Setting mountains ablaze and cutting down trees to drive out enemies are traditional tactics—but only under certain conditions.
For instance, a mountain with no escape routes, or a forest that can be easily cleared: these are the terrains targeted by such strategies. Attempting to end a war by cutting down trees in a vast rainforest surrounded by open plains is like trying to defeat sharks by filling the ocean. Even if the forest became uninhabitable, the Amazonians could escape from any direction before that happened. Human armies could never encircle every edge of the Angaço Forest.
Besides, Amazon warriors weren't dead.
A morning of logging proved productive, the army carving a small opening in the Angaço Forest's edge like a spoon. Simultaneously, the advance party deep within became surrounded by trees. Both the loggers and the surrounding sentries found themselves exposed on Amazonian home turf.
A dozen bows drew taut simultaneously, then released. Compared to the thunderous barrage of crossbow bolts, the arrows flying from multiple directions appeared chaotic at first glance—almost like random shots. The whistling pierced through the forest's chorus of insects and birds, their sharp points concealed by the shadows of the trees. Only when a patch of bodies hit the ground in unison did the crowd stir.
The Amazonian archers lay concealed in every corner, known only to the ghost who had watched them all along. Their leather armor and helmets blended seamlessly with the surrounding trees. Plant juices dyed their exposed skin the color of leaves, while crushed glands from certain rodents masked their scent, making them indistinguishable from the birds and beasts. Not even the most alert hound uttered a bark. They moved without formation, each as agile as a monkey, as adept at concealment as an Angaroth lion. Every cold arrow claimed a life.
Panic erupted among the vanguard survivors, screams rising and falling, though none lasted long. After the first volley, the commander ceased issuing commands. The archers' shots became sporadic yet unerringly precise. They could draw their bows twice in a single second, making one doubt whether they even needed to aim. The unceasing hail of arrows plowed through the invaded forest, swiftly clearing the area.
Not a single arrow missed its mark. One corpse bore two fatal arrows—a coincidence that represented the only waste.
It was difficult to describe how astonishing this spectacle was; only witnessing it firsthand could convey the power of such a group of master archers. The Amazonian archers were the most fearsome snipers of their age. When they moved in packs, Tarsha couldn't help but think of a horde of rampaging automatic ball launchers. It was incredible that a group of archers could match the performance of a machine gun equipped with an automatic targeting mechanism.
It all happened too quickly. The massive human force outside the forest didn't even have time to react. After the last body hit the ground, the ambushing archers charged out. They ran toward the stunned soldiers outside, unleashing a hail of arrows upon them. This sortie comprised entirely of archers—lightly equipped and agile, though their roles varied slightly. Some charged forward fearlessly, others provided cover and reconnaissance, while the rest swiftly retrieved arrows from corpses and seized weapons. The vastly outnumbered army, caught completely off guard, retreated like a bloated beast kicked in the rear.
A bloated beast with tusks.
After a moment of chaos, the human forces regrouped. Shield bearers, wielding massive shields, moved to the front under command, while crossbowmen behind them began loading their weapons. The crossbow bolts they carried were larger than the ones Tashan had seen before. The sound of coiling the bowstring and loading the bolt echoed like hoisting a city gate, their combined weight grinding teeth. If deployed, these weapons could pierce anything within three hundred meters.
But unless struck, even the mightiest weapon was meaningless.
Not a single Amazon among the advancing forces wielded swords and shields for close combat. The light leather armor worn by the archers offered little defense against the devastating crossbow bolts, yet it granted them unmatched mobility. The moment the greatshield line formed, all charging warriors retreated instantly, as cleanly as birds departing after feeding. They scattered in a flurry, vanishing into the Angars Forest, leaving behind only scattered arrows, a field of corpses, and the furious curses of officers.
No one dared pursue these forest hunters into the woods. They could only regroup and resume felling trees under the shields' protection.
They never again cut trees at leisure. The Amazons rotated shifts, stealing heads under the shields' momentary lapses, then scattering into the forest when the human army's furious counterattacks came. It was a textbook lesson in guerrilla warfare. Human casualties mounted, morale plummeted, while the Amazon warriors lost only arrows. Off-duty fighters laughed in camp, recounting tales of victory to those not yet called to battle. "Perhaps you won't be needed," the one-eyed warrior woman chuckled, ruffling her daughter's hair. The young girls, fresh from their first battle, seethed with indignation. Marion's fingers traced the hilt of her dagger; she looked equally eager for action.
The next day's battle followed the same pattern. The humans suffered double-digit casualties while felling only single-digit trees; logging had become a dreaded chore. The mood at the forest camp grew increasingly festive. The Amazons began discussing celebratory drinks, and bets started on when the humans would finally leave.
"Perhaps we won't need to relocate," someone suggested. "I doubt they'll keep attacking like this. Who would use an army useless in the forest to deliver themselves to us?"
"No one," the Amazon Queen replied, her brow furrowed in the firelight. "That is precisely my concern."
Tasha felt the same way.
The battle had gone too smoothly, and she felt a vague unease. Humans couldn't all be fools. How could the Earthlord, who had snatched every victory from his allies, keep making such obvious mistakes? Tasha didn't believe in a fictional world where everyone else became idiots the moment the main character appeared, nor did she see herself as that protagonist who sailed through everything effortlessly.
Victor said, "Not everyone needs to be a fool. It's enough for their superiors to be. You have no idea the absurd things nobles have done—kings who sold entire nations to me!"
"But there are no nobles or kings now," Tasha reminded him.
"Just different names," Victor shrugged indifferently.
