A low, guttural chittering echoed through the humid air as three goblins emerged from the dense undergrowth. Their bodies were a map of scars and grime, partially hidden by tattered loincloths that reeked of the swamp.
They brandished crude, heavy-tipped spears—stone-age weaponry that was nonetheless lethal when coated in the Maw's natural toxins. They fanned out in a primitive pincer movement, their movements surprisingly silent for creatures so wretched.
"Three targets. Low-tier, but coordinated," Rosanne noted, her eyes tracking the lead goblin's spear. "Good luck, Princess."
"Jessica, at the ready, move in if Rosalind needs assistance."
Rosalind's mana pool dipped as she converted 100 units of raw energy into a singular, concentrated point. She locked onto the lead goblin's frantic movements, her eyes narrowing.
[Void Bullet]
[-100 Mana]
A streak of grey light hissed across the clearing, moving too fast for the primitive scavenger to even blink. The void-infused mana ignored the goblin's leather rags and bone charms, punching through its forehead with terrifying ease. There was no splatter—only a perfect, circular void where the brain had been. The goblin's shriek was cut short as it crumpled into the mulch, dead before its body hit the ground.
[Goblin Scout]
[Health: 0/100]
Rosalind's pulse hammered against her ribs, but her hand remained steady. She watched the goblin's life-force extinguish with a detached, clinical fascination.
The smile that spread across her face was sharp and predatory—the expression of a princess who had realized that her mana wasn't just for show, but for the expansion and defense of the Valerian bloodline.
Rosalind didn't wait for the remaining scouts to close the gap. Her hand moved with a fluid, haunting grace, her index finger tracing a lethal arc through the humid air. Two more snaps of suppressed thunder echoed within the wind sphere as she unleashed a pair of Void Bullets in rapid succession.
[Void Bullet]
[-100 Mana]
[Void Bullet]
[-100 Mana]
The projectiles were nothing more than blurred streaks of midnight, punching through the chests of the charging goblins with such force that their momentum was instantly reversed.
They didn't just die; they were unceremoniously deleted from the path, their bodies hitting the mulch with a synchronised, heavy thud.
[Level Up]
The system notification flashed across her retinas, followed by the familiar, addictive rush of the Ascension Pulse. The 300 mana she had expended on the Void Bullets was replenished in a heartbeat, her energy bar snapping back to full with a crystalline hum.
The dull ache in her muscles from the jungle's humidity vanished, replaced by a dense, newfound power that settled into her bones. She felt her Tier-1 foundation solidify, the internal pathways of her mana-circuit widening to accommodate the increased density of her power.
"Not bad, Princess. Not bad at all," Rosanne said, her posture relaxing just a fraction. "I half-expected my brother to have coddled you, but it seems his training has teeth after all. Keep that focus. The Maw won't give you a second chance to be that precise."
Donna and Mika took point, carving a path through the treacherous undergrowth. They moved with the clinical focus of professionals, treating the jungle as a grid to be cleared.
"Scouts mean a camp," Mika noted, her voice barely a breath. "And a camp means a lord." The team tightened their formation, the realization hanging heavy in the humid air: they were no longer just passing through the Maw; they were encroaching on territory that was actively being defended.
Donna's fist snapped up, and the group froze with the practiced stillness of a Blackwell unit. She gestured toward the upper canopy, where a crude platform of woven vines and bark was perched in the crook of a massive, gnarled oak.
A goblin sentry sat within the shadow of the nest, lazily tossing blood-red berries into its maw. A shortbow leaned against the trunk beside it—a primitive tool, but lethal from that height.
"An outpost," Donna whispered, the wind sphere dampening her voice to a ghostly murmur. "If he sounds the horn, the whole dungeon will be on us in seconds."
"Rosalind, you're up," Rosanne said.
Rosalind held her position, her eyes tracking the movement of the wind through the leaves. She wasn't looking at the target; she was looking for his partner.
Knowledge passed down from tutors told her that goblins were cowards who hunted in pairs, and a second outpost hidden in the blind spot was the most common way for a "simple" mission to go south.
She scanned for more scouts or the faint vibration of another heart beating in the brush. Only when she was satisfied that the archer was truly isolated did she allow her mana to begin its cold, silent coil.
[Void Bullet]
[-100 Mana]
One moment, the archer was gorging on fruit; the next, it was a corpse. The Void Bullet was so clean that the goblin didn't even drop its berry—it simply ceased to be a living variable. It pitched forward out of the nest, its body crashing through the leaves with a muffled thud as it hit the rotting mulch of the forest floor.
By the time the first drop of blood hit the soil, the Maw's root system was already shifting, sensing the arrival of new nutrients.
"Scout rotation is our biggest variable now," Rosanne noted, gesturing for Mika and Donna to widen their sensor range.
"Goblins are predictable, but they aren't stupid—they'll notice a missing sentry within the hour. We need to sweep the remaining outposts before the next scouting patrol notices. Keep your eyes on the high-ground; I want every crow's nest neutralized before the main force even knows we've breached the perimeter."
The team moved like a scythe through the canopy, neutralizing another six outposts with the cold efficiency of a Blackwell execution.
But just as the path to the heart of the camp seemed clear, the oppressive silence of the Verdant Maw was incinerated. A guttural, low-frequency blast from a Trihorn ripped through the humid air, vibrating in the marrow of their bones.
The shadows of the jungle, once still, suddenly erupted with the frantic chittering of a mobilized horde. The hunt was over; the war had begun.
"Retreat," Rosanne ordered, gesturing toward the dense thicket away from the blaring horn.
"We fall back to the west. Once we've recovered to our peak and the Maw settles back into a false sense of security, we'll return to burn that camp to the roots. Move—while we still have the shadows to hide our path."
The stealth-favorable density of the Verdant Maw was being systematically dismantled. Every goblin scouting party was now bolstered by a Goblin warrior—vicious combatants who prioritized visibility over stealth.
They swung heavy cleavers with tireless, rhythmic aggression, carving tunnels through the vegetation that had previously hidden the party's trail.
The girls found themselves fighting the terrain as much as the enemy; the jungle was no longer their shield, but a labyrinth of grasping briars designed to slow them down for the kill.