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Chapter 218: Divine Residual

Half of the great tomb had ceased to exist.

Where a mountain of stone once stood, four sloped walls rising to meet at a single point that scraped the sky, there now lay only ruin. Most of the structure had liquefied, melting away layer by layer until it collapsed inward upon itself and became a vast, incandescent lake. Streams of it spilled from the wound in searing shades of orange and white, while great slabs of half-molten rock broke loose from the building’s remains before vanishing under the surface with thunderous splashes.

Viktor was looking at it from the outside, and for a good long while he could only stare.

Even though it was impossible for him to physically feel the heat from where he sat, by merely looking at the scene he could swear his skin crawled like it was already blistering. The air above the fiery lake had thickened into a shimmering haze that rippled and bent the world behind it, while the artificial sun of the second floor, which had been doing its best to cook the ground flat all day, was now rendered utterly insignificant by comparison, so thoroughly outshone that he almost forgot it was even there.

He had expected the molten flood to keep spreading, to flow outward in every direction until it swallowed the entire mortuary complex. It would consume the fake buildings in its path. It would breach the perimeter wall. And then, perhaps it would continue even beyond. He wondered how much of the surrounding land would remain by the time it finally burned itself out.

But no. It stopped.

As though it had run into some invisible wall, the mass just hung there, churning and bubbling in place.

And then, it began to rise.

Viktor frowned as he watched the lake of magma climb. At first, he thought something under the ground was pushing it from below, but that was not what was happening. It was the magma itself that was moving, hauling its own bulk from the lake in thick, twisting ropes. They converged toward a central point above the ruined tomb as though an unseen hand had reached down from the heavens, closed around the entire mass, and dragged it upward into the open air.

The surface heaved, then a shape began to emerge. It started with something that resembled a leg, though the word felt almost insultingly small for what was taking form. A pillar of fire and burned stone, widening at the bottom into something like a foot, and then a second one next to the first. They fused, split, fused again as more of the thing hauled itself skyward. Above them came hips, then a torso wide as a keep, then a pair of shoulders that could hold up the roof of the world.

Arms followed. Great ruinous things, each one thick enough to flatten one of the surrounding structures without so much as trying. Fire ran across the surface, dripping in gouts from the elbows and whatever passed for fingers before getting sucked straight back up into the body like the thing refused to waste even a drop.

It kept growing, and by the time its head took shape, the construct was already taller than the tomb that had once stood in this place.

Viktor watched in silence as two enormous hollows opened in that face, blazing with the same white-orange glow as the lake beneath. Flame clung where a beard should hang, where hair should sit. Spikes of it stood up off the skull, while two thick tongues of fire framed the cheeks like sideburns.

Ugh.

He opened his eyes, and the world was small and comforting again. Celeste hovered nearby as she always did, and beside her floated Galatea’s projection.

“What the hell is that thing?” he asked.

“That man,” his shiny Guardian replied, “he’s done the most unthinkable thing. He... he spoke the true name of a god, and...”

I already knew that, Viktor thought. “And what?”

“It awakened the divine residual. Master, perhaps you already knew this, but gods shed fragments of their power into their surroundings simply by being there, and such remnants of divinity can linger for millennia. Most of the time, they lie dormant. But if someone speaks the true name of the god to whom they belong, it could stir them into action.”

“I saw that sword explode.”

Galatea nodded. “I believe there was a considerable amount of divine residual accumulated inside that weapon. So when that man spoke the right name, it reacted all at once, destroying the blade and breaking free.”

That circled back to what Viktor had already suspected about the crystallized essence that gave every Reliquary its unique power. Those whose souls were preserved that way had either accomplished something extraordinary in life or come into contact with the divine at death. And in the case of the latter, a scrap of divine power was fused into their soul, leaving behind an imprint that outlasted the flesh.

“I’m guessing the god in question is the Lord of Fire.”

“Yes, Master.”

So that S-word is his true name, huh? He was still unable to hold the full name in his mind, so he settled for the abbreviated version instead. Regardless, the implication was clear enough: the flaming blade Xander had wielded carried power that traced back to the Lord of Fire, just as his own rapier drew its power from the Lord of Light.

Ugh.

He found himself wondering, with a growing sense of dread that weighed heavily upon his chest, what would happen if somebody decided to shout the Lord of Light’s true name at him while he himself was mid-swing with that blade in his hand.

“That sword exploded,” Viktor said, “then it produced a fire large enough to melt an entire tomb. Fine. I can live with that. But now it’s gone ahead and grown into a giant—no, a titan—of rock and flame. And this particular titan happens to have spiked hair and thick sideburns. Which bears a suspicious resemblance to a certain someone we both know too well. So here is my question: what happened to Xander? Is he dead, or has he somehow been transformed into... this?”

“I cannot give you a definitive answer on that, Master. How the divine residual reacts when a god’s true name is invoked is inherently unpredictable. It’s simply impossible to know beforehand what shape it will take.”

Viktor frowned. “But I’m not asking you to predict anything. This already happened. It created a titan of fire, standing right there in our dungeon. So what I want to know is this: out of all the times such an incident has occurred in the past, was there any case similar to this? I mean, a man becoming a monster?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to draw on when it comes to past incidents,” Galatea said with a shrug. “Invoking the true name of a god is considered one of the greatest taboos. As a result, records of such transgressions are exceedingly rare. They are suppressed, hidden away, never allowed to spread freely. All I can tell you is that it almost always ends in catastrophe.”

Viktor let out a long breath. So no information at all, huh? Still, if he couldn’t know for certain, then he was going to assume the worst possible outcome and plan accordingly. Xander was very much alive, and he was the titan. His sworn enemy didn’t die; the bastard had walked out of it more powerful than he had ever been.

Was this what the Children of the Abyss had been aiming for all along? Transforming their spike-haired lapdog into some sort of walking avatar of a god, then letting him loose to tear the dungeon apart from the inside out? But... how could they have known this exact outcome would occur? After all, as Galatea had said, the reaction was unpredictable. So how could they have planned around a result they had no way of guaranteeing? Unless the plan had never been that specific in the first place. Perhaps they simply wanted a catastrophe, any catastrophe, and didn’t much care which flavor it came in. The sword was meant to be a bomb—a divine bomb—and the name was the detonator. Xander becoming a titan was merely a happy accident layered on top of that.

No, wait.

Galatea believed the outcome was unpredictable, but it was not necessarily so. What if it was only unpredictable to people like her? The Abyss, on the other hand, was operating on a completely different level. That man could have foreseen the result. In fact, he might have even engineered it, shaping the conditions in advance to make sure that everything would unfold the way he wanted.

The flaming sword was a Reliquary, and who else could have created such an artifact if not a Dungeon Core? The Abyss made fancy things like Abyssal Armaments or human Reliquaries, yes, but of course he could also forge some ordinary items. And Viktor wouldn’t put it past him to make one from the crystallized essence that carried the divine residual of the Lord of Fire, deliberately shaping it in a way that the moment the divine name was spoken aloud, exactly this would happen.

Well, he could puzzle over the finer details of that theory later, when there was time for such a thing. Right now, there was a much more pressing issue.

He glanced at Galatea. “How are we supposed to deal with this?”

“I don’t think that we can fight it head-on,” his Guardian replied. “Its power is simply too much. We have nothing at our disposal that stands a chance.”

I already knew that, thank you very much. The damn thing was a titan the size of the great tomb itself. “What is your solution, then?”

“Avoid it, and try to contain whatever damage it causes. A gigantic construct like that is not sustainable. It’s burning through power at a tremendous pace. Sooner or later, it will run dry.”

“So you’re telling me we can just ignore it and wait for it to die on its own. Great! Let’s do exactly that.”

The entrance to the third floor was now buried under rubble, and even if it wasn’t, there was no way something that damn big could squeeze through a passage built for men. In other words, the titan was stuck up on the second floor. So he would just leave it be. Let it stomp around and set fire to whatever it liked. What was the worst it could manage, really? The desert was already unbearably hot; the ruins were already ruined. What more damage could a moving mountain of fire possibly do to such a landscape?

[Master, the titan has begun to move.]

“To where?” Viktor asked.

[To the far side of the desert. Toward that chasm.]

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Chapter 211: No Plan Survives First Contact

The Apostle.

A foe Viktor had already considered the single most troublesome among those who came to invade his dungeon today, thanks to the warning of that mysterious woman. Now that he was getting an eyeful of the bastard in the flesh, though, “troublesome” turned out to be an understatement so profound it was almost impressive.

Oh, well. There was no point in wasting time complaining about it. Turning his gaze away from a problem was not going to make it politely excuse itself and leave on its own.

What he needed to do instead was keep thinking, keep turning the puzzle over and over in his mind, picking apart everything he had seen of this dangerous enemy and everything he could infer from it so that when the moment finally came, he would have at hand something resembling an effective response.

“Now, let’s see...”

Whatever power it was the Apostle wielded, it had to be some sort of body manipulation, which extended not only over his own flesh but over the flesh of anyone or anything he had physical contact with.

When he used this power on himself, he could make his body extraordinarily resilient to all damage, which would have been quite enough on its own, before you even factored in the fact that he was also, guess what, a human Reliquary. Furthermore, he also had superhuman strength and unparalleled regeneration. The guy might well stand on equal footing with the raw power Viktor himself could only get through “Rekindled Ember,” except he got to keep it indefinitely instead of having a clock ticking down on him.

And when he used the power on the others, he could stitch a severed limb back to a torso, without bothering to ask if those parts matched, and he could fuse several separate bodies into one. He should be able to heal, too, when he had the stomach for it. After all, the horrific side effects that accompanied his so-called “help” for the Iskora adventurers had far less to do with any limitation of the man’s power and far more to do with a simple absence of care on his part. If he had ever sincerely wanted to fix them, Viktor had little doubt that he could have done exactly that.

From those facts, it followed naturally that the Apostle could enhance the bodies of others, to make them stronger and tougher in the same way he had done to his own. And that meant the abomination he created and brought along might be a great deal more dangerous than a simple sum of three people’s strength added together.

Now, the next terrifying aspect of his power: the ability to absorb biomass directly into his body. He had so far only demonstrated this on that swarm of insects, though it would have been foolish to imagine that flesh and bone and hair would somehow be immune to whatever hunger lived beneath that stretching skin. And Viktor found himself wondering if the guy could eat a tree if he was in the mood.

Such an ability also raised several more questions.

First, what exactly did he get out of all this absorbing? Was he merely using it to kill whatever he touched, or was his body going to be somehow strengthened by what it consumed? Could he pack on denser and more powerful muscle by devouring more flesh? Could he harden his bones by feeding on those of the others? Or could he grow some manner of carapace, a living plate of armor assembled from all the bugs he had just eaten?

And second, how quickly could he absorb something after he made contact with it? Those insects had been consumed in what seemed like an instant, but that was hardly a fair comparison, given how small each of them had been. What would happen, then, if his target was a living human? How much time would that person have to fight back, to break free, to survive before that hungry patch of skin finished whatever it was doing to them?

Well, the safest course of action was obvious enough: keep anything alive as far away from that man as possible.

In that light, the Great Hallway might turn out to be the most promising ground for facing the Apostle. After all, other than Sebekton, there was precious little breathing there. Tomb guards, Templars, Wisps, and both Galatea and Khenemhotep themselves. All of them were as dead as the architecture. Though if bone was indeed on the menu just as chitin was, then even the tomb guards would need to be thrown into the fight with a good deal of caution.

Viktor sighed. He had decided only a short while ago that the Apostle would be allowed to pass through while Xander and the abomination were kept trapped behind. But now that plan would have to change considerably.

Oh, well. That was the nature of planning, wasn’t it? Strategies rarely survived first contact with the enemy, and a wise commander adjusted rather than clung stubbornly to something the battlefield had already outgrown.

So be it, then. He was going to start the thing, and improvise as developments arose.

And so, he closed his eyes once more, sending his vision to the great ramp before the Chamber of the Dead, where the decisive battle was about to begin in earnest.

Once he arrived, he saw the three familiar figures. After the spider-women called their insects back, Valeska-Rowan-Cynthia had been saved from the onslaught, and Xander had slipped back out of whatever wall he had been hiding in, like a rat emerging from behind a cupboard. Then, the three of them pressed on, continuing on their way toward this place. They were going to climb the ramp, where the ambush was set to trigger the moment they hit the midpoint.

And sure enough, the instant they reached it, Templars and tomb guards came pouring out from the entrances above and below, sealing off both ends of the hallway. Above, Galatea rose into view in her towering, armored form, her great warhammer raised and ready. Below, Sebekton took up position at the head of his troops, cutting off any avenue of escape.

“They look... different from what we’ve encountered before,” Xander murmured, his gaze flicking up, then down.

The Apostle strolled up beside him. “I think it’s time for you to do something,” the gray-haired man said with an easy smile.

Xander responded with nothing more than a grunt, but he raised his flaming sword regardless. And then, in the blink of an eye, he was no longer by the Apostle’s side, but hovering right before Galatea instead, the fiery blade already lifted high.

As fast as teleportation, indeed.

Yet, for all that, even with his sword aimed at the construct’s head, the blow itself never fell. It gave Galatea just enough time to spin her armored bulk around and swing her hammer at him first.

I see, Viktor thought.

The bastard needed to revert to his physical state in order to attack, but doing so would leave him vulnerable in that same instant. So he intended to let his opponent’s weapon pass clean through his intangible form first, before he committed to solidifying and striking back himself.

But that turned out to be a grave miscalculation. Because Galatea had infused her warhammer with the power of the Light.

And so the glowing head of the weapon crashed squarely into the bastard’s chest, and Xander screamed in pain as the impact sent his body hurtling backward through the air.

Only after several long seconds of tumbling did he manage to bring himself to a stop, hanging there clutching at his chest, his voice cracking with disbelief.

“What... the hell?”

“Be careful,” the Apostle called out from below, his tone as unbothered as ever. “That shiny toy of hers can still hurt you even when you’re a ghost. So try not to get hit.”

“You... you know?”

“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

The gray-haired man offered nothing more than a casual shrug in response.

“Some lessons are easier to remember if they hurt a little. It’s not like a single hit is enough to kill you anyway, right?”

“Bastard...”

Xander had spent the entire journey looking down on the other Iskora adventurers. He hadn’t given a damn when the gray-haired man carved his little experiments into their flesh and bones. And now he had found out, the hard way, that two monsters cut from similar cloth didn’t necessarily make for friends.

Still, whatever bitterness he might feel toward the Apostle, he had no time to dwell on it. His attention snapped back to Galatea and the troops arrayed at the top of the ramp. He raised his flaming sword once more and swung it in rapid, sweeping arcs, sending crescent after crescent of fire toward their position in a relentless barrage.

The Templars and tomb guards raised their shields to block the attacks, while Galatea simply stood there and let the flames wash over her armored form without so much as flinching. Then she raised her left hand, and at her command, eight chains of light tore free from the walls flanking the ramp, all of them converging on Xander to bind him in place. At the same time, the Templars at the rear drew their great bows and unleashed a volley of arrows. This way, no matter which state the bastard chose to occupy, some part in that combined attack would make him regret it deeply.

But of course, catching the bastard was never going to be quite that simple. Not while he still had those winged boots of his.

Xander blinked himself out of harm’s way before either the chains or the arrows could reach him. So the chains adjusted course and continued their pursuit, while the Templars kept firing, sending volley after volley after him with enthusiasm.

As Viktor watched the exchange unfold, several new details about how the Reliquary actually functioned began to fall into place. It seemed Xander could only move in a straight line, so he needed to bring himself to a full stop before he could shift direction. So no, he couldn’t remain in constant motion, reducing himself to a blur no eye could follow. He could only jump from one point to another. Of course, if he chose not to stop, he could shoot himself out of the tomb entirely. But that possibility only existed so long as the net of light woven through the walls and ceiling and floor wasn’t already in place. And since that net had been set, the bastard was not going to leave the Great Hallway, no matter what happened.

What was the Apostle going to do, though? Would he step forward and join the fray as well, or would he remain where he was, content to watch his “companion” fight alone against the full weight of Galatea’s forces?

And that was when Viktor realized the gray-haired man had disappeared.

Gone.

Down on the ramp, below the dance between chains and arrows and spike-haired uglyface, there was only the fused creature left standing. Its creator had vanished without a trace.

No, not quite without a trace.

Because there, exactly where the Apostle had stood moments before, lay the tattered robe that once clung to his body.

Did the guy just undress? Why?

As Viktor swept his vision back and forth across the ramp, he caught a hint of movement. Something. Low to the ground and fast.

Was that... a blob?

The formless mass surged up the ramp, moving faster than anything with no legs had any right to move. It slipped under the soldiers at the top, all of whom had their attention fixed entirely on Xander. And within seconds, it passed unnoticed through their ranks and disappeared into the entrance of the Chamber of the Dead beyond.

“Damn it,” Viktor cursed. “Celeste, warn Khenemhotep. The Apostle is about to walk straight into his chamber.”

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Chapter 210: To the Great Hallway

“What a troublesome enemy,” Viktor muttered.

[Indeed. I am not entirely sure we have anything at our disposal capable of dealing with someone like this man.]

Viktor let out a sigh. “If it comes to the worst, I’m going to use Rekindled Ember.”

[Master, surely you don’t mean to—?]

“Yes. I’ll allow myself to be struck by a lethal blow. That’s the only way to trigger it.”

The Supreme Thauma, after all, was meant to work as a purely defensive ability. He could cast it once per day, and once he did, it granted him a protective effect that would persist for the following twenty-four hours. Which meant, in theory at least, he could keep it running indefinitely. As a result, if he ever sustained damage severe enough to kill him, the effect would activate automatically, giving him extraordinary resilience against all forms of damage, unparalleled regenerative powers, and a surge of strength far beyond the limits of the human body. Of course, it could only trigger a single time, and once it had been used, he would need to wait until the next day before he could recast the Supreme Thauma and restore the safety net once more.

Well, that was the intended way to use it. But he could also turn the Thauma into an offensive ability by deliberately taking a fatal injury. In doing so, he would gain the raw power he needed to stand toe-to-toe with the Apostle.

The question was: would that be enough?

Going by what he had seen of this enemy of his so far, he believed he had a good chance of winning. However, that assessment was based strictly on what the Apostle had chosen to reveal rather than on any understanding of the man’s actual limits. So in reality, it remained uncertain whether he would be able to defeat his foe. And even if it was possible, there was no guarantee he could do so within ten minutes.

Yes, ten minutes.

That was the full span of time the effect would grant him before it faded, the entirety of the window he would have to work with. “Rekindled Ember” was his trump card, and a card he could only play once, so he needed to weigh every possibility carefully before he could afford to let it leave his hand.

And that meant the wisest course of action right now was to throw everything else he had at the Apostle, to exhaust whatever reserves of strength the man possessed, to force the man to reveal more of his abilities. All the while, he would remove himself from the fighting. He would watch from a distance. He would observe, and he would analyze. Only when victory was assured, or when he was completely out of other options, would he finally step forward and enter the fray in person.

[Are you going to join the battle in the Great Hallway, Master?]

“No. We stick to the original plan. Sebekton and Galatea take command of the Templars and the tomb guards for the pincer attack. Undead mages provide support. Wisps weave themselves into the net of light. And so on and so forth, exactly as we laid it out before.”

[But that is the preparation for Xander. We are making no changes on account of the Apostle?]

Viktor slowly leaned back in his chair. “If I were the Apostle, I would simply blast straight through whatever stood in my way without a moment’s hesitation. There’s nothing in the hallway capable of stopping a man like him, after all. And Xander, along with that, well, creature, would follow right behind, breaking through the gap the Apostle just tears open. Yes, that would be how all three of them get out of the trap.”

[That does sound like a reasonable plan.]

“So what we will do is simply let the Apostle pass through alone. There’s no point in wasting our strength trying to stop something that is unstoppable. Just leave him be. We will settle our business with him later, on the lower floors. Meanwhile, we do everything in our power to prevent Xander and the abomination from following in his wake. The trap remains sealed against them, specifically. It was designed from the very beginning to kill Xander, and I’m sure it should be able to put that cobbled-together beast out of its misery as well.”

[It would certainly be convenient if events unfolded as you describe, but what if the Apostle, upon looking back and seeing his companions still trapped behind him, chooses to turn around to help them instead of continuing forward?]

“From what we’ve seen of him so far, it seems more likely he would abandon them without a second thought and press on alone. But you’re right. There’s indeed a chance he would stay and fight in the Great Hallway. Should that happen, then we will have no choice but to oblige him. We still have reserves nearby, so we’ll pour them into the fight as needed, replacing our losses and maintaining the pressure.”

It was going to be a bloody slog, though. A slow, grinding, and ugly battle of attrition that would leave behind unimaginable casualties. But there was no way around it. Against an opponent of this caliber, losses were to be expected, and sacrifices were probably unavoidable.

With his mind made up, Viktor closed his eyes and sent his vision forward once more, toward the current location of the three remaining members of the Iskora team—one of the sloped corridors that wound their way through the great tomb’s interior.

Xander was drifting at the head of the formation, his eyes glowing now, an unmistakable sign he had activated the Reliquary that allowed him to see the unseen, which also had the useful side effect of lighting the way for his companions, saving everyone the trouble of torches.

Behind him trailed the former trio of Valeska, Rowan, and Cynthia, now merged into a single grotesque body that lurched forward with a stuttering gait. The three faces were frozen in expressions of twisted anguish, and Viktor found himself wondering whether their suffering came solely from the torment of the flesh, or from the mind as it struggled to comprehend the horror of what they had become. Well, it hardly mattered. Regardless of what turmoil churned beneath those three visages, they had no choice but to keep moving forward, to keep obeying every command the Apostle had given.

And last of all, strolling along at the rear as though out for an evening walk, was the gray-haired man himself, with that same faint smile on his face, the one that suggested he already knew how this would end and found it mildly amusing.

Soon enough, they would arrive at the Great Hallway, where the decisive confrontation was meant to unfold. Still, Viktor had one more move he wanted to try first. Not because he expected it to accomplish much, but because it cost him almost nothing, and because there was a certain pleasure in making the enemy dance a step they hadn’t planned for. If nothing else, it might rattle them into showing a little more of whatever they were hiding up their sleeves.

He moved his vision ahead, toward the junction further down the corridor, and there he found the spider-women waiting in position.

To anyone who didn’t know better, they might have passed for noble ladies from some distant, exotic land—black hair falling thick and glossy past their shoulders, robes of heavy silk hiding every last contour of the bodies beneath. The only detail that betrayed their true nature was the presence of their eight eyes, which was generally considered six too many in most polite circles.

Four of them were waiting here, at this end of the corridor, while five more stood at the junction on the opposite side, poised to spring a coordinated pincer attack the moment the order came.

“Have them begin,” Viktor told his Dungeon Core.

