By herself, Marisol would've gotten herself stuck between giant corals and a hard place more than a few times by now. With Kuku leading the way, she was able to weave through the tighter passageways within the coral forest without hitting a dead end even once.

Being cornered would spell disaster, with the group of twenty or so marauders tearing through the coral forest looking for her. So, Kuku always made sure the two of them slipped right under the marauders' noses. He guided her back the way she came by making her crawl under the giant vines—and while the winds were cool and breezy in the coral forest, sweat still beaded down her forehead. Together, they listened to the marauders walking on top of them, making the vines creak and groan in response.

Maybe crabs had keener senses underwater, but she was immensely grateful the marauders couldn't smell her fear. The whole group eventually walked past the two of them, and the moment Kuku glanced around to confirm they were indeed looking the wrong way, he beckoned her to continue following him through the forest.

… I can trust him.

I think.

As Kuku led her through the labyrinthine paths, she allowed herself to relax a little. Looking idly around the coral forest—only now did she notice the corals weren't simply wild and organic formations.

There were carvings of giant crabs on the corals, ink drawings on the distant ceiling of the cavern, and humanoid figures etched into the glowing aquamarine crystals all around. She'd just never really paid attention to them before, and… well, she had an adequate excuse for not noticing them earlier. She'd been too busy surviving an alien environment, speeding down the roots and fishing on the lake to properly examine her surroundings.

Now, though, she was certain this island was inhabited by more than just the marauders.

Her eyes glimmered as she tried to study the massive drawings in order, but failed—there were just so many to look at. She didn't know where to even start. Hundreds and thousands of giant crabs were carved into the corals all around. On the glowing crystals, there were figures of people etched with intricate detail, their faces upturned in reverence, their half-naked bodies adorned with shells and coral. It was like they were all praying to the giant ink drawing of the crab god on the ceiling, and it had to be some sort of god.

From one end of the cavern to another, it was a six-legged, four-armed giant of a man, clad from head to toe in jagged crab armor. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he had a head of a crab, too… but then she looked at the back of Kuku's head and thought otherwise.

The hundred-meter-long drawing of the crab god on the ceiling had the same head as Kuku's helmet.

Some sort of warrior deity the natives worshipped, then? she thought. He does look pretty impressive. Those are some massive muscles on a man. The crab helmet still looks silly with those stupid protruding eyes, though.

[It is not exactly uncommon for island tribes to notice our bug-slayers fighting off the Swarm in the distance, and then believe those same bug-slayers to be guardian gods of the island,] the Archive explained. [In my database, there are sixty-two records of secular island tribes worshipping bug-slayers as supernatural deities. At some point in time, perhaps several decades ago, the natives of this island must have come in contact with one of our Hasharana donning crab armor.]

She gave Kuku's crab helmet a long, hard stare. And… is that the same helmet the bug-slayer wore?

The Archive thought about it for a moment. [I do not believe so. The drawing on the ceiling has faded quite a fair amount, but the general shape of the boy's helmet does not match that of the drawing's helmet. I believe the boy may have simply recreated a weaker version of the helmet with lower-quality crab parts.]

Why would he do something like that?

[...]

She knew it was a stupid question the moment she thought of it. She may have dropped out of school, but even she could connect the dots. The drawings had to have been made by several hundreds of native tribesmen. Now, there was only the boy, living wild and feral in the forests, with the marauders roaming the surface of the island doing as they pleased.

She knew exactly what'd happened here.

After thirty or so minutes of sprinting quietly along the forest, though, Kuku pointed up at a giant vine. It led up to a hole on the surface, and the two of them climbed it with nearly zero regard for their own safety. Under normal circumstances, Marisol would've been slightly unnerved climbing such a tall vine with her bare hands. Staying underground, however, meant sharing the same confined space as that group of marauders. On the surface, at least, there was more room for her to run around.

So up and up she went, following Kuku's lead until she eventually felt the winds of the open sea brushing the top of her head. The surface. Her hands flew over the edge of the hole and she pulled the rest of her body up, panting for breath.

