My Scumbag System-Chapter 365: My Lady’s Picnic Basket

I held up my hand for silence as Monica’s revelation landed like a lead weight in my stomach. S-Rank Hunters getting turned into plant food wasn’t exactly the pep talk our team needed right now.

"Let’s focus on what we know," I said, taking control before Juan could start calculating our death probabilities again. "We’re trapped in a Black Gate with limited supplies, unknown threats, and approximately twenty-nine days to find and kill something that apparently eats S-Rank Hunters for breakfast."

"You have such a way with words," Celeste said, her voice flat as ice.

"It’s part of my charm."

Raphael prowled the perimeter of our little silver tree sanctuary, his combat boots crunching on something that looked like sand but glittered like crushed diamonds. He suddenly stopped, crouching down to examine the ground. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

"Hey, assholes," he called out. "Come look at this."

"Your social skills continue to astound me," Juan muttered, but we all moved toward him anyway.

Raphael pointed at a series of depressions in the sand. They formed a line that led from the treeline down to the shoreline of that impossibly vast indigo lake. Each depression was about the size of a dinner plate and maybe six inches deep.

"Something’s been burrowing," he said, poking at one of the depressions with a stick. "Recently, too. The edges haven’t collapsed yet."

Fantastic. Because what every trapped team needs is the threat of something erupting from the ground beneath their feet. I was starting to think this Gate was custom-designed to hit all my personal nightmares.

"Jaime," I called out. "What do you think? Any idea what made these?"

Jaime knelt beside one of the depressions, his massive frame casting a shadow over the glittering sand. For once, he didn’t immediately launch into a speech about the glory of battle or Sakura Hoshino’s teachings on the art of war. Instead, he studied the depression with surprising focus.

"Whatever it was, it’s big," he said finally. "And it moves in a pattern." He pointed at the spacing between the depressions. "See? Regular intervals. Like it’s counting its steps."

That was... actually helpful. And vaguely terrifying.

"Monica," I said, turning to our resident plant whisperer. "Can your new friends tell us anything about what might be making these?"

Monica closed her eyes again, her fingers gently stroking Copernicus’s leaves. After a moment, she frowned.

"They call them... Harvesters. They come up from under the sand to collect... I think they mean dead things? Fallen fruit? Anything organic that drops to the ground." Her frown deepened. "The trees don’t like them. They’re not part of the original ecosystem. The Arborist brought them in to keep the garden clean."

"Glorified trash collectors," Raphael scoffed. "I can handle those."

"Don’t get cocky," I warned. "In a Black Gate, even the janitors can probably tear your face off."

Raphael flipped me off, but I could tell he took the warning seriously. Say what you will about his attitude, at least he wasn’t suicidal.

"We should establish camp before nightfall," Noah said, scanning the horizon. "The twin moons provide considerable light, but visibility will still be reduced."

I nodded. "Good call. Let’s move a bit deeper into the trees, away from these tracks."

We retreated about fifty meters into the silver forest, finding a small clearing where the trees formed a natural canopy overhead. Their luminescent fruit provided a soft, pulsing light that was almost comforting. Almost.

"Status check," I said once we’d settled. "What are we working with in terms of supplies?"

Juan sat cross-legged on the ground, already pulling up inventory lists on his datapad. "Standard combat kits for everyone. First aid, emergency beacons that are probably useless in here, flashlights, basic tools."

"Food and water?"

A silence fell over the group.

"I brought energy bars," I admitted. "Maybe enough for two days if we ration carefully. Water for about the same."

"I have three days’ worth of rations," Jaime said, patting his pack. "A warrior must fuel his temple adequately!"

Raphael rolled his eyes. "One day for me. Wasn’t planning on a fucking extended vacation."

"Two days’ worth," Juan said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.

All eyes swiveled toward Noah and Celeste. Noah’s expression remained precisely neutral, as if this were any other routine inspection, as she carefully unzipped her tactical backpack. The woman proceeded to extract a series of vacuum-sealed packages with methodical efficiency, each one labeled and organized with military precision.

"Seven days of complete nutritional supplements for Lady Celeste," she announced in her characteristic formal tone, arranging each package in perfectly straight rows on the ground before her. "Seven days’ supply of water purification tablets. One portable filtration system capable of processing up to five liters per hour. Backup meal replacement bars. Emergency concentrated protein packets for rapid energy restoration. Electrolyte powder packets for maintaining proper hydration balance. Additional—"

"Noah," Celeste interrupted, a distinctive pink flush creeping up her pale cheeks. "That’s... that’s quite enough, thank you."

Noah paused mid-reach into her bag, her brow creasing with visible confusion. "I’m simply providing a comprehensive inventory of our available supplies, Lady Celeste. This is standard protocol for any extended operation in hostile territory."

"You packed all of that exclusively for me?" Celeste asked, her voice small and clearly mortified by the spotlight suddenly focused on her and her bodyguard’s extensive preparations.

"Of course. Your nutritional requirements and continued well-being are my primary operational concern," Noah replied matter-of-factly.

"Wonderful," I said, already running the mental calculations and coming up with numbers I didn’t particularly enjoy. "If we pool all our resources together and establish strict rationing protocols, we might be able to stretch what we have for approximately one week. Maybe push it to ten days if we’re extremely disciplined about portions."

And if we’re very, very lucky, I thought but didn’t add. No point mentioning the twenty-nine-day deadline looming over our heads just yet.

"What about the fruit growing on these trees?" Jaime asked, tilting his head back to gaze up at the glowing, faintly pulsating orbs that hung from the silver branches above us. They did look remarkably similar to oversized apples, their bioluminescence casting dancing shadows across his curious features.

"Absolutely not," I said, my voice taking on a hard edge of finality. "Basic Gate survival rule number one: you don’t consume anything you discover growing inside a dungeon unless you’re actively interested in experiencing what it’s like to mutate into something with far too many appendages."

"But the trees are communicating that their fruit is completely safe for consumption," Monica offered tentatively, her gentle voice tinged with uncertainty. "They... they genuinely want to assist us in surviving here."

I turned to look at her skeptically, one eyebrow raised. "And you’re willing to stake our lives on the word of sentient vegetation that’s existed inside this nightmare dimension for who knows how long?"

"They have no logical motivation to deceive us," she said with that same simple, almost childlike sincerity that seemed to define her worldview.

"The Arborist cultivated them and planted them throughout this realm, yes, but they don’t serve its will willingly. They’re prisoners themselves, trapped here just as we are now, confined to their roots and forced to witness everything that happens in their domain. In their own way, they understand what it means to be helpless."

I sighed. "We’ll keep it as a last resort. For now, let’s stick with what we brought."