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Chapter 170: Disposable

The masked men fell back, withdrawing beyond the boundary of the courtyard. Then, when they believed they were far enough away, they immediately resumed their attacks with renewed enthusiasm. So once again, the air was filled with the sharp, violent hum of energy as they hurled their neat little spheres of white-blue light, one after another, crackling prettily as they smashed against the coiling bulk of the serpent and achieved precisely nothing of note.

Viktor chuckled. Did these guys not see that every projectile they launched had dispersed into the liquid before vanishing without effect? Did they truly believe if they threw enough lightning, the snake would eventually drop dead somehow? Perhaps that was the only trick they had up their sleeves. Or perhaps they were just being desperate, and desperate men kept swinging even when the fight was already over.

Nevertheless, their retreat did introduce a mild inconvenience.

They had bought themselves some distance, and closing with them would require him to send the serpent out, which could compromise his protection, leaving him exposed to the incoming barrage.

Still, he wasn’t unprepared. He had already anticipated the possibility his enemies would scatter, so the construct he had shaped was never intended to function as a purely close-range predator. No, it had been designed, from the very beginning, with the ability to project force at a distance, extending its threat beyond the immediate radius of its undulating mass.

The serpent reared its head, its liquid form rippling as if it were gathering breath, before its maw yawned open, wide enough to swallow a man whole, and from that gaping aperture, a sphere of water was expelled with sudden force. The projectile tore through the air in a glistening arc, its surface catching and bending the pale light of the moon into warped reflections as it sped toward its target.

It struck a man at precisely the moment his ball of lightning was reaching its final stage of formation.

The globe of water burst upon impact, soaking through the man’s robes in an instant, seeping into every fold of fabric, drenching his entire body. At the same time, the sphere of white-blue energy in his hand collapsed inward, its structure unraveling as the power within it surged erratically. Thin tendrils of light spilled from the shrinking core, crawling along his arm like living veins before plunging eagerly into the water that clung to him.

The man’s body snapped rigid, his spine arching backward so hard Viktor swore he could hear the sound of bones grinding against one another from across the courtyard. The man then crumpled, collapsing to the ground in a convulsing heap as his limbs thrashed against the stone. His mask slipped free, revealing a face utterly stripped of composure, eyes wide and bloodshot, mouth stretched open in a scream that never came.

And I can also do this, Viktor thought with amusement as he reached out a hand, fingers hovering just above the skin of the water looping around him, careful not to make direct contact with it.

He activated the power of his bracelet, and an ice core was formed inside the serpent. Then, it moved along the length of the construct’s sinuous body, until it reached the foremost section of it.

The serpent opened its maw once more, widening its liquid jaws to spit out another sphere of water, identical in shape to the previous one. However, its function was anything but, as it was now an “Iceheart Orb” in every sense of the term.

The projectile struck a man squarely in the chest. In an instant, the frozen core drove its influence outward, and ice spread in an unstoppable tide, swallowing his torso whole.

Viktor detonated it.

The man’s chest cavity burst open, blooming like a flower of flesh. His spine, now exposed to the open air as everything before it had been peeled away, remained intact for a few miraculous seconds. Then, the weight of his still-intact head and shoulders and arms had proved too much for that column of bone. The vertebrae separated with a sound like kindling being snapped over a knee, and the upper body toppled backward, landing with a wet, final slap. The man’s legs and pelvis, meanwhile, remained standing.

The other masked men gave no reaction to their fallen comrade. There was no hesitation, no change in their tactics, only the relentless continuation of their assault. So sphere after sphere of crackling energy kept flying, ramming uselessly against the serpent’s mass. The battle continued, though it had become less a fight and more a slow massacre.

This is... strange.

When Viktor saw them corner the bald man and bring him down, he had assumed they had at least a baseline level of competence. But now, they kept doing the same thing, over and over, even though it was obviously never going to work, all the while getting picked off one by one in the process. Besides, even if they were indeed stupid, they should at least have some instinct for self-preservation. There was no unit that could continue to fight until every single member was killed. After a certain threshold of casualties, it would either retreat in an organized manner or collapse into a chaotic rout. But these men did neither.

What if... for some reason, they were incapable of thinking for themselves?

And what they were doing was merely executing a sequence of instructions, where even the slightest deviation was not permitted?

They had a plan and they followed it to the letter. As long as events unfolded according to that plan, all was well and good. But the moment an unforeseen variable entered the equation, everything fell apart immediately. They were unable to adapt, so they couldn’t respond in any meaningful way.

Viktor kept count of his opponents, and when the number dwindled to three, he sent his serpent forward, while he lifted himself into the air using the power of his wind gems. With so few enemies left, the construct’s protection was no longer necessary.

The serpent responded with brutal efficiency, its massive body uncoiling as it swept across the broken ground. Its tail lashed out in a crushing arc that struck one poor bastard and hurled him bodily through the air, while its head lunged toward another, jaws opening wide before snapping shut, dragging him into its fluid. Viktor, meanwhile, dropped from above, halting before the last man standing.

Predictably, the man hurled a ball of lightning straight at him. He casually drifted aside, then answered with a wind blast that picked his opponent off his feet and sent him crashing into a nearby wall. Of course, he had restrained the output of his gem, so that he didn’t accidentally kill this masked man.

Then, he activated another Thauma—“Change Voice.”

Just as its name suggested, it altered the sound coming out of his mouth, rendering it unrecognizable. It could not reshape his voice into anything he wished, though, which meant he couldn’t mimic other people. Instead, it could only modulate his own, making it sound older or younger, more masculine or more feminine. Still, that was good enough. As long as it gave him the voice of an adult man, his identity would be kept hidden. This way, he wouldn’t repeat the same mistake he had made when dealing with Dimitria.

“Surrender,” Viktor said in a deep, resonant tone. “Or die.”

Yet even as he spoke those words, he found himself questioning the necessity of the effort. Given the behavior of the masked men so far, he wondered if this guy was capable of making that choice at all.

The man lay still where he had fallen, showing no reaction at all. Perhaps the earlier strike was too forceful, and the impact had knocked him unconscious. Viktor wanted to check, but of course, he was not going to get close to confirm it himself.

Instead, he called his serpent. The construct obeyed at once, flowing toward the masked man. It lowered itself and gave him a gentle nudge, as gentle as a colossal liquid snake could manage, and the body rolled to the side, still utterly motionless.

The mask slipped free, revealing a face that was unnaturally pale, drained of color as though something had sucked out all vitality from this body. Under the skin, dark veins spread in branching lines, webbing across his cheeks and crawling down his neck. A black fluid oozed from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth, while his eyes were wide open, staring blankly into the air.

Is he... dead?

Whatever state this guy was in, it was definitely not caused by the wind blast. There was just no way the attack could produce these kinds of symptoms. Much more likely, he had been poisoned.

But how?

Don’t tell me he killed himself the moment he realized there was no way out.

This was... madness.

These masked men were truly disposable in the most literal sense of the word.

Viktor let out a dry chuckle.

All of his carefully chosen decisions had turned out to be completely unnecessary. He had joined the battle because he believed he could capture one alive for interrogation. He had presented himself as bait because he believed these men would not remain here while being slaughtered otherwise. And he hadn’t brought his blade of light because he feared someone might escape and tell the others what they had seen. All of those choices had been made under the assumption that his enemies would behave like reasonable human beings. But they were anything but.

Oh, well. Whatever.

There was still Ekon, a possible source of useful information.

So he turned and drifted back toward the courtyard. Behind him, the serpent began to lose its cohesion, its massive body breaking apart into rushing sheets of water that crashed to the ground.

The bald man was still there, chest rising and falling in uneven intervals. When he saw Viktor’s approach, his eyes shifted upward with visible effort. His mouth opened as though he wanted to say something, but there was no sound coming out except a strained breath that dissolved into silence.

I want to ask him questions, but it seems he’s not in any condition to answer them.

Wait.

He was Mandragora’s friend, so he should have some healing potions with him. It didn’t look like there were any on him at the moment, though, so perhaps they were still at his temporary base inside the keep.

So Viktor left the fallen man behind, drifting toward his old castle.

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Chapter 169: Water Serpent

Viktor descended toward the courtyard below.

He had been momentarily caught off guard when he saw Ekon and the masked men inside the ruins of what had once been his home, but it didn’t take long for him to figure out what was going on.

The bald man, just like the other pyromancers in Daelin, was being hunted by Khalid’s men, so naturally, he needed a place to hide. And he had chosen to seek refuge here, the one place most would hesitate to tread. A sensible decision, indeed. Unfortunately, even this castle couldn’t shield him forever. In the end, his pursuers had found him regardless.

Which meant, of course, that the robed and masked figures below were the very ones responsible for the recent vanishings. Also, Dimitria had once mentioned the hooded men clad in black, operatives who answered directly to Zubayr, entrusted with some important task that even she was not privy to. These were them, then.

When Viktor saw Ekon go down, he had considered several options he could take.

The simplest choice was to do nothing. He would remain where he was, and allow events to unfold without interference. The masked men would drag their victim back to wherever they had set up their base of operations. And he would follow, to find out where that stronghold was.

But he had dismissed that idea.

There were other ways to extract that information. Capturing one of them alive for questioning, for example, was a viable alternative. On the other hand, the opportunity to strike so many at once, while their attention was on someone else, did not come often. These guys were also his enemies, so there was little reason to hold back.

Thus, he launched his surprise attack.

He created an “Iceheart Orb,” and threw it down. The sphere hit the towering wall of water with a muted, almost anticlimactic impact, yet from that single point, ice erupted outward in branching veins, spreading rapidly across the shimmering surface in a web of creeping frost. Then, he shattered it. The frozen section exploded in a storm of shrapnel, tearing through the clustered men, shredding cloth and flesh in equal measure.

Then came the question: what was he going to do next?

Of course, he could just remain hidden in the sky. There was a moon tonight, yes, unlike when he attacked the outpost, but at sufficient altitude his dark veil would still conceal him well enough. From up here, he would be safe and out of reach, while being able to rain down death and destruction upon his enemies at his leisure.

There was a problem with that approach, however. He doubted these masked men would be obedient targets, standing still in the open to be murdered by an unseen enemy. Once they understood the nature of the threat, they would disperse or retreat. And hunting them down one by one would be an extremely tedious endeavor.

No, he needed them to stay put, gathered in this courtyard. And in order to do that, he needed bait. Himself, of course. By giving them a chance to fight back, by allowing them to believe victory was possible, he would lead them into doing exactly what he wanted. Come to think of it, running a dungeon worked on pretty much the same principle.

That was why he came down, allowing himself to be seen.

And the response was immediate.

A dozen crackling spheres of lightning tore through the sky, all of them hungry for his silhouette. He triggered his wind gems as he twisted midair, weaving through the incoming barrage.

Careful now. Being the bait was fine, actually getting hit was not. If even one of these blue-white globes managed to touch him, he would be sent crashing down, helpless on the ground like that Ekon over there.

He glided above the courtyard in widening arcs, evading the projectiles that now followed him with increasing intensity. What exactly were these things, though? They were not magic obviously, since there were no mages capable of manipulating lightning. So, Reliquaries? But didn’t that mean every single one of these guys had Reliquaries in their possession, and all of those Reliquaries functioned the exact same way? How the hell did that work? Or perhaps, it was a Reliquary that could create additional magical artifacts, similar to the Mourning Woman that produced the fire and wind gems he was using right now.

Well, he could continue his analysis later; now he had to deal with these attacks first. He could keep it up for the time being, but there were too many. It was just a matter of time before someone scored a lucky hit. He needed something to shield himself.

No, that was not enough.

He needed something that could both defend and strike back. Something that could act on its own, without requiring his constant attention. And he already had exactly that at his disposal. After all, he now possessed three Sigils of Animating, acquired through his analysis of Lahmia’s phoenix of sand, which meant he could recreate the magical construct. Of course, it didn’t have to be a bird, and it didn’t have to be made of sand either.

He activated “Water Serpent.”

It was a Thauma crafted from four Sigils of Controlling, one Sigil of Fortifying, three Sigils of Animating, and six Sigils of Maintaining. He had modified the original recipe a bit, and the resulting creation would be less responsive and less resilient, but it would last longer. And, just like the original spell that inspired it, this Thauma didn’t have any Sigils of Making, which meant it was useless unless there was a large amount of water available nearby. That, however, was a requirement that had already been satisfied.

After his earlier strike with the “Iceheart Orb,” the masked men had collapsed their wall of water. After all, with Ekon already incapacitated, that barrier was no longer necessary, while it could even become a liability if subjected to further freezing attacks. Still, even though they had brought the structure down, they had not unmade the water itself, so it simply flowed away, dispersing outward along the broken stone and into the surrounding grounds. Now, as Viktor activated his Thauma, that same water was coming back.

It reversed its earlier retreat, streaming back toward the courtyard in converging currents that curved around debris and spilled over uneven ground, threading itself through the gaps between the masked men. From those scattered streams, it gathered into a single, swelling sphere, trembling with barely contained motion.

For a moment, it held. Then, it began to take shape.

The mass of water elongated, stretched, and twisted, its surface folding inward and outward in rippling layers. A head forced its way free, then a body followed, coiling upward in a slow spiral, as thick as a man is tall and long enough to wrap around the entire courtyard.

A great serpent, wrought entirely of water, had been born.

And it’ll die after twelve minutes, Viktor thought. Well yes, that was how long he could sustain a construct of this magnitude with his current level.

It was also not cheap; this snake had cost him twenty Focus to bring to life. And before that, five had gone into the “Dark Veil,” and another three into the “Iceheart Orb.” Which meant, he was down to thirty Focus left. Nearly half of his reserve was already gone. That was the problem with fighting when he was still low-level: he had to constantly monitor his resources, making sure he wouldn’t run dry when it mattered the most.

Things would be much easier if he had the blade of light with him, as its unparalleled attack power would have tilted the battle heavily in his favor. And it wasn’t as if he couldn’t retrieve it. He could simply ask Celeste to bring him into the dungeon, grab the thing, then teleport back here.

But he had ruled that out.

That sword was meant to deal with Spiky Head, so he wanted to keep it a secret, saving it for that confrontation. After all, there was no guarantee he could kill everyone here. One of them might escape and tell the others about what happened in this place. So he had to make do with his gems and his Thauma. And his big-ass snake, of course. He was going to use it to the fullest, making every single second of its life count.

Viktor descended even further, his actual leg now only a pace above the broken stone of the courtyard. More balls of lightning screamed toward him in rapid succession, but this time he didn’t bother to dodge.

Yes, he didn’t have to do anything at all, as the serpent would handle them in his instead. It coiled around him in a layered spiral that formed a barrier blocking the barrage. The crackling spheres of white-blue energy struck the shimmering body, each impact fracturing through the water in jagged flashes of light. That wouldn’t harm the snake, of course, but he himself had to be careful. He must not make direct contact with the surrounding watery surface, unless he wanted to end up like Ekon.

The serpent continued to move.

It slithered through the courtyard, its body looping and undulating around debris and fractured pillars, while simultaneously ensuring that at least one section of its length remained coiled in a protective ring around its master.

Its tail suddenly lashed outward, catching three men in a single brutal sweep. Mass of water slammed into meat, and the three bodies were sent flying backward through the air before they crashed into a broken wall. The structure fractured on impact, chunks breaking loose and raining down. The men lay still under the rubble, not getting up anymore.

Meanwhile, the serpent’s head continued its relentless motion through the battlefield as it chased down the men who frantically ran away from it. One lagged behind, and the serpent caught up. Its maw yawned wide, then snapped shut around the masked man. It swallowed, dragging him down its watery throat.

Of course, this was not a real, living creature, so it was not like the guy was going to be digested or anything. Still, being trapped inside a prison of water was hardly good for anyone’s health. Through the serpent’s transparent body, Viktor, as well as everyone else present, could clearly see the man’s final, desperate struggle. Bubbles leaked from his mouth and nose as he kicked and thrashed. His eyes bulged as his body jerked and spasmed. Soon, he would stop moving, and the serpent would spit him out.

So far, so good, Viktor thought, watching with satisfaction from within the protective barrier maintained by his snake. Now, let’s see if these guys still have any tricks up their sleeves.

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Interlude: Fugitive

Ekon threw himself forward, his body cutting through the stale air of the ruined hall just as a crackling sphere of white-blue energy screamed through the space his torso had occupied a heartbeat before, detonating against the wall behind in a violent shower of sparks.

As the momentum of his evasion carried him into a tumbling roll, he lifted his gaze just enough to steal a glance at the aggressor. A masked man stood twenty paces away by a shattered pillar, hand raising as he conjured another ball of lightning above his palm.

A different pyromancer would have taken the opportunity to hurl a fireball at his opponent, but Ekon knew better. The man before him was not an ordinary adversary, but someone who had made a profession out of hunting his kind. Surely he must have accounted for such a straightforward, obvious counterattack.

So instead of giving the enemy what he had expected, Ekon closed his hand around the handle of the coiled whip at his belt and snapped it free in one fluid motion. The whip unfurled with a hiss that echoed off the broken walls, arcing through the air toward the masked man. At the same time, he murmured an incantation, and a thin line of fire sparked to life just above his grip, carefully controlled so it didn’t touch his own skin. The flame surged outward in a rushing wave—a ravenous, serpentine tongue of orange racing along the braided length of the leather, until it reached the very tip in a blazing flare.

The masked man tried to dodge, but he was not fast enough. The fiery whip struck him square in the chest with an explosive burst of heat, and the flames clung to him immediately. They climbed and they spread, until they swallowed him whole.

This was precisely why Ekon had opted for this weapon, despite knowing it was not the most efficient way for a pyromancer to fight. After all, it was unconventional. Most people were unprepared for it and thus unable to react in time.

A raw, agonized scream tore from the man’s throat, but Ekon had already turned away from the gruesome spectacle. Another incantation under his breath, and the flames that licked his whip guttered and died out. He snapped it back, coiled it, and broke into a run. His enemies were everywhere in this crumbling castle, and given the way that scream ripped through the air like a flare in the dark, it was almost guaranteed that every single one of them was now converging on this exact location. He needed to get out of here, and fast.

Damn it.

How had it come to this?

It all started with that woman’s warning about the Valiant Bank and its hired blades. Despite his distrust of her, Ekon was not foolish enough to dismiss it outright. Instead, he had kept a careful watch on those adventurers since the day they appeared in Daelin, studying them from a distance. He even turned to Mandra and Renee for help, and though he offered them little in the way of a concrete explanation, they had agreed to help him anyway.

Then, the outpost was destroyed by a shadow monster.

Then, men from Iskora marched into town.

And then, the pyromancers started disappearing.

At that moment, he knew. That whoever they were, they would come for him eventually. So he began preparing in earnest, sharpening his vigilance, and he watched every corner, every shadow, every unfamiliar face with heightened suspicion.

That was why he managed to make it through the first ambush in one piece.

After the battle, he sent word to Mandra through one of her birds. Immediately, she and Renee flew to his location, and he told them about the plot targeting the pyromancers, which he suspected was orchestrated by those men from Iskora.

Mandra, after hearing it, had suggested they leave Daelin at once. And honestly, he should have listened to her.

But Anastrasza said no.

She wanted him to stay, despite the danger. She told him to hide at the ruins of the Dark Emperor’s old castle, assuring him that his pursuers would never dare go there. Of course he wasn’t convinced. But then, she said that if he did as he was told, it would put an end to the debt.

He still owed her a favor for helping his party escape the dungeon, and he was obliged to find the Dungeon Master in return. Now she offered a different way to settle it. So, reluctantly, he had agreed.

Needless to say, both Mandra and Renee were puzzled by his decision. Still, they chose to support him. Thus, for weeks, he stayed hidden here while they sent him supplies. Not in person of course, as it was too dangerous, but through one of Mandra’s familiars.

Time passed without incident, and slowly, he allowed himself to believe that perhaps things might work out in the end.

Clearly, he was wrong.

Now what?

When he peered out through a cracked window earlier, he had counted at least a dozen moving silhouettes. Those masked men had come in full force, adamant on capturing him at any cost.

The best outcome he could hope for in this situation was that he could somehow slip past them, flee the castle, and disappear into the forest. But that was nothing more than wishful thinking. They must have already anticipated it, and taken measures to ensure it would never happen.

