When the sun was already high in the sky, Eren Vale stepped out from the shadow of the twisted tree that marked the symbolic limit of the safe zone and onto the beaten trail that wound into unpatrolled territory.
The air smelled damp, heavy with crushed grass and soil churned by recent rain. Mud dried in uneven plates, cracking under his worn boots. He walked with calm, heavy steps, his body complaining in every joint. The marks from the beatings still throbbed, but they didn't make him hesitate.
Semi-wild zone. Unregulated. Unmonitored. Medium risk. Best cost-benefit for unofficial missions.
He thought like that, calculating. It made sense to start with tasks untracked by the official guild. Nothing registered, less bureaucracy, direct profit. Short missions that paid in local coin, barter, or even items.
Behind him, the slime-girl followed with curious steps. She swung her wide, translucent hips in a sway that seemed unlearned, just something that had appeared with the remodeled body. Her enormous, see-through breasts bounced with every movement, glinting under the dappled light from the trees.
Eren noticed she didn't seem to have any shame about her gelatinous nudity, which made even small animals hide in the bushes, uncertain of what they were seeing.
She wore a goofy smile on her face and walked almost glued to his back.
"Slime," he called without turning.
She gave a little excited hop.
"Yes, Master?"
"Back off a bit. The noise you make when you walk messes with my thoughts."
She blushed—or rather, turned a darker green, her transparency tinged slightly—and mumbled an apology as she took two steps back. Even then, he could hear the wet sound she made when she moved.
Zero discretion. Bad camouflage. But high impact resistance. Offensive digestion. Good control.
He mentally checked her status to confirm:
[Vassal Monster: Slime]
[HP: 90 / 90]
[Strength: 6]
[Agility: 4]
[Vitality: 7]
[Abilities:]
[Advanced Digestion (Contact)]
[Properties:]
- Malleable Body
- Humanoid Appearance (Human Base)
- Impact Resistance
- Affinity: High
Marginal improvement post-transformation. High affinity ensures total obedience. Viable for containment missions. Needs training.
Up ahead there was a crooked poster nailed to a thick trunk—scraps of dirty paper stuck with makeshift glue. He stopped to read.
[Hunt Giant Worms — pays for hide and venom gland.]
[Harvest Black Herbs — beware aggressive flora.]
[Clear Rodent Den — courage and strong stomach required.]
Eren read all the details.
Worms: slow, venomous. Slime resistant to impact. Contract ensures synergy.
He ripped the paper down, crumpled it, and tucked it away.
"Slime."
She approached, eyes shining.
"Yes, Master!"
He studied her for a moment.
"Do you know how to fight?"
She seemed to think—those plush, wet lips pursing in a moist, sensual pout.
"I... can hold. Eat. Restrain. Dissolve... slowly."
Eren shook his head.
Containment weapon, not quick kill. Good for missions.
He gave a nod.
"Right. Let's go."
They spent the rest of the day hunting.
The worms were huge, as thick as tree trunks, covered in chitin plates slick with foul-smelling mucus. They crawled in shallow chambers beneath the damp earth. The slime would throw herself over them, blanketing them like a living tarp, suffocating and corroding their flesh as they writhed and shrieked in wet, horrible sounds.
Eren used his malleable arm to deliver blows with improvised stones, smashing the heads of any that escaped. Sometimes he wrapped his arm around a neck, breaking it with a grotesque, elastic snap.
The smell was nauseating.
They filled two sacks with thick hide and venom glands.
At another point, they found a colony of mutant rats with enormous teeth. The slime held them with gelatinous arms and legs, the rodents squealing as her acids dissolved fur, skin, and tendons.
Eren killed them one by one with cold, economical strikes.
Results: 3 contracts completed. Reward accumulated.
He counted the money.
More than fifty coins. Good for one day.
When the sky began to darken, he decided it wouldn't be worth the risk to try returning to the village.
