SSS- Rank: I awakened a 100,000 Roulette Return System

Chapter 23: Chapter 23: Farming the Abyss & Venom Immunity

”The dose makes the poison.” — Paracelsus

Joel woke in the alcove to the sound of water, and he ate his rations in the moss light while reviewing the night shift’s chart.

The deep galleries began where the tended lure-moss ended and the wild fields began, and the difference between the two neighborhoods was the difference between a farm and a country.

Downslope, the silk ran in stacked curtains from floor to unseen ceiling, and the larders hung between them in rows, silk cocoons of every age, some of them fresh and some of them old enough to have gone grey with dust, which meant the filing system at the heart of the stratum had been running for years.

He worked the edges of it through the shift like a man walking the rim of a deep pool, taking the patrols that came to his stolen moss baits and leaving the heart of the dark alone, and the account climbed steadily while he worked.

[Ding!]

[Grave-Stalker Scout (Lv. 12) x2 eliminated.]

[Lethal engagement survived (darkness, enemy ground).]

[Survival Accumulation: 61%.]

That routine held strong through three more cave junctions. Joel moved from one turn in the cave to the next, clearing out scouts one by one. His survival gauge filled higher with every fight.

The spider nest made a mistake that many monster groups make: it assumed the single hunter on the border would stay on the border.

•••

She came off the ceiling of the old gallery an hour later, and Joel never heard her, because she was the reason the scouts were silent in the first place.

The Huntress was the colony’s answer to a complaint, and she was twice the size of anything he had taken from the web curtains.

She was built like the scouts and then reissued at the scale of a pony, low and wide, with the same eight sickle legs carrying her upside down along the stone, but her slate-grey chitin had aged to the color of wet iron and carried a crosshatch of old scars that read like a service record.

The garden along her abdomen was dead and overgrown, a matted grey pelt instead of a tended glow, because an animal this old had stopped needing to farm and started needing to hunt, and the sheathed fangs that folded under her brow were long as his fingers.

At the tip of her abdomen, where the scouts carried nothing, she carried the delivery system, a curved barb like a fish hook grown from bone, glossy and wet, and it was already swinging toward him when he turned at the dimming of the moss light.

The barb caught his left forearm on the rising guard, a shallow cut, barely a scratch, and Joel took the wound with a pharmacist’s calm and immediately catalogued it as the most expensive scratch of either of his lives.

[Ding!]

[Hostile detected: Grave-Stalker Huntress (Lv. 19, Elite).]

[Status: ’Neurotoxic Compound (Stratum-2 Organic)’ applied. Effect: progressive neuromuscular blockade.]

The first symptom arrived within a minute, and it was the taste. His mouth flooded with metal, cold and clean like a coin held under the tongue, and Joel would have laughed if the situation had permitted it, because he had tasted this exact flavor once before, in a bedroom in Caelmont, every night for two months, courtesy of a green bottle and a girl with steady hands.

The irony was so complete that it felt less like danger and more like correspondence.

Then his fingers started to leave him, one joint at a time, working inward from the tips, and the humor went out of the room.

He backed into the narrowest ribbed passage the junction offered, because the mathematics had not changed since the gorge.

The Huntress followed him with the patient calm of a professional killer. She circled around the outer edge of his weapon reach, turning down every invitation to fight.

She had done this a thousand times, and the pattern was in her bones, because prey that was envenomed did not need to be beaten, and it only needed to be waited for.

Joel understood the strategy completely, since it was his own, and he had exactly one card that she could not price, which was hanging on his belt in a glass vial.

The antivenin had been compounded from the scouts’ own sacs, the same venom family in a younger key, and he took the theory out of his pocket and tested it on himself one-handed while her circling shadow blotted the lure-moss in and out.

The vial bought back perhaps half the ground the barb had taken, his grip returned from useless to merely treacherous, and his vision steadied from its haloed shimmer to a merely dangerous blur, and the Huntress read the change in his posture and stopped circling.

’Time to close the counter,’ Joel thought, and he sold her the stumble she had been waiting for.

He pitched sideways onto one knee with his guard low and his arm out of line, and she committed to the kill, all eight hooks gathering underneath her, and her strike came down at his exposed neck with her whole armored weight behind it.

He gave her his chest instead, squared into the blow, and the hooked foreleg slammed home across his sternum and simply stopped there, dead, its force swallowed by the frame underneath the coat, while the second strike raked his shoulder and was paid into the same account.

[Ding!]

[Aegis Frame: incoming kinetic force absorbed. 5,120 units. Host damage: 0.]

[Charge stored: 5,120 units.]

The Huntress had one instant to notice that the prey was not dying correctly, and Joel spent that instant on her.

The shortened Meteor Piercer came up off his knee with the whole stored Charge riding the crescent, and the arc took her through the brow seam above the folded fangs, and the passage went loud and then silent, and the weight of the elite came down across his legs and lay still.

