I wanted to loot the spider immediately.

Ambrosia had other ideas.

“Sit down.”

“I am sitting.”

“You’re leaning over a dead spider with two knives in your hands.”

“That’s basically sitting.”

She gave me a look until I lowered myself properly beside the roots.

While Ambrosia wrapped my arm and spread something cold over the acid burns on my shoulder, I opened the Wolffang Spider’s loot window.

[Lv8. Wolffang Spider]

[Elite: Small Silver Crown]

[DEAD]

[Species: Unknown]

Loot:

[Wolffang Spider Fang ×1]

[Wolffang Spider Leg ×2]

[Wolffang Spider Hair ×8]

I stared at the list. “That’s it?”

Ambrosia glanced over. “What do you mean, that’s it?”

“I almost died for one fang, two legs, and eight pieces of hair.”

“You almost died because you picked a fight with a giant spider.”

“It didn’t leave me much choice. I tried to say hello.”

Ambrosia tightened the bandage around my arm. I winced, and she smiled with obvious satisfaction.

“Sure you did.”

I looked back at the corpse.

The Wolffang Spider lay twisted across the roots, scorched and steaming. The Sulfurblast had blackened its rear half, curled patches of pale hair into brittle clumps, and split open the softer abdomen, allowing dark fluid to seep into the dirt. Somehow, the broad carapace covering its back had survived mostly intact, with only a few cracks along the edges where the explosion had hurled it into the roots.

Up close, the smell was awful—a mixture of burned hair, acid, and wet rot. One damaged leg gave a final reflexive twitch before scraping to a stop.

“We’re taking the whole thing.”

Ambrosia stopped wrapping my arm and stared at the corpse. “Cloud, it’s bigger than I am, leaking, and smells like acid and nightmare soup.”

“That’s a Level 8 elite. Everything on it could be useful.”

“It tried to eat us.”

“And failed. Now it’s loot.”

Ambrosia stared at me for several seconds. “I hate everything about how your brain works.”

I pulled a coil of rope from my bag.

Her expression somehow became worse. “You brought rope?”

“Of course.”

I also retrieved the carving knife, and a prompt appeared over the corpse.

[Carving Available]

Ambrosia looked between the prompt and the knife. “You brought one of those too?”

“Preparation.”

“That is either impressive or deeply concerning.”

I offered her the knife. “You should do it. You know more about the anatomy, and we’ll probably both receive XP through the party.”

Ambrosia stared at the handle, then at the spider. “I hate that this makes sense.”

“So you admit it’s valuable.”

“I admit I don’t trust you to carve a rare specimen without ruining it.”

“Same thing.”

She accepted the knife and crouched beside the corpse. When she tapped the carapace with the flat of the blade, it answered with a hard click.

“All right,” she said. “The shell is actually impressive.”

“Shield material?”

“Probably. It survived the Sulfurblast better than your shield did.”

“Kevin is going to love this.”

Ambrosia examined the damaged underside more closely. “The legs, fangs, and smaller organs should fit into our inventories if I remove them cleanly. The venom glands and spinnerets were probably damaged in the explosion, but they might still be useful for research. The carapace covering the cephalothorax is definitely the most valuable part.”

She began with the legs, cutting through the softer joints where they connected to the cephalothorax. The chitin resisted until the blade found the correct angle, then separated with a wet crack.

Ambrosia grimaced. “This is disgusting.”

“This is valuable crafting and research material.”

“It can be both.” She pointed the stained carving knife at me. “Next time, we’re bringing a saw.”

A notification appeared near the corpse.

[Arthropod Anatomy XP +100]

The harvested legs, fang, hair, and other usable parts entered our inventories. What remained was the central carcass: the cephalothorax beneath its mostly intact carapace, still joined to the abdomen.

I crouched beside it and tapped the carapace with one of the laboratory knives. “We’re taking that too.”

“You’re going to drag a spider carcass all the way back to the city.”

“Yes.”

“You’re carrying it.”

