Colby was panicking. The lobsters were charging at him. Fast.

  With their stabby fork-claws and bonking spoon, he was in for a world of hurt. Why couldn’t it be a world of halloumi—a delicious piece of cheese made using Skate Goat milk and Su-Sheep milk—instead?

  What could he do? What should he do?

  Actually, wait. Why was he panicking?

  Just before the lob-stabs could stab his shins or the lob-stirs bashed his bones out, Colby did the most sensible thing he had done all day.

  He sidestepped out of the way of their attack.

  The lobsters charged past him, their claws bouncing off the cliffside. They weren’t strong enough to pierce—break, in the lob-stirs case—through solid rock, that was a relief.

  Colby sidestepped out of the way again, dodging another charge.

  This was easy. Why had he been panicking?

  With one eye trained on the charging lobsters, he inched closer to the Shell Ginger. Standing right in front of it, he angled the flailing lob-slice caught between his [Cheese Pillows] towards the root.

  It continued to slash wildly. Every tenth hit or so, the lob-slice finally decided it was time to do its job. Talk about the world’s most useless tool.

  Just when the lob-slice was about to make another nick in the root, he was forced to sidestep out of the way.

  What a pain this was going to be.

  He had to come up with a way to do this faster.

  Colby looked at the knife-like claws of the lob-slice. Yeah, no amount of [Cheese Pillows] could convince him to grab hold of them.

  What if he—Colby jumped, spreading his legs as the trio of lobsters charged between his feet.

  He really had to get those three under control.

  But what would be the best way to do that?

  He had two ideas currently brewing in his mind. One was a bit cheesy, the other was very cheesy.

  He had used up way too much cheese today. It was the less cheesy option first.

  After jumping over yet another charge, Colby spun around to face the lobsters.

  “En garde!” he shouted, pointing the lob-slice squirming around within his [Cheese Pillows].

  The lobsters charged at him once more, picking up speed. The lob-stabs placed tiny bits of the hardened mozzarella balls onto the lob-stirs' head, which it promptly bashed like a drum, smashing the cheese into crumbs even finer than grains of sand.

  Before they could crush his kneecaps or stab his shins, Colby lowered the lob-slice in his hand. The squirming little crustacean thrashed even harder, nearly wrestling out of his grip, but he held strong.

  The charging lobsters slowed to a stop right in front of him. Antennas flickered and claws waved up and down, side to side. They were communicating with each other in what he could only assume were crustacean gestures.

  Colby wasn’t having any of it. There would be zero collusion with the enemy, not on his watch.

  He lunged forward, thrusting the lob-slice toward his foes. The lob-stir skittered to the front, using its spoon-like claws to block the lob-slice’s knife-like claws. Meanwhile, the lob-stabs came in from both sides, attempting to sink their sharp prongs into his shins.

  It was a battle of lobsters, and Colby was confident he would win. He did have the high ground after all.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t have precise control over his weapon.

  The lob-slice in his hand swung wildly. Its knife claws were doing their absolute best to avoid hitting its companions whenever Colby went in for a slash.

  Okay, this wasn’t going to work out. Time to move on to plan: a bit more cheese.

  Colby sprinted away from the lobsters. His superior height was no match for the crustaceans' eight legs.

  Opening his Inventory, he stuck his foot inside—because there was no way he was letting go of the lob-slice in his hand. The slob, sand-coated [Cheese Boots] and [Cheese Pillow] were deposited, along with his shoe. When he pulled his foot out of the screen, he gripped a [Cheese Pillow] between his toes. It was a different one—because again saliva.

  Colby waited. He waited for the lobsters to hurry up and charge at him. Hurry up, you stinky lobsters, you have eight legs, so use them.

  Though it was just ten seconds, it felt like an eternity, especially since he was balancing on one leg while standing on a not flat [Cheese Pillow] that shifted in the sand. At the end of the day, he could tell that his core—where his future six pack was going to be—was going to be sore.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  When the lobsters were finally a couple of feet away from him, Colby kicked. The [Cheese Pillow] flew in the air, landing right on one of the lob-stab’s fork claws.

  Yes! All that practice of kicking his shorts into the laundry basket had finally paid off.

  He repeated the action three more times, grabbing a [Cheese Pillow] from his Inventory with his foot, and stuffing the lob-stabs’ fork claws with his expert aim.

  That was one set of crustaceans neutralized—probably.

  The pillows were soft and extra fluffy. No idea if it was fluffy enough to not be completely stab proof. Good thing this plan was a two-parter!

  He hopped over the charging monsters, specifically the lob-stir and its huge, meaty claws. No wonder Elaine wanted a live one. Those thick, spoon-like claws were so much bigger than their thin counterparts.

  Colby ran back to the cliff side, where the Shell Gingers patiently waited for him to be de-rooted. He hobbled along, struggling to run with one bare foot sinking into the sand and the other squishing against a huge pillow of cheese.

  Here goes the rest of the plan.

