The scout comes in soaked, panting, and missing the top edge of one ear.
"There's water," he wheezes. "And fish. Big ones."
He collapses against the side wall. He's dripping mud, blood, and what I hope is moss juice. If it's not, I'm going to have to start naming diseases after him.
Everyone stares.
I narrow my eyes.
"Fish?"
"Not the dumb kind," the scout says, catching his breath. "They hiss. Climb. One of them tore through Barktail's chestcloth like it was moss wrap."
"Is Barktail dead?"
"No. But he's humbler now."
Of course he is.
I look toward the far tunnel. It's darker than usual. Quiet.
Water means life. Water means growth. Water also apparently means guarded by territorial aquatic horrors that think kobold makes a good snack.
Splitjaw's already assembling a team—his loudest, fastest, stabbiest crew. Of course he is. He heard "fish that bite" and started sharpening something. Might've been his claws. Might've been a rock. Might've been his attitude.
I should stay.
I've got trench lines marked. Storage zones half-dug. There's a framework that almost looks like a proper wall now.
But if I stay, and they die—
The kobolds won't look at the system. They'll look at me.
So I grab a fang-shard. A thicker one. One with a good bite.
"Move," I say, stepping past Bitterstack.
"You're going?" she asks, eyebrows raised.
"Yes."
"You sure?"
"No."
But I keep walking anyway.
There's twelve of us.
Two guards, four scouts, three half-willing volunteers, Splitjaw, me, and the kid.
Yes, the kid.
He showed up while we were gathering and just pointed at the water tunnel.
Didn't say anything. Just pointed.
Showed up like he's the dungeon's chosen mascot for "bad decisions in progress."
Splitjaw shrugged. "If he dies, he dies," he said.
I didn't argue.
The tunnel slopes down in odd angles. At some points, we have to crawl. It smells like wet cloth and moss rot. The stone sweats. The deeper we go, the louder the dripping gets—like it's falling off teeth.
We hear the first screech about twenty minutes in.
Sharp. Wet. Wrong.
We slow. Form a crouch line. Shields—or what passes for shields—forward. Weapons ready.
System pings.
[Environmental Node Reached – Resource: Freshwater Source]
[Warning: Hostile Presence Detected – Node Locked]
[Settlement Expansion Blocked Until Cleared]
Splitjaw grins.
"Guess we knock first."
We don't knock.
We charge.
The tunnel widens fast. One second we're crawling, the next we spill out into a basin of slick stone and pooling water that stretches farther than the torchlight reaches.
And it stinks.
Not rot. Not death.
Territory.
The kind of smell that says this belongs to something, and that something has claws and too many teeth.
The surface of the water ripples.
Splitjaw whistles low. "That's not wind."
Then the first one launches.
It doesn't leap so much as spring—a coiled knot of muscle and wet scale, teeth flashing like someone shoved a dagger rack into a fish. It slams into our front line, knocks two scouts back, claws scrabbling against stone.
I throw my shard before I think.
It lands in its side, bites shallow. It screeches, turns, and spits—a jet of water hard enough to crack stone. One of the volunteers goes flying.
System pings.
[Entity Identified: Tunnelfang – Semi-Aquatic Lurker]
[Status: Aggressive | Territory-Linked]
[Combat Thread Engaged – Firekeeper Role Overlap Active]
Splitjaw bellows and dives forward, teeth bared. The kid sticks near the side wall, watching. Drawing on the rock with wet ash.
Someone's yelling. Someone's bleeding. Someone's trying to use a cooking pot as a helmet. I don't know who's doing which. Might all be the same kobold.
I duck under a swipe, circle behind another one trying to flank, and slam a bone stake into the base of its spine. It screams—the sound drills straight into my ears—and thrashes.
It doesn't stop fighting.
It doesn't understand fear.
So I show it pain instead.
We bleed them slow. Not clean. Not clever. But together. I lead half the group up onto a ridge, keep pressure off the back line. The others drag wounded out, rotate in fresh claws.
I move without thinking.
Position. Pressure. Distraction. Strike.
System flashes.
[Ability Triggered – Tactical Geometry: Rank 1]
[Bonus Applied: Combat Zoning Efficiency +10%]
[New Trait Seeded: Terrain-Aware Instinct – Pending]
What?
I don't have time to ask. One of the Tunnelfangs tries to leap the trench behind me. I pivot. I don't dodge. I redirect—grab its lower jaw, plant my heel, and slam it into the rock until the screech stops.
Water splashes high.
Then stops.
Quiet.
One by one, they fall back beneath the surface.
Retreat? Or dead?
I don't care.
We hold the edge.
We breathe.
And then the system pings again.
[Node Secured – Freshwater Source: Controlled]
[Settlement Tier Upgraded: Basic Infrastructure Enabled]
[Construction Unlock: Water Flow Structures | Containment | Filtration (Primitive)]
[Title Acknowledged – Firekeeper: Defender of Ashring]
Splitjaw laughs. Blood in his teeth.
The kid draws a spiral in the muck.
I sit on a wet rock and watch the blood mix with water until the stream runs clean.
"The water's ours now. Try not to choke on it."