“That was always the plan.”

I tied the rope around the remains. When I pulled, the carcass scraped across the roots and crushed the leaves beneath it while fluid shifted inside the abdomen.

Ambrosia immediately stepped farther away. “I hate spiders.”

“Good news. This one’s dead.”

While I rearranged my inventory, Ambrosia paused beside the roots of the old tree.

“Wait.”

I looked over. “Don’t tell me you found more explosive mushrooms. I think we’ve had enough of those for one day.”

“No,” she said, suddenly excited. “Violets!”

She brushed aside a patch of moss. Small purple flowers peeked from beneath the fallen leaves, soft and delicate against the burned roots and dark spider fluid.

“See?” Ambrosia said. “They like damp shade. The petals are darker near the center and lighter around the edges.”

I crouched beside her. “So those are violets.”

“They’re adorable.”

“They’re also Gloria’s favorite.”

“Right. For your completely innocent library plan.”

Ambrosia carefully plucked several flowers and held a few out to me. “Here. For your testing.”

I accepted them. “I’ll put them to good use.”

She rolled her eyes.

Once she finished collecting the flowers, I tested the rope again. The spider carcass shifted behind me. It was heavy, but movable.

“We’re ready.”

Ambrosia gave the remains one last look and covered her nose. “I disagree with your definition of ready, but fine.”

We started back through the forest, the carapace scraping behind us and leaving a dark trail through the leaves.

“So,” I said, “what did you see after you were knocked out?”

Ambrosia’s smile faded. “Nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Everything went black. I couldn’t move, hear anything, or open a respawn menu.” She watched the ground as we walked. “It felt like I was waiting in complete darkness. Then I woke up when you stabilized me.”

“You had your shield raised when the Sulfurblast exploded?”

“I did.”

“Then it must have absorbed enough of the blast to keep you from dying outright.”

“Lucky me.”

She glanced back at the spider carcass dragging behind us. “Speaking of terrible decisions, are you certain we can’t collect some Sulfurblast before leaving?”

I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb. “You tell me.”

“We came here for samples.”

“We also came here with two shields.”

Ambrosia looked toward the faint yellow glow deeper among the trees. “Besides their explosive properties, some adventurers claim Sulfurblast spores temporarily allow people to communicate with mushrooms.”

I stopped pulling the rope long enough to stare at her. “Are you sure that isn’t just the psychedelic effect of inhaling mushroom spores?”

“That is one possible explanation.”

“And you still want to test it.”

“For science.”

“Of course you do.”

She clasped her hands together. “Come on, Cloud. Talking mushrooms.”

“Exploding mushrooms.”

“Possibly talking, exploding mushrooms.”

“That makes it worse.”

“It makes it better.”

I sighed and tightened my grip on the rope. “Fine. We’ll do it.”

Her eyes brightened. “Really?”

“Next time, when we’re better prepared.”

Her excitement vanished. “Ugh. Fine.”

“That’s the spirit.”

The forest gradually swallowed the blast site behind us. The yellow glow of the Sulfurblast faded between the trees, and the place where we had nearly died disappeared beneath shadow and leaves.

Ahead, the first city lights shone through the branches.

Beyond the canopy, the sky had softened into pink and gold. The setting sun made Babel’s white walls glow, while the terracotta rooftops caught the last of the light. Above them all, the Tower rose pale and impossible against the evening sky.

For a moment, the view was beautiful enough to make me forget the smell.

Then the spider carcass struck a root with a heavy scrape, and Ambrosia covered her nose again.

I tightened my grip and continued walking. The golden city ahead of us and the half-destroyed monster dragging behind me should not have belonged in the same scene, yet somehow the combination felt perfectly suited to Project Babel.

By the time we reached the city gate, the sky had deepened from pink to violet.

The guards noticed us immediately.

One looked at me, then at the half-melted spider carcass dragging along the road. His hand moved toward his spear.

I raised my free hand. “Crafting materials.”

He stared at the dark fluid leaking from the remains. “Absolutely not.”