Long distance. Safe zone inaccessible before nightfall.
He found a small clearing, with rocks to sit on and enough dry leaves to make a fire. He cleared the ground with his boots and built an improvised campfire using twigs and a striking stone.
The flames rose slowly, lighting the gloom with orange tones. The slime shrank to the side, trembling slightly. He watched her, eyes half-closed.
The fire crackled low, the flames popping lazily as they devoured the damp sticks Eren had managed to gather around the makeshift camp.
Heat radiated in uneven waves, casting shadows that danced across the twisted trees, projecting long tortured shapes onto moss-covered trunks. The raw smell of smoke mixed with the damp earth, Eren's dry sweat, and the faint mineral scent that always seemed to emanate from the slime — a translucent, pulsing presence at the edge of the firelight.
She was sitting on her folded legs, hugging her knees with gelatinous arms, unintentionally pressing her huge breasts against her dripping, jelly-like thighs.
Her large, liquid eyes reflected the orange light with an almost childlike gleam, but the face — sculpted into exaggerated femininity — wore an uncomfortable expression. The fire's heat lit her naked, translucent body, highlighting every curve crafted to seduce or, perhaps, simply to please Eren.
He observed her with a clinical, pitiless gaze, which didn't make her any less uncomfortable. The slime twisted her gelatinous fingers in her lap and turned her face away, the glow of the flames picking out darker smudges of embarrassment spreading across her surface.
"Problem?" Eren asked, with no softness, only factually, as if evaluating a defective piece of equipment.
She bit her lower lip, an unnervingly convincing movement for something made of slime, and squeezed her knees tighter.
"I don't like it..." she murmured in her wet voice, almost ashamed. "It's too hot... it hurts if I get too close."
He arched an eyebrow, noting how she shrank further back, trying to get away from the flames as the shadows twisted behind her.
Elemental weakness. Vulnerability to fire. Inconvenient for large-scale combat. Notable limitation.
Eren shifted a centimeter forward and prodded the fire with a stick, making the wood crackle and spit sparks, testing her reaction. The slime gasped, recoiling with a wet, almost crying sound, her translucent skin trembling as if shivering in fear.
He didn't look away.
Sensitive. Pavlovian. Easy to condition, but requires care.
She exhaled more heavily, embarrassed at having shown fear, turning her gaze aside. The firelight illuminated her blue-green surface, revealing an almost lascivious translucency, her breasts squeezing tighter against her arms in a timid hug that only accentuated them more.
Eren cleared his throat.
"Slime."
She lifted her huge eyes, full of reflected firelight, and brightened with an uncertain smile.
"Y-yes, Master?"
He didn't blink.
"Why do you obey me?"
Her smile wavered and died. Her body seemed to sag, the gelatinous mass visibly slumping as she drew in on herself. She lowered her head, her jelly-like hair spilling like a viscous curtain to hide her face.
"Because... you're my master..." she whispered, her voice cracking at the end.
Eren didn't move, simply raised a finger, pointing slightly.
"Why?"
She trembled harder. The smudges of embarrassment spread, tinting her body with darker stripes.
"Because... you... gave me freedom. You let me... choose. Even being a contract… I chose."
The words fell from her like an overly childish confession for such a voluptuous form. He analyzed every reaction with the precision of an entomologist, as if studying a rare insect under glass.
Emotional. Highly dependent on validation. Bond forged in gratitude.
He dropped the stick into the fire, where it burned with one last strong flame, and leaned his back against the damp stone behind him.
"Were you always like this?"
The slime took a while to answer. She bit her lower lip, making a wet sound of hesitation.
"I... don't know. I think so." She hunched her shoulders like a child caught lying. "If someone treats me well... I like it. A lot." She lifted her eyes slowly, pleading, shiny with liquid moisture. "I want... to always stay with whoever treats me well."
Eren pressed his lips together. He scratched his chin, caked with dried mud, making no effort to hide his analytical boredom.
