As I consumed the shard of the dirty rat, the essence was pulled from the magical star cluster. I didn’t see why I shouldn’t let it go.

  Soon, the same effect I had experienced with the technology shard before happened again. A new connection formed—not enough to show me a star, but enough to feel it taut, similar to the one in the technology cluster.

  The shard soon vanished from my hand. One gone, one more to go.

  The pickaxe rat's shard felt strange. It had no stronger pull on any of my constellations.

  Rubbing my two brain cells together sparked a flash of insight. I supposed this was the other cluster I had skipped, the one tied to my existence.

  This type of shard needed a name. I could call it neutral, base, plain, dull, or even "me shard." It’s not like I have time to waste on these things right now, so let’s call it basic.

  The basic shard didn’t have any particular pull to my constellations. However, right now, I need power—a team of rats has already beaten me up.

  So, the shortest path to getting one star, hopefully a spellstar, is through the magic or technology shards.

  I already got a magic spellstar. There’s a chance I could get another one, or maybe I only get one in each constellation. Houonas really isn’t much of a teacher.

  But I’m not even sure if the technology tree would give me any spell in the next star.

  Nah. The magical spell was really useful; it’s worth a try to pump it up.

  Consuming it takes but an instant. As the last traces of the shard vanished, I feared it wouldn’t be enough.

  The stellar shine banished such thoughts. Sadly, the star didn’t show any sort of spell image.

  However, my body felt different—not exactly my body, but my energy.

  It became more concentrated, like someone adding extra lemons to a lemonade. The feeling was substantial. I didn’t know the exact numbers, but it felt like two arms’ worth of energy.

  Taking my body into consideration, maybe it’s around twenty percent?

  Anyway, now it’s just me with a bleeding arm and a bunch of dead rats.

  It seemed to already be coagulating, though.

  Even after they roughed me up, I couldn’t stop wondering how these critters found me.

  Rats are known to have good noses, so maybe they’re like trained dogs. A human like me running around didn’t take a genius to find strange.

  I didn’t like the way my brain was working. Taking a look at the filthy rags the wererats called clothes didn’t help either.

  Not many options, and if I wanted to stick to my plan of going to the cooking complex, I needed to go right now.

  Taking out my ammo bag, I used my shirt as a makeshift bandage for my left arm. It looked quite stupid, but I didn’t want these filthy rags touching my wound.

  Between the two unburned rags, I chose the one from the headshot rat. The blood still pooled in the top part, but it had less blood overall.

  The other rag, I tried a quick experiment, but it didn’t work. Rat’s blood sadly didn’t make any crimson flames.

  It seems my blood is essential. I’ll try another species, though, if the opportunity arises.

  Last but not least, I rescued my damsel in distress, ready for action.

  Marlene is a little roughed up, scratched like a cutting board, but still in working order. I topped it up with some ammo and slung it over my good arm.

  Taking a quick look with the tile relic, I checked the way to the cooking complex and bolted from the rat corpses.

  I didn’t know how much time I had, but I’m sure it’s short.

  ---

  I knew this place was huge, but damn, did it have to be this big?

  To reach the cooking complex, I’m crossing intertwining paths, like some sort of in-between place between the sectors. Resembling a highway tunnel, the material is the same maroon wood, again without any sign of fractures or boards. It felt like I was inside a tree.

  It didn’t have any normal decoration.

  Ah, unless you counted the bodies as such.

  The place looked like a war zone, bodies strewn across like garbage, some bloodstains painting the walls without any corpses underneath. Most of them had rags below.

  My guess is that these either got removed or became shards.

  Aside from the offal, blood, organs, and bones sometimes strewn about, the corpses that remained somewhat intact were mostly wererats.

  The buggers are almost all gray, but among them, I could see some brown ones, and in even lower numbers, two blacks and one white.

  After that, there are some sort of obese doglike beasts, the size of a bull. Most of them seemed to be husks without any blood. The same goes for some metallic-furred felines.

  That’s when it hit me. They’re the same species as the one I found near the castle. Less deteriorated, in a way—more fresh.

  Looking at the place, I can’t shake the impression that something is missing from the scene.

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  These shards must make the life of crime scene investigators a living hell, or body snatchers, maybe both.

  I don’t know why someone would take out bodies, though. Nothing here seemed edible. Maybe the dog and feline ones, obviously only in an emergency.

