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JL Chapter 8 Razor-Badger
🕑 Added 2025-08-27 04:38:22 +0000 UTCThe riverbank was quiet except for the steady rush of water and the squelch of Mitchell’s sneakers in the mud. A light breeze stirred the tall grass, carrying the earthy smell of damp soil.
Ahead of him, a small blue blob slowly oozed across the ground like a living glob of jelly, its surface shimmering faintly in the sunlight. The slime’s single purpose seemed to be inching its way toward a patch of grass, where it would no doubt dissolve and slurp it into fuel.
Unfortunately for the slime, it wouldn’t be able to finish eating.
Mitchell hefted his bronze sword, grimaced at the mud on his blade from the last two kills, and raised it high. “Sorry, little guy. Rent’s due.”
Shhk!
The sword came down in a quick thrust, piercing clean through the gelatinous body. The slime gave a faint quiver before collapsing into a formless puddle.
Mitchell crouched, lowering himself carefully so Lovel, still clinging to his back in a piggyback, wouldn’t slip off, and poked through the dissolving goo. His fingers closed around a small, cloudy marble at the center. He pulled it free, wiping the slime residue off on the grass before holding it up triumphantly.
“Nice,” He said, grinning. “That makes three slimes down.” He flicked the core once between his fingers before dropping it into his backpack. “Which means… when we head back to the guild, I can trade these in for six copper total. Enough to cover another night at the inn.”
Behind him, Lovel’s arms tightened slightly around his shoulders. Her voice, soft but steady, reached his ear. “Congratulations, Master.”
Mitchell chuckled, feeling heat creep up his neck. He still wasn’t used to being called that. “Yeah, well, not exactly heroic work. Just stabbing some innocent slimes.”
“But it will allow us to live comfortably for a while.” Lovel replied simply.
He couldn’t argue with that.
She then tilted her head against his shoulder, her golden eyes watching the muddy ground. “So… what now? Do we return to Varnhelm?”
Mitchell tapped the side of his sword against his boot, considering. He shook his backpack where the three cores, Horned Rabbit meat, skin, and horns clinked softly together. He didn’t know how much the horned Rabbit was worth but the Six copper from the slime cores was enough for the room, but food…
“…Let’s find one more,” He decided with a sigh. “That’ll give us eight copper. Enough for the inn and something to eat.”
Her ears flicked slightly, though she didn’t argue. “Very well.”
He straightened and began scanning the riverbank again, his eyes darting across the patches of grass and reeds. Each rustle of the wind set his nerves on edge, though he tried to play it off. ‘One more slime. Easy money. Don’t screw this up.’
After a moment of searching, Lovel’s voice cut through the quiet. “Why only slimes? Why not hunt something worth more?”
Mitchell huffed out a humorless laugh. “Because right now it’s just me and you, plus at the moment you can't even walk and I have to literally have to carry you around, not to mention we don’t even have a proper weapon for you. If something stronger than a slime shows up and we can’t run. We’d be toast.”
Lovel was quiet for a moment. Then she gave a small nod against his shoulder. “That’s true and slimes are easy monsters to kill.”
“Exactly.” He adjusted his grip on the sword and smirked. “Slimes are dumb, slow, and pay just enough to keep us fed. Perfect enemies for a broke loser like me to kill.”
Lovel tilted her head faintly at that phrasing, but before she could respond, a different sound broke the moment.
A soft, low growl.
Not from the bushes. Not from any monster. But from Lovel.
Mitchell froze, his ears turning red as her stomach rumbled against his back. “…Was that—?”
“Yes, I’m sorry master.” She said flatly, her ears flicking in embarrassment.
Mitchell grinned despite himself. “Guess that settles it. Let’s find one more slime, then let's eat a bit of rabbit for dinner. Before my partner eats me instead.”
Lovel huffed softly into his shoulder, but he could feel the faint twitch of her tail against his side.
—-----------------------------------------------
The afternoon light danced across the surface of the river as Mitchell trudged along its muddy edge, scanning the tall grass for the telltale blue color of another slime. His boots squelched unpleasantly with every step, and he found himself wishing for about the tenth time today that slimes would make more noise.
On his back, Lovel shifted slightly as she also tried searching for any slimes, her chin brushing against his shoulder. The silence stretched long enough that Mitchell decided to fill it with words.
