Click sauntered down the pathway leading up to the spiders’ mega web, feeling light on their feet and other parts of their body, inspecting the rope whips and other traps the spiders had woven over the past several days. The weaving quota for said traps and weapons was a constant value. It was meticulously calculated using very carefully obtained information on the state of the world.

How many silken rope whips were needed to kill a hound, or at least weaken it to where the spiders could finish it off quickly in melee combat (previous observation).

How long until the eggs hatched (hazy instinct).

And the number of [Juvenile Dungeon Hounds] that would be born by that time (a big fat guess).

At least the calculations were meticulous.

Despite Click’s incredibly high Intelligence attribute, extrapolation wasn’t their strong suit, especially with a lack of education in the field of statistics. All the spider knew was that there were more hounds attacking their corner of the cavern each day than the day before, that the number followed a specific slowly growing pattern, and that it probably meant the total number of hounds was increasing at a similar rate.

The number went up by one every two days. It didn’t sound like much, but these were the really dumb hounds. The ones seemingly born yesterday who somehow didn’t know that trying to make a meal out of the spiders was a guaranteed death. And each day, it was only these hounds attacking. Not even the siblings of another day’s corpses.

Of course, it could have just meant that all of the new [Juvenile Dungeon Hounds] attacked each day, but that number was still growing, so Click assumed there were going to be more attacking when the eggs hatched than any other day leading up to the event.

So where did that leave the weaving quota for the various traps? About two hundred whips.

How much were the spiders at? Thirty seven.

How many more days until the eggs likely hatched?

Click snapped their mandibles closed in a resounding echo.

How many more days until the eggs likely hatched?

The [Webslinger Spiders] were catapulting themselves off the stalactites dotting their side of the cave. In the time since the first of them had leveled up [3D Move Sense] enough to be able to effectively perform such stunts, the others had finally caught up. They looked like they were having fun.

How many more days until the eggs likely hatched?

Click let their arms curl up in the equivalent of a sigh. They didn’t want to answer that question.

They really didn’t want to answer that question.

Because the answer was zero.

While the number of hounds attacking each day went up, the number of completed rope traps was going down. At first Click tried enforcing the quota through the liberal use of [Command Subordinates], but the effectiveness of the Skill continued to go down and down, until the lead spider was forced to micromanage the others on a constant basis.

And from previous experience, Click knew that only happened when the task went entirely against the others’ instincts, and that too much pushing would result in the tribe being consumed by chaos and falling into disarray and infighting. So to avoid an early destruction, Click was forced to push the inevitable to later.

But there was a chance that “later” was not today.

Click wasn’t smart in terms of mathematical ability. They overestimated how much the others could weave, and was at a complete loss to the number of foes they’d face. A lack of formal education to solve such complex problems would do that to anyone.

Click, however, was clever. Clever enough to realize very early on that their current direction wouldn’t work out even for their most optimistic estimates. So the lead spider shifted course to an entirely new plan. One that didn’t involve using fewer, outmatched, and incredibly lazy forces to completely dominate a more powerful foe.

Instead, the spiders would-

Click immediately stopped in their tracks as a peculiar sensation shot through their body. It wasn’t a warning of danger, or a call to action; it was simply a flash of knowledge.

The eggs were hatching.

However that very knowledge was an omen of danger, and Click took it as a call to action.

[Command Subordinates]! Everyone into place, it’s time to see if we all live or die!

Enough adrenaline was coursing through the diminutive spider to supercharge even someone as big as Bored, and the next series of commands came out as a nonstop sputtering.

Group One [Webslinger Spiders], go to the eggs and start helping them hatch!

Group Two [Webslinger Spiders], take your place at the rope whip traps on the ceiling!

Group Three [Webslinger Spiders], pull up the nets!

Of the remaining [Webslinger Spiders] of the tribe, Click had separated them out into three groups, each one responsible for a different task. Group One was the smallest, Group Two the largest, and Group Three somewhere in between. Each of them would be vital for making sure this went off without a hitch.

Click ran up to the webbed structure just behind the others, but before they could make it, was interrupted by a massive arm shoving them on the side.

Wha- wait, Bored? The lead spider regarded their much larger sibling, who was practically vibrating in place as they stared down their much smaller leader. You want something to do?

The [Adult Alpha] ducked once, but never broke eye contact.

You’re already in place, stay right there and you’ll have the fight of your life!

The prospect wasn’t very convincing. Have fun by just standing still? But the larger spider simply ducked once more and turned towards the entrance, not a doubt in its mind about Click’s words.

Click nodded back and continued to the main web, and took their place in a small alcove at its front where they had a full view of the surrounding area.

The [Webslinger Spiders] of Group One had already beaten the lead spider to the spot and had gone into the main egg chamber, while the others took their positions further out. Group Three began to pull on several strands on the ground which lifted up a sprawling yet slightly thin net that covered most of the area in front of the main web, while Group Two simply took their spots by the whip traps.

They were all able to do their jobs without trouble, without so much as a fly getting in their way. It was quiet.

Too quiet.

And then a single howl went out from farther back, breaking the silence. Followed by another, and then two more. Soon, a cacophony of cries went out, soon replaced by barks, which were all getting progressively louder.

[Command Subordinates]! Group Two, off the floor, on the ceiling in front of the entrance!

The sounds were getting closer, and the spiders were still tying the webs in place. It was going to be close.

One [Webslinger Spider] finished their job and shot a strand of webbing straight into the air and onto a hanging stalactite. It quickly pulled itself up and crawled around the dripstone until it was facing the clamor.

The next spider put the finishing touches on its work and did the same soon after. And within several seconds, most of the spiders were following along.

The din had reached its crescendo as the final arachnid left a fancy bow on its handiwork and joined the rest.

And just in time, as the first of the [Juvenile Dungeon Hounds] turned the corner and made a mad dash towards the delicious aroma filling the cavern without even looking where it was going.

Make them stop and see where they’re going. [Command Subordinates], Group Three, all of you launch your fluids at the hound’s eyes and mouth! Bring it to a stop!

The monster’s fervor completely blinded it to the globules of webbing and venom headed straight for the most sensitive parts of its face, and when they made contact, it didn’t even notice until it began tumbling. In an instant, the [Juvenile Dungeon Hound] did a front flip and face-planted into the ground. It lay there in shock for a long moment, split on whether to follow their nose or rid themselves of the terrible irritants.

That single long moment was all that was needed for the other hounds behind it to catch up and trip over it.

Good, they stopped for a second. Click forced themselves to take in a steady breath. But will they use that time to look around?

The look of hunger and mad instinct in the eyes of the [Juvenile Dungeon Hounds] began to fade, and was replaced with something different. Recognition, knowledge of what those things were, a similarly base instinct rooted in all of that: fear.

By the base of the massive webbed structure were a pile of bones. All still in one piece and splayed out to be easily visible to anyone approaching. It was obvious what those bones once belonged to, there was only one other creature in the entire cavern that resembled them.

One of the hounds took a step back from the open graveyard of its brethren.

You’re all practically newborns and don’t know what this place brings our enemies. The older ones know to stay away, but not any of you. Click stared at the hounds intently. Let me make it painfully clear.

Three of the hounds broke off and ran without a second thought, with five more hesitating before following suit.

That left… twenty five more.

Twenty five more who put their noses to the air and began sniffing, letting the aroma of food guide their paws over a very true mortal fear.

And then they charged.