So... did he have to fight them? Did he even have any chance at all?

Well, it was not like he had a choice.

Now, if fighting was something he had to do, then perhaps staying within these abandoned halls was the better option. The castle was practically a labyrinth of collapsed corridors, caved-in stairwells, and rooms that connected through broken gaps. The masked men would need to spread out to look for him, which meant their advantage in numbers would be diminished. Also, they were probably unfamiliar with the place, while he had been living here for several weeks. So, in theory at least, the terrain was on his side.

Suddenly, he heard something.

A rumble that rolled through the castle. It was low and distant at first, and then it grew.

Louder.

Heavier.

Closer.

What the hell is that?

The answer to his question came crashing into view a moment later.

Ahead, from a side passage, water burst forth, smashing the opposite wall with a wet slap before rolling outward in a fast, relentless wave that began to fill the entire corridor.

Ekon spun on his heel. He retraced his steps without hesitation, his boots slamming against the stone as he made for the intersection he had passed only minutes ago. But when he reached it, he found another torrent already waiting. It erupted from an archway like the castle itself had opened a vein, old masonry groaning under the sudden weight.

He cut right, down a narrow stairwell that spiraled into deeper darkness. The water followed, a hungry serpent slobbering down the steps behind him. He could no longer hear anything clearly, not even his own footsteps, as the roar of the flood had swallowed everything. The whole world had been reduced to just him against the water, and the water was winning.

He burst through a doorway at the bottom of the stairs, only to find another wall of water bearing down from the opposite direction. He skidded to a halt, frantically snapping his eyes across the space.

There, a narrow fissure in the stonework. Barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through sideways.

Ekon threw himself at the gap, scraping his shoulder raw against the rough stone as he forced his way through. Behind him, the two roaring waves crashed into each other, and for a fraction of a second, the entire structure seemed to tremble under the impact.

Emerging into another passage, he started running again immediately. His lungs could burn, his muscles could scream, but neither could kill him half so quick as the relentless rumble that closed in behind. So he ran, and ran, and ran. Until the corridor spat him out into a strip of pale, moon-silvered light.

A courtyard.

He was outside now.

It was a wide and circular space, open to the moonlit sky. The walls of the ruined keep rose around it like a broken crown, its jagged teeth dulled by layers of thick, climbing ivy.

For a moment there was only silence; the next came the footsteps. From the shadowed archways that ringed the courtyard, dark figures emerged.

Robed. Masked. Numerous.

Of course.

Ekon let out a low, humorless chuckle.

These men had not been stupidly bumbling in the dark to find him in those halls. Instead, after confirming that he was indeed inside, they had immediately withdrawn and used the water to flush him out. And he had been herded here, right into their trap.

But he was not going to wait for them to settle into position. He struck first.

The whip sprang to life in his grip, a blazing arc of orange that cut through the moonlit courtyard with a shriek of air seared by heat, streaking toward the nearest enemy.

The man didn’t flinch.

Because before the fiery whip could reach him, water surged forth from the black maw of the keep, folding itself into a barrier that stood between Ekon and his target. The whip struck it with a savage hiss, like a hot blade thrust into fresh snow. Steam exploded outward in a scalding cloud, and the flames were extinguished almost instantly. The leather went dark and sodden, its braided length slapping uselessly against the watery surface before falling limp onto the ground.

Damn it.

This was a pyromancer’s worst nightmare. It didn’t matter how he fought, clever or not, fire was not going to win here.

More and more water followed, pouring from the shattered entrances and fractured walls in steady, unstoppable streams, spreading along the edges of the courtyard. Then it rose, climbing higher and higher. A ring, a wall, a cage. And he stood at the center of it.

“Surrender.”

They all spoke at once. The voices aligned so perfectly that no single one could be distinguished from the others, merging instead into a hollow resonance that scraped at his nerves worse than any angry scream. It was as though the bodies surrounding him were not individuals, but merely different vessels of the same entity.

From his palm, flame was born and hurled forward. It struck the wall of water head-on, bursting in a brief, defiant flash before being erased completely. Well, no surprise there. The act was merely to make a point.

“If you want me,” he yelled, “ then you’ll have to come and take me.”

Surrender? So that they could break him before finishing him off? No, thank you. He would rather die fighting.

The masked men lifted their hands, and the water answered.

Dozens of thick, roiling tendrils tore free from the watery barrier, each one as thick as a man’s arm, moving with a sinuous, predatory grace. And they all came at him from every direction.

He didn’t know what they would do if they caught him, but he had no desire to find out. He dove to evade one sweeping overhead. He rolled sideways as another smashed down. Still, there were too many. It was only a matter of time before he got hit.

As he ducked, twisted, stumbled through the relentless strikes, he occasionally stole a glance at his pursuers. Crackling spheres of lightning appeared in the masked men’s hands, before they were hurled into the shimmering curtain that stood between them and their prey. Each one detonated in a burst of brilliance, light fracturing and scattering through the liquid in a chaotic, flickering web.

What are they doing?

He got his answer the moment one tendril finally made contact. It merely brushed his hand, but that was enough.

Every muscle in his body clenched at once, hard enough to feel like his bones might crack under the strain. His jaw clamped shut, his spine arched violently, and his limbs jerked and thrashed in wild, uncontrollable spasms. He was flung backward as if he were nothing more than a puppet whose strings had been yanked without warning. He registered the impact when his body struck the ground, cold stone biting into his neck.

The light faded. The sound died.

He lay there, half-curled on his side, cheek pressed against the wet earth. His breath came in shallow, hitching gasps. He wanted to get up, but his body refused to obey.

So this is it, huh?

All that defiance, all that struggle, only to be brought down like this.

How has it come to this?

He had already asked himself that question, of course. And he also already knew the answer. He should have gotten out of here as soon as he could, just as Mandra had suggested, instead of letting that woman convince him to stay.

Come to think of it, why did Anastrasza insist he hide in this castle anyway? Was it only because she thought it was safe, or was there any other reason?

And then there was her silence.

Why was she so quiet this time? She didn’t say anything at all, not when the masked men came, not when he was flushed out of the keep, and not even now, with him on the ground lying broken. He had no intention of asking her for help himself, of course, but he couldn’t stop wondering why. Why didn’t she do anything, unlike when he was in the dungeon?

Was this... the outcome she had intended from the beginning?

But why? He had no illusion that she cared about him in the slightest, but he did believe her when she said she wouldn’t waste a pawn needlessly. So, how did letting these men take him benefit her in any way?

Wait.

Why did it take them so long to come for him? Were they really that cautious? Even now, after he had been reduced to this state, they were still unwilling to approach him?

Slowly, his blurry vision came back into focus in jagged fragments. The courtyard. The robed figures. The wall of water. And—

Ice?

Yes, ice. A portion of the shimmering barrier had been turned to ice, the frost spreading out rapidly in branching veins that crawled across its watery surface.

Then, it exploded .

The frozen section burst outward with a deafening crack that split the air, unleashing a storm of shrapnel that skewered half a dozen men nearby.

What... what is going on?

That was when he saw it.

High above, framed against the pale, indifferent face of the moon, a shape descended.

A humanoid creature made of shadow.

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Hi everyone,

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Chapter 168: A Normal Dinner

Viktor tore a hunk from his bread and dipped it into his bowl, watching the stew seep into the porous surface. Then, he lifted it to his mouth, his gaze lingering on the steam that curled upward as he bit into the piece.

“How is it?” Claire asked.

“Very good,” he said, closing his eyes as he chewed. “Almost as good as mine.”

Claire let out a soft breath that turned into a laugh. “Oh, listen to you. Since when did you get so full of yourself?”

Well, yes, the stew set before them, hot and rich and hearty, was one Claire made herself, the first dinner she had cooked in a good long while. As her workload at the Guild finally eased, she had begun to reclaim her old routine. She could now afford to start her workday later in the morning, which allowed her to prepare breakfast as she used to. She even went as far as to negotiate to go home early once or twice a week, all so she could spend more time with her brother. And it started today, with this dinner. Good thing there was no bacon involved.

“I’m thinking of cooking fish someday,” Claire said, stirring her bowl.

“I’ll catch one, then.”

“But... what if I mess it up? What if it turns out terrible?”

“Then I’ll catch another. The river is full of them.”

“You really are not afraid of that place, are you?”

“As I said, there’s nothing to fear about,” Viktor said with a shrug. “You could come along. See for yourself.”

Why am I inviting her? he thought the moment those words left his mouth. After all, this whole cozy sibling act was exactly that, an act. There was no real reason for him to engage in it beyond what was strictly required.

But it was fine, he guessed. It was not like she was going to follow him everywhere. A single fishing trip would hardly complicate things in any meaningful way.

There was one small problem, though. Something might actually happen when they were there. A monster jumping out of the water, for example. The chance was almost negligible, but it was not zero. He could defend himself easily, but that was when he was alone. If a witness were present, his options would be very limited. Maybe he would need to knock her unconscious, resolve the situation, then come up with a cover story afterward.

Still, manageable.

“Going with you, huh?” Claire said, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Sounds nice. It’s been a while since we last went out together to have fun. But if that’s the case, a fishing trip won’t cut it. Let’s go somewhere more memorable.”

“Such as?” Viktor asked.

Good luck finding a place like that around Daelin. It had nothing but trees, trees, and even more trees. Yes, that was pretty much the local highlight.

“How about... the ruins of the Dark Emperor’s old castle?”

Viktor frowned. Of all possible locations she could have chosen, she picked that?

“Why?”

“Is there anything else worth seeing around here?”

Fair point, but...

“I thought you were scared of the place?” Viktor asked.

“I’m also scared of the river. But you told me to go with you there anyway.”

“That’s different.”

“What’s different? You said the ruins were safe too, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but...”

“You’ve been there. Jeanne’s been there. Even Rhea’s been there. So I want to go as well, just to see what that place actually looks like.” Claire smiled. “I admit I still find it a bit frightening, but I believe I’ll be alright if I’m with you.”

Hey, you are the older sibling!

“What if we run into bandits,” Viktor asked, “like when I went there with Rhea?”

“After that incident, the Guild has placed a regular patrol request on the other side of the river. Few adventurers take it, as expected, but according to the ones who do, the bandit activity dropped sharply after the Iskora men arrived, and is almost nonexistent after that dark spirit thing burned the outpost.”

Viktor chuckled. Local superstition was easy to dismiss, until it was backed by real murder. The “a dark spirit did it” explanation was now widely accepted, and much more popular than the “the culprit is someone hired by Isadora or Rennald” theory.

“What if we run into that dark spirit, then?” he asked with an amused tone.

“Jeanne has been living there for weeks without issue. And nothing bad happened to you or Rhea either. So whatever that dark spirit is, perhaps it’s not hostile toward people from Daelin.”

Or maybe the dark spirit’s true identity was one of the three people she had just mentioned. Extremely far-fetched, of course, but who could say? This world was full of unbelievable things.

Anyway, bringing Claire to the castle was, in itself, not really a problem. It wasn’t particularly more complicated than a fishing trip, and he could handle it without any trouble. It was just that the timing had caught him off guard, with her mentioning the place right after his conversation with Lloyd yesterday.

And speaking of that guy...

“Do you want it just the two of us?” Viktor asked. “Or do you want Lloyd there as well?”

Claire arched a brow. “Why are you bringing him up?”

“Because he’s planning to go back there in two weeks. So if you don’t want him present, we’ll need to go... well, this weekend, I guess? On the other hand, if you don’t mind him, we can go later.”

“Let’s go this weekend then,” Claire said at once.

“Sure.”

They continued the meal at an unhurried pace, then washed the utensils together while talking about many trivial, mundane things. Through the open shutters, warm air drifted lazily into the room, carrying with it the damp, earthy scent of their small garden. It was, in every sense that mattered, a very ordinary evening.

After everything was finished, Viktor returned to his room. He lay down on his bed, gazing at the familiar ceiling.

My castle, huh?

The subject came back to his mind once he was alone.

Yesterday, he learned that Lloyd, of all people, was a blood relative of Celestia. And that he had been searching for her because of the will of Magnus, Celestia’s brother, which had been passed down from generation to generation for three centuries. In contrast, Viktor—her husband—had done nothing.

He had told himself there was nothing he could realistically do at the moment. He couldn’t leave Daelin, and he couldn’t abandon the dungeon. Besides, his enemies were everywhere; the world outside wasn’t safe for him. So, logically speaking, his top priority right now should be growing his dungeon and reclaiming his stolen power. Everything else could wait.

But that was not entirely true.

Actually, there was one small thing. A simple, easy thing that he could do anytime he wanted. He just chose not to do it.

It was about the secret tunnel under the castle.

Lloyd’s theory was that Celestia might have been trapped there and died alone in the dark. That was, of course, laughable. Completely ridiculous. After all, she was not actually alone. He had handed Brandt to her, so no matter what happened, she should have been able to carve a way out.

But.

If he truly believed that, if he was so certain, then why didn’t he just go to the castle, open the hidden door, and prove it to himself?

It would take almost no effort.

One simple action.

One simple confirmation.

Why hadn’t he done it?

Was it because there was nothing there to verify—

—or was it because he feared that theory might turn out to be correct?

What if he opened it, only to find her skeletal remains, proof she had indeed died alone, abandoned and forgotten for hundreds of years? What would he gain from that knowledge? Nothing, except the destruction of the one possibility he allowed himself to keep. That she had escaped, that she had lived. As long as the door remained closed, such an ending was still possible. Sometimes, uncertainty was preferable to the truth.

Sleep, he told himself.

Yes, sleep.

Sleep, and everything would be reduced to silence. Sleep, and the erratic threads of thought would dissolve into nothingness. Sleep, and by morning he would be restored to the version of himself that functioned cleanly, efficiently, without any distraction. Tomorrow, he would no longer carry this weight. Tomorrow, he would focus once again on the matters at hand. His dungeon, and his enemies.

He closed his eyes. He steadied his breath. He emptied his mind.

Yet, sleep did not come.

Viktor exhaled, sat up, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Let’s have a walk, he thought.

Yes, a walk. Sleep was not the only thing that could help him clear the head. A walk would do just as well. So he slipped out through the window and let the wind gems take him to the sky.

A breeze brushed against his skin, carrying with it the lingering warmth that had not yet fully surrendered to the night. It had been hotter earlier, but now the temperature had dropped into something more bearable.

[Master.]

Celeste, huh? Viktor asked, “What’s the matter?”

[Are you going to open the secret door in the throne room?]

...What?

How could she have arrived at that conclusion? Sure, she might have been listening to his conversations with Lloyd and with Claire, but he hadn’t done or said anything to suggest it. Had she somehow read his mind, or had she simply deduced his train of thought?

“I am not,” he replied.

[But you are flying toward your castle.]

“I’m taking a walk.”

[In the ruins?]

“Yes.”

Celeste didn’t say anything further. Had she accepted the explanation, or was she merely choosing not to press the issue?

Viktor left the town behind, crossed the river, and passed over the woods. Soon, the ruins rose in broken silhouette ahead of him. A full moon hung in the sky, casting enough light for him to make out the dark shapes below.

Suddenly—

He saw light. A sharp, brief flare in the dark.

Huh? What’s that?

It was inside the castle, perhaps in one of the courtyards.

As he neared, he saw another flare. A globe of orange that flew straight into something before being completely extinguished.

A fireball? There’s a pyromancer here?

The courtyard came into view. Circular, half-collapsed, framed by broken arches and the remains of what had once been grand stonework. At its boundary, there was a shimmer in the air, a transparent wall that bent and refracted moonlight in rippling distortions. Outside that barrier, many dark, robed figures stood in a loose formation. Inside it, there was one bald man.

A bald pyromancer who was being pursued by someone?

Was that... Ekon?

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Chapter 167: Those Who Kept Searching

“You...” Rhea said, eyes gone a little too wide. “You’re related to Princess Celestia? Are you... her descendant?”

“Of course not.” Lloyd laughed. “She didn’t have any known offspring. Her marriage to the Dark Emperor didn’t produce any children while he was still alive, and after that... well, he died. Sure, it’s possible she managed to escape the castle that night and then lived a quiet life somewhere. She might have even started a new family. But that’s something no one could ever know for certain.”

“You’re right.” Rhea nodded slowly. “So, how are you two related?”

“My line comes from her brother.”

“Magnus?” Viktor asked.

Lloyd smiled. “You do know stuff, Quinn. Yes, King Magnus, brother to Celestia. He is my ancestor.”

Which meant, technically, this guy could be a potential Key Holder. But then, the System didn’t give Viktor any warning when he first met him, unlike it had with Dagnar, so clearly he wasn’t.

Well, of course.

The current holder of that Key must be the reigning Queen of Brefjord. It was hard to imagine it could be anyone else. After all, it had been three centuries. Magnus’s descendants must number in the hundreds, so being one of them wasn’t all that special.

After Viktor ascended to the throne of Lyndor, he had come to understand that legitimacy wasn’t merely some empty rhetoric, but an actual currency of power. One did not simply become king by killing the previous one, and the other kings also had a say in the matter. Some severed diplomatic contact, others became openly hostile, and all of them, in their own ways, expressed the same sentiment: we don’t deal with usurpers.

Personally, Viktor couldn’t care less. If war was what they wanted, then war was what they were going to get. His friends, on the other hand, were far less enthusiastic about that particular policy direction. So they insisted that he play along with the game. In the end, he agreed with their proposed solution: a marriage with a foreign princess, which would give him the legitimacy he needed. Well, eventually the world was engulfed by war anyway, but at that point they didn’t know it yet and still tried to find a peaceful resolution.

Of course, finding a princess willing to wed him was no easy task. After all, what kind of king would want to marry off his daughter to some lowly adventurer who had just climbed to the throne over a mountain of corpses? Ultimately, there was only one kingdom that expressed interest in such an arrangement.

Brefjord.

A cold, distant country that clung to the northern edges of the world. A poor land, a hard land. Perhaps that was exactly why its ruler had even considered an alliance with him.

In hindsight, it had been the correct decision for Brefjord, at least for as long as Viktor remained alive. When the whole continent trembled as his armies rolled across kingdoms like a blade through soft meat, the North was untouched by war. And when the dust settled, Brefjord simply merged with the newly formed empire. It was now a kingdom within the imperial structure, yet retained all of its autonomy. Nothing really changed, except that the king was now a nominal vassal of his son-in-law.

Then, Viktor died.

And naturally, everything fell apart.

Brefjord, once enjoying a favored status thanks to its ties to the emperor, now found that same connection painted a rather inviting target on its back.

That was when one of the Heroes—her, yes her—had appeared before the king, Celestia’s father, and given him a proposal he could not refuse. First, he must abdicate, stepping aside in favor of his son, and second, the new king must marry her. What followed was a quiet coup, with poor Magnus gradually reduced to a figurehead, while all of the power was concentrated in the hands of his wife. From there, over generations, her descendants reigned in the North, each successive ruler inheriting not only the throne but also the Key she once held.

All of the history that extended beyond his own death was something Viktor had only recently learned from a certain Crocodilian with far too many books. Of course, the official accounts had framed that woman as someone merciful and benevolent, who intervened only to prevent unnecessary slaughter and preserve innocent lives. But Viktor knew better. It wasn’t hard for him to deduce what really happened behind the scenes.

“So,” Rhea said. “You’re actually royalty?”

“Technically yes,” Lloyd said with a chuckle. “But we’re a branch house of a branch house of a branch house, and by my grandfather’s time, we were little more than commoners. So when my mother married my father, a gentleman from Arstenia, it was an upward match for her. He barely qualified as noble himself, but he was rich, so her future was assured.”

“Then why are you so interested in Celestia?” Viktor asked. “Your connection to Brefjord doesn’t seem too strong, and she’s not even your ancestor.”

Lloyd shrugged. “Even though I was born and raised in Arstenia, I’ve never truly felt as though I belonged there in any deep or meaningful way. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I have any complaints. Life was good, life was easy, life was comfortable. I’m sure what I have would make many people feel envious. But still... I don’t know. I found it boring, I guess.”

He paused.

“On the other hand, ever since I was a child, my mother has been telling me many stories about the North. About its endless winters, about its unforgiving landscapes, about the people who endure and survive through their sheer stubbornness. I found myself drawn to those stories. I found them... romantic.” He laughed. “Of course, the poor bastards actually living there probably wouldn’t call it that. More like eternal suffering, with a bit of frostbite thrown in for good measure. Still, for someone like me, an outsider looking in through what you might call a rose-tinted lens, there’s a beauty in that hardship.”

