Romulo watched the Swampopotamuses from a wooden perch far above the waterline. Owing to the fact that, before the undead rain, he had occasionally liked to spend the night here in the Old Growth, he had a few hideouts scattered about the place.

This one, a nest that had formerly belonged to a Yakara—that was to say, a giant species of cannibalistic bird that lived in the area—was a humble little cave carved out in the side of a tree. Owing to the young pseudohuman’s massive stature, the place felt a bit claustrophobic, but the safety afforded by its position halfway between the water and the branches more than made up for that. None of the predators he feared most were able to reach such a place.

Speaking of predators he feared, the herd of Swampopotamuses below him was near the top of his list. Even though Romulo stood almost ten feet tall and had a body far more robust than that of an ordinary person, he knew that a single bite from one of those tyrants would spell instant death.

Fortunately, he had spent enough time observing them enough to know that anything below a certain size did not register as a threat to the creatures: so long as the intruder in question weighed less than five pounds, the Swampopotamuses would not attack. That knowledge was what gave him the ability to fish in Swampopotamus territory without agitating them. The creatures, militant as they were, had no reason to lash out at someone who obeyed their rules.

And so he sat there, about thirty feet up from the water, with a fishing rod in hand and a hook in the water. In the next few minutes, Romulo hoped, he would catch something. Many creatures in the Old Growth were extremely aggressive, so hooking a fish never took very long.

Between the gentle pitter-patter of leaves catching the heavy downpour above him and the calm breeze around him, Romulo was almost tempted to find the situation relaxing. It was true, yes, that he had been forced to play a violent death game against what, relative to himself, might as well be a god, but he nonetheless found himself enjoying the situation from moment to moment—even if the big picture stuff did not bode well for him. As long as he never left his hiding spot, there really wasn’t any danger.

Some early trials he had conducted on the way there had revealed the terrifying nature of the undead rain—a phenomenon in which any animal that died would come back stronger and more aggressive than before, seemingly without a limit to the number of times it could revive—and, if based purely on that, it was easy to be lulled into believing that survival was impossible, but knew enough about Opuses to understood that they always had restrictions and weaknesses. Those limitations were what gave them their power, after all, and all Romulo needed to do was figure out what they were.

He already had a few theories: namely that one of the limitations was that there needed to be a lot of moisture in the environment for it to work, but he had no way of testing that without incurring some risk. Still, if his hypothesis about the creatures revived by the undead rain getting stronger with every death was true, the sooner he tested it, the better off he would be.

But, for the time being, Romulo was content to sit there with his fishing rod, enjoying the sights and sounds of the swamp under the rain.

♦

Siempre Elvanera, sitting aboard the luxury yacht he had been allowed to borrow during the Undead Rain Experiment, looked down at the maids and butlers whose mission it had been to keep watch over him throughout to the duration of the experiment.

They were currently in the middle of a battle against the horde of zombies that had besieged the yacht and, of the twelve servants whose mission it had been to keep watch over him throughout the duration of the experiment to make sure he didn’t try anything, nine were already dead and, by the look of things, the remaining three would soon follow suit.

Siempre took a sip of 50-year-old whiskey, pleased at his good fortune.

The zombies created by the undead rain were far stronger than he’d expected. So strong, in fact, that he began to wonder if they would reach the point of becoming dangerous enough that his life would be endangered. The odds favored that outcome, he believed, but just to make sure, he took out his hundred-sided die and threw it up into the air, stating the following before it hit the ground:

“Truthseeker Dice: The zombies in this area us will become strong enough to pose a serious threat to me by the end of the month.”

The die landed on the carpeted floor and rolled for a bit before finally landing on 94.

He tensed up. Ninety-seven percent. That the probability of his prediction coming true according to the unbiased amalgamation of the information he had collected throughout his life. It was possible, of course, that some of his information was wrong, but that number was probably correct.

It was true that he was level 33 and therefore quite powerful, but he was by no means a fighter. None of his Abilities were naturally geared toward combat, nor had he ever trained to make them useful for combat and, as a result, none of them were. Even someone as weak as Jenjo could pose a serious threat to him in a direct encounter, so it made sense that the zombies would be able to reach that point too. In any case, his findings meant that all he needed to do was get off the island before the month was over.

He wanted to ask the dice some follow-up questions, but one of the restrictions for his Opus was that he had to wait at least half an hour between uses, so that would have to wait.

In the meantime, he was content to watch as the zombies butchered his servants.

♦

Nobody spoke as the bodyguards-to-be tiptoed along the branches they were using as roads. Most of them, especially the lower-level members like Midday and Honey, had to put most of their energy into keeping balance. Additionally, the sound of rainfall was a lot louder now that they were closer to the treetops. It was wetter up there too and, if not for the Raincoat Rings, the walk would have been very miserable indeed—not that it wasn’t miserable enough knowing that, excluding Jenjo and Bell, falling into the water more than a hundred feet below was probably synonymous with death. Between the Swampopotamuses and everything else that lived down there, being in the water for more than a few seconds was like asking to be ripped to shreds.

The treetops were dangerous too, of course, and Midday had spotted more everything from regular squirrels to 20-foot-long millipedes that moved faster than Midday reckoned he could sprint. He also noticed that there were a few Crop Baboons watching the group with keen eyes, probably trying to judge if the humans were a threat to be dealt with or if they could just be ignored. Each one was about twice the size of a person and, as a species, they had the notable trait of having edible blue fur that was identical in every way—including nutritional value—to Valley Algae. As such, whenever Crop Baboons got hungry, they simply ripped off some of their fur and ate it and, because the fur in question grew back faster than they could eat it, the baboons had the amazing trait of being entirely self-sustaining. Along with Swampopotamuses and Old Growth Elephants, Romulo had once called them one top three most dominant creatures in the old growth.

Midday could see why. If Jenjo hadn’t been there to protect them, he imagined that just one of the baboons would have been enough to wipe out the whole group. It was a good thing, then, that they were pretty chill. Seeing as Crop Baboons were self-sustaining, they didn’t have as much of a reason to care about maintaining their territories as other creatures like the Swampopotamuses. Romulo had never been attacked by one—though that might have had something to do with the fact that Romulo was scary enough of an opponent that it just wasn’t worth the risk.

♦

Finally, after twenty minutes of walking, they had finally come across an elephant or, rather, the distant sounds of one headed in their general direction.

Everything in the vicinity of the fog-veiled beast trembled as it approached. Leaves shook, branches swayed, and even the thick trunks of the Freshwater Oaky Mangrove trees seemed to wobble with its footsteps. It sounded as though the behemoth was headed directly toward them, and Midday felt his stomach drop when he realized that it most certainly was.