Chương 87: Interlude: The Spider

Flint moved through the forest with the steady confidence of a man who believed the woods belonged to him. And, truthfully, they practically did. The grizzled ex-adventurer had been running raids along this stretch of forest for nearly a year now. Long enough to learn every trail, every blind corner, every desperate route refugees took when fleeing the Auric Empire. Especially now. War tension had settled over the Empire like a sickness.

Families fled from the larger cities daily, trying to disappear into smaller border towns before conscription or famine reached them. And frightened people made easy prey. The rich hired guards. The poor hired hope. Hope died quickly in these woods. Flint's group killed the men for experience and whatever coin they carried. The women were useful for far longer. The children sold well enough if they survived long enough. Simple business.

The underbrush crunched softly beneath heavy boots as the group advanced through the trees, several of the men already talking in low voices about what they planned to buy after the next haul. Or who they planned to break. Then Tom suddenly raised a hand. The scout crouched low against a tree trunk, listening.

"I hear someone ahead." The grin spreading across his scarred face was immediate and disgusting.

"Woman. Singin'." Several of the men perked up instantly. Flint's own expression darkened into interest, though he kept his excitement quieter than the others.

"Alone?" he asked. Tom nodded.

"Dumb bitch is sittin' in a clearin'. Ain't heard nobody else. No horses neither." That gave Flint pause. Just for a moment. A woman sitting alone in the middle of the forest, singing to herself. That smelled wrong. Could be bait. Could be a mage. Could be one of those things pretending to be human long enough to get close. The woods had a few monsters clever enough to wear human skin. Unfortunately, none of the others seemed remotely concerned.

Most were already grinning amongst themselves, imagination racing faster than common sense ever could. Idiots. Still… Flint couldn't afford hesitation. Not here. Fear was dangerous among men like these. The moment a bandit leader looked uncertain, somebody started thinking about knives in the dark and easier leadership opportunities. So Flint spat into the dirt and jerked his head forward.

"Spread out," he growled quietly.

"If it smells wrong, we cut loose immediately. I ain't dyin' because you bastards got distracted by a pretty face." A few rough laughs answered him. The unease in his gut remained as they advanced through the trees toward the distant sound of singing. As they approached, Flint began to hear it as well. The voice was soft and controlled, beautiful in a way that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. And the words— The words sent a slow chill crawling down his spine.

"Step a little closer, won't you? The night is patient still~" Branches crunched beneath heavy boots as the bandits pushed through the undergrowth. The last light of dusk filtered weakly through the trees above, staining the forest in dim gold and deepening shadow.

"Every path you thought was yours, was always mine to fill~" The song drifted lazily between the trunks, reverberating faintly through bark and leaves as though the forest itself carried the melody onward.

"The woods are deep with borrowed dark, the branches lean and twine…~" Then they stepped through the treeline into the clearing, and saw her. A tall woman sat calmly amidst the dusk-lit grass, fingers trailing slowly through the blades as if caressing them affectionately. Short brown hair framed her face, so dark it bordered on black beneath the fading evening light.

"And all the roads you swore were free, were measured out in line~" She was beautiful. Not soft or delicate. Sharp in a mature, dangerous sort of way. Long dark lashes framed striking blue eyes, while angular features and deep red lips gave her an oddly composed appearance despite being alone in the middle of the forest. Simple clothing clung tightly enough to accentuate her full figure, immediately dragging Flint's thoughts somewhere ugly.

In one hand rested an ornate porcelain spool, empty of thread and framed delicately in gold. Expensive. Very expensive. He inspected her instantly. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Apprentice Seamstress (Level 16 | Tier 1) Race: Human ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ The tension in his chest eased slightly at the revealed level. Not harmless, but manageable. Caution slowly curdled into hunger. A beautiful woman. Alone. Practically delivered right into his hands. A greasy smile spread across Flint's scarred face.

"You wandered where the silence hums, where threads are drawn so fine…~""You thought you chose your way through dark, but every step was mine~" Flint stepped forward slightly, amusement creeping into his voice.

"That's some mighty fine singin', lady." His eyes crawled openly across her body.

"If ya want maybe ya oughta come back to camp with us. Could entertain the boys a little." His grin widened further.

"In… many ways." Several of the men snickered behind him. Flint chuckled too, pleased with himself. The woman stopped singing. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Slowly, deliberately, she turned toward him. Her face remained perfectly composed. Almost impassive.

"My," she said softly.

"What a rude audience, interrupting me like that." One hand lifted delicately toward her nose.

"A rather vile-smelling one as well." False bravado. An uncommon strategy, but one Flint had seen before. Act mysterious. Act calm. Pretend to be dangerous enough that lesser bandits would decide the risk was not worth the reward. Usually it worked best on inexperienced idiots and cowards. Unfortunately for her, Flint considered himself neither. Because he knew the trick. Knew that real dangerous people did not sit alone in clearings singing songs at dusk.

