Amazon scouts confirmed Marion's intelligence through troop movements. The werewolf girl and the artisan dwarf received a brief yet warm welcome and stayed behind to observe the Amazons' preparations.
The atmosphere was tense yet composed. To Tashar, it held a certain spectacle—like surveying an ancient battlefield from above. In a way, that description wasn't far off. It was an ancient battlefield, albeit one in another world. The dungeon operated methodically, completing all feasible preparations. On the eve of this great battle, Tasha found herself unexpectedly idle. She drifted through the Amazonian encampments, her ghostly perspective free and unhindered—add an editor, and she could craft a documentary.
Weapons required no last-minute sharpening. The Amazons retained their warrior heritage, wielding arms as routinely as furniture. The red-nosed dwarf craftsman scurried about on his stubby legs, making final weapon adjustments before the war began. Alone, he could accomplish little. If all the dwarves of the dungeon joined in, these pre-battle modifications might yield visible results. But sending a troop of short legs through the forest was impractical, and Tasha had no intention of exposing non-combatants to potential battle damage.
All the warriors were female, the youngest even smaller than Marion. Unlike their composed elders, these girls seemed more tense and excited. They wandered about fully armed, seemingly without purpose, until their parents called them over and assigned them to escort Marion, who had nothing else to do at the moment—Tasha secretly suspected the parents simply found them too bothersome. At first, the werewolf girl felt awkward, but she soon bonded with the group of warriors her age, chattering away like a bunch of high school girls.
"I got this bow from my mom. She hunted a bear with it," declared the oldest girl, holding her longbow upright—it stood nearly as tall as she was. "The limbs and shaft are beech wood. I only started being able to handle it last year."
"A longbow is too much for me yet," "The youngest girl shrugged, holding a short bow barely over a meter long. "Dad made this for me. He always thinks I'm not ready yet. Maybe after this time, I can convince him."
"I've never used a bow before," Marion touched her nose. "Being able to focus on enemies from afar sounds amazing... I've only ever been chased by arrows."
"If you plan to stay, you'll learn how reassuring it is to have an archer watching your back." Someone chuckled.
They sensed Marion's curiosity. An orphan took down her bow and arrow, explaining how she crafted her own set and how bows and arrows functioned on the battlefield. She detailed how to shape quality beech wood into a bow, the ideal tension for the string, and how deer sinew and antlers made a piece of wood nearly indestructible. They showed the calluses on their hands and the cloth strips wrapped around their fingertips—these helped grip the string and protected their fingers from the high-speed silk, which could become razor-sharp. Someone mentioned ancient legends of Amazons using abyssal spider silk for bowstrings, enabling them to strangle foes at close range.
They even let Marion try the bow behind the adults' backs. Her utterly terrible shot nearly pierced someone's ankle. Marion jumped in fright, while the nearly-killed blonde girl burst into laughter. "Of course I dodged that slow arrow," she said. "You shoot worse than I did when I first started—and I was the worst archer among us."
"I'll never be an archer," Marion admitted sheepishly.
She turned instead to show her peers her weapons, telling them how she'd taken these two daggers from the body of a slave trader's guard. The girls huddled around her, marveling at both the blades and the tale. They'd all hunted animals to some extent, but none had ever fought an enemy from outside. "We just haven't had the chance, you know. We don't go out much." The blonde girl grimaced, gesturing with her thumb toward the adults in the tents behind them. She declared everyone would gain something from this battle and vowed to become a warrior wielding sword and shield herself someday—though she wasn't old enough yet. Amazon warriors fought hand-to-hand with enemies, shielding the archers behind them. They possessed greater courage and faced higher mortality rates; young children weren't permitted to serve in that role.
But young children shouldn't be archers either. They shouldn't be on the battlefield, killing or being killed. Tashar listened to the girls discuss battle with the same lightheartedness they'd use for a spring outing, thinking perhaps only an outsider like her could feel such weighty emotions about it. Those directly involved sounded cheerful and proud—proud to have survived, proud of the challenges ahead. To accuse these uniquely situated individuals of being combative was like mocking starving people for choosing to eat tree bark to survive, while pity felt so shallow.
"What's in that pouch?" Marion asked.
"Spare bowstrings. If it rains here, the ones that get wet and lose tension need replacing." "Above it is a tooth from an Angaroth lion—pretty, huh? What's that around your neck? A hunting souvenir? A wolf's fang?"
"It is a souvenir," Marion said, pursing her lips. "It was my mother."
