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Just then, Nightingale and Kestrel emerged from the depths of the tribe.
In Nightingale's hands were several crystal vials, faintly glowing with an inner light. Her expression was as cool and detached as always, untouched by the gazes upon her. Kestrel trailed behind her, her face alight with wonder, the excitement of having just glimpsed a world far beyond her imagination.
The two of them approached Sargeras and gave a slight nod. His eyes lingered briefly on the crystal vials she carried before he gave the smallest of approving inclinations with his chin.
"These will serve as compensation for the offense just now," he said in a tone that was calm and without inflection.
For a fleeting moment, a trace of pain flickered in Trom's eyes, but it was swiftly concealed and buried deep within.
"Then," Sargeras said as his gaze swept toward the dark and endless forest, "what we need next is a supply of fresh Acromantula venom. Chief Trom, can you guide us? The quicker the path, the better."
"Acromantulas are exceedingly dangerous. I can…" Trom's eyes wandered over his warriors, as though weighing whether to send some of them to guide the way.
"That will not be necessary," Sargeras cut him off before the thought could form into words. His voice remained steady and quiet, leaving no room for objection. "You need only show us the direction, and describe the most obvious markers along the path. We do not require an escort."
The centaur chieftain hesitated for a long breath before finally raising his arm to point toward the shadowed depths of the forest.
"Follow that ancient trail smothered in vines. Keep east until you come upon three strangler figs twisted together as one. At the hollow beneath their roots, the largest of the three, turn there and descend into the ravine. That is where their nests are thickest."
Sargeras gave a single nod. Without another word, the three sorcerers turned and departed.
"Be careful…" Trom called after their fading figures, his voice weighted with warning. "The spiders' eyes are everywhere, and their fangs strike as swiftly as lightning."
The three forms vanished into the forest, swallowed by the heavy shadows of the trees, until only the suffocating silence of the tribal clearing remained, broken by the sound of strained and uneasy breaths.
Trom stood rooted in place, his gaze fixed on the path where the wizards had disappeared, unmoving for a long while. Elder Kakus stepped up beside him, his expression dark with both worry and anger.
"Trom! You are playing with fire! To trade with wizards, and worse still, to let them stir up those Acromantula? If they die in there…"
"Then it proves they are no better than that," Trom interrupted him coldly. "And our troubles will be solved."
"But if they succeed…" His voice faltered for a moment before dropping lower, heavier. "Then we will be forced to face an even more terrifying reality. Not only might we need to 'trade' with him, we may even have to rely on his 'protection.' For survival, Kakus, a price must always be paid."
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Following the path Trom had described, the darkness around them grew thicker and heavier, pressing in from all sides as though it were a living thing intent on suffocating them.
Twisted vines hung down from the towering ancient trees, pale and lifeless like the bones of enormous serpents. The path beneath their feet was long since buried under layers of sodden leaves and slick moss. Each step sank with a damp squelch, the sound oddly sharp in the silence, making the heart jolt.
"Um…" Kestrel's voice broke the stillness, abrupt and a little strained, carrying a thread of nervousness. "Acromantula… are they really as big as the books say?"
Sargeras did not look back. His voice drifted forward in the same calm, even tone as always. "A fully grown specimen is usually about the size of an automobile."
Kestrel swallowed hard. Her mind conjured at once the illustrations from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, those grotesque, nightmarish spiders magnified a hundredfold until they filled the imagination with horror.
"Relax, Iresha," Nightingale's voice cut through the air from the other side, cool and smooth as flowing ice. There was the faintest trace of teasing hidden beneath her calmness. "Their size depends on their age and the abundance of food. And in a place like this…" She paused deliberately, letting her words linger in the air. "I imagine the nourishment is plentiful enough."
What was meant as comfort only made Kestrel feel worse. Instead of relief, a cold weight settled deeper in her chest.
"Sister Nightingale," Kestrel could not keep herself from asking again, "have you… collected Acromantula venom many times before?"
"A few times." Nightingale's reply was as concise as her manner always was. "Most of the time I purchased it directly. This isn't something you can easily come across elsewhere."
"Acromantula venom is classified as a Grade A restricted commodity," Sargeras added in an offhanded tone. "It falls under the strict supervision of the magical ministries of every nation and is completely forbidden in international trade."
"They must be very dangerous then?" Kestrel pressed, her voice tight, as though clinging to the hope that the experience of her seniors might offer even a sliver of reassurance. Yet the tremor in her tone betrayed her unease.
Nightingale was silent for a moment, as if reaching back into memory. When she finally spoke, her words came low and deliberate. "Extremely dangerous. And loud. Their screeches tear through the air, sharp enough to make your ears ache. And they move faster than you would ever expect."
Her eyes slid briefly to Kestrel's hand, which was clenched tight around her wand. "They're carnivorous magical beasts. They actively hunt large prey… including humans. And they're clever. Smarter than you want them to be. They can understand and carry out complex commands, and they know how to work together in packs to bring down their quarry."