At Celeste’s command, the spider-women began to disrobe, though any fool who hoped for a glimpse of anything enticing would be in for a rude awakening. Because what came out from under the silk was not skin and curves, but chitinous masses that swelled and unfurled with wet, clicking sounds as segment after segment of arachnid abdomen pushed into view. As it turned out, the “woman” half of “spider-woman” began and ended with the head, while the “spider” part was, well, practically everything else.

And, as if that weren’t enough on its own, that bloated and glistening thorax came with company of its own—a seething carpet of giant ants, beetles, scorpions, and other things with too many legs, crawling in a churning tide that never ceased, never settled.

As the spider-women raised their “hands” in unison and issued the command, the insects poured forth from both ends of the corridor like two dark and swollen rivers breaking free of their banks, a cascade of chitin and legs and mandibles that flooded across the floor, up the walls, over the ceiling, leaving no surface uncovered.

This is so gross. Viktor felt his stomach turn, even though he was the one causing it and not the one on the receiving end of it.

“What the hell?” Xander yelled, voice cracking with a sentiment that mirrored Viktor’s own disgust almost exactly.

Being in his spectral state, the bastard could, of course, have just stood his ground and let the entire swarm pass harmlessly through. Nevertheless, he chose instead to drift into the solid stone of the wall, removing himself from the corridor entirely.

And that meant Valeska-Rowan-Cynthia was going to be left standing alone to catch the full weight of this particular nightmare. The three heads screamed as the creature frantically tried to brace itself against the onslaught. Cynthia’s hand, the one that had been fused permanently to her staff, snapped forward and unleashed a powerful gust of wind that tore through the first wave, which bought perhaps two seconds of satisfaction before the next one arrived to fill the gap.

The aeromancer kept blasting and blasting, but despite her best efforts, the swarm kept coming, closing the distance to the body she shared with her companions. The four remaining hands, gripping axe and sword and shield, swung wildly at the air, while the two legs stamped at anything that got underfoot. Still, against a tide made up of countless tiny opponents, such resistance amounted to little more than a formality. It was only a matter of time before the insects finally reached the creature’s flesh and began climbing across it in earnest. At that point, the hands abandoned their weapons altogether and resorted to swatting at the crawling mass with bare palms.

Interesting as that was, the creature’s reaction was not what Viktor had come to see. He left it behind and turned toward the Apostle, curious about how the man would handle the bugs on his side of the corridor, since obviously, strength alone was not the right tool for a problem like this one. You couldn’t punch a swarm to death, after all. What you needed was something like Ekon’s fire breath, a technique the bald man had once demonstrated with devastating efficiency.

So Viktor watched, waiting to see what card the Apostle would play. Well, perhaps the guy would simply choose to run through the swarm, leaving the others behind to fend for themselves.

To his surprise, the gray-haired man didn’t take even one step from where he stood. Still wearing that same smile, he simply raised a hand toward the onrushing wall of chitin and legs.

And then—

The hand enlarged. Or rather, the skin of that hand stretched outward, spreading itself across the width of the corridor until it formed a translucent lid of flesh, one large enough to seal his half of the passage away from the half where the insects were advancing.

Viktor frowned. Was such a fragile-looking barrier really capable of blocking the entire swarm? And even if it could, what then? Was the man planning to stand there indefinitely, holding back the bugs until the end of days?

He had his answer soon enough.

The instant an insect brushed that sheet of skin, it vanished—sucked straight through and swallowed whole. And the swarm, having no capacity for hesitation or self-preservation, kept coming, wave after wave of them marching cheerfully into oblivion, into whatever bottomless void lay on the other side of that thin membrane.

Did the guy just “eat” the bugs with his skin? Viktor felt something unpleasant turn over in his gut.

[What kind of power is that, I wonder?]

“My guess is that he’s absorbing them into his body through physical contact. And I highly doubt he could only do that to insects. No, I’m sure he could ‘eat’ any living thing. Actually, probably corpses too, while we’re at it.”

Viktor let out a long, weary sigh. On the one hand, this little experiment had proven extremely valuable, as it had revealed yet another aspect of the Apostle’s power. On the other hand, the more he learned about the guy, the more his mood soured.

“That’s enough,” he told Celeste. “Tell the Jorogomu to retreat. And have our Guardians stand ready. The battle in the Great Hallway is starting soon.”

[Yes, Master.]

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Interlude: The Hole in the Desert

Azran gazed at what used to be the maze of narrow corridors.

Where twisting passages had once coiled tight as a hangman’s noose, forcing those who attempted to pass through to commit to countless blind turns and dead ends, there now sprawled a single immense chamber. The adventurers’ explosives had torn through its dividing walls with indiscriminate enthusiasm, collapsing what careful malice had built into an uninterrupted expanse of fractured rock.

Nine months ago, he had walked through these passages.

Thirty-nine weeks.

Two hundred and seventy-six days, to be exact.

He had been here with Lahmia, traversing the maze together as they headed for the Core Room to steal the Core that lay waiting at the dungeon’s heart. Today, he found himself retracing those same steps, but with a different company, and for a different purpose.

“There was once a maze in this place,” Cedric said, oblivious to the fact that the man standing beside him was not an ordinary adventurer, but a Dungeon Reaver who had been here before. “But people have used explosives to blast through the walls to clear the way. As a result of their reckless destruction, the old staircase leading to the third floor has collapsed, buried under the rubble. At the same time, it revealed a new area, the desert where we’re heading now, spreading out beyond where the maze’s outer wall used to stand.”

Azran snorted. “You really think all of that happened by chance? That it was caused by the adventurers? No, of course not. The old route was destroyed because the dungeon wants it destroyed, and the desert was discovered because the dungeon wants it discovered.”

Cedric slowly nodded. “You’re right. This dungeon is a strange one. It’s very different from the others. So I wouldn’t be surprised if that really is what happened here.”

Azran took in the flat, stretched-out cave before him, his gaze sweeping across the jagged stumps of masonry protruding here and there like broken teeth, the last stubborn reminders that this place had once been something more than just a hollow emptiness.

“So that way is the dead end, huh?”

“Yes. As I said, the staircase is no more. At the end of the path, you’ll find a chamber. An arena of some sort. People said sometimes a Cyclops and a chest of gold would spawn there, waiting for those brave enough to seek them out. An optional challenge, I suppose, for whoever wanted one.”

Azran knew that room. More than anyone here, more than Cedric could ever imagine. He had stood in it. He had fought in it. With Lahmia, against the Crocodilian. Two of them had gone in, and only one had come out.

For the briefest moment, he wanted nothing more than to go back. To that place, to where he had last seen her.

Not that it would accomplish a thing, of course. He knew perfectly well what happened to those who perished in a dungeon. Her body had been stripped bare, then thrown unceremoniously into the disposal pit along with all the others who had failed to survive their own ambitions. So, if he really wanted to find her, the pit was where he would have to look. There he would find her broken bones, scattered among countless strangers.

He shook his head and let out a deep sigh. “Let’s go,” he said. “We should pick up the pace.”

“You’re right.” Cedric nodded. “If we’re taking a different route from them, then there’s no reason for us to hang about anymore.”

With that, they left the maze that was no longer a maze, and stepped into the desert of the dungeon’s second floor.

Cedric walked at the front of the column, the gnoll Noi’ri close behind him. Next was Fiora, the auburn-haired girl had always been with the young warrior whenever Azran saw him, and after her came the blond mage, Lucian. Azran himself took the rear, keeping an eye on everyone’s backs.

Above them, Renee, an aeromancer who had her hair tied in two large buns atop her head, circled in slow, sweeping arcs. She wasn’t a member of Cedric’s party, actually, but a friend of Quinn and Fiora who had offered to join this competition to help them out. Now she flew overhead, carrying her iron-tipped staff at her side as she scanned the surroundings to warn them of any danger before it could ever get near.

Their trek through the desert had been remarkably free of incident so far, however. Other than the merciless sun above and the scorched sand below, there were no obstacles whatsoever on their path. Nothing challenged them, nothing threatened them, nothing even tried to slow them down. And that didn’t sit right with Azran even one bit. In his experience, a dungeon that made its passage look easy was a dungeon hiding something far worse just out of sight. The last time he had been here, he and Lahmia hadn’t seen so much as a rat until they walked into that arena with the Crocodilian waiting inside.

He had voiced his concern to the others, and to their credit, they had taken his warning seriously. Noi’ri, especially. The gnoll had the look of someone who had learned caution the hard way, and didn’t need telling twice.

Renee, on the other hand, puzzled him a great deal.

Word was that her party had once ventured inside the complex surrounding that gigantic building, and the dungeon had come down on them hard. They barely managed to get out with their skins on—much like he had after Lahmia’s death—but two people who had joined their expedition weren’t so lucky. Given all that, he had expected her to be more on edge. But no. For some reason, she carried on as if the utter lack of monsters along their path were the most normal thing in the world. And since she served as the party’s scout, the one whose vigilance the rest of them depended on the most, that attitude troubled him deeply.

Still, despite the unease that kept gnawing at his mind, nothing came of it. Perhaps the dungeon was saving its surprises for the edge of the desert, or the third floor.

“Hey!” Fiora suddenly shouted. “What’s that?”

Everyone turned at once, following her outstretched arm to where she was pointing, and they saw... a flying boulder?

Yes, it was. A big-ass rock, tumbling end over end through the sky with terrifying momentum. Azran could tell that much despite the distance. And it flew past them and continued on toward the gigantic building looming beyond the dunes.

“What the hell is that?” Lucian asked.

“Ekon told me when his party went into the complex, they got shot at by a ballista,” Cedric said. “Is that right, Renee? ...Renee? Something wrong?”

Azran glanced up at the aeromancer, who hovered just above them, and found a completely different woman. Her previous confidence was gone. She now stared at that boulder without blinking, tracking it across the sky as all the color had drained clean out of her face.

What? Did she have a phobia of boulders or something?

“...Yes.” Finally, she swallowed. Hard. “You remember it right. Ballista bolts, yes. In fact, there was one in particular that kept chasing me relentlessly, and it could’ve killed me if Mandragora’s vines hadn’t lashed out and stopped it in time.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Fiora said.

“I imagine that boulder is the same sort of thing,” Cedric said. “Maybe the ballista isn’t the only weapon this dungeon has at its disposal. Maybe it has a catapult as well.”

“Catapult?” Azran snorted. “Considering the sheer size of that damn thing, it must be a freaking trebuchet.”

“So you’re saying,” Lucian said, “that thing just now was being aimed at the Iskora team?”

“Must be,” Cedric said. “And it does seem to have come from the far side of the desert, exactly as Ekon described it. We’re on the right track. Let’s get moving.”

Azran wasn’t quite sure whether this whole venture was a good idea, or if it was some elaborate trap being laid out for them. But Cedric had made up his mind, so there was nothing to be done but follow along and be ready to catch him when things went wrong.

Yes, this time around, he was not going to escape alone.

And so they stepped into the other half of the desert, the half that offered no ruins, no shade, nothing but sand stretching flat in every direction. Thankfully, they didn’t have to suffer it for very much time.

From up high, Renee found the boulder’s origin quick enough: a great maw gouged into the desert floor, she called down. After that, Azran and the young aeromancer hauled the rest there rather than let them trudge across the murderous stretch of sand on foot, so it didn’t take long before they stood at the lip of the thing.

The girl’s words proved true. There it was—a massive hole gaping before their eyes. And this, apparently, was the road down to the third floor.

“So,” Lucian said, “what—”

A thunderous BOOM cut him off, as though the world suddenly cleared its throat. The ground shuddered under their feet like something buried deep down there was trying to get free.

“What the hell was that?”

“Boulder has found its mark, by the sound of it,” Azran said with a shrug.

“Whatever it hit,” Fiora said, “I’m glad it wasn’t us.”

Those Iskora bastards were on the receiving end of a proper pounding, Azran supposed. The question was who was the one doing the pounding. If the boulder was indeed coming up from below, then it stood to reason the dungeon itself was behind the attack. But that boy Quinn’s theory, which Cedric believed wholeheartedly, was that it was the dark spirit thing hunting down those men for reasons of its own.

Not that it mattered a damn to him either way. All he wanted was to have the job done and get out of this cursed place as fast as possible.

And that was when the second BOOM came, this one somehow worse than the first.

The whole desert seemed to tremble.

And Fiora, who had been standing a bit too close to the edge of the chasm, was thrown into the dark.

Her friends screamed her name in panic, as though shouting at the air could help her somehow. Lucky for the girl, Azran had better reflexes than the children he was travelling with, and didn’t waste breath when there was action to be taken. He blinked to her side mid-fall, closed a hand around her shoulder, and blinked them both back to his original spot.

“Eh? What... what—?”

Fiora looked around in utter confusion. The whole thing had come and gone too fast for her to manage a proper scream herself.

While the two young lads went stumbling over to check her for breaks and bruises she clearly didn’t have, Azran cast a wary glance toward the great building that dominated the heart of the desert, from where, no doubt, the booms had come.

What the hell was going on there? He had not the faintest idea.

What he did know was that they had overstayed their welcome in this spot already. If it had been up to him, he would have sent all of them running for the entrance without looking back. But that was not an option. So the only sensible thing left to do was drop into that hole, get down to the third floor, and be done with this whole business.

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Chapter 209: Abomination

In an instant, the boulder disappeared—shattering into a cloud of thousands upon thousands of furious, shrieking fragments that tore through the air in every direction.

Viktor had taken the precaution of retreating his vision high into the sky beforehand to spare himself the deafening report of the blast, but even at that height, removed from the epicenter by a considerable distance, the concussive roar still hit him like a slap, and the way the shockwave rippled through the atmosphere made him rather glad that he was not here in person.

Then, when the dust finally settled, he came back down to the ruined earth below. And he saw a man who stood next to the very center of the fresh crater that had just been gouged into the ground.

The Apostle, of course.

The robe he had been wearing hung from his frame in tatters, its hood gone entirely, revealing a young-looking man with long, gray hair. Multiple wounds marred his bare skin, but they were already in the process of knitting themselves back together, and soon they would disappear as though they had never existed. The damage he had sustained in the first devastating instant must have been much more grievous, but his regeneration worked with such terrifying speed that it had reduced the injuries to nothing more than superficial scratches already in the process of fading away.

So not even an explosion to the face, up close and personal, does the trick, huh?

The three Iskora adventurers, on the other hand, were far less lucky.

Valeska lay sprawled on her back, her body contorted at an unnatural angle. Where her right leg should have been, there was simply nothing left below the hip, and through a ragged, weeping tear in her flesh, the pale curve of her pelvic bone could be seen. Her left hand had lost three fingers, while the right side of her face had been flayed raw, muscle showing pink where an ear used to be. Her eyes stared into the artificial sky above, wide and empty.

Rowan fared a bit better in terms of limbs, all four of which remained more or less attached to his body. His chest, however, was a mess of open wounds. A hole roughly the size of a clenched fist had been torn into his side, and his organs were exposed to the open air, glistening and pulsing with each desperate breath. Not to mention, two of his ribs, maybe three, had decided to break free of that wreckage of a torso, stark white against the surrounding gore.

Cynthia had lost both of her legs outright, while her right hand had been flattened into something that didn’t even bother distinguishing between bone and flesh. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, rattling gasps that grew weaker with every passing second, each one of them accompanied by a wet gurgle and a spray of blood that bubbled at the corner of her mouth.

Which was, Viktor supposed, the natural outcome when a normal human happened to be standing anywhere near an exploding boulder. Either you died quick or you didn’t, and if you didn’t, dying quick started to look like the better deal.

Meanwhile, the only Iskora adventurer who was not affected at all by the blast that had shredded his “friends” apart drifted over to the Apostle’s side.

“You’re... quite something,” Xander said. “I’ve heard about you from Khalid, but hearing it and seeing it with my own eyes are totally different matters.”

The Apostle chuckled. “This is nothing special, really. If you want to be impressed by something, then look at the lengths he’s willing to go just to kill me.”

“Who?”

“Who else? Our mutual friend, of course.”

“The dark spirit?” Xander frowned. “This was his doing?”

“Yes. The man does seem to have a particular fondness for explosives.”

“Anyway,” Xander said, casting a glance down at his broken companions, who lay scattered across the bloodied sand. “Looks like this is as far as this lot goes. Useless, exactly as I expected. Now it seems it’ll be just the two of us going into that stone building. What should we do with them, then? Just leave them here, or finish them off?”

To that, the Apostle gave his answer, in the same smooth, unbothered voice of his.

“They can still fight.”

“What!?” Viktor and Xander said at the same time. In perfect unison.

Ugh... If it had been someone else, he might have found it funny.

Xander stared at the Apostle for a long moment. “You’re joking, right? Even coming from you, I still find that hard to believe.”

Instead of offering any further explanation, the gray-haired man simply turned away and walked toward Valeska at a leisurely pace. He reached down, closed his fingers around a fistful of her hair, and dragged her ruined body across the ground toward where Rowan lay groaning. With his other hand, he seized the former soldier by his leg and hauled both of them to Cynthia, before unceremoniously throwing them down on top of her, stacking the three ravaged bodies into a single heap of torn flesh and exposed bone.

As they moaned under him, the man knelt down beside the heap and pressed both of his palms firmly against it.

And then—

The three bodies began to merge.

They screamed—Valeska and Rowan and Cynthia—a raw, tearing sound that rose up from all three throats at once. Their screams blended into one another just as thoroughly and inseparably as their bodies did, until it became impossible to tell where one voice ended and the next began, impossible to say which among them was suffering more than the others. All the while, the three bodies—no, the one body—writhed in the sand, their limbs twisting free from their original places and settling in new locations.

Despite the sheer volume of three people crying out in agony at the same time, the wet, grinding sounds of the transformation remained clearly audible. Viktor could hear it all—flesh rippling and shifting, skin stretching and fusing, bones snapping and realigning, muscles threading and weaving themselves together into something else entirely.

When the sounds finally stopped, the Apostle withdrew his hands from the mass before him and rose back to his feet, unhurried as ever. He smiled as he gazed down upon the result, admiring it the way a craftsman might admire a particularly ambitious commission.

And then, the thing began to move.

It stood on two legs, one of them Valeska’s remaining limb, the other formed from Rowan’s pair fused together into a single thick appendage. Its torso was a grotesque patchwork created from three people’s ribs, and from it grew three heads and five arms, protruding at angles that made no anatomical sense whatsoever.

The funny part was that while the Apostle didn’t bother to fix Valeska and Rowan’s heads, keeping them as scarred and ragged as the blast had left them, he had gone out of his way to restore Cynthia’s face to its original, unblemished state. And now, the young woman’s beautiful features stuck out like a sore thumb when perched on top of that heap of ruined flesh.

Looking at such an abomination, Viktor suddenly found his Ettins almost handsome by comparison. And even a heartless bastard like Xander couldn’t stop the twitch that ran across his face at the sight of it. Probably the most human reaction one could get out of him all day.

“What... what did you do to us?” Valeska asked.

“I gave you a second chance,” the Apostle said, his voice infuriatingly smooth as ever. “Without me, you would have been lying there in the sand, writhing in agony as you prayed for death to come and take you. Now, you’re standing here instead. You live, and you continue the fight.”

“Why the fuck would we want to fight for you?” Rowan barked.

“Because I am the only one who can fix you. If you don’t want to do as I tell you, that’s totally fine. You’re welcome to stay here and spend the rest of your life in that appearance. Which, to be honest, probably won’t be very long. The other adventurers who cross your path will see nothing but an abomination, and they will hunt you down the way they would any other monster. Though if you are lucky, perhaps the lord of this dungeon might find your existence amusing enough to keep you around as a pet instead.”

“I... I don’t want to...” Cynthia sobbed.

“Then there exists only one path left open to you—forward. Pick up your weapons. And walk with me into the great tomb.”

And so, with no other choices available to it, the creature reached down and gathered up the very weapons its former, separate selves had once wielded as three distinct people. Two of its five hands gripped the haft of Valeska’s double-edged axe, while another two took Rowan’s sword and shield in turn, settling into stances his muscles still seemed to remember. And the last remaining hand, the one that had once belonged to Cynthia, trembled as it closed around her ashwood staff.

“You seem to be having some difficulty there,” the Apostle said as he saw the staff nearly slip from her unsteady grasp. “Allow me to help.”

He reached out, taking hold of that hand.

And it began to melt.

Cynthia screamed again, a shattering sound torn straight from those pretty lips. And it was not only her. Rowan’s voice rose alongside the young aeromancer’s in that same instant, and Valeska’s as well, all three cries merging into one single chorus of anguish. After all, they were one now. Their binding was so complete they were incapable of suffering separately.

By the time the Apostle finally released his grip and stepped back, the limb in question had merged with the staff, fused together so thoroughly that flesh and wood had become indistinguishable from one another.

“What... what did you... why did you...?” Cynthia stammered, staring down in horror at what had once been her hand.

“I simply wanted to make sure you wouldn’t lose it,” the gray-haired man said with a smile. “No need to thank me.”

He turned away from the abomination he had created, gazing at the great tomb that loomed over the walls of the mortuary complex.

“Let’s go, then. We shouldn’t keep our host waiting.”

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Chapter 199: Escalation

What do you think, Celeste? Viktor asked his Dungeon Core over their private mental connection.

[About what, Master?]

What else? The conversation I’m having with Azran right now. I’m sure you’re also listening, despite that mountain of gossip you’re busy sorting through. So, are you the one who is maintaining the boundaries of our dungeon, or is it something else entirely?

[Well... I don’t know. I wish I had a more satisfying answer to give you than that, but I unfortunately do not.]

Viktor frowned. What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re the one who built the damn thing.

[Yes, I did. Being a Dungeon Core, I have access to the skills of the Path of the Dungeon, and it is through those skills that I do everything I do, from building the floors to summoning the minions. But how do those skills work? What is the mechanism behind them? Then I don’t know. Isn’t it the same with your own Path, Master? You craft the Thauma, and you use the Thauma. But you couldn’t explain the how and the why, right?]

Fair enough, Viktor conceded.

So perhaps, what maintained the boundaries was not anyone in particular, but rather the System itself.

And such a thought brought him back to the same questions that had been gnawing at the edges of his mind for a very long time. Who, exactly, had come up with all of this in the first place? Who had sat down and designed all these “paths” and “modules”? And who now stood somewhere unseen, overseeing how it all continued to function?

He had once assumed that the Gods themselves were behind it. But then, he had learned that the Paths were what allowed a mortal to climb to godhood, to become a deity in their own right. And that raised the obvious problem: what possible reason could they have to create a system capable of producing upstarts like Nakhran, who could stand toe to toe with them and openly challenge their rule?

He was still pondering that thought when his eyes wandered the mess hall and landed on a face he knew. Calyssa, the Chief Secretary, had just walked in, making her way toward a table where several employees of the Guild sat.

If Isadora has managed to dig up anything about the Iskora team, Viktor thought, then Calyssa might have heard about it from her.

Well, cosmic secrets and horrors could wait. He had a competition to win and a man to kill, and neither of those goals was going to accomplish themselves while he sat here chasing questions that had no answers.