“You know,” He said, “it’s kind of a shame you can’t sniff out these slimes. Would’ve made this whole thing way easier.”
Lovel’s ears twitched. She lowered her gaze a little. “I apologize. I… am not very useful for this.”
Mitchell blinked, surprised at the tone of her voice. “Wait, what? No, no—hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”
She continued quietly, “Slimes leave almost no scent and they make almost no sound for my ears to follow. They are… surprisingly hard to find.”
Mitchell slowed, feeling a stab of guilt. He hadn’t realized she’d take it that way.
“Hey,” He said, softening his tone, “don’t worry about it. Seriously. You’ve already been more helpful than you know.”
Her ears twitched again, this time less sharply. “…If you say so.”
“I do,” He said firmly. “Besides, if you weren’t here, I’d probably be talking to myself like an idiot because of how lonely I am. So really, you’re saving me from that.”
That earned him the faintest huff of air against his shoulder—almost a laugh.
Mitchell grinned, satisfied, and kept scanning the reeds. He was about to crack another joke when he felt Lovel’s body suddenly tense on his back. Her ears snapped upright, swiveling like radar dishes, and her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air.
“Master.” Her voice was sharp now, urgent. “Something’s coming. Fast.”
Mitchell froze. “What? Where?”
Her golden eyes narrowed toward the trees. “From the left. The scent is strong maybe an animal. It sounds a bit large.”
Adrenaline surged through him. Mitchell quickly adjusted Lovel on his back, keeping her steady before yanking his bronze sword free. The bronze metal caught the sun, gleaming faintly. His palms were already slick with sweat.
Every part of him screamed: Run.
His legs twitched with the urge to sprint back toward the road, to escape before whatever it was burst out of the brush.
But then his eyes flicked back to Lovel. Frail, still too weak to even stand on her own. If he ran, Lovel would be placed in danger, if he’s not fast enough.
Mitchell grit his teeth, forcing his shaking hands to steady on the hilt of his sword. ‘Not this time. If something wants her, it’s going through me first.’
The bushes exploded outward.
A squat, muscular creature barreled into view, claws digging furrows into the mud as it skidded forward. Its body was that of a badger, but along its back bristled sharp quills like a porcupine, twitching with every snarl. Its maw opened wide, revealing teeth too large for its mouth—curved and yellow, made for tearing.
Mitchell’s blood ran cold.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” He whispered.
Lovel’s ears flattened against her head. “Do you know this beast?”
Mitchell’s stomach twisted as memories came crashing back. The first day in this world. The blind panic. His legs burning as he sprinted through the forest. The slavering growls behind him. That beast—the one that chased him all the way to the walls of Varnhelm.
The Razor-Badger.
He swallowed hard, raising his sword. “Oh yeah. I know it.”
The creature snarled, foam flecking at its jaws as it barreled straight for him.
Mitchell’s throat went dry. ‘What if it’s the same one? Does it remember me?’
The Razor-Badger let out a bone-rattling screech, its claws tearing chunks of earth as it lunged.
Mitchell tightened his grip on the sword, forcing himself not to run, even as every instinct screamed at him to flee.
Mitchell’s hands trembled on the hilt of his bronze sword, his throat dry as the Razor-Badger’s snarls rattled his bones. Fear clawed at his chest, whispering run, run, RUN.
But this time, he wasn’t empty-handed. This time, he had a weapon to defend himself.
When the beast lunged, foam flying from its snapping jaws, Mitchell forced his feet to stay planted. He swung hard in a wide arc, the blade hissing through the air—
SHHK!
The edge carved across the Razor-Badger’s face, leaving a raw line over its muzzle. The beast shrieked, staggering to the side.
Mitchell’s eyes went wide. “I… I actually hit it!”
But his relief was short-lived. The creature skidded to a stop, its eyes burning with fury. The cut wasn’t deep enough. He’d hurt it as blood was leaking, but it was not enough to kill it.
‘Of course it’s not enough. Why would it ever be easy for me?’
Now they circled each other, predator and prey but Mitchell wasn’t sure which one he was. His boots sank into the soft mud as he shifted, keeping his sword between him and the beast.
