CHAPTER 40: 40: THE PATH OF THE MAGE XIII

---

Despite the exhaustion, John felt a weak chuckle escape his lips. He crouched next to the beast, his dagger in hand, and studied the glistening black scales along its body. Even dead, the Nightscale Howler was terrifying. Its muscles coiled beneath the hide, its claws could gouge stone, and its fangs still gleamed like polished ivory.

"System," he whispered in his mind, "scan the body. Identify useful materials."

[Ding. Scanning complete. Recommended collection:

Nightscale Hide: Durable, resistant to basic magic damage.

Claws and Fangs: Can be forged into uncommon grade daggers.

Mana Core: E-rank, low purity. Useful for forging and enchantment on equipment.

Warning: Blood is mildly corrosive. Handle with caution.]

John exhaled slowly and got to work. His movements were careful, deliberate. He had learned from the miners how to remove cores and extract usable materials without damaging them. He cut along the beast’s sternum first, exposing the faintly glowing mana core nestled near its heart. It pulsed weakly in his palm before dimming completely.

Fizz floated upside down nearby, watching with the casual interest of someone who believed they had already done the hard part. "You know, I think I will name this gun. Something heroic, something cool. Maybe... the Fizz Blaster."

"No," John said flatly.

"How about Fizz Cannon?"

"No." John replied.

"Baby Dragons fart of Doom? This is a great name. It fires like baby dragons fart."

John raised a brow. "You are not naming the gun baby dragon fart. It sounds bad."

"Too late," Fizz said smugly. "Ownership is nine-tenths of the law, and you gifted it to me as punishment for being forgetful and making me embarrassed. Also, I look cooler using it. Facts are facts. It’s mine, I will name it whatever I want."

John shook his head, cutting through the last bit of hide to free the fangs. He set the claws, fangs, and core aside on a clean patch of cloth. His muscles ached from the battle and the cold, but he forced himself to finish the work. Wasting valuable materials in a world like this could be the difference between survival and starvation.

He murmured to himself, "Fine take it. But when... I will create new and better guns, I want to see your reaction."

When the last piece was packed, he finally sat back on his heels, breathing hard. The fire had burned down to embers. The mist pressed closer now, swirling around the dead beast as if trying to reclaim the heat and life it had lost.

Fizz drifted down to land on his shoulder. He yawned loudly, then curled up against his neck like a warm fluffy ball. "You did okay, Master Forgetful. I will give you a seven out of ten for effort and a three out of ten for preparation."

John muttered, "Thank you, I think."

"You are welcome," Fizz replied cheerfully.

The forest remained still, but a nagging thought tugged at John’s mind. He glanced toward the trees where the darkness pressed thickest. Even with the beast dead, he could not shake the sense that something or someone had been watching them long before the fight began.

Fizz thought something said dramatically, "No autographs, please."

"You are going to drop that into the fire." John said.

"I will not," Fizz said, twirling it again. "I have perfect control. My coordination is legendary. My sense of drama is unmatched. Also, I am perfect, which makes everything I do more impressive."

"Fizz," John said firmly, holding out a hand. "Give it back."

Fizz froze midair, hugging the revolver to his fuzzy chest. "But it likes me. Look at the way it shines in my paws. We are bonded now. Spirit and metal in perfect harmony."

John raised an eyebrow. "You have tiny arms. You cannot even reload it with mana ore."

Fizz blinked. His eyes darted to the revolver, then back to John. "...I was going to make you do that part."

John held his hand steady. "Fizz."

The little elemental spirit let out a long, dramatic sigh that would have made any theater actor jealous. "Fine. But only because I am merciful and generous. Also, because if I keep playing with it while you are asleep, I will probably shoot a tree. Or you. Or the moon."

He floated closer and placed the revolver into John’s hand with great ceremony, patting it twice as if saying goodbye to an old friend.

"You keep it for now," Fizz said, puffing his chest. "I will ask for it when I am bored."

John replied, "I will keep it safe."

Fizz hovered near his shoulder, yawning. "Good. Because I have plans for bigger things. Guns that spit lightning. Cannons that sing. Maybe a crossbow that fires screaming chickens. Who knows. The sky is the limit."

John was exhausted but faintly smiling. "Thank you for giving it back."

And now, there was another concern. The loud gunshot.

No, not just one but many. Multiple sharp cracks had split the night like thunder, and in a world without such weapons, the sound had likely carried for kilometers. Any wandering beast, bandit, or even a curious person and mage could have heard it.

John’s jaw tightened. He had made his choice, and it had saved their lives, but it also meant he had announced his location to the wilderness.

He packed the materials quickly, keeping the revolver close. Fizz was still lounging on his shoulder, humming some ridiculous victory song about himself.

"Fizz," John said quietly.

"Yes, Great Hero?"

"You do realize that noise probably drew attention."

Fizz blinked his large eyes innocently. "Good. Let them come. I will name my next gunshot after them. Boom. Gone. Legendary."

John exhaled through his nose. "You are insufferable."

"And adorable," Fizz said, settling deeper into his hood. "Do not forget adorable. It is my primary trait."

John allowed himself a faint smile despite the weight in his chest. The fight had been brutal, the risk real, but they had survived. Together.

He dragged the corpse a short distance away from their camp to avoid attracting scavenger beasts, it was too close to where they slept.