“I have to go now,” he told Azran.

The bald man simply nodded, unbothered as ever, and Viktor rose from his seat, walking toward the bespectacled woman just as she was about to leave the mess hall.

“Chief Secretary!”

“Ah, Quinn.” She turned around. “You’re here, huh?”

“I came to see if there’s any news.”

Calyssa arched a brow. “What news?”

“About the team Iskora is putting together. You’re looking into it, I believe?”

“Ah, yes. The competition.” She let out a breath as if she had been holding it for ten years. “You have no idea how much trouble you’ve caused us by agreeing to that woman’s proposal.” She leaned closer, whispering in his ear. “Just between us, Isadora came back from the meeting absolutely furious, and things got even worse when Cedric told her his party would be the one representing Daelin. So, if I were you, I wouldn’t go anywhere near her for the time being.”

Mommy is mad, huh? Viktor chuckled to himself. Oh, well. All the more reason to find a way of luring the Daelin team away from the battle, before things had a chance to spiral out of control.

“Sorry about that,” he said, offering nothing more than a shrug.

“I’ve heard about your theory about the dark spirit from Rhea. So it seems you place more faith in him to get your revenge than you do in us to get justice for your sister. I won’t lie, that stings a little. But I can’t really blame you. We have made you wait long enough.”

Not quite, Viktor thought. It’s just that I want to take the matter into my own hands.

“Anyway,” he asked, “do you have any intelligence about the Iskora team?”

“What makes you think we’re looking into that?”

“Of course you are. You want to win, don’t you? So naturally you would want to learn everything you could about your opponent before the competition begins. Moreover, with Cedric joining the fray now, there’s no way the Guildmaster would sit back and stay idle.”

Calyssa nodded. “You’re right. She’s working on it. Not that there’s much to show at the moment, however. From what we’ve gathered, it looks like they’re in the process of selecting three or four adventurers from those on the west side to accompany Xander into the competition. Isadora is trying to learn their names, their ranks, their abilities, their past achievements.” She paused, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “There’s also a rumor floating around. It’s entirely unconfirmed, and frankly rather hard to believe, so I’m not sure how much value to place on it.”

“What is it?”

“A Bronze-ranked adventurer might be joining their team.”

“Bronze?”

“Yes, absurd, isn’t it? Their team should be Xander and several Gold-ranked adventurers, and maybe Zubayr as well. What could a Bronze even contribute to this contest?”

The thing was, the last time when the dungeon had been invaded, when it had faced a threat serious enough that Celeste could very well have been lost forever were it not for Fianna’s sacrifice, the attack had been carried out by a party of four “Bronze.” So Viktor understood better than anyone that this could be a sign of serious trouble. For all he knew, the so-called Bronze might turn out to be the single most dangerous member of the enemy team.

Then again, this time there was no need for anyone to operate in secret, no reason to fake their ranks the way that earlier group had done. Which meant—

“It could be someone who was not an adventurer until recently,” Viktor said. “And by that I mean they registered just a few days ago, purely for the sake of joining this competition.”

“I see.” Calyssa’s eyes narrowed. “An accomplished warrior or mage brought in from outside, someone they’ve recruited specifically for this purpose. Yes, that’s the sort of thing they could’ve arranged. They’ve got the coin for it.” She nodded. “I’ll make sure to tell Isadora to look into it further.”

“If she finds anything, can you let me know?”

“Yes, but...” The bespectacled woman glanced at him. “What could you even do with that information?”

Viktor gave a shrug. “I can pass it to the dark spirit.”

“What?”

“You know that the dark spirit could be anyone, right? For all we know, he could be sitting in this very hall right now, listening to our conversation. So, if the information is allowed to circulate freely, spreading far and wide, eventually it would reach his ears. That would give him an edge in the upcoming battle, and me a better chance to have my vengeance.”

Calyssa sighed. “You really are all in on that plan of yours, aren’t you? I can’t say I like it, but fine, I’ll help where I can.” Then, unexpectedly, a smile spread across her face as she looked past him toward the entrance of the mess hall. “Someone is waiting for you over there.”

Viktor followed the direction of her gaze and found Rhea standing near the doorway. It seemed she had finally finished whatever remained of her work. Time to head back to the Sanctuary, he supposed.

So he bid farewell to Calyssa and turned to walk toward the girl.

However, he hadn’t taken more than three steps before Celeste’s voice rang in his head.

[Master, I found something.]

Oh?

So the tedious business of picking wheat from a mountain’s worth of chaff had finally turned up a grain worth having. Very well. He could hear about it on the way back to the Sanctuary.

What is it?

[I think you should come here as soon as possible and read it yourself, Master.]

Viktor arched a brow. It’s that important?

[Yes. I believe it was a conversation between Khalid, Zubayr, and Xander.]

What?

There was absolutely no reason for him to waste another second here once he had heard that.

And so, he walked over to Rhea and said, “Sorry. Something has come up. I have to head home right away. I won’t be sleeping at the Sanctuary tonight, so can you look after Claire for me?”

“Is... that so?” Her face fell for just a moment before she caught herself. “...Alright. I’ll take care of her, don’t you worry about a thing.”

He nodded and quickly took his leave.

Rhea seemed thoroughly disappointed despite her best efforts to hide it behind a composed expression. It was understandable, he supposed. Even though a simple walk back together was nothing in and of itself, a promise was still a promise, and he understood well enough what it meant to have someone tell you they would do something only to go back on their word at the last minute. But... this was far more important. He would find a way to make it up to her later. Well, he could buy her a meatwrap tomorrow. That would do. Probably.

He walked the rest of the way back to his house, climbed the stairs to his room, and closed the door behind him before calling his Dungeon Core.

“Celeste, teleport me to the dungeon.”

The world lurched around him in that familiar, stomach-turning way, and an instant later he found himself standing once more in the Core Room.

Glancing around, he spotted a single parchment resting on the table next to him. Was this the one? Without saying a word, he reached out, picked it up, and began to read.

“Our superiors were unhappy at first, but then, they’ve decided to give us one last chance to make it right. So this is your order. Ignore the competition. Go straight to the Core Room and destroy the Dungeon Core once you are there. If you can manage that, and only if you can manage that, you will have the full protection of the organization. No one, not even the Grandmaster of the Conclave himself, will be able to lay so much as a finger on you.”

“Destroy... the Dungeon Core?”

“Yes. Don’t ask why. Just do it.”

“But... what about the rest of the adventurers in our team? How exactly are we supposed to explain it to them?”

“Keep your voice down, Zubayr, damn it. Do you want them to hear us? We want no loose ends left when this is over, obviously, so just use them as fodder to clear a path to the Core Room. And if there happens to be any of them still breathing in the end, you know what needs to be done, right?”

“My pleasure.”

“Yes. That particular attitude of yours is precisely why I brought you into our organization in the first place, all those years ago. It came back to bite me rather badly in the end, but still, in a situation like this one, there’s no one better suited for the job than you.”

“So it’s just me, then, along with four or five of these idiots we’ve dragged along for the ride?”

“One more person is joining you. The organization has dispatched someone. An Apostle.”

“An... Apostle? Isn’t sending someone like that a bit overkill?”

“Our superiors have decided to fully commit this time around, holding nothing back. So watch yourself carefully from here on out, Xander. If you fail, you will be cut down on the spot.”

“Look at you, going right back to acting high and mighty the moment you think you are safe. Fine by me. You already know perfectly well that I’ll never run from a fight. Is that everything, then?”

“One more thing, actually...”

“What is it now? Just spit it out already.”

“...You’re going to meet our superiors tomorrow. They... they’ll teach you the Forbidden Words. In the worst-case scenario, use them.”

The inscription on the parchment stopped there. If Viktor had to guess, it was probably a conversation they had while they were at or near that staircase. Even though the quill only recorded the raw content without marking who said what, once he considered the tone of each exchange, it was not too difficult to figure out which line belonged to which of those three men.

Now, back to the actual substance of what he had just read. It appeared this was going to be a full invasion after all, exactly what he had feared it might become. And their goal this time, startlingly, was not to steal Celeste away as they had attempted before, but to destroy her outright.

Why?

What could they possibly hope to achieve by doing something so drastic?

Viktor shook his head, setting the question aside. He could puzzle over the why later, once there was time to spare for such things. What mattered the most right now was finding a way to prevent them from succeeding at whatever they were pursuing.

“An Apostle, and the Forbidden Words,” he said. “Those are the weapons they will bring against us this time around. All of a sudden, Xander now seems to be the least of our problems. Do you have any idea what either of them actually mean?”

[No, Master. That was exactly why I wanted you to come back here as quickly as possible, so that we could start working out our countermeasures before it is too late.]

“How are we supposed to come up with any solution if we don’t even know what we’re defending against?” Viktor dropped heavily into the chair nearby. “Well, I guess it’s time for our friendship with the Eternal Flame to prove its worth. Send Galatea over to Ekon’s place. Ask him whether that friend of his knows anything about those terms, and if she does, what price she wants in exchange for sharing that information.”

[Understood.]

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Chapter 198: The Nature of Dungeons

“Oh, Quinn.” Rhea’s voice lifted with a note of pleasant surprise as she caught sight of Viktor coming through the main doors of the Guild. “What are you doing here?”

He gave her a shrug. “Came to see if there’s any news. You’re still working?”

The girl nodded, a few stray locks of hair slipping free as she did, and she brushed them back behind her ear. “Just a little more to do.” She glanced down at the ledger she was holding. “Twenty minutes, perhaps, and I’ll be finished.”

Looked like she had been “promoted” from a normal receptionist to a receptionist-who-also-did-the-work-of-a-Junior-Secretary, much like Claire before her.

“I’ll go look around, then. We can walk back to the Sanctuary together once you’re done.”

“Ah... yes. That... that sounds like a fine plan. Yes, let’s do it.”

Was it his imagination, or had her cheeks gone faintly pink? Oh, well. Whatever. With a wave of his hand, he left the girl to her work and made his way toward the mess hall.

Celeste was still chewing through the endless babble the quill had been scratching out, most of which was worth less than the parchment it was written on. Empty gossip, idle banter, the type of meaningless chatter that didn’t amount to anything of substance. Good thing he had delegated the tedious work of sorting wheat from that mountain of chaff to someone else. Nevertheless, it would likely take quite a bit of time before she fully parsed it all and arrived at anything remotely useful.

Of course, he had no intention of simply standing around and waiting for the information she might or might not eventually manage to extract. There were other ways for him to gather intelligence, after all.

Cedric was serious about winning this competition, and Isadora, after being horrified that her son had once again put himself in danger, would certainly make full use of her connections to learn as much as she could about the team Iskora was assembling, in order to give him the best possible advantage. And that was why Viktor had come here today. He was hoping they might have stumbled upon something worth knowing.

He stopped just past the entrance of the mess hall, letting his gaze slowly sweep across the chamber and take in every familiar detail. Still the same rowdy adventurers, talking too loudly and laughing too easily over their drinks, packed in tight rows along the weathered wooden tables that had seen more spilled ale than anyone here would care to admit. It hadn’t changed at all, not in any way that mattered, compared to the time he used to come here to have lunch with Claire.

His eyes roamed the room, looking for a face he recognized. And they did find one, though not who he had expected at all.

So, with a grin, he made his way toward a corner where a bald, gaunt man hunched over a table by himself, dark beard bristling, eyes completely fixed on his cup as though the rest of the mess hall simply didn’t exist.

“So you’ve finally left the inn, huh?”

“You...” Azran glanced up at him. “Cedric must have already told you that I’m now doing some jobs for the Guild, investigating that strange place, right?”

The man before Viktor looked quite different from the last time he had seen him. His unkempt beard was a bit less wild, his eyes were a bit less bloodshot, and his clothes were a bit cleaner. Sure, he was still sitting in a corner, drinking alone without caring about the world around him, exactly as he always had. Nevertheless, this was an improvement. A start. And anyone had to start somewhere.

“Yes, he did,” Viktor said, dropping into the chair beside the Riftwalker without waiting to be invited. “So, have you found anything, I don’t know, unusual about that place?”

“Unusual?” Azran snorted. “The whole damned place is unusual. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“But it’s something created by magic of your discipline, right?”

“It is. But asking my opinion of it is like asking a pyromancer his thoughts on someone who conjures the freaking sun. I recognize the patterns, yes, and I recognize the framework underneath it all. But the scale of the bloody thing is just unfathomable. The first time I entered that place, I found myself standing there like an idiot, just staring at it, unable to make sense of what my own eyes were telling me.”

“Well, maybe it’s not the work of one mage, but a coordinated effort of many,” Viktor said.

Azran snorted again. “So you’re telling me a thousand-odd Riftwalkers gathered on Daelin’s doorstep to conduct some grand ritual, and no one noticed anything? Fine, for the sake of argument, let’s say it did happen somehow. But there’s still one thing that remains unexplained. What, exactly, is maintaining the spell right now?”

“You mean...?”

“We mages can create magical artifacts. Like the Bottomless Bags, or the Waystones for the portal I’ve told you before. And that strange space... it’s like a gigantic artifact. The principles are the same; only the scale has been blown up to a whole new level. The thing is, every artifact decays and needs upkeep to stay functional. And something that size ought to need a mountain of upkeep. Yet, as far as I could tell, there’s nothing to maintain it. It simply keeps existing.”

Viktor nodded, turning the words over in his mind. It was true that all magical artifacts deteriorated over time. Even the ringed crosses Khenemhotep made were no exception. No matter whether they were actually used or not, they started bleeding power after a single day, and ran dry completely after three.

So what, then, was keeping the Folded Chamber standing? He had theorized before that it was created by the power of the Abyss. But how about keeping it running day after day without so much as a flicker of instability? Could it be that the Abyss was somehow reaching across the impossible distance, sustaining the thing from thousands of miles away as easily as it had once brought the place into existence? Or maybe the Folded Chamber did deteriorate over time after all, just as any other artifact, only slowly enough that no one had noticed the difference.

But if that were the case, perhaps one day its formation would give out and the whole thing would collapse without warning. When that happened, when the barrier between the real world and that warped pocket of space vanished, everything held inside would come spilling out all at once. All that water, released in a single catastrophic moment. That patch of forest would be flooded, and maybe even Daelin itself might not escape unscathed either.

“Another thing,” Azran continued. “The interior of that space is very similar to a floor of a dungeon. Can you believe it? A dungeon without a Dungeon Core that has only one floor and sits above the ground. So tell me, what is not unusual about that place? Go on. I’m waiting.” He reached for his cup and took a slow sip. “Still, if it’s indeed related to dungeons somehow, then maybe that explains the lack of a need for maintenance.”

“What do you mean?” Viktor asked.

“You may or may not already know this, but the inside of a dungeon can contain much more space than should physically fit under the ground above it. Yes, the same with that strange place we’re talking about. Now, do you know what happens to a dungeon when you remove the Core?”

Viktor had to suppress a small chuckle at that. Azran was a Dungeon Reaver; the guy knew better than anyone else what happened to a dungeon once its Core was gone.

“I heard that it would gradually diminish. Becomes nothing but an empty cave.”

“That’s what happens to the contents, yes, to everything the Core had been sustaining up until the moment it was taken away. The stonework erodes and crumbles. The still water turns stagnant, then foul. Anything kept alive by the Core’s mana slowly dies off. The monsters either turn on each other or abandon the place to find food elsewhere. But this is strictly about the things inside the dungeon. The dungeon itself, as in the boundaries that hold the space together and keep it from collapsing, remains exactly the same. Thousands of years later, it’s still there, as solid and intact as the day it was first formed.”

That much was true. People talked about the dungeon being reduced to an empty cave as if it were the most normal thing in the world. But it was anything but. There should not be a cave remaining; the whole place should explode the moment the Dungeon Core was taken out. Yet, that was not what happened in reality. The shape of dungeons was preserved even after their Cores had long since been taken or destroyed. This differed completely from the magical bags the Riftwalkers created. The moment such a bag lost its enchantment, it would instantly tear apart as every item stored inside spilled out at once.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Azran said. “The Dungeon Core is what builds the dungeon in the first place, so naturally it’s what maintains everything once the construction is done. So why doesn’t pulling the Core out cause the whole thing to collapse in on itself?”

Strange, indeed. When the Dungeon Core was no longer there, everything that had once benefited from it was cut off from the mana it provided. Everything except the barrier that isolated the folded space within from the world outside.

“In other words,” Viktor said, “whatever maintains the boundaries isn’t the Core at all, but something else altogether?”

“That’s my thinking. Don’t ask me what that something else is, though. I have no idea.”

Viktor found he took no comfort whatsoever from that answer. So there was something powerful enough to maintain its grip on every dungeon that had ever existed, across every corner of the world, throughout the entire breadth of recorded history. What was it?

Is it... the Abyss?

But.

Putting aside the question of why, if the Abyss was capable of something like that, then it meant its power operated on a scale that was barely distinguishable from the Gods themselves.

And it was an enemy he would inevitably have to fight one day.

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Chapter 193: It Matters Not

Once again, Viktor found himself back in the meeting room of the Adventurer’s Guild.

Just like the last time, Isadora occupied the head of the table, with Guild employees, adventurers, and a few representatives from the caravan station seated along both sides. Viktor was among them, wedged between Alycia, whose arms remained crossed in silence, and Cedric, who kept glancing toward the far end of the board.

There, set apart from everyone else, sat the guest of honor.

Guildmaster Khalid.

A rich man. A powerful man. A man who was used to rooms rearranging themselves around him. But not this room. Here, he looked like a sheep that had wandered into the wrong pen and was now pretending not to notice the wolves taking an interest.

Nephra, despite being offered a seat next to her presumed superior, had chosen to stand instead. She drifted to a corner and leaned back against the wall with the unhurried ease of someone who had no stake in the outcome. From there, she watched the whole proceedings, the faint smile never leaving her face.

What’s her deal, exactly? Viktor thought. Why did she bother coming here at all, when she could have just dropped Khalid at the edge of town like she had done before? Did she just want to watch the man squirm?

“Guildmaster Khalid,” Isadora said. “Welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild of Daelin. Though I must confess I am rather puzzled by your visit. What exactly is it that you wish to parley about? I’m not aware that we are in any dispute.”

Well, yes. Officially, the secret hideout discovered within the Folded Chamber had no connection whatsoever to the adventurers of Iskora. So Viktor was genuinely curious how the guy even began the negotiation without implicating himself in the process.

“We do have a matter to discuss,” Khalid said. “It’s about one of my adventurers having injured one of your employees.”

Viktor clenched his teeth. Injured, you say?

“That’s quite an understatement for what happened, Guildmaster Khalid. The poor girl has been unconscious for weeks, with no sign of waking up. And I must say I find it rather strange that you are addressing this only now, after a prolonged period of denying any responsibility. The Adventurer’s Guild of Iskora has stated, on multiple occasions, that the incident was the act of an individual and not representative of your Guild. Now, suddenly, it becomes a dispute between us. Very peculiar, indeed. Still, I fail to see what there is for us to talk about. Just tell your man to surrender himself to the authorities, before the Conclave’s remaining patience runs out and a bounty is placed upon his head.”

“I came here hoping that we might find a way to reconcile this matter. It would be greatly appreciated if you could consider... withdrawing your petition before the Conclave.”

Isadora frowned. “You are asking me to drop the charge?”

“Yes.”

This was odd.

Viktor had expected a completely different conversation. He, and probably everyone else currently seated around this table, had assumed that Khalid’s visit was about the masked men’s secret lair being destroyed and subsequently exposed to the public. Instead, he was here for Xander. He was here to save that bastard’s hide.

Why?

Unlike other people, what Viktor had was not mere suspicion. He knew that the masked men reported directly to Zubayr, who in turn received instructions from Khalid himself. In fact, the order to hunt down the pyromancers had come from this very man sitting at the far end of the table. Hence, after his base of operations had been wiped out, he should have been thoroughly rattled, scrambling to contain the damage however he could.

Yet, he was here, doing this.

Did I underestimate how important Xander actually is? Viktor thought. Up until now, he had regarded the bastard as little more than a tool that Khalid wielded when convenient. A powerful tool, an expensive tool, but a tool nonetheless. The kind you replaced when it had outlived its usefulness.

Besides, if what Khalid wanted was Isadora’s withdrawal of her petition, surely there were better ways of accomplishing that goal than this. He was rich, influential, and backed by the Children of the Abyss, which meant he could easily apply pressure on her through the many mechanisms he undoubtedly had at his disposal. So why did he choose to personally step into a room full of people who despised him?

Viktor shifted his gaze toward Nephra, who remained exactly as she had been since the beginning of the meeting, watching the unfolding scene with that same faint smile fixed upon her face.

Unless... the whole thing was her idea. Khalid was forced to do this; he had no say in the matter.

But why? What was she playing at here? What could she possibly hope to gain from this charade?

“I’m sorry, but what you’re asking simply is not possible,” Isadora said. “That man must answer for the crime he has committed. There’s no other way around it.”

“I can offer compensation. To you, to your Guild, to that girl herself.”

Isadora frowned. “Money does not solve every problem, Guildmaster Khalid. As I’ve already told you, Claire remains in critical condition even now, weeks after the attack. You think your gold can undo what has happened to her?”

“I have a lot of friends, a lot of connections. I will reach out to the Emerald Order, to the Brotherhood of the Verdant Shade, to the Druidesses, to anybody who might possess the knowledge or the means to help. Surely someone among them should be able to do something for her.”

Isadora paused at that, and flicked a glance towards Viktor.

That was... a tempting offer, he had to admit. One more well-connected person searching for the cure would certainly increase the odds of Claire eventually recovering. Besides, his plan was to kill Xander himself anyway, so Isadora dropping the charge wasn’t really a big deal. Still, he was going to let her make this call. So he arranged a neutral expression on his face, showing the Guildmaster no reaction.

“A promise is not good enough,” Isadora said, turning back to Khalid. “I want you to begin this effort immediately. We can talk again once she wakes up.”

“But... there’s no time for that...”

“What do you mean?” Isadora asked, frowning. “It’s not like the Conclave will execute your man the moment he turns himself in. There will be a proper investigation, then a proper trial. Should Claire wake up before it concludes, surely such a development could be used to argue for a reduced sentence on his behalf.”

“You... you don’t understand...”

Understand what?

Clearly, something had happened behind the scenes, something very wrong, something ugly enough to drive Khalid to this level of desperation.

The rest of the room was starting to notice it too. They exchanged glances, as if asking each other whether they had any idea what was going on, only to be met with the same blank looks in return.

And that was when a voice rose from a corner of the room.

“May I speak?”

Isadora turned, fixing her gaze upon the woman with skin of bronze who had, at long last, broken her silence.

“You are?”

“A simple Riftwalker,” Nephra said, a smile playing across her lips as she began to walk toward the table. “I was merely hired to ferry Guildmaster Khalid back and forth between Iskora and Daelin. Nothing more, nothing less. Whatever discussion you two are having has nothing to do with me. Still, I can see that he finds himself in quite a predicament, so I’d like to offer a solution.” She stopped beside Khalid’s chair, looking down at him almost fondly. “May I speak on your behalf?”

