January 21, Year 1 of the New Calendar.
Plans never kept pace with change.
In truth, even Gron had not expected the beasts they had been hunting down to suddenly launch an attack of their own.
From the other side of the plains, vast numbers of Black Shell beasts charged toward the temporary camp like a tidal wave.
It seemed their extermination campaign had been too blatant, making the beasts feel threatened.
From a lookout built atop a ruined building, the sentry sounded the alarm immediately.
As the long blast of a horn rang out, the camp sprang into action.
Bugs had no need for armor; their natural shells were the finest armor of all. Taking up their weapons, the clan's warriors assembled in the camp and awaited orders.
The warriors did not panic at the sudden turn of events, but Gron's expression darkened. According to the sentry's report, the beasts charging toward the camp already outnumbered all those they had hunted down before.
The trampling of countless Black Shell beasts shook the ground, kicking up enough dust to form a haze. Their roars could be heard from halfway across the plains.
The material of their black shells was unknown. All they knew so far was that these shells were difficult to break unless struck at the right angle.
And the herd racing toward them was like a fleet of dump trucks. Facing it head-on would be suicide.
Any commander with half a brain knew what to do in a situation like this.
Gron immediately gave the order: "All warriors! Get inside the camp and shut the gates!"
When they had first established the temporary camp, Gron had ordered the craftsmen to build simple fortifications around the ruins.
Now, that decision seemed wiser than ever. Even the most basic defenses were better than facing that charging black tide directly.
The warriors moved swiftly, shutting the makeshift gates before barricading them with stones.
Clang, clang-
The craftsmen also hurried to reinforce the crude walls, but with so little time, they could only nail whatever they had at hand onto them.
Soon, everyone in the temporary camp could feel the earth trembling. The beasts had reached the walls.
Boom!
The crude walls immediately let out a tremendous crash. Stones scattered as they shook and swayed, but they just barely held.
"Phew..." Gron let out a long breath. The most dangerous moment had passed.
In his estimation, the walls only needed to withstand the first wave to serve their purpose.
Launching another attack like that would require enough distance to build up speed, but these beasts were not capable of thinking that far ahead.
Piling over one another and squeezing forward, they began ramming the walls directly.
The defenders held the high ground.
This should have been an excellent opportunity to attack, but lacking ranged weapons, the Expedition Army could only try throwing stones or spears down at them.
Without question, attacks of this caliber achieved very little.
Gron's expression was grave. While the soldiers under his command were flustered, his thoughts went further.
The sight before him quickly made him realize that, as the expedition progressed, their battles would no longer be confined to close combat.
Their current predicament was merely a miniature of the entire campaign. The farther the expeditionary force advanced, the more unusual situations it would encounter.
He could not be left helpless every time he encountered something new.
They needed more specialized tactics, suitable weapons, scheduled training programs...
Well, all that can wait. Right now, I need to think about how to get through this.
Gron shook his head vigorously, turned his attention back to the battlefield, and began searching for a way out.
The Ashen Clan consisted of a diverse mix of bugs. In essence, they were exiles who had banded together to survive in the wilderness.
As a result, the Ashen Clan had almost no special natural advantages. They could only put more effort into weapons and tactics.
The Glow Clan was even less suited to the task. They considered themselves scholars, and he could hardly expect those short, thin wings of theirs to accomplish anything.
Now they faced a defensive battle, but Gron, who had always been on the offensive, knew little about the essentials of defense.
"If only we had some effective means of attacking from a distance." Gron gritted his teeth, but no good solution came to him.
Even though the charge had stopped, the vast herd had already surrounded the camp. Going out now would still be tantamount to throwing their lives away.
The walls began to totter beneath the beasts' attacks. The craftsmen scrambled to repair them, but they still could not work as fast as the beasts destroyed them.
Amid that oppressive atmosphere, another report came from the sentry at the highest lookout.
"Chieftain! There's been a new development!" the sentry shouted as he gazed into the distance. "Another swarm of bugs has appeared in a different direction!"
"What? Reinforcements for the beasts?"
"No, they seem to be intelligent bugs. The banner they're flying... belongs to the Sunfire God?!"
"I can see them now. One of our squad leaders seems to be with them, too."
The sentry was baffled. How had he never heard of a clan like this that worshipped the Sunfire God?
Yet that banner could not be mistaken, and there were indeed Ashen Clan warriors traveling with them.
Gron, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief. He knew about them: the mantises who had chosen to pledge allegiance to the Sunfire God.
Like his own people, they had joined the expedition to prove their loyalty and obtain their god's protection.
They could not have arrived at a better time.
Political disputes and potential conflicts could wait until they had survived this crisis.
"Send a signal. Tell them we need support here."
"But Chieftain, we haven't confirmed who they are yet. Wouldn't that be..."
"Just do it, soldier. They're on our side."
"Y-yes, Chieftain." The sentry looked thoroughly confused, but he obeyed and lit the bonfire.
As the orange-yellow flames rose, the squad leader on the far side of the plains immediately understood the predicament his comrades were in.
Once the mantises had assembled, he had served as their guide, leading this reinforcement force to join the main army.
To avoid any mishaps, the mantises had maintained a forced march the entire way, taking scarcely any rest.
Yet they had encountered this situation as soon as they arrived. The squad leader turned to the lord beside him and said, "Looks like we came just in time. The Expedition Army is locked in a bitter battle and urgently needs support."
"Is that so? You don't seem particularly concerned about whether your commander lives or dies." Mortas raised an eyebrow at those words. "We've barely rested on the way here. We may not be able to fight at full strength."
Despite his seemingly casual tone, the Mantis Lord was probing for factional strife within the Expedition Army.
The squad leader heard the implication as well and warned him sternly, "Put those schemes of yours aside. Produce results, and our lord will reward you."
Mortas did not mind having his intentions exposed. It was only a probe anyway, he thought indifferently. I wasn't expecting to learn anything.
A dry wind swept across the Black Shell Plains, unlike the air of the Fungal Wastes. Mortas drew a deep breath and felt his blood begin to boil.
The Fungal Wastes were too small. There was no room there to run as freely as he could here.
Drawing the weapon from his back, the Mantis Lord shouted to his clansmen behind him, "Hunters, we have reached a new hunting ground! Let this world witness our rise!"
"When the mantises march!!!"
"We never return empty-handed!!!"
His clansmen answered Mortas with spirited war cries. They would prove themselves on this battlefield.
"Today, the mantises join the expedition!"
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