Behind him, Lovel’s voice rang out, sharp and steady. “Master, do not rush towards it! If you strike carelessly, it will be able to counter you. Let it attack first.”
Mitchell shot her a glance and did as she said, sweat dripping down his brow. “Sounds easy enough!”
“Distance!” She said as she kept watching the beast. “Keep the distance!”
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to pay attention, adjusting his stance. His heart thundered in his chest as the Razor-Badger’s quills bristled, rising like a field of tiny spears.
Then, suddenly, the beast twisted. Its rear pointed at him.
“…Wait, what the hell is it—”
FWWIP-FWIP-FWIP!
A volley of sharp quills launched from its back like arrows.
“Holy—!” Mitchell yelped, instinct flaring as his body surged with speed. Sprint activated, his legs moving before he even thought about it. He darted to the side, the world blurring.
Half the quills sliced into the dirt where he’d stood; another few clattered against his sword as he instinctively raised it to block. The bronze blade shuddered violently in his hands, a couple of quills lodging deep into the bark of the tree before snapping free.
His breath came out in ragged bursts. ‘If that had hit my chest… I’d be skewered.’
No time to think. The Razor-Badger charged again, claws tearing up the earth as it barreled toward him.
Mitchell’s muscles screamed, but Sprint triggered once more. He sidestepped, barely escaping the beast’s gnashing teeth. As it thundered past, he swung desperately, his sword cutting across its flank.
The blow connected—CLANG!—sparks flying as the strike scraped harmlessly against its hardened quills.
Mitchell stumbled back, nearly losing his footing. “Oh, come on! The quills are its armor too?!”
The Razor-Badger skidded to a halt, spinning to face him once more. Blood still oozed from the slash across its face, but now its growls were deeper, more furious, vibrating in its chest like a drumbeat.
It backed up several paces, its claws digging into the ground, bristling quills quaking with rage. The sound that ripped from its throat was a guttural roar, animal and monstrous, directed squarely at him.
Mitchell swallowed hard, raising his sword again though his arms shook. His lungs burned, his heart pounded, and every fiber of his body screamed that he was in over his head.
But Lovel’s voice cut through the fear, sharp and certain as she placed her hands around his neck.
“Hold your ground, Master. It bleeds. That means it can die. Do not give it the chance to make you falter.”
Mitchell grit his teeth, eyes locked on the beast.
“Alright then,” He muttered, forcing his legs to steady.
Mitchell’s knuckles whitened around the hilt of his sword as he tried to steady his breathing. The Razor-Badger’s growls rumbled through the ground, each vibration shooting up his legs and into his chest. Every instinct screamed run, but Mitchell continued to stay rooted, waiting.
On his back, Lovel’s arms tightened, her ears rigid, eyes locked on the beast with unflinching focus. She wasn’t just holding on for balance, she was reading it. Studying it.
Her voice was low but sharp, cutting through the pounding of his heart. “Master… the moment to kill it is when it prepares to fire its quills again.”
Mitchell’s head whipped around slightly, sweat dripping down his temple. “What? That’s when I’ll be running for my life!”
Lovel shook her head, her golden eyes never leaving the badger. “No. When it raises its quills, its defenses open. The quills are its shield and its weapon but when it prepares to fire them, its head is exposed. If you strike then… you can end it.”
Mitchell’s stomach knotted. He stared back at the snarling monster, his dry throat working around a nervous laugh. “Right. So basically… I have to charge at the living porcupine grenade before it explodes? Great plan. Love the odds.”
“Do not doubt yourself now,” Lovel pressed, her grip tightening on his neck. “All you must do is be faster. Sprint to its head and strike. If you hesitate, we will die.”
He gulped, his palms slick on the hilt. “…No pressure, huh?”
The Razor-Badger pawed at the ground, its body tensing. Mitchell recognized the motion now, the way its bristling back quivered as the quills began to rise again like arrows.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
‘This is it. No turning back.’
“Now!” Lovel commanded.
The beast twisted, rear aimed squarely at him.
Mitchell’s eyes widened. “Shit—!”
But before his panic could take hold, his body moved. Sprint flared, adrenaline and skill propelling him forward faster than he thought possible. The muddy riverbank blurred under his feet as he charged, sword poised, lungs burning.