"What's your name?"
She blinked, surprised.
"N-name?"
He just nodded, impassive.
She turned red — or rather, her blue-green tone intensified with a pulsing glow.
"Nyssa..." she said in a wet, whispering voice. "I'm Nyssa…"
[Vassal Monster: Nyssa]
He logged the data mentally as if filling out a character sheet.
"What do you like to eat?"
Her expression shifted to something almost eager, her eyes widening like a hungry child.
"I eat anything!" she said quickly, almost stumbling over the words. "Stones, meat, fruit... but good things make me stronger! Faster... softer..."
She cleared her throat in embarrassment at saying softer and lowered her eyes.
"I don't have to eat all the time... but I like it. A lot."
Eren took a deep breath, irritated by the syrupy tone but noting it mentally. Cheap maintenance. Potential improvement with investment. Growth conditioned on food quality.
She squirmed, letting out a small wet, embarrassed moan.
"M-master... can I... sit closer?" He lifted his eyes to her, face emotionless. She clasped her hands in her lap, fingers twisting, her huge breasts squeezing and trembling with the pressure. "Please...?" she whispered with sticky shyness. "I... really like being close..."
He sighed, weighing risk and benefit.
Close contact increases obedience. Facilitates vitality transfer.
He gave the slightest nod.
"Yes."
Nyssa needed no further invitation. She crawled slowly toward him, her translucent flesh molding to the ground, hips swinging in a scandalously sexual rhythm even without meaning to. When she got close, she pressed her whole body against him, molding to his shape like a living, cold, wet blanket.
Her gelatinous breasts spread across his chest, her thighs folded to fit him, and her feminine face buried itself in his neck, releasing a satisfied sigh that sounded like a muffled moan.
"Good night... master..." she murmured in a voice heavy with wet devotion. "I'll protect you... always..."
Eren didn't reply. He just closed his eyes and tried to breathe slowly, his face tense, feeling every cold point of contact, every yielding pressure.
Peculiar texture. Low temperature. Adaptive pressure. High psychological discomfort.
But he didn't push her away, didn't respond, and didn't sleep. He spent the entire night thinking.
When the sky finally lightened, tinting the clouds with dirty gray, Eren blinked, his whole body stiff. The interface flickered without him calling it.
[Alert: Consensual Contract Losing Efficiency]
[Status Reduced by 5%]
Gradual expiration. Will need to renew. Can't waste time.
Nyssa was still sleeping, completely wrapped around him, her translucent legs intertwined, her chest smashed against his, her wet breath brushing his throat.
He poked her cold shoulder with two fingers.
"Wake up."
She mumbled, her eyes opening slowly and glassy with sleep.
"Hnnn... m-master...?"
He sighed.
"We have work to do."
"E-eeeh?!"
And then they returned to their missions.
────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────
The entrance to the city stretched ahead like a dry mouth, with low, poorly maintained wooden gates creaking in the afternoon wind.
The smell of smoke, sweat, and sewage mixed into a warm vapor that rose between narrow alleys.
When the trio finally arrived, they were filthy—mud up to their knees, clothes torn, dried blood sticking fabric to skin.
The elf—Faeron—carried the unconscious companion over his shoulders, the bald man named Toruk, whose skin still bore red welts and blisters from the chemical burn left by the slime.
Durgan, the big brute, walked in front, dragging the sword with no sheath through the mud like a tired plow.
They said nothing. The sound of wet boots squelching in the mud was the only testimony to their defeat.
The gates creaked as they opened for them. Two guards exchanged a quick glance. One even opened his mouth to ask what had happened, but the look on Faeron's face—a mix of shame and restrained hatred—made the man give up.
The city was small but full of eyes. Ragged children played between carts, merchants shouted about rotting goods, mangy dogs growled over piles of trash.
All of them looked, at least sideways, at that group returning as if from a lost war.
