Chapter 3 Even a Young Fox Is a Carnivore

Young foxes are carnivores, after all.

A short while later, Vinigo brought over a basin of water and four towels. His considerate service made Yarrow’s favor for him grow even more, and she became certain she had found the most suitable attendant.

Thus, Vinigo left the Pirate’s Nest to become an adventurer’s attendant. This well-known party of adventurers was a regular guest of Regent Wilkin Hanwelly.

“Miss Yarrow…” Vinigo looked up at the slender girl who was a head taller than himself and asked, “Could you tell me about mercury?”

“Call me sister,” Yarrow said, reaching out to pinch Vinigo’s cheek and stretching it, delighting in the various shapes his face made.

“Alright, Sister Yarrow, please!” Vinigo replied through gritted teeth.

“Mercury is a commonly used catalyst. We often use it to purify lower-grade compound potions into highly effective ones,” Yarrow explained. “Actually, our priest is quite a good alchemist.”

“So, do you have any mercury?” Vinigo turned to ask.

“What do you want it for?” the priest asked curiously. “Mercury isn’t exactly rare, but it’s still expensive.”

“Well…” Vinigo hesitated for a long moment before finally saying, “My bloodline isn’t purely human—some unknown lineage has been troubling me. I need mercury to temporarily awaken that bloodline, so I can become… something with attack capabilities.”

“Let’s give it a try,” said Jemore, the priest, retrieving a vial from his magic pouch and placing a drop of mercury on a stone chip.

Vinigo unceremoniously reached out to touch the mercury. Mercury is poisonous, but the moment Vinigo’s fingers brushed against it, the mercury turned into a dull, useless slag.

Character selection complete, analysis finished… Now initiating reconstruction.

Level one Meowth, reconstruction complete!

“How adorable!” Yarrow exclaimed, scooping up the Meowth version of Vinigo, squeezing his cheeks and giggling.

“What slender limbs, but surprisingly strong,” Jemore nodded approvingly.

Still, it was only at an ordinary human’s level—speed was the only notable advantage. In other aspects, there wasn’t much improvement; after all, it was just a level one Meowth.

Vinigo said nothing, letting Yarrow pinch and contort his face into all sorts of odd expressions…

Suddenly, he turned his head and darted off to the side, only to leap back moments later.

“What?” Vera, the archer, asked succinctly.

“One silver coin,” Vinigo said, opening his hand—or rather, his paw. Nestled there was a dull silver coin, clearly abandoned along the roadside some time ago.

“Is this an ability you gained by transforming?” Merak, the ranger, asked curiously.

“Yes, a keen intuition for treasure,” Vinigo replied. At this moment, his voice had a faintly feline quality to it—though, truth be told, a Pokémon like Meowth shouldn’t be able to speak at all.

“This is so much fun, and so cute!” Yarrow couldn’t resist hugging Vinigo, but in his current form he was agile—one light leap and he dodged the witch’s grasp, darting away.

Soon enough, Vinigo returned. He’d made a wide circuit around the area and had a fair haul: a few silver coins, a gold coin, and some alchemical herbs and minerals.

He even discovered a treasure chest hidden among the rocks. He remembered that there was such a hidden chest near New Sophic Town in the game, but finding it in reality was clearly far more difficult than in-game.

At times like this, the value of the Scavenger trait became apparent.

The stone chest wasn’t much in itself, but at that moment, it was particularly important. Vinigo generously handed the gold and silver coins to Captain Merak, but the treasures from the stone chest he quietly slipped into his own pack.

Of course, Merak didn’t care about a single gold coin or a few silver coins. Since Vinigo found them, he let the Meowth keep the money.

The real value lay in the items from the stone chest—though to Merak and the others they might have seemed like junk, for Vinigo, they were important starting capital.

Mercury—more mercury. Vinigo needed it.

He did have a flight spell scroll on hand, but didn’t want to use it lightly. It might not sell, and even if it did, he might not be able to keep the money.

