The Lesser Taratects came at him like a living flood, their bodies writhing, legs skittering, mandibles clicking in unison.
They didn't give him even a fraction of a second to breathe.
From all directions, they lunged—front, back, above.
His Nethrite Dagger became an extension of his will, slicing through the air with deadly efficiency. Limbs flew. Fangs shattered. Black ichor splattered across the cavern walls.
He didn't need to use any skills—his raw strength, speed, and instinct were more than enough to rip them apart. One strike, one kill.
The cave floor became a graveyard of twitching, dismembered bodies.
But they just kept coming.
Their numbers should have overwhelmed him. He should have been buried beneath their sheer mass, their relentless assault.
Yet, he stood.
He fought.
He slaughtered.
And then—
They stopped.
It was abrupt.
The next wave should have come immediately. He had trained his mind for it, had adjusted to the rhythm of death.
But instead, they halted, forming a tight circle around him.
Waiting. Watching.
His breath came slow and measured, his body tense.
He checked his quest progress.
[66/100 Lesser Taratects killed.]
"More than halfway there. But why did they stop?"
A slow, chilled breath left his lips. His fingers tightened around the dagger.
Something was coming.
And then—
It stepped out from the darkness.
At first, he saw only a massive shadow stretching over the webbed floor.
Then the legs emerged.
They were thicker than his own arms, covered in midnight-black exoskeleton plating, sharp as spears. The creature moved deliberately, unlike the frantic scuttling of the Lesser Taratects.
And then came the body—a monstrous Taratect, twice the size of the others.
Its deep red eyes gleamed, filled with predatory intelligence.
It screeched—
A high-pitched, bone-chilling sound that made every Lesser Taratect in the room vibrate in response.
"A war cry?"
The others twitched, reacting to the call like a command.
"They weren't attacking randomly before, but now…"
This was a formation. A strategy.
His lips curled into a snarl of defiance.
"If you want a war—then COME AND GET ME!"
The Taratects charged once more.
He met them head-on, tearing through their ranks. His blade flashed, carving through carapace, splitting bodies left and right.
Then—
His arm stopped moving.
"What?!"
His entire right arm was bound, thick white threads wrapped tightly around his bicep and wrist, restricting his movement.
A Taratect lunged, sinking its fangs into his side.
Pain flared.
He gritted his teeth, twisting violently to rip himself free.
The wound was superficial, but the real problem wasn't the damage—
It was the plan.
The General Taratect had organized them.
They weren't mindlessly attacking anymore.
Some of them had stayed back, shooting silk from afar, waiting for the perfect moment to bind him.
And it worked.
"These little bastards are actually using tactics?!"
The thought sent a thrill through his veins.
But he wasn't about to lose to a bunch of spiders.
With a growl, he flexed his arm—and with brute strength alone, he ripped through the silk threads like they were paper.
The Taratects clicked their mandibles in alarm.
He was free.
His eyes locked onto the General Taratect.
"You're the leader. If I kill you, this whole mess ends."
With a burst of speed—
[Dash]
He exploded forward, a blur in the darkness.
But—
The Lesser Taratects MOVED.
They sacrificed themselves, forming a moving wall, a barrier of bodies to shield their commander.
He slashed—
Tore through them.
Blood sprayed. Limbs severed.
A Lesser Taratect tried to bind his leg—
He yanked the thread, pulling the creature toward him—
And slammed it into the wall, shattering its body instantly.
Another jumped for his throat—
He caught it midair, CRUSHING it in his fist.
His mind was hyper-aware now, every movement, every kill making him faster, deadlier.
His stats were rising.
But—
A notification blinked in his vision.
[Quest Complete!]
[Reward: Silkweave Cloak received.]
Before he could react—
Another screen appeared.
[Chain Quest – Phase 2 Initiating.
Kill 300 Lesser Taratects.
Reward- Phantom Stride]
"Three hundred?!"
His breath hitched.
And then—
He saw the penalty.
[Penalty: Stats temporarily reduced by 40%.
Time Limit-20 minutes]
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
His heart pounded.
A 40% stat cut—that was practically a death sentence in a battle like this.
His grip tightened on his dagger.
The ground trembled.
The web shook violently.
From the shadows behind him, a second wave surged forth.
Hundreds of Lesser Taratects poured from every corner of the cavern, their screeches rising to a deafening crescendo.
And they weren't alone.
More Generals emerged.
They stood at the edges, watching, coordinating.
They weren't attacking.
They were commanding the army.
His breathing steadied.
His dagger dripped with ichor.
The Taratects surrounded him like an ocean of black chitin.
Three. Hundred.
"Just how many of you ARE THERE?!"
His body felt heavier—the penalty was kicking in.
His strength, his speed—everything was dulled.
But he still had one thing.
His will to fight.
He exhaled.
Then, he grinned.
"Come, then."
The horde charged.
And he met them with steel.