I stopped. “What?”

“You are not bringing that into the city.”

“It’s dead.”

Ambrosia still had one hand over her nose. “He has a point.”

I looked at her. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m on the side of breathable air.”

The second guard leaned forward, took one cautious sniff, and immediately stepped back. “Leave it beside the road. We’ll watch it until IMR collects it.”

Ambrosia lowered her hand slightly. “IMR offers field pickup?”

“For large carcasses, hazardous materials, and anything adventurers insist is important.”

I looked between them. “What is IMR?”

“The Institute of Monster Research,” Ambrosia explained. “It’s one of the council’s three main branches that manage the city. Think of it as the university’s biology department.”

“Let me guess. Gloria told you.”

“Yep. The city library is technically part of IMR too.”

I imagined dragging the leaking spider carcass through the library doors and past Gloria’s front desk.

“She would ban us from the library,” I said.

“Politely.”

“Somehow, that would be worse.”

Ambrosia pulled out her portable UI, a plain black device with rounded corners and a screen covering most of the front. It looked like the kind of smartphone people had used decades ago. She scrolled through several pre-saved city services and selected one.

[IMR 24/7 Hotline]

“Hello? Yes, we need a monster-body pickup at the south gate.” She examined the remains. “Large spider specimen. Acid damage, possible venom sac, and a mostly intact carapace.” She paused to listen. “Yes, it smells terrible. No, we are not bringing it inside. Thank you.”

She ended the call, and the guard gestured toward the edge of the road.

“Move it over there, please.”

The added politeness somehow made the rejection worse.

The city noticed our arrival before we had even finished moving the carcass. Two NPC children stopped near the gate and pointed with wide eyes until their mother grabbed their shoulders and pulled them away as though the spider might stand up and ask for directions.

A fruit vendor took one look at the remains and snapped a canvas cover over his baskets.

“Not near the apples.”

Players gathered even faster.

One player froze in the middle of the street. “Yo. Is that a giant spider?”

“No way,” another player said. “Where did you find it?”

A third raised his portable UI and began recording. “Someone actually killed the Wolffang.”

Ambrosia stood several steps away from the carcass, still covering her nose. “I would like it officially noted that I did not choose to parade a dead spider through town.”

“You helped carve it.”

“For science.” She checked her portable UI. “The pickup team should arrive in a few minutes.”

When they did, they looked like the result of placing an Amazon delivery crew inside a fantasy city and hiring only minotaurs.

A rhinoceros beetle larger than a horse pulled a reinforced cart along the road. Its glossy black shell reflected the violet sky, and a curved horn extended from its head as though it had been designed specifically to overturn wagons. Thick leather harnesses connected it to a cart loaded with metal crates, specimen jars, rolled tarps, and equipment boxes bearing the IMR crest.

Three minotaurs walked beside it in matching blue-and-brown uniforms. They wore caps, gloves, utility belts, and satchels covered in delivery tags. One carried a clipboard, another pushed a handcart, and the third held a sealed box beneath one arm as casually as though he were delivering groceries instead of collecting a half-dissolved monster.

I stared at them.

Ambrosia leaned closer. “IMR field-pickup team.”

“Pickup? They look like they’re about to deliver packages to us.”

“Well,” she said, smiling, “they do both.”

The lead minotaur approached. He was less like a tall man and more like someone had given a professional bodybuilder horns, hooves, and shoulders wide enough to block a doorway before placing him in a delivery uniform.

Ambrosia shifted half a step behind me.

The minotaur noticed and softened his voice immediately. “Good evening. Did you request an IMR pickup?”

His voice was deep but unexpectedly polite.

Ambrosia blinked. “Oh. Yes, that was us.”

“No rush,” he assured her. “Hazardous specimen, correct? We’ll handle it.”

The other two moved with the calm efficiency of people who had performed this task hundreds of times. One used a portable UI to photograph the carcass from several angles. The other inspected the cracks along the shell, and the fluid leaking from the abdomen.