Faeron stared at the ground, green irises glinting with anger and humiliation.
Toruk groaned nonstop, unconscious most of the way. The blisters on his skin gave off an acidic smell.
And the words—inevitably—started to spread.
When they entered the Guild, the sounds changed. Instead of hawking and tavern laughter, there were low whispers, the clink of coins on tables, the scrape of heavy benches over stone floors.
All eyes turned toward them.
"Christ, what's that smell?"
Faeron ground his teeth.
"Shut up."
But it was too late. The voices rose in whispers.
"What happened?"
"They said they went out to get a Tamer..."
"What do you mean? You lost to a Tamer?!"
The sound of the word "Tamer" spread like poison, each syllable dripping with mockery.
Bastards. They weren't even there.
They tried to move to the back of the hall, but it was useless. Even those who didn't speak watched. Every stare was a nail in their backs.
Until they heard a dry, authoritative clearing of the throat.
"Durgan. Faeron. Toruk."
The voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
Silence fell.
The table in the darkest corner of the hall was occupied by a big man. Heavy, but not fat—just muscle like old rope. Black hair going gray at the temples. A long scar ran from his chin almost to his ear.
Hagan Tralvos. The local Guild leader.
He had dark eyes that looked like deep pools of stagnant water, reflecting nothing.
Hagan didn't need to raise his voice. The coarse tone alone, weighted with authority, sliced through the murmur of the hall like a blunt blade dragged across stone.
"Come here. Now."
The trio moved as if their legs were made of heavy clay. Faeron practically dragged Toruk, who groaned in a wet, weak sound, each step sending a tremor of pain through his burned body. The bald man hung limp over Faeron's shoulder, blisters on his skin pulsing with yellowish fluid.
Durgan walked in front, fists clenched, eyes locked on the dirty straw- and blood-stained floor. His scruffy beard was soaked with sweat, and each step produced a muffled squelch from his soaked boots.
When they reached Hagan's table, the silence swallowed them like a dark well.
Hagan watched them without blinking, elbows resting on the wood stained with old beer and dried blood from past brawls. His face looked carved from weathered stone, hard and lined like plowed earth. His eyes were two dark pools that reflected nothing—only consumed.
He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The silence stretched, heavy, suffocating.
Durgan swallowed hard, the sound audible like a stone being forced down. Faeron tried to speak, but his throat closed, emitting only a frightened croak before the words died. Toruk let out a raspy whimper, flickering like a hit-and-run animal about to be put down.
Hagan inhaled slowly. His nostrils flared, sucking in the rancid hall air as if filtering their fear.
Then he pressed his elbows harder into the table and interlaced thick fingers, the joints cracking dryly.
"I want to hear it."
The command wasn't shouted. It was spat, as if the words themselves disgusted him.
Faeron cleared his throat again, shoulders shaking. His torn hood shifted with the motion. Dirty hair fell into glazed eyes.
"Boss... it was... a mistake."
Hagan didn't move. Not a single muscle.
"Continue."
The word rolled like a rock tumbling downhill, inevitable.
Faeron drew a shaky breath, chest hitching with a stifled sob.
"We... tried to teach a Tamer a lesson. Some punk who just got here."
The word "Tamer" was spit like venom, the consonants twisting in his mouth, full of hate, shame, and a twinge of raw fear.
Hagan raised a thick eyebrow, slow, like a rusty gear turning.
"And?"
Faeron hesitated. A muscle twitched along his jaw. He looked at Durgan, who shifted his gaze to the floor, spitting thick saliva that mixed with the grime.
"He had a... slime. But it wasn't a normal slime."
His voice cracked at the end, broken.
Durgan spat again, this time in an aggressive, impotent gesture.
"It was a fucking monster! In the shape of a woman... sticky... disgusting..."
He waved a rough hand vaguely, as if describing something he didn't want to remember, fingers trembling with revulsion and fear.
