The floor of the Severian Plateau was a crucible of blood and vegetation.
No sooner had the Kinzoku vanguard set foot beneath the canopy than the Beast Domain unleashed its baseline horrors. Thick, writhing vines of giant carnivorous plants burst from the dark, while hungry packs of shadow-furred dire wolves ambushed the flanks. Occasionally, massive darkhide lizards with armor-like scales swept through the formation lines with crushing tail strikes.
One or two posed no threat to an army of martial artists. The issue was, each species and encounters were with tightly-knit packs that even the average mid-grade Martial Apprentices struggled instantly.
A young spearman drove his iron-tipped shaft straight into the chest of an oncoming darkhide lizard, only for the weapon to skitter harmlessly off its obsidian scales with a shower of sparks. Before he could draw back, the beast slammed its heavy, spiked tail across his ribs, shattering his wooden shaft and sending him skidding through the mud. Beside him, two swordsmen attempted to hold a defensive line against a pack of dire wolves, but the beasts moved with terrifying speed, locking down their swords in their jaws as the others darted through blind spots to tear into exposed limbs and drag warriors from the formation.
To make matters worse, the very ground beneath their boots turned hostile. Giant, bulbous carnivorous flora buried beneath the ancient roots flexed like pulsing lungs, lashing out with thorn-studded tendrils and sometimes, even teeth! One Martial Apprentice shrieked in horror as a thick vine snared his ankle, violently hauling him backward into the dark toward a gaping, acidic pitcher mouth hidden beneath the brush. His squadmates frantically hacked at the vines with their blades, but the fibrous stems were as tough as wet leather—for every tendril cut, three more surged forth to bind their wrists and snatch away their weapons.
Panic threatened to break their ranks as jaws snapped and limbs tore—until silver light flickered through the gloom.
Mikan started to move.
A shadow-furred dire wolf launched itself through the mist, using tall trees like a foothold, yellow fangs bared inches from a terrified spearman's throat. With a subtle twitch of her index finger, an invisible strand of Portia whipped across the air. The filament looped thrice around the beast's snout, snapping its jaws shut with a sickening crack. Before the wolf could hit the ground, Mikan yanked her wrist back, the line anchoring to a massive oak trunk and leaving the beast suspended three feet off the earth, clawing helplessly at empty air.
Ten paces away, three thorn-studded tendrils wrapped tightly around a screamer's waist, dragging him toward a pulsing, acidic pit of death.
Mikan flicked her left hand. Two razor-thin threads shot from the spool at her belt, and flashed horizontally through the dark brush. The fibrous, leather-tough vines were bisected so cleanly that green sap sprayed across the mud before the plant even realized it was cut. The apprentice collapsed onto the moss, gasping as his bindings loosened and gave him enough time to return to the formation.
A darkhide lizards whipped their armored tails toward a cluster of martial artist, ready to crush them into slurry. Mikan crossed her arms and yanked backward. Four throwing daggers—already embedded deep in the surrounding tree trunks—snapped taut with hidden threads. The invisible net caught the lizard's heavy tails mid-swing, locking their joints instantly and turning their bone-crushing momentum against themselves as the beasts slammed sideways into the dirt. Allowing the martial artists crucial moments to hit their underbelly weak spots.
She darted across the blood-soaked clearing, her fingers dancing in intricate, almost hypnotic patterns. Every subtle pull of her hands, every flick of a wrist sent lines of silent, silver death crisscrossing the battlefield, carving out a safe zone in the heart of the chaotic jungle.
When the initial wave finally subsided, the shift in atmosphere was immediate. The campaign was much more difficult than they initially thought. The commoner and lower-branch martial artists gathered around Mikan with deep, genuine reverence. She wasn't just a lucky peasant from the Iaiashin house—she was a reliable anchor in the heat of a chaotic hunt.
In a sense, she does represent the Iaiashin household well.
Farther back, the noble scions clustered together, whispering in hushed tones.
"All she did was play support for cannon fodder," one noble snorted quietly, glancing around cautiously to ensure Mikan wasn't listening. "We were out here felling Darkhide Lizards groups while she was binding weeds and wild dogs. Wolves and plants are cannon fodder meant for peasants anyway."
"Exactly. Imagine the embarrassment of getting killed by a plant! A plant!"
"...Didn't she flip those Darkhide Lizards for us?"
"Which side are you on?! Anyway... leave the garden work to her," another sneered under his breath.
Though they had a lot to say, they kept their sneers strictly among themselves, terrified of giving her a reason to issue another duel to the death.
Mikan paid their bitter chatter no mind. She simply wiped the thick green sap from her daggers and respooled her threads, silently waiting for one of them to slip up so she could humiliate them with justification once more.
Her focus was far more fixed on the reality of their surroundings. The Severian Plateau was vastly different from the tame woodlands back in Owari. Apprentice-level beasts were already an anomaly, as one species of them would usually become the apex predators of their area... but here, ALL beasts seemed to be Apprentice-level beasts!
As the forest grew thicker, blossoming into a full-blown jungle, every creature they encountered possessed energy equivalent to a high-grade Martial Apprentice.
