“Why?” Sir Kylen repeated, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yes,” Rosslyn replied patiently. “Why exactly did you decide to enter the dungeon in the first place? You never intended to purge it, clearly. What made it an appealing idea?”

What made it worth risking your knights’ lives?

“I wanted the glory of exploration,” he admitted. “To have a story to tell and to go where none had explored before.”

In some sense, that sentiment was admirable. In a vacuum.

“Did anyone die in your exploration?” she asked, trying to speak the words as lightly as she could.

“Two men,” he admitted in a small voice. “There were also a few wounded, but the mages were able to mend them.”

“I thought a few might have died,” Rosslyn said, nodding. “If you had said ‘no,’ I would have asked how you knew the strixes ate human flesh and blood.”

He nodded. “I am nothing if not honest,” he said, his tone slightly reproachful.

You forgot about reckless, she thought.

“Do you mind if I examine your sword, Sir Kylen?” she asked.

He visibly hesitated, and she tried to make her expression as disarming as possible. Finally, he reached down to the sword at his side, drew it from its scabbard, and handed it over to her.

Just as I thought.

“What do you think?” he asked, eyes scanning her face for approval.

“A beautiful weapon,” she said, smiling with fake appreciation.

The balance is terrible, the hilt is covered in mother of pearl, and the blade itself is silver. Not only that, but it looks new. Not a single nick or scratch on the blade. Clearly it has never been used in anger. And whoever made it for him undoubtedly designed it with that in mind.

There was something about the condition of the blade that made Rosslyn angrier than she already had been. It took her a moment to consciously put her finger on it. A weapon like this is not made for war. Is this how nobles from the interior think of combat? A chance to show off their shiny precious metals? An opportunity to win prizes, rather than a serious matter that they have to train for?

Claustria had enjoyed several centuries of peace, it was true. In those times, the Demon Empire had been essentially inactive. Intelligence reports had indicated that they were dealing with internal squabbles for much of that time. Unrest in their eastern colonies, a weak emperor, a small-scale civil war when one potential heir decided to move up the line of succession.

This had been a prosperous time for the border kingdoms, but apparently the Claustrian Royal Family had been aware of something that their nobles had forgotten: it wouldn’t and couldn’t last.

And the entire purpose of the noble class’s existence was to be prepared for war.

“Is this the same weapon that you carried with you into that dungeon?” Rosslyn asked.

Sir Kylen hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding.

“Hm. Well, it truly is gorgeous. Whoever made it has a great eye.” She raised her gaze from the sword to look him in the eyes. “Did you kill anything with it?”

“Oh, yes,” he lied. “I slew three kobolds. No, four! A goblin as well. I—”

“Why are you lying?” She spoke the words as a whisper, but Sir Kylen looked as if he had been slapped in the face.

“No, truly, I—”

Rosslyn shook her head firmly, and he stopped mid-sentence.

She swallowed down the lump in her throat. She was between sadness and anger. Both emotions were intense. She felt sad for Sir Kylen, because he had truly wanted to make a good impression on her. He told the story, not boastfully, but with an eye toward her reactions. Doubtless, he thought that a story like this would make him look good. It spoke to the values with which he had been raised. She did not for a moment blame Sir Kylen for being the way he was.

On the other hand, it made her violently angry to think of this idiot ever leading troops in battle. She pictured the men who had chosen to enlist in the army and had served under her. From the oldest, most grizzled sergeant to the boys several years younger than she was, many of whom were too young to grow a beard. They were good men and boys, brave and loyal. Eager to serve their country. She imagined them dying because they were led by someone as inexperienced and ruinous as Sir Kylen.

Who knighted this boy, anyway? If she could answer this question, she felt as if she would understand a little more of what had gone wrong in the formation of his character.

“Princess, I fear we might be getting off on the wrong foot somehow,” Sir Kylen began again.

“No, Sir Kylen, but thank you,” Rosslyn replied. “I have learned much from our short interview. Please tell your father that I enjoyed our meeting. I wish you safe travels on your journey home.”

She rose from her seat, and Sir Kylen, caught off guard, sat for a moment, expression panicked. Finally, he rose and bowed almost apologetically.

“Your Highness,” he said. He turned away, toward the door. Then he looked back at Rosslyn, obviously uncertain about the proper protocol for leaving.

Rosslyn’s maid, Celeste, stepped into view from the position by the wall where she had been standing motionless for the duration of the conversation. She walked to the door and delivered two short, crisp knocks. Then she curtsied to Sir Kylen and Rosslyn before returning to her place.

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The door opened, and Sir Kylen darted out as if he was being chased.

Then the door closed again.

“What did you think?” Rosslyn asked quietly.

“It is not this humble servant’s place to offer such opinions,” Celeste responded immediately.

Rosslyn waited. This was the game they always played. She felt a little impatient today, but she knew that it was important to Celeste to at least pretend to observe protocols.

“However, if Your Highness were to command me to offer my thoughts—”

“Consider yourself commanded.” The corner of Rosslyn’s lip twitched. The encounter with Sir Kylen had put her in a bad mood, but there was always something weirdly amusing for her in Celeste’s ways.

“I should think that our Princess is well rid of the foppish young knight.”

“He was a little too attentive to his appearance,” Rosslyn agreed. Though that was not my problem with him. “What do you suppose my father will think?” she asked.

