Chapter 68: The Humiliation in the Dank Cesspit Caverns

For a moment that stretched into an eternity, the only sound in the Dank Cesspit Caverns was the soft plop of primordial ooze dripping from Silas’s hair onto the muddy ground. He was a statue of shame, a monument to failure, frozen face-down in a puddle. Before him, an entire tribe of kobolds - small, scaly, dog-faced creatures with pointy spears - had stopped their menacing chittering. They just stared, their little black eyes wide with a confusion that transcended the normal monster-intruder dynamic.

One of them nudged another with its spear, pointed at Silas, and let out a series of inquisitive squeaks that, even without a universal translator, clearly meant, “Is… is he okay? Is this part of the attack?”

Up in my divine realm, Isao had to physically hold onto his throne to keep from floating away in a fit of hysterical laughter. “Oh, my everything,” he gasped, wiping a tear of pure black ichor from his eye. “The intimidation factor! The sheer tactical genius of the face-plant! They’re completely disarmed by his utter lack of grace!”

I was in a similar state, pounding the armrest of my throne. “This is better than I ever imagined! The curse is working perfectly! He’s a walking catastrophe!”

Back in the cave, Silas finally found the strength to push himself up. He rose like a swamp monster, covered head-to-toe in a dripping layer of filth. His legendary silver hair was now a clumpy, brown mess. A piece of algae was dangling from one ear. He tried to strike a cool, menacing pose, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the mud and the persistent, maddening itch in the middle of his back.

“Kobolds,” he growled, his voice a low baritone that he hoped conveyed power and not the desperate need for a shower. “You have made a grave mistake. Prepare to face the wrath of…”

He was cut short by an almost-sneeze. His entire body tensed, his face contorted, he brought his hand up… and then… nothing. The sensation vanished, leaving him with an unsatisfying, tickling frustration in his sinuses. The kobolds tilted their heads in unison.

“Alright, that’s it!” Silas roared, finally drawing his sword. The [Blade of Infinite Lament] emerged from its scabbard with a reluctant shiiiing.

“Covered in mud, a hero’s plight," the sword sang weakly. "He smells quite bad in the pale cave light."

“Not now!” Silas hissed, and charged.

This was supposed to be a graceful, deadly ballet. Instead, it was a clown show. His first lunge was perfectly aimed at the lead kobold. But just as he thrust, his foot, the one with the perpetually sliding-down sock, slipped on a patch of his own ooze. His lunge turned into an ungainly slide. He shot past the kobold, arms flailing, and crashed into a wall of phosphorescent moss, which burst in a cloud of glowing spores that stuck to his muddy frame.

He now looked like a swamp monster that had been viciously attacked by a packet of glitter.

The kobolds didn't attack. They just took a collective step back, their spears held defensively, looking utterly bewildered. They had prepared for a hero. They had not prepared for this.

"My precious person is sparkling!" Yui cried from the entrance, clapping her hands in delight. "He's putting on a show for us!"

"This is an inefficient use of resources," Kenji muttered, already scraping some of the valuable moss into a specimen bag. "The spores are a potential irritant. This will increase our post-mission laundry and healthcare costs."

Silas got to his feet, growling in frustration. He swung his sword in a wide, heroic arc. It was a move designed to cleave through three enemies at once. It would have been magnificent, had the phantom fly not chosen that exact moment to buzz directly in his ear. He flinched, the swing went wide, and the [Blade of Infinite Lament] embedded itself up to the hilt in a particularly thick patch of cavern wall.

It was stuck.

He pulled. He grunted. The sword, for the first time in its legendary history, refused to budge. The kobolds watched him struggle, their expressions a mixture of pity and secondhand embarrassment. One of them offered him a small, encouraging squeak.

"This is so sad," Isao whimpered from his throne, wiping another tear away. "I'm having the time of my life."

It was at this point that Yui decided to "help."

"Don't worry, my precious person! I'll save you from the mean wall!" she declared. She skipped past the stunned kobolds, who parted for her like she was their long-lost queen. She reached the wall where the sword was stuck, and instead of trying to pull it out, she began to pat the wall comfortingly. "There, there, Mr. Wall. It's not nice to eat my friend's sword. Please give it back."

Silas just stared at her, his jaw slack. The wall, unsurprisingly, did not respond.

While this was happening, Kenji had approached the kobold leader - a slightly larger specimen with a necklace made of shiny pebbles. He wasn't armed with a weapon; he was armed with a business proposal.

"Greetings, esteemed chieftain and/or middle-manager of this subterranean enterprise," Kenji began, offering a crisp, professional bow. "I am Kenji Tanaka, CEO of the Tanaka Goblin Conglomerate, here on behalf of our client, the Precious Friends Adventure Squad. I see you have a thriving community here. Excellent infrastructure, prime underground real estate, and a motivated, if currently bewildered, workforce."

The kobold chief stared at the tiny green man in the moss suit. He looked at the clipboard Kenji had produced from thin air, then back at Kenji.

"My organization," Kenji continued, undeterred, "is prepared to offer you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We will provide logistical support, improved mining equipment, and access to the surface-world artisanal lamp market in exchange for a controlling interest in your moss-harvesting operation. I have a preliminary contract right here." He unfurled a long scroll filled with complex legalese.

The chief just blinked.

Silas, meanwhile, had finally given up on pulling his sword out. His face was a mask of utter defeat. The itch on his back had become a raging fire. He leaned against the wall, panting, a glittering, muddy, sword-less failure.

One of the younger kobolds, emboldened by the sheer lack of competence on display, picked up a small rock and threw it half-heartedly in his direction. Under normal circumstances, Silas could have dodged it in his sleep. But under the [Curse of Minor Inconveniences], the rock flew in a perfect, improbable arc, bounced off a stalactite, and landed squarely in his open, gaping mouth.

He coughed, he sputtered, he spat out the pebble and a chipped tooth.

That was the final straw.

The kobold chief had seen enough. This wasn't an invasion; it was a disaster unfolding in his living room. He let out a series of sharp, commanding barks. The other kobolds immediately dropped their spears. They began frantically scraping phosphorescent moss off the walls, piling it into woven baskets.

The chief approached Kenji, took the contract, and put a single, decisive, inky claw-print at the bottom. Then he barked again. Two kobolds hurried forward, presenting the baskets of moss to the party. The chief then pointed a clawed finger insistently towards the cave entrance. The message was clear: Take it. Take all of it. Just please, for the love of all that is dank and musty, get out of our home.

Kenji's eyes lit up. "A successful negotiation! I knew they'd see the value in a strategic partnership!"

Yui, seeing the offering, clapped her hands. "Ooh, they're giving us presents! They're so friendly!" She then tried to hug the kobold chief, who recoiled with a terrified yelp.

Silas, having finally dislodged his sword, just stood there, watching the scene unfold. He had "won." He had cleared the cavern of its "strange noises." He hadn't defeated the monsters. He had annoyed them into a business transaction. This victory was somehow more humiliating than any defeat could ever have been.

They walked out of the Dank Cesspit Caverns with a mountain of glowing moss, a legally binding trade agreement with a tribe of subterranean lizard-dogs, and what remained of Silas's shattered dignity.

As they stepped back into the sunlight, Silas felt the familiar, jaunty strumming of a ukulele echo through the air. He looked up at the sky, his single remaining boot-pebble digging into his sole, the itch on his back a roaring inferno. He let out a long, weary sigh. It was only his second quest. He didn't think he was going to make it to a third.