“Wolffang Spider,” he said. “Elite specimen. Acid exposure, partial burn damage, carapace mostly intact.”

The third minotaur opened a checklist on his portable UI. “Inventory assessment.”

He examined the remains as he worked down the list. “Cephalothorax, intact. Carapace, minor edge damage. Abdomen, scorched but intact. Legs and harvested parts, removed. Odor level...”

He paused and looked at the carcass.

“High.”

“Extremely high,” Ambrosia agreed.

The minotaur gave her a sympathetic look. “First spider?”

“Yes.”

“Rough one.”

Somehow, that seemed to make her feel better.

The lead minotaur turned his portable UI toward me. “Sign here to authorize temporary IMR storage. The first three days are free.”

I studied the glowing signature box. “You have fantasy tablets too.”

“It’s a Portable UI Plus,” Ambrosia corrected automatically.

“It’s an iPad.”

The minotaur waited with professional patience until I signed with my finger.

[Specimen Pickup Authorized]

The crew began working the moment the authorization cleared. One spread a thick gray tarp beside the carcass. Silver thread ran through the fabric, and faint green symbols pulsed once when it touched the remains.

Together, the minotaurs rolled the carcass onto the tarp and wrapped it tightly. The smell improved almost immediately.

Ambrosia finally lowered her hand. “Thank goodness.”

The lead minotaur removed a handheld device from his belt. It resembled a restaurant card reader, except for the brass edges, glowing green display, and IMR crest stamped into its casing. He scanned the wrapped specimen, tapped through the collection form, and waited while the device buzzed.

A label emerged from the top. He tore it free, attached it to the tarp, and scanned it again.

[Specimen Registered]

[IMR Collection ID: WFS-0087]

[Destination: IMR Storage A7]

The beetle cart shifted as the minotaurs lifted the wrapped carcass and placed it atop several sealed crates. One crate bore deep claw marks across its side. Another rattled once, which all three workers ignored.

After securing the spider beneath several heavy straps, the lead minotaur checked the label and gave me a thumbs-up.

“Pickup complete.”

I looked at the cart. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. The first three days of storage are free. Any specimen left unclaimed after that will be donated to IMR.”

Ambrosia breathed deeply for the first time since leaving the forest. “I can finally breathe.”

The beetle pulled the cart away, carrying our spider carcass into the violet evening.

We passed through the city gate, and for approximately ten seconds, everything seemed peaceful.

Then we saw the players returning from the Tower.

The crowd near the plaza had fallen silent.

Only a few hours earlier, those same players had marched toward the gate like heroes from a launch trailer. They had carried new weapons beneath bright guild banners, laughing, posing, and arguing over who would earn the first clear.

Now they returned one group at a time, soaked, filthy, and visibly humiliated.

Their armor was filthy and covered in overlapping scratches. Several pieces hung loose where straps had been torn or bitten through. Shields were pitted with crescent-shaped punctures and deep gouges, their edges chewed down to splintered wood and bent metal. Whatever they had fought had attacked every exposed seam until some of the equipment looked ready to fall apart.

One player dragged a sword behind him. Its edge was chipped, and the point had been battered blunt from repeated impacts.

Another limped with one foot bare, his trouser leg shredded where something had torn away the boot.

Near the fountain, four players carried an injured teammate on a makeshift stretcher built from two broken spears, belts, and strips of cloak cloth. A young woman stepped aside and covered her mouth as they passed. The player on the stretcher barely moved. His helmet was missing, and his chestplate had been punctured repeatedly before being peeled open along one damaged seam. One arm hung over the side beneath a pulsing red icon.

[Critical State]

He was alive, but only barely.

Ambrosia stared at the returning groups. “Those are the Tower players?”

I watched the broken equipment, soaked clothing, and the barefoot man looking down as though he was still trying to understand where all his gear had gone.

“Yeah.”

A few hours ago, everyone had wanted to be the first one inside.

Now they were all wondering what the hell had happened.