After the disastrous attack by the apes, their group was cut in half. Two soldiers stayed behind to guard the wounded while the rest pressed onward.
The ascent to the plateau was brutal. Steep and tangled with jungle, every step left them on edge, aware of the threat lurking above.
They only made it halfway before they were forced to leave their horses behind. Osmal's legs ached, lungs burning, as they finally reached the top.
He had hoped for an open clearing. His hopes were dashed. They stumbled upon the first building by accident. Years of neglect and jungle growth had not been kind.
Missing a roof, most of its walls crumbled.
Yet the ruins did nothing to dampen Tartus's mood. The man grinned ear to ear as he bent over, carefully harvesting a small flower. A rare herb, growing on the outskirts of the ruins, likely worth a fortune.
An incredible find.
It wasn't the only rare herb they found. Osmal even managed to harvest one himself, its petals pulsing with pure energy.
The discoveries were tempting, but danger lingered. Osmal's eyes darted across the jungle canopy.
His Iron Web technique ran constantly, an invisible spiderweb threading through the forest. His recent gains allowed him to maintain his invisible web longer, cast it wider—but not indefinitely. The dense jungle made it nearly impossible to maintain perfect coverage.
If something slipped through… it would be fatal.
And Osmal had the uneasy feeling this wasn't luck. Something—or someone—was probing for gaps.
He didn't like that thought. Crafty enemies were the worst.
Speaking of trouble, Tartus and his companion were up to no good. They had already confirmed the ruins existed—why push deeper?
Buntar, a middle-ranking sect member like themselves, had died a meaningless death. Buntar wasn't a friend, but he had been part of the sect. The same went for Lina. More like acquaintances, each concerned with their own goals.
Attachments were weaknesses. Friendships, love, bonds—ill-advised in the sect's rigid hierarchy. Members were chosen at a young age to instill that mindset.
Osmal could vaguely recall the faces of those once considered family. The sect had offered a few crowns, then taken him away. His family had let him go without much resistance. Too many mouths to feed, they said. Relief had been on their faces as he was taken. These days, the memories lingered like a fading dream.
It was unproductive to dwell on.
His attention snapped to one side as a tendril from his Iron Web technique was shattered. Movement at the periphery—figures emerging from above and ahead ripped his technique to shreds.
The apes were no longer subtle. They were coming head-on. He tensed as the forest came alive, monsters appearing all around them.
And then he saw it. A silver-furred ape, scarred and towering above the rest, strode into view. Its movement was gorilla-like, confident, and deliberate. Muscles bulging, power radiating from every step.
This was no ordinary ape. A Sky Beast, without question, on par with an inner disciple of the sect. Osmal took a wary step back, already planning his escape. With the gathered forces, the chances of victory were almost none. He wasn't willing to gamble his life on such terrible odds.
The monster moved almost casually on all fours. As it passed a thick brick wall, it swung an arm. The wall collapsed with a spray of rock and mortar. A casual display of strength that made more than a few soldiers take a fearful step back.
A signal.
From above and all around, nearly a dozen other apes dropped into the clearing, boxing them in.
Pausing just ahead, the silver ape let out a trilling hoot and slapped the ground. The others joined, the jungle trembling, the air vibrating with their collective roar.
Then—suddenly—they stopped.
Tartus looked almost hopeful. The silver ape stood thirty feet away, gaze inscrutable. Stepping from the group, Tartus smoothed his embroidered robes and bowed.
"Sorry if we trespassed. We will leave immediately if that is your wish," he said.
Osmal shared a glance with Captain Tommy, and Lina, who both seemed ready to run just like him. They too understood what needed to be done. The apes' aggressive stances spoke louder than words.
"Wait, what are you doing?" Tommy shouted as Tartus stepped forward, seeming oblivious.
The nobleman shrugged off Tommy's hand on his shoulder. The soldiers stood there tensely as the noble approached the towering ape. Coming up to its waist, Tartus knelt before the silver ape, bowing his head.
"We are very sorry for invading your domain. Please accept this as my sincerest apology," Tartus said, offering something from his robes: the rare herb they had found—the best find so far.
The second noble, Vana, was not so bold, not even daring to leave the spear wall. For its part, the silver ape's brows furrowed, a very human gesture.
It looked down on Tartus, eyes locked on the herb. There was a few seconds of quiet, as the apes expression changed from surprise to offended. It clearly recognized the herb, and wasn't too pleased they had ripped the valuable plant from its territory.
Tartus remained bowed, blind to the danger.
The large monster moved with surprising speed and lethal force. A sledgehammer of force smashed his head into the ground. Blood and gore spattered the monster's silver fur.
"Retreat!" Captain Tommy roared.
The soldiers didn't need repeating. Osmal and Lina led the desperate escape, piercing a hole through the apes' encirclement.
Screams of pain filled the jungle. Veteran soldiers moved as one, disciplined but frantic. The apes, surprised by the sudden, decisive retreat, could not adapt fast enough.
They ran for their lives, chased by the hooting frenzy of enraged beasts.
Osmal didn't slow. At the base of the plateau, he snapped the lead with a blade of energy and leapt into the saddle. The horses, sensing the danger, bolted down the mountain at breakneck speed.
Branches whipped into the path, threatening to unseat him. His mount handled it like a mountain goat.
At the base, the wounded scrambled onto whatever pack horses could carry them. Supplies were discarded. Death was preferable to being left behind.
By the time they reached camp, Osmal's horse was lathered in sweat. The stench of fear and blood hung heavy in the air as they prepared to flee again.
"What's going on?" Ulta asked.
"That fool Tartus got himself killed. We need to go—now," Osmal said.
They didn't need to be told twice.
The wounded were in no condition to ride properly, but they had no choice. The horses required little encouragement.
They set out immediately, the distant hooting of the apes echoing behind them. Osmal had no intention of staying for a second encounter.