“I see,” Rhea said. “It’s not too different from people who think the adventuring life is romantic.”

“You get it,” Lloyd said with a smile. “And what is more beautiful, more romantic than the tale of Princess Celestia, the brave woman who sacrificed herself to bring down the Tyrant?”

That story is a load of shit, Viktor thought. But since you’re a relative of my wife, I suppose I can let it slide.

“So when I finally felt ready to stand on my own,” Lloyd continued, “I decided to set out on a journey. Well, I haven’t made it to the North yet. Maybe one day I’ll get there for real and have my ass freeze off properly. But for now, the castle will do. The last place Celestia was ever seen before she completely vanished.”

“Is that so?” Viktor asked. “Is that the only reason you’re so obsessive about that castle?”

Lloyd chuckled. “You think there’s something else? What makes you think that?”

“Don’t know,” Viktor said with a shrug. “Just a feeling.”

For a moment, the white-haired man said nothing. He tilted his head back and stared up at the sky, as though he was searching for an answer that was written there.

“Well,” he finally said. “You’re right. There’s another reason...”

Then, more silence.

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to,” Rhea said.

“Technically, it’s a family secret. I’m only supposed to tell it to my own child, if I ever have one.”

“Then you absolutely do not need to,” Rhea said. “We won’t ask any further.”

Lloyd laughed. “It’s not a big deal, really. Once you hear it, I’m sure you’ll be disappointed. All that build-up for something so ordinary you wonder why anyone bothered hiding it in the first place. That’s been my thought all along. Why is that even a secret? There’s no reason we can’t tell it to other people.”

What’s it? Viktor wondered.

“You know what?” Lloyd said, “I’m going to tell you anyway, because why not? My mother told me not to, and I do love her dearly, but I’m going to ignore her on this one. It’s this: Magnus wanted to know what happened to his sister.”

Rhea frowned. “Isn’t that just... normal? If his sister went missing, of course he would want to find out what happened to her.”

“Exactly,” Lloyd said. “That’s why I’ve never understood why it had to be a secret at all. But apparently it did. Anyway, Magnus had been looking for Celestia himself, but he failed to find anything. So, before he died, he passed the task to his youngest child, telling them to carry it forward in his stead.”

Viktor arched a brow. “Youngest?”

“Yes, the youngest. He instructed them to continue the search in secret. They must not let anyone know, including their siblings. And if they failed too, they were to pass it to their own youngest child in turn. So it continued, generation after generation, until it eventually reached my grandfather. Then my mother, his youngest daughter. And finally, me, her only child.”

“But why?” Rhea asked. “Why specifically the youngest? Usually, inheritance goes to the eldest.”

Because the youngest would also be the one furthest from the line of succession to the throne. Clearly, Magnus wanted those who carried his will to stay beyond the reach of his wife and her chosen heirs.

So that’s it. Viktor chuckled dryly. The final act of defiance by the poor king who ended up little more than a prisoner in his own palace.

From what Lloyd had said, from the fact that Celestia’s own brother had never managed to find even the faintest trace of her fate, it could only mean one thing: she had never returned to the North. Which was hardly surprising, actually. After all, the land she once called home had fallen into the hands of her enemy. Going back there would have been suicidal. No, the right choice was to abandon her name, bury her past, and start a new life in some quiet corner of the world.

Viktor sighed.

Her brother, despite having been reduced to a puppet, still tried to find her. And when he couldn’t search anymore, he made sure someone else would. He entrusted it to the next generation, and the next, and then the next. Three hundred years had passed, and someone was still searching.

Then there was Viktor.

The man who claimed to love her, yet didn’t do anything at all.

Ever since the moment of his resurrection, he had made a conscious effort to avoid looking back, to keep his gaze fixed on the present and the future, for the past was something he could never change, no matter how hard he tried. Whenever the question of her fate surfaced in his mind, he drove it away.

“It’s pointless. She’s already long dead. It’s over,” he told himself. “Whatever happened to her, it happened centuries ago. There’s nothing to fix, so there’s nothing to find. Why bother?”

But...

Was he truly alright with that?

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Chapter 166: Sanctuary

Viktor dragged the back of his wrist across his brow, wiping away the sweat that had gathered there in stubborn beads, only for more to form almost immediately. High above, the sun loomed like a bored god whose only pastime was to make people feel miserable, casually pouring heat straight down without even the courtesy of a cloud to soften its beating. It was not as bad as Khenemhotep’s desert, of course, but suffering was suffering, no matter how one dressed it up. Well, at least he still had this tree, so he could hide here, under its wide, overreaching branches.

Not that the shade had helped much, though. After all, it couldn’t do a thing to stir the air that hung thick around him, pressing in from all directions. The heat clung to skin and cloth alike, piling layer upon layer of discomfort. Clearly, summer wasn’t coming; it was already here and had made itself entirely at home.

Resisting the urge to use a Thauma to do something about the air, he reached for the waterskin and pulled the cap free. A long swallow, then another, then another, each one greedier than the last. Cool water, blessed and temporary, cut through the dryness in his throat, and for a moment, his body could pretend that it was not being baked.

When he at last lowered the skin, he let his gaze drift back toward the building that dominated the neighborhood, the only stone structure among worn wood and patched roofs, the so-called Sanctuary with its gray surface dulled further by a persistent coating of dust. The moss along its walls had withered in places, shrinking into brittle patches that no longer held any trace of their former vitality. Even the statue of the Matriarch above the entrance now seemed to wear a resigned expression, as though she had grown tired of watching over this place.

And, before her merciful gaze, were the patients.

Well, yes. Of course.

After all, there was never a moment when the steps of the Sanctuary were truly empty, and as the weather grew hotter, there seemed to be more and more of them, gathering here to be treated by Old Tobias.

A girl with long brown hair wove between the waiting figures with practiced familiarity. Her clothes had long since darkened with sweat and clung to her like a second skin, while strands of her damp hair stuck to her neck and cheeks. She knelt down beside a patient, murmuring words of comfort. She even managed a smile despite the exhaustion that visibly weighed on her features.

Viktor had been with her only moments ago, helping those who waited for their turn to be examined by the two Emerald Mages inside. Until, well, he found the tree and its shade too tempting to ignore. When he made the suggestion to the girl, she told him to take a break first, promising she would join him shortly after seeing one more patient.

And that had been three patients ago.

Maybe four. He had given up on the count once it became clear she wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. Oh well, that was Rhea, through and through. He could only hope she wouldn’t collapse and join the ranks of the very people she was trying to help.

Viktor turned his head, letting his gaze wander beyond the immediate vicinity of the Sanctuary and over the uneven sprawl of Daelin’s west side. Out there lay the slums, territory that was now, most inconveniently, in the hands of his enemies.

Well, yes. He was not here because some sudden burst of humanitarian sentiment had overtaken him. He came to spy on the men from Iskora, and helping out at this place was little more than a convenient excuse for his presence.

And, from what he had observed so far, Iskora’s influence over these quarters had not only taken root but also steadily consolidated over time. Ironically, their rule wasn’t entirely unwelcome by the people who actually lived here. There had been quite a bit of violence at first, yes, when the new masters arrived and needed to assert their dominion. But once the local gangs had been forced to bend their knees and fall into line, a rough kind of order had settled over the place. According to Rhea, disputes had dropped significantly. Fewer fights in the streets, fewer bodies in the gutters.

Not everyone was happy with the new rulers, of course, but most had learned that it was wiser to keep their thoughts to themselves. And so far, the rules imposed upon them hadn’t crossed the line that could spark open rebellion. So, everything was well and good on the west side.

For now.

Yes, things were now stable enough on the surface, but Viktor doubted it would remain in such a state forever. After all, Iskora did not come here with any sincere desire to help Daelin. They were merely buying time, slowly tightening their grip while probing how far they could push without facing consequences.

And when that grip was firm enough, what then?

What would happen if they declared the west side no longer answered to Daelin’s authority? Would the town break in two, or would there be a civil war of some sort?

Viktor saw Rhea approaching. Looked like she had finally reached her limit. Or, more likely, she had just run out of patients to throw herself at.

Without a word, he extended his hand and offered her the waterskin. And without a word, she took it. Tilting her head back, she drank in one long, unbroken pull. In short order, the remaining water disappeared entirely, and all that remained was a deflated skin in her grasp.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “And... sorry, for drinking all of your water.”

“It’s fine,” Viktor said. “Water is meant to be drunk. Hard to find a better use for it.” He glanced past her to the Sanctuary’s steps. “How are they?”

“They’re alright now,” Rhea replied. “No one is in immediate need. And I’ve told them to call me right away if anything unexpected happens.”

Viktor chuckled. “You really love this job, don’t you?”

“Well... yes,” Rhea said. Then, she went quiet.

“What’s the matter?”

She shifted, fingers tightening around the now-empty waterskin.

“I... I just realized that I still want to become an Emerald Mage. I thought I’d given up on that dream, that I’d already made my peace with it. But...”

“Then do it,” Viktor said with a shrug. “Become one.”

“It’s not that simple. I am working at the Guild now. It’s a good job, and people are kind to me there. I can’t just walk away from that. And there’s money to think about as well. You know, being an Emerald Mage doesn’t exactly pay well.”

“Depends,” Viktor said. “We both know someone who’s making serious money on the east side.”

“You mean Lloyd? I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because my reason for becoming an Emerald Mage is to help people who actually need it. If all I do is cater to the rich, then what’s the point? It kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

“Then spend half your time there earning coin, the other half here helping people for free. That way, there’s no problem, right?”

Of course, it was not that easy.

If making money as an Emerald Mage had been really that straightforward, then most of them wouldn’t have had to risk their lives taking on dangerous commissions as adventurers. Lloyd was the exception, not the rule. He had skills, funds, opportunities, and just enough lack of shame to tie it all together. He had built something that worked, but it only worked because he was who he was.

Still, Rhea had options if she really wanted to pursue them. She could, for example, ask Lloyd to take her on as an assistant in his healing house. It would not be a completely unreasonable request, as the guy should have realized by now how capable she was, and how valuable an asset she could be to his business.

“Your suggestion makes sense, I have to admit. But... there’s still something about it that doesn’t sit right with me. I can’t really explain it, yet...”

Oh well.

Her future was not his to dictate, and he had already said more than enough. Whatever path she chose, she had to decide it on her own.

“Anyway,” Viktor said. “How have things been around here lately? Any trouble with those Iskora men?”

Rhea shook her head. “Not really. They did set up a lot of rules, but aside from the curfew, none of them affect me all that much. So... no, nothing really happens.” She paused. “Except... well, the pyromancers going missing...”

“That’s still going on?”

“Yes,” Rhea said. “At this point, I think Jeanne might be the only one left in all of Daelin.”

Well, there was also Ekon.

Come to think of it, where was that bald man now?

And...

That day, when Mandragora and Renee so abruptly excused themselves, leaving him and Fiora behind due to some sudden, urgent business, what happened? Did it have anything to do with those mysterious disappearances?

Surely, if Zubayr and his underlings were indeed capturing pyromancers under Khalid’s orders, then Ekon would be an inevitable target. And if they had come for him, then a violent confrontation would have been bound to happen. Yet, there were no signs that such a clash had ever taken place. So clearly, they knew how to keep things hidden from the public eye.

As Viktor was turning that thought over in his mind, the doors of the Sanctuary swung open. A white-haired man stepped out at an unhurried pace. He scanned the yard, and the moment his gaze landed on Viktor and Rhea, an obnoxious grin immediately spread across his already annoying face.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” the man said as he approached them.

Ignoring the remark, Viktor asked, “You done with the patients?”

Lloyd shrugged. “There aren’t many left, and none of them are in critical condition. I’m sure Tobias could handle them by himself from here.”

“You’ve been a great help,” Rhea said with a smile. “People of the west side truly appreciate what you have done.”

“I’m glad to be of use. Still, I’m afraid I’ll be coming here much less often very soon.”

“Anything went wrong?” Viktor asked.

“Did you forget what my ultimate goal is, Quinn? The ruins of the old castle. Many things happened and delayed my return there, but that’s changed. The men from Iskora are no longer in the camp on the other side of the river. They are here now. So I’ll be heading back to the castle in the next two weeks.”

“Off to continue your little treasure hunt?”

“The treasure is just a side reward. What I really want is to find out what had happened to Princess Celestia.”

Rhea tilted her head. “You seem very interested in her.”

“Yes, I’ve always sensed a strong connection to her ever since I was a child,” Lloyd said. “We are related by blood, after all.”

Huh?

Viktor froze. Then, slowly, he turned his head toward the white-haired man.

What.

The.

Fuck.

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Chapter 165: Cathedral

Stepping into the cathedral, Viktor found its interior was just as eager to impress as its ornate façade.

An uninterrupted expanse of polished marble stretched before him, so perfectly smooth and luminous it scarcely resembled stone at all, but rather the still surface of a lake frozen at the precise moment before a ripple could form. It caught his reflection and dragged it along at his feet, a pale ghost that quivered with his every movement.

Far above, the ceiling was glowing with an ambient radiance. Grand chandeliers hung thick as fruit, dozens upon dozens, though they bore no candles. Instead, they gave off light of their own, as if fragments of distant stars had been caught and imprisoned within those crystal shells.

And encircling this vast chamber was a second level, a continuous balcony whose balustrades curved in graceful arcs, supported by sculpted columns that seemed too slender to bear their weight. Along that elevated ring, a procession of doors lined the upper walls, each with an intricate, distinct design.

Viktor walked down the central aisle, accompanied by his lustrous Guardian. To their left and right, gargantuan statues loomed upon towering plinths. Some bore the forms of men, others of women. Some were clad in flowing robes, others encased in suits of armor. Some held books and scrolls, others gripping shields and blades. The stone from which they were carved possessed an ivory hue, and the craftsmanship was so extraordinary the veins beneath their marble skin seemed to pulse. Viktor had seen living men who looked less alive than these. A certain manchild with the survivability of a cockroach, for example.

“Who are they?” he asked.

“They are the Undying Saints, Master. My Lord’s most loyal servants. Each of them devoted their lives to His will, and even in death, they continue to serve Him. Their legacy has been preserved so that no one would ever forget what they’ve accomplished.”

“Just like you.”

“Well... yes, technically. But I cannot be compared to them in any way. I am merely a humble Knight Exemplar, a servant among many. The deeds of these great men and women... they stand far beyond anything I’ve ever achieved.”

“Is that so?” Viktor glanced at the nearest statue. “What is her achievement, then?”

“That’s Saint Ilya. A scholar of exceptional insight, and a warrior of unparalleled resolve. She once faced down the Betrayer himself, and even though she ultimately perished in that battle, her display of courage was so profound that it resonated across all who bore witness, until at last it reached the heavens themselves. In the end, my Lord Himself descended and intervened, bringing her back from the brink of death.”

“The Betrayer?”

“The Father of All Demons,” Galatea said. Her face twisted as though she had bitten into something rotten. “He was once my Lord’s most favored angel... until the day he chose to betray Him.”

Another Nakhran, then. Viktor chuckled to himself. Betrayal by one of their own servants seemed to be a recurring theme among the orthodox gods.

Also... the Father of All Demons, huh? Was that succubus also his kid?

“Anyway,” Viktor said. “You mentioned that the defensive mechanisms are all inside the cathedral. Where exactly are they?”

His gaze swept across the immense hall once more. All he could see was a pretty room with pretty floor and pretty ceiling.

“As I told you, Master,” Galatea replied, “the intruders will not be entering through the great gates we’ve just used. Instead, they’ll be forced to go in through one of the windows along the outer walls. Once inside, they will find themselves within a maze of countless rooms and corridors, where our soldiers will engage and delay them at every turn. Only after they have overcome all of that will they eventually arrive here. This hall is a resting place, just before the final confrontation. Beyond this point lies the arena of the fourth floor, where they will face its Guardian—me.”

Viktor eyed the massive doors ahead. “That arena is behind those, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Let’s go, then.”

As they entered the chamber, Viktor found that the so-called arena was, of course, just as unnecessarily beautiful as everything that had come before it. The art direction, though, had taken a different turn. Gone were the statues of solemn, human-like Saints; in their place stood bizarre creatures with too many wings and too many eyes. Angels, he assumed.

High above, spanning the entirety of the ceiling in a breathtaking display of color and motion, was a vast mural that depicted a dramatic clash between those same winged beings and an endless horde of grotesque, writhing demons.

Also, unlike the previous room, this one was not empty.

Someone was standing in the middle of it, craning his avian neck upward, completely absorbed in the painting overhead.

“You’re here too, Haku?” Viktor called out. After several meetings with the Tengu, he had learned to notice the small details that set him apart from the others of his kind.

The bird-man turned, and performed his usual exaggerated bow. “Master, Lady Galatea,” he said. “When I heard the cathedral on the fourth floor had finally been completed, I submitted a request to visit, so that I could admire its architecture and artistry. Both Lady Celeste and Lady Galatea were kind enough to grant it, and that’s why I am here, indulging in its splendor.”

This guy really did have a habit of barging into other people’s sacred grounds just to gaze at the decorations, didn’t he?

“Then by all means, continue your admiring,” Viktor said, then turned back to Galatea. “So this is the arena?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Where do they lead to?” he asked, pointing at the two doors at the far end of the room. Unlike the last chamber, this one offered only two other exits besides the one he had entered through, both on the opposite side: one on the first floor and another on the second, just behind the balcony.

“The lower door leads to the staircase that descends to the fifth floor,” Galatea replied. “As for the upper one, it leads to my bedchamber.”

“Your bedchamber?” Viktor arched an eyebrow.

Why did she even need a bedchamber? Neither her projected form nor her walking armor had any use for one. If anything, that skull-holding jar was the closest thing she had to a bedchamber.

“Yes, Master. Would you like to see it?”

For the briefest of moments, he considered the offer. After all, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. But in the end, he dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand.

“No need. Now I want to inspect the maze. I assume I’ll need to return to the previous hall and take one of the doors?”

“Yes, Master. Allow me to—”

“You’ve already done more than enough,” Viktor said. “I truly appreciate it, but I can manage the rest on my own.”

He turned, about to retrace his steps toward the entrance. But then, he paused, as a thought crossed his mind.

Well, that guy is also here.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Haku, you’re coming with me.”

The Tengu straightened at once. “Of course, Master.”

And just like that, they returned to the luminous cathedral hall. Ascending the staircase, they reached the upper balcony and walked through one of the many doors that lined the walls in orderly procession. They found themselves within a labyrinth of corridors and interlinked chambers, which functioned much like the maze on the first floor, except everything here was, well, much prettier.

As they moved deeper, they encountered several patrols of soldiers in silver armor, who halted and bowed in respectful acknowledgment to the lord of the dungeon. They were the Templars, the newest additions to his forces, summoned through the “Summon Light Minions” skill.

These warriors were, in essence, animated suits of armor, so Viktor had initially assumed them to be the lesser versions of Galatea. But she had corrected him, telling him that unlike her, they didn’t have souls. These constructs carried only the faintest trace of memory, echoes of past existence without continuity of self. They didn’t have free will and thus acted strictly under command, never deviating, never hesitating. In a way, they weren’t too different from Khenemhotep’s tomb guards.

Well, Viktor didn’t care much about the distinction.

If they fought for him, then they were useful. That was the beginning and the end of it. And, from what he had seen so far, they seemed to be capable fighters. They were well-equipped too, clad in full silver plate that covered them from helm to greave, carrying large shields and greatswords and long halberds. Some had bows too, which meant they could shoot at the intruders who attempted to enter by crossing the flying buttresses, just as he had suggested to Galatea earlier.

“Master,” Haku said after a while. “May I ask why you wished for me to accompany you?”

“What?” Viktor let out a chuckle, glancing at the Tengu as they continued walking. “You don’t want to?”

“That’s not the case. However, I’ve come to understand that you rarely act without purpose, so if you ask for my presence, then it stands to reason that there’s something you expect from me.”

“I just want your opinion on the Lord of Light. You know, Galatea’s god. I once asked her about him, but all I got was an endless stream of praise. So I want a different perspective. A more... blunt assessment.”