“Yes... yes, please, go ahead...”

And there it is, Viktor thought, the main event of the day. The only reason why they had this so-called parley in the first place. Everything that came before was for this moment.

“My apologies,” Nephra began, “but I find this whole conversation, frankly, rather dull. Parley. Compensation. Investigation. Trial. All of it reeks of bureaucracy. Slow, suffocating stuff that exists only to make simple things complicated. We are adventurers, are we not? Surely we have better ways of settling a disagreement than all this tiresome back and forth.”

“And what might that be?” Isadora asked.

Nephra smiled. “A competition.”

The Guildmaster of Daelin arched a brow. “A competition?”

“Just so. Daelin sends a team, Iskora sends a team. They compete, and the loser does what the winner says. If Iskora wins, for example, you drop the charges against the man named Xander.”

“And if you lose?”

“Then every single adventurer from Iskora currently residing within Daelin must leave at once, without delay, and without exception. Moreover, from this day forward, none of them will be allowed to come within fifty miles of the town ever again, unless they have explicit permission from your Guild.”

“What!?” Khalid shot to his feet, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at the woman.

Well, that reaction was understandable enough, all things considered. After all, such an outcome would effectively gut every ambition Iskora had ever harbored in Daelin.

Nephra, on the other hand, didn’t bother turning to meet his gaze. She simply said, her voice soft and gentle, “Sit.”

And he did. The richest man in the room swallowed, lowering himself back into his seat, his gaze fixed upon the table before him.

That, of course, drew everyone’s attention. Viktor could practically see the questions written plainly on their faces: Who the hell was this woman? How could she speak to a man like Khalid in that manner? And why did he actually obey? Was she really just some Riftwalker he hired?

“Interesting,” Isadora said. “I have to admit, you’ve got me curious. So, what kind of competition did you have in mind?”

“All we need is something suitably challenging for the two teams to compete over. Oh, I know...” Nephra’s eyes lit up, as though the idea had only just come to her. “We happen to have a dungeon nearby, right? I’ve heard that people have been stuck on the second floor for quite some time, ever since the old staircase leading down to the third collapsed. The only way to move forward now is to break through the great tomb in the middle of the desert, but no one has succeeded yet. So, here is my suggestion. Whoever reaches the third floor first will be declared the winner of the contest.”

...What?

What was she trying to pull here?

Also, did she just call Khenemhotep’s place the great tomb? No one outside the dungeon was supposed to know that particular detail. Then again, if she truly was Neferati after all, it meant she had literally come from the same world as the undead priest.

“That’s ridiculous,” Isadora said. “We all know that your side has much stronger adventurers than ours does. Xander is a Mithril-ranked adventurer, and so is Zubayr. With all due respect, this so-called competition of yours appears rigged heavily in your favor from the start. There’s simply no way for us to win. I cannot accept this proposal.”

Nephra remained unfazed by the rebuke, her smile never once wavering.

“Guildmaster Isadora, may I ask you a question?”

“What is it?”

“Why are you doing all of this? I mean, why submit a formal petition directly to the Conclave demanding Xander’s arrest? Are you doing it for that poor girl’s sake? Or are you merely using the incident to your own benefit, as a means to strike at the Iskora adventurers who have been a thorn in your side?”

“I do it to get Claire the justice she deserves. There’s no other motive.”

“How noble of you. But if that’s the case, then shouldn’t the one who has the final say in the matter...” Nephra said as her smile widened, “...be the victim’s family?”

“What—!?”

And, in that very instant, every single eye in the room turned, landing squarely on Viktor.

“You heard my proposal, Quinn. What do you say?”

“Is Xander going to enter the dungeon?” he asked.

“Of course,” Nephra said. “He will be the one leading Iskora’s team.”

What was this?

What was the meaning of all this?

A gift? A trap? A provocation? A declaration of war?

Well.

It mattered not.

“Then I agree,” Viktor said.

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Chapter 192: Parley

“I wonder what he’s trying to achieve,” Alycia said.

“We’ll only know when he comes and speaks for himself,” Cedric said with a shrug. “But if I had to guess, he probably wants to stop the investigation of that secret lair.”

“But you’ve found nothing so far that could actually accuse him or any of his men. On the other hand, by coming here and attempting to halt the investigation, he’s practically admitting that he’s guilty.”

“We haven’t found anything yet, true, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing there to be found. So perhaps he’s stopping us precisely because he knows if we keep digging, we will eventually find it.”

Alycia gave a snort. “If there’s indeed something problematic buried inside that place, what he should do is send his men in to steal or destroy it, whatever it is. He has at least two Mithril-ranked adventurers at his command, does he not? Instead, he is doing... this. Again, what exactly does he expect to happen? Does he seriously believe we will stop just because he tells us to?”

“He might try to bribe us,” Cedric said.

“If bribery is what he has in mind, then he should’ve arranged a quiet, private meeting with your mother behind closed doors, not staged some sort of public spectacle that would attract attention from everyone in Daelin.”

To that, Cedric had no answer.

Well, Viktor had been thinking exactly that ever since he heard the message yesterday. He couldn’t imagine what Khalid thought the outcome of this so-called parley would look like. But then, the man himself would arrive soon enough, and when he did, Viktor supposed he would have his answer.

“By the way,” Cedric asked, glancing around, “Jeanne is not coming today?”

“Someone has to stay at the Sanctuary with Claire,” Viktor said. “We can’t all be away, after all. Yesterday it was Alycia, and today it’s Jeanne.”

“Also,” Rhea said, “She herself did not want to come. That man... Xander. He could very well be here, accompanying the Guildmaster of Iskora.”

“Right.” Cedric slowly nodded. “Seeing him again might traumatize her. No one could blame her for wanting to stay away.”

Actually, what she had said was more along the lines of, “If I go, I might not be able to control myself. I will fucking murder that bastard if I see him.”

But...

That was her; how about him?

What would he do if Xander walked in through that door right now?

Yesterday, he had spent quite a bit of time discussing with Celeste and his Guardians whether he should attack the bastard if he indeed came back to Daelin. He would not do it inside the Guild, of course, but he could ambush him on the road before or after this parley took place.

But then, Celeste told him that if Khalid was coming, there was a real possibility that Nephra would be somewhere in the vicinity as well, and starting a fight in her presence would be unwise. Better to hear what the man had to say first and get a clearer picture of what was happening before making a move. And, begrudgingly, he had agreed.

Now, though, standing here in this hall with the door not yet open, he found himself returning to the question.

If Xander walked through that threshold and appeared in front of him, in the flesh, what then?

He believed that he could control himself. That he could stop himself from doing something stupid.

But what if—

Suddenly, the door swung open, cutting through his thoughts.

The Guildmaster of Iskora entered, still absurdly tall, still absurdly thin, still expensively dressed, though something in the air around him had changed since the last time Viktor had seen him. The self-importance that clung to the man like a second coat had diminished considerably, and in its place was something else. He now looked... anxious?

However.

Viktor immediately lost interest in Khalid the moment he registered who was coming with him.

The man had only a single escort today, and it was neither Xander nor Zubayr. Instead, three steps behind him, there was a woman.

A woman with lustrous black hair sculpted into a sharp, straight bob that grazed her shoulders, a neat fringe of bangs sweeping across her forehead.

A woman whose face looked young but whose eyes were ageless.

A woman with skin of bronze.

Nephra.

Why? Why was she here?

The Guildmaster of Iskora stepped forward, doing his best to project authority as he walked into a hall full of people staring at him with open hatred. Nephra, on the other hand, followed at an unhurried pace, a faint smile resting at the corners of her lips.

Calyssa stood at the center of the chamber. “Guildmaster,” she said, her face completely neutral.

“Where is Guildmaster Isadora?”

“She’s waiting in the meeting room.”

“Then lead me there.”

The bespectacled woman smiled. “There are still fifteen minutes until the appointed time. Please, wait here. I’ll bring you through when the time comes.”

A bit of power play, isn’t it? Viktor thought, amused. Normally, he would have found such things unnecessarily theatrical. Petty, even. But this guy had earned it, so he was not going to complain.

And so, Khalid scurried to a corner. There, he studied the walls, he studied the floor, he studied the ceiling, he studied basically anything that was not the scornful face of anyone in this hall.

And the worst part—or the best part—was that his escort didn’t even bother to come and stand with him. Nephra drifted to a pillar, leaned against it, and let her gaze move across the chamber at her leisure.

When her eyes met Viktor’s, she smiled, raised a hand, and waved.

Just like last time, huh?

Fine.

Let’s see what she wants.

Without a word, he left his group and walked toward the woman.

“How is your sister?” she asked when he reached her.

“Same,” he said. “She’s still unconscious.”

“Let me make it clear. What was done to her was the action of that man and his alone. Neither my lord nor I had any part in it, and it was never our intention to allow such a thing to happen. We would never have permitted it had we known it was coming. It was, in the end, a tragic misfortune. Even so, I’m sorry that it happened. It was a failure of control on our part. Please accept my apology for this oversight.”

Viktor stared at the woman. She was a powerful Ascendant. An ancient princess who had lived for thousands of years. The most fervent servant of Nakhran, the Second God of Death. Why was she apologizing to him?

“You called me over just to say that?”

“That’s one of the reasons,” Nephra said. “The other is that I believe there are things you want to ask me.”

True enough.

“When you say ‘my lord,’ you mean Khalid, or someone else?”

Nephra smiled. “That you’ll know eventually.”

So, questions about who she served and what she really was were off the table. Fine. He would just move on.

“Are you my enemy?”

Nephra let out a soft laugh. “That’s rather blunt. Well, I can only say that I bear you no ill will myself. Everything I have done, and everything I will do, is in alignment with my lord’s design.”

Which meant, read plainly, if her lord became his enemy, she would follow without hesitation.

“You do everything for your master?” Viktor asked. “You have no desires of your own?”

A shift crossed her expression. Barely, but not unnoticeable. Then she looked—not at him, not at anyone else, not at anything in this hall—but at something far away.

“You’re right. Not everything I do is for him. Just as he’s playing his game, I have a game of my own that I’ve been waiting to play for a very long time. It hasn’t started yet; I’m still preparing the board and setting the pieces where they need to be. But before long, she will arrive, and when she does, our game can finally begin.”

“Who?”

Nephra smiled again. “That you’ll know eventually.”

Ugh.

Didn’t it mean this other game would involve him as well? Why the hell had he been drawn into two different games?

Can’t you people just play games by yourselves without randomly forcing other people to participate?

Oh, well. There was nothing to be gained from complaining about it. Instead, he should take the opportunity to gather as much information as possible. Surely, she wouldn’t have called him over just to say “No” to all of his questions. She was willing to answer some of them, only not those she decided he wasn’t meant to know yet.

Let’s ask about something more immediate, then.

Should he inquire about Xander or Khalid, perhaps? The parley was about to begin, though, so asking such questions before hearing what that Guildmaster had to say felt a bit premature. And if he asked, “What does he want to parley for?” her answer would probably be, “That you’ll know in a few minutes.”

So he chose a different topic. “What’s the deal with Clovis?”

“He’s resigned. But I think you already knew that.”

“Why?”

“Because I told him to,” Nephra said, smiling.

“What?”

“Did you know that I have complete control over the space surrounding Iskora? No one can open a rift into that city, or out of it, without my knowledge. And if I choose to, I can shut down the link instantly.”

What kind of ridiculous power was that? It was far beyond the abilities of even the greatest Riftwalker in this world. She wasn’t even trying to hide what she was anymore, was she?

“One day, a rift opened, connecting Daelin to Iskora. It was made by a bald Riftwalker, and through it stepped a man. A curious man, carrying a curious gauntlet. So I told Clovis to resign.”

She was talking about Pimm, wasn’t she? And the gauntlet was the detonator Viktor had used to destroy Iskora’s portal and construction site. She merely looked at one man stepping through a rift and deduced an attack was coming from just that? And that was the reason Clovis had abandoned his post right before the strike?

“By that point, he was Guildmaster in name only. The sponsors of the project had been gradually losing patience with him after his repeated failures. Accordingly, his authority had been stripped away over time. When Rennald declined his offer and chose to work with Isadora instead, thanks to you and your sister, that was the final straw. The project was no longer in his hands, and Khalid took over from there.”

So the monster attack was indeed the new Guildmaster’s idea. Viktor had suspected as much, but it was nice to have it confirmed.

“I asked Clovis, ‘Why should you remain here, to carry responsibility for something that was never yours to begin with?’ So he resigned. That was not even passing the blame. It was simply returning it to where it belonged.”

“Why was he so obsessed with this dungeon?” Viktor asked.

Nephra giggled. “That you would have to ask him yourself. I’m sure you and he will meet face to face at some point in the future.”

“Where is he now?”

“East,” Nephra said. “He’s currently a guest of the Iron Khagan.”

The Iron Khagan, huh?

A direct descendant of Tzhara, and the reigning monarch of the Tzharan Khanate. One of the five remaining Key Holders.

Viktor looked at the woman, turning over the implication in his mind. Was she telling him that after Dagnar, the next target would arrive from the East?

Nephra, on the other hand, moved her gaze past him, shifting toward the center of the hall.

“It’s time,” she said. “Let’s go. The parley is about to begin.”

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Chapter 189: The Great One of the Deep

The underwater monsters that had been infesting the One Thousand Streams for three centuries were actually minions of the Great One of the Deep?

That’s... unsettling, to say the least.

First of all, the Great One was a dark god who had swept through civilizations one after another like a merciless tide that swallowed everything in its path, moving on from one conquered world to the next tempting target that caught his eye. Hence, the knowledge that his minions were active here was, without a doubt, a deeply troubling development.

Fortunately, he was now occupied elsewhere, entangled in a war in the Ethereal Sea against the army of the Lord of Light. So his capacity to project his influence into this world was probably limited. It was a relief, of sorts. Not much, but still better than none.

Now that Viktor thought about it, could this be why the Lord of Light had taken an interest in him and his dungeon? Maybe it was an attempt to secure allies, or at the very least, to rally enemies of enemies ahead of what was to come.

The second concern was that the Great One’s monsters were now fighting under the banner of the Children of the Abyss. Why? Were they merely summoned using the dungeon’s power, the same way he had brought in the Acolytes? Or was there some alliance between the Abyss and the Great One? He had already suspected Nakhran was somehow connected to the Abyss, and adding another deity to the equation definitely did not improve his mood at all.

And lastly, there was the matter of the Acolytes of the Deep themselves, who had made their home within his dungeon. They were fervent and devout worshippers of the Great One, so the questions he once asked a long time ago now resurfaced: Were they spies? Had their god placed them here deliberately? And if the Great One eventually became an outright enemy, where would their loyalties lie?

Nevertheless, the Acolytes were confined to the third floor, which limited the scope of the damage they might cause if they did turn traitor. The dungeon had grown considerably compared to its earlier, more vulnerable days. Khenemhotep and Galatea were now occupying the two adjacent floors with substantial forces at their disposal, so they could rush to help Sebekton in an instant should the need arise.

There was, however, one Acolyte who warranted more careful consideration—Orloth, whom he was using as his chief interrogator. Then again, while the man was competent and insightful, he was far from irreplaceable. Not to mention, these days Viktor could communicate directly with his agents outside, without requiring them to enter the dungeon and deliver their reports through Orloth. So losing the guy, if it came to that, would be merely inconvenient rather than disastrous.

Which meant there was little reason, for the time being, to treat the Acolytes differently. He would continue dealing with them as usual, while keeping a close eye on them, ready to act at a moment’s notice.

Now, come back to the Great One himself, Viktor thought. Whether he’s going to be an enemy or not, gathering more information about him was important.

“Tell me everything you know about the Great One of the Deep.”

Galatea grimaced. “A false god. An evil being. A destroyer of worlds. But I suppose you already know that much.”

“Yes.” Viktor nodded. “Why did your god start a war against him anyway?”

“Is there any reason needed to strike down a false god?”

“Fair enough. But I doubt he is the only ‘false’ god in existence, so why him specifically? Why not, say, Nakhran for example?”

Viktor did know the answer to that question, though. Because Nakhran was much more powerful than the Lord of Light. It was plain stupid to pick a fight with someone like that.

“I’m not aware of the deeper reasons, and I don’t need to be. Such decisions are for minds greater than mine to make. Everything unfolds according to the design of the Higher Will. I am my Lord’s hammer; my only duty is to strike the enemy He points at.”

Of course. She did things because her god told her so. A hammer never paused to consider whether the nail deserved the blow; it just came down. He shouldn’t have asked.

“But...” Galatea added.

“But what?”

“But if I were to guess, it is because the opportunity to do so was available. Usually, gods do not fight each other in the physical world, especially when mortals are around, because They wish to avoid collateral damage. They are also reluctant to enter someone else’s domain, since doing so would grant an overwhelming advantage to the defender. And finally, a conflict between gods can only happen if one is able to locate the other in the first place.”

“So, your god acted because he found the Great One of the Deep at a place that was not the physical world, and neutral enough that his opponent did not have the upper hand?”

“Yes, that’s what I believe.”

Fair enough. And interesting information, indeed. Still, he was not sure how much of it translated into anything he could actually use, anything that would help him in a practical sense if he ever had to face the Great One one day. He wanted something more concrete, something that he could hold like a weapon and reach for when the moment came.

“The Prophet whom you fought, the one who summoned the monsters,” Viktor said. “Tell me more about him. How did the fight actually go?”

Yes, if those monsters were summoned by a Prophet, then it meant there might very well be one active in this world right now. So, instead of worrying about how to deal with a god, devising a plan to defeat a Prophet would be much more pragmatic.

“He didn’t engage us directly in close combat. Instead, he used his minions. They were originally normal water creatures, but he had enslaved them, corrupted them, and mutated their bodies into shapes that served his purposes. He sent them against us in wave after wave, while he himself stayed back, attacking us from afar with his spells. And he had many powerful abilities. Beyond the powers that all Prophets possess like mind blast, mind control, emotion manipulation, tentacle summoning, he could also teleport and slow time, making it very difficult for us to close the distance and reach him. He could even block all magic that was not his own within a defined area, which left us vulnerable. One by one, everyone in our battle group fell. Everyone but me...”

Galatea’s voice trailed off at that, and the luminous features on her face shadowed with sorrow as she recalled the painful memory.

That doesn’t sound good, Viktor thought. The guy really had a lot of nasty powers. Especially the last one. If it blocked only normal magic, then that was fine. But if it could suppress even Thaumaturgy, then it would pose a serious problem.

“He must be the worst opponent you’ve ever faced, right?”

“Actually... no.”

Galatea’s expression shifted. Gone was the sorrow; now he saw disgust, and something else—fear. For a long moment she said nothing more, and he wasn’t sure whether to press her or let her speak at her own pace.

“There was... another Prophet. This one I met before the battle in the Ethereal Sea.” She turned to look at him. “Let me give you a little context first. There was a world that the Dark One had failed to conquer. I don’t know the reason, only that he eventually withdrew his grip from it. I was sent there to deal with any stragglers he might have left behind. While I was searching, I found a temple beneath the waves, devoted entirely to him. I entered it, and that’s where I found that Prophet.”

“He was even more powerful than the other one?” Viktor asked with a raised eyebrow.

“By his own abilities alone? No. Yet, he had... something else.” Galatea paused. “It was a hard battle, but I managed to get the upper hand. Then, when I was about to finish him off, he... he uttered those cursed words...”

“What words?”

Her face twisted as though she had just swallowed something rotten.

“The true name of the Dark One.”

What?

The true name of a god. That was something Haku had warned him about: “One cannot simply invoke the true name of a god.” Because doing so would invite terrible consequences entirely beyond the control of whoever had been foolish enough to attempt it.

“What happened next?”

“Upon hearing those words, I felt as though my mind was tearing itself apart. Images flooded into my head, an endless torrent of them. Shapes and concepts and visions that were completely incomprehensible. Even now, I am genuinely uncertain how I survived it. But eventually I came back to myself.”

Viktor didn’t say anything. He simply gazed at his luminous Guardian, waiting for her to continue.

“After I left the temple, I was told that I had been inside it for an entire week. To me, it was only an hour of exploring and maybe ten minutes of fighting. But, as it turned out, I had been standing still, on the same spot, for several days.”

“What happened to your opponent?”

“Dead,” Galatea replied. “Pieces of him were splattered across the walls of the room. My guess is that was the punishment for carelessly saying his god’s name.”

Ah, yes. One could not simply invoke the true name of a god, indeed.

“What happened to you afterward?”

“I reported everything to my superiors, and they helped me with the treatment. In the end, I recovered enough to function as I had before, to carry out my duties and conduct myself as expected. Still, the memory continued to haunt me. I asked, once, whether there was any way to have it erased, and I was told it was impossible. Once someone has learned the true name of a god, it’s etched into their mind permanently. It simply cannot be undone.”

But... if that was the case, if she had been carrying the true name of the Great One of the Deep with her always, didn’t that mean she had a connection with him? She had been marked, in a way, whether she liked it or not. It was hard to say what that actually meant in practice, but it was something that could turn into a liability in the future.

“You’re thinking I might become a threat, aren’t you, Master?” Galatea asked, a faint, sad smile on her lips. “That’s understandable. Even my own people, after that day, became more guarded when they were around me. I could tell there was a distance that hadn’t been there before. Everyone was cautious in what they chose to say and how much they were willing to share with me.”

Viktor shrugged. “It would be a lie if I told you I didn’t find it concerning. I can only tell you that it doesn’t change how I think of you. You’re still the most annoying woman I’ve ever met, and some dark god lurking in the back of your head is not going to change that assessment.”

Galatea chuckled. “Thank you, Master.”

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Chapter 187: Dancing with Sharks

Viktor peered down upon the devastation he had wrought.

Everything had gone much better than anticipated. When he sent the water serpent after the mutated giant, he had only intended to wound it. The creature was enormous, after all, so killing it shouldn’t have been easy. His plan had been to inflict enough damage to force it away from the island and back into open water, where he could gradually wear it down through repeated attacks. He had fully expected a prolonged engagement. But instead, he had killed the thing outright by blowing off its face.

When he returned to the Folded Chamber, he saw the giant anchoring itself against the edge of the main island as it tore down the barricade of vines, allowing the smaller monsters to pour through the gaps.

Well, at least that meant Ekon was still kicking. Which, all things considered, was rather impressive. The bald man had been trapped there with that monstrosity for a while and somehow managed to avoid being turned into a smear on the landscape. Viktor wondered how much of that was his own doing and how much came from the aid of that mysterious woman, the Eternal Flame.

Either way, he should hurry. Every moment he spent observing was another moment Ekon moved closer to becoming fish food.

He attempted to lift himself into the air, and the winds responded without issue. In other words, the suppression effect was not active throughout the entire Folded Chamber. The phenomenon must therefore have been localized in some fashion. Perhaps it only functioned within a certain distance of the giant. Perhaps the creature needed line of sight. Or perhaps, it had to consciously focus on a target.