Instead, Vinigo considered using the flight spell to make a trip to the Dragon Sands, seeking out a legendary hidden place there. It was said to be full of treasures worth more than the scroll itself.

“Enemies—Sheepcall Cultists,” Vera suddenly warned, unstringing her bow and carefully checking the bowstring.

Vinigo tilted his head, studying the bow. Judging by its style, it must have been a precision bow. He didn’t recognize the magical runes on it, but the bright yellow aura suggested the bow’s magic was quite powerful.

“You stay here and watch us,” Yarrow said, placing her hand atop Vinigo’s feline head with a soft laugh. “These small fry dare to lay a paw on us?”

Sheepcall Cultists—Vinigo remembered these monsters, the stepping stones for heroes at the start of their journey. They were once ordinary townsfolk, but after embracing the Sheepcall faith, they quickly gained a measure of combat ability.

These hastily-empowered fighters possessed both magical and martial power, but neither was strong nor did they have much potential for growth. Most could channel small amounts of elemental energy—like Flaming Arrow, Spark, or Frost Arrow—to attack, while a few lucky ones possessed slightly higher magical talent. Their physical attacks, however, amounted to little more than wild swings with their staves.

At the time, Vinigo had a theory—the Sheepcall Cult, a new sect manipulated by alien invaders, actually used technological means to genetically modify recruits, granting them some combat potential. A few mutants might grow strong, but most cultists were mere expendables.

Vera alone could probably clear out all the enemies. Arrows whistled through the air, and in the blink of an eye, twenty-four arrows had left the quiver.

Vera’s aim was deadly, and the magic-imbued precision bow was indeed formidable; arrows struck home, and even if distance or movement prevented a direct hit to a vital spot, the bow's magic would flash with sparks upon impact, engulfing enemies in electric light.

After just one volley, Vera stowed her bow and drew a dagger from her belt, taking her place beside Yarrow. Yarrow released Vinigo and began chanting softly, her empty hands glowing faintly as the ring on her left hand pulsed with a flickering red light.

Fire Magic—Explosive Fireball.

Vinigo cocked his head, gauging Yarrow’s strength.

From his memory, Sheepcall Cultists weren’t sturdy, so in “reality” they wouldn’t be robust either. One fireball from Yarrow sent six cultists flying, and without pause, she began preparing a second fireball.

From her casting speed, Vinigo estimated her fire magic to be at an expert level. Considering the damage boost at that tier, Yarrow’s fireballs far outstripped the cultists’ resilience—even high-ranking cultists might not survive a single hit.

In the game, fire magic damage would fluctuate within a certain range, but in reality, the variation would be even greater. Factoring in luck, a few enemies might survive.

If that happened…

Vinigo darted forward without hesitation.

He knew the game well, and over the years had thought carefully about the possible differences between reality and the game. His timing was perfect, striking just as the fireball’s blast dissipated and before the enemies had recovered from the shockwave.

A Meowth’s only point of pride was its speed; in all other aspects—melee, magic, offense, or defense—its stats were merely average. But its swiftness was exceptional.

No sooner had Vinigo landed than he spread his paws and let out a sharp cry.

Skill: Screech. Within a small radius, all hostile creatures who hear the sound suffer a slight decrease in melee attack power.

A level one Meowth had only two innate skills—Scratch and Screech. Any other skills, whether acquired through skill machines or inheritance, were random. With Vinigo’s penchant for power-gaming, he would have created a terrifying Meowth if he could choose.

Fortunately, this world had no intention of granting him such favors.

“Under the rules of this new world, Screech seems to be more useful now,” Vinigo thought silently as he nimbly dodged a cultist’s staff and slashed at a heavily wounded enemy with a fierce backhand.

Skill: Scratch—a skill that hardly consumed any mercury, low in power but decent in speed and accuracy.

Vinigo the poacher, now a young fox—could he make something of himself in this world?