Toruk let out another groan, weaker, his voice raspy like glass shards scraping his throat.
"Burned... burned my skin..."
The word died in a low sob.
Faeron shrank in on himself. The hood bunched around his neck as he spoke in barely articulated whispers.
"She... she transformed. Right in front of us."
The hall was too quiet. Even the distant conversations had dried up, sucked into the heavy vacuum around Hagan's table. Even the lamp flickered lower, casting denser shadows in the deep lines of the leader's face.
He clenched his fingers tightly, the joints cracking again, sounding like bones breaking far away.
"Transformed?"
The word fell like a hot seal on the table, branding them forever.
Faeron nodded slowly. So slowly it looked like a confession wrung out by torture.
"Woman. Big... busty. Looked... too alive."
Durgan bit his lip until a thin line of blood trickled down into his beard. His eyes were red, watery with contained rage, but they trembled.
"It wasn't normal."
Hagan inhaled slowly.
A Tamer getting a slime to take human form? That doesn't exist. He shifted his gaze to a random corner, as if calculating invisible numbers. If that were really the case, it'd be priceless. You could fetch a fortune pimping it out, selling on the black market, even to some exotic noble.
He turned his eyes back to the trio.
Hagan fell silent for long seconds, elbows resting on the worn wood of the table, thick fingers interlaced like a knot of rope ready to unravel and strangle. His half-lidded eyes had no shine—just deep pits of wet earth where nothing alive could take hold.
The flickering lamplight to his right cast deep shadows across the furrows in his weathered face, highlighting the scar that slashed across it like a drunk sculptor's chisel.
Perched on the high back of his chair, legs crossed provocatively, was a tiny fae—not even a foot tall, with slow-beating translucent wings that spread golden dust into the tavern's heavy air. Her hair was short and messy, like shiny grass strands, and her feline eyes glowed with mischief.
She wore the barest scrap of clothing—somewhere between a silk dress and a carelessly tied scarf—leaving much of her slender thighs and nearly all of her small breasts exposed at the sides. When she shifted, the tiny strip of cloth twisted around her legs, revealing dangerous little curves.
She watched it all with a crooked smile, swinging one bare foot in the air, her gaze lit with cruel amusement—like she savored the fear the men before her were showing.
When Hagan finally spoke, his voice was low, rough, sounding all the more threatening for its restraint.
"Does anyone else know about this?"
The silence that followed was nearly solid.
Faeron, caked in mud up to his ears, shook so hard his ripped hood slid off his tangled hair. His eyes darted between the floor and Hagan's hand, as if terrified those fingers might rip out his tongue. His voice came out choked.
"N-no! We don't want to talk!"
The air stank of cold sweat. Durgan shook his head but couldn't meet Hagan's eyes. The big man's fists opened and closed in a dance of defeat, knuckles white with tension.
"No one will know. We... we just want to forget, boss."
Toruk moaned weakly, a word cut in half by the pain that split the blisters on his skin. No one understood what he meant. He sounded like a pig with a chest cold trying to speak.
Hagan exhaled harshly through his nose, a guttural snort like an ox about to gore something. His half-lidded eyes twisted with cruelty.
He leaned back in his heavy chair, which groaned like a dying animal under his weight. One thick hand tapped slowly on the drink-stained board, each dull thud punctuating the trio's ragged breathing.
Above him, the tiny fae leaned forward with a predatory grin, her short greenish hair glowing in the lamp's light. Her wings buzzed softly as she settled on the high backrest, placing one delicate hand on Hagan's head.
With slow, almost sensual motions, she began to stroke lazily, her tiny fingers sinking into the thick hair and trailing down to his neck.
She let out a muffled giggle, eyes sparkling with pure malicious delight as she felt the man's shoulders relax by a fraction.
When he spoke again, his voice carried a fake boredom, a calculated insult, made even colder by the contrast.