So, instead of flying straight toward the island, he circled around it in a wide arc. Once he reached the far end of the chamber, he descended until he was skimming just above the water. The stone structure itself now served as cover, preventing the giant and the other monsters from noticing his approach.

After reaching land, he immediately conjured the water serpent with his Thauma. The living construct flowed across the ground, slithering along the wall of the building as he rose to the top. On the way up, he took out the wooden case he had brought and tossed it through one of the windows. He arrived at the roof just in time to see the giant lifting a massive boulder, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going to happen next.

There was not enough time to stop the giant before it released the projectile. By the time he reached it, the rock would already be in the air. So he needed to do two things at the same time.

He formed an ice core within the serpent’s body and sent it surging ahead. The construct got to the shoreline just as the giant threw the boulder. He jumped from the roof, using his buckler to stop the flying rock, all the while keeping his attention on his snake—or, to be exact, on the ice core hidden within it—to prevent it from detonating prematurely.

The timing had been dangerously tight. One small deviation, and it would have all gone wrong. If he had dropped a second later to meet the boulder, the three people who were hovering behind him right now would have been reduced to mincemeat. For the briefest of moments, he found himself wondering if any of them had lost control of their bladder at that instant of impact. Well, better not to ask. In fact, better not to turn around, or he might see something no one wanted to be seen.

In any case, the giant problem had been resolved. What remained was the shark problem.

The flood was slowly receding from the island as the sea around it grew calm once more. The shark-men, having been briefly scattered, began to regroup, dragging themselves back toward the shore in relentless waves, seemingly unaffected by the death of the giant.

Well, yes.

Throwing underwater monsters back into the water did not solve anything; it merely delayed the unpleasantness for a few fleeting moments.

He could, of course, stay in the air and pick them off one by one. That would be easy enough. But then, after taking enough casualties, the remaining monsters would simply retreat into the depths, and going down there to hunt them would be a massive waste of time. On the other hand, leaving them alive was not an option either. No, all hostile forces within the Folded Chamber must be eliminated before he could proceed to the next step of the plan. And to do that, he needed to gather them in one place and wipe them out in one decisive strike.

With nothing left to consider, Viktor moved.

He flew out over the open water, then he dropped. At the same time, he activated “Water Walk,” a Thauma he had crafted based on the spell the Acolytes of the Deep had used. The moment he touched down, the surface hardened under his feet just enough to bear his weight.

There he stood, waves below him, waves all around him. No shore, no shelter, no protection.

Come at me, you bastards. This is your home turf, right?

It didn’t take long for the first shark-man to launch itself out of the churning water. The creature came from his left, bursting from the surface with its jaws spread wide, revealing rows of serrated teeth that glistened with saliva.

Without even moving his feet, he blew it away with a blast of wind. No, not back into the water, but up into the air. And while the shark-man was suspended helplessly overhead, he conjured an ice lance directly from the water surrounding him, and hurled it right into the creature’s gaping mouth. The projectile penetrated deep into its throat before he triggered the detonation. In an instant, flesh and bone and tooth fragments exploded in a wet cloud as the headless body dropped back to the sea, and its frenzied kin fell upon it before the ripples even spread.

More shark-men were now coming at him from every direction, so he started moving as well. He darted across the surface as he waited for his opponents to commit to their leaps. Another shark-man lunged upward from the depths, this one wielding a jagged polearm. The weapon swept in a wide arc, aimed at his neck, but before the blade could reach him, it struck something invisible. The impact jarred its arms, and the dazed creature fell back into the waves with a confused thrash.

Well, yes.

There were indeed invisible things scattered around the area. Because he had been casting “Wall of Air,” a Thauma inspired by those aeromancers who had attempted to trap him during the battle above the outpost, while he was running around. Compared to theirs, his walls were smaller and couldn’t move, but they didn’t need to. He was merely placing them here as unseen obstacles whose locations were known only to him.

The shark-faced monsters kept coming. Some tried to bite, some tried to stab, some tried to throw projectiles. He didn’t care. He just ran around his walls, moving in an unpredictable path so that nothing could rise directly from under his feet. And whenever he found a clear line of sight? Another ice lance, another burst of gore, another corpse for the feast.

There were too many of them now. He could feel the creatures gathering beneath the surface, drawn not only by the target he had painted on his own back, but also by all the meat and blood that had been raining down for the past several minutes. He glanced at the island while sidestepping lunging predators, and found the shoreline completely empty. Good. Every last one of them had come to join this dance.

It’s time.

The wind gems tied to his legs fired off simultaneously, shooting him high into the air. He took out a small bag that contained a handful of round objects. He threw them all into the water, scattering them in a ring around him.

He flicked his fingers.

The next second, profound and echoing thunder exploded under the surface as colossal columns of water shot upward like geysers that breached the sky, before crashing back down in a torrential deluge.

Then, after the waters finally calmed and the rain subsided, corpses began to resurface. First in twos and threes, then in dozens, then in a floating carpet of pale bellies and sightless eyes and torn flesh.

Viktor chuckled as he looked at the carnage. Alycia’s explosives had never failed to impress.

Once he had realized the Folded Chamber was a water realm, he immediately instructed Celeste to have the gremlins haul a fresh batch of explosives to the Core Room. So, after his puppet sank and he found himself back in his room, he had teleported to the dungeon to collect the bombs before flying here. He had grabbed the medallion as well, the Reliquary that allowed him to move freely underwater. Thankfully, he didn’t have to actually use it.

As for the explosives, they followed the same principle as the ones he had used to destroy Iskora’s portal. All of them had the same detonator, so he only needed to spread them out, then trigger them all at the same time.

With his work complete, Viktor drifted back to the island, where Ekon and his companions stood in frozen awe, their gazes flicking repeatedly between him and the field of floating carcasses offshore.

Then, Mandragora snorted. “Do we even need to be here? You just single-handedly killed everything.”

She had a point, he supposed. Had he known everything about this Folded Chamber from the start, then yes, he could have just come here and cleared it by himself. But he hadn’t had that information. So someone else needed to go in first, to probe the defenses, to draw attention away from him.

Suddenly, a flash of light flared beside him, before condensing into the shape of a woman.

Galatea, of course.

After Celeste informed him that Mandragora and Renee could open the rift from within, he figured keeping Galatea outside the Folded Chamber was no longer necessary. So he had ordered her to enter and scout the interior of the stone building while staying invisible.

“There are only three men inside,” she began her report. “All of them have been restrained by the vines.”

Viktor arched a brow. “Three?”

“Yes.”

Including the woman who had gone out earlier and the man he had killed, there were a total of five people in that massive building. Surely there had been more, until he slaughtered dozens of them in the ruins. But that was weeks ago. Why hadn’t they received reinforcements?

Oh, well. That was a problem for later.

For now, the fact remained that all significant threats had been neutralized, and the Folded Chamber had been secure. There might be some stragglers still hiding somewhere, but Ekon’s party should be able to handle them without problem.

“I’m going back now,” Viktor said. “You stay here with them to investigate the building. Report your findings to me tomorrow morning.”

“Understood.”

All that remained was mere grunt work, which could and should be delegated to other people. He would just head home and sleep. After all, lingering here any further meant he might need to recast “Dark Veil” and “Change Voice,” but his Focus was a bit low now after all the fighting.

Besides, Claire said kids his age shouldn’t stay up late at night.

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Interlude: Sea Giant

Ekon’s heart seized in his chest as the mutated giant waded toward the shore, each movement sending massive waves rolling across the watery surface of the Folded Chamber.

A moment earlier, he had seen the Sovereign—no, the corpse the Sovereign had been possessing—drop from the sky like a stone cast from a cliff. How that happened, he had no idea. Still, something like that was hardly a minor setback for a great being like the Sovereign. Surely, he had foreseen the possibility. Surely, it was part of the plan.

But Ekon wished such a plan hadn’t left him alone here with a mountain of muscle and claws and teeth.

What now?

The thought flashed through his mind as he watched the giant climb onto the land, water pouring from folds of swollen flesh and cascading down its limbs in sheets, its immense body rising higher and higher until it seemed to block his entire field of vision.

The vines reacted immediately. Green tendrils burst forward in thick writhing masses, coiling around the giant’s ankles. More followed. They crept up, wrapping around its calves and knees and thighs, layer upon layer of vegetation tightening with enough force to crush armored men.

The giant didn’t seem to notice. It took a step, and the vines ripped like wet parchment.

What should I do?

Running back toward the bridge would be suicide, but trying to hide in the building didn’t look like a good option either. After all, he still didn’t know what exactly was inside.

As he pondered, the giant got closer.

Much closer.

Its shadow engulfed him as one massive foot descended like a mountain falling from the sky. He threw himself sideways at the last possible moment, rolling across dirt and broken vines as the impact struck the ground where he had stood, sending a shockwave rippling through his very bones.

He barely had time to scramble to his feet before the giant moved again—this time not a stomp, but a kick. The motion was casual, almost lazy, as though the creature were simply clearing space rather than trying to kill anything in particular, and Ekon sprinted out of its path just as the catastrophic blow smashed into the corner of the stone building. Chunks of stone flew outward, dust and debris raining down around him as the entire structure trembled, as if it might collapse under its own crushing weight.

This is... manageable, actually.

A ridiculous thought to have while being hunted across a tiny island by a nightmare from the depths. Yet it was true. The giant was enormous and terrifying, but it was also slow and clumsy. As long as he kept moving, he could avoid being crushed under those mountain-sized limbs. Even though he had no way to defeat the thing himself, survival no longer felt impossible. Besides, the giant was every bit as dangerous to the enemies hiding inside the building as it was to him, and that was something he could use to his advantage.

One of the vines burst through a shattered window and emerged dragging a masked man behind it. The poor bastard thrashed wildly, kicking and twisting as the green coils tightened around his body, holding him high above the ground like a child showing off an insect they had caught.

Without giving it much of a thought, Ekon willed the vine to throw the man at the giant. An instant later, the screaming captive shot through the air, straight at the hulking monster’s misshapen face.

The creature’s hand came up in reflex, and with a single swat that echoed like a thunderclap, it sent the masked man flying, his body tumbling end over end before splashing into the water far from the island. He didn’t resurface.

For several seconds, the giant stood still.

It stared at the place where the man had vanished under the waves, and Ekon could swear the creature looked confused. As though it had only just realized what it had done.

Then, to his surprise, it began to retreat.

Step by step, it walked back into the water. Now it stood waist-deep offshore, looming above the surface like a floating, grotesque fortress.

Ekon’s brief optimism vanished.

The giant was no longer trying to chase him. Instead, it plunged both hands into the tangled mass of vines that was trying to reform the barricade. Great fistfuls of greenery vanished in its grip as roots, branches, and tendrils were ripped from the earth. Sections of the barrier were destroyed within seconds.

The creature had changed its tactics. Whether such an idea had come from its own limited mind or from someone giving it instructions, Ekon couldn’t tell, but it had apparently concluded that personally hunting him was inefficient. So, rather than continue lumbering after a target it struggled to catch, it had shifted to a support role. It would let the smaller monsters do the killing while it cleared the way.

Through the gaps in the living wall, figures surged forward. They were larger than the previous creatures, broad-shouldered humanoids with gray-blue skin stretched over powerful muscles. Their heads resembled those of sharks, complete with rows of serrated teeth and black, lifeless eyes. Spears, tridents, and harpoons gleamed in their hands as they advanced in a snarling mass.

Ekon exhaled. Then, he drew the whip from his belt, feeling the familiar weight settle into his grip. He muttered the words under his breath, and fire answered. Thin at first, then steady, it crawled up the length of the coiled leather.

He cracked it out in a wide blazing arc, forcing the nearest shark-men to recoil as sparks and embers scattered across their damp skin. He spun it again, keeping the fiery weapon moving in wide circles around his body, creating a barrier of flame to keep them at bay. This wouldn’t hold for long, he knew that much. But every second he remained alive was another second closer to the arrival of reinforcements.

“Ekon!”

He heard the voice before he could fully process the two shapes that split the sky above the battlefield. When he looked up and recognized who they were, the relief that hit him was so sharp it almost hurt.

But that relief lasted only for a heartbeat.

The giant’s gaze swept across the air, and his friends suddenly faltered mid-flight as though the world itself had decided they were no longer allowed to remain aloft.

Then, they fell.

Ekon reacted before he could properly think, driving what remained of the vines around him to shoot upward in a desperate arc. Fortunately, they were not too far away, so the green tendrils reached for the falling figures, wrapped around them just in time to catch their descent, and lowered them toward the ground as gently as the situation allowed.

Before her feet even touched the earth, Mandra pulled out two of her vials and smashed them down. The instant they shattered against the soil, new vines erupted in thick, overlapping waves that spread outward to reinforce the fragile defensive perimeter. At the same time, Renee rolled cleanly out of the descending tendrils and came up in one smooth motion, her staff ready in hand. She pivoted toward the nearest shark-faced creature and brought it down in a single brutal strike.

Mandra walked to his side, her expression tightening as she scanned the surroundings.

“What the hell just happened?”

“I think,” Ekon said, glancing at the looming behemoth still anchored at the island’s edge, “it can shut down someone’s wind manipulation just by looking at them.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Renee shouted from nearby as she cracked yet another skull. “It means I’ll be completely useless here.”

Mandra’s eyes narrowed. “Where is he?”

“Well... he got caught by the giant’s gaze, so he... dropped from the sky and sank.”

“What?”

“It’s just the puppet. His real body was not affected at all.”

“And where is that real body?”

“Nearby... I think,” Ekon replied. “He’s coming. Trust me, he’ll be here within minutes.”

Mandra didn’t look reassured in the slightest, and he could hardly blame her. Because even he had begun to doubt. He had always told himself never to take anything for granted, but for some reason, he had come to believe—no, to have faith—that as long as the Sovereign was with them, they could win this fight effortlessly and without paying any real price.

He let out a weary sigh. Either way, he was the one who had dragged Mandra and Renee into this mess, the one who had assured them that everything would be alright. So it was his responsibility to keep them out of harm’s way.

Better said than done, though.

The vines were still holding, but only because Mandra had concentrated them here, near the building, and away from the shoreline, since anything extended too far would be immediately ripped apart by the giant. Meanwhile, more and more shark-men were pouring out of the water as though the sea itself had decided to empty its contents onto their position.

Mandra muttered a curse, then she ordered the vines to retreat even further, tightening into a dense, layered barrier that enclosed them in a perimeter roughly fifteen paces wide. She even had them seal off the nearby openings of the building, as she feared the creatures might enter through another entrance and attack them from within.

The three of them stood within the enclosed space, watching every movement beyond the living wall. Renee gripped her staff, ready to strike anything that managed to slip through, though for the moment the barricade stood firm enough. Perhaps, it would buy them just enough time for help to arrive.

That was when Ekon saw the giant lift its hand.

And with it, came a boulder. Easily the size of a wagon, cradled in its palm as though it weighed nothing at all.

Where the hell did it pull that from? From the seabed, or from the island itself? Well, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the simple, horrifying fact: it was about to use that rock. It was going to throw it—at them.

We are... trapped.

The thought arrived with uncomfortable clarity. They were confined inside their own hastily constructed barrier, and beyond it the swarm of shark-faced monsters pressed in from every direction. There was nowhere to run.

He glanced at Mandra. Her face had gone pale. She had seen it too, the inevitability.

From the edge of the island, the giant drew its arm back in a slow, deliberate motion, muscles tightening across its enormous frame as it prepared the throw.

“I’m... sorry,” Ekon said.

Mandra didn’t say anything. Instead, she reached out and took his hand, her fingers locking around his in a grip so tight it was almost painful. He hesitated for a heartbeat, then squeezed her hand back.

The boulder was coming. A dark sun blotted against the sky.

Ekon closed his eyes. This is how I die, huh?

He could hear it all. The roar of something massive carving through the air. The screams of shark-men, crushed out of existence as it tore through them. The sound of vines being shredded in its path.

And then—

Nothing.

No impact. No pain.

Huh?

Had his death been so quick and painless that he wasn’t even aware of it?

No, wait.

How could he even be thinking this if he was already dead?

Slowly, he opened his eyes, and he gaped.

Because the boulder was right there. It was like... two paces away from Renee. Yet, it was not moving forward at all.

Between them and that impossible stillness, there was a figure. A man made of shadows. He stood with one hand raised, his left forearm casually resting against the surface of the rock.

The Sovereign.

He had arrived.

And...

Did he just stop that boulder dead in its tracks with his bare hand!?

Renee’s voice broke the silence. “...How?”

The Sovereign gave no answer. He angled his face past the rock and toward the edge of the island, where the giant still loomed above the water like a malformed monument. Ekon followed his gaze, and only then did he notice it. Something was climbing over the giant’s body.

Was it... a snake made of water?

He had seen it once before, when the Sovereign summoned it to massacre the masked men during the battle in the ruins. Now, the very same living construct was slithering up the giant’s torso, coiling around its throat before flowing across its face. The surface of it spread like poured glass, sealing over mouth and nostrils and eyes. The giant reeled back, hands scraping frantically as it tried to tear it away.

Suddenly, ice bloomed. The crystallization raced along the serpentine body in branching veins, and the water construct locked into place, hardening as it clung to the giant’s face. The frost spiderwebbed outward from the point of contact, crawling over skin, petrifying flesh.

Then, the ice shattered.

In the blink of an eye, the front half of the giant’s head was gone.

The enormous body toppled backward, the force of its fall sending a tremor throughout the entire Folded Chamber. A massive wall of water surged into the sky, expanding outward in every direction.

“Up,” the Sovereign said, then he rose.

Ah yes, Ekon thought. With the giant dead, aeromancy should function again. After a brief delay, Renee lifted him and Mandra into the air as well, just before the flood could reach them.

Looking down, Ekon watched the unfolding aftermath. Massive waves rolled from the fallen giant, crashing into the island and washing away clusters of shark-men like they were little more than debris. And where the hulking creature had once stood, there was nothing now but widening rings that dissolved into ripples.

Only then did Mandra speak at last.

“The fuck just happened?”

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Chapter 186: Not My Water Realm

“A water biome?” Ekon gaped. “We’re actually inside a dungeon?”

Ah, yes. Biome.

That was the term used by the adventurers. Viktor hadn’t heard it for a good long while. Ever since he had learned what the Dungeon Cores called it—a domain—the old word had simply faded away from his vocabulary.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “This Folded Chamber has merely been shaped to resemble a dungeon floor by the power of the Abyss.”

A bit unexpected, but not entirely surprising. After all, there had been signs pointing in this direction, like the employment of underwater monsters in the assault on Daelin’s outpost or the masked men’s ability to flood his old castle. So now, when he found out they even had a Domain of Water at their disposal, it felt less like a shock and more like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

And that means... Viktor swept his borrowed eyes across the vast, glassy surface surrounding him. There are almost certainly countless lurking things out there, in the depths below.

This Folded Chamber, unlike his own water realm in the dungeon, had only two islands. The small one under his feet, where the rift had just spit him out and which offered nothing in the way of cover, and the large one in the distance, crowned by that stone structure looming at the far end of the long wooden bridge. That was undoubtedly the base of operations from which the masked men launched their attacks, and the most likely place where their victims were confined.

The only way to get there was walking on that exposed walkway over open water, designed to ensure anyone crossing it would be utterly vulnerable to whatever was hiding under the surface. He could fly, of course, but he doubted his enemies were careless enough to forget that possibility.

He glanced back over his shoulder. The rift through which they had entered was gone. He wondered if the same phrase could be used to open it again from this side. If that were not the case, he would need to rely on Galatea to pull him and Ekon out when the time came.

“What do we do now?” the bald man asked.

“We wait.”

With a layout like this, it was plain that the moment the rift opened, someone in the building across the water would see it. Good thing he didn’t send Galatea through first, or she would have announced the attack with all the subtlety of a herald blowing a trumpet. Now, his arrival must have already been spotted, so there was nothing left to do but wait for the enemy to make the first move.

Soon enough, a figure emerged from the stone building. A single masked man, who stepped onto the bridge and walked toward them at an unhurried pace.

“Should we move too?” Ekon asked.

“No,” Viktor said. “We stay here and let him come to us.”

Moving forward meant they would meet the masked man in the middle of the narrow, exposed bridge. And he had no intention of doing that.

The man, however, came to a sudden halt once he had gone halfway across. He planted himself there and waited in silence.

Oh, well. Viktor chuckled. Looked like the choice had been made for him.

He placed a hand on Ekon’s back and shoved, and the bald man slipped back into his role without missing a beat. His shoulders dropped, his chin lowered, his feet dragged against the wooden planks with the heavy shuffle of someone whose spirit had been thoroughly broken. Together, they walked toward the waiting masked man.

“Why did you come back here? With him?” The voice that came from behind the mask was distinctly feminine. “What happened?”

A woman, huh?

Well, even though he lumped them together as “the masked men,” there had never been any real reason to assume they were all male, and apparently, they were not.

“I managed to capture him,” he replied. “So I brought him back.”

“Your assignment was to observe him. Nothing less, and certainly nothing more.”

“Yes, but I saw an opportunity present itself. Weeks in the dungeon had weakened him considerably. He was in no condition to resist. It seemed wasteful not to act.”

“If you had seen an opportunity,” the masked woman said, “the correct course of action would have been to return here and report that. Not to act independently, and not to make decisions that weren’t yours to make.”

“That would have taken time. Time during which he could have slipped away, or found his way back to his allies. I had weighed the available options and concluded this was the right choice.”

“You do not have choices to make, and you do not have options to weigh. You’re supposed to follow the instructions you’ve been given, precisely as they’ve been given, without deviation and without interpretation.”

Viktor gave a shrug. “My bad, then. But it’s already done. What now?”

Silence stretched between them on the bridge.

“...I don’t know,” the woman said. “We’ve never had a situation in which one of us failed to follow instructions.”

Oh, great. These guys were so thoroughly conditioned to absolute obedience that even the possibility of someone disobeying orders wasn’t considered worth planning for. What a wonderful system.

After another stretch of silence, the woman said, “I’m going to town to seek instructions from our superior on how to proceed.”

“Sensible,” Viktor said. “What do I do in the meantime, though?”

Perhaps they would throw him in the cells with Ekon, which was perfectly fine by him. Because the moment his feet touched that other island, all the pretense would become unnecessary, and this conversation would end in a manner considerably less civil than it had begun.

“You wait here. Do not move from this spot until I come back.”

And just like that, the woman walked past him. Toward the smaller island, at the same unhurried pace.

Viktor arched the dead man’s brow as he watched her go. Did she seriously believe he would stay here just because she told him so?

Well... yes.

She genuinely expected that.

Celeste, he called his Dungeon Core.

[Yes, Master?]

Tell Galatea to inform the other two that a masked woman is about to come out through the rift. Kill her, and—

Wait.

