This Silithid creature, over two meters long, resembled a giant arrow with two shield-like thick carapaces, making it one of the most aggressive predators of its kind. It fully emerged, using its claws deeply embedded in the steep sand slope to climb upward. Bossia barely managed to stop her slide when the creature swung its left claw horizontally, aiming to slice its prey in half, while its right claw remained anchored in the sand.
Bossia had never faced such an enemy alone. Based on past experiences, she could avoid seeking shelter and instead first cut off the creature's fragile joints, but lying halfway down the slope, even a severed claw might hit her with its momentum. She could only grip her sword tightly, thrusting it into the sand slope, hoping to block the impact. She watched as the thick, barbed claw approached her, with only the silver-gray sword partially embedded in the sand standing between the lethal attack and her body.
At the moment the claw struck the sword hilt, she felt it would either break or slip and stab her, but neither happened. Failing to land a lethal blow, the creature withdrew its claw to strike again. Enduring the sharp pain in her wrists from the previous impact, Bossia pulled out her sword and finally stood up on the slope. Dodging the creature's second swing, she hacked at the black joint briefly exposed before her. The swing was crude, like chopping wood, but effective. The joint snapped, and dark green blood splattered, drenching Bossia's legs. The severed claw slid down, over the creature's body, and fell into the pit behind it.
The creature felt the pain; it opened its jaws and emitted a sharp screech. Bossia intended to leave the pit, but then she noticed something. The creature's jaws opened so wide she could see the bottom of its esophagus. In the nauseating purple-red fleshy tunnel, Bossia saw a gloved right hand. She recognized whose hand it was.
The creature had swallowed Tamara whole.
A wave of intense discomfort surged from Bossia's abdomen to her brain, causing her to lose her footing and slide again, nearing the creature's gaping mouth.
She tried to stabilize herself with her sword, but her palm hit a stone in the sand, causing her to drop it. The creature, not content to let its prey slide into its mouth, pushed forward with its right claw. Bossia raised her right leg, pressing against the carapace to stop her fall temporarily. She attempted to push off the carapace to move to the creature's side, but the enraged creature retracted its head and lunged at her again.
At that moment, a hand grasped Bossia's wrist and pulled her up. She looked to the side and saw a mercenary she had seen a few times at the fortress but wasn't familiar with. Despite pulling Bossia and changing his center of gravity, he remained stable on the slope.
"Don't slide any further." The mercenary said, then leaped onto the creature's back. He steadied himself by pressing his feet into the carapace's crevices and then turned around, stabbing his sword into the creature's head. It was an unusual sword: purple with irregular sharp protrusions. After piercing the brain, the sword's tip emerged from the creature's upper jaw. The mercenary jumped to the side slope, waiting for the dying creature's frantic movements to cease before approaching to withdraw his sword. Bossia then realized the weapon was crafted from Silithid bones and carapaces.
Back on flat ground, the wind had significantly lessened.
"Thank you for your help," Bossia said after retrieving her sword. "I've seen you a few times. May I ask your name?"
"Bassario."
"When we get back, I'll share half the reward with you."
"No need. My job is to assist you two, and I have my own pay. I heard you came with Tamara. Where is he?"
"He... the creature swallowed him."
"Swallowed?" Bassario wasn't particularly surprised.
"Yes. I saw it..."
"Whole or chewed up?"
"...Why do you ask?"
"Never mind." Bassario walked to the creature's corpse, struck its jaw connection with a sword, then turned and said, "Don't just stand there. Help me."
"Help with... what?"
"Just do as I say."
Together, they dissected half of the creature's body. Enduring the stench, Bossia guessed it was because Bassario wanted to give Tamara's remains a proper burial. Though Tamara wasn't the best partner, his biggest fault was keeping her awake with his noise. Dying like this, swallowed by a creature, seemed too unfair.
Looking at the green insect blood staining her sword and cloak, Bossia recalled a childhood memory. She was about five or six, walking through an alley, when she saw a cook killing a chicken by twisting and breaking its neck. Benedictus immediately covered her eyes.
