The West Marsh was damp and soggy.
A glossy beetle was huffing and puffing as it crawled over a slick old tree root.
The root was wrapped in a thick green carpet, making the hooks on Little One's limbs slip a little. It nearly fell.
It crawled and crawled, finally burrowing out of this ancient forest that was always shrouded in mist.
The light grew slightly brighter, though the sky was still gray and murky.
But the ground beneath its feet was clearly much drier and firmer, no longer the sort of mud pit that spewed black water with every step.
Little One comfortably stretched its legs.
Just then, a stench like rotten fish, rancid sweat, and burnt hair rushed violently into its sensory organs.
Startled, it looked up and saw a reeking fortress perched on the relatively dry and habitable high ground ahead.
That was the territory of the Goblin Legion.
Little One shook its antennae. To avoid being mistaken for a stone and kicked by a goblin, it decided to take a detour.
After it slipped away, a string of noisy shrieks soon rang out from the relatively open woodland clearing outside the fortress.
"Pull tighter, idiots! To the left, the left!"
"It's getting away! Shoot its legs—no, its ass!"
"Aw aw aw—!"
More than a dozen well-equipped Goblin Warriors were scrambling about, using several tough vine ropes in an attempt to bind a colossal beast that had fallen into a frenzy.
This was a Wild Boar King far larger than an ordinary wild boar!
Its bristles were an unhealthy grayish-black, rough as steel needles, caked with mud and congealed dark-red blood scabs.
Its two enormous curved tusks were like drawn scimitars, gleaming coldly in the dim light.
"Roar—!!!"
The Wild Boar King's eyes reddened. It violently flung