Inspect showed that her level was low, and nobody with the coin to purchase an item to change that would be out here hunting bandits. They always had better things to do. And even if she somehow was dangerous, his group outnumbered her badly enough that it hardly mattered. Besides, the men behind him were far too stupid to question things in the first place. They smelled weakness the moment they saw a pretty face and a low level. So they continued advancing slowly through the clearing.

Deliberately dragging things out for their own amusement. A few shouted crude suggestions toward her. Others laughed while describing exactly what they planned to do once they got their hands on her. The woman simply sat there. Calm. Then she began singing again.

"Some run fast and some run far, some hide beneath their pride… ~" Her fingers continued brushing lazily through the grass.

"But webs are patient little things. They wait. They do not chase. They bide. ~" The bandits closed in further. Flint's unease returned. Stronger this time.

"The clever ones are always best. They look so certain still…~" Nobody else noticed it. Or if they did, lust drowned it out completely.

"Right up until they finally learn, The forest has a will~" Five meters. The woman still had not moved.

"So step a little closer now. You've wandered long enough~" Three meters. Then the singing stopped. The woman smiled faintly.

"Ah," she said softly.

"The next part is my favorite." One pale hand rose delicately into the fading dusk light. Only then did Flint notice the thread. A single gray strand pulled taut against her fingertip. Thin enough to vanish against the dim forest backdrop. His stomach dropped instantly.

"It's the moment they realize," she continued calmly, "that they were caught from the beginning."

"The threads were set long before, you noticed they were touched~" She tugged gently. And the forest moved. Gray threads snapped tight from every direction at once, erupting across the clearing in a closing web so dense it blotted out the dying evening light. The last thing Flint ever saw was a metallic thread cutting through the air toward his face. ✦⋆✦⋆✦ Elizabeth dismissed the kill notifications with a lazy wave of her hand. They had been low level. That made them unimportant.

Instead, she evaluated the only result that had actually mattered. Pulling the thread had required no hesitation whatsoever. There had been no lingering disgust as bodies collapsed into ribbons of flesh and blood, no nausea at the sight of the aftermath, and no inconvenient surge of guilt once the fighting ended. Nothing. She gave a small nod.

"Test successful," she murmured.

"I can kill people without hesitation." Aureline hovered above her fingertips, calmly winding its thread back onto the porcelain spool as though retracting the strings of a puppet after the performance had ended. The clearing it left behind was considerably less elegant. Dozens of bodies lay scattered across the grass in uneven heaps, blood slowly soaking into the surrounding roots while the metallic scent of fresh gore settled heavily beneath the trees. The first insects had already begun arriving to investigate.

Elizabeth ignored the scene entirely. Her attention remained fixed on Aureline.

"As expected," she said.

"Metal-aspected thread is exceptionally effective for cutting. It warrants a permanent slot." She opened Aureline's status window and moved Metal into one of the permanent patterns, replacing Earth. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ [Aureline] [Soul Weapon] An ornate spool of ivory porcelain and gilded threadwork, created exclusively for the User Elizabeth Sterling. Aureline records, preserves, and reproduces the nature of threads woven into its core. It recognizes no other wielder.

Aureline grows alongside its wielder, expanding both its capacity and the complexity of threads it may weave. Tier I — Pattern Archive Threads infused with Aspect-aligned properties may be recorded within Aureline and reproduced thereafter. Current Patterns: • Temporary Pattern — [Empty] • Simple Patterns — [Fire] — [Ice] — [Metal] — [Lightning] — [Force] — [Wind] • Advanced Patterns — [Poison] — [Empty] Temporary patterns are overwritten upon recording a new thread.

Permanent patterns remain recorded unless manually removed. Tier II — Composite Weave Compatible simple patterns may be interwoven to artificially produce advanced-aspected threads without requiring direct acquisition of an advanced pattern. Through patience, guide the weave; through understanding, shape inevitability. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Approximately one second later, Elizabeth realized she had made a minor mistake.

"... Ah." She looked thoughtfully at the status window.

"I should have tested Earth's combinations first." The oversight was mildly unfortunate. She considered restoring the previous configuration, dismissed the idea almost immediately, and settled on the next most practical course of action instead.

"If Metal proves unremarkable, I can simply create Plasma first." Problem adjusted. She activated Composite Weave, paying only partial attention to the distant sounds of approaching footsteps and wingbeats. Her followers had apparently decided the experiment was over and were making their way down from the nearby hill where they had been instructed to observe. The available combinations were not ideal. Magnetism, produced by combining Metal and Lightning, possessed obvious utility.

Impact, formed from Metal and Force, was similarly promising. Neither, however, justified immediate testing. Plasma did. Elizabeth selected Fire and Lightning. Aureline reacted at once. Two threads emerged from the spool, one pale blue and the other metallic gray. The porcelain body rotated slowly at first before steadily accelerating as the strands twisted around one another, eventually merging into a brilliant white-blue filament that scarcely resembled matter anymore.