Low and Mid-grade apprentices simply couldn't survive in this place on their own.
Heck even in groups, they'd just be one unlucky encounter away from a horrible death.
———
In just a few hours, the grim truth of the campaign quickly hit home.
Of the thousand warriors who had descended the cliff, only one hundred mid and higher-grade apprentices possessed the strength to press deeper into the plateau and colonize the dungeon.
Seven hundred battered, broken, Apprentices chose to setup a temporary base camp near the cliff and defend while the heavily injured survivors were tied to ropes and hoisted back up the cliff face to Senior Ephraim's camp.
The remaining two hundred were gone forever—either in bits and pieces or dragged deep into the subterranean nests of the giant carnivorous plants to be digested alongside unfortunate apprentice-level beasts. It was a macabre, natural ecosystem; the flesh-eating flora acted as the jungle's brutal balance, keeping the swarm of apprentice-level beasts from overrunning the plateau.
Near the edge of a writhing plant nest, the tall warrior clad in full iron kabuto armor stepped over a pulsing root. With casual, effortless strength, the grabbed a thick, thorned tendril that was trying to drag away the corpse of a fallen apprentice and ripped it apart effortlessly.
He tied the dead warrior's body securely to a hoisting line, tugging it twice so the scouts in the temporary base would pull the corpse back as to give it some dignity.
Behind his steel faceguard, the man watched the dark, hungry jungle pulse in the shadows, letting out a soft, dry mumble to himself.
"Scary stuff."
A sudden shadow flickered over the canopy for a fraction of a second.
His eyes darted upward. High above the towering trees, a massive hippogriff was silently diving through the mist, its iron-hard talons outstretched and aimed straight for Mikan's group as she rested in a small clearing.
It seems they've unwittingly chosen the hunting grounds of these flying terrors.
The man's muscles coiled—he shifted his weight, his hand instantly dropping toward the hilt of his cloth-wrapped greatsword, ready to burst forward.
But before he could take a single step, the monster's rapid plunge ground to a violent halt in mid-air.
SHRIIIEEEEK
The giant beast hung suspended twenty feet above the jungle floor, its broad wings pinned back and its razor beak locked open in a scream. An intricate web of razor-thin, shimmering strands of Portia had already crisscrossed the sky, cutting deep into its feathered, leathery hide and holding it trapped like a helpless bug in a spider's web.
Below, Mikan slowly tilted her head up, her deep orange eyes watching the creature bleed out against her invisible trap with a calm gaze.
Mikan twitched her index finger, releasing the tension on Portia. The dead hippogriff collapsed into the damp underbrush with a heavy, wet thud, its blood soaking into the moss.
Cheers instantly erupted from the small circle of high-grade apprentices surrounding her. These were among the hundred survivors—the elites who had proven strong enough to endure the Severian Dungeon's brutal filter.
"Incredible reaction speed, Lady Mikan!" one veteran warrior called out, sheathing his blood-stained broadsword with a look of awe.
"If that beast had taken to the thick canopy, it would have picked us off one by one," another added, bowing his head in deep gratitude.
Without even realizing it, the surviving elites naturally closed ranks around her, their eyes filled with unfeigned deference. They immediately began turning to her for direction, treating her as their de facto leader.
"Lady Mikan, how should we restructure our forward scouting line?"
"Should we shift into a staggered wedge formation to guard against further aerial ambushes?"
To their surprise, Mikan didn't ignore them or walk away in silence as she usually did with the nobles.
"I have no experience fighting in groups or leading a formation," Mikan replied smoothly, her voice cool, and stripped of all warmth. "So do not look to me for tactics. What I can offer you is how my fighting style operates so you can adjust accordingly."
She gestured subtly toward the surrounding trees, where faint, near-invisible silver glints flickered in the ambient damp light.
"My Portia threads create a twenty-meter kill zone around my position," she continued flatly. "If you vanguards fight too close to me, you risk stepping into my anchor lines or severing my traps mid-swing. Give me five paces of open space at all times. If beasts ambush us from the brush, herd them toward my left flank—I can bind their movements before they reach your defensive line. If plants catch your ankles, inform the man to your side and try to stall for time as I will be on the lookout for those as well to help free you."
"Understood!"
The apprentices nodded eagerly, hastily barking out her instructions to the rest of the unit with newfound discipline.
Mikan turned her back on them, her gaze returning to the jungle.
Her coldness was deliberate. Beneath her composed facade, a quiet, bitter anger still burned against any martial apprentice. She had not forgotten Owari—she could never forget the arrogant Kinzoku martial artist who had almost laid his hands on her and her sisters, nor the cold indifference of the clan martial artists who had paid no mind to her desperate cries for help back then.
She felt no genuine camaraderie toward these people. Protecting them was not an act of mercy, nor was it born of loyalty to Clan Kinzoku. To her, this entire campaign was simply a job. She was here to represent the Iaiashin household with flawless execution—nothing more, and nothing less.
The man in armor relaxed his stance, letting his hand drop from his weapon. An amused breath escaped his steel visor.
"...You're doing so well," he murmured.