Beep! (1)
The Spider Queen Curequium had been here since the forest first sprouted. Her memories weren't precise, but she vaguely recalled tumbling from an egg, carried by the wind, and crashing into the woods—that must have been the beginning. Though just a tiny spider at first, she was strong. And ferocious. Countless predators blocked her path, but in the end, they all fell to her venomous fangs and webs, surrendering their lives.
With every molt, she grew stronger. They say it takes a thousand sheddings to reach adulthood? When she finally cast off her thousandth husk, she had become the largest and mightiest monster in the western jungle. By then, the horde of lesser spiders following her numbered over ten thousand.
As she expanded her colony, she naturally clashed in brutal territorial wars with the forest's many apex predators. And she survived, slaying countless powerhouses in the process. The previous Orc Queen, and the one before her; the Lizard King—they all died by her hand. Innumerable other forest beasts fell beneath her domain too. Among them were even a Sword Master from a human army come to fell the trees, and a grand archmage.
She thought to herself: There's no one left in this forest who can beat me.
......
But then?
"Wh-what is that?!"
Curequium couldn't believe her eyes. Crunch—drip—crack! The sound echoing right before her. It was her spider silk snapping! The webs that could crush boulders and sever steel were now tearing apart in chunks.
And the culprit? None other than Cliche.
"Nngh."
With the slightest flex of his body, Cliche snapped Curequium's silk—the same threads that even Hotse and Unicef couldn't break—like dry reeds. It was an earth-shattering event that left everyone in the temple doubting their own eyes.
"......"
Having shredded the webs around him so effortlessly, Cliche stretched a few times before staring straight ahead.
"You're in for a beating."
The moment those words hit, Hotse and Unicef, dangling from the ceiling, flinched hard. Bad memories flooding back.
Cliche's pink eyes flashed toward Curequium.
Flash!
Pink killing intent burst from his red-and-white eyes!
"Gasp?!"
In that split second, Curequium found herself snatched up in Cliche's left hand. And then—
Crackle—crackle—craaaack!
The leg touched by his left hand began frosting over white.
"Wh-what?!"
Startled by the chill creeping up her leg, Curequium flailed her remaining limbs and scurried back. But—
"No way?!"
She froze in place, rooted like a statue. One leg had frozen solid to the ground. Sharp hoarfrost encased it entirely.
Swoosh—Cliche was already atop that frozen leg.
"Ah."
Curequium let out a short sigh. And the pummeling began.
Thwack—bam—crack!
Cliche alternated left and right fists, hammering her all over. Thwack! Left hit—craaaack! White frost spread. Thwack! Right hit—whoosh! Crimson flames roared. And above all, the raw power in each punch was so immense it felt like one solid blow could knock her out cold. Hair-raising strikes, one after another!
......!!!
Curequium couldn't even scream. The pain drilled to her bones with every hit, followed by cycles of freezing, thawing, burning, refreezing. Was this what it felt like for flesh to tear from bone? It hurt so much her mind blurred.
How long since she'd felt pain like this? Finally, the Spider Queen who ruled the western woods wailed:
"Please spare me!"
At her pitiful shriek, Cliche's fist paused mid-swing. He glared wide-eyed, trying his hardest to look menacing. Adorably, of course.
"Did you really kill a dragon? What color were its scales?"
Cliche demanded. Curequium bawled:
"It was a lie!"
"......?"
"Killing a dragon! Total fib! I've never even seen one!"
She sobbed hysterically. The orcs and lizardmen gaped, stunned. The mighty Spider Queen, like this? Was she really the apex predator who'd dominated the forest?
"A lie......?"
Cliche tilted his head and lowered his fist. He'd been furious at the thought of kin-slaying, but a fib? No point getting madder. His plan to extract dragon intel after subduing her fizzled too—no need for more effort.
About then—
Crackle—Hotse and Unicef broke free of their webs. As they dropped down, Curequium tearfully raised all six legs and two arms in total surrender.
Cliche scowled at her.
"Why lie and stir up trouble?"
"Sorry...... We just needed water......"
Curequium glanced at the bubbling spring deep in the temple.
Cliche whipped his head toward the orcs and lizardmen on the ceiling.
"You all fighting over water too?"
They nodded.
"No choice, then."
Cliche sighed. He clasped his hands together.
Flash!
Dazzling white light erupted from his left hand.
"......"
Everyone gawked, mouths agape in awe. It shone like a star fallen from the night sky—brilliant, pure white.
"......"
Cliche focused power into his left hand and slammed it to the floor.
"Hah!"
Craaaack!
A massive ice pillar burst through the temple ceiling. Boom! It punched through one corner and kept growing. Frigid air banished the desert heat in seconds.
"Eek?!"
Orcs, lizardmen—even Curequium—tumbled back in shock at the colossal pillar. It had sucked every drop of moisture from the air and frozen it solid. Beneath the scorching sun, this towering ice spire stood defiant.
"Wait for it to melt. You'll have your water."
They stared blankly skyward at the pillar, tall enough to scrape the heavens.
Drip—drip—water trickled down the ice, through straws, into bowls. Spiders, orcs, lizardmen eyed each other warily but shared the water.
Cliche was right. His ice pillar provided enough for all three tribes—and then some. Natural hostilities paused. With water aplenty, fighting felt pointless.
"Th-thank you."
Orc Queen Amy and Max bowed to Cliche's group. The boy who'd appeared out of nowhere and ended their ancient feud in one go.
"Whatever. Don't sweat it."
Cliche waved lazily, looking tired.
"Wh-why not jus' do this from th' start?"
"Must've been a hassle, huh? Ho ho ho. I'd do the same—why bother with ice magic when you could just steal the orcs' water?"
Hotse and Unicef bantered.
"Could we get a map of the area, by chance?"
Only Roin negotiated smartly with the orcs. Surprisingly advanced culture—they had maps of the western jungle in various styles, and she scored plenty.
Meanwhile.
"O Pink God."
Cliche raised an eyebrow at Amy's call. The orcs were starting to worship him like a deity.
"What?"
"As thanks for the water, we offer the sacred relic of our Coway God."
Figuring Cliche would snatch it anyway, the orcs chose preemptive tribute to build goodwill. A sly move, un-orc-like.
Amy led Cliche deep into the temple, to a clear spring. Two sharp steel horns protruded from the floor, water pooling around them.
"Pure water bubbles up around these horns nonstop. Thought it'd help on your desert trek......"
"You guys don't need this spring?"
"We're good. That ice pillar should last years."
Amy stepped into the spring and tapped one steel horn.
"Touch here for water."
"Huh. Neat."
"Yes. Right one's cold, left one's hot."
"Temperature control too? Whoa."
Cliche poked both curiously.
"Connected underground?"
He gripped a horn tight and tapped the submerged floor with his foot. Amy nodded.
"Yes. Been here since the ancient temple was built, they say. No sage knows what's below......"
Her words cut off.
"Hah!"
Cliche yanked both horns free with brute force.
"Gasp?!"
Everyone gasped. Ioldrum, Amy, even Curequium—eyes bulging.
Thud—the floor cracked. The horns ripped out in Cliche's hands. And below them?
"Wh-what is that?!"
Gripped in his hands: a girl made of steel. Beautiful silver hair, pale skin clad in black steel armor. No ears—instead, the steel horns dangled from her head like earrings.
Pulled into the world by Cliche's hands, the girl opened her eyes. She spoke in a eerie, metallic grind, like steel on steel:
Beep!