Heat shimmered violently around the completed thread, golden arcs of lightning snapping unpredictably into the surrounding air. Rather than a physical material, it resembled raw energy that had been persuaded—perhaps temporarily—to behave like thread. Elizabeth studied it for several seconds before arriving at what she considered an entirely reasonable conclusion. Testing plasma weaponry in the middle of a forest was probably an unnecessary risk. Aureline disappeared back into her soul a moment later.

Instead, Elizabeth turned her attention toward the Beastkin approaching the clearing. Her little semi-army. The human contingent had split from the main force the previous day, intending to establish an independent mercenary company within human territory. The Spider's Eyes. Elizabeth had neither selected the name nor formally acknowledged it. She had, however, permitted it. The arrangement remained useful.

They would continue operating throughout the human kingdoms while Elizabeth and the Beastkin traveled toward Velkhar, quietly gathering information, resources, and influence that could be called upon when necessary. An investment. The most reliable plans were never built around a single point of failure, instead being built upon multiple webs. One never knew which thread might become essential, after all. Especially when communication could occur almost instantly.

Her attention drifted briefly to the accessories she wore. A narrow silver bracelet rested against her wrist, linked to its twin currently carried by the commander of the Spider's Eyes. Together, they provided secure long-distance communication. A plain silver ring occupied one finger, concealing the results of Inspect. Both items had already justified their existence several times over.

Satisfied that her work among the corpses had concluded, Elizabeth rose smoothly to her feet while activating her armament accessory. Soft light flowed across her body. A long white coat settled neatly over her shoulders, tailored precisely to her frame and embroidered with intricate golden runes along the sleeves and collar. Beneath it appeared fitted dark trousers, while ivory gloves extended almost to her elbows.

Charcoal combat boots replaced the lighter footwear of her casual attire, their darker tone providing the only meaningful contrast against the otherwise pristine white ensemble. Elizabeth gave the outfit a brief inspection before nodding once. It concealed nearly every exposed inch of skin, provided numerous folds for concealing Aureline's threads, and incorporated both mana reinforcement and kinetic absorption runes throughout the fabric. She hadn't purchased any of it herself.

Aureline alone had consumed nearly her entire reserve of Tutorial Points. Instead, several of her more... enthusiastic followers had quietly used their own resources, purchasing equipment for her while settling for Rare and Epic gear themselves rather than acquiring lower-grade Legendary equipment. From a practical standpoint, the decision had been sound. Keeping the group's primary strategist alive generally produced better long-term outcomes than marginally increasing individual combat capability.

Elizabeth allowed herself a small measure of satisfaction. The group's cohesion remained strong. That was preferable. A faint mechanical buzzing drifted through the trees overhead. Right on schedule. Felix descended from the sky, his hummingbird-like wings beating rapidly enough to stir the bloodstained grass as he landed near the edge of the clearing. Carefully avoiding the larger piles of bodies, he lowered himself respectfully.

"My lady," he said.

"Have you finished?" At least they had finally stopped calling her queen. Elizabeth wisely kept that observation to herself. Instead, she inclined her head.

"I have. Metal is worth preserving." Felix nodded thoughtfully, mentally adjusting the schedule almost immediately.

"Understood. Lana is next, I believe. Ash Aspect?" Elizabeth confirmed with another nod.

"She has not fully mastered thread manipulation yet," Felix continued.

"I ask for your patience." Elizabeth dismissed the concern with a small wave of her hand.

"That is acceptable. Expanding Aureline's archive is a long-term objective. Maintaining our travel schedule remains the higher priority." Visible relief crossed Felix's face before giving way to something else. Hesitation. He was weighing whether the question he wanted to ask justified interrupting her. Elizabeth answered the dilemma for him.

"You may ask." Felix blinked once before straightening slightly.

"I do not mean to question your judgment," he began carefully, "but why are we taking such a large detour? The Beastkin border is only a few hours away." Elizabeth followed his gaze toward the distant hills. Beyond them lay Ironvale. Every refugee they had questioned. Every merchant willing to talk. Every rumor worth listening to. All of it pointed toward the same conclusion. Ironvale was precisely the sort of kingdom sensible people avoided whenever circumstances allowed.

"Because the border leads to Ironvale," Elizabeth replied.

"Based on the information currently available, it is not a kingdom I consider a suitable place to begin." She paused only long enough to choose the most accurate summary.

"It would introduce unnecessary complications." Understanding settled over Felix almost immediately. The question disappeared. He simply stepped behind her, posture sharpening as he resumed his usual position within the formation. Elizabeth resisted the urge to sigh. He was becoming increasingly protective. Not currently a problem. Potentially one later. She would address it if necessary. For now, there were more immediate priorities.

With a gentle sweep of her white coat, Elizabeth turned toward the forest path once more. The Beastkin fell into formation behind her without instruction. That, at least, remained reassuring. As the last light of dusk faded between the trees, the procession quietly continued toward Velkhar.