After Bassario pulled the dwarf's body out and laid him flat on the ground, Bossia had feared seeing a horribly disfigured face but was relieved that wasn't the case. Tamanra's entire body was covered in thick stomach acid, which had dissolved about forty percent of his clothing, but his exposed face and one hand showed little damage. More importantly, he was breathing.
"Give me your cloak," Bassario said. Bossia handed it over. Bassario cut a small piece of fabric and used it to wipe the stomach acid from Tamanra's face.
"He was only swallowed for a Shawlt while," Bassario continued. "Dwarven skin can handle it, as you should know. But if it had been any longer, he probably would have suffocated."
"I... I'll do it," Bossia said, realizing she had spent enough time just watching. She took the fabric and continued wiping off the stomach acid. While Tamanra's skin was fine, his hair was not as resilient. The braids in his hair and beard, which took him eight hours to weave, were mostly gone. Bossia found herself oddly amused by the task of cleaning the beard of someone she thought was dead.
"You haven't been in Silithus long, have you? What's your name?" Bassario asked.
Two days after returning to the fortress, Tamara woke up. The first thing he did was shave his head and leave only a little of his beard. When Bossia heard, she went to the infirmary to see him. Learning that Bassario had saved him, he was deeply embarrassed.
"That guy pulled me out? Now I've lost face completely. Hey, Agnes, why didn't you try harder? Why wait until he showed up? Alright, sneaking out was my fault, but didn't you tell me not to wake you? Once I was out, I wouldn't disturb you, and I really couldn't resist the urge to chop something… If the weather had been better, could the great Tamara not handle such a small bug? Ah, in the end, I was saved by a native…"
"Native?" Bossia asked.
"You don't know about that?"
"I know."
"Natives" referred to those born and raised in Silithus. They were few, either mercenary descendants or orphans picked up from Twilight cultist nests. As a relatively new mercenary, Bossia had little interaction with these people. An apprentice blacksmith, a weather observer who stayed in the tower almost all year, a cook, and a water storage watchman—they were all thin, sallow, and worked in obscurity with anxious expressions. None had ever left Silithus. It wasn't out of a sense of belonging to this hostile land. Growing up here, they had few educational opportunities, learning a trade essential to the fortress's operation from childhood. Rarely did anyone tell them about the outside world, as those trapped here had no pleasant stories to share. Moreover, sparking a native's interest in the outside world was undesirable. In the eyes of outsiders, these children, born amidst sandstorms and playing with Silithid shells, were forever tied to this harsh desert. The natives' lives seemed like Silithus's way of deceiving outsiders, making them temporarily forget its deadly nature. They were destined to root here until they became part of the desert—a fate imposed by outsiders. Their lives maintained a depressing stability.
Because of this, Bossia never imagined a native could become a mercenary. Bassario didn't look or act the part. Nonchalantly rescuing a living person from a Silithid's stomach required reliable judgment and courage.
"I can't go on missions anymore. I'll stay in the fortress and continue my old job of guarding weapons," Tamara continued.
"Why?"
"Everyone will say behind my back that I needed a native to help me deal with a mere bug."
"If you can't handle it yourself, don't blame others. I think you're scared, looking for an excuse to hide in the fortress."
"Scared? The great Tamara scared?" Tamara pounded his knees and raised his head, shouting. But seeing Bossia glaring at him, he lowered his head, his shout turning into a mutter. "Ah, my good reputation… A native… looking human, but inside like a bug…"
"Watch your mouth. He saved your life."
"So what? He just knew how long it takes for a bug to digest me. He's lived here for twenty-eight years, of course, he knows everything. Take him out of Silithus, and he'd be useless. This isn't discrimination. Tamara is broad-minded and never does such things. Bassario himself is problematic. Haven't you heard about his childhood? His birth? And that hideous sword, covered in countless bug spirits…"
Bossia suddenly grabbed a remaining tuft of Tamanra's beard.
"He saved you. That sword saved you. But I wish he hadn't. You're dirty, smelly, and all talk with your bravery misplaced. Why should I help you remove bug eggs?"
She yanked the beard hard, making Tamara cry out in pain similar to the day the bug attacked. She left the room, slamming the door behind her.