His caution payed off.

Brudhilda Chainmaker, her hair and distinctively feminine beard red like an angry campfire, stared at the snake skeleton, the summer sun not really hot in the mountains of the far north, and she was grumpy. She had marked this snake lair late last summer, and had spent considerable money buying the physical poison immunity earrings she now used and snake bait snare to take down the Ancient Stone Snake, only to find out some bear had taken it out looking at the bite marks in the white bones and the subtle smell of their poop still in the area. She walked out and kicked the nearby tree with her Magical Beast Leather in frustration, the tree shaking with the impact.

"Bullshit."

She knew Snake Magical Beasts were **** when emerging out of hibernation, but she never thought it would have gotten by anything in these woods. She cursed her luck to the high heavens and started making the trek down to the grasslands where she could see the thousands of goats grazing wildly on the fresh summer grass. Chainmaker Ranch, which belonged to her cousin, had bought the rights to this wasteland from the nearby Karak 2 centuries ago, and every single one of its ranchers was familiar with the trek following the Nukgrag river to its source and back again to sell their fresh meat at the Karak in the winter. Things have been tight lately, as their side income in monster cores and parts has been facing steep competition from the flood of products coming in from the Borderlands, and some of her cousins had traveled south to try and make it rich on the victorious frontlines.

"A load of bullshit."

They should have crusaded before the advent of the Hero, like her father did, not track south because their greed has gotten the better of their skills. Killing the Demon Lord did not help with the rampaging dungeons, nor whatever Spells the Dark Sisters, damned be them, have put in the monsters. The tales of the never ending waves after the Demon Lords defeat have made it all the way to the edge here in Borealis, as have this stupid market flood.

"Bullshit bullshitting."

No matter, the goats are safe and there has been no outbreak of disease in the herd this year, so she just has to hunt some other bitch ass snake to not let her stuff go to waste, and do the trek back home with the rest of her family. She stood on a small cliff, the black and oiled cross bow in her back heavy and short spear she used to prod the goats tense under her furious grip, smelling the distant poopfest of the well fed heard down on the valley.

"I am getting too old for this bullshit."