No. Tell them that she might carry poison on her, and if she realizes she’s about to be captured, she will use it to kill herself. So, try to take her down before she has a chance to reach for it. I don’t know, knock her unconscious or something. After that, search her thoroughly and take the poison away.

He had no idea where it was hidden, though, but the Druidess might have better insight into the matter. He didn’t know whether capturing a brainwashed minion of the Abyss would yield anything useful either, but there was only one way to find out.

After they’ve dealt with her, have them come in through the rift. Give them a description of the layout so they aren’t walking in blind. Also, once they’re inside, don’t cross the bridge right away. Instead, wait for the rift to close. I want them to try to reopen it from this side using the phrase. Galatea will remain outside. Just in case we can’t get out on our own.

[Understood.]

Viktor glanced at the masked woman, who had reached the far end of the bridge. A moment later, the rift split open to receive her. Whether she used the same phrase or a different one, though, he had no idea.

“Let’s go,” he told Ekon once the woman was gone.

And so they moved again. Let’s see what will happen, Viktor thought with amusement, when I fail to comply a second time.

He got his answer before they had covered half the remaining distance.

The water erupted as something pale broke the surface. Human-shaped, more or less, but sagging like a half-melted candle. Viktor recognized it immediately, for it was one of the same creatures that had attacked Daelin’s outpost. Looked like they had finally been identified as hostile by the enemy, and the defensive mechanisms of this Folded Chamber had awakened in earnest.

As the thing sloshed onto the bridge, he didn’t waste time admiring its general unpleasantness and instead raised a hand to give it a brisk blast of wind. Back into the water it went, with a satisfying splash.

“Run!” he shouted to Ekon. And the bald man bolted without a fuss.

No sooner had they taken a few more strides than another monster rose from the depths, this one a crone with hook-like talons where its fingers should have been. Once again, a familiar, ugly face. Ekon, whose hands had been free, hurled a fireball at the creature, but its waterlogged skin proved resistant to his flame, and the blazing projectile fizzled upon impact without dealing any significant damage. As the barnacle-covered hag staggered back from the failed attack, however, Viktor seized the opportunity and cast another wind blast, sending it tumbling over the edge.

This was bad.

Fire was obviously ineffective in this environment, while using wind to throw the enemies back into the water was merely delaying the problem rather than solving it. They needed to reach the other side, and fast.

“Just so you know,” Viktor said, without breaking stride, “while I can fly myself, I can’t lift you up like your aeromancer friend.”

Needless to say, upon hearing those words, the bald man’s running speed instantly got an boost.

Fortunately, the bridge was not as overwhelmed as it could have been. Perhaps the defensive response hadn’t fully engaged yet, thrown off by the ambiguity of the situation. Whatever the reason, the monsters that jumped onto the bridge were manageable in number, so they just blasted their way through, until they finally reached the larger island.

The moment his foot touched the ground, Ekon reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial, one that the Druidess had given him before they entered the Folded Chamber together. Without hesitation, he smashed it against the dirt.

Green smoke erupted from the shattered container, hissing and swirling like something alive. It spread outward, and wherever it drifted, the soil rumbled and ruptured. Then came the vines, bursting from the cracks.

Ah, yes. This was what Mandragora had used to keep Khenemhotep’s tomb guards at bay in the battle within the mortuary complex. The same green tendrils now slithered behind them, weaving themselves into a writhing barricade to block the onslaught of the underwater monsters that were surging toward the coast.

“Send them into the building as well,” Viktor said. “Restrain anything that moves.”

Ekon nodded. The vines, as if they had heard the command directly, obeyed without delay, pouring into the structure through doors, through windows, through every dark hole in that stone bastard of a building. Viktor wondered whether they simply took orders from whoever had thrown that potion, or if Ekon had picked up a few tricks from the Druidess.

In any case, the situation seemed to be secure. They had a lovely wall of angry vegetation to shield them from the monsters. Nothing was getting through, at least for the time being. The barrier would hold until Mandragora and Renee arrived.

Or so he thought.

A thunderous roar rolled across the Folded Chamber. A colossal column of water blasted skyward as something erupted from under the waves. For a heartbeat, Viktor could make out nothing but churning foam and cascading water. Then the creature rose higher, revealing its full shape.

Once again, it was something he had seen before. Not alive, but a grotesque mountain of leathery flesh and swollen muscle that had impaled itself into the ramparts of the outpost. The one looming before him right now was not a carcass, of course, but that didn’t mean it was any easier on the eyes. Still, setting the matter of aesthetics aside, the creature’s sudden appearance did introduce many new problems.

True to his expectation, the mutated giant proved far beyond what Mandragora’s vines could handle. A single, casual sweep of that massive arm, and sections of the living wall were reduced to shredded greenery littered across the shoreline.

Viktor activated the wind gems embedded within the borrowed body, launched himself into the air, and circled the giant in a wide arc. At the same time, he unleashed a barrage of fireballs, the projectiles shrieking toward the creature from different angles. He had no illusions about actually hurting it, but at least the attacks would distract it for a few moments and buy a bit more time.

But then, the giant looked at him.

And he fell.

What?

He tried to trigger the wind gems again, but there was no response. None whatsoever from any of them. He tried to use the fire gems instead, and these ones worked without issue, launching a fresh volley of orange globes at the towering creature as he plummeted toward the water below.

I see.

Unless all of his wind gems had suddenly run out of juice at the same time, which was laughably implausible, there was only one explanation for the phenomenon. The giant itself must have disrupted his ability to manipulate air somehow. Made sense. This had to be the masked men’s solution to deal with intruders who tried to cheat the water realm by taking to the sky.

And so, the borrowed body crashed into the waves. As it sank, the monsters came, their claws and limbs gripping it in layers as they dragged it further down into the depths.

Opening his eyes, Viktor found himself back in his room. Yes, it was definitely a good thing that sight and sound were the only sensations he got from his puppet.

Its destruction came earlier than anticipated, but that didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. He never expected to achieve victory with that temporary body anyway. He merely wanted to use it to probe the enemy’s defenses.

And now, it was time for him to properly enter the fray.

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Chapter 185: The Lair

“So, what is the plan?” Mandragora asked.

Viktor gave Ekon a glance, and the bald man nodded. “The plan is simple,” he said. “The Sovereign and I enter first. He ties me up, drags me in as a prisoner, and tells them he managed to capture me after tracking me down. After that, we get a look at the place from the inside. The moment we see an opening, we strike immediately. Meanwhile, you and Renee stay outside and wait for the signal. Once the fighting starts, you move in as well.”

“Will that actually work?” Mandragora asked, skepticism visible on her face. “Do you truly believe they will be fooled by something like that?”

Of course not.

For one thing, this dead man had never been sent to capture Ekon in the first place. His actual assignment was merely monitoring him from a distance. And even setting that aside, dozens of them had been killed during their last attempt to take Ekon, so the idea that a single man could succeed in the task was just absurd. Anyone with half a brain would immediately realize something was off the moment they walked into the Folded Chamber together.

Still, that didn’t mean the idea lacked value.

After all, those masked men were creatures of routine. They were rigid in thought and hopeless at improvisation. When the situation played out as predicted, they could handle it with speed and competence, but if something unexpected happened, they would stumble over themselves trying to squeeze it into frameworks they understood. Against enemies like that, you didn’t need to deceive them outright. Sometimes, just confusing them was more than enough.

“Maybe they buy it, maybe they don’t,” Ekon said with a shrug. “The problem is we don’t exactly have a better plan. But don’t worry. Even in the worst-case scenario, the Sovereign would have no trouble getting me out.”

Mandragora looked at the bald man. “You’re really going to gamble on this?”

“Yes.”

“How about you, then?” Mandragora then turned to the youngest member of the group. “If you’re having second thoughts, now would be the time.”

“Hey,” Renee said with a frown. “It’s a bit too late to throw me off the wagon, isn’t it? If you two are going, then of course I’m going too.”

“...Fine,” Mandragora muttered. “Let’s get this over with. Where is the place?”

“North of town,” Viktor said. “Come.”

Without a moment’s delay, he activated the gems strapped to the dead man’s legs. A gust of wind exploded under the feet, hurling the body upward into the sky. The sudden surge in speed jolted his borrowed vision, before it steadied as he adjusted his balance in midair.

Well, triggering the gems through a corpse was undeniably awkward compared to using his real body. Good thing he had spent long hours practicing in the dungeon, experimenting with different cadavers in the disposal pit. And now, he had finally gotten the hang of it.

As he ascended, he glanced back over his shoulder. Below, Renee had lifted both Mandragora and Ekon into the air with practiced ease. Watching that, he started to wonder maybe Ba’atar not joining them wasn’t such a tragedy after all.

And so, they flew through the night sky. For a stretch of silence, only the wind spoke. But then, voices reached Viktor from behind.

“Anything happened in town while I was hiding in the dungeon?” Ekon asked.

“Well,” Mandragora said, “the biggest thing—what everyone in Daelin is talking about now—is that an employee of the Adventurer’s Guild has been assaulted in broad daylight by one of those Iskora adventurers, right in the middle of the street.”

“Really?”

“Yes. In fact, it happened on the very same day you went into the dungeon.”

“Why... why would they do something like that?”

“Beats me,” Mandragora said. “Given everything they’ve done so far, and the connection they have with those masked men you mentioned... I can only assume that they are insane. Yes, that’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

“The Adventurer’s Guild in Daelin won’t let this go unanswered,” Ekon said.

“They won’t. I’ve heard that the Guildmaster has sent a formal petition directly to the Conclave, requesting the immediate arrest and trial of the man responsible. Yes, they’re taking this very seriously. After all, the poor girl was badly injured. She hasn’t regained consciousness even after weeks.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“It is,” Mandragora said. “Her brother came to me last week to ask for help. So I went to the Sanctuary, where she is staying under the supervision of the local Keeper, to check her condition. There wasn’t much I could do, though, other than preparing some sustaining potions. She can’t eat on her own, you know, so we have to feed her another way to keep the body from giving up. But when it comes to actually treating the root cause...”

“There’s no way to wake her up?”

“I could force it, but I can’t predict what would happen afterward. I have no idea what damage such an action might cause. It could restore her, or it could break her beyond repair. I don’t want to gamble with someone’s mind, so I won’t take that risk.”

“So we just wait.”

“Yes, we maintain the status quo.”

The status quo, huh? Viktor sighed. He didn’t like that word at all, but for the moment, it was all they could afford for Claire.

At the very least, her condition was stabilized now. Thanks to Mandragora’s potions, and the two Emerald Mages dispatched from the caravan station, the likelihood of her simply withering away into nothing—of her body giving up on life while her mind remained trapped elsewhere—had been drastically reduced.

He had also taken further steps to make sure this delicate balance would not depend entirely on the goodwill or availability of others. He had asked the Druidess for alchemical recipes that could help sustain Claire, ones that didn’t require the involvement of magic, ones that he could brew himself.

And that, more than anything else, had factored into his decision to initiate tonight’s assault on the masked men’s secret lair. Because, even though he would try his best to keep Mandragora alive, there was no guarantee that she would survive the battle, given how little he knew about what was inside the Folded Chamber. So he had waited until he was absolutely certain that Claire’s survival would not hinge upon the woman’s continued existence. Only then did he allow the operation to proceed.

Before long, they reached their destination.

To anyone else, it was yet another stretch of the endless woods of the Central Plains, unremarkable in every way. But Viktor was not just anyone. He had seen this place countless times through Galatea’s eyes, studying every little detail until the whole landscape had become thoroughly engraved in his memory. He had done it to make sure there would be no mistakes when he finally came here himself.

Well, not exactly himself. But himself enough.

Galatea had come back to the hideout’s entrance after he killed the masked man to resume surveillance over the location. She must have spotted them approaching, and that meant she was probably on her way to meet them now.

Viktor gradually slowed his flight before landing on the forest floor, boots touching the earth with a muted crunch of dead leaves and loose soil. Behind him, the other three followed suit.

“Where is the hideout?” Mandragora asked.

“Ahead,” Viktor said. “You two stay here.”

The Druidess frowned. “When your signal comes, how exactly are we supposed to find it? And what is the signal anyway?”

Rather than giving her an answer, Viktor turned around.

“You there? Show yourself.”

The words had barely left his mouth when a burst of radiant light erupted beside him. Ekon and Mandragora recoiled instantly, while Renee threw an arm over her eyes as the forest was drenched in brilliance. Then the glow softened, and a figure emerged, as if sculpted from the light itself.

Needless to say, the trio all froze in place, staring at the luminous newcomer with utter astonishment.

Viktor had pondered for a while whether he should show Galatea to them or not. Eventually, he had chosen to do so. Even though he preferred to keep as much information about himself and the dungeon hidden as possible, especially from that mysterious woman—the Eternal Flame—he ultimately concluded that revealing only this projected form was probably not much of a big deal. Not to mention, later on he could use her as a messenger, instead of having to deliver letters by himself.

“When the time comes,” Galatea said, “I’ll take you to the entrance.”

The Druidess slowly nodded.

“Let’s begin,” Viktor said. “You brought the ropes?”

“Yes,” Ekon replied, his eyes lingering on Galatea for several seconds before shifting to Viktor.

Oh, well. Probably the most normal reaction imaginable. When a man saw someone like Galatea, he stared. Hardly anything mysterious about that. As long as it did not interfere with the operation, Viktor just couldn’t care less.

Without another word, he stepped closer and began to bind Ekon’s wrists together. He looped the rope in a way that appeared convincingly secure, but in reality, the bald man could break free in an instant once the fighting started.

Then, leaving Mandragora and Renee behind, he and Ekon followed the luminous Guardian toward the hidden lair.

“Are you... Lady Galatea?”

Huh?

Viktor blinked at the sudden question from the bald man.

Galatea glanced back over one glowing shoulder, a faint smile appearing upon her lips as soft golden light shimmered around her. “You know me?” she asked.

“Haku has told me a great deal about you,” Ekon said.

Ah. The bird-man.

Viktor found himself wondering exactly what sort of stories that smug-looking Tengu had shared with this guy during their time together. Still, he was not overly concerned. Celeste had been closely monitoring the conversations, making sure Haku revealed nothing truly important about the dungeon. In fact, she had even instructed him to slip in bits of misinformation here and there to muddy the truth. So no, there was little reason to worry about it.

“Is that so?” Galatea said. “Now I’m curious. I wonder what exactly he told you about me.”

“He had nothing but praise for you,” Ekon said. “Even so, now that I’ve met you in person, I can tell even his words didn’t do you justice.”

And Galatea laughed softly at that.

Viktor nearly rolled the dead man’s eyes. First Kazyk, then Haku, then this guy. Apparently, every man he knew had mastered the art of flattering beautiful women. Small wonder she preferred walking around in this form, instead of showing people what she really looked like.

Then, he noticed Ekon was glancing sideways at him. “Now I understand,” the bald man murmured.

Understand what?

Before he could ask, however, Galatea slowed to a halt. They had reached the tree in question.

“Shall I speak the phrase?” she asked. “Or would you prefer to do it yourself, my lord?”

“You do it,” Viktor said. He wanted to know whether the rift responded to the phrase itself, or if it required the voice of one of the masked men specifically. If the latter proved true, then the plan would have to be revised.

Galatea inclined her head slightly before she spoke, “Glory to our Father.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the bark rippled. A distortion spread across the trunk, twisting and warping until the center of the tree began to split apart. A rift emerged, widening gradually until it became just big enough for a person to pass through.

“Let’s go,” Viktor said.

Ekon nodded once before lowering his head and slumping his shoulders, allowing his posture to sag as he trudged forward with the heavy, exhausted gait of a prisoner being dragged toward captivity. Viktor followed two paces behind him.

Together, they stepped through the rift.

And a whole new world opened before their eyes.

A vast expanse of water surrounded them on every side. Directly ahead, a long wooden bridge extended toward a distant island rising from the center of the place, upon which stood a massive stone structure whose silhouette loomed against the horizon.

Though he had never been here before, Viktor immediately knew what it was.

This was a water realm.

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Chapter 184: On the Riverbank

Viktor opened “his” eyes.

Immediately, images of the surrounding scenery flooded into his awareness, replacing the black that had existed moments earlier. Trees stood under the night sky. Branches swayed in the wind. Patches of moonlight spilled through the canopy. And ahead, lay the stretch of riverbank where Ekon was waiting.

Then came the sounds. The steady current of the Voskryn rolled past, joined by the softer murmur of the stream that flowed down from the waterfall adjacent to his dungeon before emptying itself into the river proper. The woods likewise contributed their own quieter notes, with leaves rustling faintly overhead and critters chirping somewhere out of sight.

It seemed both visual and auditory perception functioned without issue.

However, it was also apparent those were the only senses available to him. “His” body felt absolutely nothing. Not weight, not temperature, not touch. To be fair, that was probably for the best. Otherwise, he would have been in a world of hurt right now.

He moved “his” legs.

One foot stepped forward, propelling the body forward in an uneven motion that caused his field of vision to sway awkwardly with each shift in balance. And that visual feedback was the only one he got. After all, even when the foot connected with the ground, he felt no response whatsoever. No pressure, no resistance, no confirmation that the limb had made contact with anything beyond the simple fact that the body continued to move without collapsing.

Fortunately, he had spent quite a bit of time practicing this in the dungeon, so he had no trouble doing it now. And just like that, he made “his” body move out of the woods, walking toward the open riverbank.

The instant Ekon spotted “him,” he jerked upright, then dropped immediately into a guarded stance, one hand moving toward the handle of the whip coiled around his waist as his eyes narrowed with naked hostility.

“You...”

Viktor approached the bald man at an unhurried pace, allowing the tension to linger for another moment before speaking through “his” mouth.

“It’s me.”

But Ekon didn’t relax right away. Suspicion still lingered on his face as his gaze swept over the body standing in front of him.

Viktor paid him no heed, turning toward the paved road that ran through the darkness between rows of abandoned watchtowers. It had been constructed on Gideon’s orders, and for a time it had seen constant use by adventurers moving back and forth between his dungeon and the town. However, after Iskora seized control of the outpost across the river, everything changed. Isadora and Rennald had decided to build an entirely new route that connected the southern part of Daelin to the dungeon, and once that road was completed, the old one quickly fell into neglect.

“So you can even do this, huh?” Ekon muttered, finally straightening up.

“This is but a simple trick,” Viktor said with a chuckle.

Though to be honest, he had to admit he was quite impressed by what the ringed cross could do. When he asked Khenemhotep to create magical artifacts for reanimating the dead, the only thing he had in mind was some mindless, shambling corpses that could follow basic commands.

Instead, he got this. A surprise, but not an unwelcome one.

After he inserted the ringed cross into a dead body, beyond simply giving it orders like he initially intended, he could also “possess” the corpse—see through it, hear through it, and control it like a marionette. To some extent, this was quite similar to how he navigated inside the dungeon whenever he closed his eyes. The only difference was that now he had to use physical limbs to move around instead of just gliding his vision forward. He could only control one puppet at a time even if he had several, of course, but he could instantly switch between them, and that provided a wide range of tactical possibilities.

And the best part was, the range of this thing was huge.

Khenemhotep had told him that control could be maintained at distances of up to ten miles. That was why, after he killed the masked man, he immediately flew back to his house, lay down on his bed, and then sent his consciousness here to “wake up” the corpse. And now, he would be able to enter the Folded Chamber, doing whatever he wanted without ever exposing himself to danger.

The spell was not without limitations, however. One major problem was that he couldn’t cast his Thauma through the corpse. Though at least the wind and fire gems were still usable as long as he strapped them to the body, which he already did.

Then there was the time constraint. While a ringed cross could keep its power for three days if unused, the moment it was embedded into a dead body, it was bound to it. He could no longer take it out to use on a different one, and the corpse only stayed reanimated for about two or three hours.

“When do your friends get here?” Viktor asked.

“Soon, I think.”

After tricking the bald man into bringing his party along for the attack on the masked men’s hideout, all the while dressing it up like he was actually the one doing them a favor, Viktor wasted no time setting his plan in motion. He told Ekon to write a letter, which he sent into Mandragora’s hut through a gust of conjured wind. So, by the time Ekon emerged from the dungeon this evening, one of her birds was already waiting outside. It then followed him here, to this meeting point. And now, there was nothing left to do but wait for the Druidess to arrive herself.

Before long, he spotted two dark silhouettes gliding through the sky toward their location under the pale glow of the moon. Their features were difficult to discern, but he could guess who they were easily enough. It was obvious Renee was one of them, while the other had to be the Druidess. No sign of Ba’atar, though. Apparently, the big guy still hadn’t returned to Daelin. A shame. He would have preferred more muscle. Still, this would do. Three members of Ekon’s party, plus a handful of walking corpses, ought to be enough to keep trouble off his back.

The two women descended from the sky and landed upon the riverbank, but neither of them approached too close after touching the earth. Instead, they kept a cautious distance, their attention fixed on the stolen body with unmistakable vigilance in their eyes.

“Who is this?” Mandragora asked.

The bald man gave Viktor a glance before answering. “This is the Sovereign, the lord of the dungeon I mentioned in the letter. He’s killed one of the masked men and...” He paused. “Now he’s possessing his corpse.”

Needless to say, that explanation brought no peace of mind to the two women. In fact, Mandragora’s expression now twisted into one of open disgust.

“And you thought it wise to involve yourself with someone like that?” she asked sharply.

Ekon sighed. “We need every bit of help we can get. He’s saved my life once. And now he’s helping me to take care of my remaining enemies.”

“I’ve told you before, and I’m going to tell you again,” Mandragora said with a frown. “We should leave this place. Go somewhere far away and never come back.”

“And then what? They’ll keep hunting me no matter where I go. And it’s not just me anymore. Because of your connection to me, both of you could end up in danger. They might decide to come after you as well.” He fell silent for a moment before speaking again, quieter this time. “Maybe you two should leave Daelin. I’ll stay here and deal with my own mess.”

Hey, that’s not what we agreed on.

“Come back with me to my forest,” Mandragora said, taking a step forward. “You’ll be safe there. What exactly are they going to do? March into the woods and wage war against the Circle?”

Now that was an interesting thought. The Children of the Abyss were an ancient organization with influence stretching across kingdoms, so Viktor found himself wondering what a war between them and the Druidesses would actually look like. One hell of a spectacle, no doubt.

Ekon shook his head. “I can’t do that. It’d drag even more people into this. You only say it because you don’t understand how dangerous they really are.”

“Then explain it to me,” Mandragora said. “Because even now, I still have no idea what the hell is going on. Weeks ago, you sent me a message saying you would be hiding inside the dungeon. After that, nothing. Complete silence. And then, yesterday, out of nowhere, I received another letter that told me to come here to launch an attack on what you describe as a secret base of operations of some sort.”

“You’re right,” Ekon said. “I do owe you that much.”

And so he began. He told them his story, starting from the night Viktor saved him, all the way to the present moment, when they stood on this riverbank preparing to assault the enemy’s stronghold. The bald man spoke mostly of himself, of what he had seen and what had been done to him. He mentioned once or twice “the voice in my head,” but other than that, he didn’t touch the topic of the Eternal Flame at all. He didn’t say anything about the Abyss either. Only that the masked men had a deep connection with the Valiant Bank and the adventurers from Iskora.