The Razor-Badger’s body tensed to fire—
But Mitchell was already there.
“HYAAAH!”
He drove the bronze sword downward with both hands, straight between the beast’s furious eyes.
The blade sank deep with a sickening shhhhk, the resistance of bone cracking under the force. The Razor-Badger let out a strangled, guttural cry that shook the air—then shuddered violently, its body convulsing once before collapsing in a heavy heap.
Mitchell stood over it, chest heaving, his arms shaking from the force of the blow. His legs wobbled, and for a second he thought he might collapse right on top of the thing.
“I… I killed it.” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. Then louder, almost in disbelief: “I actually killed it!”
On his back, Lovel exhaled softly, her tight grip finally easing. “Well done, Master.”
He looked over his shoulder at her, grinning despite the sweat and mud plastered to his face. “Well done? I deserve a freaking medal! Did you see that? I just killed the beast that chased me through the forest on day one! Talk about a revenge arc!”
Her ears twitched, the faintest trace of amusement flickering across her otherwise calm expression. “Congratulations, Master.”
Mitchell looked at his shaking arms and legs, then laughed breathlessly. “Y-Yeah, well.”
His attention then went back to the Razor-Badger’s body lying still at his feet, the bronze blade still lodged in its skull. Mitchell yanked it free with a grunt, wiping the blood across the grass. He then continued to stare at the animal that gave him a hard time during his first day here.
Then Lovel’s voice broke through his daze. “Master. We should hurry. The body will spoil quickly if left like this. Its fur, quills, and teeth may all have value.”
Mitchell blinked, dragging his sleeve across his sweaty forehead. “Y-Yeah. Right. Harvesting. Totally knew that.”
She continued, ears flicking toward the forest as though listening for threats. “We should start a cooking fire. I’m starting to feel faint from hunger and I would be really happy if there's something to eat.” Her gaze shifted briefly to the firewood scattered on the ground. “After I harvest the beast.”
At the mention of food, Mitchell’s stomach let out a traitorous growl. He grimaced. “Yeah, okay. Dinner sounds good.”
He knelt, setting her gently against a tree trunk so she could sit upright. “So, uh… should I start a fire here?”
Lovel gave him a small nod. “Yes. That would be nice.”
Mitchell then dropped her next to the corpse, he then straightened and glanced down at the corpse again. “And you’ll…?”
“Skin it.” She reached out, and Mitchell reluctantly handed her the bronze sword. Despite her frail frame, her grip was firm, her motions deliberate as she angled the blade. “Go. I will start working.”
“Right, right,” Mitchell muttered, scratching his cheek. ‘And here I thought buying a slave meant less work for me… but no, I’m getting bossed around by a wolf-girl with ears sharper than my sword.’
Still, he obeyed. He wandered the treeline, collecting branches and leaves, stacking them under his arm until he had enough for a small fire. When he returned, Lovel was already hard at work. The bronze blade scraped against the tough hide of the Razor-Badger, her movements steady, efficient. Blood darkened her hands, but her expression was calm, focused.
‘She really knows what she’s doing,’ Mitchell thought, kneeling by the pit he scraped out. ‘Meanwhile, I can barely cut vegetables without endangering myself.’
Pulling a small lighter from one of the pockets of his backpack, one of the few things he’d carried from his old world, he sparked the kindling until the flames caught. He fanned it with his hand, coaxing it higher, until the fire began to crackle warmly against the chill air.
Next came the food. He dug into his pack and pulled free the chunks of Horned Rabbit Lovel had wrapped earlier. Following her instructions from before, he used and turned a few sticks into makeshift skewers, jabbed the meat onto them, and propped them close to the flames.
The smell of roasting rabbit soon filled the clearing, greasy and gamey but undeniably mouthwatering after the day they’d had.
Meanwhile, Lovel worked tirelessly. She separated the Razor-Badger’s parts with precision, stacking fur, quills, claws and teeth into neat piles, while setting aside the meat in strips. The quills glistened dangerously even after being detached, each one a potential coin in the guild’s eyes.
By the time she finished, Mitchell was turning the skewers, his eyes fixed on the sizzling meat. “Man, I don’t even care if this tastes like cardboard. Food’s food.”
