Back at Bear Cave Camp, Loa went straight to the bottom of his pack. His fingers slipped into the rough hide lining and touched something cold and hard. Carefully, he took out an unassuming, tightly sealed little gray pottery bottle. It bore no markings, only a heavy chill against his palm.
He pulled out the wax-sealed cork. An extremely faint, indescribable scent drifted out, mingling the pungency of herbal spices with the peculiar smell of mineral dust. Far from unpleasant, it was even somewhat fragrant. Inside was roughly half a bottle of fine, dark green powder. Loa gazed at it with a slightly complicated look, carrying nostalgia and a trace of an odd smile.
"Old friend, I'll have to rely on you again." He gently stroked the cold bottle with his fingertips and murmured, "Those three unlucky bastards last time certainly had you to thank for that 'generous gift.'"
This unassuming powder was a "good thing" he had finally concocted by combining obscure knowledge from an ancient book he had read as a child at Baruch Mansion with the properties of magical plants he had learned later, along with several expeditions into the Magical Beast Mountain Range to gather ingredients and experiment. It was not a lethal poison-strictly speaking, it was not even poison. Its primary effect was drastic and straightforward: powerful diarrhea, accompanied by the bizarre ability to briefly disrupt energy stability and muscle control. Its ingredients were hard to find, its preparation complicated, and its dosage exacting. He had always kept it as a last resort for saving his life or ambushing someone, rarely using it.
The target was clear and the supplies ready. Next came action.
Loa spent another two full days observing the Iron-Eating Ant colony from afar like the most patient of shadows. He learned