Despite having no idea where he was going,

Despite the unfamiliar terrain filled with grasping branches and unknown dangers,

Even despite the woman’s mocking comments that she yelled as she followed the obvious trail he was leaving behind him,

Antchaser was calm, for several reasons.

The first was that she had yet to catch up with him. With almost two greater steps between them, she should have been faster than him. Even if the jungle terrain was slowing her down, it would also slow him down, maybe more.

Yet, if Antchaser’s assessment of the woman was correct, she was both arrogant and sadistic. This was a game to her, but Antchaser could choose what kind of game it was. If he tried to hide, she would sniff him out quickly. After all, she was apparently a scout for whatever group Icefinger had sent.

So, instead, Antchaser chose to play tag. Like a cat chasing a mouse, he hoped the woman’s personality would keep her ‘playing’ with him until help could arrive. He doubted the woman thought that would happen; she had dragged him deep into the jungle, away from the others, after all.

She likely assumed they would still be searching for him by the time she stopped playing. Not for the first time, Antchaser thanked the heavens above that he had met Alpha.

The goblin skid to a sudden halt, then took a sharp turn to the left, avoiding a particular tree. As he did, the tree’s bark rippled like fluttering cloth, and several dozen hidden cloth tendrils unwrapped themselves from the tree. They lashed out at him, but he had already escaped their range.

The traps were another problem. Antchaser would have likely been captured by the very first one… if he hadn’t noticed the bodies of spirit beasts hanging from the trees in cloth cocoons, like a morbid spider’s trophy. He wondered if the woman had set her traps to keep the jungle beasts from interrupting her ‘performance’… or if they had just been more ‘fun’ while she explored the area. He doubted she planned on collecting most of her unfortunate prey.

The hunter part of Antchaser grated at the idea. This was why he — and many of the Deep Tribes — hated Adventurers. As a whole, they were destructive and cared for nothing but what they could take from the Deep. Many of the Deep Caverns had delicate ecosystems, so their hunters were taught from the beginning to carefully select their prey and hunting grounds. Otherwise, they could cause damage that could take hundreds of years to recover from or cause the cavern to collapse entirely.

“Alpha! Please tell me they’re getting close. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up,” Antchaser said through his comm, opting to save his breath for running.

“There’s almost there! Just keep stalling her for a little longer. There’s a cliff up ahead; take a left after two hundred meters, then a right for another two hundred.” Alpha responded.

Stalling her for much longer was easier said than done. Antchaser could tell she was getting frustrated that he kept dodging all her traps. Was she unaware they released a tiny spiritual pressure every time they activated? It was small enough he doubted most would notice, but Alpha had.

Five minutes later, Antchaser’s worries were confirmed when more cloth tendrils shot at him without warning. Not from any nearby tree traps, but from above. They had whipped at him as he leaped over a fallen log, offering no chance to dodge. The strange cloth wrapped around his limbs and pulled taut, suspending him in the air.

Looking up, Antchaser could see a blurry figure standing in the canopy. The figure was tall and spindly, and Antchaser doubted its waist was thicker than Boarslayer’s biceps. Its long arms unfolded into the tendrils that bound the goblin, while more tendrils extended from its body to anchor it in the trees.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The strangest thing, however, was the fact that the cloth that apparently made up its body was so thin that the creature or puppet — or whatever it was — appeared nearly transparent.

Footsteps tore Antchaser’s gaze away from the strange sight, and he glanced down to see his pursuer walking out from behind the treeline.

Though her smile was friendly, the small twitch in the corner of her lips and the dark gleam in her eyes told a different story.

“Finally caught you, my little goblin. I’m starting to understand why Bosco lost. You’re a slippery, tricky lot, aren’t you? As expected of goblins, I guess. I bet you have the Guild fools wrapped around your little fingers, too, don’t you?”

She shook her head as if hearing some tragic news before continuing. “Don’t worry, we won’t make the same mistake.”

Antchaser knew he still had to buy time, so he did the only thing he could think of.

He laughed.

The woman’s grin turned into a frown, and her twitch intensified.

The cloth holding him in the air tightened their grip to a painful level, but Antchaser knew he had her.

“You bandits are all the same…” he said, though the woman didn’t quite catch his double meaning. “You think everything will work out in your favor just because you’re stronger. Might make right, and all that,” he chuckled.

The woman threw back her head, laughter spilling from her lips like shards of glass. “Might does make right, little goblin. That’s the nature of our world. The strong make the rules, and the weak follow them. This is a ‘Truth’ that even the Adventurers of Halirosa follow. Do you think your so-called allies wouldn’t strip your home clean if not for the treaties enforced by those stronger than them?”

The woman sneered, her lips curling with cruel amusement as she looked up at the goblin swaying from the trees. “You call us ‘bandits,’ but we’re no different from anyone else up there. At least with the Boss, you know what you’re getting. He doesn’t hide behind masks like the sects and clans. He’d rather show you the knife; makes it clear where you stand.”

Antchaser frowned. Her words gnawed at him, unsettling as they were. She was mad — clearly unstable — but he couldn’t deny that she wasn’t entirely wrong. At the end of the day, his village would end up as little more than subjects or pawns in the games of the powerful, regardless of who held the reins. Whether it was Icefinger’s gang or the so-called righteous sects, it hardly differed to people like them.

The woman’s grin widened as she saw the understanding play on his face. Her voice turned honeyed, but the sweetness only deepened the poison. “Icefinger won’t pretend. He’ll take what he wants, and you’ll know the price. Halirosa? They’ll slowly weave their threads around you until nothing’s left of your village but what they can use.” The woman once more tightened Antchaser’s bindings, as if to emphasize her point. “So tell me? Who’s the real bandits in that scenario?”

Antchaser ground his teeth. He knew that. Everyone in the village knew that. Yet, what other choice did they have? Sure, Halirosa offered protection — on paper, at least — through the Deep Tribe treaties. But treaties could be broken, rewritten, and twisted to serve the strong. It had happened before and doubtless would again.

Or… rather, that would have been the situation. But things weren’t as simple. Neither Icefinger’s men nor Halirosa knew that the village already had a ‘master.’ With the Dungeon Core’s help, they wouldn’t have to be just another piece in the game. They could step up to the table as equals.

And that thought alone made Antchaser’s frown twist into a grin.

The woman’s face changed, warping her beautiful face into a twisted visage. She snapped her fingers, and Antchaser’s bindings snapped up, twisting his limbs into a hateful configuration. If bindings had better leverage, Antchaser didn’t doubt all four of his limbs would have snapped. The goblin screamed in pain, but his cry quickly became gargled laughter.

The sound only enraged the woman further. When she spoke, the honey had fled her voice, replaced with a seething fury.

“Fine! Have it your way, goblin. My only regret... is that you won’t be around to see what I do to your people,” she said. Antchaser’s bindings slowly — ever so slowly — twisted further, as if the woman was intent on making his end as painful as possible.

Yet, even so, Antchaser continued to laugh.

“Ya, I doubt that,” he said between bouts of laughter and screams of pain.

The woman clenched her teeth so hard at the sight that Antchaser could see a thin trail of blood leak from her lips.

“And why’s that?” she hissed. “Do you have an army of goblins hiding behind the trees to stop me?!”

Antchaser took several deep, gasping breaths, then looked up at the woman and grinned, even as sweat poured down his face.

“I don’t need an army… I have a Boarslayer.”

The woman furrowed her brow and opened her mouth to speak.

The next instant, a four-meter long, meter-wide log blurred through the trees and slammed into the woman from her right, sending her hurling away.