Standing alone on the steps, she mentally accessed the System Shop. Browsing quickly through the categories, she found what she sought.
She selected three simple items:
First, a plain black dress, cut in a modest A-line shape that would hide the exaggerated curves of her hips and breasts.
Second, a voluminous black cloak with a deep hood, designed to fully cover her from head to toe and black knee-high boots.
Third, a full-face black mask, smooth and featureless except for small eye slits.
She materialized them instantly, the items appearing in her hands. She dressed swiftly, the dress feeling uncharacteristically loose on her body then swirled the cloak around her shoulders and secured it at her throat.
Finally, she donned the mask, the smooth surface cool against her skin. Her breath warmed the space inside.
Activating the cloak's passive ability, she felt a subtle shift in the air around her. It wasn't invisibility, but rather a deep camouflage. Her form seemed to blur slightly, blending into the shadows of the surrounding forest.
Standing still in the gloom beneath the eaves of the mansion, she became nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding darkness. A faint shimmer, like heat haze, was the only hint of her presence.
"Perfect," she murmured, her voice muffled by the mask. "Now, let's see how this new disguise holds up." She took a silent step forward, melting into the shadows of the dungeon before teleporting to the dungeon entrance.
Before exiting the relative safety of the dungeon, Lyssandra made one final summoning. She called forth the trio of Shadow Goblins.
They materialized silently from the inky darkness, their lithe forms clad entirely in tight black fabric. Even their faces were obscured by black masks.
"It's time," Lyssandra said, her voice low. "Your new training begins now. You will learn to move as shadows, to observe unseen, to strike silently when needed. You will gather intelligence, assassinate key targets, infiltrate defenses, and sabotage enemies." She fixed each of them with a piercing gaze. "Are you ready?"
The three nodded in unison. Their red eyes seemed to gleam with anticipation.
"Then follow me," Lyssandra commanded. With the trio melting into her shadow, she turned and strode out of the dungeon's entrance.
They moved as one unit, blending seamlessly into the dark night of the Withering Jungle.
Their speed was astonishing, a silent blur beyond the undergrowth.
For over an hour, they ran at a pace that would leave most humans gasping, yet Lyssandra showed no sign of fatigue. The trio matched her stride effortlessly.
Finally after a long time, they reached the designated observation point: a rocky outcrop overlooking the Red Death bandit camp from a distance of approximately 500 meters. The elevation provided an excellent vantage point, allowing them to survey the entire encampment below.
Lyssandra crouched behind a large boulder, her eyes scanning the camp. "Remember your objective?" Lyssandra asked softly, not taking her eyes off the camp.
The first Shadow Goblin - One answered in a whisper barely audible even to Lyssandra. "Infiltrate and monitor enemy movement."
Two chimed in, equally low. "Count total enemies, their weapons, and note traps."
Three finished. "Identify advantageous and disadvantageous positions both inside and outside the camp."
"Excellent," Lyssandra murmured.
She reached into her cloak and withdrew several small notebooks and pens she'd purchased from the System Shop. "Note down every detail. I want a complete report by morning." She handed one notebook and pen to each of the three.
The goblins nodded again. They immediately dispersed, spreading out along the ridge but remaining low and silent.
Lyssandra stayed motionless, her gaze sweeping methodically over the camp below. She saw sentries patrolling the perimeter, a main gate guarded by two burly bandits, various crude structures, barracks, storage sheds, what looked like a mess hall. Fires burned in braziers, casting flickering light.
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"IT'S COMING AGAIN!" Rigg's voice was ragged with exhaustion and terror as the massive shadow of the Brambletusk boar erupted from the dense foliage, shattering the thick branches of the tree Rigg had been hiding in.
He tumbled down, hitting the muddy jungle floor hard near Lark, who was still struggling to get to his feet after the last frantic escape.
The relentless boar skidded to a halt mere meters away, its massive head swinging side to side, flinging ropes of saliva.
Its beady red eyes locked onto the two bandits, glowing with unnatural intelligence. It snorted, a deep, guttural sound that sent shivers down their spines.
This was no ordinary beast. Lark and Rigg had realized that hours ago, when the chase began. It had hunted them with terrifying cunning, driving them deeper into the Withering Jungle.
