Searing yet icy energy coursed swiftly through Gauss’s body, soaking every limb and bone in that strange, alien power.

First to change—again—was the toughness of his skin.

He could feel countless currents of energy pouring into the surface layer and fusing with that thin sheath, seeping into every cell, tissue, and pore.

His physical skin defense rose again, and he could sense a special, taut state coming online. If he willed it, his formerly fair, smooth skin could take on the feel and protection of tough leather—or the faint texture of fine keratin scales.

In that actively triggered state, the change might be invisible to the eye, but to the touch it would feel subtly different, greatly improving resistance to ordinary blades, claws and fangs, and perhaps adding a touch of resistance to certain energies.

Even though Gauss already had the near-constant protection of the Omni-Armor, one never complains about too much defense.

Because defenses stack.

He could already picture the despair on enemies’ faces: break the Omni-Armor, and find that his robe bears a ward; shred the robe, and run into the inborn protection conferred by Reptilian Strain.

Layered defenses like nested armor would keep him as safe as possible.

The thought alone was exciting.

After the skin, the alien energy streamed into other parts—viscera, bone, muscle…

All the effects of Reptilian Strain were boosted to varying degrees.

Body “activity” and mana “activity” rose.

Environmental tolerance rose again: severe cold, extreme heat, low oxygen, underwater—he could maintain a surprising degree of endurance and mobility in hostile conditions.

Coordination and recovery also improved.

In addition, he gained a kind of lizard/snake-like dynamic vision: when he looked at midges dancing in the air, he could track their flight paths far more clearly, and on top of that, his brain ran rapid predictions on their motion.

All told, the upgrade to Reptilian Strain strengthened every line item.

Gauss finished feeling out the upgrade and let his attention pull back from inner senses to the world.

Only two or three seconds had passed.

He turned—and found Serandur staring at him.

“Captain, why do you have a familiar scent about you? If it’s private, forget I asked.”

He hesitated, then asked anyway. With past temporary teammates—who swapped every few days—he’d never pry. But with Gauss’s crew, he had a feeling he wanted to stay long term—no more weekly, even daily churn. Long-term teammates should be direct; better than stewing in your head.

“Maybe you’re sensing the other bloodlines in me? My body’s a bit unusual…” Gauss answered vaguely.

That surge had been Reptilian Strain leveling; what Serandur felt could only have been that shift. Being serpentfolk, with a strong snake bloodline—snakes are the most common reptiles—and keen senses, of course he’d notice.

Gauss didn’t know how to explain Reptilian Strain; “bloodline” was the best analogy.

In truth, almost every human here has a trace of other blood; the proportion is tiny and suppressed by the human genome, so most are “pure human.” Half-orcs, half-serpents, and the like have a concentrated line—enough to alter their appearance. Some humans still see them as kith with special powers; most country folk call them nonhuman—or no different than goblins and kobolds.

Between those and pure humans are others who look completely normal until their bloodline power ignites—then their form and power shift.

The system’s phrasing said the trait was adapted to the human body “without affecting the purity of your base lineage,” granting a foreign advantage. It said it wouldn’t change one’s blood—but to others, the difference hardly mattered.

Gauss didn’t fret over it. The higher a professional climbs, the more their body changes; to ordinary folk, they’re barely different from monsters—hardly the same species anymore.

“I see,” Serandur murmured. So a fight stirred the bloodline, and in the flare he caught a trace? That made sense.

He thought back to Gauss’s brief pale transformation versus the hobgoblin—no doubt that was his hidden bloodline power.

He found himself liking Gauss a little more—this time purely from the empathy of two “minorities” in human society. He was still a little jealous: the captain could pass as a handsome human until he changed; Serandur wore a tail and scales everywhere, taking stares wherever he went. He was used to it, but if he could cut the trouble and switch at will, he’d take it.

After healing a few of the villagers, Serandur sent them off.

The two then gathered goblin corpses and loot in the woods—mostly from the fresh camp and the hobgoblin. The latter carried value.

First was its weapon: a massive spiked maul—black-iron head, tough hardwood haft—crude work, good material—worth selling to a heavy weapons fighter or breaking down for smiths or arms dealers. The iron strakes and leather from its broken shield and armor fetched coin too.

