Overlord Tamer: All My Pet Monsters Have God Potential
Chapter 189: The Poison (3)

Chapter 189: The Poison (3)

"It’s been three hours and he hasn’t returned yet."

Jibril sighed and drank some water.

"What is he doing where to fight that poison?" Yuna sat down, taking deep breathing.

Both of them were sparring against each other while waiting for John.

Azelis arrived and landed nearby, a wry smile on her face.

She was watching when these two were talking to John.

"Just wait. He will return when he is ok."

Right then, Azelis turned her head. "He is here, but..."

She frowned upon sensing John’s aura and flew there.

Yuna and Jibril quickly called their flying Monsters and flew towards the palace.

Outside the palace, John was lying on the ground, his clothes tattered with a lot of blood, fresh and dried, painting him whole.

His eye only remained opened briefly before he lost his conciousness, entering deep slumber.

Alfred, Pymon, Rexion, and Levi were the first ones to arrive.

"Heal him, Rex." Alfred licked John’s face.

"Doing it." Rexion’s skill created a glowing magical small tree beside John, with golden and crimson designed leaves. It quickly started healing John.

"Why did Master not take us with him?" Pymon flared his wings, sad.

"I think he wanted to fight alone." Levi started creating threads with nullsilk, soon creating a comfortable semi-transparent ghastly cocoon for John. This cocoon didn’t block air and provided comfort directly to John’s spirit, as adjusted by Levi. After waking, John can pass through the cocoon.

Azelis was here by now and watched John getting tended by his Monsters.

"I’ll take him inside." Azelis waved her hand, carrying John in a bubble of soul energy.

"Azelis, do you know why he went out to fight alone?" Alfred asked.

"Nope. But you can ask him after he wakes up."

Yuna and Jibril arrived shortly and went inside the Palace.

"What happened to him?" Jibril frowned, concerned.

"He looks so exhuasted..." Yuna bit her lips as she was reminded of John’s antics in the recruitment event at Paladon forest.

"To distract himself from the poison’s effect and suppress it, he likely went to fight Monsters in the calamity region." Azelis speculated. "It looks like he decided to fight until he was completely spent in both body and mind, so that the poison’s effect would be useless."

"He always so..." Yuna clenched her jaw before she took a deep breath. "He is determined, but so we are. We’ll wait."

Jibril nodded.

...

Meanwhile, John was dreaming.

A dream within dream formed as he fought against the poison, while the poison continued to flare up.

The wind howled like a wounded animal, tearing at the canvas walls of John’s tent. Inside, the air was heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint, acrid tang of campfire smoke. John lay sprawled on his cot, his body twitching in restless sleep, his brow glistening with sweat. His breathing was shallow, uneven, as if even in unconsciousness, he couldn’t escape the weight pressing down on him. The fabric of the tent groaned under the strain of the wind, and somewhere in the distance, a low, guttural roar echoed through the trees.

"Yuna..." The name slipped from his lips, barely audible, but laced with desperation. His fingers clawed at the thin blanket tangled around his legs, his muscles tensing and releasing in a frantic rhythm. The dream had him now, pulling him deeper, twisting his thoughts into something unrecognizable. Outside, the forest seemed alive, the rustling leaves and snapping twigs a symphony of unseen threats. Every sound sent a jolt through him, even in sleep, as if the darkness itself was closing in.

His body arched, a low groan escaping his throat. The hunger inside him was awake, clawing at the edges of his mind, demanding to be fed. It wasn’t the kind of hunger he could fight with a blade or brute strength—this was something else, something primal. The dream shifted, Yuna’s face appearing in his mind, her pink hair catching the light, her eyes soft and warm. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close, but the image twisted, warping into something darker, more urgent. His breath hitched, and his skin burned as the dream tightened its grip.

The wind screamed, shaking the tent like a predator testing its prey. Shadows danced on the canvas walls, shifting and writhing, taking on grotesque shapes that mirrored the chaos in his mind. John’s fist clenched, his nails digging into his palm as he fought to hold on. The monsters outside were nothing compared to the one within, the hunger that threatened to consume him. He could feel it rising, a ravenous beast that didn’t care about his exhaustion, his will, his morality.

"No," he rasped, the word barely more than a breath. His voice was raw, broken, as if even speaking it took everything he had. The dream pressed harder, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy, between right and wrong. He could feel himself slipping, the edges of his self-control fraying like a rope under too much strain. The forest outside seemed to pulse with the same rhythm as his heartbeat, a steady, ominous thrum that matched the hunger gnawing at him.

A bead of sweat trailed down his temple, cold against his feverish skin. His vision blurred, the world around him dissolving into a haze of need and fear. The hunger was winning, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength to fight it anymore. Just as the darkness threatened to swallow him whole, a voice cut through the storm. It was warm, familiar, and achingly real.

"John," it said, soft but insistent, pulling him back from the edge. His body stilled, the tension in his muscles easing slightly as the voice wrapped around him like a lifeline. He didn’t know if it was real or just another trick of the dream, but he clung to it, desperate for something, anything, to anchor him. The wind outside seemed to quiet, the forest holding its breath as the voice spoke again, drawing him closer to the surface.

"John, wake up."

Yuna’s voice cut through the haze, soft but insistent, pulling him back from the edge of the dream. He blinked, his vision swimming as the tent’s canvas walls came into focus, still trembling under the force of the wind outside. The shadows that had seemed so menacing moments ago now felt distant, less tangible, though the weight in his chest remained. His heart pounded, the echo of the dream still clinging to him like a second skin. He turned his head, and there she was—Yuna, kneeling beside him, her pink hair catching the faint light filtering through the tent.

She looked a bit older in this version, reflecting John’s moral stubbornness.

Her brow was furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she reached out to brush a strand of damp hair from his forehead. "You were thrashing around like you were fighting something," she said, her voice tinged with worry. Her fingers lingered on his skin, cool against the heat radiating from him. "Are you okay?" He swallowed, his throat dry and scratchy, the taste of the dream still bitter on his tongue.

"Just a nightmare," he rasped, his voice rough as gravel. He tried to sit up, but his muscles screamed in protest, every movement a reminder of the exhaustion that had driven him to sleep in the first place. Yuna’s hand pressed firmly against his chest, stopping him. "Stay down," she said, her tone softer now but no less commanding. "You’re burning up. Let me get you some water." She stood quickly, her movements efficient, and moved toward the corner of the tent where his canteen lay.

Unaware that he was still in the dream.