Haku was silent for a moment, then he said, “You wish for me to speak ill of a god, while standing right inside His house.”

Viktor turned to the Tengu. “This is my house.”

Haku bowed. “You are correct, Master. My apologies.” He straightened, then let out a quiet breath. “Very well, I can share what little I know of the Lord of Light. But I must ask for your understanding. My position is not a high one, and matters concerning the divine are often obscured from those of lower rank. My knowledge is very limited.”

“It’s fine. I don’t expect you to know the deepest secrets of the Gods.”

“And... if possible, I would prefer that Lady Galatea not hear of this conversation.”

Viktor chuckled. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell her. Now go on.”

“Yes, Master.”

Haku gathered his thoughts as they continued through the labyrinth, before finally speaking again.

“Well, you may have already figured this out, but the Lord of Light is quite... vindictive, and His followers are... fanatical.”

“Yes, that much is apparent.”

“He is ambitious, too. He believes his current position does not reflect what he believes to be his rightful place, so He seeks to ascend.”

“Position?”

“The Twelve Ancient Ones are not equal, Master. Some are a lot more powerful than the others, and there’s a hierarchy among Them. The Lord of Light, for example, occupies the seventh seat, while the Lord of Death stands above Him, in the sixth.”

“What about Iseth-Ra? And Lord Saru?”

“Lady Iseth-Ra holds the fifth seat,” Haku replied. “As for my Lord, He occupied the humble tenth.”

So the Goddess of Life is actually more powerful than the God of Death, huh?

“Also,” Haku added, “there’s a big gap in power between the sixth and seventh positions. So the first six are referred to as the Inner Circle, while the rest are the Outer Circle.”

“Which means the Lord of Light is the top of the weaker half,” Viktor said.

Haku nodded. “Yes, He is powerful among his peers, but He is still fundamentally beneath those above Him. And He does not believe that such a position is fitting for Him. He believes He deserves more, and therefore seeks to change that order.”

“How, then?”

“The power of a god is not a fixed thing, Master. It can grow, and it can diminish.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Haku replied. “For example, the current Lord of Death is much weaker than He once was, due to the fact that He is now forced to share aspects of His domain with someone else.”

“That makes sense.”

“As for growing power... you know Lady Galatea is an undead, right?”

Viktor chuckled. “I’m not blind.”

“And don’t you find anything strange about her existence?”

“I do. A being like her should fall under the jurisdiction of the Lord of Death. So why was it the Lord of Light who brought her back to life?”

“Exactly,” Haku said. “You’ve heard from Lady Galatea about something called ‘the Light,’ right? The very thing that the Lord of Light controls. In the past, it was simply just that—light. But as the Lord of Light increased His power, the concept itself expanded alongside Him. It’s now far more than it once was. Now, the Light can smite spirits, the Light can heal, the Light can even resurrect.”

“Very interesting, indeed. But how did he achieve that?”

“That,” Haku replied with a shrug, “I do not know. Master, you can’t expect me to know the deepest secrets of the Gods.”

“You’re right.” Viktor laughed. Then, he narrowed his eyes as something surfaced in his memory. “Galatea once told me that the Lord of Light is the eternal Creator of everything. That isn’t true, is it?”

“He is not. But that is what He believes Himself to be, and what He aspires to become.”

“So he wants the first seat, huh? Above all the others. But then, what is the Inner Circle’s reaction? They should’ve known, right? And surely they’re not fond of someone trying to climb over them?”

“I’m certain They are aware. After all, what He is doing is not exactly a secret. However, there has been no response so far.”

“Why not?”

“Perhaps,” Haku said, “those within the Inner Circle don’t perceive Him as a genuine threat. The gap in power is simply far too great. Even now, after thousands of years of striving, the empowered Lord of Light is still below the weakened Lord of Death. That alone should show you the difference between Them.”

All that effort, and that ambitious god still couldn’t ascend even one single rank. Yet, the once-mortal Nakhran had managed to rise high enough to rival the Lord of Death himself, placing him above at least six orthodox gods.

Was the potential of the Ascendants truly that extraordinary?

Well, that explained the other gods’ indifference to the Lord of Light’s little scheme. Because surely, keeping an eye on the upstart Ascendants should be their top priority.

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Chapter 163: A Normal Lunch

The mess hall of the Adventurer’s Guild thundered in its usual, chaotic fashion. Tankards clashed in clumsy toasts that spilled foam over calloused fingers, wooden benches scraping across the plank floors, while voices rose and fell, weaving together into a constant, familiar din.

At one of the tables near the far wall, Claire had already secured the seats, something that not long ago would have been almost unthinkable. There had been a time when she was always the last to arrive, and Viktor would come ahead, claim a spot, then wait for her, sometimes long enough for the food to turn cold. Now, however, after the two of them managed to persuade Rennald to work with the Guild, her position had improved noticeably, and the workload pressing down on her had gradually eased.

Across from her sat Jeanne and Alycia, leaning close, absorbed in their own conversation, while the youngest member of the group, Rhea, was not here with them yet. Well, hardly a surprise. He had just seen the girl at the reception desk moments earlier. She was still busy with the streams of arriving adventurers, much like Claire had been half a year ago.

“Quinn, over here!”

Alycia called out the moment she spotted him crossing the threshold, her voice barely audible over the noise. She waved cheerfully, her two fluffy pigtails bouncing with her every movement.

Viktor made his way to the table. He dropped into the seat beside Claire and placed the rectangular wooden case he was holding on the table.

“What’s that?” Jeanne asked.

Lunch, of course. What else?

Rather than giving a reply, he untied the cord, unlooped it from the case, and then lifted the lid away.

The first thing to come out was heat. A gentle warmth that rolled in a soft wave, carrying with it a layered aroma: the rich sweetness of honey, brightened by a hint of citrus, and undercut with the savory depth of seared fish.

Inside, nestled against the interior wood, lay two trout fillets. A thin glaze clung to their surfaces, catching the angled sunlight in golden gleams that made them appear almost lacquered. The honey he used had been reduced just enough to deepen in color, then brushed onto the fish to form a light coating that left the natural texture visible under its sheen.

The fillets rested above a bed of thinly sliced root vegetables that had been roasted until their edges just began to caramelize. Among them scattered pieces of onion and sprigs of herbs, their fragrances drawn out and woven into the dish.

Alycia swallowed her saliva with an audible gulp. “You made this?”

“Who else?”

“Here you go,” Claire said with a smile, “coming up with another new dish. Kids really do grow fast.”

“But...” Jeanne said. “Fresh fish, huh? That’s expensive.”

That was true. In Daelin, the majority of fish that made its way into everyday meals was either dried, salted, or smoked. Fresh fish was a rarity and, consequently, a luxury that most people could only afford on special occasions.

“Well,” Alycia said, “Claire’s importance in the Guild is only increasing, so I can’t imagine she’s short on money now.”

“Actually... I’m not...”

“This fish is free,” Viktor said, waving a dismissive hand. “I caught it myself, right from the river.”

The three women stared at him.

“You...” Claire said. “You... went to the river to catch fish... even after what just happened?”

Jeanne laughed. “Sounds insane, but somehow, that’s exactly what I’d expect from you.”

“I told you,” Alycia said with a grin, “this kid is completely nuts.”

Hey, you’re the last person I want hearing that from.

He turned to Claire. “This is nothing, really. The river isn’t as dangerous as people make it out to be. Lucian fished there in the dead of winter. Compared to that, what I did today is hardly worth mentioning.”

The recent monster attack on the outpost was part of Iskora’s plan to seize control of the camp, so it would likely not repeat itself. Also, in his current state, he was far from helpless even if those creatures did appear.

Claire let out a long, exasperated sigh. A sound that carried frustration, affection, and resignation all at once. Her “kid brother” had just gone and done another crazy thing, but what could she possibly do about it? She had decided to stop trying to control him. Instead, she was going to face whatever lay ahead with him—as she put it, together. So what now? Would she tag along every time he went out to fish?

“Anyway,” Jeanne said, leaning forward as she wrinkled her nose. “This scent is... a bit unfamiliar to me. Did you use new herbs or something?”

“Yes,” Viktor replied.

“Where did you get them?”

“From Mandragora. You know her? She’s in the same party as Renee.”

“Ah... her,” Jeanne said, nodding slowly.

After that day, Viktor and Fiora had returned to the Druidess’s hut a few more times. Mandragora never revealed what was so urgent that she and Renee had to leave in such sudden haste, and they didn’t press. They continued to help with the planting, and picked up a little knowledge about herbs and brewing along the way. So far, though, the woman hadn’t revealed anything about how to infuse magic into potions. Thus, for the time being, the only rewards for his efforts were a handful of ingredients he could toss into meals.

“You really have a lot of friends, huh?” Claire said.

“He does,” Alycia said. “Your brother can talk to anyone. He can make friends with anyone.”

“Time truly flies,” Claire said. “I still remember when he kept following me around like a lost duckling, wobbling behind me at every turn. He couldn’t do anything by himself. At times, I felt irritated, wishing I could have a single moment of my own.”

That’s... not me. That Quinn is gone, and probably will never come back.

Without saying another word, Viktor lifted one of the fillets from the wooden case and set it on Claire’s plate, before placing the second onto his.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Rhea before we start?” Claire asked.

Viktor shrugged. “Well, yes. But you should take a bite while it’s still warm. It won’t taste as good if you wait too long.”

“Alright,” Claire said, cutting a small piece from the fillet. She brought it to her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “This is... really good. Jeanne, you should try this too.”

She cut another and gave it to her friend. Alycia, meanwhile, swallowed hard again, turning to Viktor and fixing him with a pair of wide, pleading eyes.

Well, I’ll just pretend I didn’t notice.

It was not like she had nothing to eat. After all, Rhea had prepared lunch for Jeanne and her both. In fact, the food was right there, on the table, in front of them. So there was no reason for the blonde to eye someone else’s meal like that.

Still, he was not entirely heartless; he could throw her a scrap. But she had to wait. He would try it himself first, then she could have some.

He picked up his utensils and cut a piece from his own fillet, the knife sliding clean through the tender meat, the glaze stretching slightly before giving way. He lifted the bite to his mouth and closed his eyes as he took it in, chewing slowly, letting every layer of flavor unfold at its own pace.

Yes, it was exactly as Claire had said.

It was really good.

I’m so proud of myse—

“By the way, has the Guild found anything about the missing pyromancers yet?”

Huh?

He opened his eyes. Jeanne was the one who had just spoken, her gaze directed at Claire.

“No, not yet. Guildmaster Isadora has asked Calyssa to look into it, but there haven’t been any results so far.”

“What happened?” Viktor asked.

“In the past few weeks,” Claire replied, “the number of pyromancers in town has declined sharply. They just... disappeared. Sure, adventurers come and go all the time. It’s entirely possible that they simply left Daelin for other places, but still...”

Pyromancers, huh?

That new Guildmaster of Iskora, Khalid, had instructed his underlings to search among the fire mages for members of the Cult, hadn’t he? Could these disappearances be the result of that order? Maybe Zubayr and his men had succeeded in their task, identifying the cultists and quietly eliminating them.

No, it didn’t make sense.

A lot of people must have gone missing for the Guild to take notice. There was no way every single one of them was part of the Cult.

What if... those Iskora men’s idea of investigation was simply kidnapping everyone, indiscriminately, for interrogation? But... if that were the case, what was going to happen if they questioned someone and then found nothing? What would they do? Viktor highly doubted they would just let that person go, since it would expose their operation. And the very fact that none of the missing had returned only reinforced this suspicion.

So... they just kept their victims locked up? Or perhaps, they had silenced them permanently?

Unbelivable.

That went beyond mere ruthlessness; it had crossed into the territory of pure lunacy.

Then again, considering the method they had used to take over the outpost, he wouldn’t put it past them at all.

He glanced at Jeanne. She was a fire mage, too.

“You should be careful yourself,” he said.

She arched a brow. “You think someone or something is targeting pyromancers specifically?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Viktor said with a shrug. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Jeanne nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Viktor wondered what would happen if those men really did come after her. Would she allow herself to be taken to avoid escalation, or would she fight back, and burn down the whole town in the process?

He let his eyes wander across the mess hall while he pondered his thoughts, and he saw Rhea stepping through the entrance. Looked like her work was done. Time for lunch, he guessed. Whatever this situation with the pyromancers was, it could wait.

Hmm...

He had a feeling he had been about to do something—right before Jeanne brought up the disappearances—but he couldn’t recall what it was.

Oh well.

If I forgot, then it’s probably not important anyway, Viktor thought, popping another piece of fish into his mouth.

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Chapter 162: Reliquries

The Reliquaries were manifestations of the Bearded God’s influence upon this world?

Well, it might sound a bit shocking at first, but the more Viktor thought it through, the more it began to make sense.

Once, Celeste had told him about soul and crystallized essence and Reliquary.

When a person died, their soul—their essence—simply unraveled, thinning out until it disappeared entirely. Gone, like mist under a rising sun.

But sometimes, the essence held fast. It tightened, it condensed, and then it crystallized into a stable, tangible form that could endure indefinitely. And from those crystallized essences, Reliquaries were made.

She had also said it was what the Gods had decided.

That naturally led to the question: which gods? And the answer became obvious if one thought about it hard enough.

The God of Death, of course.

Who else presided over the souls after they left their bodies? Who else got to decide which soul would endure and which soul would dissipate? Who, really?

Eons ago, he had judged them. He weighed the souls of the dead and determined their fate. Those deemed worthy had been granted passage into the Garden of Peace, where they would exist in eternal tranquility, while those who failed to meet their god’s requirements had been cast into oblivion. Torn apart, swallowed whole, and forgotten.

Now, the “worthy” didn’t get peace anymore. They got distilled instead. They endured, in a way, condensed into crystallized essence. On the other hand, the unworthy still got the same old treatment: fade away, vanishing without a trace.

There were some differences, yes, but the parallel was too strong to ignore. It was as if the old system had just been... repurposed.

Viktor gazed at the two Reliquaries that Sebekton was carrying.

The Crocodilian had just deliberately opened his guard, angling his torso just enough to invite Galatea’s strike, and she, taking the bait, swung her warhammer at his chest. The moment the hammer’s head struck the breastplate, however, the force of the blow was nullified by the power of the artifact, leaving the weapon hanging for a second in unnatural stillness.

And in that one second, that impossible pause where the relation between cause and effect seemed to be severed, Sebekton acted. He brought his axe down in a sweeping arc aimed at his opponent, who was momentarily confused by the impotence of her attack. Galatea yanked her weapon free and leaped back just in time, and the axe smashed into the sand where she had stood, detonating a burst of sand and stone chips.

Power. Each of those Reliquaries had one. But where did they come from?

Viktor had once come up with a theory to explain the phenomenon: those whose souls were preserved as crystallized essence were either extraordinary in life or touched by the divine at death. In that view, the power contained within a Reliquary was either a reflection of the individual’s own soul, or something that had been imprinted upon them, a fragment of a god’s power fused with their essence.

Divine residual, huh? He couldn’t help but recall what that smug Tengu had told him.

All of this happened because the Bearded God had willed it? But why?

The story Khenemhotep had told, the story about the Garden of Peace, wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to Viktor. Every culture, across different times and places, had its own version of the tale: people judged after death, the virtuous rewarded with salvation, and the wicked subjected to torment. It was less a story about the dead and more one for the living. It served as a warning to all to walk a righteous path and uphold moral conduct, lest they would inevitably face retribution, even if they had managed to escape it in life.

But now, with this system of crystallized essence, that idea persisted in a very twisted form.

The “worthy” did not get to enter a paradise; instead they were reduced to material. They were preserved in a state of perfect stasis, neither alive nor truly gone, existing indefinitely as a usable resource. For the souls trapped in such a state, it was as much death as fading into nothingness. Well, one could argue that existing as a crystallized essence offered a possibility: a soul in that condition was not truly lost, and thus might one day be revived. But still...

Or perhaps, this was not an end, but merely a phase. A trial of some sort. Even in Khenemhotep’s story, the journey of the deceased didn’t conclude immediately upon death. There were ordeals for them to overcome before they could stand before the Bearded God in his hall. So what if this was part of the new journey? What if serving as a Reliquary was just a test, one step toward paradise?

A bit of a stretch, Viktor thought.

He turned to the undead priest. “How exactly are the Reliquaries the result of your god’s influence? And what is his intent behind such an act?”

Khenemhotep tilted his desiccated head. “I know it not. As I have told you before, I have not spoken with my Lord for many thousands of years. I understand neither His plans nor their ultimate outcome. Yet when my eyes behold those artifacts, I can feel the trace of His might. I am certain that He has worked wonders in their creation.”

Well, that couldn’t be helped. The ancient priest had been abandoned by his god, so his knowledge of the matter was quite limited. Someone still in touch with their deity might have been able to offer more insight, but—

—that’s a whole other kettle of worms, Viktor thought, glancing at Galatea.

She had put some distance between herself and Sebekton, and the Crocodilian was now unleashing the full might of his axe. He swung the massive weapon, sending invisible crescent after invisible crescent toward his opponent. Unseen arcs of destruction sliced through the space between them, leaving only the hiss of displaced air and the shattered stone behind Galatea as evidence of their passage.

Meanwhile, the holy construct that housed her skull weaved sideways to dodge the projectiles, moving much faster than one would expect for something that size. Still, it got grazed a couple of times. Some dents here, some fractures there. Nothing too catastrophic yet, but if the hits kept coming, those cracks would become a serious problem eventually.

Maybe it was time for Galatea to tip the scales with a bit of magic. A blinding flash, perhaps? Something to make her opponent flinch before she struck?

As Viktor pondered the questions, he saw the construct moving to Sebekton’s left, circling his flank. In response, the Crocodilian raised his axe high before bringing it down, sending another invisible crescent—

—toward his right.

Huh?

No, that was not a miss. It was more like he was aiming at another target entirely.

And it happened again. And again. Crescent after crescent arced harmlessly through the air, striking the seats with explosive impact, sending shards of stone and plumes of dust in every direction. Meanwhile, Galatea advanced steadily toward her oblivious opponent, who concentrated solely on a phantom, blind to her approach.

“Is he under the effect of an illusion spell or something?” Viktor said with a frown.

“Verily,” Khenemhotep replied. “It seems to be the case, Sovereign of the Dungeon.”

It looked like, whatever Galatea had done, only Sebekton felt its effect. From an onlooker’s perspective, the Crocodilian was attacking empty space, leaving his opponent free to maneuver as she pleased.

Who would have thought that woman also had this trick up her sleeve? So it turned out not only could she wield the power of the Light, but she could cast mind magic as well?

She was almost at Sebekton’s side when he suddenly froze. The strikes ceased instantly. The Crocodilian turned his head to the left, jaw tightening as a flicker of confusion crossed his features. It seemed, even though he wasn’t able to see the other Guardian, he could still sense that something was amiss.

Galatea seized the moment, breaking into a full charge with the warhammer raised high, her purple cape fluttering behind her like a banner of divine judgment. Sebekton still stared blankly in her direction, but then, at the last possible instant, he decided to leap back and, at the same time, swung his axe in a horizontal arc.

The two weapons struck against each other again, and the result was a thunderous clash. As steel met steel in a violent explosion, the force of the impact drove both combatants to stagger backward.

“So she got found out at the very last second, huh?” Viktor chuckled. “I wonder what gave her away.”

“Perhaps it was sound, perhaps it was pressure, or perhaps he moved solely by the prompting of his own instinct.”

Well, it didn’t really matter, as he could just ask Galatea directly after the fight. Actually, he was definitely going to. He was quite curious about the spell, after all. That was a trick worth understanding, and worth learning. It would be great if he could add it to his arsenal of Thauma.

Below, on the sand, the two warriors closed their distance once more, now fully aware of each other’s positions. They traded blow after blow, and the whole arena trembled with every impact.

Viktor turned his gaze back to Khenemhotep. “Anyway,” he asked, “you said you could sense the influence of your god, but not Nakhran’s at all. Is that correct?”

“Verily,” the undead priest replied. “I could never forget his presence. Had he even left the slightest trace of himself in this place, I am certain I would have perceived it. My eyes would see, my heart would know. I would not fail to notice.”

So that meant Galatea had been mistaken? Well, she did say that she wasn’t an expert on the matter. She even told him to ask for Khenemhotep’s opinion.

