The spider nest lay inside a natural cave in the valley. Thick， gray dust—actually countless layers of matted spider silk—clung to the dry vines that draped over the entrance.

  The adventurers had cleared every dead branch and shrub outside the cave mouth， leaving a wide open area ringed with bonfires to serve as the battlefield against the giant spiders. On both sides of the entrance stood rows of sharpened wooden stakes， positioned to prevent the creatures from breaking out in any other direction.

  Given a few more hours， the party could have fortified the position even further， but the mage had no intention of waiting.

  Renato and the other six adventurers spread out across the clearing. Each fighter who would serve as the main line against the spiders had several sharpened stakes planted at their feet. The three armed with long-pole weapons took position on either side of the cave mouth， ready to stop any spider that managed to slip past the stakes.

  Crossbows were loaded. Renato raised his shield and gripped a javelin in his right hand， poised and alert. Behind him， the mage began to cast.

  From nowhere the mage produced a metal box and set it on the ground—further confirmation， in Renato’s mind， that the man possessed some kind of spatial storage item.

  Next the mage scooped a handful of clay from his pouch and scattered it over the box while his left hand traced precise gestures and his lips moved through an incantation.

  In an instant the metal container rose into the air， stretched and expanded， and transformed into a towering clay statue that stood even taller than “Big Guy.”

  The heavy thud of its landing shook the earth. No one felt inclined to test exactly how much the golem actually weighed; the adventurers instinctively scattered to give it room.

  Its ponderous footsteps passed close beside Renato. Staring up at the construct， he could not help imagining himself on the receiving end.

  “If I had to fight something like that… its speed is low， but my longsword and javelins would barely scratch it. Unless I had a long-hafted military hook like Marcus carries， the only sensible move would be to run and kite it until the spell expires…”

  While Renato pondered， the clay golem lumbered into the cave. The ground trembled briefly under its weight.

  A sickening barrage of crushing blows echoed from inside.

  Renato no longer had time to think about the golem. Like cold water hitting hot oil， giant spiders poured out of the entrance in a surging tide， rushing furiously at every living thing in sight.

  At the mouth of the cave， long spears and hooked polearms slammed down. Hard chitin cracked open; foul green insect innards spilled across the dirt.

  One of the monsters reared up directly in front of Renato， lifting its calf-sized body high. Its thick front limbs spread wide and its chelicerae clacked open and shut in a frenzy， green venom glistening and dripping.

  Renato hurled all five of his javelins in rapid succession. The hits landed， but the damage seemed disappointingly light; the enormous arachnid still had enough spirit left to threaten him.

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  “Looks like I’m falling back on the classics after all，” he thought.

  He drew his longsword and stepped forward to engage.

  A horizontal cut struck one of the spider’s forelimbs. The blow that should have severed it rang instead like steel striking steel.

  Renato’s mind registered the shock， but muscle memory took over. He ducked instinctively， narrowly avoiding the grasping embrace of the forelegs， then sidestepped and circled behind.

  The softer abdomen lay exposed. His sword plunged through the thinner plating and churned the contents into ruin.

  Greenish chunks and white fluids sprayed everywhere. The spider thrashed wildly on the ground in useless spasms.

  Without sparing a glance for the dying creature behind him， Renato faced the next opponent.

  Another giant spider—already scored with wounds—lunged at him. In the firelight he could see the metallic sheen glinting along its razor-sharp front limbs.

  No room to retreat. He raised his shield. Both forelimbs stabbed forward like lances and punched straight through the oak board—farther than he had expected.

  Fortunately they missed his arm. Renato dropped the ruined shield， gripped the longsword two-handed， and brought every ounce of his strength down in a powerful overhead chop.

  The spider’s eight red compound eyes shattered along with the top of its head. The huge arachnid collapsed into twitching death.

  ‘That carapace would have fetched a good price. What a waste，’ he thought bitterly.

  “Quick—help a brother out!”

  Near a spider corpse， “Little Finger” was completely cocooned in sticky white webbing. He sawed desperately at the strands with his shortsword， only to find the silk tightening around him with every movement.

  The spider beside Bagg seemed to decide that the small， entangled figure was easier prey than the big man swinging the greataxe. It turned and scuttled toward Joe.

  Amid Little Finger’s trembling screams， Renato snatched a sharpened stake from the ground. The spider was slow enough that he could take careful aim. After judging the lead， he threw.

  The crooked shaft carried little force， and the wooden point could do almost nothing against hardened chitin; it left only a faint white mark.

  But the unexpected attack bewildered the low-intelligence beast. It flailed wildly at empty air for a moment—long enough for Bag to arrive and bury the axe deep into its abdomen with a single， brutal stroke.

  While ripping the webbing off Joe， Bagg rumbled in his deep， gravelly voice:

  “Little Finger， your scream earlier sounded like a woman. Now you’re shaking like one too.”

  “Go fuck yourself! I almost died! And it’s all your fault， you big oaf—you let the damn thing come right at me!”

  Hearing the tremor in Joe’s voice， Renato strongly suspected the man had wet himself under all that webbing.

  ————

  The fight outside the cave ended almost as quickly as it began. The spiders that had moments ago seemed so menacing now lay dead across the clearing， their stinking blood and viscera soaking the ground.

  But the party had not escaped unscathed. Contrary to expectation， the first to fall was not one of those who had stood in the open fighting the spiders head-on， but one of the men guarding the entrance.

  They had underestimated the creatures’ climbing ability and overestimated the wooden stakes’ ability to hold them back.

  One spider had leapt from the top of the palisade. Its forelimb pierced through leather and ribcage alike.

  There was no saving him， Renato judged silently.

  They carried the young man to a relatively flat stone. His chest heaved violently; blood pulsed out in rhythmic spurts， darkening the earth beneath him.

  Renato did not remember his name and had barely spoken to him. Only Marcus knelt beside the dying man， clasping his blood-slick hand and listening to his final， whispered words.

  The youth’s lips moved， but no clear sound emerged. Whatever he was trying to say in his last moments remained unheard. Soon his eyes glazed over， his limbs gave a few final spasms， and he went still. Marcus tightened his grip and murmured a quiet prayer to some deity.

  He was gone—lying silently on the cold stone， forever remaining in the Phantom Forest.

  There was no funeral， no gravestone， not even a grave. The party divided his meager possessions: a few dozen copper coins， an old longspear， and a battered set of leather armor.

  Renato took a dagger. His own blade had grown so dull that the edge was chipped in several places; it could barely cut bread anymore.

  Like wolves， he thought， looking at the stripped body. In the Mist Trail pack， nothing was wasted—not even a dead comrade.

  For survival， every scrap had to be consumed.

  ————

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