They descended into the jungle. It was quiet. Too quiet.
Usually, a floor like this would be teeming with aggressive predators—Stalkers, Cave Drakes, Poison Frogs. But the jungle was silent, save for the dripping of water.
Ten minutes in, they found out why.
"Holy…" Rowan, the young knight, stopped dead in his tracks.
In a clearing ahead lay the carcass of a Cave Drake.
It was massive, the size of a carriage. But it hadn't died from a battle. Its head was severed cleanly from its body, lying ten feet away. The cut was so smooth, so precise, that not a single scale was jagged.
Gerrick walked over, crouching to inspect the wound.
"One hit," Gerrick murmured, running a gauntleted finger near the neck stump. "Whatever killed this didn't fight it. It executed it. Mid-lunge."
"Is it a bigger monster?" Daniel asked nervously, gripping his sword.
"No," Isolde walked past them, her boots avoiding the pool of black blood. "Look at the angle. It came from below. A humanoid striker."
