rataratan hadn't done anything to the opposite Side at all. Perhaps Levandis forbade him from doing so, or that Side made some unexpected moves instead. He probably underestimated Lost Brothers as well. It wasn't just about Ultium, it seemed.

“You see, Razmund is my ticket and responsibility, so his prosperity and purpose are close to mine as well. We share it like a drink, you see. You don't have to be too savage, Rataratan. Whoever attacks him, he is fine to fight back regardless of anything anymore. Those gangs did this to themselves.”

“Can I do something about it? Can't I grit my teeth and shove my arm down his throat?” Rataratan asked in wonder and sudden frown. He heard the truth in Lint, whom he seemed to have a history with.

“Extremes should know what to do and when. Who are you again? I don't know when, but this business isn't yours.”

Rataratan scowled and swung his wrist, sending Lint flying to Razmund, who got to his feet just to stumble away again. This time, he expected it, so his footing was better, and he caught Lint.

“Listen,” Rataratan poised within his special Domain, looking like a bloody river guided over his body like a piece of scarf, stream, or silk. He pointed at Razmund, eyes gleaming and voice turning a little crisper and deeper, though not much. “I am the owner here. Who are you here for? Your targets? My treasures? They are not here for you, so what are you here for, troublemaker?”

“Bullshit,” Razmund said as he got up, forced Lint aside as he grasped his skull. Claymore itched; his Steps were ready, but for what? What was before him was a bigger threat than his teacher and master. “There is no one who would decline my advance and path without paying some price. You, dear Extreme, aren't worth giving this some guidance. You won't do shit.”

“Oh, not me?” Rataratan lowered his arm and clapped.

In a moment, dozens of figures in red blood armor surrounded the street, all looking as strong as Ozeki in appearance, with few being as strong as him in actual practice. Not everyone was a devil, though everyone looked identical apart from sizes or curves.

That calmed Razmund immediately. He brandished his claymore aside and tossed Lint forward. “Deal with this shit if you think you can. I have my purpose and that isn't to fight or trouble you, right? If that's the case, deal with it too.”

Lint cursed out loud and wished Razmund wouldn't be this crazy.

“We want your Token, so?” one of the figures in red said, speaking in a soft female voice that carried enchanting properties. The voice flew, yet Razmund swung his arm, pointed his Claymore at that figure, and threatened her.

“You want to touch me?”

Rataratan clapped his hands again. “Now, now. Calm down. I stated no business yet, apart from giving you a statement with my men.”

“And that is?” Razmund asked.

“What is your business here?”

“Catch my prey.”

“Which is?”

“Not your business.”

Lint shouted, clasping his hand over his forehead. “You damned lunatics! Can't everyone see some mess over this situation? Why is everyone so damned stupid?”

“Stupid?” Rataratan piqued his brows. “Everyone wants a piece of something for benefits. I won't stop those who want it, but this is different. Test, perhaps? No. A wall, it is. This Blessed is a Villain.”

Lint pointed at him with his single arm, flowing forward until he was face to face with him. Razmund remained standing, unwilling to try himself against this group of greater talents of the first or second Legions. These were the mainstays of lower ages and upper talents of these armies, obvious by growth, their armor, and experience.

They would slaughter him unless he would chop them first, and that was false. He would probably cut into five of them before being unable to think straight. Then, things would get really difficult. For them, of course.

Razmund didn't need that unless he felt judged, caged, or stopped without any other choice. He had Lint, and there were some ways to disregard this completely. Rataratan shouldn't get involved.

“You,” Lint said, “are not fine in the head. Everyone wants some benefits, but this guy wants death and his prey. Not trouble that would crash your men. It isn't worth to try it. You should let go of it and let him in.”

“We aren't a gang, Lint,” Rataratan reminded him, feeling hurt in pride. “We are an army. These are different things from your kin.”

Lint lowered his finger and wished to assess his position better in proper body, but felt no choice. “You will put up with nothing. Nothing, I tell.”

“Who are you to tell this to us, Guide!?” a bulky warrior said, slapping a huge halberd to the ground and speaking as he looked: big in strides and loud in style.

Lint snapped at this small giant. “You wanna die this much, eh? Just for one of you to get that Token? Nay. You would die in three moves, idiot. Shut the fuck up, in fact.”

“We will have turns.” the bulky warriors argued after a moment of silence. Others argued back, saying how they wanted to go first and try themselves on this Blessed.