Lovel wiped her hands clean on the grass and moved herself down beside him by scooting. The firelight flickered across her pale face, her golden eyes reflecting the flames like molten metal.
Mitchell then offered her a skewer. She accepted without hesitation and bit into the meat. Mitchell followed suit—and immediately made a face. “Ugh. It needs salt. Like, desperately.”
Lovel chewed quietly, swallowing before speaking. “It is good.”
He looked at her, incredulous. “Good? It’s… bland! Dry! Like chewing on rubber.”
She shook her head, her ears twitching faintly. "It’s food. That is enough.”
Mitchell blinked, the complaint dying on his tongue. He looked down at his skewer, then back at her. The way she savored each bite, despite the lack of seasoning, hit him harder than he expected.
“…Yeah,” He muttered, softer now. “You’re right. It’s enough.”
They ate in silence for a while, the fire crackling between them, the Razor-Badger’s carcass cooling on the riverbank.
Mitchell leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the sky, seeing that the sun was starting to go down. His muscles still ached, his clothes were damp, and his hands smelled of blood and smoke. But with the fire warming his face and Lovel sitting quietly at his side, chewing rabbit meat like it was the best thing in the world…
‘This is nice.’ Mitchell thought.
The fire had burned low, the orange glow licking lazily at the branches as Mitchell chewed the last stringy bite of rabbit and tossed the stripped stick into the flames. His stomach wasn’t satisfied, not really, but it was full enough to quiet its growling.
He leaned back, groaning softly, and looked at the neat little piles Lovel had made: strips of Razor-Badger meat, the bloody fur rolled tightly together, the jagged yellow teeth glinting faintly in the firelight… and the quills.
Dozens of them, sharp, each one a miniature spear in its own right.
“So, uh…” Mitchell said, pointing with his skewer. “What exactly are we doing with those things? Sell them?”
Lovel, who had been carefully wrapping the meat in leftover paper, lifted her gaze to him, her expression calm but serious. “We will keep them.”
Mitchell blinked. “Keep them? What for?”
Her ears twitched, tail flicking once as she picked up one of the quills and held it delicately in her thin fingers. “These would be more useful to us as weapons. They are quite effective. Light enough to throw, sharp enough to pierce hide or wood. A good tool for fighting at a distance.”
Mitchell opened his mouth to crack another joke but stopped short, his memory replaying the earlier battle. The sound of quills thunking into trees, tearing through the ground like arrows. He swallowed.
“…Okay, fair point. They’re basically miniature javelins.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Still feels a little weird, though. Using its weapons against the next guy we fight. Like some kind of recycling program.”
Lovel studied the quill a moment longer before setting it back in the pile. “It will be wasteful to sell what we can use. Until we can afford proper weapons, this is the best choice.”
Mitchell sighed, shaking his head with a half-smile. “You’ve really thought this through, huh? Alright. They’re yours. Consider them your starter kit until I can buy you something better. Sword, spear, I don’t know… a big axe maybe. Whatever fits.”
Her golden eyes softened faintly, though her face remained reserved. “...Thank you.”
The fire crackled quietly between them for a few breaths. Then Mitchell stood, stretching until his back popped, and began stamping out the flames with the heel of his shoe. The last sparks winked out, leaving only the faint smell of smoke clinging to his clothes.
“Well, that’s that.” He crouched down, placing the harvested parts in his backpack and then scooping Lovel into his arms again before easing her onto his back. She settled against him automatically, her thin arms draping over his shoulders.
“You’re sure you don’t mind carrying me?” She asked quietly.
“Mind?” Mitchell chuckled, adjusting his pack over one shoulder. “Nah. You’re lighter than my high school backpack. And at least you don’t weigh as much as all the math textbooks I never opened.”
Her ears twitched, clearly not understanding, but she said nothing more.
With sword at his side, pack strapped tight, and Lovel nestled against him, Mitchell turned his gaze toward the faint glow on the horizon towards the high walls of Varnhelm.
“Alright,” He muttered to himself. “Back to the guild. Let’s hope our parts are worth enough to keep us full of food and a bed.”
His boots squelched softly in the mud as he started walking, the night air cool against his clothes, the weight of the day’s battles pressing down on him.
Done. Tell me what you think and if I made any mistakes.
