## CHAPTER 26: Wasted Effort
The forest didn't just tremble; it screamed. The rhythmic thudding that had started as a distant pulse accelerated into a violent, earth-shattering tremor. Then, the thicket of ironwood trees thirty yards ahead exploded outward, splinters of dark timber flying like shrapnel.
Emerging from the dust and wreckage was a nightmare . A a mutant entity that resembled a prehistoric black scorpion, but scaled to the size of a siege engine. Its body was encased in jagged, obsidian-like plates that hummed with a sickly green mana-resonance. A single, bulbous crimson eye sat embedded in the center of its head, swiveling with a predatory, mechanical precision. Its twin pincers were larger than man-sized shields, serrated with bone-chilling teeth, and its tail—a segmented whip of armored muscle—towered high above, the stinger dripping with a translucent, hissing bile.
A wave of primal terror crashed over the group. The second boy Marcus and the third boy, Julian, felt the strength drain from their legs, their spines turning to ice. Even Alex Hatora, whose pride usually acted as a suit of armor, found himself gasping for air, the red stone shaking in his sweat-slicked palm.
Only Silas remained an enigma. He stood firm, his hood obscuring his face, his posture as still as the grave.
"Draw... Draw... DRAW YOUR WEAPONS!" Alex finally shrieked, the command tearing from his throat in a ragged burst of panic.
Desperate to reclaim his sense of superiority, Alex dropped his supply bag and drew two blades—one was his own ornate rapier, and the other was the gleaming, masterwork steel he had just stolen from Silas. Marcus and Julian followed suit, their hands trembling as they unsheathed their swords, the steel clattering against their scabbards.
Before the nobles could even coordinate a formation, a blur of grey movement streaked past them.
Silas had moved.
He didn't scream a battle cry. He didn't glow with mana. He simply accelerated with a terrifying, silent efficiency. He closed the distance to the Goliath Carapace in a heartbeat, his body low to the ground. As he reached the monster's front-right leg, he executed a high-speed spin, channeling every ounce of his torque into a devastating strike.
The notched wooden sword whistled through the air, striking the monster's chitinous joint with a dull *thwack*.
Nothing happened.
The wooden blade, blunt and hollow, merely bounced off the armored plate. In that split second, the reality of the situation crashed down: Silas had forgotten—or perhaps hadn't cared—that his lethal steel was now in Alex's hands. He was fighting a mountain with a twig.
The Carapace didn't even flinch. It reacted to the irritation like a human swatting a fly. Its left pincer swept out in a lightning-fast horizontal arc. The massive claw caught Silas square in the ribs.
The sound was sickening—a dull thud followed by the rush of displaced air. Silas was sent flying, a ragdoll in a grey hoodie. He soared over the heads of the stunned nobles, passing Alex like a falling star, before slamming into a massive oak tree twenty feet back. The impact was so violent that the entire tree shuddered, raining a deluge of dead leaves and moss over his crumpled, motionless body.
"ALEX!" Julian screamed, snapping the leader out of his trance.
Alex turned his head, staring at the spot where Silas lay. The boy wasn't moving. To Alex, the sight was a confirmation of his own twisted worldview. A flicker of dark relief crossed his face, quickly masked by a sneer of arrogant triumph.
"This," Alex yelled, turning back to the beast with a manic grin, "is why you don't send an Commoner to do a Royal's job! He was a waste of space, and now he's a waste of dirt!"
Pride proved to be a more potent drug than fear. Alex felt a surge of adrenaline as he looked at the two swords in his hands. He felt invincible. He felt like the hero of his own story.
"I need protection! Advance!" Alex commanded.
"Got it!" Marcus and Julian shouted in unison. They were desperate for direction, desperate to believe that their noble blood gave them a chance against the black-plated titan.
The three of them charged. Their strategy was simple and desperate: exploit the creature's size. While it was massive, it was also cumbersome. They would swarm it, striking at its joints and eyes in a coordinated assault.
Marcus was the first to leap. He used a protruding root as a springboard, launching himself ten feet into the air. He raised his sword high, his mana beginning to flicker in a weak, unstable aura. "Die, you overgrown vermin!" he screamed, aiming for the massive crimson eye.
The Goliath Carapace was faster. It didn't retreat; it raised its right claw, the armored plate acting as an impenetrable shield. Marcus's blade struck the chitin with a shower of sparks and a jarring vibration that nearly shattered his wrists. He was forced to kick off the claw, tumbling backward into the violet moss to avoid being crushed.
Julian saw his opening as the right claw was raised. He sprinted from the opposite side, his boots skimming over the slick ground. He leaped, aiming for the same eye while the beast's defense was occupied. His sword began to glow with a sharp, light-blue radiance.
"Gotcha!" Julian thought, a grin spreading across his face. "CRESCENT SLA—"
The word was cut short by a sound like a closing vault. The monster's right pincer, having already repelled Marcus, didn't drop; it pivoted with impossible agility and snapped shut around Julian's waist in mid-air.
"LET ME GOOOO!" Julian shrieked, his legs dangling uselessly as the massive pincer squeezed.
In a frenzy of terror, he began to stab at the pincer with his sword, the steel ringing out in a series of futile *clangs*. It was like trying to cut a diamond with a spoon. Each strike sent a jolt of vibration back into his arm, but the black armor didn't even show a scratch.
"LET HIM GO!" Marcus yelled, recovering from his fall and charging back in.
The monster seemed to understand. With a contemptuous flick of its limb, it hurled Julian's body directly at the approaching Marcus. The two nobles collided in a tangle of limbs and steel, crashing to the ground in a heap of bruised egos and dented armor.
Unknown to the beast, the chaos had provided the perfect distraction.
Alex Hatora had used the failed leaps of his teammates to slip beneath the monster's guard. He moved low, sliding through the slime and moss until he was positioned directly underneath the Carapace's vaulted belly.
From here, the world was a forest of six towering, armored legs. The creature couldn't see him; its massive eye was focused on the two boys struggling to stand in the clearing.
Alex gripped the stolen sword—the sword that had belonged to the "dead" boy by the tree. He could feel the latent power in the hilt, a cold, humming resonance that far surpassed his own mana. He looked up at the soft, pale underbelly of the beast—the only spot where the obsidian plates were thin.
"Wasted effort," Alex hissed, his eyes gleaming with a treacherous light. "I'll kill this thing, and I'll take the credit. I'll be the one who survived the trail, while the trash stayed in the dirt."
He raised both blades, his mana finally beginning to stabilize as he prepared to deliver a twin-slash that would disembowel the Goliath. He waited for the monster to shift its weight, for the perfect millisecond where the soft tissue was exposed.