Book 4: Chapter 79 (1/2)

Akando roared and lifted his stone axe up towards the sky. With an even louder shout, he brought it down, slamming it against a tree. There was a massive cracking sound, and the bark split apart. A moment later, the rest of the tree split into two pieces. Like thunder, the two halves crashed to the ground, kicking up plumes of dirt and dust. Silver stripes pulsed on Akando’s arms, heavily contrasting his dark skin. The natives behind him whooped and cheered as Akando whirled around with both of his hands pumping up in the air. “Flying Serpent, the greatest god!”

“Flying Serpent, the greatest god!”

The natives shouted and stomped their feet. The ground quaked, and pebbles bounced up and down thanks to the vibrations. Silver stripes on their bare skin flashed in the sunlight, and faint traces of red mist leaked out of their pores. Behind them, in the distance, a large, ocean-blue dragon was sleeping. And on top of its head, four brightly colored rocks were staring at the natives. Sheryl licked her rocky lips. “Do you guys think we buffed them a little too much?”

“Weren’t you the one who insisted we did?” Mistle asked and raised her rocky eyebrow. She clicked her tongue and sniffed. “Fire elementals. Typical.”

“Hey!” Sheryl frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Impulsive and rash, then immediately regretful but too headstrong to admit it,” Mistle said, staring at Sheryl. “That’s how fire elementals behave.”

Sheryl pouted and crossed her arms. “I’m not regretting it. I was just wondering if it was overdone. These people were completely normal, but now they can cut down trees in one hit.”

“Well,” Stella said, butting into the two elementals’ conversation. “It was mostly Mr. Rabbit’s fault.” She glared at the rabbit made of mist. It was submerged in Vur’s body, only its head and torso sticking out of his scales. Its two front paws were stretched out in front of it, and one of its ears flopped to the side. “Without him, would we have buffed those people?”

“No, no,” Diamant said. “It can’t be Mr. Rabbit’s fault.”

“Yeah!” Zilphy said, bobbing her head, which was her body, up and down. “It can’t be Mr. Rabbit’s fault. He’s too cute.”

Mistle cleared her throat and stretched her hand out, petting Mr. Rabbit’s head. “Normally, I don’t agree with”—her eyes narrowed, and she glared at Zilphy—“that woman, but just this one time I’ll accept her opinion being similar to mine.”

Sheryl glanced at her companions. Mr. Rabbit stretched one of his paws forward, placing it Sheryl’s leg. It looked at her with glistening eyes. With a sigh, Sheryl nodded. “Right, he’s too cute,” she said. “We can’t really say it’s his fault, right? It’s not like buffing the natives was a mistake.”