  The Inventory screen opened up once more. Using his feet, he grabbed more pillows. It was enough to build a [Cheese Pillow] fort, if he had the time or the sister to do so. Unfortunately, he didn’t. Instead, a simple tower would have to do. They lay against his lower legs, a shoddy soft brickwork of pillows.

  The crustaceans charged at him. The lob-stir led the way, in between the two lob-stabs, each with huge oversized pillows attached to their claws, obstructing their view of whatever was in front of them. Presumably, it was the lob-stir guiding them.

  Colby ignored them for the most part.

  He brought the squirming lob-slice in his hands back towards the Shell Ginger root. It was still a case of every tenth strike connecting—and that was with him trying his best to predict its movements, constantly adjusting the useless tool.

  Okay, he lied. He couldn’t ignore them for the most part.

  He looked back, glancing at the charging crustaceans. His gaze snapped to the tower of pillows surrounding his legs, then back up at the lobsters and down again. Up. Down. Up. Down.

  To any clueless individual, Colby looked like a weird teen vigorously nodding his head at the lobsters charging at him.

  Moment of truth.

  The lob-stabs crashed into the [Cheese Pillows]. Colby bit his lip.

  It hurt.

  Not the lob-stabs, no. He had successfully defended their attack using nothing but cheese. Their fork claws were sharp, but not sharp enough. They couldn’t pierce through multiple layers of fluffy deliciousness.

  It hurt because he bit his lip way too hard in anticipation. In his defense, he was a cheesemaker.

  The lob-stir bashed its meaty spoon like claws. Colby flinched.

  Again, all he felt was the pain in his lip from biting down too hard. He tasted a hint of blood. Drinking water was going to be a literal pain.

  Looking down, he saw the [Cheese Pillow] deform under the hit, only for the claw to bounce back as the lob-stir winded back for another strike. As for the lob-stabs. They just kept pushing, their spindly little legs kicking up sand as they tried their very hardest to stab him.

  Well, that was easier than expected. And a lot less bloody too—minus his lips.

  Also very anti-climactic.

  He shrugged and returned his attention to the cluster of Shell Gingers growing out of the cliffside. It took a while, but eventually he had secured the whole cluster. From his harvest, he had earned ten Shell Gingers.

  Hopefully, that would be. Probably not, but at least he knew what to do next time he came down here—bring a really sharp knife.

  Another situation.

  How was he going to get out of here?

  Colby looked at the lob-slice in his hands. It looked back at him. Then, it started thrashing even wilder.

  People normally say, “Throw caution to the wind.”

  He preferred to modify phrases to fit the situation. Colby threw the lob-stir as far away as possible. It spun in the air, landing on its feet and digging its knife claws into the sand.

  Curds! Why was that so cool?

  No time for that.

  With his Inventory opened, he stuck his other foot in, removing his [Cheese Pillow] and [Cheese Boots]—something he should’ve done much earlier in all honesty. It was a good thing he had a decent balance.

  Following which, he immediately started chucking the [Cheese Pillows] surrounding his legs into his Inventory, going from the top down. Near the bottom, it was a little bit more difficult. The lob-stabs were taken care of. They couldn’t pierce through the pillow, only creating a little tent each time they tried to poke through. The lob-stir was another problem.

  Colby wiggled his chin. Elaine did say she wanted a lob-stir for its meaty claws. As a good friend and an apology for jumping off a roof, he’d get her a fresh one.

  He bent down and picked up the lob-stir using his [Cheese Pillows]. The lob-stabs could have the remaining ones, especially those stuck to their claws. Consider it compensation for the Shell Gingers—oh, and for kidnapping their friend. That seemed like a fair deal.

  Without even a second thought, Colby dashed off back towards the cove. His arms were stretched out far in front of him as a thrashing lob-stir, smacked his [Cheese Pillows] silly.

  Eventually, he made it back to the cove where he found Elaine and Porter sitting right by the pot. A bunch of wood was underneath it as flames licked at the metal’s edge. Elaine had her sword inside the pot, using it to stir the mixture.

  “Elaine!” he shouted.

  “Oh, Colby. You’re back. Did you find that Shell Ginger you wanted?”

  “Yup! And something else for you, too.” He shoved his hands forward, showing off the lob-stir caught within the [Cheese Pillow].

  “Honestly, did not expect you to do it.”

  “Cheese is what I’m good at, Elaine. It’s no biggie.” He shot a look at Porter, who waved at him. “Relax.”

  “Right… I’ll just take this little guy off of you.”

  Her hands gripped the [Cheese Pillow], and he immediately let go. That was her problem now, not his.

  “Oh, and Colby.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks again for earlier.”

  “The cheese or the…” He pointed his finger upwards.

  “Both,” she said, only to follow up with a sigh. “I can’t blame them entirely. Especially with the war coming up.”

  “War? Oh yeah, war. Port mentioned it earlier. Said something about supply issues down the line. Who are we going to war against?"

  “You really need to get your head out of the cheese more often.” Elaine shook her head. “And I think you mean, who am I going to war against?”

  Gross Cheese is still Cheese.