In the eyes of the veteran traders, requesting a fee of ten gold pieces per person was practically an act of profound charity. After all, they functioned as a regular commercial merchant group; navigating such volatile times meant that allowing individuals of completely unknown origin into their perimeter was a significant security risk in itself.
Who was to say these ravenous Pincerbugs hadn't been deliberately lured to the campsite by those mysterious women? What if the travelers themselves harbored hostile intentions toward the caravan's valuable assets? Or, worse yet, what if someone within that unfamiliar crowd possessed exceptionally sticky fingers?
To put it bluntly, the ten gold pieces served merely as a basic character bond, a nominal fee that wouldn't even begin to compensate for the catastrophic financial losses the merchant circle might suffer if things went sideways. However, since the women outside the perimeter had chosen to refuse this kindness, the caravan members saw no reason to press the matter further. For the traders, it was a transaction where the operational risk far outweighed the meager reward.
At that exact moment, Clever, who had been keeping her eyes tightly shut to focus her mind, spoke up in a hushed tone.
"There are exactly thirty-four individuals present within that merchant group, but only half of them—seventeen, to be precise—are actually capable of engaging in active combat. Conversely, the size of this approaching Pincerbug swarm numbers roughly one hundred."
She shifted her focus slightly, her voice laced with analytical precision. "Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't be a massive problem for an experienced caravan to neutralize a swarm of this scale, though several of their personnel would definitely sustain severe injuries in the process. However, the most critical issue right now isn't the presence of these Pincerbugs..."
During their journey through the mountains, Clever had already explicitly briefed the household regarding the nature of her personal Originium Arts. Her specialized casting combined advanced scanning mechanics with telepathic communication. Within a specific radius, she could fluidly detect the structural presence of living organisms, trace their exact movement trajectories, and establish a direct mind-to-mind link with designated targets. It was an exceptionally decent supportive ability.
Unfortunately, because she possessed virtually zero personal combat capacity, her function was strictly limited to pure intelligence support. The moment the Pincerbug swarm had descended upon the canopy, she had immediately activated her sensory grid to observe the unfolding crisis. It was during this observation that she caught a glaring abnormality occurring within the caravan's defensive perimeter.
The physical trajectories of two specific individuals inside the circle were entirely counter-intuitive.
Who was Clever? She was a trained intelligence operative belonging to Rose Riverside. The core of her daily work revolved around espionage, counter-intelligence, and subtle surveillance. Naturally, her mind was extremely sensitive to such behavioral deviations. When those two targets repeatedly performed actions that defied standard defensive logic, she immediately deduced that they were highly suspicious of being the malicious masterminds behind this sudden insect siege. As for what specific treasure they hoped to extract from the caravan's cargo holds, that wasn't a detail for an outside observer to consider.
Hearing Clever's breakdown, the others turned their eyes toward the merchant camp with renewed curiosity. Out on the grass, the surrounding Pincerbugs subconsciously swerved to either side whenever they neared the carriage, completely bypassing the Scarlet Devil Mansion's camp without a single bug so much as brushing against their luggage.
Amused by the spectacle, Flandre scooped up Clever and Meiling, effortlessly leaping onto the branch of a massive nearby tree to look down upon the battlefield from a superior vantage point. At first, Clever panicked slightly; after all, having one's feet suddenly leave the ground was an incredibly difficult sensation to accept for someone who possessed no intrinsic capability to fly.
Below them, the merchant group had efficiently arranged their heavy transport carriages into a tight defensive ring, shielding the non-combatants and the resting Camel-beasts in the center. Among the active personnel, ten men stood firmly atop the wooden frameworks, utilizing hand crossbows to rain bolts downward into the mass of chitin. Of the remaining five frontline fighters, two held heavy iron shields to lock down the primary entrance, while the final three wielded longswords and spears, hacking relentlessly at any Pincerbugs attempting to squeeze through the narrow gaps.
The engagement was exceptionally fierce. The vicious insects, each roughly the size of a standard hunting hound, were desperately throwing their bodies against the defensive barricade, tearing and clawing as if something highly stimulating within the camp was driving them into a total frenzy.
The frontline defenders soon noticed this strange behavior as well. The reasoning was simple: no matter how aggressive they might be, Pincerbugs were ultimately just insects. Being governed strictly by primal instinct meant their species was highly sensitive to environmental factors—and like many nocturnal pests, they harbored an intense, natural aversion to open flames.