Razmund shut them down immediately. “I have no desire to fight with you at all. All I want to do is this...” He set the Dice free, and thanks to the still imminent feed, it danced and sang, showing a path that indicated his target down and slightly to the left.

“Dice?” Rataratan asked, frowning.

“See?” Lint said. “We go away. No need for dramas or wasting blood.”

Lint backed away, but a surge of blood caught him, forcing him way too close to Rataratan's face. “Are you trying me?”

Lint pinched his cheek, patting it next. “You are a brat who felt no End. Shut up and let us through. Razmund could kill half of these fools and you wouldn't do anything. Why? Mindarch denies that for you. Do you think you can afford to meet us?”

“I can't? If so, can he afford this? I doubt that. I doubt my Lady!” Rataratan spoke firmly, even with bony fingers patting his cheek, and glanced at Razmund. It was a weird power dynamic that didn't seem weird to them at all.

Razmund clasped his Dice back, straightening his back and easing his claymore and steps. “So? Will you let me or not? Lint is right. If things go south...”

“What is south?” Rataratan asked.

“Just a figure of speech,” Lint argued, and Rataratan let him drift away, clearly frustrated over his cheek but unwilling to ignore his reminders. His men were half of his reputation. He spent a fortune and time on them, and no, he wasn't willing to see a problem where there were few prizes.

Razmund might be a Challenger, but his stake in the Encounter was unknown and bathed in the shadows of the Sky. Rataratan felt unworthy of that, not just of his feelings but of others. For now.

Why would he try and stop this force? For his men to get Hell Points worth a few businesses? It wasn't worth it, as Lint expressed.

Scuffing, he kicked some stone like a brat looking at a broken toy. “Here I wasted such a good entrance. I will remember this, Lint,” Rataratan clapped and the red-armed group begrudgingly left the street, leaving dejected Rataratan walking around aimlessly.

Lint was glad. Razmund rather held onto his claymore, thinking that having Lint was better than he expected. He doubted he would've done something better himself. Negotiation wasn't worth it, but his treatment had some security, and his words weren't empty. Theirs weren't either.

“Are you glad?” Lint asked him.

“Over not spending some valuable time and powers?”

Lint shrugged.

“Not really. I would get out in one way or another. Killing fools looking for my head is fine in my book and they would get reluctant to wage war against me. It is part of the war. I am not worth it alone, but what I stand for is. You saved me some trouble and them a fortune.”

“We aren't in a war with your kind of fools,” Lint argued, feeling sudden anger getting ahead of him.

“Yet it seems like it.” Razmund chuckled and pointed his left arm, which was clutching Dice. “So?”

“We go where you want to go. Which is?” Lint said, leaving Rataratan kicking more stones around the street, feeling distraught over this problem.

Razmund wasn't interested in some troublesome problems decided by others, so he moved to the best entrance he knew. Walking along the streets was simple. It went in a circle around the mountain, so its structure was simple and clean.

No one went against him afterward, mostly thanks to his prominence or perhaps because of Lint or some messages flying over his head. It was one of the tasks Lint had. Razmund was a scoundrel even with the world spinning right, so without it, he was even more savage.

He could've killed and dealt massive waste onto these lands, so Lint was assigned with calming the situations to his best ability and not force Rataratan and his special education to be too exposed, or.... dead.

Of course, that wasn't something others would get, since everyone had some hopes, regardless of some rules or statements to not trouble this Challenger. But others of this Gate could trouble him a lot and for a cheap price, and Rataratan had his students. They wanted the challenge.

Levandis couldn't just state that no one should attack Razmund. That would be insensible and insolent to her position and this whole temple, yet she already pushed many sentiments away. Many didn't know about it. With Encounter and Holy Party and the world not spinning right, they didn't know what else they were missing.

Thus, some creativity, understanding, or compromise was needed, and feeling reluctance or rare peace was a lot better. Letting this Encounter be. That was it. Lint wasn't entirely sure why it was the best option; he counted at least a dozen better ways to calm this mess. Then, a hundred more reasons made more excuses not to touch it.

Stopping before a big building that was the headquarters of the Looming Mining Company, Razmund used his Dice to adjust his directions. It still pointed down, and a very tiny portion of a hole angled forward.

Looking at the direction in this way was kind of sensitive, as angles were everything, and the underground was not very simple.

