Chapter 138: The Leprechaun

Just as Joan hesitated over whether to call out a warning, the brownie had already reached the smooth, flat stump. He used his slender, fire-tong-like walking stick to brush aside the fallen leaves and withered branches, leaped nimbly onto the stump—which stood nearly as tall as he was—and sat down comfortably, letting out a massive yawn as if intending to take a nap. Yet, at that very moment, the stump suddenly shuddered.

Joan’s eyes widened in shock! There was no mistake; the stump was trembling. It was no illusion.

The brownie sensed something amiss, leaping off the stump with a "whoosh" and peering about with wary, hunched movements. However, he had yet to realize that the danger did not come from vermin lurking beneath the wood, but from the stump itself—or, more accurately, that it was not a stump at all, but an aberration disguised as one.

The brownie finally realized he was trapped in a premeditated snare. He screamed, jumped off the stump, and bolted, but it was too late. The ground within a five-foot radius of the stump-monster suddenly convulsed; the grass and soil churned like a pot of boiling porridge, knocking the brownie off his feet and sending him face-first into the dirt.

Before the unfortunate fey could scramble up, the surrounding ground split into countless intersecting fissures, like greedy maws waiting to swallow their tiny prey. Eight pitch-black, flexible tentacles erupted from the depths of the cracks, winding like writhing vipers to bind the brownie tight and drag him toward the stump-monster.

The creature shed its disguise, revealing its true nature to the prey. The stump-like torso split vertically, the cracks that had resembled bark texture pulling apart to reveal a pitch-black maw filled with jagged, needle-like teeth. Viscous saliva dripped from its corners like molten pine resin.

The brownie shrieked in terror, frantically swinging his stick to strike the tentacles binding his legs. The tiny staff was useless against the appendages, and he was dragged ever closer to the monster's ravenous throat.

In a final act of desperation, the brownie hurled his walking stick at the creature's core. The stump-monster, seemingly disdaining to dodge, inhaled the tiny weapon into its maw, crushing it to splinters with a sickening crunch.

Hearing the horrific sound of teeth pulverizing his staff, the brownie naturally imagined his own bones meeting the same fate. He trembled, sobbing and wailing for help.

Watching this scene, Joan felt a ripple of conflict. In this primeval wilderness, the law of the jungle reigned; predator and prey was the most common of sights. What he witnessed was merely a mundane occurrence in the woods. Joan acknowledged that the stump-monster’s method of luring the brownie was beyond reproach—it was simply using its wits to survive. This sylvan aberration was not inherently evil; like the brownie, or wolves, bears, and tigers, it could not be judged by the moral standards of human society. Yet, hearing the brownie’s pathetic cries, he found he could not remain indifferent.

Between the stump-monster and the brownie, Joan’s sympathies clearly lay with the latter, not only because the brownie’s appearance and habits were more human-like, but because it was the prey. Joan was no saint, but the simple, honest values of his rural hometown and his upbringing had instilled in him a fundamental empathy for the weak and a disdain for bullying.

As the brownie’s desperate pleas reached his ears, Joan hesitated for a few seconds before deciding to intervene. Quickly completing his spell preparation, Joan silently cast "Greater Mage Hand." An invisible, magical hand gripped his "Lightning Blade" and flew toward the clearing. Before the creature could bite down on the brownie, Joan remotely maneuvered the enchanted dagger to strike, severing the tentacles in a series of swift slashes.

The brownie tumbled onto the grass. The stump-monster let out a howl of fury, its severed tentacles spurting dark green ichor as they thrashed wildly. The moment he saved the brownie, Joan sprinted toward the riverbank, intending to reach his horse and flee before the monster could pursue.

Reaching the pine tree where he had tethered his horse, Joan looked back to see the stump-monster just pulling its lower half from the soil. It crawled across the surface on countless root-like tentacles, much like a beached octopus, its movement as slow as a tortoise.

Seeing this, Joan couldn't help but laugh. At the monster's glacial pace, it could never catch him; he had been overly cautious. Thinking for a moment, Joan abandoned his plan to flee immediately. Instead, he remotely controlled his "Greater Mage Hand" to poke at the monster from a hundred feet away with the Lightning Blade. If the creature tried to seize the blade with its tentacles, Joan would trigger the dagger’s magic, unleashing an arc of electricity to shock the monster and retract the blade before it could be grabbed.

The stump-monster struggled to move as it chased Joan, who kept a wary distance, leading it in circles like a kite. By the time the creature’s dull mind realized it could never catch the cunning young mage, it had already suffered over a dozen wounds from the blade. Defeated, it turned to flee into the dense forest, but Joan seized the chance to pursue, remotely plunging the blade deep into its back twice. The monster let out a final, desperate cry, collapsed, and bled out, ceasing to breathe within two minutes.

Joan let out a long sigh, retrieved his blade, and wiped the sweat from his brow.

The brownie, having escaped death, poked his head cautiously from the bushes. He tossed a stone at the monster’s corpse, and only after confirming it was truly dead did he emerge, approach Joan, and bow solemnly, thanking him for saving his life.

Joan bowed in return, using his broken Sylvan to dismiss the act as a mere trifle. Just as he turned to leave, the brownie’s aged face—which contrasted so sharply with his small stature—broke into a twisted grin. Suddenly, he flung his hand out, firing a spray of multicolored light at Joan.

Joan had never expected the brownie to return evil for good. Caught off guard by the ambush, the light struck his face. His eyes stung, his head spun, and he collapsed backward like a felled log, his consciousness fading.

In his final moment of clarity, Joan realized the brownie’s bow had been a ruse to mask the somatic components of a spell. The magic used was "Color Spray"—not lethal, but enough to render him unconscious.

What would happen next? Joan dared not imagine, and had no time to think. He fell into a slumber, filled with deep rage and regret.

...

Fortunately, "Color Spray" was only a 1st-level spell. Joan awoke in less than a minute. As his eyes opened, he saw the brownie rifling through his satchel, attempting to untie the "Bag of Holding" his grandfather had given him.

Shocked and furious, Joan bolted upright and roared. The brownie, startled, snatched the bag and bolted into the woods.

Watching the ungrateful thief vanish into the dense forest, Joan felt his blood run cold. The bag was not only a precious gift from his grandfather, but it contained all his worldly possessions. If he lost that money, how would he pay his tuition at Leyden Academy?

Could the hard-won opportunity for advanced studies really vanish into thin air like this?

As the brownie’s silhouette disappeared into the deep woods, Joan’s dream of an education seemed to shatter with it. A bitter sense of despair flooded his heart, quickly transforming into an indescribable, frantic rage. It compelled him to leap up and dash into the forest like a madman, his mind occupied by only one thought:

Catch the brownie and take back the bag that held all his dreams!