But could it really be that simple?

Could he really just dismiss the possibility the two Gods of Death had chosen this world to be their battleground? That notion was tempting. Comforting, even. But comfort, he knew, could be a deadly trap.

No, he must always prepare for the worst.

And if the worst were true, if Galatea had been correct in her observation that Nakhran’s presence did touch this world, then the question was: why couldn’t Khenemhotep sense it?

Well, there was one plausible explanation.

The priest, after all, was bound to this dungeon and his awareness was confined to its walls. Galatea, on the other hand, could move outside and perceive the world beyond. She had even been to Iskora, where Nephra—who Viktor suspected to be Neferati, Nakhran’s most powerful servant—resided. Yes, that must be it.

Now, moving to the next question.

Nakhran’s influence. Did it merely mean his agents were active here, running errands for their god? Or was there more?

After all, despite having once been mortal, Nakhran had ascended fully into divinity. If the Bearded God could impose his will to the degree of shaping souls, converting who he deemed “worthy” into crystallized essence, then Nakhran, his rival, must surely possess equivalent powers.

Yes, he should be able to enact laws upon the souls of the dead. Transforming them into something else entirely.

What was that “something else,” then?

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Chapter 161: Colosseum

Viktor slouched back in his stone seat, high above the arena floor, one arm draped over the armrest as he looked down at the circular fighting pit below. Around that sand-covered center, rows upon rows of benches ascended in broad tiers, forming a steep bowl that could swallow a small army and still have room for another. Behind him, the seating continued to climb even higher, broken by arched passageways ringing the outer wall and great pillars carving the stands into tidy wedges.

Was this... a bit too much?

He had only asked Celeste for an arena. A simple one. Outside the Core Room on the fifth floor, right where he had been trading blows with that insufferably smug Tengu.

The idea had been straightforward. He wanted to centralize all important combat testing in one place, so he told his Dungeon Core to create a proper battlefield where the Guardians and elite minions could be evaluated under controlled conditions. Maybe include a few seats for the occasional observers.

The courtyard inside the mortuary complex could have served the same purpose, of course, but that place had the unfortunate habit of being unbearably hot. While Khenemhotep himself seemed perfectly comfortable ruling over that miniature wasteland, Viktor, and most of his other subordinates, found the temperature too oppressive to stay there for long.

Hence the request.

A pit for the fighters, seats for spectators.

That was it. Nothing fancy. Nothing extravagant.

What he hadn’t expected at all was that Celeste would take the idea and run with it like a mad architect with unlimited funds and zero restraint.

What the hell was this stone leviathan of a building? He suspected there were enough seats here to accommodate every single creature currently living in the dungeon. The place looked less like a testing ground and more like something built for grand spectacles, where roaring crowds would cheer and shout as combatants clashed below. Perhaps one day he would use it like that. Gathering all his minions here and hosting some sort of tournament or festival.

But today was not that day.

Today, the enormous arena looked comically empty. Across the vast sea of stone, only two spectators occupied the stands: Viktor and the ancient priest sitting beside him. And below, on the sand, stood the two contestants.

On one side was the Crocodilian, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark green hide gleaming beneath the pale magical light that streamed down from the ceiling above. In his hands gripped his monstrous axe, less a weapon and more a slab of sharpened metal welded to a haft. He stood utterly still, looming like a statue carved from scaled granite.

Opposite him was the holy walking relic, an ornate suit of armor housing within its chest a crystalline cylinder that contained a single skull. Resting across its massive shoulder was a warhammer, head large enough to turn a man into paste with one lazy swing, while its imposing frame was draped in a regal purple cape, all trimmed up with gold like it was about to walk into a ceremony instead of a fight.

For a moment, neither moved.

Then, Sebekton exploded forward.

Sand burst under his feet as the Crocodilian advanced like an avalanche with teeth, closing the distance in a handful of long strides. His axe came with him, whipping around in a brutal horizontal arc, its blade howling through the air toward Galatea’s midsection.

And she met it head-on.

From its resting position, the warhammer rose, then came crashing down. Steel struck steel with a thunderous clang that rang out across the arena and rebounded from the surrounding stone tiers in overlapping echoes. A spray of bright sparks spat out from the point of impact, scattering across the sand as the hammer’s thick head knocked the axe aside.

Sebekton pivoted with the momentum, his heavy tail lashing out behind him in a controlled sweep to keep his balance. Before the axe had fully completed its initial swing, he twisted his torso and redirected its trajectory, hauling it up before bringing it down in a crushing overhead strike.

Rather than yielding ground, Galatea advanced directly into the descending blow. Both hands on the warhammer, she met the attack with one of her own. And when the two weapons collided again, the sound was even more violent than before, a cracking detonation that seemed to split the air itself. The force of it rippled outward, kicking up a ring of sand around the two combatants.

High above, Viktor felt it, the tremor that ran deep through the very stone under his feet.

“You think who will win, High Priest?”

“It is hard to say for certain, Sovereign of the Dungeon,” replied Khenemhotep. “In might they are, I may say, somewhat equal. Yet Galatea is no ordinary warrior. For she serves the Lord of Light, and she has been bestowed many powerful gifts. Though she claims these are strongest against spirits unseen, certainly she has contended with many corporeal foes, and knows how to use her abilities to gain the upper hand in any battle.”

“Sebekton, on the other hand,” Viktor said, “has two Reliquaries.”

One of them was the breastplate he wore, which had the power of “The Last Stand,” capable of nullifying any attack coming from the direction it faced. The other was the great axe itself, which allowed Sebekton to unleash a “True Slash,” an invisible crescent of sheer cutting force that could strike his opponent from a distance.

Viktor had thought about giving the Crocodilian more Reliquaries, but there was nothing suitable lying around at the moment. “Manifestation of Frost” had been transferred to the bracelet he was using, while “Bull’s Eye” now resided in the ballista Kazyk had constructed. “Sinking to the Deep” was practically useless for someone who could swim naturally, and “Blade of the Higher Will” had already been rejected by Sebekton himself.

Then there was Brynhildr’s sword, a weapon that healed its wielder whenever they drew blood from a living enemy. Useful, yes, but hardly essential. After all, while such an artifact was invaluable for an adventurer who braved the perils of a dungeon, for one of the dungeon’s own monsters, retreating then getting patched up if the fight went sideways was always an option. Not to mention, that sword would be utterly useless in this particular fight, since Galatea was, well, not exactly alive anymore.

So, for the time being, the Crocodilian would have to make do with the two Reliquaries he currently had in his possession.

“For that cause I said, it is hard to say for certain,” Khenemhotep intoned. “We shall not know how it truly stands, until the battle be finished.”

Well, that was the entire point of this little exercise, wasn’t it? Not to find who the better Guardian was, but to observe, to analyze, to understand how each of them used their abilities in a realistic combat situation, so that Viktor would know how and when to use them at the time of need.

“Anyway,” he said, his gaze remaining fixed on the clash on the sand below, where steel rang against steel in a relentless cadence. “Have you checked the corpse I sent to your place? Have you heard, well, what song she has to sing?”

“I have.”

“And? Anything unusual?”

Khenemhotep nodded solemnly. “Verily, Sovereign of the Dungeon, her body is in a most peculiar state. And by this I mean not that she was slain by decapitation. Nay, it is a matter far more strange and grievous. For as I heard in her song, her soul was being consumed even in the hour of her death.”

Her soul was consumed?

Well, that would explain it, wouldn’t it? Why Dimitria had yielded far fewer Essence Points than expected. The answer was that her soul was no longer whole when she died. If a part of it had been eaten away, then of course there had been less to harvest.

“By what?” Viktor asked, arching his brow.

“I knew it not,” Khenemhotep replied. “But you, who have contended with her and finally struck her down, surely understand it far better than I.”

Was it that ring?

Yes, it must be it. The strange artifact that allowed her to conjure those writhing hands of shadow.

So, the price of using its power was to let it feed on your own soul? If that were the case, who in their right mind would ever willingly carry it around, a weapon that devoured their soul piece by piece every time it was activated?

Then again, desperation had a way of making even the worst bargains look reasonable. If you were going to die anyway, what was a little self-consumption on the side? And that was why Dimitria had made her final gamble, trading a part of her soul for a chance, no matter how slim it was, to survive.

“What, exactly, would happen to someone whose soul was consumed completely?” Viktor asked.

Under normal circumstances, death followed a predictable order: the body perished, then the soul gradually faded away into nothingness. But this was an inversion of that natural sequence, with the soul gone before the body.

“In most known cases,” Khenemhotep replied, “the destruction, or the complete dissipation of the soul, would inevitably bring forth the death of the body, for one does not tend to linger long without the other. Yet, behold, what we observe is not a natural process, but the work of some dark magic, one which targets the soul directly while leaving the body intact. As such, the outcome is uncertain. The body may endure as an empty vessel, void of will and essence, or it may fall straightway, once the soul is sufficiently diminished. There are also darker possibilities, yet I hesitate to speculate without firmer evidence. Forgive me, Sovereign of the Dungeon, this particular branch of arcane lies beyond my understanding, and I would not presume to offer conclusions where certainty does not exist.”

Some kind of magic that not even a several-thousand-year-old ancient mage could say what it truly is, huh? Viktor let out a dry chuckle. Then again, if Ascendants were involved, anything was possible.

His thoughts drifted back to that ring, the way it had appeared out of nowhere before vanishing just as suddenly. Where did Dimitria get such an item, anyway? Had it already been in her possession before she joined Zubayr, or was it handed to her afterward? Also, those hands of shadow had proved disturbingly effective against his dark veil. Was it a coincidence, or—

No.

Far more likely, after the attack on their outpost, Iskora had been handing out tools that could counter his abilities to their hirelings. Yes, that made sense. Dimitria had probably received the ring recently, so that she could defend herself in case she ran into him again.

With that, the matter was settled. Or rather, temporarily shelved. There were still many unanswered questions lingering in the back of his mind, but this was as far as he could get for the time being. It was time to move on to the next topic.

“Galatea once told me,” Viktor said, “that she felt like this world was under the influence of both your lord, the Bearded God, and Nakhran. What do you make of that statement?”

The ancient priest remained silent for a long moment, before he finally spoke.

“For Nakhran’s presence, I felt it not. But for my Lord, His presence is surely here, and very mightily.”

“And in what form, exactly, does that presence manifest?”

“Those two things, I believe,” Khenemhotep said, pointing a desiccated finger at Sebekton, “are the products of His will, poured forth into this world.”

You mean... the Reliquaries?

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Chapter 159: Herb Planting

Viktor crunched his boots over the carpet of fallen leaves and brittle twigs, each step a crackle that seemed to disturb the forest’s quiet.

The woods smelled rich: damp earth, sharp pine, a faint sweetness drifting in from somewhere beyond his sight. Sunlight slanted down through the canopy in long, golden shafts, catching motes of dust that danced lazily in the air.

Somewhere ahead, Mandragora’s hut was waiting.

And when he finally caught sight of it through the trees, he couldn’t help but chuckle. After all, it had been absurdly squeezed into the narrow space between several trunks, pressed so tight into their embrace that it looked less like a structure built by human hands and more like some fungus that happened to grow there.

The thing’s walls were crooked. Its thatched roof sagged in places, patched with layers of leafy branches that blended it further into its surroundings. Under the eaves, small, rounded windows peered outward, their shapes uneven.

“Couldn’t she just cut down a couple of trees instead of doing, well, whatever this is supposed to be?” Viktor asked.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Renee replied, glancing at him. “She doesn’t like felling trees unless she absolutely has to.”

Ah yes, of course. Druidesses were tree-huggers, through and through. Why bother clearing the land and shaping it to your needs when you could just bend yourself around it instead?

“Then why didn’t she build a treehouse up there? At least that way she’d get some fresh air and still live properly among the branches.”

“Well... I don’t know. I never thought to ask.”

His amusement lingered as he stepped closer to the hut, careful not to trip over the protruding roots. The trees around the building stood thick, but their branches had been trimmed back just enough to let the light spill through in broad, shimmering patches. And beneath that carefully managed canopy, the forest floor was bare, cleared of undergrowth and debris. The tilled soil looked rich and inviting, ready for seeds to be sown.

A soft rustle announced Mandragora before she fully appeared. The Druidess emerged, stepping out of the hut with a serenity that made her seem almost part of the forest itself. She was tall and poised, carrying a small basket with her tattooed left arm. Her raven hair fell loose around her shoulders, while her eyes—a piercing, sharp green—found his instantly, measuring, assessing.

Well yes, this was the cautious one of Ekon’s little band, the opposite of the bubbly girl who had led him here without asking any questions. Also, it looked like she was quite close to that bald man, so if he wanted to go anywhere near him, he would need to gain her trust first.

“Quinn, huh?” She walked toward him, softening her gaze with a polite smile. “Renee told me that you were interested in planting herbs?”

“Actually, I’m more curious about how a Druidess brews her potions,” Viktor said, and it was not really a lie. “But, of course, I wouldn’t mind helping you with the planting.”

Mandragora’s laugh was soft and melodic. “So you’re just like Fiora,” she said, a spark of amusement in her eyes. “Well, while I can’t really reveal the secrets of my Circle, sharing a few elementary techniques shouldn’t be a problem.”

Fiora?

That was when Viktor saw another figure that came out of the hut. She was a short girl with long, curly auburn hair. And someone he knew.

“Ah, Quinn,” she said, her voice carrying a note of surprise that mirrored his own.

So this is the other helper Renee has mentioned, huh? To think it would be a member of Cedric’s party.

After their disastrous encounter with the gnolls, the whole group had stopped showing up, neither in his dungeon, nor at the Guild. The last time he saw Lucian, the boy was attempting suicide by fishing, before a certain green man talked him into murdering trees with rocks instead. And now Fiora... had apparently developed a sudden urge to become a tree-hugger. That gnoll encounter was really a life-changing experience, wasn’t it?

“Long time no see,” Viktor said with a smile. “Haven’t seen you guys for a while. How’s Cedric doing?”

Even though he had shared the table with her party so many times before, he usually only spoke with Cedric or Lucian. In fact, he couldn’t recall a single instance where he and this girl had a direct conversation.

“Well, he’s... fine...”

Still not much of a talker, huh? Viktor wouldn’t say she was shy, but she rarely engaged with anyone outside of her own group. Which made her presence here all the more curious. Why did she come all this way just to help some stranger plant herbs in the middle of nowhere? Was it because, just as Mandragora had said, she wanted to learn how to brew magical potions?

“So you two know each other?” the tattooed woman asked, her sharp green gaze studying them in turn.

“Yes,” Viktor replied. “I’ve met her and her friends many times before at the Guild. Haven’t seen them lately, though.”

“I see.” Mandragora nodded. “Well then, we may as well begin. Quinn, would you prefer I show you how to do it, or would you rather follow Renee?”

Viktor shrugged. “You are the Druidess. I think it’s only proper I follow your lead.”

Mandragora let out a soft chuckle. “Alright then.”

And so they began.

Renee and Fiora grabbed their seedlings and got straight to work, hands moving with the confidence of people who had already been told what to do. Viktor, on the other hand, remained by Mandragora’s side, watching carefully.

The woman knelt down by the prepared patch of earth, her fingers brushing over the surface. She pressed a tiny seedling into the soil, cupping the dirt around it, patting it gently while whispering something that sounded almost like a lullaby to the plant. There was something... intimate in the way she moved. It was as if she were caring for a child instead of simply planting a bit of greenery.

Viktor arched a brow.

Was there any magic involved in the process? Some sort of rituals, perhaps? Or was it just a Druidess being a Druidess, talking to plants like it was the most natural thing in the world?

He glanced over at the two girls. They were working in silence, without whispering, or singing, or any theatrical nonsense. Well, that answered the questions.

“Here,” Mandragora said, holding out a seedling to him. “Place it gently into the earth. Not too deep. Feel it, and treat it like it has a heartbeat.”

Viktor stared at the thing in his hand.

A heartbeat. Of course. Perfectly reasonable.

Resisting the urge to ask where exactly one could find a pulse on a plant, he crouched down and did as instructed, mimicking her earlier movements. Well, it was pretty simple and straightforward actually, once he had tuned out the weird parts.

“Good job,” Mandragora said. “You already know what you’re doing. You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Viktor gave a shrug. “I’ve got a small garden at home. My sisters and I plant a few things now and then.”

“Good,” Mandragora said with an approving tone. “Then we won’t have to start from square one.”

With that, they got on with the work.

It was nothing grand. Only dirt and hands and a quiet, repetitive job. The forest remained still around them; the only sound Viktor could consistently make out was the occasional lullaby that Mandragora murmured as she tended to her “children.”

“So, how did you guys end up together?” he asked, breaking the silence with a tone that carried a casual curiosity.

He didn’t look up; his hands kept moving. After all, he was not trying to gather information, of course not. Just merely making an attempt at small talk.

“Who?” Renee asked. “Our party?”

“Yes,” Viktor said. “From what I’ve seen, you’re not exactly from the same corner of the world. You and Mandragora are from the West, Ba’atar is from the East, and Ekon is from the South. That’s... a very wide spread. How on earth did you even end up meeting each other?”

Renee laughed. “Well, I suppose it does sound a bit strange when you put it like that. For me, it was simple enough. I’d just finished my studies under my master and wanted to set out to see the world. When I heard there was a new dungeon here, I figured that was as good a destination as any. I ran into Ekon and Mandragora at an inn on the way. We got to talking and, I don’t know, we just got along, I guess. So we decided to travel together and see where things went. As for Ba’atar, we met him just outside Daelin. Turned out that he was an old acquaintance of Ekon, so inviting him into the party just made sense.”

So, the girl was the newcomer, while the other two had already had some history with that bald man.

Viktor turned to Mandragora. “You and Ekon go back a long way, then?”

And she responded with a small shrug. “Not very long. Less than a year.”

“They’ve told me about it,” Renee said. “Apparently, one day she found him in the forest where her Circle is located. He was unconscious, and badly injured. She took him in, treated his injuries, and stayed with him until he recovered.”

“Really?” Viktor asked the Druidess. “What happened to him?”

“He got himself into some trouble. Upset the wrong people. Lost a fight he shouldn’t have picked. He ran, and ended up in my forest.”

Ekon’s enemies, huh? Viktor couldn’t help but think of the men from Iskora, those the bald man had instructed Renee to follow.

“Who were they?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Mandragora replied. “He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t want to pry.”

Or maybe he did tell you, but you didn’t want to tell me. Still, he decided to drop that line of questioning; pressing further could risk her growing suspicious.

“Anyway, enough about my party. Let’s talk about something else,” Mandragora said. She tilted her head slightly, her green eyes now resting on Fiora.

“Me? Well... everyone in my party is from the same city. We’ve known each other since forever, so... I don’t really know what there is to say.”

“Yes, I already know that.” Mandragora smiled. “But there’s something else, right? Something very interesting. I heard that your party found the dungeon on your very first day in Daelin. I’m very curious. How did you manage that?”

What?

Of all things she could possibly ask, she wanted to know about that?

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Chapter 157: Hands of Shadow

The three hands hovered around Dimitria like a pack of obedient hounds, restrained by some invisible leashes. Their massive, shifting forms coiled and uncoiled with a slow, almost lazy menace, as though they were waiting for the slightest flick of their mistress’s will before lunging forward to tear apart whatever she pointed them at.

They were not the product of a spell, of that Viktor was quite certain. For one, he had never heard of anything like this. For another, Dimitria was a pyromancer. She shouldn’t have the ability to command darkness.

A Reliquary, then.

An artifact that allowed the woman to summon her little pets.

That was when he noticed it. A ring, resting on her long finger, glinting faintly whenever she shifted her hand.

Was it the one?

He narrowed his eyes. Had it been there all along? Had he overlooked it until now? Or had she kept it concealed, waiting for the right moment to reveal her secret trump card?

Well, those were questions for later. He would inspect the ring at his leisure after he took it away from the cold, lifeless finger it would soon adorn no longer. But he had to win the fight first. And they were coming.

The first hand shot forward, a writhing claw of pure black. He twisted his body and slid just out of reach as the thing passed, its elongated fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve. For a fraction of a second, the world seemed to tilt as a sudden wave of nausea rolled through his stomach.

Is that... part of the attack?

