Supersum: Living in another world [LitRPG Transmigration Fantasy]

The morning mist clung to the mountainous valley far outside the established borders, surrounded by wild and untamed jungle that pulsed with ancient life. Tendrils of fog drifted between massive trees whose canopies blocked most of the sunlight, creating an ethereal landscape that shifted with each breeze. Two women broke through the humid waves, striding alongside each other—the future lady and the current one, their armors and postures showing their approach to battle and leadership.

Marisia's gait was firm but stealthy, leaving no prints behind on the soft, dark soil. Her posture was casual but poised, like an alpha predator walking through her territory, with a sharp gaze behind her helmet, observing as if it was already her domain. The armor—obsidian plates that exuded miasma and ancient power—created ripples in the air around her, making all the flora wither in her immediate vicinity. Wherever she stepped, plants curled inward and browned at the edges, a testament to the corrupting power she commanded with such nonchalance. Her weapon of choice—obsidian plate gloves, laced with razor-sharp and unbreakable tips—gleamed with a dull shine even in the dim light, perfect for her martial arts fighting style that had earned her the nickname "The Living Weapon" among allies and enemies alike.

Alongside her, Sarah moved with a stiff, nervous posture, like a puppy following her mother yet determined to prove her worth. Her armor was strikingly different—heavy half-plate and leather that made it easier to walk through mud and hostile plant life, painted in camouflage patterns that mimicked the dappled light of the jungle. Enchantments glimmered between the plates, though they were slowly eroding due to her mother's armor's residue miasma, creating spiderweb cracks in the protective magic. Her weapon of choice was a giant shield strapped across her back and two smaller ones on her gloves, so she could use [Shield Arts] with [Martial Arts]—an old idea of Alexander that she still loved and used as it gave her incredible creative ways for combat. The shields themselves were adorned with claws and spikes, turning her defensive abilities into lethal ones.

No enemy was anywhere near them as they were out on a scouting mission to check for hostile presence. However, it was unimaginably dull, something Marisia now understood why the morale was so low at the camp. The jungle seemed more threatening than any enemy they might encounter, with poisonous flowers releasing toxins into the air and carnivorous plants lurking in the undergrowth, jaws disguised as inviting blooms.

'No wonder I saw them having a nap,' she mused, remembering how some soldiers were taking a nap in the humid afternoon heat, preparing for a night scouting mission. The memory of their relaxed postures and soft snores lingered in her mind. She had thought that Alexander was simply a lousy general due to his lack of experience and inability to control them. But it was the opposite—they were all under his boot, every soldier aware of their role in the greater strategy, and the operation ran as smoothly as possible in such hostile territory. The sentries had been alert, the camp well-organized despite the challenging terrain, and every soldier seemed to understand their purpose without needing constant supervision. Her son ordered the nap itself so they would be sharp during their travels—a luxury usually reserved for veterans or knights.

Alexander was very unlike any General of the Guard Households, whose tactics typically involved brutal efficiency and high casualties. His strategy was to grind the enemy down slowly and painfully while avoiding as much death as possible—a war of attrition that saved lives rather than spending them like currency. In this jungle, where the environment already made life difficult, every drop of hatred and the probable revenge-seeking enemy could lead to pure chaos. This approach seemed less idealistic and more pragmatic than Marisia had initially assumed.

One thing was clear, though. 'Alex is siphoning gold away,' she mused in frustration, remembering the far too luxurious ways the camp was built. 'I... will ignore it for now.'

Marisia tried to challenge Alexander so he could learn and grow, trying to build a frugality necessary for the military. However, seeing the overall strategy, achieving the same results as what she deemed one-third of his current budget would be impossible. Even if she cut everything off, trying to find all his sources, he would attempt it in other ways, like taking a loan against his assets. If that didn't work, he would probably do something different—frustration boiled inwardly, but she let it slide for now, seeing his success.

'At least the soldiers know how to act,' her thoughts brought her to the rest of the small scouting group. Another six soldiers followed them, their movements synchronized with the jungle's rhythm—stepping when the wind rustled the leaves, freezing when wildlife fell silent. Two mages with their equipment simply linen and leather, two archers whose bows were crafted from demonic bones that came from the Strip of Hope, one bruiser whose muscles rippled beneath armor reinforced with metal scales, and one tank whose heavy footfalls somehow made less noise than expected—the basic constellation of a small group designed for reconnaissance and quick strikes.

The air grew thicker as they descended into a small ravine, the smell of decay and new growth intermingling in that unique jungle way. Water dripped from leaves overhead, a steady percussion that masked their movements.

"General Alexander spoke highly of you," Marisia remarked, studying Sarah's profile as they navigated a particularly dense patch of undergrowth. Her daughter's jaw was set in determination, a feature she'd inherited from her father. "I hope I am not intruding too much."