It was nighttime. The moon hung directly overhead. There were no clouds in the sky, there were no birds chirping, and the two of them emerged in a small clearing, surrounded by the lush greenery of the forest.

Right in front of her, in the center of the clearing, was a humble tribal hut. The walls were made of intertwined branches and woven palm fronds. The roof was thatch layered with dried grass. It reminded her of a small family house back in the desert. The difference was—as Kuku sprinted excitedly towards the front door and flung it open—there was nobody inside the hut. There were two tree stumps that served as stools surrounding an unlit fire pit, two woven mats by a simple square window without flaps, and that was it for the interior.

While Kuku beckoned her in with a happy little wave and got to work lighting the fire pit for warmth, she clutched her arms and tightened her jaw at the sight of a dozen crab legs stabbed into the soil surrounding the hut. If she were any more tired, she would've freaked out seeing them poking out of the soil like bone effigies to ward off predators, but… knowing how much Kuku seemed to like crabs, she couldn't help but see them as anything but grave markers.

[... It is rude to keep a host waiting with their front door open.]

I know.

Massaging her cheeks to dispel her tension, she stepped into the cozy little hut and closed the door behind her. While she'd been completely prepared to take the night watch, she didn't think the marauders would find them here—especially if Kuku had been living here for a while.

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Maybe there was no need to be so on edge.

She took a seat on the tree stump stool while Kuku knelt by the kindling, trying to spark a small flame with his little flintstones. Smiling softly, she kicked her legs over the kindling and sharpened her glaives against each other. The sparks generated more than enough embers to get another crackling bonfire roaring. The kindling would probably burn out in ten minutes or so, but that was fine with her; it was already midnight, and they had to go to sleep eventually.

For the time being, though, Kuku sat on the stool next to her, and the two of them simply stared at the bonfire.

Quiet.

Tired.

… The only ship off this island is the marauders' ship, she thought, narrowing her eyes at the lashing, flickering flames. I was only on Captain Antonio's ship for a few days when we were attacked, so the Whirlpool City still has to be super far away. There ain't no way I can skate all the way there without solid ground to rest on in between, so… there's no other choice, right?

The little water strider on her shoulder nodded slowly, agreeing with her.

[Your best shot at reaching the Whirlpool City involves you piloting the marauders' ship and sailing off this island with it.]

And I probably have to do it in a few days, too, she sighed internally. When I saw them earlier today, they seemed like they were celebrating, yeah, but there were also a few of them doing repairs on their ship. If they ain't leaving to raid because they ain't done with their own repairs, they'll probably be done in… what? Four days? Five days at most?

[Three days. I noticed, too, that they were trying to patch up small holes in their ship's hull—it would not take them more than three days to set sail again.]

She grimaced. Three days, huh?

[...]

… I have to beat the marauders in three days.

And she wasn't arrogant enough to think she could beat forty sea bandits with nothing but two glaives for legs. She could scour the island for more white lumps of flesh to eat—or, better yet, have Kuku catch her tons of crabs to eat every meal—and she'd be able to get a fair bit stronger by increasing her attribute levels and upgrading her mutations.

Still, she felt it'd take more than just levels and mutations to beat the marauders.

She needed new techniques. Something more than double spins. Something more than just pretty jumps. She needed something that was designed for battle, for war—and she felt she knew just where to learn such a technique.

Slowly, tentatively, she took out her mama's book and settled it in her lap. She stared at the cover for a long while before pulling the latch on the spine. Kuku heard the click of the lock unlocking and glanced over, crab eye stalks burning with curiosity. He immediately jumped into her lap with his hands folded. Thank the Great Makers she inherited her mama's sleek dancer physique—the sharp edges of his massive crab helmet would've stabbed painfully into a more bountiful chest.

Now, it was a bit difficult trying to read her book with his helmet blocking half her vision, but she managed by holding her book really, really far forward. She wanted to reward the boy for protecting her from the marauders.