He didn’t have time to dwell on that thought, however.

The second hand came, surging forward in a horizontal sweep with terrifying intent, claws spread wide like a fan of darkness ready to envelop him completely and crush him within its grasp. He snapped his body upward, wind gems roaring as he kicked off the air itself, narrowly escaping the closing fingers.

Once again, vertigo hit him, sharper this time.

Now he was certain. These hands were not just dangerous physically; they also carried a corrosive, disorienting effect on his senses whenever they came close enough.

But... the first strike, the one when he was still wrapped in his dark veil, hadn’t had such an effect.

Perhaps, the shroud had somehow absorbed or blocked whatever curse effect the shadows carried, and it was shredded in his place. Damn. If mere proximity was enough to make him feel sick, he didn’t want to imagine being touched, let alone being trapped in their grip.

The third hand swung in. This time, instead of dodging, he spun and drew his rapier in one radiant arc. The blade of light sliced through the air, cleaving the black mass. And the instant the luminous edge struck, the shadowy hand shredded, dissipating like smoke caught in a sudden gust of wind.

Oh?

On the other hand, the glow of the rapier dimmed sharply. Looked like the energy that fueled the blade had been drained far more quickly than usual.

It seemed, when light and dark collided, they canceled each other out. Thus, even though he had managed to destroy the hand, his own weapon had taken a heavy toll, its strength greatly diminished. So yes, the weapon was effective, but it came at a cost. And in a fight that would demand repeated strikes, where those hands of shadow could come at him again and again, the need to recharge his blade put him at a disadvantage.

Viktor pivoted, readying himself for the remaining hands, only to find them hovering back at Dimitria’s side. She was staring at his blade, doubt and concern flickering across her face.

Ah, she’s rattled. Seeing one of her precious pets shredded so easily must have shaken her. So she ordered the rest to fall back. That was a mistake, though. She should have pressed her advantage, sending those hands forward to attack him relentlessly, and his glowing stick would have burned out before he could fend them all off.

Instead, she had stepped back and given him room to breathe, and he was not going to complain. He returned the rapier to its sheath, its power quietly recharging.

The Ettin lumbered to his side. “Let me help you, Master.”

“No,” Viktor said. “You stay back.”

Mighty as it was, he doubted it could help much against these hands of shadow, even when it was at its full strength. And now, after taking numerous injuries in the previous battle, it had become even less reliable, and could even turn into a liability.

“Why did it call you Master?” Dimitria’s voice cut across the chamber, her tone a mix of curiosity and disbelief. “Who the hell are you?”

Viktor didn’t bother to answer. He turned his thoughts to the question of what to do next. It looked like the woman wasn’t in any hurry to attack again. Instead, she took her time to conjure more hands. She was waiting for their numbers to swell, and would only strike when she had enough to overwhelm him.

That was not a bad strategy, actually. If a dozen hands attacked him at the same time, he would struggle to keep up. The blade of light could cut down one or two at best, while the chamber’s low ceilings had made evasive maneuvers difficult.

Well, it was not like light was the only thing that could disrupt shadow. Fire could do the trick as well. After all, Spiky Head—who Dimitria had called Xander—had once launched a crescent of flame at Viktor from his burning sword. The projectile had grazed him, and destabilized the dark veil for a brief moment. A direct hit, and the shroud would have been torn apart completely.

Acting on that insight, he raised a hand, letting the fire gems flare to life and hurled several fiery globes at the shadowy appendages.

Before they could reach their targets, however, Dimitria had made her move. A casual flick of her left hand, and the fireballs were swept aside, spinning off their courses before smashing into the chamber’s walls with a shower of sparks.

Well, of course that was not going to work against a pyromancer. Not when what he had at his disposal was little more than an elementary spell. Even so, the experiment had its merits. The fact that Dimitria had to protect those hands was proof enough that they were indeed vulnerable to fire.

[Should I send Galatea there to aid you, Master?]

That was not a bad idea. Galatea’s affinity for light magic would be very useful in a situation like this. In her armored form, she could use her warhammer, imbued with her magic, to smash everything into glowing wreckage. In her projection form, she was so damn shiny that those hands would die instantly just by looking at her. Still, he had another idea he wanted to try first.

Not yet, he told his Dungeon Core. I’ll tell you when I need help.

[Understood.]

And so, Viktor turned inward. Even as his eyes remained fixed on Dimitria and the shadows she conjured thanks to the power of her ring, his mind was focused on something else entirely. A Thauma, of course.

When he finished crafting, there were now ten hands of shadow around the woman, twisting and lashing, hungry for blood.

“Die, brat!” Dimitria shouted, her hand snapping forward to fling all of them at him in a single, coordinated assault. The hands obeyed their mistress’s command, converging upon him from every direction. From above, from below, from the sides. A closing cage of darkness that offered no escape.

Viktor did not evade.

Instead, he commanded his wind gems to roar, summoning bursts of force to propel himself straight into his opponent.

The hands slammed into him—

—and they passed right through.

Because he had activated the Thauma he just made.

Phase Through Darkness.

It was wrought from the remaining Sigil of Phasing and two Sigils of Maintaining, and it functioned exactly as its name promised. Just as the other versions that had allowed him to move effortlessly through air or solid earth, this one let him phase through those monstrous limbs without any impediment, unharmed and unhindered.

“What—!?” Dimitria’s voice broke into a strangled gasp, her eyes widening in shock as she witnessed something that should be impossible: her opponent had ignored her deadly attacks like they were nothing, and closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. And, before she could even comprehend it, the blade of light flared from its sheath, cutting across her neck in a flash of radiance.

Viktor halted behind her. With a slow, almost ceremonious motion, he returned the rapier to its scabbard. Then, he turned around, and saw that all the shadowy hands, those monstrous extensions of darkness that had threatened to overwhelm him moments ago, were gone, vanished as if they had never been there to begin with.

The space was empty, save for the woman who now stood frozen. A single line of red streaked across her throat, and a tear welled in the corner of her eye.

“No... This can’t happen...” Her voice trembled. “I... can’t die like this...”

“We’ve had quite an eventful encounter today,” Viktor said. “I’ve learned a lot, thanks to you. You have my gratitude, lady.”

He gave a bow as the head fell from her shoulders. The rest of her body followed a moment later, collapsing onto the cold stone floor.

Looking down at his fallen opponent, Viktor drew a breath as he brushed the sweat off his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

“That was amazing,” the Ettin’s middle head exclaimed. “I can’t believe you could’ve pulled off something like that.”

The right head bellowed. “YOU KILLED HER DEAD, MASTER!”

“Scary...” the left head murmured. “I hope... we’ll never be on your bad side...”

Viktor chuckled. “It’s nothing but a simple trick.”

Well, to be honest, the whole thing was actually quite risky.

Even though he had been certain he could physically pass through the hands thanks to his Thauma, the curse attached to them was a entirely different matter. Charging straight into those shadows could very well have been a fatal mistake.

Of course, it was not like he didn’t have any safeguards. He was still under the protection of “Rekindled Ember,” after all. And that was exactly why he had chosen to go ahead with the plan; he had a fallback even if things went wrong.

In the end, he had won, and that was all that mattered. Now came the next step: collecting the loot.

He approached Dimitria’s corpse. His gaze settled on her right hand, the hand that had once wielded shadows like extensions of her own will.

And he saw nothing there.

The ring.

It was gone.

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Chapter 156: Sealed Fate

The golem swung.

Massive, molten, and blazing like it had stolen the sun for a fist. The air shimmered with heat, alive with screeches and roaring streaks of orange. Viktor twisted mid-flight, letting the strike thunder past under him. Sparks rained down, bouncing off the arena’s walls like fireworks as the enormous arm slammed into nothing.

He spiraled upward and arched over the fiery construct, trailing a writhing cloak of shadows behind, tugging at the flames, bending them, teasing them. Too bad he couldn’t climb too high; the damned ceiling was still close enough for the golem to reach if it tried hard enough.

Who is the bastard that thought making a ceiling this low was a good idea? Viktor chuckled to himself. Oh, wait. That’s me.

After all, this arena had initially been built with one and only one purpose: to serve as a battleground for Sebekton and the two Dungeon Reavers, Azran and Lahmia. At the time, Viktor had wrongly assumed Azran to be an aeromancer, and he had specifically designed this room to counter the bald man, making sure that even if he took to the air, Sebekton could still land a blow with his axe.

Now Viktor found himself on the receiving end of this. Even with the wind gems that granted him effortless flight, the chamber was just too cramped for maneuvering, and it was only a matter of time before the golem had him cornered.

But it was fine.

He had no intention of being a dancing partner to this mountain of burning rocks forever. He was merely buying time for his rapier to recharge.

And once it was ready, he wasn’t running anymore. He went straight toward his opponent.

The fiery swing came again, but Viktor had prepared for it. His “Fire Shield” had already been activated. The moment the hand neared, the flames fizzed and hissed into nothingness. The molten arm was just a rock arm now.

At the same time, the blade of light flared from its sheath, slicing through the no-longer-fire-drenched stone as if it were paper, and the limb fell to the ground with a resonant, echoing thud.

Viktor didn’t stop there.

The blade slashed again, and again, and again.

Vertical, horizontal, diagonal.

A continuous blur of lethal light cut through the body of the golem; each swing severed another chunk of the construct. His “Fire Shield” snuffed out the flames, while his sword tore the rocks to pieces. Debris rained to the ground, and when the dust settled, the golem was gone.

Hovering above the pile of rubble, Viktor drew a breath as he sheathed his rapier. What an incredible tool, he thought. So this is the power of a six-winged angel, huh? A portion of the power, to be accurate. He couldn’t help but wonder what the full power would feel like. No need to recharge anymore, perhaps.

Yes, the Reliquary’s main drawback was that its light gradually waned over time, causing the radiant blade to lose both length and sharpness with every swing. So it had to be returned to its scabbard to recover its strength, preventing the wielder from using it repeatedly during extended engagements.

If only there were a way to remove that limitation, he mused. Oh well, that was a problem for another time. For now...

He glanced at Dimitria. Your turn.

“Wait—I surrender!” The woman’s voice cracked, thin and trembling. “Please... just don’t—don’t kill me!”

Huh?

“I... I’m not your enemy!” She raised her hands, shaking. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Iskora, but... I’m just hired by them. Let me go, and I’ll walk away. I’ll never come back. I’ll trouble you no more.”

Viktor chuckled. To see a mage so prideful, so confident, so commanding, now reduced to such a pathetic state. Still, that was human nature. When staring into the abyss of death, they would grovel, they would beg, they would bargain for their lives. So he could hardly blame her for it.

“I... I can even help you. I can spy on them for you. Just give the order, and I’ll do anything you want.”

Well, the idea of dragging her to Orloth’s place, planting a parasite in her skull, and adding her to his collection of obedient agents was... tempting, indeed.

But no.

With people like Yvonne and Pimm, he could manage. Dimitria, on the other hand, was a powerful woman with powerful friends. Someone like her would not submit for long. She would plot behind his back, and she would betray him at the first opportunity. To leave her alive would be a grave mistake.

Also, he had spoken to the Ettin with his own voice in front of her earlier. She should have realized, or would eventually realize once she calmed down, that the voice belonged to a child. That knowledge must not be allowed to spread. In other words, her fate had already been sealed in that very instant.

So, the only rational course of action was to extract whatever information he could from her, then deliver a quick and clean death.

“What does Iskora want from my dungeon?” Viktor asked. “Why are they so intent on forcing their way into Daelin, squandering resources with such reckless abandon, all for the sake of securing a foothold in a backwater town in the middle of nowhere like this?”

“I... I don’t know...” Dimitria replied. “Believe me, I truly don’t know anything about their objective. They gather people like me, and they pay us more than we could ever hope to earn elsewhere, so I came, with... my student.” She glanced at what was left of Bella on the floor. “I only follow orders, the ones given by Zubayr. As for the real purpose behind all of this, only he, and Xander, are privy to it.”

“Xander?”

“He’s another Mithril-ranked adventurer. A large man with spiky hair and thick sideburns.”

Ah. That guy.

“You never thought to ask questions?”

Dimitria shook her head. “I learned long ago that prying too much in this line of work would only lead to trouble. Besides... as I said, they paid us handsomely, so keeping my mouth shut was the smarter choice.”

“You’re Zubayr’s top enforcer. Do you seriously expect me to believe that he’s kept you completely in the dark about the true nature of his mission?”

“I’m only entrusted with the visible side of things. Keeping our men and the people in the slums in line. Maintaining discipline and control. But when it comes to anything covert, anything that requires secrecy, he uses others for that. Those hooded men.”

“Who?”

“They wear black robes, always with their hoods drawn so low you cannot see their faces clearly. They move quietly, keep to themselves, and they’re almost never seen by anyone. I’ve only caught glimpses of them a handful of times. I asked Zubayr about them once, just once, and he told me it was not something I needed to concern myself with. So I never asked again.”

Dimitria drew a breath.

“I think they’re in Daelin now. Hidden somewhere, doing something for Zubayr. Something important. What it is, though, I do not know.”

Ugh.

So, in addition to the festering mess on the west side, now there were unknown actors lurking around in other parts of the town as well? Wonderful. Exactly what he needed.

Oh well, that was a matter for later. For now, there were more questions to be asked.

“What do you know about the monster attack on Daelin’s outpost?”

“About that,” Dimitria said. “I... I don’t know the details. But personally, I believe Daelin’s suspicion is probably correct: that we were indeed responsible for the attack. For one, it was the timing of everything. And also... when we assaulted the camp after the original defenders had been chased away by the monsters, the resistance we faced was almost nonexistent. Those creatures barely fought back. Even as we cut them down, they didn’t do anything to defend themselves. It was as if someone wanted to hand the camp over to us on a silver platter.”

Viktor nodded. It was indeed strange that the adventurers from Iskora could slaughter that horde of monsters without a single loss on their side. Someone, somewhere, had controlled the monsters, ordered them to take over the outpost, then obediently died when these men got there.

“What do you know about Clovis?”

“He was the Guildmaster of Iskora, the one who originally conceived this whole project. Then, a week ago, he was replaced by a man named Khalid. That’s all I know. Zubayr is the one who reports to them, while I myself only receive instructions from him.”

So much for Zubayr’s so-called second-in-command. It looked like this woman didn’t know anything at all. That was, of course, assuming she was not lying. It was possible she was still hiding something. Well, he could just send her to Orloth; the guy had his way of squeezing secrets out of people.

But... it wasn’t really necessary.

He had already decided that her end would be swift and clean should she cooperate, and he was going to do just that.

He laid a palm over the hilt of his blade. But at that exact moment—

“Look out, Master!” the Ettin’s middle head shouted.

Viktor dodged just in time. A massive, shifting hand, composed of shadows so dense and so large it could have contained his entire body, swept through the space he had occupied a fraction of a second earlier.

And.

Even though it missed his body, it ripped his veil of darkness away. The shroud was torn to threads, sucked into the monstrous hand’s own black, leaving him completely exposed.

“You!” Dimitria’s voice rang out, her earlier fear completely gone, replaced by a mask of anger. “You’re really a brat.”

That hand of shadow was, of course, her creation. Now, two more had emerged, hovering around her.

I see.

Either she had figured her chances of being spared were slim and decided to gamble everything in a desperate attack, or she had just been pretending to be afraid, obediently answering all of his questions to make him let his guard down. Neither was really surprising. What he didn’t expect, however, was that she still had this little trick up her sleeve.

Well then.

If she wanted to die fighting, if she had chosen to meet her end with defiance, then so be it.

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Chapter 155: Entering the Fray

The walking mass of burning rocks and molten seams advanced without any pretense of grace. Each footfall split the ground apart, sending sharp cracks spiderwebbing outward under its immense weight. Relentless waves of heat rolled off its hulking body in suffocating pulses that warped the air into shimmering distortions and drenched the chamber in a throbbing orange glow.

The Ettin cast aside the remains of Bella without ceremony. The two halves of her body hit the floor in a pair of wet thuds, already forgotten as the creature’s all three heads turned toward its next opponent.

“What... what is that?” the left head said.

“IT’S FIRE AND ROCK! SMASH IT!” the right head roared.

“Careful—!” the middle head warned, just as the golem swung.

The attack came like a falling tower, and the Ettin didn’t try to stop it. Instead, the creature shifted its weight, letting the strike pass a hair’s breadth away, and the blazing fist crashed into a pillar nearby with catastrophic force. Stone exploded on impact, the column shattering into a storm of fiery debris blasting in every direction. The Ettin was already moving, stepping forward into the opening created by the missed blow.

One massive hand shot forward, fingers spread wide before slamming into the golem’s chest. There was a hiss, the sound of raw meat hitting a hot pan. The contact alone would have driven a lesser creature back, but the Ettin did not recoil.

Its claws dug in.

The outer layer of stone cracked, thin lines at first that rapidly deepened and spread into jagged fissures racing across the golem’s body as the Ettin poured its full strength into the effort, muscles straining under skin that was already blistering and blackening from the heat.

Fire surged in response, spilling over the creature’s hand, licking upward along its arm in hungry tongues that devoured flesh as they climbed, burning through skin and into muscle, exposing raw, glistening tissue beneath.

Yet, the Ettin refused to let go.

So the golem raised its other arm high, then brought it down in a crushing arc. The left head screamed as the fist drove deep into its shoulder, leaving behind a smoking crater of charred flesh.

The creature staggered back, abandoning its attempt to tear the golem’s torso apart with its bare hands. It retreated to where its fallen axe lay, and snatched the weapon up with its right hand.

[I don’t think that the Ettin could win this fight.]

Viktor gave a slow nod. “You’re right.”

After all, cunning only counted for so much when faced with raw, overwhelming power. The golem could match its opponent in size and strength, and yet also possessed qualities far beyond the reach of things made of flesh and blood. It would never fear, it would never tire, it would never bleed. The thing could keep fighting forever, until it was literally torn to pieces. And even dismantling it was no simple task, as the Ettin had learned the lesson the hard way: if one tried to hurt the golem, they would end up hurting themselves in the process. Each strike exacted a toll, while the construct just couldn’t care less.

[Should I send reinforcements to help it?]

“No need,” Viktor said. “I’ll go there myself.”

The combat test with the Ettin was, by all reasonable measures, a resounding success. The creature had demonstrated not only its physical strength, but also its tactical awareness. It had been able to endure pressure, assess threats, exploit openings, and ultimately turn what should have been a losing engagement into a decisive and brutal victory.

And now, with that phase complete, it was time to move on to the next experiment.

Viktor walked to a corner, where his Reliquaries lay stacked in a careless heap. He picked up his rapier. Then, he closed his eyes, turning his focus inward as he crafted several Thauma he might need for the upcoming fight.

“Celeste,” he said once his preparations were complete, “teleport me to the hidden room next to the arena.”

[Understood. Be careful, Master.]

The world around him shifted, and he found himself surrounded by darkness. This was the secret chamber concealed behind the arena’s walls. The same place he had kept his forces lying in ambush, for Azran and Lahmia, and later for the second group of Dungeon Reavers. Now, he was inside it himself.

He activated “Dark Veil.” Immediately, the shadows responded, as though they had been waiting for his call. They peeled away from walls and floor and ceiling, drawn toward him, coiling and gathering until they wrapped around his form in a shifting cloak.

Then he cast “Pass Wall,” a Thauma crafted from one Sigil of Phasing and one Sigil of Maintaining. Basically an inferior version of Khenemhotep’s spell. It affected only his own body, it did not allow him to pass through thick walls, and it would not last long. Still, that was enough.

He drifted forward, and the stone yielded. In the blink of an eye, blackness gave way to oppressive brilliance, chill replaced by intense heat.

“What the—!?” the warrior cried, as he saw a hovering, shadowy humanoid suddenly appear by his side.

But he could speak no longer, as Viktor drew his rapier from its sheath and sent it slashing in a single, diagonal arc. The moment the blade came free, light erupted. The blinding radiance surged along the mithril base, transforming it into a weapon that could cut through everything. Through steel, through leather, through flesh, through bone. None of them could offer any resistance before this luminous edge.

Well, yes, the rapier was a Reliquary now. Celeste had transferred to it the power of Bjorn’s sword.