At this, Celeste fell silent. After a few seconds of slightly tense silence, she began clearing the table. The Princess did not press her servant to answer the question. She didn’t need to hear Celeste’s response to know what she would say. I dare not speculate as to the mind of the King.

—

Adon lay in wait, perfectly still even as the ants approached closer and closer to the trap he’d laid.

Even his unruly stomach seemed to recognize the gravity of the situation and remained silent.

His hearing hadn’t grown any sharper, but it had always been better than his sight by far. And it was the sound of the ants’ movements that told him they were his.

First, he heard the light rhythmic sounds of their marching as they came within the short range of his senses. Then the ground above him and just to the left vibrated with their movements. This area was, he knew, where the remains of the Ladybug Larva lay. He heard a slightly subdued sound of the ants working diligently, patiently on cutting the corpse into transportable pieces. Gentle crunchy sounds that reminded Adon of a knife cutting into celery.

Then there was pandemonium. The sounds of panicked movements, first in one location near Adon’s body, then in multiple places. Clunky noises of rocks moving gently up and down as the ants tried to pull away from the webbing, which Adon had secured to rocks too big for them to properly lift.

Perfect. Or at least good enough. It was time for him to get out there.

Adon pulled himself out of his hole, and he was delighted to find the ants almost all stuck fast, and only getting more entangled as they struggled to help each other and free themselves.

Only one ant remained free of the sticky silk, trying unsuccessfully to yank one of its siblings off of Adon’s web.

At first, none of them noticed him.

He suspected that either their attention spans or their eyes were more lacking than his own. Or perhaps the manic loyalty he’d seen when so many of them were trapped in the spider’s web was to blame.

Adon had time to sneak around and cut off their retreat. He knew which way the ant hill was now. There would be no backup this time.

Then he crept up behind the only ant that wasn’t entangled in the trap. He was just inches away when the ant noticed him and turned to face him. Adon pounced upon it and broke its body in half with one chomp of his mandibles. No hesitation this time.

He swallowed the half with the head on it first, then the lower half.

Juicy and delicious, he thought.

But that first ant had just stopped him from losing Health due to hunger. His stomach rumbled quietly, demanding more. His eyes played greedily over the other ants trapped in his silk.

So hungry…

Adon was desperately glad to have this captive banquet. He walked from one ant to the next in a feeding trance.

Munch munch. Chomp chomp. Gobble gobble. Gulp.

Before he knew it, the handful of ants were all dead and gone. Nothing was left of them but a slight odor. He was dimly aware they had tried to defend themselves as they usually did. Spraying a vinegary gas into the air. But it didn’t seem to have affected him as much as it had the day before. Maybe he was toughening up because he was growing, or developing a resistance. Then again, perhaps he was just too hungry to care.

There was still some irritation around his antennae, but all Adon could think about was where his next meal would come from. He was still far from full. And he thought his body would continue to burn a fair amount of Biomass as it finished regenerating his lost leg. The description for that Adaptation had mentioned that it consumed Biomass. Even if it hadn’t, common sense would have told him as much. And he had other, more long term planning reasons why he needed to think about food as soon as possible.

Adon had already decided that he wanted to return to the spider’s home. He didn’t want to do it just yet, but it seemed like the obvious play. Goldie knew what she was doing. She had an elegant, beautiful web for its home, and that housing was also a plentiful food source.

Adon now had the Silk Spinner Adaptation himself. His best effort at creating a web trap with the slenderest threads he could make looked crude, even to his shoddy eyes, but it had also been incredibly effective. Its multiple applications had saved his life repeatedly.

If the spider was my teacher, how much more effective could I be?

Before he returned, though, he wanted to buy Telepathy I from the Evolution Store. Just as important, he wanted to be bigger and stronger than he had been last time, in case the spider thought of him as a nuisance or a meal. If he was bigger than her, she at least wouldn’t pick a fight, he hoped. She had been docile last time, but he didn’t know if that was because of all the ants he’d just thrown into her lap.

Accruing Evolution Points and accumulating Biomass to increase his size both required the same thing: securing more food.

So, do I risk pissing off the whole ant colony to get some more yummy ants, or do I hunt elsewhere for food?

It didn’t take him long to decide. The ants were so easy to overcome and so nutritious that it was almost a no brainer. And he could at least predict their behavior by now. If worse came to worst, he would lead them back to the spider’s web like he’d planned before. He could try to present them as a gift.

The devil you know, right? That strategy hadn’t worked out perfectly for him last time, but he pushed that fact to the back of his mind.

Adon could still dimly smell the scent trail the dead ants had laid down to remind themselves to come back for more yummy Ladybug Larva. He knew that based on the way ants behaved, more ants would return to the site soon enough.

So I just have to move a little bit forward from the place where all the death happened, so the ants don’t smell it and get spooked, he decided. The silk he’d been using was a bit damaged where the ants had struggled and then been eaten anyway.

He began consuming the webbing he’d laid down before, just to let no Biomass go to waste. He remembered that spiders could do that, so he figured he should be able to as well.

It tasted a lot like the leaf he’d eaten before: bland, but inoffensive. Less like salad this time, more like pasta without any sauce or seasoning.

He stepped around six inches forward from the zone of death and began stringing up a trap between nearby plant stems.

He spun the thinnest silk strands he could manage, to make them as nearly invisible as possible, stuck to the stablest objects he could find.

Once again, Adon waited, hiding this time behind some tufts of grass.