While bizarre, it was customary to speak formally on mission and before soldiers in wartime to show respect for the position they held. It was demoralizing and disrespectful if she called Alexander her son, undermining his authority in front of the troops who needed to believe in his leadership without the shadow of familial favoritism.

Sarah's lips twitched in barely suppressed amusement as she jumped on a massive root that arched over a puddle of stagnant water, signaling one of the mages to follow her. His airy clothing fluttered around him, revealing glimpses of protective enchantments beneath. "Sure," she said while grabbing the mage's hand and pulling him up, his grip firm despite the slight tremor that betrayed his nervousness at being so close to the infamous Marisia. "I feel honored, my lady."

Marisia ignored her sass—smirking under her helmet at the familiar defiance she saw in her daughter—and decided to observe her instead. The jungle hushed around them as if holding its breath in anticipation. Sarah balanced the mage in front of her on the precarious perch, holding him steady against the slippery bark. Her shield glinted as it caught a rare beam of sunlight breaking through the canopy.

"Go," Sarah whispered, the command barely audible above the constant drone of insects and distant calls of unknown creatures. The bat-kin mage closed their eyes, large ears twitching and rotating as they tried to use all physical senses and [Mana Sense] to locate an enemy. Their faces contorted with concentration, veins bulging at their temples as they extended their awareness beyond the physical realm.

After seconds that stretched into eternity, they opened their eyes—now glowing with a faint blue light—and hand-signaled something to Sarah. Their fingers moved in precise patterns, a silent language developed for exactly these situations. <Five soldiers, no bracelets, weak, able to disable them, holding down ten deserters,> they communicated wordlessly.

Marisia waited for her daughter to jump into the fray with the impulsiveness of youth, anticipating the rush to battle she remembered from her own early days. But Sarah simply positioned the archers and mages together with methodical precision, making the bow-wielders close their eyes once in position behind a cluster of broad-leaved plants that provided cover while allowing clear shots.

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Ahead lay a small clearing bathed in dappled sunlight, centered around a modest waterfall that tumbled fifteen feet into a crystal-clear pool. The water reflected the surrounding jungle in perfect mirror images, disturbed only by the gentle current that fed into a narrow river cutting through the clearing. Five soldiers in tattered uniforms bearing insignias of the opposing faction stood guard around ten kneeling figures—the deserters. The guards wore mismatched armor pieces cobbled together from different sets, suggesting they themselves might have been relegated to this duty as punishment. They carried short swords and daggers, though two had crossbows slung across their backs. Their postures betrayed fatigue and low morale, shoulders slumped and heads constantly turning to scan the jungle edges with nervous anticipation.

The deserters themselves were a pitiful sight—mostly fire djinn bastards, all wearing remnants of military uniforms now reduced to little more than rags. Their hands were bound behind their backs with a coarse rope that had rubbed their wrists raw, and several bore signs of recent beatings. Their faces reflected desperation and exhaustion, hollow-eyed and gaunt-cheeked from what must have been weeks of poor rations and harsh treatment.

The temporary camp the soldiers had established was rudimentary at best—a couple of shabby tents near the waterfall, a small fire pit with still glowing embers and packs of supplies stacked haphazardly against a fallen log. They had cleared the immediate area of undergrowth. Still, they had made no effort to establish defensive positions or set traps, proving their lack of discipline or concern for proper military procedure.

Marisia's attention switched to the mages, who grabbed the archers' shoulders and chanted a spell in whispered harmony. Their eyes lightened up with mana that flowed from their fingers into the archers' temples. The spell created a gossamer-thin connection between them, visible only to those sensitive to magical energies.

'Fascinating,' Marisia immediately understood the idea. Training one archer in shooting versatility and perception was an arduous task that took years of dedicated practice. Still, it didn't mean the same for others who could use their skills and spells to share their senses, making the archer and aimer work together as a single entity. It was an efficient use of resources and training—very much Alexander's style of pragmatic innovation.

Sarah walked forward, her boots making no sound on the spongy forest floor, signaling Marisia to follow with a subtle gesture that spoke of countless hours of training. 'Now, show me what you have learned,' she smiled behind the helmet, anticipation building. They had trained day and night, enhancing her body so much that it felt like torture, pushing beyond limits that would even break Alexander, but if she wanted the title, she had to become stronger. The memory of Sarah's determination through those brutal sessions brought an unexpected flicker of pride.

With a short light wave of her hand, Sarah produced a focused windstorm that bent the grass and stirred the leaves without making noise, a signal to the archers who immediately drew their bowstrings taut. At the same time, she dashed toward the enemy—a movement so fluid it seemed almost like she was made of liquid. Screams resonated through the clearing as soon as the [Energy] filled arrows hit the enemies, disabling them by ripping through their legs and arms with a precision that left them alive but incapable of resistance. Blood sprayed across the emerald grass as the guards collapsed, their weapons clattering uselessly to the ground.