Razmund deduced that not everything was possible with this style of looking, so he needed to come up with a new strategy. Looking like before wasn't a wrong choice. It was certain, so he asked around to see what had happened with his target's entrance. He heard rumors immediately and even direct stories.

Once again, the statement that no ducks were entering the underground was public. But Bagus went down, so Razmund figured that someone was clever about their tactics and went down one way or another. Smuggled or forced, or hidden, it didn't matter.

Nothing else was clear or public, but Fate said his target was in some mines. Now, the question was, where and how to look for it? Could he simply enter the mine from the beginning and use Dice left, right, and center? He couldn't. That would take far too long and far too much feed.

Finding his prey in this large underground maze was more of his problem. The last gate was less problematic, while the Gate of Suffering was a similar maze, but much smaller and more linear.

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In mines, he would have to be clever over his tosses and his Dice. He had no clarity on how it would take this place or where it would take him. Hunters were another problem; there was no way they would let him free here and do the same thing down. Rataratan probably knew it. Lint as well.

What was under his feet was bigger than the last Gates combined. A true massive stretch of intersected pathways could clutter even this Dice's shortcomings or advantages. It was a place where one would get lost and never be found, and the Materium was known as savage and rich.

Hence, a good sense of direction or a map was mandatory.

It was a perfect place for hiding or hunting, but one had to be careful of angering those who shouldn't be angered. Some companies never liked some problems, and they weren't Rataratan. Rataratan at least never made killings or hunts forbidden, and Levandis was very strict in providing certain freedom under her hands.

Too many restrictions reeked of the Sky and Surface.

Killing and walking through these mines might be easy, but dying and getting lost weren't that different. Looking around was the difficult part.

There were always some deaths here and there because of the underlying problems of working deep underground, and grudges and valuables found inside were another thing altogether.

It was a simple fact that wouldn't change, as living beings always sought out riches, with or without the rules in their way. No pain, no gain, or so was the saying that Levandis followed and conveyed to her subjects.

Razmund understood such a phrase, thinking that his main business was the usual thing. After all, he wasn't thinking of this Gate as something nerve-wracking. He found his target, yet the world changed, and this Gate adjusted, so he changed his ways and strategy as well.

It was worth being careful about it, even when he took the last Gate for his most significant achievement and breakthrough in recent years. He improved so much, there was no doubt that he was closing on Level 70. The lack of Laws was the issue and main hurdle for him.

Walking to a rather luxurious building made of smooth-looking silver marble and many levels, Razmund reached the main entrance where the business went into many rooms.

He was met with a beautiful succubus receptionist wearing a rather surprising uniform, considering her race and everything. She had a tight skirt that ended just above her knees and below her belly. It enunciated her hips and exposed her flesh.

A plain white long-sleeved shirt with a v-neck shape revealed her cleavage. Overall, her visage looked far more human than one would usually see, as she had no visible wings, tail, or many demonic features.

But Razmund would smell and feel her even if he was blind. She reeked of their powers, similar to the enchanting beats in her eyes and extended straight hair that perhaps concealed small horns.

“Greetings, what can I do fo...” she hesitated in her speech, standing behind a reception when she noticed a flying half skeleton above the man.

A Guide? She wished to cry in her head. Challenger? Then, she wept in her mind.

“I want to speak to a manager,” Razmund said, unbothered by her hesitation, and pointed to Lint. “Now, this one should do the job just fine. Work. You said you would.”

Lint cluttered his teeth unhappily, but as a Guide, he earned a certain understanding of this whole situation. But when Razmund used him like this, he wished to smack his cheeks with his hand.

Even if his mission was weird in this Gate, he was required to help Razmund achieve what he wanted. With a bit of forceful methods, he had to do what he needed.

That meant a variety of things since the Guides of this temple weren't weak or held a helpless position. For denizens, they were like representatives of Levandis herself, as each was a former hegemon or someone close to her before their Ends. She forced them to stay by her side in the appearance of these skeletons, each posing as someone who was undying and devoted.

Thus, many looked up to such figures with reverence, unlike Lisa, even though she was a soul living after her End. Souls who remained living even after meeting their demise held very difficult positions and lived under completely different situations from the regular people.

Guides were part of the Divine Kingdom and part of some strange ways under Battleworld and worlds beyond. They were souls who followed Lady Levandis, one of the strongest demonic Gods in this world. Without her, they would be nothing.