So she flipped the hard leather cover open, wiped a few drops of water off the water-resistant pages, and read the very first page.

"... To El Borde Vellamira, Marisol, my only daughter."

"If you're reading this, you must be bored out of your mind sitting on Captain Antonio's ship."

It was a short letter, and she immediately giggled, making Kuku tilt his head in confusion. Her mama had no idea just how wrong she was.

"Knowing you, now that you've opened this first chapter, you'd blow through the rest of the book in a single day and then complain about having nothing to do on Antonio's ship. The man's an old friend of a cousin of a brother of your late father. I don't want to hear him nag in my ear once you guys get back to me."

"With that said, I'm sure you only opened this book because you're itching to get up on your feet and dance—so have no fear."

"Mama is here to teach you a few sand-dancing techniques, developed in the old times of war."

The words on the first page ended there, and there was an arrow guiding her to flip to the next page, so Marisol turned—and for the next thirty pages of the first chapter, it was all step-by-step drawings of a single dance technique, inked in black and showing off every possible angle of the technique.

She could see how it was supposed to be done from the top, from the side, from the back, and she could even see the defined musculature of the lady performing the technique. It was all incredibly well-drawn, and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that only her mama would've been able to draw thirty pages' worth of dancing diagrams.

Her book started shaking in her hands, and Kuku glanced around quietly to see her lips quivering as she took a peek at the future chapters.

Even with her ailments, how long had her mama spent drawing everything by herself?

"… I hope you didn't skip to the last page just to read this message."

I didn't, mama. She sniffled softly as she flipped to the last page before the second chapter. Promise.

"Well, whatever. You'll have plenty of time to stare at the diagrams while you're on that ship."

"I've no doubt that, on that ship, you've already seen plenty of beasts and horrors swimming beneath the sea's surface. The deep blue is a scary stage, and I imagine you're terrified of falling overboard while dancing on the deck, but know this, and keep it in your heart: the first technique I have imparted on you in this book can only be performed if you are truly fearless."

"You cannot fear the spin. You cannot fear the speed. It is an 'explosive' jump, Marisol. If you jump with anything less than a hundred and ten percent of your power, you will break your legs just as I had attempting to perform this technique a decade ago… but I have faith in you."

"You are nothing like me, after all."

"And this technique, if performed properly, is what an old Sand-Dancer would call the 'War Jump'—to shatter every wall that stands in your way."

"I pray you won't have to use it on someone, but if you must, at least do it with all the explosive grace of a Sand-Dancer and tell me about it when you get home."

Her mama's letter in the first chapter ended there, and while she could so easily move onto the second, third, fourth, and fifth chapters right now, she wasn't so inclined to blow through the entire book in a single night.

So, she patted Kuku's hard head as he insisted on seeing the diagrams in the first chapter again. She'd already memorized the step-by-step process of performing the technique, so she let him take her book and flip through the pages to admire the pretty drawings again.

While he hummed cheerily and bobbed his head left and right—clearly loving her mama's drawings as well—she looked out the window and stared up at the moon.

… A 'War Jump', huh?

I don't think it's something I can do without practice.

But if I can do it–

[Even with their toughness levels and Symbiosteel chitin armor, the Blackclaw Marauders will not be able to endure kicks with such power,] the Archive finished, sounding more confident than ever. [I believe it is worthwhile practicing and perfecting this technique. You may only have three days to do it, but, frankly, I have already seen you accomplish the near-impossible. I do not believe this combat-oriented 'War Jump' —or even just learning how to fight—is completely out of your realm of expertise.]

She gave the little water strider on her shoulder a small, teasing smile.

You're complimenting me for once.

[I merely told the truth.]

You're still complimenting me–

[Please get to practicing.]

[There is no telling when the Blackclaw Marauders will return once they depart in three days.]

[Objective #6: Defeat the Blackclaw Marauders]

[Time Limit: 3 days]

[Reward: Departure from this landmass]

[Failure: Indefinite residence on this landmass]

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