For a heartbeat, the warrior simply stood there. His eyes were still wide, still startled, still trying to understand what was going on. A thin line of red appeared, from his hip to his opposite shoulder. Then, the top slid off the bottom, while the wall behind him was repainted by a violent crimson arc.

“You—!” Dimitria spun toward him, her voice cracking with disbelief. For the first time, Viktor saw genuine fear in her expression. In the dilating pupils of her eyes, in the faint tremor of her jaw. “How? Why are you here?”

But he paid her no heed. There was something more important he needed to confirm with Celeste.

Did you get any Essence Points from this man at all?

[Yes, Master.]

This was another thing he had intended to test. He wanted to know what would happen if he killed someone inside the dungeon. Would she gain the points if someone died at his hand? The answer, it turned out, was yes.

Of course, there were other variables he needed to explore further. After all, the guy was not a mage, and Viktor had already reached his level cap. These factors could influence whether Celeste could gain the points or not. Thus, the next iteration of the experiment would have to adjust those conditions, one at a time. As for the level cap, there was nothing he could do about it, not until he obtained the second Key. As for the mage factor, well, he had one right here, ready to provide the next data point.

“Die, you bastard!” Dimitria screamed, her voice breaking under the weight of rage and desperation.

It looked like she had recovered from her fear, or rather, it was fear that had driven her to act. Fight or flight, and she had chosen the former. But to be fair, given that the entrance was currently blocked by the clash between the two behemoths, one of flesh, one of stone, running away was not really an option.

The pyromancer’s hands blurred with motion, weaving through the air as she called upon her command of fire. From her palms, a storm of fireballs erupted, spiraling and hissing like living torches, each projectile screaming toward Viktor with enough heat to consume him along with the shadows that clung to his body. The atmosphere warped and shimmered under the intensity of the attack, each fiery globe leaving behind a fleeting trail of molten light that painted the arena in vivid streaks of red and orange.

However.

The moment they neared him by about two paces, their furious glow faltered, fizzing out with a sharp, audible snap, dissipating into harmless smoke as if they had never existed at all.

“What—?”

Dimitria’s eyes widened in stunned disbelief, her mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Shock painted every line of her face, and the arrogance she had been exuding until moments ago crumbled under the realization that she had been outmatched.

What had transpired was, of course, the result of a Thauma.

Fire Shield.

Viktor had crafted it from two Sigils of Unmaking and one Sigil of Maintaining. Once it was cast, it created a protective sphere around him with a radius of two paces, a sphere within which any fire that dared to manifest would be instantly unmade, reduced to nothing before it could ever touch him. The shield would persist for two minutes, or until a certain amount of fire had been destroyed.

Which meant, technically, Dimitria could just keep throwing fireball after fireball, hammering the shield with a relentless, unending barrage until it broke. But she didn’t know that. The only thing she knew was the volley she just unleashed had been effortlessly snuffed out before it could even reach the target. And that fact had shocked her right down to the core.

After all, she was a pyromancer. Fire was her one and only weapon. It was not merely a tool, but her identity. If she had to fight an enemy that was immune to fire, she was as good as dead.

“Protect me!” she whimpered, her voice thinning to a thread.

The little pet she had made from rocks and flames answered immediately. It tore itself from the current engagement and charged straight at Viktor. The Ettin, naturally, would not let an enemy show its back and get away with it. With a roar, it pursued, swinging its gigantic axe.

“No need,” Viktor told his minion, and the creature obediently skidded to a halt.

The radiant light had already vanished from his rapier, so he sheathed the blade once more. Then, with unhurried pace, he drifted forward—to his colossal opponent.

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Chapter 154: Ettin

The Ettin took a heavy step forward, and the chamber shuddered in acknowledgment of its presence. A tremor rippled outward from its footfall, spreading across the stone floor in widening waves.

“What...” the warrior breathed, his big sword now looking absurdly small in comparison to the monstrosity looming before him. “What the hell is that thing?”

The creature’s middle head split into a grin, lips peeling back to show rows of jagged teeth. “Hear that?” it said, voice thick with amusement. “They want to know who we are.”

The head on the left leaned in. “Should... should we answer?”

“WHAT FOR?” the head on the right bellowed. It drew in a long breath through flaring nostrils, sniffing the adventurers like a butcher sizing a side of fresh meat. “LET’S JUST SMASH THEM!”

The warrior took an involuntary step back. “They... they’re talking?”

“Yes, Ettins tend to do that,” Dimitria replied. “Be careful. These creatures are far more cunning than their appearance suggests.”

The warrior nodded. “So... what’s the plan?”

Dimitria jerked her chin at the bulk of the Ettin, which was planted squarely between the party and the exit. “You see any other way out?”

The warrior didn’t answer.

“Clearly, it’s looking for a fight,” Dimitria continued. “And it’s going to get one.”

“I don’t think the beast is the only one here who has that mood,” the warrior muttered.

“Oh, I’m itching.”

“Be my guest, then. I’ll watch. From a safe distance.”

Dimitria gave the warrior a sharp look. “Aren’t you supposed to be the frontline fighter of the group?”

“I want to stay alive. So I’m not going to trade blows with that thing. It’s suicidal.”

“Fine. Stay out of the way.” Dimitria’s lips curled in open disgust. “Still, I do need someone to keep it busy.” She turned to the rogue. “You’re always bragging about how fast and nimble you are. Care to demonstrate how well you hold up when something is trying to beat you to a pulp?”

The rogue muttered a curse under his breath, but he moved forward anyway, drawing two long knives before letting them settle into a reverse grip in his hands.

“If I die,” he said, “I’m going to haunt you.”

“What... what about me?” Bella asked from behind them. “What should I do?”

“You’ve done your part,” Dimitria said. “Now stay out of the way.”

“U-understood,” Bella replied quickly, the relief in her voice impossible to hide as she retreated several steps, her staff trembling in her hands. She risked a glance at the Ettin, and found herself staring directly into the eyes of the creature’s middle head. The girl flinched and shrank away, dropping her gaze immediately.

“SO IT’S TWO AGAINST THREE, IS IT?” The right head roared, its voice dripping with savage delight. “THE ODDS FAVOR US!”

“Isn’t it... two against one?” said the left head. “We only have a single body, after all...”

The rogue moved.

There was no speech, no warning. Just motion, quick and low and quiet. Six strides and he had already crossed the distance.

The Ettin’s heads turned, tracking him. Three sets of eyes, three different expressions. One looked worried, one looked amused, and one looked angry. The creature brought its weapons down like a collapsing building, axe and club in wide, ugly sweeps meant to turn a man into a red smear on the stone.

The rogue folded his body into a roll that carried him past the point of impact just as the weapons struck, dust and splinters chasing him across the floor. He came up at the creature’s leg, his knives already flashing. One above the knee, one below. Blood welled up around the blades, and he twisted, tore them free, then cut again.

The Ettin grunted, more from irritation than from pain. Its other leg lashed out in a brutal kick that could crush a slower opponent, but the rogue was already gone, rolling clear before the blow could connect.

At the same time, fire bloomed on the other side of the chamber.

While the rogue danced at the edge of death to keep the creature’s attention fixed upon him, Dimitria stood just beyond its immediate reach, preparing her spell. She pressed her palms together, and between them flames writhed and twisted. They compressed, folded in on themselves, forged into shape by the pyromancer’s will. The fire dimmed, brightened, dimmed again—until it solidified into a lance of searing flame. A blazing spear spinning slowly between her hands, burning with a heat so intense that the air around it shimmered and warped.

Without a word, she hurled it.

The projectile screamed through the air, a streak of incandescent fury aimed straight for the Ettin’s right head, and for an instant it seemed inevitable that the strike would cleanly land. But, at the last possible moment, the creature twisted its massive frame with a speed no one could have expected from a body that size, and brought its axe up to intercept the lance mid-flight, the blade catching the condensed flame and deflecting it aside in an explosive burst of scattered embers.

Dimitria clicked her tongue, but her expression didn’t change. Flames coiled around her again as she began shaping another lance.

The Ettin, now fully aware of the threat she posed, let out an enraged bellow and shifted its weight, attempting to charge toward her position and end the problem at its source. But the rogue was there again, darting in close to disrupt its movement.

The creature swung its club at the rogue in a sweeping arc. This time, instead of rolling, he jumped onto it. Yes, he actually jumped onto the club itself. Boots hit the wood, and he ran along the weapon’s length. He sprinted across the massive arm, from the wrist to the forearm, then from the forearm to the shoulder. The left head turned to look at him, eyes widening in shock.

The rogue’s knives crossed its face.

Left to right, right to left, a cross carved into flesh. Blood spilled down over the head’s eyes, its nose, its slackening mouth. It screamed, an anguished wail that echoed through the chamber.

The rogue pushed off from the Ettin’s shoulder, flipping backward through the air before landing on the floor several paces away. His chest heaved, but a grin spread across his face.

Damn, this guy is good, Viktor thought.

Well, if he weren’t, then he wouldn’t be able to draw his opponent’s attention. And the Ettin would just ignore him entirely and go straight for Dimitria instead.

And so the fight went on, stretching into a deadly rhythm where the rogue wove through the creature’s relentless assaults, slipping between swings that would have reduced a less mobile fighter to pulp, while Dimitria stood at range, watching, waiting, launching her lances whenever an opening presented itself. Occasionally, she broke the pattern, unleashing a barrage of smaller fireballs to suppress its movement.

Bit by bit, the Ettin was worn down.

Its injuries had been nothing catastrophic. There was no single strike that had crippled it, no single flame that had burned deep enough to end the fight outright. But together, they took their toll. Cuts accumulated, and burns layered over them.

The Ettin was slower now, its breath coming in labored gasps. Its right arm faltered, forcing it to drop the gigantic axe. Now it used that hand to grab instead, but every attempt to seize the rogue failed as the man slipped free again and again.

“It hurts... it hurts...”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? SMASH HIM! SMASH HIM!”

“I can’t... I can’t catch him...”

The warrior laughed. “Cunning, you say? From what I can tell, it’s just another dumb beast.”

“You sure talk big for someone who hasn’t done anything at all,” Dimitria said. Still, she grinned all the same. Because she, too, believed the fight was already over.

Anyone else watching would have reached the same conclusion. The Ettin had been weakened, bleeding out, trapped in a losing battle of attrition, and the next strike would be the one to end it.

However.

As the blazing lance was about to leave Dimitria’s hand, suddenly the Ettin raised its right hand and pointed a finger at the rogue.

Viktor chuckled. Here comes the hex.

After all, attrition went both ways. Even though the rogue hadn’t taken any direct hits, all the constant running and dodging had exhausted him, sapping his stamina, leaving him vulnerable to the curse attack. And since the creature could cast the spell three times in a row, its success was all but guaranteed.

Sure enough, in the very next instant, the rogue dropped to one knee as the invisible fatigue struck. Before he could recover, a massive hand seized him, fingers gripping like iron bands as the Ettin lifted him effortlessly from the ground. And, in the same motion, it threw him away, straight into the path of the fiery projectile that Dimitria had just unleashed.

It hit him square in the chest.

For a second, the spear of flame stuck there, buried in his ribs. Then, it spread. His clothes vanished, turned to ash that swirled around him in the sudden surge of hot air. His skin peeled away from muscle like scraps of paper, curling at the edges, turning black, turning to nothing. His knives fell from hands that were no longer hands. They were just claws now, charred meat fused to white bone.

Bella let out a piercing scream. A raw, tearing sound that shouldn’t belong to a throat that small. Nearby, the warrior stood frozen, his mouth hanging open in stunned disbelief. Even Dimitria, who until now had carried herself with absolute control, seemed rattled. Her eyes widened as she realized, a little too late, that she had made a terrible mistake.

Well, that was Ettins for you. They might look stupid, in the way their heads kept bickering and contradicting one another, even in the middle of a fight, but under that chaos lay a vicious, predatory cunning, always ready to exploit even the smallest mistake.

And it didn’t stop there. Wasting no time on its victory, the creature immediately broke into a charge.

“Hey!” The warrior’s voice cracked. “Do something!”

Dimitria didn’t answer. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed forward, locked onto the creature as her lips began to move in a low, steady murmur.

If Viktor had to guess, she was casting the same spell Bella had used before, to plant the invisible explosive traps. She was the girl’s teacher after all, so of course she also knew that trick. It was an effective spell for defensive purposes. If she placed the traps in the Ettin’s path, and it ran straight into them, that would be the end of the matter.

However, the creature already knew about that spell, since Celeste had warned it beforehand. So it stopped dead mid-charge, its arm snapping forward as it released its club and sent the weapon hurtling through the air. It spun as it flew, a whirling slab of wood, tearing through the space between the Ettin and its target. And, the moment the weapon hit the unseen trap, the air exploded.

The club burst into flame in an instant. Still, the burning remnant kept flying, and it passed Dimitria’s head so close her hair stirred in the heat.

And even that was not the end.

Because the Ettin had lunged forward again, charging through the space its thrown weapon had just carved open, closing the remaining distance with terrifying speed. One massive hand swung down toward the pyromancer, fingers spread wide. She dodged at the very last moment, barely escaping the crushing grasp.

The hand missed her.

Still, it kept going.

It continued past Dimitria.

And there was someone else behind the woman.

Bella.

The girl barely had time to react. Her eyes went wide as the hand closed around her right arm and yanked her upward. She screamed, legs kicking helplessly as she struggled against the unyielding grip.

The creature’s other hand found her left ankle. And it pulled.

A sickening tear.

And coils of intestine hit the stone floor with a heavy, wet slap.

For a frozen instant, Dimitria stood motionless, her wide eyes reflecting the unspeakable horror before her, her lips parted as if the world itself had gone mute, refusing to acknowledge what she had just witnessed.

Then, the shock cracked like shattered stone, and her face contorted into a mask of fury.

“How dare you? I’ll make you pay!”

The following words left her mouth as both a shout and an incantation, carrying with them the concentrated force of her rage. The whole chamber trembled under the weight of her power. Lines of fracture raced across the floor, chunks of rock splintering and flying as fire erupted. The flames and rubble swirled, twisting together until they formed a hulking humanoid shape. A giant of flaming, jagged stone, as massive as the Ettin itself.

A fire golem, huh?

“Kill it! Kill it for me!”

Answering its mistress’s command, the newly conjured construct surged toward its opponent, fists swinging in molten arcs.

Viktor chuckled. “You should’ve used that spell right from the start.”

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Chapter 153: A Better Challenge

Initiating Spell Analysis...

“Component of Unmaking” detected.

The caster dissolves the elemental matter, causing a modest quantity of flames to collapse instantly and vanish without further combustion or spread.

Analysis completed.

Result stored in Spell Archive as [Pattern v12.0].

Sigils generated:

- Sigil of Unmaking x2

Fire Mastery I proficiency increased: 30% → 70%.

Analysis cost: 4 Tokens.

 

After the last syllable of the incantation left Bella’s lips, the flames that were crawling across the stone floor shuddered as though a sudden wind had just swept through the passage. The tongues of orange shrank and twisted inward upon themselves, their glow fading away in a sequence of flickers, each one weaker than the last, until finally every ember guttered out.

Another encounter had just finished.

Just like the last time, Dimitria sent her pupil ahead to deal with the problem, and just as before, the girl went without much fuss. In fact, this time she stepped forward with noticeably more confidence.

Of course, it didn’t mean that the fight was going to be easier.

Celeste had been watching as well, and after witnessing Bella’s earlier tactic with the hidden explosive traps, she had adjusted the minions’ behavior accordingly. Still, raw destructive power tended to have a way of ending debates quickly, so the young pyromancer was the one who had ultimately emerged victorious.

Then, once the burning and screaming had finished their business, the girl waved away the lingering flames in the corridor with her extinguishing spell. Fire vanished, smoke thinned, the path opened, and the rest of the party could move forward without cooking themselves alive. All the while, Viktor watched, and acquired two shiny new Sigils of Unmaking in the process.

And this was one of the experiments he wanted to conduct.

Before, every spell he analyzed with Insight Mode had been something he personally witnessed with his own eyes, which led to the question of whether the ability would still function through the vision granted by Celeste.

Turned out, it did.

And this small discovery carried rather interesting implications.

From now on, he would no longer need to stand in the same room as a mage to study their tricks. He could just sit back and watch any spell cast by anyone inside the dungeon and pick it apart at his leisure.

Actually, why stop there?

If Insight Mode worked through Celeste’s sight, then there was every reason to believe it would work through Galatea’s as well. Which meant, he would be able to analyze the spells of anyone, anywhere, without ever exposing himself to any danger. Wasn’t that nice?

Of course, he was still limited by his Masteries and the number of Analysis Tokens he had, which now stood at eleven.

After the fight at the outpost pushed him to Level 10, he had eighteen Tokens in total, and he had spent quite a bit of time considering how best to allocate them.

Out of the six Masteries, two had already reached Tier III: Mastery of Water and Mastery of Earth. Eighteen Tokens were not enough to push either of them to the next tier, which meant that investing more in those two was out of the question for the time being.

That left the remaining four.

His Masteries of Fire, Air, Dark, and Light were all still sitting at Tier I, each with a proficiency level of exactly 0%. Advancing a Tier I Mastery to Tier II required ten Tokens. Thus, with eighteen Tokens available, he could realistically upgrade only one of them.

So, which mastery? Fire or Air? Light or Dark?

Originally, he had been leaning toward light magic. But the more he thought about it, the more he began to reconsider that plan. After all, the primary advantage of light magic lay in its effectiveness against incorporeal entities, which meant its usefulness tended to be rather situational. Well, yes, there was still Spiky Head and that annoying Reliquary of his, but Viktor already had solutions for that particular problem.

Fire, on the other hand, was rarely a bad investment.

It was simple, it was straightforward, it was destructive. When something needed to be handled quickly and decisively, setting it on fire did the trick most of the time.

Spiky Head’s main weapon was also a burning sword. He used it to shoot out crescent-shaped arcs of flame. Viktor still did not know the exact rate at which he could unleash those fiery projectiles, since the guy barely attacked the last time they met. But if he could launch as rapidly as Bjorn did his ice lances, that could be problematic. In that case, advancing the Mastery of Fire might seem like a sensible precaution.

And, as if that were not reason enough, there was also the matter of the fire-worshipping cult that could be lurking somewhere in the vicinity.

That was precisely why Viktor had been observing these pyromancers. He wanted to study their spells, and push his Mastery of Fire forward in the process.

There was a problem, though.

Because his Mastery of Fire was still at Tier I, the complexity of the spells he could successfully analyze was limited. At this level, Insight Mode could only break down spells equivalent to a five-cost Thauma or less. With his own people, like Khenemhotep or Orloth, that sort of restriction wasn’t much of a problem. He could simply ask them to cast a weaker version of the spell so that he could digest it. Strangers whom he was watching from the side, however, were far less accommodating.

As a result, several of the more interesting spells had remained out of reach. Like the explosive trap spell, or the erupting pillar of fire spell. In the end, he was only able to analyze the basic fireball, which he had already done earlier, and the spell Bella had just used to extinguish the remaining flames.

But it was fine. His proficiency in Mastery of Fire had already reached 70%. The remaining progress could be obtained easily enough; he could just find a pyromancer in town and ask them to show him some rudimentary fire spells. Not Jeanne, of course, since she was physically incapable of doing anything simple. Besides, he still had eleven Analysis Tokens left, so he could always change his mind and choose to advance a different Mastery instead.

After the encounter had ended and the last curls of smoke had faded from the blackened corridor, the party resumed their march through the maze, while Viktor watched their progress. Eventually, they reached the staircase that spiraled downward into the second floor of the dungeon. One by one, they descended.

At the base of the stairs lay a broad chamber carved into the rock. This was where they were supposed to find the Cyclops, who acted as the gatekeeper that controlled the traffic between the two areas.

But the room was now empty.

There was no hulking mass of muscle and foul temper, no rumbling breath reverberating off the walls, not even the unmistakable stench that usually accompanied the one-eyed brute’s abysmal personal hygiene.

Only silence.

The armored warrior stepped out into the open chamber, then tapped the floor lightly with the tip of his boot, as if he were entertaining the absurd possibility that the massive creature might somehow be hiding under a loose slab of stone.

Dimitria frowned. “Don’t tell me someone killed the beast already.”

“Probably,” the warrior said with a shrug. “I heard it takes about three days for the Cyclops to respawn once it’s dead.”

