I Have a Military Shop Tab in Fantasy World
Chapter 135: The New Quest

Chapter 135: The New Quest

The room quieted.

Even Lyra, usually unfazed, shifted slightly beside Inigo. Termination quests were no small matter. A-rank meant real danger—intelligent enemies, complex terrain, unpredictable outcomes. The kind that could kill you even if you did everything right.

Thorne pulled a parchment scroll from his desk and rolled it out flat. Inked lines revealed a rough map of southeastern Elandra, near the edge of the known wetlands.

"About two days on foot," he said. "But with your... contraption, you’ll make it there by sundown."

Inigo leaned over to study the map. "What’s the target?"

"The marshes were once a neutral territory. Controlled by a small Lizardman tribe—aggressive but not hostile. However, three weeks ago, we received reports of abductions. Hunters and traders dragged beneath the water. Cattle mutilated. The usual signs."

He tapped a black circle on the map. "Then this showed up. Naga."

Lyra’s brow furrowed. "Spellcasters?"

"Yes," Thorne said. "And more than one. We suspect a coven. They’ve corrupted the waters and driven the Lizardfolk into a blood frenzy. Now it’s an alliance. And the villagers nearby have fled."

Inigo absorbed the information carefully. "Any teams sent before us?"

"Three," Thorne replied. "A bronze-rank patrol, a silver squad, and a gold-rank duo."

"And?" Lyra asked, though she already knew the answer.

"None returned."

Inigo’s jaw tensed. "We’ll succeed."

Thorne didn’t smile, but his expression softened. "You’ve trained them well. But remember: this is no simulation. You see a Naga raising a staff, you shoot it. Don’t wait to be impressed."

He rolled up the scroll and handed it over. "Eliminate the threat. Confirm the kill. Bring back proof."

Inigo took it. "Understood."

As they turned to leave, Thorne added, "And Inigo—if any of them fall, leave them. A team is only useful if it survives."

Inigo didn’t turn around. "No one’s falling."

The roar of the JLTV echoed through the southern road by late morning, kicking up clouds of dust behind it. Most of the squad rode in the back, strapped into the reinforced benches that lined the interior. Brenna peeked out the top hatch, her hair whipping in the wind. Sark sat beside Meryl, chewing jerky like it was a fine steak. Feron was checking over the map, while Lio and Hal compared terrain notes and compass directions.

Inigo drove with focus, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping a paper-wrapped copy of the mission scroll. Lyra rode shotgun, her gaze fixed ahead.

"How long until we reach the marsh?" she asked.

"An hour and a half," Inigo replied. "Terrain gets rough toward the end. We’ll disembark there and proceed on foot."

Lyra glanced back at the others. "They seem calm."

"They’re hiding it well," Inigo said. "It’s their first real mission, and it’s a death quest."

Lyra gave a small smile. "So was yours." _{free.w e bn.ov(e)l(.)com}

"True," he admitted. "But I didn’t bring eleven people with me."

They crossed the river bridge by noon, passing through abandoned farmland. Straw huts sat empty, fields overgrown. The further they went, the more the land grew sickly—trees drooped, water turned green with sludge, and the sky above seemed permanently overcast.

Eventually, the JLTV slowed as the road gave way to marsh. The tires churned in soft mud. Inigo found a solid patch of raised land and parked under a canopy of twisted trees.

He killed the engine. "Alright. This is where we go in."

The squad disembarked without complaint, checking their gear. Meryl shouldered her SAW. Brenna tightened the straps of her medical pack. Sark dragged a spiked hammer onto his back, and Hal adjusted his belt of daggers.

Inigo gathered them together.

"This is not a drill," he said, voice low. "The marsh is our enemy as much as the monsters. Visibility will be poor. Movement will be slow. And our targets are intelligent and magical. No matter what happens—stay together. No heroics. Follow the plan."

They nodded in unison.

Lyra raised her voice next. "We’ll move in three groups. Meryl, Brenna, Sark, you’re the core. Inigo and I will stay central with Feron. Hal, Lio, take flank. Keep your distance but stay within sight."

With that, they entered the swamp.

The deeper they moved, the worse it got.

The water came up to their knees. Mosquitoes the size of coins buzzed around their faces. The trees twisted like gnarled fingers, and the very air tasted sour. Strange frogs croaked. Shadows darted beneath the water. Vines coiled like snakes.

No one spoke.

Then, after nearly an hour, Hal raised a fist and crouched low. The others froze.

He pointed at the ground.

Tracks.

Heavy, clawed, with a tail drag behind. Recent. Multiple sets. Some larger than others.

Inigo nodded. "They’re near."

Just then—a scream.

High-pitched. Human.

From the west.

"Move!" Inigo barked.

They surged through the swamp, weapons up, feet splashing in rhythm. Trees blurred past. Hal led them to a narrow ridge of dry land.

There, in the clearing, they found the remnants of a makeshift camp—scorched logs, a torn tent, and blood. Lots of it.

But also...

Movement.

From the dark water, a scaled figure rose, dragging a limp man by the arm. A Lizardman warrior—half-covered in tribal armor, mud caking its face. Its yellow eyes locked onto Inigo.

And then more emerged—four, six, eight.

Behind them, slithering from the shadows of the trees, came the Naga.

They were tall—almost eight feet—and their bodies coiled like serpents. Their upper torsos were human-like, but their faces were inhuman, with fanged mouths and cold, slit eyes. Each carried a staff pulsing with green light.

"In position!" Inigo yelled.

The team split like clockwork.

Meryl dropped behind a root-covered log, her SAW barking to life in rhythmic bursts. Brenna crouched beside her, feeding the ammo belt and shouting targets. Sark and Hal moved left to flank, while Lio drew his bow and started loosing arrows into the advancing Lizardmen.

One of the Naga raised its staff.

"Take that one out!" Lyra shouted.

Inigo raised his rifle—squeezed the trigger. The bullet struck true, cracking through the Naga’s staff and forcing it to retreat with a shriek.

Feron tossed a smoke grenade—modified with alchemical herbs—and green mist exploded across the battlefield, blinding the enemy flank.

"Push right!" Inigo ordered.

Sark barreled forward, smashing a Lizardman down with a crunch of bone and steel. Meryl adjusted fire to cover his charge. Another Naga tried casting—but Lyra’s arrow pierced its throat before it could speak.

The enemy began to retreat.

The squad regrouped, breaths ragged, standing over bodies and mud.

"Status!" Inigo shouted.

"No injuries," Brenna called. "We’re good."

"For now," Lyra muttered. "They’re regrouping. This was just the first wave."

Inigo looked ahead, toward the darker part of the marsh, where the water turned black and twisted spires rose like spears.

"They’re protecting something."

He pulled out the scroll again, reading the last line of the quest:

"Terminate the source of the corruption. Confirm the death of the Naga High Priestess."

His eyes narrowed.

"We go deeper."