When Saine approached the assailant, the creature wasn't dead yet.
In moments of crisis, quick reactions weren't exclusive to Saine—the subterranean humanoid before him had reacted swiftly as well. However, luck hadn't favored this creature. Though the corrosive acid from the Acidic Staff hadn't directly pierced through it, the blast had torn a gaping, flesh-melting hole in its left torso.
Given its small stature, a wound of that size would have been severe even for a minotaur, but for this creature, it was fatal.
Saine couldn't tell if the acid had reached its heart, but he could see loops of intestine-like organs spilling from the cavity, along with other unidentifiable, colorful viscera.
Gritting his teeth, Saine raised his left hand, summoning a Minor Fireball.
The humanoid, now on the verge of death, stared at him with black eyes full of pleading and desperate longing for life.
But Saine's cold, emotionless gaze didn't waver. A slightly smaller-than-usual Minor Fireball shot from his palm.
The humanoid's head—along with those pleading black eyes—exploded into fragments.
With the threat eliminated, Saine staggered forward, collecting the creature's short dagger and the pack it had dropped before limping into the darkness.
He didn't head directly toward the city of Mosspabra. In his current state, he wouldn't last half a day on the journey.
Moreover, he doubted this so-called "safe route"—less than a day's travel from Mosspabra—was truly free of other dangers.
He needed to find a secure spot, tend to his wounds, and then consider his next move.
After nearly half an hour of struggling forward, on the brink of exhaustion, Saine finally found a small cave, barely tall enough for a crouching man.
Bending painfully, he squeezed inside and pushed a few loose rocks to partially block the entrance.
Only then did he allow himself to assess his injuries.
His attacker had been a gray dwarf—or more precisely, a duergar.
The Underdark teemed with duergar, a race infamous for their treachery and cunning.
In the subterranean world, they were synonymous with deceit and malice.
Though they occupied the lowest rungs of the food chain, their sheer numbers and reproductive resilience allowed them to endure the Underdark's brutal environment.
But even among such a wretched race, there were exceptions.
The duergar who had ambushed Saine had likely been on par with an intermediate apprentice—and a strong one at that.
Had it not been for the Acidic Staff and that lucky shot, Saine would have died then and there.
The duergar's tactics had been insidious. It must have noticed the disturbance in the Ashen Vale and lain in wait for him.
Within Mosspabra, dark magic apprentices commanded fear, and subterranean humanoids wouldn't dare scheme against them.
But outside the city, without the deterrence of full-fledged dark mages and under the cover of darkness, a quick, clean kill would leave no traces.
This was the true law of the Underdark: the weak were meat, the strong ate.
Creatures like the humans of the Ashen Vale, dependent on Saine's charity, were doomed to languish at the bottom forever.
"Good. Just as I thought—coated with blue moss extract, no other toxins," Saine muttered after examining the duergar's dagger, exhaling slightly in relief.
The wound on his neck wasn't large, but the paralytic agent from the blue moss had already begun spreading through his body.
The toxin itself wasn't particularly potent. Some Underdark denizens even applied it to wounds to dull pain and slow bleeding.
But this time, the injury was on his neck.
As the toxin took hold, Saine gradually lost sensation in the right side of his body.
The severity of the situation couldn't be clearer.
Fortunately, he had brought potions borrowed from Bors.
With difficulty, he retrieved two vials—one red, one blue—from his robes, uncorked them with his teeth, and downed both.
A faint warmth spread from his stomach, accompanied by a peculiar spiciness.
As his consciousness dimmed and he slipped into unconsciousness, one thought lingered:
This time, I owe Meril my life.
Time blurred.
When Saine awoke in the darkness, his first instinct was to assess his surroundings.
Memories flooded back—the academy mission in the Ashen Vale, the ambush—clarifying his predicament.
The gnawing hunger in his stomach didn't dampen his spirits. If anything, it was a relief.
Feeling hunger meant his body still responded.
Testing his limbs, he found his right side still numb, but he could at least weakly lift his arm.
The pale mask's dim night vision allowed him to nudge aside a small rock and scan the area.
He was in one of the countless winding tunnels of the Underdark.
That he had stumbled upon this hidden crevice was sheer luck—or fate refusing to let him die.
Uncertain how much time had passed, Saine knew he needed to regain strength before anything else.
He uncorked his last Minor Healing Potion with his teeth and drank it in one gulp. These potions did more than mend wounds—they provided energy.
A luxury under normal circumstances.
His ration pouch was gone, along with some of his spoils from the Ashen Vale.
Survival had taken priority. Even the prized hind leg of the Emerald-Beak Raptor King, once strapped to his belt, was nowhere to be found.
He had discarded it before finding this crevice.
A fragrant, roasted monster leg would have been an irresistible lure for any passing creature—be it a mutated beast, a monster, or even a mundane Underdark predator. Any of them could have finished him off in his helpless state.
A quick inventory revealed only four Emerald-Beak Raptor eggs remained.
He cracked one open, puncturing a thumb-sized hole, and sucked out the contents.
A briny, metallic taste flooded his mouth.
But in terms of sustenance, the raw egg far surpassed the meager energy from the Minor Healing Potion.
As he swallowed, a thought crossed his mind:
Once this mission is over, I should ask Senior Sister Fay for lessons in brewing nutrient potions.
They might taste foul, but surely anything was better than slurping raw eggs.