The moment they stepped into the Boss' lair, the atmosphere shifted.
The faint smell of rot grew stronger, and the ground beneath their boots felt soft, almost rubbery. Not far from the entrance, their torches illuminated a fresh corpse—a young man, probably in his early twenties. His body lay twisted on the jungle floor, pale as moonlight. The way his blood had soaked the soil told the story clearly.
He had died from blood loss.
But what confirmed a fatal blow was the deep cut across his throat—clean, and brutal.
As they continued walking, the path was littered with animal carcasses, each one looking as if they had suffered the same fate: Poison… Rot… and something else far more sinister. Even though it was gruesome, Leonel knew most of it was just the environment's "set dressing." Dungeons and open-world lairs often used corpses to set the mood.
But still… it was hard to ignore.
The group moved forward cautiously.
"There," Leonel whispered, pointing ahead.