It would relentlessly pursue them for a stretch, then inexplicably break off, allowing them a brief, desperate rest before finding them again just as they lowered their guard.
It seemed to enjoy the hunt, toying with them like a cat with mice.
"Huff… Huff… This motherfucker… pig… won't even… let us… catch our breath…" Lark gasped, hauling himself up a nearby tree.
The rough bark scraped against his palms, raw from hours of climbing and falling. Rigg scrambled up beside him, their tattered clothes hanging in shreds, barely recognizable. Their weapons were long gone, lost and broken in the panicked flight through thorns and mud.
They huddled on a high branch, panting heavily, sweat stinging their eyes. Their bodies ached, limbs trembling with fatigue.
They'd lost all track of time. Had it been hours? Days? The jungle offered no respite, and the Brambletusk offered no mercy.
"Boss… I… I can't…" Rigg wheezed, his voice cracking. "I can't keep going. Let's… let's split up… next time it finds us. Maybe… maybe one of us… can get away…" He looked at Lark, desperation in his eyes.
Lark stared down at the snorting, circling behemoth below, saying nothing. His mind was numb, exhausted beyond thought. Survival had narrowed to this: run, climb, hide. Repeat.
He knew splitting up was risky. The boar seemed to understand that. It might follow the easier prey, but it might also chase the fresher one. Staying together felt slightly safer, even if it meant sharing the same fate.
He glanced at Rigg. The younger bandit was clearly at the end of his rope, his spirit broken. Maybe separation was their only chance. A slim one, but better than none.
Below, the Brambletusk pawed at the ground, gouging deep furrows in the soft earth with its vicious tusks. It knew they were there and it was waiting.
The air thickened with the stench of musk, fear, and the damp earth. The next chase was coming. It was just a matter of time.
Silence finally descended upon the muddy clearing. The oppressive weight of the Brambletusk's presence had vanished. Rigg and Lark slumped against the tree trunk, bodies sagging with relief.
They remained tensed, every muscle taut, listening intently for the telltale snorts or the crashing underbrush that signaled the boar's return. For precious minutes, there was only the drip of moisture from leaves and the frantic thudding of their own hearts.
"We… we should move," Lark finally rasped, breaking the silence. He pointed a shaky finger towards the east, his eyes straining into the gloomy distance. "If memory serves… the old dungeon's entrance… shouldn't be far. Nazas dungeon, they called it."
Rigg looked up, wiping sweat and mud from his brow. "You mean… the one everyone ignores? That place… the rewards are shit, and the monsters… just annoyances."
Lark nodded grimly. "Exactly. No one bothers with it. Perfect place to hide." A spark of desperate hope flickered in his exhausted eyes. "If we can make it inside… maybe lose that bastard in the tunnels… maybe it'll give up."
Rigg pushed himself upright, newfound energy fueled by the slim chance of survival. "Yeah! Yeah, that's smart, Boss! Let's go!"
But they hesitated, frozen in place. Despite the immediate absence of the Brambletusk, the jungle felt charged, watched. They could sense it out there in the darkness, those burning red eyes fixed on them, patient, unrelenting. Every snapped twig, every rustle of leaves, made them flinch.
They didn't dare run. Not yet. Any movement might trigger the monster. They huddled together, back-to-back against the tree, scanning the shadows. Minutes crawled by like hours, thick with tension and the cloying scent of their own fear.
Then, exactly thirty minutes later, as precise as a clockwork mechanism, it returned.
A deep, guttural snort echoed through the clearing. The undergrowth exploded as the massive Brambletusk charged straight at their tree.
Its thick tusks, wrapped in vines like gruesome trophies, slammed into the trunk with the force of a battering ram. The entire tree shuddered. Splinters flew.
Again. The impact sent shockwaves through the ancient wood. Bark shattered. Leaves rained down.
A third time. The crack was deafening. With a groan of rending timber, the tree began to tilt, then fell with a thunderous crash. Lark and Rigg tumbled to the ground, landing hard in the mud.
But they were ready. They'd been waiting for this moment, their muscles coiled, every ounce of remaining strength focused on the plan.
As the boar roared in triumph, preparing to charge the fallen tree, the two bandits rolled away in opposite directions.
Then, like startled rabbits, they bolted eastwards, towards Nazas dungeon.