"Oh..." The blonde girl responded blankly, seemingly slow to grasp the meaning, until the oldest girl nudged her with an elbow. A look of understanding spread among the girls, many of whose gazes now settled back on Marion's erect wolf ears, just as they had when they first met. Marion clutched her necklace, staring stiffly at the ground, tension building again. After a moment of silence, the blonde girl suddenly removed the lion tooth ornament from her bag and pressed it into Marion's hand.
"It's yours!" she declared. "Don't refuse it. I'll hunt for another one later anyway."
Marion clutched the pendant as if it were scorching hot. Tasha imagined a child forced to accept a red envelope against their parents' wishes might look exactly like this: equally torn between wanting it and wanting to refuse, frozen in place, utterly at a loss. So Tasha kindly stepped in as the magnanimous parent. Patting Marion's shoulder, she whispered just loud enough for her to hear: "Take it. Remember to say thank you."
"Thank you," Marion said hurriedly, her eyes darting to her pockets in search of something to offer in return.
"No need!" declared the eldest girl.
"Yes need!" chimed in the blonde girl with a grin. " Can I touch your ears?"
"Oh, yes!" Marion said gratefully. So the excited girls took turns touching her ears, each one leaving satisfied.
Compared to the girls' lighthearted atmosphere, the elders' side was much quieter.
Those older warriors bearing man-made scars had clearly fought more than just animals. Their movements were sharp and precise, carrying an aura of lethality. Some men in crisp cloth armor helped the female warriors adjust their gear, while others swiftly packed their belongings. Nearly everyone was busy. Tashan observed two types of warriors: one wore light leather armor, carrying longbows and quivers; the other sported chainmail, small round shields edged with iron, and sharp short swords. This suggested two distinct units: highly mobile longbowmen and close-quarters combat warriors, both appearing thoroughly professional.
These Amazon warriors did not sport flowing locks; most wore neat, short haircuts. Those with longer hair tied it securely, ensuring it wouldn't obstruct their vision during leaps and sprints. Their helmets fit snugly to their heads, devoid of ornamentation. The archers' armor was lighter than the melee fighters', but cloth tunics and leggings covered their limbs. Though the fabric offered little protection, it shielded them from forest pests and could slightly deflect grazing arrows. Their full gear didn't quite match Tasha's imagination, yet upon reflection, it made perfect sense.
Her previous notions of jungle warriors came solely from movies and game posters. Tasha mused. In reality, where would you find "male warriors clad in iron armor while female warriors roam in steel bikinis"? If warriors truly exposed their thighs, stomachs, and chests—all vulnerable points—on the merciless battlefield, while letting long hair blow wildly into their faces, they'd likely be dead.
On the third day, the ghost trailing the human forces brought news: the army had arrived in full force at the forest's edge.
This army arrived later than anticipated, infantry and cavalry dragging their supply trains as they plodded toward the entrance of the Angarass Forest. Their presence was formidable, soldiers brimming with morale, their numbers several times greater than the Amazons'. Had this been an open battlefield without cover, they would have won even with sheer numbers alone.
But this was no flat plain suited for cavalry charges. Angarsu Forest was no small grove easily traversed. Tashu, like the Amazon scouts, found it puzzling. What use was such a massive, yet utterly immobile force against Amazons capable of guerrilla warfare within the forest?
They halted before the forest, hurling torches and flaming oil into the thicket. The Amazons concealed within sneered. As expected, the flames flickered briefly before dying out.
Unlike the climate on the other side of Angaroth, the air and soil here were far more humid. You simply couldn't burn down a moist forest crisscrossed by numerous streams. The commander quickly grasped this and issued a new order: Cut down the trees.
It sounded like a joke, yet the army began doing just that. A significant number of soldiers pulled out axes and began hacking away at every tree in sight. They set fire to those that would burn and felled those too damp to ignite. A third of the soldiers wielded axes, while the rest handled camp setup and sentry duty. Officers sipped tea in their tents, smugly discussing the forest devil's impending demise.
"Are you kidding me?" Tasha heard the Amazonian exclaim in disbelief.
From a human perspective, it was like destroying an entire forest to catch a few pests. The human army hadn't even encircled this vast forest. Did they truly believe that cutting down trees would shatter their enemy's advantage, guaranteeing victory and allowing them to sweep the foe into a net?
The absurdity was so overwhelming it defied criticism. For a moment, Tasha stood speechless alongside the Amazonian scouts lurking at the forest's edge, watching only as the soldiers diligently set to work felling the trees.