'That's... quite uneventful,' Marisia thought as she observed the aftermath. Once Sarah arrived at the clearing, there was no fight to be had, no glorious combat to evaluate her daughter's growth. 'Is she healing... them?' After seeing that the guards were giving up entirely, raising bloody hands in surrender, Sarah pulled out multiple smaller and weaker talismans from pouches at her belt. The items glowed with soft green light as she pressed them against the wounds, closing them enough to prevent death while leaving the soldiers weak and docile.

Marisia was confused by this approach, but it fit Alexander's overall strategy—a very pacifistic approach to winning as much goodwill as possible, turning enemies into allies or at least into non-combatants who would spread tales of mercy rather than brutality. Was it stupid? She wouldn't know since it was too different from their usual approach—go in and quickly dispose of the leader, letting fear do the rest of the work. But knowing her son's view and how much he wanted to sustain so-called sapient resources to rebuild quickly was certainly not wrong.

"Quick and controlled," she mused aloud while walking toward her daughter, her boots causing plants to shrivel in her wake. "Quite not what I trained you for," she said sarcastically, her voice lilting with a mixture of disappointment and grudging respect.

Sarah turned to her, her face set in concentration as she visibly controlled her anger at the criticism. The deserters cowered away from Marisia, sensing the deadly aura that surrounded her even without understanding its source. "You are scaring them," she said in broken djinn language as she tried to calm the freed prisoners. "Nobody will hurt you if you fully comply, okay? There is no need to shiver."

Only now did Marisia genuinely look at them and how fearful they were—not just of their former captors but of their rescuers as well. Their eyes darted between Sarah and Marisia, clearly recognizing the greater threat despite Sarah being the one who had ordered the attack. 'Too soft,' Marisia thought, her hand tensing slightly within its armored glove, wanting to quickly end them and be done with it. The merciful approach was not her style and had never been throughout her long and bloody career. 'Boring and tedious.'

Unfortunately, she had no criticism to offer since, according to Barry's reports, most of the deserters they encountered were deserters trying to flee into Alexander's territory and seek refuge.

As they stood in the clearing, the waterfall's constant rush providing a backdrop to the tense scene, Marisia suddenly flinched, her smile widening behind her helmet as she sensed something beyond the physical realm. A disturbance that permeated the jungle, a signature both familiar and unexpected. "Lieutenant Sarah," she turned toward the distance, looking far beyond the clearing to where the jungle grew denser and darker. "I have to look for something—please do not wait for me and leave as fast as possible."

Without any further explanation or waiting for acknowledgment, she left Sarah alone with the prisoners and their subdued guards, flashing and dashing toward where she felt the specific [Energy] came from. Her movement was so swift that she seemed to disappear, leaving only a faint ripple in the air and withered plants marking her passage.

'There it is,' her body shivered slightly in anticipation as she jumped from one massive tree to another, bark crumbling beneath her touch as her armor's miasma ate into the living wood. The jungle blurred around her, colors and shapes melding into a green-brown haze as she focused entirely on her quarry. 'Who could it be?'

The number scraped into the assassins' bodies her puppies had encountered weeks earlier was the year she met Kairoso and had her first campaign, with barely any gold to her name. She was still mostly focused on administration rather than combat and a greenhorn—a time before her reputation was built as "The Living Weapon." But those assassins also had something else that made her move here with haste—a magical signature that made her ears twitch and tail curl in disgust.

After a few minutes of pursuit through increasingly dense and ancient sections of jungle, where the trees grew so tall and thick that almost no light reached the ground, she stopped on a massive branch, looking toward a hooded figure standing in a small natural hollow below. Their scent was one of decay, the sweet-sour smell of flesh long past its time, but also something she was disgusted by—holy divinity, that cloying perfume of "righteous" power that always made her stomach turn.

"I know you," she growled, her eyes turning into slits behind her helmet as she dropped to the ground, landing with catlike grace despite her armor. The impact sent a wave of withering [Energy] outward, killing the underbrush in a perfect circle around her. "Aren't you the little priest elf I cut the head off?"

The person removed their hood with delicate, grey-tinged fingers, revealing a face that had once been beautiful but was now ashen and corpse-like, with grey pupils gleaming with malevolent intelligence. A jagged scar encircled their neck, evidence of a decapitation somehow overcome. She smiled at Marisia, lips pulling back too far in an expression more predatory than pleasant.

"Hello, my little pet," her smile turned sadistic, her voice raspy yet melodious in the way only elven voices could be, even from beyond death. "And yes, but I would like to reciprocate the favor."

The jungle seemed to hold its breath around them, animals falling silent as two ancient powers squared off in a confrontation long in the making. The air crackled with tension and the promise of violence to come.