  The bodies didn’t give me any comfort, but I have a plan, and I will finish it.

  Obviously, I also took the time to find something useful, especially shards.

  Distantly, I could hear a cacophony of sounds, growing louder bit by bit. I hadn’t heard it in many situations. I was never a frontline guy myself, but it’s not every time a situation is under control.

  In these situations, I acted more like a civilian, and in battle, the most a civilian does is see and hear, slowly increasing their own fear.

  I’m no different, but nothing that adrenaline can’t help with.

  It’s not something I want to rely on all day. As they say, health is about balance. If they don’t say it, they should—it’s a great phrase.

  I didn’t want my heart exploding and all that.

  With my blood pumping, I moved fast and stealthily. No reason not to take a look before a fight.

  I’d prefer it, actually—just look and no fighting.

  Taking an intersection, the sound escalated quickly. The sound of metal and crushed flesh.

  Screeches, barking, screams—making the battle sound more like a frenzy in a barn than a battle itself.

  No sooner had I seen a silver swish cutting the air and rat both, one screech ceasing, erupting in a bleeding, profound scar on its neck. A second later, the wound increased in size, erupting even larger, almost cleaving the wererat’s head.

  As soon as the silver flesh returned to its wielder, I got a better look at it.

  The thing looked like a metallic vine. No, not a vine—a whip. Something I could only remember seeing in some games. No sane person would use this in a fight.

  That’s the thing—the being wasn’t a person. Although the creature is humanoid, wearing silklike clothes like a noble from medieval times, it disregarded the use of armor.

  Resembling a man, its face had a critically inhumane aspect. More than the pale pallor, the creature’s mouth is bigger than half its head.

  Fangs protruded from it, like a lamprey’s. Unlike the animal, the fangs were long. How the hell did they fit inside?!

  This creature looked elegant, towering over the wererats. Dashing, even with its monstrous appearance, its hair tied in a man bun with red lacing.

  Complementing its vest with multiple shades of red, that guy is really an enchanting prince from hell—at least he thinks he is.

  A monstrous pale guy that looks like a bloodsucker? Yeah, that’s probably one of the Erythocetes.

  Houonas should have described them as vampires, although they’re way uglier and more monstrous.

  At its side, what could only be described as oversized fat dogs, their red collars twinkling with fresh blood as they feasted on one of their furred enemies.

  The other army consisted of a horde of wererats, with no sign of the oozing mice, though.

  I kind of had a hypothesis that they were friends or some kind of pets.

  Instead of the oozing mice, their company had metallic felines, their green eyes sometimes glimpsing at me but always returning to their nearest enemies.

  The wererats came in various colors, most of them gray, with fewer brown, black, and white-furred ones.

  Strangely, an orange-furred one seemed out of place with its brethren, its color attention-seeking. It didn’t take long to identify it as their leader.

  Wielding a hammer with a crimson crystal for its head, the thing was oversized for the wererat, being almost half its size.

  The being didn’t care, moving it with effort. Each swing met the floor with a thunderous boom or, when lucky, hit the oversized fat dogs, while the vampire moved gracefully out of the way.

  When unlucky, its buddies took the brunt of the hit, with wererats crushed into raw meat.

  The rats didn’t stop coming to their leader’s aid, though, working like some macabre armor of bodies, absorbing the damage from all the vampire’s attacks.

  Soon, I noticed where these guys were coming from. Just ahead, there was another intersection, with new wererats flooding in like a plague.

  If these paths weren’t so large, I’d be swimming in rat’s blood.

  Neither of the two leaders seemed to notice or care about me, too entertained by their deadly dance.

  Not only that, but the bastards also had something shiny on their fingers from time to time. In the wererat’s case, its buddies dropped it into its mouth, its hands preoccupied with wielding the hammer.

  The vampire used its agility to the fullest, grasping the shiny things from the floor, sometimes even using its whip to help.

  Shards were raining like candy.

  Obviously, the feast was all sponsored by the dead creatures dropping like morbid leaves in fall.

  I almost felt pity for the poor suckers—almost.

  Because just near me, I found that the rain wasn’t only raining prizes on them. Between the corpses just ahead, still far from the mayhem, lights were shining.

  Time to make some company for these lonely shards.