The silence that followed wasn't peace — it was the weight of unspoken things.
Cain didn't need their eyes to see it. He could hear it in the pace of their boots, the clipped breaths, the occasional shuffle as someone hesitated to fall into line.
It wasn't doubt anymore. It was the sting of shame, the burn of having misjudged someone and lacking the words to own up to it.
But Cain wasn't holding a grudge.
In fact, he was glad — genuinely glad.
If nothing else, that moment with the Elargi proved they weren't just here to flex or pose for photos on social.
They were here to survive and, more importantly, to profit.
All of them recognized the missed opportunity — the bird's ultraconductive veins alone were worth a fortune on the legal or black market.
One clean retrieval and you'd gain at least a hundred gold.
Cain slowed just enough so they could notice him about to say something.
He couldn't allow them to enter battle in such a heavy-hearted state.
"There's no need to consider my feelings."
He said through the comms, his eyes darting left and right on the terrain.
"I know everyone wants to cash in, but I won't gamble my life or yours for a guess. If that doesn't sit right with anyone, void the contract now. There is no need for grievances for a paltry sum of money."
The words didn't hang long.
Ricky broke the tension first, picking up pace to match him.
"I apologize. I misunderstood you."
His tone wasn't forced nor dramatic.
Pumbo's voice followed, thinner but sincere.
"Uhhh... Yes.... I am sorry too lobby commander."
Cain nodded, gave no speech.
Just tapped his wrist and pulled up the map.
"Shardling Hotspot up ahead, intel says these are sludge-type ones."
The words were business, but the tempo of the group subtly shifted.
Everyone checked gear without being told.
They felt it too, the spot was too close to be untouched.
Too quiet for comfort. Ambush was on everyone's mind.
Cain's boots sank with a wet squelch into the bog's treacherous terrain, each step a calculated risk.
The shallow pools stretched out before him, their surfaces deceptively calm, concealing the lurking dangers beneath.
The air was thick with humidity, and the scent of decaying vegetation clung to everything.
He signaled to Ricky and Tol to scout westward, while Fara and Pumbo moved east.
Beany remained by his side, her eyes scanning the murky waters with a mix of caution and curiosity.
The bog was a labyrinth of hidden perils.
Sludge shardlings, known for their ability to blend seamlessly with their surroundings, creatures that could be lying in wait beneath the surface.
These creatures formed the blood from an earth, they are nearly indistinguishable from the terrain they inhabited until they strike.
Their bodies, composed of viscous sludge, can shift and reform, making them formidable adversaries.
As Pumbo and Fera carefully navigated the bog, their vigilance was rewarded with an unsettling discovery.
A sudden disturbance in the water's surface caught their attention, followed by the emergence of four towering figures.
Standing at least three meters tall, these mud shardlings loomed menacingly, their forms dripping with muck.
Their eyes glowed with an eerie light, and their movements were deliberate, each step sending ripples through the water.
"Uhm... Gu-Guys... There are four on our location, come quickly!'
Pumba alerted the team, and together they prepared for the impending confrontation.
The bog, once a silent observer, now bore witness to the unfolding battle between men and monsters.
The first to arrive was Cain and Beany.
The half-demoness chant rolled out in soft pulses, more rhythm than melody, and as she swept her staff low, a glacial sheen crackled outward from its tip.
"Ghemal Uyakk Magheluh! Cold descend, halt the steps."
The frost crept along the bog water, catching the sluggish legs of the shardlings in mid-lurch.
Cain didn't wait — his pistols flared with pale light as he reached out toward Pumbo and Fara.
The enchantment settled in clean, and their figures blurred slightly with newfound swiftness.
He didn't want to burn through power yet, not with this small skirmish.
This was a prep run — no reason to overinvest.
Pumbo grunted as he charged in first, his riot shield tanking a wild swing of sludgy mass, water and muck flinging out as the shardling as it tried to wrap around him.
Cain knew the man's gear wasn't built to puncture, so he watched as the baton swung in wide arcs.
Exaggerated enough to make himself a target.
It worked — the shardlings rotated toward the commotion.
Fara slid in low beneath their flailing limbs, already narrowing her aim.
Her fist flicked — not for damage, but precision.
One strike to the sensing crystal that moved about, another toward the frozen footing.
With its appendages severed and sight blinded, the shardlings thrashed dumbly.
Fara didn't wait for Beany's frost to harden.
Her palms dove through the open seams in their goopy carapace, fingers groping deep, surgically fishing out the pulsing core as if harvesting eggs from a soft-shelled crab.
Cain felt a ripple behind him and turned — just in time to release two more swiftness bursts as Ricky and Tol burst through the brush.
They hit hard, one from the flank and the other from above, severing limbs and bisecting the remaining mud-born shardlings with practiced strokes.
Noxious bubbles rose from the corpses it melted down to a puddle.
Cain knelt, brushing mud from one before sliding it into a case.
Four cores in less than an hour — decent, efficient, but not enough to celebrate.
He glanced at the others, his stance firm — the kind that commanded attention.
He was about to say something serious.
"Anyone here into plant-based materials?"
He asked, tone flat but with a hint of purpose.
"I have a target in mind, but we'll need to risk are necks a little."