Then there was the corpse itself: elite bodies were rarely cheap. Gauss had paid attention at the Spellcasters’ Association: materials with research or alchemical value could be exchanged for Contribution Points—which became special resources. The hobgoblin had plenty of such parts.

Knives out, guided by a materials manual, they dissected the corpse. Hobgoblin tusks—knocked from the jaw—ground to powder for berserker draughts, strength tonics, and goblin-targeted toxins and repellents.

Long, tough sinews stripped from arms, legs, back—far stronger than a goblin’s, elastic, moisture-resistant—great for bowstrings and crossbows; their mana-conducting, energy-storing traits made them useful in alchemy and enchantment.

Blood—stinking and ominous—was still a spell reagent and alchemical base. Skin, viscera…

Following the book, Gauss harvested everything of value. Under his careful hands, the hulking body soon became a scatter of bloody fragments.

By the end, sticky gore flecked his hands, forearms, chest, and face; combined with the unspeakable scene around him and the farmer’s-harvest smile on his face—

if a villager had stumbled on them, they’d likely have fainted, imagining some evil rite.

“A bumper haul,” Gauss said with feeling.

Beyond the items for coin, he prized the organs and tissues for Contribution Points—worth more than gold when traded for rare spells, gear, and items monopolized by the Association and Guild.

Most high-end resources were sold out before they ever reached a market; even professionals struggled to get them. The pity was that such materials demanded freshness; before, with no knowledge or channel, he’d wasted many—Grayrock was too far for quick trips.

He’d be more careful hereafter.

Serandur cared less. Poor as he was, born on a backward island among serpentfolk where barter ruled, after years in human lands he still lacked the “save-your-money” instinct—and put little stock in things outside the body.

His armor had seen years of use; it was quality, if old; he hadn’t replaced it. That was why he’d handed the bracelet to Gauss without a qualm: his serpent senses gave him plenty—if he didn’t need it, better to give it to someone who’d “helped” him.

Seeing Gauss’s joy, he managed a token smile; in that setting, with his face, it only looked more sinister. In the afternoon shade of a remote village wood, a man and a serpent looked like villains plotting some grand scheme.

…

Back in the village, they’d cleaned up. Gauss wasn’t about to stride into town bloody.

There was both grief and joy. They’d wiped out a sizeable goblin nest—no more moving in a panic.

Moving is troublesome in any world, and worse under fear and time pressure. Another benefit of culling so many: for a long while, monsters would avoid the area—no one knew why; maybe some “field” lingered that kept beasts at bay until it faded.

The grief: the dead’s families. Two young breadwinners gone—not just emotion, but the family’s production and finances gutted.

Gauss could do nothing for that. He’d done all he could—made haste to come and fight. If there were still dead, that was fate. He was a Level 2 mage, not an omnipotent savior.

Do your best…

He took his eyes off the weeping parents and siblings and sighed.

Chief Bob greeted them beaming. They ate a “sumptuous” lunch at his house. “Sumptuous” only by effort; to Gauss, who’d eaten so well lately, it was plain—but it was clearly meant as their best: a lamb and an old hen slaughtered; roast lamb, stewed chicken, coarse black bread, root-vegetable stew, honeyed wild berries, home-brewed beer. A New Year’s spread.

The cooking and spices were lacking; the flavors were blunt.

Watching two children swallow hard while only touching bread and soup, afraid to touch the meat, Gauss was moved. The adults had drilled them well. After he urged them a few times, Bob and the old head shared a look and let the little ones eat.

When the meal ended, Gauss said his goodbyes.

As he and the serpent rode off, the headmen and those they’d saved waved at the gate.

“Scary-looking teammates aside, those two adventurers are good people!”

“Mm-hmm.”

“That young man is so handsome—I’ve never seen anyone like that.”

“I heard the snake-man call him ‘Captain’—seems he’s their leader.”

“…” The only one who’d seen Gauss’s Ghoul Form, Theo, didn’t blab. He felt a little smug—as if he knew a great secret.

“Bob—have the adventurers gone? They left 30 silver and a letter—said it’s for lunch,” the headman’s wife panted, running up.

Bob looked down the road. The two were long gone. He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Compared to the strutting “adventurers” he’d seen before, he couldn’t help thinking—they’d been lucky today.