[Ding!]

[Grave-Stalker Huntress (Lv. 19, Elite) eliminated.]

[Massive EXP gained.]

[Level Up! You are now Level 18.]

[+1 Free Attribute Point allocated to Strength (forced adaptation).]

[Lethal encounter survived (envenomated, statistically superior entity).]

[Survival Accumulation: 100%.]

[Gauge converting...]

[+1 Fate Point Earned. Current Balance: 2.]

The vial was failing.

Joel knew it from the way his chest began to fight every breath, while the blockage crept from his hands toward the machinery keeping him alive.

He dragged himself out from under the corpse and sat against the wet stone.

Then, with numb fingers, he accessed his System menu and spent his newly earned Fate Point.

[Ding!]

[Fate Point Consumed. The Wheel of Fate spins...]

Click... click... click... click... clack.

[Result: x8,000 Multiplier Achieved.]

[Ding!]

[Multiplier x8,000 Locked.]

[Please select an application for Fate Energy:]

[A) Skill Proficiency - (Apply to a known skill or unlearned Skill Book)]

[B) Cellular Regeneration - (Apply to physical trauma for instant/sustained healing)]

[C) Body Evolution - (Apply to genetic structure for permanent stat/trait mutation)]

[Awaiting User Input...]

’C,’ he answered, with a mind that was going dark at the edges. ’Target the Poison.’

•••

The evolution went to work on the blood first, because the blood was where the complaint was filed.

Heat spread from his marrow and rushed through his veins like a furnace lighting up inside a warehouse.

Joel sat against the stone and watched the fight inside his body with the last of his focus.

The venom was a molecule.

His evolution had rebuilt the entire river it was swimming in.

His blood turned hostile beneath his skin.

New proteins thickened the plasma and met the toxin in the smaller vessels, breaking it apart.

The purge spread outward from his core to the cut on his forearm. His flesh darkened, then cleared.

Finally, the shallow wound released a thin black residue. It smoked faintly against the wet stone before disappearing.

[Ding!]

[Evolution Complete.]

[Base Physique +18.4. Base Mana +2.]

[New Trait Acquired: ’Caustic Filtration’ (Passive).]

[Caustic Filtration: host blood and tissue neutralize organic neurotoxins and acids below the 10th Stratum on contact. Route of entry irrelevant.]

[System Note: the house no longer requires an apothecary.]

Joel sat and breathed for a while.

Breathing felt strangely wonderful.

Then he did what any pharmacist would do with a new formulation: he tested it against the label.

He drew fresh venom from the Huntress’s body and spread it across the back of his hand.

His skin rejected it completely.

No mark. No pain. No reaction.

He was, he reflected, as he wiped his hand on the wet stone, now his own pharmacy, and the one joke in the whole arrangement arrived when he asked the obvious follow-up.

’Would this have stopped the tonic?’

[Caustic Filtration: organic neurotoxins and acids only. Elemental heavy metals remain outside jurisdiction.]

’Of course they do,’ Joel thought, and he laughed once, alone in the dark of a weeping country, because fate had apparently issued him immunity to every poison in the world except the one that had actually been used on him.

[========== STATUS PROFILE =========]

Name: Joel

Level: 18

Class: [Aegis Juggernaut] (Epic, Unique)

Fate Points: 1

[--- Core Attributes ---]

Strength: 59.0 (+40)

Agility: 42.4 (+15)

Physique: 92.4 (+25)

Mana: 12 / 12

[--- Class Traits ---]

• Aegis Frame (Passive): absorbs kinetic impacts as Charge.

• Juggernaut Vitality (Passive): Epic-tier regeneration.

• Caustic Filtration (Passive): neutralizes organic toxins and acids below the 10th Stratum.

[--- Active Skills ---]

• Meteor Piercer (Rare) - Lv. 1

• Fate-Bound Legion (Mythic) - Lv. 1

[--- Inventory ---]

• The Ash-Spine Halberd (Silver-tier, disguised).

• Antivenin, compounding-grade x4.

• Grave-Stalker venom sacs x12 (unprocessed).

• Rift-Core (Fragment) x27.

• Spire-Credits: 3,320.

[=================================]

He harvested her in full, three dense sacs and an elite-grade core, and then he stood over the body and looked downslope, because the dead Huntress had told him the last thing he needed to know.

She hadn’t been wandering.

Her trail ran straight down the gallery like a road, following the thickest silk lines in the stratum.

Every line led to the same deep darkness, where the larders hung thickest and the moss grew in unbroken fields.

The farmer-in-chief had sent her best dog up the road to investigate a complaint, and the dog was now inventory, and the road ran both directions.

Joel Carrow shouldered his halberd and started down the densest silk, toward the heart of the Weeping Caverns, to go and read the ledger at its source.