“So they’re the ones behind the disappearances of the pyromancers?” Mandragora said at last, her brow furrowing as she processed the information. “But why target them in the first place?”

Ekon shrugged. “Even now, I still don’t know.”

Viktor wondered whether the bald man was indeed ignorant, or if he simply chose not to talk about his tie with his so-called acquaintance, the mortal enemy of the Abyss.

“Wait,” said Renee, who had until now remained silent. “If they’re the ones kidnapping the pyromancers, then that means all those missing people are now being held in the hideout we’re about to attack, right? So, we might be able to rescue them?”

Well, yes. Probably. How many were still alive, though, was a completely different story.

“Even if that’s true,” Mandragora said, “I still don’t understand why it has to be us who save them. If you know where they are, just report it to the Guild and let them handle it.”

“It won’t be so simple,” Ekon said. “The Guild won’t take our word for it. They won’t mobilize just because we tell them to. Even in the best-case scenario, it would still take days, if not weeks, before they act. On the other hand, the enemy probably has spies in town. So if we report it, we’d only end up alerting them that their secret lair has been exposed. I believe, instead of involving too many people, it’s better to move in a small group, striking them hard and fast with the help of a powerful being.”

“A powerful being, huh?” Mandragora said, following his glance. Then, she stepped closer to Viktor, her gaze fixed on the corpse as though she was trying to see past the borrowed flesh and into the one sitting behind it. “You’re the lord of the dungeon. Which means you’re also the one who attacked us in that courtyard?”

Viktor let a short chuckle slip through the dead man’s throat. “Yes. Do you want to settle the score now?”

“How exactly would I do that?” the Druidess said dryly. “You’re not even here. Just your meat puppet.” She snorted. “Besides, picking this place for a meeting... you really have terrible taste, don’t you?”

Viktor turned his gaze to where she was looking. The paved road that led back to town. Ah, yes. Dagnar had died here.

“Why did you kill him?” Mandragora asked.

“Is that what matters to you?”

“Not the man himself. He means nothing to me. The point is, I don’t know you. Not your goal, not your motive, not what you really want out of this. I don’t know why you’re ‘helping’ us. Is it actually help... or are you using us as expendable pawns?”

Sharp woman, aren’t you?

“I’m helping you because those masked men are my enemies too. More importantly, this is Ekon’s idea. He was the one who begged me for help. If you decide you no longer want it, we can call this off right now.”

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, Mandragora let out a long, tired sigh.

“So, what is the plan?”

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Chapter 183: First Move

Ekon should’ve left the camp outside by now, Viktor thought.

He could practically see how the scene unfolded at the entrance. Guards and employees of the Guild gaped in disbelief when they saw the bald man stumble out after burying himself underground for over half a month. Most of them had already written him off as yet another corpse in the dungeon, no doubt.

Once they recovered from their shock, they would rush over to help him, checking his physical condition, examining his injuries. Realizing he was stable enough, they began to bombard him with questions. And Ekon would present the cover story that had been prepared beforehand. It was riddled with holes though, so people would naturally grow suspicious of the whole thing. But it was fine. That was part of the plan, anyway.

Regardless of whether they believed the story or not, they couldn’t accuse Ekon of lying without proof, nor could they detain him simply because they were skeptical of his claims. At most, they could only offer to have guards escort him back to town under the pretense of concern for his condition. And the bald man would politely decline the proposal before leaving the encampment by himself.

Of course, all of this existed solely within Viktor’s imagination. After all, he couldn’t personally witness any of it, not from where he was sitting. While he could have sent Galatea to verify it, he had chosen not to. Because he needed her elsewhere, doing a more important job.

And, at that moment—

[Master, Galatea reports that the entrance to the Folded Chamber has opened, and one masked man has emerged from inside.]

Viktor chuckled.

Yes, that was precisely what he had been expecting.

[Master, you think this man was sent because of Ekon?]

Viktor shrugged. “It’s still possible the timing is merely coincidental, but we should have our answer soon enough. Galatea is following him at the moment, right?”

[Yes.]

Only one man, huh? It appeared the enemy had decided against mobilizing an immediate large-scale response. Instead of attempting to capture the bald man right away, they had chosen to send someone to follow him from a distance, waiting to understand the situation before committing to anything more drastic.

[I wonder how they knew Ekon had come out.]

“I believe there’s a spy among the guards and Guild employees in the camp,” Viktor said. Yes, planting a spy there was exactly what he would have done if he were in their position.

[But how did the spy pass information to the masked men? And how does the man sent after Ekon know where to find him?]

“There are many ways to accomplish that. For example, the spy could’ve placed a magical marking on Ekon’s body when they were checking his condition. All it would take is a moment of contact. So when the men inside the Folded Chamber saw that a mark had been activated and was now in motion, they immediately understood what had happened.”

[I see.]

Viktor stood up. He had constructed multiple scenarios of what could happen, and this was one of them. Now, there was only one thing left to do: carrying out what had already been planned.

He glanced at the items laid out before him.

First, the wind gems and fire gems. Of course. These were his bread and butter. Not the most devastating assets in his arsenal by any measure, but damn if there existed a more consistently useful pair of options.

Second, the ringed crosses he had received from Khenemhotep. The priest had made them from gold, because he made everything from gold, and that meant despite their small size they were quite heavy. Dense little things, each one shaped like a cross except that the top curved and closed into a droplet-shaped loop. Khenemhotep had spent considerable time imbuing his magic into them, and he had been clear about the constraints: even if unused, they would begin losing their power after a single day, and completely run out within three. But it was fine. Viktor had no intention of letting them sit idle; he was going to put them to work right tonight.

Third, a buckler. He had asked Celeste to transfer the power housed within Sebekton’s breastplate into this smaller, more portable vessel, just for tonight. Yes, he was going to borrow this, the ability to completely negate any physical attack coming from one direction. After all, one could never have too many layers of protection.

And finally, a wooden case, the contents of which he had ordered Kazyk to produce to his exact specifications. Technically, this one was not necessary for tonight’s assault. But he had always found a particular satisfaction in the efficiency of killing two birds with one stone, so there was no good reason not to bring it along.

As for the rapier, he had decided to leave it at home, since he still wanted to keep the weapon a secret, to hold it in reserve for the final confrontation with Xander.

“Teleport me back,” Viktor said, after he had gathered everything up.

[Understood.]

The transition came and went in a blink. One instant he stood by the Dungeon Core, the next he was back in his room.

Without wasting even a glance at the familiar surroundings, he walked toward the window. Easing it open, he slipped out into the evening air. The wind gems stirred to life at his command, invisible currents curling under his boots and lifting him upward.

He climbed in a steady spiral until the rooftops below shrank to the size of scattered playing cards. The last remnants of sunlight had already vanished beyond the horizon, which meant even if someone down there happened to glance up, they would see nothing more than a passing shadow against the darkening clouds. He hovered for a moment, turning his gaze westward.

There lay the haphazard jumble of the slums, chaotic and uneven and perpetually on the verge of collapse, yet stubbornly enduring all the same.

Claire was there, and he had been with her for most of the day, right up until Alycia arrived to take over the shift. Then, he hurried home. He grabbed his dinner on the way instead of wasting time cooking. And, once everything was done, he asked Celeste to teleport him to the dungeon.

[Master.]

“What is the situation?”

[That masked man is indeed following Ekon, exactly as you anticipated. He maintained surveillance from a distance, keeping Ekon within sight while avoiding the risk of exposing himself. Ekon, for his part, has reached the designated waiting spot by the river. He is pretending to rest there, just as you instructed.]

Viktor allowed himself a smile upon hearing the report. Then, he turned east and began gliding across the sky, the wind whistling softly past his ears as he picked up speed.

The Voskryn emerged from the night like a long ribbon of tarnished silver. Farmland spread in neat patches along one bank, broken here and there by lonely farmhouses with candlelight glowing through shuttered windows, while on the opposite side rose the woods, the endless forest that had swallowed the heart of the empire he once ruled.

He continued flying along the river until the chosen meeting spot finally came into view, a flat stretch of muddy ground directly across from the charred ruins of a certain outpost that had been tragically reduced to ashes by some dark spirit not too long ago.

Viktor activated his “Dark Veil.”

Shadows gathered in response, weaving themselves around his body like layers of black silk. Had anyone been watching from below, they would have seen him vanish completely, becoming indistinguishable from the night itself.

Now. Where was the masked man?

Viktor closed his eyes, seeing through Celeste, who was seeing through Galatea. There he was, a lone figure wrapped in a black robe and a hooded cloak, standing motionless on the thick branch of a tall tree overlooking the riverbank, his head tilted slightly downward as he studied Ekon from his elevated vantage point.

Having located the target, Viktor adjusted his course and drifted toward the tree in question, suppressing every unnecessary movement as the wind slowly, silently carried him into position right above the unsuspecting watcher. The masked man never looked up. His attention remained fixed on Ekon, utterly unaware that death was already hanging over his head.

Viktor dropped from the sky and, in the same breath, triggered another Thauma. Water materialized above his palm, forming a globe of clear, cold liquid that hovered for only a fraction of a second before he sent it forward, slamming into the masked man’s face.

The water did not splash. Instead, it moved like a coherent body with intent, flowing over the man’s face and sealing around his neck with a wet, smacking sound. In an instant, his entire head had been encased in a prison of liquid.

The masked man let out a scream that never left his throat, the sound swallowed by the water and reduced to a muffled, bubbling gurgle that barely reached Viktor’s ears. He stumbled backward on the branch, boots scraping frantically against bark as he tried to regain his footing.

The man’s right hand shot upward and caught a higher branch, fingers locking around it with desperate strength just enough to prevent an immediate fall, while his left clawed at the sphere of water wrapped around his head. But there was nothing to grip, nothing to tear away. Only cold, unyielding liquid that parted around his fingers and flowed back together the moment they passed through, endlessly reforming whenever it was disturbed.

Viktor hovered a few paces away, watching. All he had to do was maintain the shape of the water, and wait.

This was a simple trick, yet it was brutally effective against inexperienced opponents, especially when he used it as a surprise attack. After all, most people, upon finding their heads suddenly submerged in water, tended to panic and act on raw impulse, incapable of mounting any reasonable or effective response.

What this man should have done was hold his breath, then launch a counterattack. Since Viktor needed to stay close to maintain the globe of liquid, if the man could force him to retreat or break concentration, the water would lose cohesion and dissolve on its own. But that required clarity of thought, a luxury the man simply did not have right now.

The masked man’s movements grew more and more erratic. As instinct took over entirely, his right fist abandoned its grip on the branch above to join the other in the hopeless assault on the water enclosing his head. Naturally, he fell.

The body hit the ground with a heavy thud. It lay there motionless, limbs sprawled out across the dirt. In the end, he didn’t even live long enough to drown.

Well, it mattered not. The result was the same anyway.

Viktor descended in a controlled glide. Looking down at the corpse of the masked man, he reached into his pocket.

Then, he pulled out a golden, ringed cross.

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Chapter 179: Folded Chamber

“Celeste told me you’ve located those masked men’s secret hideout,” Viktor said. “Is that correct?”

Galatea nodded. “Yes, Master.”

“Where is it?”

“It lies north of town, approximately two miles away. The lair exists inside a Folded Chamber.”

Viktor frowned. “A what?”

“It is a spatial construct,” Galatea replied. “A distortion of reality. An isolated space separated from the outside world by a boundary created by magic. Once such a chamber has been formed, its interior no longer needs to obey the physical limitations of the exterior. For example, a Folded Chamber within a small wooden shed could hold a castle, a palace, or even an entire village. Also, since the chamber is disconnected from the outside world, entering it is impossible without a designated point of access created by its maker. You cannot force your way in by trying to break through the barrier. Still, a high-level practitioner of space magic might be able to breach the boundary to gain entry.”

“The Riftwalkers of this world could do something similar,” Viktor said, leaning back in his chair. “They have a spell that allows them to create a magical vessel of which internal capacity is far greater than its appearance suggests. A traveler can store an absurd number of items within the container, while its size and weight remain unchanged. Frankly, that sort of thing is very useful for carrying stuff around.”

“That’s right. The principle involved is basically the same. But the storage container you mention is relatively small and portable, because the folded space is tethered directly to the object itself. A Folded Chamber, on the other hand, is much bigger and more structurally rigid. Once established, its boundary becomes fixed in place and cannot easily be changed without dismantling the entire spatial framework that supported it.”

“Come to think of it,” Viktor said, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. “Isn’t the dungeon itself also a Folded Chamber?”

“Yes, Master. Every floor of a dungeon exists within its own Folded Chamber. That’s why the size of a dungeon can vastly exceed what should physically fit under the ground above it. And those floors are connected to each other or the outside world only through specific pathways created by the Dungeon Core.”

And the Abyss is an ancient dungeon, Viktor thought. So it was hardly a surprise if its underlings could be granted the ability to manipulate folded spaces.

“Tell me more about the Folded Chamber they’re using as their base of operation,” he said.

“It takes the form of a large tree standing among countless others in the forest, indistinguishable from its surroundings in every way. When one of the masked men approaches the tree and speaks a specific phrase, the hidden entrance will reveal itself. The phrase is ‘Glory to our Father,’ by the way. I heard him say it while watching. Once it is spoken, a rift manifests on the trunk of the tree, big enough for one person to pass through. After he crossed the threshold, the opening sealed itself, leaving no trace behind.”

“Have you tried to enter yourself?”

“No, Master. I was afraid opening the rift could alert them to my presence. Therefore, I immediately returned to report my findings so that you could decide how we should proceed.”

“In other words, we have absolutely no idea what is waiting inside that place, or even how big it really is.”

“Yes,” Galatea said with a nod.

Now that was problematic. Launching an attack against the enemy stronghold without any intelligence was recklessly stupid. At the same time, there was no way to gather information without first sending someone into the damn place.

Of course, he could just order Galatea to go in, but as she had already pointed out, the moment she entered the Folded Chamber, the men inside might notice the intrusion and realize their base had been discovered. Which meant the attack would need to follow immediately, before the enemy had time to fortify their defenses or simply abandon the hideout entirely and disappear without a trace. However, mounting a hasty assault right after the scouting would undermine much of the value provided by that scouting in the first place. What a dilemma.

In other words, the instant he had that rift opened, he would have committed himself to the operation. There would be no going back from that decision; the countdown toward confrontation already began.

So all planning had to happen in advance. Every possible scenario needed to be accounted for before anyone crossed that threshold. And that circled back to the very first issue: he knew absolutely nothing about what was inside the chamber, which made planning extremely difficult.

Ugh.

And then there was the attack itself.

Even though he had a steadily growing army at his disposal, those minions were bound to the dungeon. His ability to project force beyond its boundaries was very limited. In fact, at the moment, that amounted to only himself and Galatea, who could provide little more than reconnaissance. Hence, he was going to be the one who had to do most, if not all, of the fighting. Alone.

Sure, the last skirmish against the masked men had ended in his victory, but that battle had unfolded under conditions favorable to him. This time, he had to invade their territory, and that was a different beast altogether.

“Celeste,” Viktor said, glancing at the Dungeon Core who was hovering beside him. “Can you teleport me back to the dungeon when I’m inside a Folded Chamber?”

[Probably not, Master. Just as the Riftwalkers cannot teleport directly into our dungeon from the outside and vice versa, I likely cannot retrieve you from someone else’s Folded Chamber either. At least not with my current level.]

Yes, that made sense.

One could not simply teleport in or out of a Folded Chamber. That counted as breaching the boundary between the sealed space and the outside world, while such a boundary existed precisely to prevent this sort of intrusion.

Which meant, there wouldn’t be a convenient retreat option for him if things went south, and the prospect of him being trapped inside was a very real possibility.

Viktor sighed. This operation had turned out to be considerably more troublesome than he had expected.

Still, it was not like raiding this Folded Chamber was the only path available to him. After all, the masked men themselves weren’t the true objective. His ultimate goal was to kill Xander; he was merely trying to lure the bastard back to Daelin by attacking his allies here. So if an assault on the hideout proved too risky, he could target the Iskora adventurers who were occupying the west side instead.

This, however, introduced a different set of complications.

A battle at the slums would inevitably bring unforeseen collateral damage to the area, and... the Sanctuary was also there. On the other hand, fighting the masked men inside a folded space at the very least wouldn’t affect anyone uninvolved.

Well, he didn’t need to make a decision immediately. It was better to let things settle, then come back to them later with a clear mind.

“Thank you,” he told Galatea. “You can leave.”

She inclined her head, and her form unraveled into scattered light.

[What are you going to do, Master?]

“We’re going to attack that lair, that much is certain. But not right away. I need to come up with a proper plan first.”

[And... what about Daelin?]

Viktor glanced at his Dungeon Core. “What about it?”

[I mean... are you going to spend more time there and less time in the dungeon, or...?]

“Nothing changes. I’ll keep coming here every day, just like I always have.”

[But... you once told me that you would have to visit Claire daily, and you would stay by her bedside for an extended time. And that would reduce your time in the dungeon.]

“Oh, that. Yes, I did say that. But I’ve thought about it, and in the end, I’ve concluded it isn’t really necessary. After all, people have different ways of dealing with grief. Some cling to what they’ve lost, unwilling to move on, while others run from it altogether, continuing their normal routines as though nothing happened. Which means I don’t have to act in one specific way. There are so many options for me to choose from, and I simply picked the one that is most convenient.”

A faint sound escaped Celeste’s crystalline form. Something like a sigh.

“What’s the problem?”

[Nothing, Master.]

“Hey,” Viktor said, “it’s not like I’m completely neglecting her or anything. I’m still making meals and delivering them to the Sanctuary three times a day. I hand them over to Jeanne, or Alycia, or Rhea, whoever happens to be there. And I do inquire about her condition before leaving.”

[And none of them ask you why you refuse to stay, why you don’t remain by your sister’s side?]

“Well, they look like they want to. That much is obvious from how awkward and uncomfortable they all are. And yet, not a single one can bring themselves to actually say it. See? My acting is flawless.”

[...]

“What’s the matter, Celeste? You seem a bit strange today.”

[I am just thinking, Master... The dungeon is now in a normal operational state. There are no noteworthy adventurers arriving. There are no construction projects that require immediate attention. So perhaps... you don’t have to be here as often as you do.]

Viktor frowned. “Are you saying I am no longer needed?”

[That is not what I meant. What I was trying to say is... maybe you should get some rest.]

“I need no rest,” Viktor said. “I’m perfectly fine. If there’s nothing here to manage, then I’ll focus on training instead.”

[Training, Master?]

“Yes. After all, I’ll need to take on the masked men’s hideout, and then Xander himself eventually. So I need to be in my best shape. My Thaumaturgy cannot be improved any further at the moment, so I’m going to focus on refining my physical capability instead. So yes, structured combat training would be appropriate.”

[You intend to spar with Haku every day from now on?]

“Well,” Viktor said, rubbing his chin. “Fighting the same opponent over and over might not be ideal. If refinement is the goal, I need to expose myself to a wider range of combat styles. Time to face someone else, I guess.”

[Who are you going to train with, Master?]

“Let’s see...” Viktor chuckled. “How about... Sebekton?”

===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== =====

Book 2 of A Dungeon That Kills now available on Amazon Kindle.

Feel free to check it out!

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Interlude: A Man in a Dungeon

How had it come to this?

Ekon let out a long, weary sigh as his gaze drifted across the cramped stone chamber—his current living quarters, damp and cold and devoid of any comfort. He saw the narrow bed, he saw the barred window, he saw the foul-smelling bucket in the corner. The place was indistinguishable from a prison cell.

Because it was one.

Technically, he was not locked inside this room. He could wander the corridors if he ever wished. But, in the end, all it meant was that instead of being confined to a single cell, he had an entire prison to roam at his leisure. And he failed to see how that made anything better.

Even now, after everything that had happened, he still couldn’t decide if fate had been kind to him or just cruel in a different way.

On the one hand, he had been saved. If the Sovereign hadn’t intervened at the very last moment, the masked men would have captured him, and he would almost certainly have suffered a fate worse than death. Also, he had done what Anastrasza requested, and that should have marked the end of their agreement. By all logic, he should have finally been free. He should have been able to leave Daelin together with his friends and return to some semblance of a normal life.

Except things had not unfolded that way at all.

To begin with, the one who had saved his life was a mysterious being who called himself the Sovereign, which meant he now owed him a debt. Someday, a repayment would be demanded of him.

But that was the small problem. The real disaster began the moment Anastrasza decided to speak again.

She had been silent for a good long while, only to become unexpectedly talkative after the Sovereign appeared. Then, she casually told him this was the very master of the dungeon she had asked him to find in the first place. Such a revelation had shocked him so badly that he reacted without thinking, blurting it out loud before he could stop himself.

Naturally, it caught the attention of the Sovereign, who immediately demanded to know how he got that information. One thing led to another, and he ended up becoming the intermediary between the two powerful and dangerous entities, relaying words back and forth like an unwilling messenger trapped between forces far beyond his understanding.

And that, without question, was the worst mistake he had made in his entire life.

Because by acting as Anastrasza’s spokesperson, he had learned many things he would have preferred not to know.

As it turned out, the masked men who had been pursuing him were actually members of a secret organization known as the Children of the Abyss, and the Abyss itself, the great chasm of the southwest, was apparently not just a landmark, but an ancient, monstrous existence that had controlled the world from the shadows for thousands of years.

And the Valiant Bank served the Abyss as well.

And the Abyss was involved in the Dark Emperor’s death.

And one of the legendary Six Heroes was an agent of the Abyss all along.

What?

Seriously, what?

The more he listened, the more his head throbbed from the unbearable weight of information being forced down upon him.

Then, the last revelation dropped.

Anastrasza said, as though she was just discussing the weather, that she was the Eternal Flame, the sacred divine fire worshipped throughout the North for countless generations.

At that point, he genuinely did not know how he was supposed to react anymore.

Yet, the true dilemma only arrived at the very end of the conversation, when the Sovereign offered him refuge within the dungeon.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to decline the offer. He wanted nothing more than to leave at once, to run as far away from the Sovereign, from Anastrasza, from the Abyss, from every horrifying secret he had just learned as humanly possible.

But then he realized: where could he even go?

Anastrasza would still live inside his head, the Sovereign would still hold his debt, the Children of the Abyss would still want him captured. And, after learning so many forbidden truths, he doubted he could ever truly remove himself from this conflict, no matter how hard he tried.

So, in the end, the only remotely rational choice available to him was to stay close to the monster powerful enough to scare off other monsters. As terrifying as he was, the Sovereign was perhaps the only one who could protect him from the enemies now lurking in the shadows.

Of course, he was not naïve enough to believe such protection was free. Sooner or later, he would have to do something in return. Still, for the time being, this was the best option he could hope for.

There was a knock on the door.