"So powerful?" Kestrel's eyes widened, shock flashing across her face. A chill crept down her back, leaving her with the unsettling feeling that unseen things were already watching her from the shadows.
"After all, they're a XXXXX-class magical beast, the highest danger rating," Sargeras interjected without turning his head. "They pose a severe threat even to trained wizards. They cannot be tamed, nor can they ever be safely controlled."
The three of them moved forward cautiously, skirting strands of spider silk that dangled from the branches overhead. Each thread glistened faintly in the dim light, delicate yet strong enough to bind prey.
The air grew damp and cold, laced with a cloying sweetness that could not mask the stench of rot and blood.
The ground began to slope downward, drawing them deeper into the forest. Around them, the trees twisted into grotesque shapes, their bark smothered beneath thick mats of gray-white, hairlike fungi, the very source of the miasma Trom had warned them about.
Nightingale stopped abruptly. She raised her wand, its faint glow cutting forward through the gloom. "Strangler figs."
Three ancient giants loomed ahead, their trunks wrapped and knotted together in a grotesque embrace. Massive buttress roots jutted outward like ribs, enclosing a shadowed hollow at their base. The opening gaped wide, dark and bottomless, like the maw of some buried beast waiting patiently for prey to wander in.
Along the edges of the hollow hung tatters of webbing, gray with dust and neglect, like the remnants of a forgotten shroud.
"Turn here. Downwards," Sargeras confirmed, his voice still calm and unwavering.
He was the first to step toward the hollow, the light at the tip of his wand dispelling a small patch of gloom at the entrance. It revealed a steep incline, slick with moss and tangled roots, a path that plunged sharply into the earth.
What awaited at the valley floor was a scene pulled straight from nightmare.
The pale gray miasma drifted low around their ankles like strips of gauze, veiling everything in a restless haze. Visibility shrank to almost nothing.
The pale gray miasma drifted low around their ankles like strips of gauze, veiling everything in a shifting haze. Visibility dropped to almost nothing.
From the skeletons of ancient, long-dead trees, countless strands of spider silk hung suspended. They were fine as fishing nets, yet layered one upon another until they formed enormous curtains that swayed faintly in the stagnant air.
The stench was suffocating. Every breath carried a sickly sweetness threaded with rot and blood, thick enough to churn the stomach and force it to rebellion.
And then, in the silence, it began. The faint, wet rustling of something dragging itself through slime. The sounds came from every direction at once, slithering beneath the miasma and through the webs. The noise burrowed into their ears, needling every nerve, a quiet promise that they were not alone.
Kestrel stiffened. She felt something icy trace its way slowly up her spine. She couldn't tell if it was terror crawling through her veins or if something truly had brushed against her in the dark.
All at once, the light from their three wands winked out. Darkness surged over them like a rising tide, swallowing everything in an instant.
Kestrel's heart slammed against her ribs, pounding so violently she thought it might burst straight from her throat. She forced herself to adjust to the absolute blackness, straining to catch even the faintest sounds. The only guide she had was the near-imperceptible rustle of Sargeras and Nightingale moving carefully ahead.
"Eyes…" Nightingale's voice was soft as a whisper, right beside Kestrel's ear. "They're everywhere."
Kestrel widened her eyes as much as she could. From high above, a sliver of moonlight filtered weakly through gaps in the forest canopy. And with that dim, silvery glow, she finally saw it.
Behind the vast curtains of web, deep in the twisted tangles of roots, and in the shadowed crooks of branches overhead… hundreds upon hundreds of faint green lights blinked to life.
The eyes of the Acromantula!
They glimmered in clusters, cold and greedy, gazes fixed unblinking on the trespassers. The lights flickered in and out as the massive bodies shifted within the dark, until it seemed as if the entire forest was breathing around them.
"Merlin's beard…" Kestrel sucked in a sharp breath. Her voice shook so badly the words tumbled out uneven, almost breaking apart. The suffocating sense of being trapped clawed at her chest, as though she had fallen headfirst into a jar filled with spiders.
"Calm down!" Sargeras' voice cracked like ice, hard and commanding. The tone left no room for hesitation or disobedience. With a silent flick of his wand, a spell washed over Kestrel, choking her voice to nothing. Her mouth gaped in panic, but not a sound emerged.
Sargeras gave her a single glance, cold as a winter tide sweeping across stone.
Kestrel froze. She knew that look all too well. Whenever Sargeras became truly serious, it meant there would be consequences if she faltered. If she embarrassed herself here, she would not escape his judgment afterward.
Sargeras turned away from her without another word, his attention shifting to Nightingale. "What kind of target do you need?"
"Not the freshly molted ones, and not the juveniles." The faint glow of Nightingale's wand lit her beautiful features. "A healthy adult is best. The older, the better."
"Then we still need to go deeper," Sargeras said simply. "The outer rings are only home to hatchlings or those barely come of age."
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[Chapter End's]
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