"You're going to shut your mouths. You're going to say you fought smugglers. That you lost the loot. That you don't remember a thing."
Faeron bit his lip until the metallic taste spread in his mouth. Blood trickled in a thin line down to his chin, dripping to the floor with a wet splat. His eyes trembled with raw shame.
"Y-yes, boss."
The tension grew so thick it practically crackled.
Hagan leaned forward, his face entering the lamplight. The deep lines around his eyes etched even deeper.
"You're going to work to pay back what you lost. You'll head into the wilds. Harvest anything you can. Hunt beasts, dig up roots, lick the dirt if you have to. You'll live out there until the debt is settled."
Durgan dropped his head, his filthy beard pressing to his chest. A tremor ran through his broad shoulders. He tried to speak but only a muffled noise came out. Finally, he forced words:
"Okay."
Hagan turned his face slowly, pinning Faeron with his gaze.
"If anyone asks about this Tamer..."
Faeron's eyes widened like a cornered rat's. He couldn't speak, just shook his head in jerky spasms.
"About that... thing..." Hagan made sure to spit the word like a curse.
Silence fell.
Hagan didn't blink.
Faeron finally swallowed hard. The sound was so loud it seemed to echo in the hall. He stammered, eyes wide and glassy with fear.
"We won't talk. Ever."
Toruk let out another miserable moan, his head lolling to the side like a broken doll.
Hagan watched it all in silence for one more endless moment. His fingers stopped tapping and curled into a slow, deliberate fist.
Finally, he drew a long breath, the sound like a stone scraping deep in a dry well.
And he spoke without emotion:
"Get out of my sight."
They obeyed like kicked dogs. Durgan hauled Toruk up as if he were a sack of rotting potatoes. Faeron hunched over, trying to pull his torn hood up even though it was too shredded to hide anything.
When they vanished through the back door, Hagan didn't move. The tavern slowly filled with chatter again, as if nothing had happened.
But he kept drumming his fingers on the table.
A slime with a human form, huh? That's new. I've seen plenty of things take on humanoid shapes, but a slime? First time. Wonder if it can breed lines? If so, that thing's worth way more than I thought. This town's too small for that to just disappear.
Hagan raised one finger, the gesture heavy and deliberate, like sealing a fate already written.
From the shadows behind him, something moved without a sound—no creak of leather, no clink of metal. Just the strange sense that the darkness itself had grown a will.
He was lean but not scrawny—every line of his body adjusted with brutal economy of motion. The dark cloak he wore was layered to swallow sound, but looked ready to split open like hidden blades.
The dim lamplight revealed only part of his face, showing a sharp chin, thin unmoving lips. But it was the eyes that drew attention: two icy slits, flat and inhuman, like cracks in a demon's helmet.
His hands were covered by fine gloves, stained with something dark that might have been grease, mud, or dried blood. Across his chest, metal clips of a fitted harness secured flat daggers designed to be invisible until the last second.
Every inch of him screamed silent danger.
On the high back of the chair, the tiny fae remained perched, her wings beating slowly with a near-hypnotic buzz. She crossed and uncrossed her bare legs in a careless ballet, the tiny silk dress winding provocatively around her narrow hips. She watched the assassin with feline eyes full of cruel curiosity, her plush lips curling into a lazy smile.
The man of shadows stopped beside the table without uttering a word, his head dipping in a subtle gesture of obedience. Hagan didn't turn to look at him.
"Keep your eyes open."
The man didn't even blink. He just nodded once, slow and deliberate, like a clock marking the start of something inevitable. Then, soundlessly, he slipped back into the darkness, dissolving into the crowd like black smoke, leaving only the echo of his silent threat behind.
The fae followed him with her gaze until he vanished into the shadows, her head tilting slightly, her short messy hair swaying with the movement.
Hagan simply resumed drumming on the table, thinking through all the valuable information he'd just gotten.
Soon enough, that Tamer's going to learn how the world really works.