To exploit this weakness, the caravan members had stacked their limited supply of firewood into several roaring bonfires directly in front of the narrow entrance. These blazes were intended to provide the crossbowmen with a sufficient field of vision while simultaneously driving the skittish pests away from the bottleneck. Under normal conditions, even if a swarm recognized that a wealth of fresh meat was waiting inside, they would typically disperse after a few tentative probes and the loss of a few colony members. For any wild species, the survival of the collective was paramount. Predation in the untamed Wilds was a hazardous endeavor, and even Pincerbugs wouldn't waste a massive portion of their colony's reproductive strength on a meaningless war of attrition.
Yet, these specific Pincerbugs were behaving entirely differently. They were acting like rabid dogs that had completely lost their minds, squeezing and tearing at the woodwork with zero regard for their own safety. Such suicidal behavior did not fit the biological nature of the species.
"I recall hearing from some of my senior associates that Columbia recently synthesized a specialized pheromone compound," Clever explained softly to the two companions beside her on the branch. "It is engineered to target a specific species, altering their neurochemistry to make the local population incredibly irritable, driving them to attack any surrounding life forms in a mindless fury."
She leaned forward, pointing a finger toward the center of the defensive ring. "Look closely down there. Those two particular guys seem to be hunting for something specific while everyone else is distracted!"
Within the panicked crowd, two individuals were completely lacking the frantic terror displayed by their peers. Instead, they were leveraging the chaos to slip toward the rear cargo racks, stealthily prying open the latches to search through the merchant's private crates.
Catching sight of the underhanded theft, Flandre rolled her eyes in amusement. Channeling her magical energy to completely alter her vocal cords, she adopted the crisp, echoing voice of a young boy, suddenly shouting down toward the crowded camp:
"Hey! What exactly are you two doing over there!"
Down within the perimeter of the Walnut Vine Caravan, the atmosphere was suffocating.
The guard captain cleanly severed a Pincerbug's upper jaw with a heavy downward stroke of his blade, his eyes darkening as he took in the densely packed wave of chitin rolling through the brush. As an old hand who had traveled the dangerous trade routes of the frontier for many years, he was all too familiar with the traditional behavior of these pests. In any past encounter, the mere threat of a roaring bonfire would have caused the swarm to retreat after a few half-hearted strikes.
But tonight, the creatures were behaving as though they had lost all cognitive function, launching a relentless, unyielding assault squarely against the main entrance.
His steel longsword had already developed ominous structural cracks during the frantic defense; he estimated the weapon would be completely scrapped if the engagement continued for another few minutes. Yet, what truly troubled his mind was that the insects showed zero indication of breaking; if anything, their movements were becoming increasingly frantic.
There is something hidden within our cargo that is actively drawing these damn bugs to our position!
In an instant, the puzzle pieces clicked together in his mind. But even though he understood the underlying cause of the crisis, there was very little he could do to remedy the situation; he simply lacked the luxury of time required to conduct a thorough inspection of the cargo containers while holding a crumbling line. However, he was absolutely certain that behind his back, someone within their own ranks was playing an incredibly dirty trick.
Parrying another lunging insect, he hoarsely called the caravan's head manager over to his position, quickly relaying his grim discovery so the executive could identify who exactly was screwing over the operation.
"Could it perhaps be those strange women camped outside our perimeter?" the manager suggested, his voice shaking. He still found it incredibly difficult to believe that his own hand-picked personnel could be the source of such treachery. After all, every single individual accompanying this transport was a skilled professional he had personally vetted over the years.
If someone within their own inner circle had engineered this catastrophe, wouldn't that imply his personal judgment of character was utterly flawed? When the caravan's corporate superiors eventually launched an investigation into the incident, the structural accountability would fall squarely on his shoulders. At best, he would face severe criticism and a heavy reduction in pay; at worst, he might be permanently stripped of his managerial status. Consequently, he was completely unwilling to admit that the crisis could have originated from within his own camp.
"What a load of rubbish!" the guard captain barked rudely, spit flying from his lips as he blocked a lunging claw. "Those women haven't even taken a single step toward our perimeter since they arrived! Tell me then, you idiot—how exactly did they manage to plant a swarm of mad bugs right under our noses without anyone noticing? You are just trying escape responsibility aren't you?"