Marion and the artisan dwarf had taught Tasha the outside world's truths: the Erian Empire had no royalty or nobility, only a leader and ministers. Four or five centuries could turn the Abyss and the Celestial Realm into history here, and in Tasha's former world, it could fuel multiple technological revolutions and social reforms. She utterly rejected the notion that the difference was merely a name change.
That night, a new convoy arrived at the outpost. Within one of the large wagons, Tasha spotted the "Red Hound."
It truly resembled a machine, its head currently dull and lifeless, lying motionless inside the vehicle. From the conversation between the transporters and officers, Tasha learned this particular hound had just been requested from above. It was in perfect working order, awaiting only activation.
Tasha couldn't decipher the Red Hound. This bizarre steampunk contraption bore intricate runes on its casing—Victor couldn't read them but recognized them as dwarven work—and like the floor of the dungeon library, ghosts couldn't pass through it. Her duplicate left behind in the Amazon village immediately alerted Marion, instructing her to withdraw the artisan dwarves from the Amazon settlement. Once the Red Hound activated, it would simultaneously detect both them and the Amazons' base camp. Even if they located the main force, gaining the upper hand in the forest would be impossible—and that would be disastrous.
And that wasn't the only problem.
Compared to the other wagons, the unreadable Red Hound was a minor concern. Three entire covered wagons were loaded with something the ghost couldn't approach. Tasha couldn't even glance inside the carriages; from a distance, she felt an intense repulsion—a mix of fear and nausea, like an insect facing insecticide. Before getting close, an instinctive barrier had already formed, making approach impossible.
The longer she stayed, the stronger the feeling grew. Before anything was unloaded from the wagons, the camp had become a ghostly no-go zone.
Victor had mentioned that divine relics blessed by the gods might affect Abyssal species like this. But where would Erian find such deities now? Especially since Tasha had just been certified free of Abyssal aura. She was almost certain the other shoe would drop, but had no idea where.
Ghosts couldn't approach, and Marion would be exposed when the Red Hounds activated (did humans hunt pure-blooded Amazonian women with Red Hounds specifically to guard against mixed-blood infiltrators?). In the end, only the Amazonians could be relied upon. This thought coincided with the Amazonian Queen's own concerns. Ultimately unable to shake her unease about the abnormal battle situation, she dispatched scouts under cover of night.
Dora and Catherine were the Amazonians' finest scouts.
They slipped silently into the human encampment, snapping the necks of guards who couldn't evade them and concealing the bodies in shadows. They approached the new convoy quietly until boisterous soldiers blocked their path.
They looked elated, shouting coarse words—a stark contrast to their mournful expressions during the day. They were as hyped as if drunk, yet the camp patrols ignored them, as if military discipline didn't exist here. Upon closer look, some even wore expressions of envy.
The Amazons, now disguised as guards, exchanged glances and quietly followed the soldiers.
They arrived at a secluded tent, likely pitched only tonight, far from the camp's center. They expected to find some secret weapon or supply distribution, but... in a way, this could be considered provisions too.
Women.
Catherine yanked Dora back into the shadows, though both women's veins were bulging. It was "that" kind of scene, made worse by the fact that the poor women being abused were dressed as Amazon warriors.
"Calm down!" Catherine mouthed. "We're not here for this!"
"That tattoo!" Dora's veins throbbed on her forehead. "The one in the middle—see it? Not the crude disguises on the sides. That's our hunt mark!"
"..."
Catherine fell silent, their fists clenched tight. The Amazons weren't isolated; they suffered casualties and disappearances during migrations and skirmishes. The Amazons had always protected women, and now every surviving Amazon regarded her kin as sisters. Ignoring this was too hard.
"It could be a trap," Catherine gritted out. "Let's go!"
They dragged their feet, probing other sections of the encampment. The commander's quarters were guarded like a fortress, and several large wagons were protected even more fiercely than the commander's tent. They circled them, finding nothing but mounting frustration.
It was nearly midnight. Time to leave. Catherine signaled, but Dora shook her head. She pointed resolutely in one direction. Catherine hesitated, then shook her head too. Whether by design or chance, they circled back to the vicinity of that earlier tent. Now, only a handful of people remained here. With just these few... perhaps...
They heard a woman's agonized scream.
Dora spun and ran. Catherine followed moments later. At the tent entrance, they saw a drunken soldier gouging out a woman's eyes with a dagger. Only four people remained at the midnight revelry, including the guards outside.
Before Catherine could intervene, Dora had already drawn her bow. An arrow pierced the soldier's eyeball, emerging cleanly through the back of his skull. It was far from a wise move, but with events already unfolding, Catherine hesitated no longer. She placed a silencing arrow through the guard's throat. Within seconds, all four soldiers fell silent. Dora rushed toward the pitiful women, lifting the one in the middle to try and see her face.
"We can't take them!" Catherine warned in a low voice, drawing her bow behind Dora in readiness. "We have to go!"
Dora found no familiar shadow in that face, but the emaciated, scarred woman bore no resemblance to what she might have looked like in health. These women seemed barely more than the living dead. One was blind, another legless, bloodstains layered over old scars, and all their eyes were hollow and terrifying.
Dora stripped off the half-torn clothing and hoisted the woman with the hunter's mark onto her back. "No!" Catherine shook her head anxiously. "We can't take her back. If she's a problem..."
"She carries nothing, and she has no tongue. What kind of spy could she be?" Dora snapped irritably. "I'll watch her when we get back!"
She snapped the remaining woman's neck, hoisted the one on her back, and ran out.