His lunch had arrived.

Ekon let out a quiet breath. This was one of the very few things he still looked forward to in this glorified prison. More important than the food itself, these delivered meals were his only reliable way of keeping track of time in a place where there was no sun, no moon, no changing sky. And above all, it provided—

—companionship.

“Come in,” he said.

The door creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped in with a tray of food.

A raven’s head sat on top of a human body, a pair of black wings folded behind the white robe. This was the one who had been attending to him ever since his arrival in the dungeon, bringing him meals without fail three times a day. His full name was Hakuro-no-Kanemitsu, though he had told Ekon to simply call him Haku, just as the Sovereign always did.

When he first met the bird-man, he had admittedly felt a bit uneasy, as he recognized Haku as one of those who had descended from the sky to abduct Dagnar during the chaos of battle in the sun-scorched courtyard. However, after several conversations, he had found the bird-man was surprisingly approachable, and he had become the closest thing to a friend Ekon had in this forsaken place.

“Here,” Haku said after placing the tray onto the narrow bed, reaching into his robe and pulling out a thick book. “Being stuck here alone all day has to be dull, so I thought you could use something to pass the time.”

“Thank you. Was this brought from outside the dungeon too?”

“No. It’s from the third floor. You can borrow it for as long as you want, but make absolutely sure you don’t damage it even a little. Lord Sebekton wouldn’t be pleased about that.”

So they even have a library down here, Ekon thought, letting out a quiet sigh.

In truth, when he engaged in conversation with Haku, he had another motive besides the desire for companionship, one that was more pragmatic and less noble. He saw this as an opportunity to extract whatever fragments of information he could about the Sovereign and the mysterious dungeon he controlled.

It was not that he had suddenly become eager to seek out forbidden knowledge about the world. Of course not, after everything he had already been forced to endure. Nevertheless, he believed closing his mind to all information was unwise. Some of it was absolutely essential. After all, if he intended to rely on the Sovereign to protect him from the Abyss, and perhaps one day even help him get rid of Anastrasza, then he needed to understand the nature of this being and the extent of his power.

Haku had been cautious at first, skillfully avoiding sensitive topics and redirecting conversations whenever Ekon edged too close to anything important. But as the days went by and they spoke more often, the bird-man’s guard began to ease. Ekon, in turn, had learned not to ask questions outright, instead making casual small talk and allowing Haku to occasionally let things slip on his own. Sometimes, the bird-man even drifted into long-winded ramblings, and all Ekon had to do was nod along without interruption. Thanks to that, he had finally begun to grasp the true scale of the place he was currently living.

As it turned out, beneath this floor, the second floor, existed more than two dozen others descending deeper into the unknown, each one ruled by a powerful Guardian who had pledged allegiance to the Sovereign. In other words, the bandaged undead and the monstrous crocodile-man he had previously encountered were merely two among so many lieutenants the master of the dungeon commanded.

Also, the massive structure that dominated the landscape of the desert—which he had recently learned was actually a tomb—was apparently insignificant compared to many other constructions hidden further below. On one occasion, Haku had mentioned a so-called colosseum existing somewhere, an arena so gigantic it could supposedly hold one hundred thousand spectators at once.

Ekon genuinely struggled to imagine what possible purpose such a ridiculous structure could serve inside a dungeon. Then again, history was filled with stories of great kings who commissioned absurdly extravagant projects simply because they possessed the wealth to indulge themselves. So if the Sovereign could casually have something like that built for pure entertainment, then the amount of resources he had at his disposal was obviously far beyond anyone’s comprehension.

They chatted with each other for a while. Eventually, Haku gave a polite nod, then left the room as quietly as he had entered.

Once alone again, Ekon finished his meal in silence, and when he was done, he stacked the empty utensils back onto the tray and slid it outside the door. Then he lay down on his bed, one arm resting across his forehead. He was going to take a nap.

And that was when the all-too-familiar, unwanted voice rang out inside his head.

“How are you doing, my dear Ekon?”

Damn it.

His jaw clenched as his eyes opened again, staring up at the cold, hard ceiling. He had always detested that voice, but that feeling had become something even more complicated now, twisted by a new kind of fear.

Before, he hated her because she lied, because she manipulated him. Now, he was afraid of her speaking the truth, of her casually dropping yet another terrible secret threatening to shatter his worldview once again.

“What do you want?” he grumbled.

“Just checking on you. To see if you’re comfortable with your new, well... home?”

“I’m fine. Thank you. Now go away.”

“I can tell this room leaves much to be desired. And while I can’t exactly change reality for you, I can make you dream of that little haven of yours again. Personally, I find that dirty shack no different from this place, but to each their own, who am I to judge? So if you want it, just say the word.”

“No, thank you,” Ekon said immediately. He had no desire to ever go back to that creepy world again.

“Don’t be like that. I’m offering you something for free this time instead of, you know, making you go through another deal. I was being so nice, and this is how you’re treating me?”

Why won’t she shut up?

“On your high horse, are you?” Ekon muttered. “Everything went exactly as you planned, didn’t it? Damn it... How the hell did you even predict the Sovereign would show up at the Dark Emperor’s old castle anyway?”

“Because he is the Dark Emperor, silly.”

...What?

Ekon froze. His mind simply stopped working altogether.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

Yes, that makes sense.

To be honest, when he heard Haku talk about the dungeon, he had still been a bit skeptical, thinking the bird-man might have exaggerated certain details. There were even moments when he thought that Haku might have been pulling his leg.

But now, all those doubts had completely vanished.

This dungeon, and the man behind it, were truly terrifying.

===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== =====

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Chapter 176: The One at the Top

There were a lot more torches on the streets by the time Viktor returned to the slums.

It wasn’t just the Iskora patrols anymore. The scarred man’s scream had done exactly what screams always did: it dragged people out of their homes. Thin, weary figures clustered near alleyways and broken walls, whispering among themselves while craning their necks toward the source of the commotion. Some people peered down from cracked windows above the street, while others lingered in doorways even as the guards barked at them to get back inside.

Viktor paid them no heed.

He drifted high above in complete silence, passing over the scattered armed men and curious onlookers alike, his gaze fixed on the barely visible outline of the Sanctuary.

Once he neared, he descended toward a strip of shadow between two crumbling houses where the torchlight failed to reach. The veil of darkness wrapped around him for a moment longer before dissolving away like mist as he deactivated the Thauma. Adjusting his clothes, he stepped out from the shade and made his way to the building as though he had merely returned from an ordinary walk.

Rhea was standing at the entrance when he approached. The moment her eyes settled upon him, the tension on her face eased almost immediately.

“Where did you go? ” she asked as she hurried over. “I was about to go look for you...”

“I heard a scream,” Viktor replied.

Yes, he certainly did. Louder and clearer than anyone else. In fact, his ears were still ringing right now.

Rhea nodded, turning her head toward the distant noises. “I wonder what happened...” she murmured.

“I’m not sure either.” Viktor shrugged. “There were a lot of people there. I couldn’t get close enough to see anything, so I came back instead.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Rhea said. “I forgot to tell you, but they’ve imposed a curfew on the west side during the night. If the guards catch you wandering around outside, they will detain you.”

“I know.”

Yes, that was another matter he had become thoroughly acquainted with during the course of the evening.

“Anyway,” Rhea said with a tired smile. “It’s really late now. You should come inside and get some rest.”

“Sure. Let’s go then.”

Together they passed through the Sanctuary’s heavy wooden doors, leaving behind the cold night air and the distant sound echoing through the streets. As Viktor crossed the threshold, his eyes briefly lifted upward, taking in the small statue perched above the entrance.

A robed woman with calm and delicate features, her expression so serene it seemed untouched by fear or anger or any earthly burden known to the common man. Her head was slightly inclined forward, casting her merciful gaze upon any soul who sought refuge within these walls.

The Matriarch of the Emerald Order, of course.

Viktor had seen her likeness many times before throughout the continent, especially in the large and wealthy cities where the influence of the Order reached its greatest heights. There, the Sanctuaries rose like fortresses, all marble halls and soaring towers, built grand enough to shame even palaces of some lesser monarchs. And in those places, the depictions of their revered Mother were no less magnificent, enormous sculptures carved with impossible detail, elevated high above like a goddess descending from the heavens themselves.

Compared to such monumental works, this statue was painfully modest. Its surface was rough in places, the folds of the robe lacked refinement, and parts of the stone had already begun to weather from age. Yet, despite all that, it still carried that same quiet dignity that belonged to the holy woman who had founded the Order thousands of years ago.

Viktor regarded the figure for a second before continuing onward.

The Sanctuary’s interior opened before him in layers of dim light and stillness. High arches loomed overhead, supported by rows of worn stone pillars. At first glance, it resembled the main hall of a temple, possessing the same solemn spaciousness. But this was no place of worship. What dominated the air here was not the scent of incense offered to the divine, but the unmistakable smell of medicine.

Shelves lined the walls from end to end, crowded with folded bandages, ceramic jars, stitched linens, glass bottles, bundles of dried plants hanging upside down from the beams overhead. Bitter mixtures of crushed leaves, boiled roots, strong alcohol, medicinal oils, and countless other remedies lingered throughout the building, seeping so deeply into its very stone that the scent had become an inseparable part of it.

Several people lay asleep in the chamber. Hardly a surprise, considering that the Sanctuary did not turn away those in need, regardless of whether they came to seek healing or merely a roof for the night. The ones who had nowhere else to go inevitably found their way here after dark, and Tobias had never refused them shelter.

Against a pillar, a gaunt man sat upright with his eyes closed, while a little girl lay curled against his shoulder under a thin blanket. Near a far corner, an elderly woman shifted restlessly as someone’s persistent cough broke the silence at irregular intervals, each burst growing more ragged than the last.

Viktor let his gaze drift across the hall until he spotted Alycia lying near a shelf with her back turned toward him, her pigtails impossible to miss even in such poor lighting, spilling across the mattress like strands of gold that contrasted sharply against the building’s muted colors. It looked like she and Rhea were going to spend the night here, instead of going back to their house. Were they staying to watch over Claire, or were they unable to go out due to the curfew? Maybe both, he guessed.

“I’ll go inside,” he said. “You take a rest yourself.”

Rhea nodded in response, though she didn’t immediately leave his side. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, before she finally turned away and walked to where her friend had settled. Viktor then headed for a door at the back of the chamber.

Beyond it was the inner section of the building, the quieter, more secluded part of the Sanctuary. Tobias’s private quarters were back there, along with the rooms for patients in serious condition or people with special needs.

Crossing the threshold, Viktor stepped into a narrow corridor where arrays of wooden doors lined one side of the passage. He turned left, walked a few paces, and came to a halt before one particular door.

Claire’s room.

She was inside.

For a moment, he simply stood there, fingers hovering just above the doorknob.

Then, he withdrew his hand, and continued down the corridor toward the room at the far end instead. He knocked it.

“Jeanne,” he called. “Are you there?”

There was no response.

He wanted to hear her full account of what happened today, to ask her how exactly she had managed to get away from that bastard. But if she was already asleep, or if she still didn’t want to talk to other people, then there was nothing he could do. So, he walked away.

However, he had only taken three steps before the door behind gave a soft, reluctant creak.

He turned around, only to find it slightly ajar, a narrow gap that allowed a sliver of the room beyond to be seen. And in that opening, Jeanne’s face appeared, her gaze meeting his for the briefest instant before dropping immediately afterward. She said nothing.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

She hesitated, then gave a slow nod. Without saying anything further, she withdrew back into the room, leaving the door exactly as it was.

Does that mean she is inviting me to go in?

He shrugged to himself, then reached for the handle, pushed the door a little wider, and stepped inside.

The room was no different from the one Claire was occupying. Bare walls, a narrow bed, a thin blanket that had seen better decades. Jeanne was sitting on the edge of the mattress, shoulders hunched, hands resting in her lap, her gaze fixed on the floorboards.

Silence settled again.

Now it’s awkward.

He had come to ask her questions, but with her in this state, it was kind of hard to press her to speak about the incident that had caused it in the first place.

“Well, maybe another time,” he said at last, preparing to go out.

That was when Jeanne lifted her head. And, in the very next instant, her expression collapsed.

Her freckled face contorted, like a thin shell that gave way after holding back mounting pressure for far too long, and before he could even fully register what was happening, tears had already welled up in her eyes and spilled over, streaming down her cheeks. Her breath hitched in her throat as she began to sob uncontrollably.

“I am so sorry...” She choked out between ragged gasps, her voice cracking under the strain. “It’s my fault... Everything is my fault... Because of me, Claire is like that...”

Her words fell apart, dissolving into incoherent fragments swallowed by sobs that she could no longer contain, her shoulders shaking as she bent forward.

Now it’s even more awkward.

Viktor glanced at the door. Nope, too late for that now.

He exhaled slowly. What am I supposed to do now?

Should he... comfort her?

But.

Wasn’t he supposed to be the one who needed comforting by other people, not the other way around? After all, he was the primary victim’s younger brother. Technically, anyway. Yes, strictly technically. Still, that was how everyone viewed the situation, and why Rhea and Alycia had come to check on him. Jeanne, on the other hand, had gone entirely off script.

Well...

A change of pace didn’t hurt.

So he stepped closer, wrapped his arms around Jeanne, and pulled her into an embrace. She stiffened for half a heartbeat, then collapsed into him. She buried her face in his chest, fingers clutching at his clothes as her sobs shook through her.

“It’s not your fault,” Viktor said, patting her back. “The only one to blame is that bastard.”

“We... we were just walking... and then...” Jeanne said in a muffled voice as she clung to him even harder. “Why... why did he do this?”

Viktor remained still.

Why, huh?

A long time ago, when he stood frozen before his burning house, he had asked something very much like it. And, eventually, he had gotten his answer.

This world was full of evil bastards, that was why.

There were great men with their great ambitions, who carelessly tossed out orders without concern for how those orders would ripple through lives they would never see. There were small men with their small selfishness, who happily abused the borrowed authority for their own gratification, indulging in cruelty wherever they could.

So, one might ask: what can be done about it? How could you defend themselves against those evil men?

Well, the answer was that you had asked the wrong questions. The moment you used the word “evil,” you had already lost.

Because you got screwed over not because the other side was evil; you were screwed over because you were weak.

In this world, there were stories where good overcame evil, and stories where evil prevailed over good. However, you would only hear about the strong oppressing the weak. The opposite never happened.

Which meant, that was the ultimate truth. The distinction between strong and weak was the only one that mattered; everything else was mere labels without substance.

And once you had accepted that, the conclusion became painfully clear.

You must get stronger.

Be more ambitious than anyone else.

Be more selfish than everyone else.

Do whatever it takes to become the one at the top.

Because only power—absolute power—could make sure that no one would ever fuck with you again.

===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== =====

Book 2 of A Dungeon That Kills now available on Amazon Kindle.

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Chapter 175: But It Is Not Today

Above the street, above the torchlight, above the broken silhouettes of the slums, Viktor hovered.

Down there, the Iskora men continued their lazy patrol through the narrow street. Their torches trembled with their every idle shift, casting shaky light across fractured stone and moss-darkened walls.

There were five of them. Light armor. Dull-edged weapons. Clearly, they did not expect any trouble. They were confident their presence alone was enough to deter anything that might occur.

One of them spat into the dirt as they passed a collapsed building. Another adjusted his torch with a curse when a few stray embers drifted onto his hand. A man peered down a side alley and muttered something about “keeping the scum in line.”

None of them looked up. There was no reason to.

They remained oblivious to the fact that someone was right above their heads, watching them, weighing his options.

Actually, no.

There were no options to weigh.

Viktor had already decided his course of action.

There were days when he made careful plans, considering every scenario before he acted, days when he refused to do anything reckless, addressing every potential risk and taking every possible outcome into his calculations. But it was not today.

There were days when he was perfectly calm and not easily provoked, when he would never stoop so low as to take revenge on some petty thug over a cheap insult. But it was not this day.

Today, he dropped from the sky.

In an instant, he was before them.

The group froze. Their minds must have scrambled to bridge the gap between an empty street and a shadowy creature suddenly hovering in front of them, and come up with nothing that made sense.

Viktor let his gaze pass over their shocked faces with mild boredom, until it settled on the man in the centre—the one with the scar.

He raised both hands, and air surged at his command. Two concussive blasts of wind exploded outward, one for the two on the left, one for the two on the right. And while those men were still coming to terms with their newfound airborne regret, he was already moving. A glide forward, and he was on the scarred one. He took him by the collar, lifted him off his feet, and dragged him up to the sky.

The bastard screamed.

A raw, loud, and ugly sound that might have woken up half the slums already.

Yes, this was reckless. The Iskora adventurers would be alarmed by this. More guards would come. Mages, too. Maybe even someone like Zubayr or Spiky Head. He could end up in a completely unnecessary fight, and without any prior preparation. Tomorrow, he might regret what he was doing at the moment.

But tonight, he just couldn’t care less.

The screaming pig dangled helplessly in his grip as he ascended higher and higher. Then, once he had reached a high enough altitude, he turned and flew west. Daelin shrank behind him, slowly fading into a distant glow on the horizon, and he found himself being surrounded by a black, endless sea of woods.

“Do try to be quiet,” he told his captive. “Or I’ll throw you down.”

He didn’t bother using a Thauma to alter his voice. After all, what was the point? Why hide his identity from someone who was already a dead man walking—no, dead man hanging in midair?

The thug swallowed hard. And, sensibly, he shut up.

“I have a few questions for you. Speak the truth, for your own sake.”

“I... I’ll tell you everything... Anything you want to know... Just, please, let me go after—”

“Silence, please. Don’t say anything that is not related to what I ask. Do you understand?”

“...Yes.”

“Good. Now, first question. You know what happened on the west side this afternoon, right? The assault on an employee of the Adventurer’s Guild, in broad daylight, in the middle of the street?”

“Yes... yes... All of us have heard. And... we were quite surprised when learning about—”

“Who did it?”

“Xander,” the man said at once. “It was Xander.”

Viktor frowned. Spiky Head?

“You mean Xander the Mithril-ranked adventurer?”

“Yes, it’s him.”

“Why? Why did he do it? Why did he assault her?”

Was it because that man had somehow figured out his true identity and come for his supposed older sister? No, that didn’t make sense. If he had been exposed, they should have attacked him directly. The correct course of action should have been setting up an ambush with both Mithril and the other masked man. Besides, Jeanne had said the bastard wanted to take her away, and Claire was only attacked because she tried to protect her friend.

“I... I don’t know,” the scarred man replied. “But... he’s always been a violent man. We’re all afraid of him. We’re all keeping our distance. Because we’ve heard rumors. Stories about people who were beaten to death over nothing at all. So maybe she said something, or did something, that pissed him off.”

Viktor nodded. That much aligned with what he already knew of the brute.

“She and her friend were walking down the street, minding their own business,” he said. “It was he who came to stop them.”

“Then... I don’t know. Maybe... maybe he took a liking to their looks, so he wanted to try something?”

Ugh.

Well, the bastard did attempt to take Jeanne away. Still, was that really the reason, or was there anything else?

She was a pyromancer, after all, so she was one of their targets. But wasn’t abducting the fire mages supposed to be the masked men’s job? And, if that had been the intent, shouldn’t he have been more discreet? In the end, he made a mess of it, and failed to capture her anyway.

“Where is Xander now?”

“I don’t know. I think he’s already left Daelin. Maybe even gone back to Iskora.”

That, unfortunately, was plausible. With the Reliquaries that man possessed, distance wasn’t much of a problem. He could be anywhere in the world at the moment. Trying to pursue him would be a fool’s errand. A better plan would be to find a way to lure him back here. Well, the “dark spirit” suddenly appearing in town and attacking a patrol would certainly attract a lot of attention.

“Have you... have you finished with your questions?” the scarred man asked. “Can you let me go? You’ll let me go, right?”

“I did say I would not throw you down,” Viktor said.

So, true to his word, he threw him upward instead. Sure, the man would still come down in the end, but that was just the law of nature. If he had any grievance with that particular outcome, he should file a complaint with whichever god had written that law. Viktor had nothing to do with it.

And so he turned away from the collapsing arc of the scarred man’s descent, and drifted back toward Daelin at an unhurried pace. The wind took him east, carrying the echo of the scream behind him like an afterthought.

[Are you going to kill Xander, Master?]

“Yes,” Viktor said. “He was already a dangerous variable even before this incident, and his affiliation with the Children of the Abyss means he is our enemy by default. And now, he’s proven himself to be an unstable and unpredictable factor that could disrupt even the most carefully constructed plan. He is a mad dog, plain and simple. And a mad dog needs to be put down. Therefore, eliminating him will be our top priority before we proceed with anything else.”

[Is that... the reason, Master?]

Viktor frowned. “Of course that’s the reason. What else could it be?”

[...Very well. I will do my best to assist you in this matter.]

“Good. But we will not act rashly. He’s still a powerful opponent, and he’s not alone. He has a large, ancient organization to back him up. I’m not going to challenge him without proper preparation,” Viktor said.

What he had done with the scarred man, what he had just allowed himself to do, was undoubtedly a mistake, one that could lead to many consequences he couldn’t foresee. Well, what was done was done. There was no point in dwelling on it. Still, it did not mean he should do it again.

Come to think of it, this wasn’t the first time he had let emotion cloud his judgment. For example, when he ordered the entire royal family of Lyndor impaled in public. That one decision had so many lasting consequences that plagued his reign for years to come. Of course, he didn’t regret it. If he were given the chance, he would happily do the same thing again. Nevertheless, he wished he had taken more time to consider what would follow, and to properly prepare for it before the act. If he had done that, much of the later trouble could have been avoided.

So, yes. Planning was important.

Also, he shouldn’t keep everything to himself. He needed to talk it through with Celeste, with his Guardians, and perhaps even with his new “friend,” the Eternal Flame, before finally making his move.

“Do you have anything to add regarding the current situation?” Viktor asked.

[Well, yes. There is one thing that I found a bit strange about the account of what happened today.]

“What is it?”

[How, exactly, did Jeanne manage to escape?]

Viktor stopped.

That was... a very good question.

The story, as it had been told to him, began with Xander stopping Claire and Jeanne in the street, then escalated into the brute assaulting Claire when she stepped in for her friend. And it ended with Jeanne carrying the unconscious Claire to the Sanctuary to seek help.

But then, what happened in the middle?

In a situation like that, a clean disengagement was simply impossible. There was just no way Xander would have allowed Jeanne to leave. He would not have stopped on his own. And he was a Mithril, not some low-ranking adventurer she could realistically force to back down.

So... how did she manage to get away?

And, more importantly, why didn’t he realize at once such an obvious contradiction the moment he heard it?

He had done so many things that were uncharacteristic of him today. And he didn’t like that.

Viktor sighed.

“Let’s go back to the Sanctuary,” he said. “We’ll see if she’s ready to tell us the full story now.”

===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== ===== =====

Book 2 of A Dungeon That Kills now available on Amazon Kindle.

Feel free to check it out!