“Do not call it ‘respawn,’ idiot.” The irritation on Dimitria’s face was sharp enough to cut glass. “Only the gullible believe that nonsense. Monsters in a dungeon do not come back to life after they’re killed. The dungeon simply summons another Cyclops and sends it here to replace the old one.”

The warrior shrugged again, displaying the sort of intellectual resilience that allowed a man to ignore any lecture that contained more than three words.

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, the room is going to stay empty for a couple of days.”

Dimitria clicked her tongue. “What a waste of time.”

Meanwhile, the rogue had found a comfortable spot by the wall. Leaning casually against the stone, he spun a dagger between his fingers with practiced ease, while watching the exchange with an amused expression.

“So, what now?” the warrior asked. “Want to head to the desert?”

Dimitria turned slowly and fixed him with a stare that promised she was going to warm him up in several creative ways.

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It’s fucking hot.”

The warrior barked a laugh. “You’re a pyromancer.”

“Yes,” Dimitria said flatly. “Which is exactly why I refuse to stand inside a giant oven.”

“Well, before we leave...” the rogue said. “I heard something interesting.”

Dimitria glanced at him. “What’s it?”

“There’s supposedly another Cyclops deeper in this floor. But not many people bother with it because the path leads to a dead end.”

The warrior frowned. “A dead end?”

“Yeah. Just one big chamber with nowhere else to go. But there’s a huge chest of gold in there. And the Cyclops guards it.”

“Sounds like a trap,” the warrior said with a snort.

The rogue shrugged. “Maybe.”

Well, yes, there was a room like that. Originally, the route to the third floor had been through the narrow maze, then the arena where Sebekton had fought Azran and Lahmia, and finally the old Core Room with its staircase. But now, with the new route requiring the adventurers to go through Khenemhotep’s kingdom of sand, Viktor had ordered Celeste to collapse that room. So the staircase had vanished under a small mountain of rubble, and the old path now stopped at the arena. A true dead end.

But of course, Viktor was not going to let a perfectly serviceable chamber sit around gathering dust. So he had repurposed it into an optional challenge for the adventurers who were feeling confident enough, placing a Cyclops there along with a chest filled with gold to tempt anyone curious or greedy enough to explore those abandoned corridors. And just like the Cyclops that guarded the staircase, this one would also take three days to “respawn” whenever it was killed.

A small reward for daring adventurers. And a conveniently isolated location to conduct the occasional experiment for the Dungeon Master.

Dimitria stood silently for a moment as she considered the rogue’s suggestion. Then, she gave a nod.

“Fine,” she said. “Lead the way.”

So off they went, exactly as Viktor had anticipated.

Actually, the one-eyed brute that was normally stationed under the staircase had not been killed at all. He had simply withdrawn it before this particular group arrived, in order to nudge them toward the other Cyclops, toward the more secluded parts of the dungeon.

Soon, they would reach the arena, a place that held quite a few memories for Viktor. The first was when Lahmia came to steal the Dungeon Core, exploiting the fact that Celeste was still too weak to resist, and lost her head in the attempt. The second was when the other group of Dungeon Reavers got ambushed by the four Cyclopes. One of them perished, but then, Bjorn had demonstrated the power of his blade of light, and dispatched the creatures with uncomfortable efficiency.

Once they got there, however, the adventurers found the place empty as well.

No Cyclops.

No chest of gold.

Nothing.

Dimitria stared at the vacant chamber in disbelief.

“...You must be joking.”

“Maybe someone got here first again?” the warrior suggested.

The woman closed her eyes and exhaled, the long breath coming out like the first warning rumble of an approaching storm.

“This dungeon is a fucking waste of my time.”

“Well,” the warrior said, turning toward the exit, “guess we—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Because something enormous had just stepped into the doorway.

Three massive heads rose above a torso as broad as a wagon, each one crowned with tangled black hair. Scarred gray skin clung to its body, stretched tightly over thick, corded muscles. In one hand the thing held a gigantic axe, in the other a club the size of a tree trunk.

Six eyes stared down at the adventurers.

For a moment, the warrior and the rogue could do nothing but gape at the towering monstrosity blocking the exit.

“That...”

“Th-that’s not a Cyclops.”

Dimitria, on the other hand, broke into a wide grin. The last trace of her earlier irritation had completely vanished.

“Well,” she said. “Now this is more like it.”

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Chapter 152: Volunteers

Through his vision, Viktor watched four figures making their way through the first floor of the dungeon.

A party of adventurers, of course.

Their leader was someone who drew immediate attention no matter where she went. She was tall and broad-hipped and full-bosomed, long raven hair flowing down her back in a luxurious wave that contrasted sharply with her pristine white cloak. She strode forward with effortless confidence, as if the dungeon were just another corridor in some palace and she were merely late for dinner.

A few steps behind came someone who was her opposite in every way. Clearly younger, clearly smaller, clearly shorter. A girl whose thin frame made the robes she wore appear oversized and the staff clutched in her hands look comically big. Her head constantly jerked from side to side as she tried to watch everything at once: the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Her eyes lingered on every shadow as though she expected something to leap out and introduce itself at any moment. She stayed close, very close, to the first sorceress, practically stepping in her footprints. Whenever the distance between them widened even a little, she hurried forward to close it, unwilling to let that gap grow.

These two were not unfamiliar to Viktor.

He had seen them a couple of times during his visits to the slums on the west side. The tall one was Zubayr’s top enforcer. Dimitria, they called her. A Gold-ranked adventurer, who had quickly brought the local criminals under control with ruthless efficiency. A few public displays involving spontaneous human combustion, accompanied by the charming aroma of grilled meat, and the various gangs were convinced that resisting their new overlords was a very poor life choice.

The short one, meanwhile, seemed to be her apprentice. She always hovered near Dimitria like a shadow, eager to please, eager to prove she deserved to be by her side. And, if Viktor remembered correctly, she had never once objected when her teacher told her to turn yet another unfortunate soul into a screaming torch.

As for the other two members of the group, a lean man with quick eyes and an easy grin, and a warrior in full armor carrying a greatsword, Viktor had not seen them before. Still, considering they were traveling with this pair of flame-flingers, they were almost certainly part of Zubayr’s little army as well.

“This is too easy,” Dimitria said, her voice carrying the faintest hint of irritation, as though the dungeon itself had somehow personally offended her by failing to provide an adequate challenge. “I hope the next floor actually has something worthwhile. A Cyclops, yes, I heard there’s one down there. I’m going to burn the bastard to ash and bone, and show this dungeon what real power looks like.”

The warrior snorted. “Funny you’re looking for tougher monsters now. I seem to remember you grabbing your little student and vanishing the moment our camp got hit.”

The younger pyromancer flinched at that, but her teacher didn’t so much as slow down.

“I’ve been around long enough to know when a fight isn’t worth the trouble,” Dimitria said. “That thing wrapped in shadows, whatever it was, wasn’t something we were meant to deal with.”

“That’s a lot of pretty words just to say you were fucking scared.”

“That’s called instinct, idiot. The sort that keeps people alive. Don’t believe me? Go ask the mages who tried to fight that shadow. Oh wait. You can’t. Because they’re all fucking dead.”

The warrior shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Suddenly, the rogue raised a hand. “There’s movement,” he said.

Well, yes. There was.

Because Celeste was about to give them their next encounter.

So far, she had been probing these adventurers, sending small groups of minions to attack them and watching how they reacted. First the goblins, then the spiders. Of course, such creatures were nowhere near strong enough to force them to reveal anything impressive. Most of the fighting had been handled by the warrior and the rogue, with the younger pyromancer helping out a bit by throwing out a few basic fireballs here and there.

Now, it was time to raise the stakes.

At the far end of the corridor, shapes emerged from the shadows, hunched silhouettes that moved with predatory grace. A moment later they stepped fully into view, revealing themselves as a pack of hyena-faced warriors with patchy fur and yellow eyes that glinted hungrily under the torches’ glare.

The rogue squinted at them and grinned. “Gnolls, huh?” he said. “Come to think of it, that Guildmaster had some of these creatures as her personal guards. Stupid bitch! Trusting animals like that. If it were up to me, I would’ve chopped their heads off the moment I got the chance.”

“Then this is your chance.” The warrior rolled his shoulders and pulled the massive greatsword from across his back. “Let’s cut them down and bring their heads back to town as trophies.”

The gnolls snarled in response, baring their crooked fangs as they began to advance down the corridor, their claws scraping against the stone while low, animalistic growls rumbled in their throats.

Yet, despite the tension building between the two groups, Dimitria looked utterly bored. She turned, glancing at the girl who stood nervously behind her.

“Bella.”

“Yes?”

“You deal with them. Alone.”

Bella stared at her teacher, as though her mind had refused to process what she had just heard.

“Huh? Me?” she stammered, her voice rising slightly in panic. “A-alone?”

Even the two men seemed caught off guard by that decision.

“Are you sure about that?” the rogue asked with a frown.

“It’s a simple test. If she dies from something like this, then that’s all she was worth anyway. In that case, I’ll consider the time I spent teaching her a wasted effort.”

And just like that, the matter had been decided.

Once Dimitria had given her verdict, that was the end of it. If she said the girl would fight alone, then the girl would fight alone.

Bella stepped forward, her hands trembling around her big staff. Behind her, the warrior and the rogue exchanged a glance, shaking their heads.

From the opposite end, the gnolls moved forward, six pairs of eyes glinting at the sight of fresh meat. Bella looked at them, then closed her eyes as she began to murmur an incantation.

The gnolls broke into a full charge.

And Bella reacted instantly. She thrust her staff forward, and a barrage of fireballs erupted from its tip in rapid succession, streaking down the corridor like a fistful of angry comets.

Orloth had once explained the mechanics of spellcasting to Viktor. Most mages needed a personal “trigger” to cast their non-Rote spells. A gesture, a word, an item. Something to help them channel their magic more quickly and reliably.

For this girl, pointing her staff forward seemed to serve that exact purpose.

Point, and fire.

Point, and fire.

Point, and fire.

It allowed her to shoot at remarkable speed. Each time she snapped her staff, another globe of orange burst into existence. Clearly, this timid little apprentice was a lot less helpless than she appeared.

But of course, gnolls were not known for politely standing still while being incinerated.

The pack scattered the moment the first fireball screamed toward them. They darted between the blasts with surprising agility, weaving and dodging down the corridor. The hallway became a chaotic blur of fire and snapping shadows, and through it all the gnolls kept coming. For a brief moment, it looked very much like they were about to reach Bella, and tear her into several unfortunate pieces.

But then, one of them exploded.

Fire expanded outward in a perfect sphere, swallowing the creature whole. There was no scream. There was no time for surprise. The creature simply ceased to exist as the explosion ripped through its chest, turning lungs to ash and ribs to shrapnel. Chunks of burning flesh sprayed across the passage, and a gnoll nearby caught a faceful of its friend’s remains, stumbling back with a howl as molten fat splattered across its muzzle.

And it exploded as well.

The blast tore through the minion’s waist, splitting its body apart in a flash of orange fire. The torso disintegrated, but the lower half continued its stagger, moving backward a few steps in confused reflex before the creature finally realized that it had already died.

I see, Viktor thought.

When Bella cast her first spell, she must have planted a series of invisible traps across the corridor. She marked several positions in the space before her, and anything that crossed through them would trigger an explosion. Which meant, the barrage of fireballs she launched afterward had never been intended to kill the gnolls outright, but merely to force them to move where she wanted.

What a scary girl! Viktor chuckled.

The four remaining gnolls had stopped their charge. Their earlier bloodlust subsided as confusion and unease crept into their minds. They looked at the burning pieces of their packmates, and they looked at the small human girl with the oversized wooden staff. They did not dare continue forward, but they did not dare turn and run either. They must have realized that they were being surrounded by unseen threats, and a single careless step could prove fatal.

Seeing their hesitation, Bella pressed her advantage. She raised her staff overhead, gripping it tightly with both of her hands, drew a deep breath, and screamed the next incantation with all the strength her lungs could muster. Then, she slammed it against the ground.

And the floor answered.

The stone directly under the gnolls’ feet split apart with a sharp, echoing crack as a column of roaring flame burst upward with such force that it launched the creatures into the air as the inferno swallowed them whole.

For a moment, they hung there. Their fur ignited instantly. Their skin blackened and split. Their eyes boiled in their sockets. Their limbs twitched and spasmed as the flames consumed them.

Then, the fire collapsed, and three charred bodies fell back to the ground with heavy thuds.

The last gnoll had only been caught at the edge of the blast. Its left side was completely seared while its right side remained disturbingly intact, the contrast so stark it looked like two halves from two different creatures had been crudely stitched together along the spine. It hit the floor screaming, still alive, still moving, one arm flopping uselessly while one leg kicked and kicked. It took a couple of minutes for the gnoll to finally die.

When it was over, Bella whispered a final incantation.

The scattered flames throughout the corridor flickered and vanished all at once, leaving only blackened stone, charred bodies, and the lingering smell of smoke and burned flesh.

Bella turned around. Her eyes searched for only one person.

The tall pyromancer surveyed the destruction with a calm, measuring gaze. Then, the corner of her lips lifted.

Barely.

On most people it might not even have registered as a smile.

“Well,” she said, “perhaps you were worth something after all.”

And Bella’s face instantly lit up.

The rogue let out a whistle as the party began moving again, stepping carefully around the smoking remains of their latest encounter.

[What should we do next, Master?]

“We continue observing them for now,” Viktor said. “And if it’s possible, I may run a few experiments. They would make perfect test subjects.”

Also, if he had the chance to kill Zubayr’s second-in-command less than a week after those Iskora adventurers moved into town, he would gladly take it.

Viktor eyed the tall pyromancer who was walking confidently through the corridors of his dungeon.

“You want to fight a Cyclops? I’ll give you something better.”

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Chapter 151: Nephra

[I see. So that mysterious woman has shown herself once again.]

“Yes, she did,” Viktor replied as he allowed himself to collapse onto his bed, the weight of the day finally catching up with him now that he was within the quiet comfort of his own room.

After parting ways with Renee, he didn’t bother returning to the Guild or the Mayor’s Office. Instead, he headed straight home and contacted Celeste, briefing her thoroughly on everything that had happened so that they could discuss what their next course of action should be.

[You still think she is an Ascendant?]

“Still?” Viktor chuckled. “If anything, it seems more likely with every passing day.”

What he and Renee had witnessed was, on the surface at least, rather uneventful. Nephra stepped out of the rift, closed it, and exchanged a few words with Khalid. Then, she opened another rift, through which they disappeared, probably going back to Iskora. Zubayr and Spiky Head, on the other hand, turned away from the riverbank and walked into the forest, presumably to rejoin the rest of their men, exactly as Viktor had predicted they would.

Nothing about the sequence of events seemed unusual. In fact, everything unfolded more or less within his expectations.

Yet, despite how brief and outwardly mundane the scene had been, it had still yielded a surprising amount of valuable information.

The first thing that stuck in his mind was how casually Nephra closed one rift and then immediately opened another. To those who actually understood how the whole Riftwalking business worked, such a display was nothing short of extraordinary.

Azran had once told him that even he—a Gold-ranked adventurer, no less—could only open a rift once every two or three days. And that limitation dictated how his service usually worked.

If the bald man just needed to send someone somewhere, that would be easy enough. As long as he had already established an anchor at the destination, he could open a rift there whenever he wanted. The other person would step through while he stayed behind. Just ten seconds and it was done. Very simple and straightforward.

Now, if the traveler wanted to return, then that was where things got awkward.

They would need to agree on a time and a place before the initial trip. Then, when the appointed moment arrived, Azran would open a rift from his side. The traveler would have to be waiting at the designated location at the exact right time, because once the portal appeared, they would have only a few seconds to jump through before it snapped shut again. Miss it and, well, enjoy your extended vacation.

If the client wanted something more reliable than that, they would have to pay significantly more. In those cases, Azran would personally accompany them through the portal to their destination and stay with them for the entire trip. And even then, they still needed to wait at least two or three days for him to recover enough to make another rift.

Anyone who wanted a round trip with less waiting involved would usually need two Riftwalkers: one to send them away, another to bring them back. Or, alternatively, the Riftwalker could use some sort of special artifact to assist with the immense strain of reopening a rift sooner than normal.

Come to think of it, that was the trick Yelena used to rely on back in the day.

With all that in perspective, the feat Nephra had just demonstrated, closing one rift and then opening another mere minutes later, bordered on the miraculous.

The second detail that caught Viktor’s attention was the very fact that Khalid had to walk all the way from the Mayor’s Office to the far side of the river—on foot—just to be picked up and taken back to Iskora.

That was... strange.

Nephra had once been Clovis’s personal Riftwalker. In her own words, her role had been “to move him where he needs to be.” So it wasn’t really a surprise if she was now performing the same function for the new Guildmaster. The part that didn’t add up, however, was why she wasn’t waiting outside the Mayor’s Office so she could take him back to Iskora once his business with Marcellus was concluded. That should have been the sensible thing to do.

So why, instead, did she make her employer walk across half the town and then beyond the river just to meet her? And more importantly, why did Khalid, an arrogant and prideful man, obediently go along with that arrangement?

Unless... the relationship between them was not quite what it appeared to be on the surface.

Unless... the roles of master and servant here were actually reversed.

Yes.

If Nephra were indeed an Ascendant, someone walking a path that might one day lead to godhood, then most of those questions answered themselves neatly enough.

All of it would make perfect sense.

But of course, neat answers usually had a nasty habit of breeding new questions.

First, how much does she know about me?

From the very first moment they met, Viktor had experienced an uncomfortable, lingering sensation he could never quite shake, that she could look straight through him, as though the layers of disguise and deception he wore were nothing more than thin mist before her gaze.

If he prepared for the worst-case scenario, then he had to consider the possibility that she already knew everything. That she knew he was the reincarnation of the emperor who had died three centuries ago, and he was the master of the dungeon that had recently emerged near the town of Daelin.

Second, what exactly is she trying to accomplish?

Was she an ally?

Or an enemy?

He suspected she was working for the Mastermind, the unseen architect who had been orchestrating the major events of the past three centuries from behind the scenes, carefully guiding history toward a particular outcome like a chess master moving pieces across the game board. Perhaps her role was to monitor Viktor and make sure that everything unfolded according to the plan set into motion hundreds of years ago.

And third, how much of what she knows has she shared with the others?

Take Clovis, for example. That slippery former Guildmaster’s obsession with the dungeon had been obvious enough, but did he know it belonged to Viktor? Also, Nephra had likely already figured out Viktor was the one who murdered Gideon, but did she tell Clovis about it?

If that man, much like Khalid, was nothing more than a pawn in a much larger game, then there would be no reason for her to reveal more information than absolutely necessary. Her assistance in Clovis’s attempt to steal Celeste did not necessarily mean she wanted the Dungeon Core for herself. After all, she was an Ascendant. If she wanted something, she could just come and take it. More likely, her goal was to engineer a conflict between Viktor and Iskora, because that was another step of the Mastermind’s plan.

[Do you think she noticed you watching her and the others from afar?]

Viktor snorted. “I’m quite certain she did.”

At the very least, one would have to be blind not to notice two figures hovering in the sky. Then, as an Ascendant, Nephra should possess some ability to determine who was observing her. Her lack of visible reaction proved very little. No, she must have known he was there, and likely also have known that he had recognized her as well.

[If she is an Ascendant, I wonder what her path is.]

That was a good question. Just as he had “Path of the Thaumaturgist” and Celeste had “Path of the Dungeon,” Nephra should have one too. What it might be however, he had no idea.

No. Actually...

Now that he thought about it, the first time he encountered her—when their eyes met—he had felt as though he were standing before the very embodiment of Death itself.

Death, huh?

Perhaps she had the same path as Nakhran.

That wouldn’t be too strange. After all, Viktor himself was following the same path as his old master, and every Dungeon Core in existence probably followed the same path as Celeste. So it would hardly be shocking if Nakhran’s servants had the same path as he did.

Wait.

Khenemhotep had once mentioned a name, hadn’t he?

Neferati, a princess who had broken the laws of the Bearded Gods, murdering thousands in her pursuit of power. In the end, she was captured and executed for her crimes, her soul condemned and cast into Oblivion as punishment for defying the divine order. Yet, somehow, Nakhran had resurrected her. Despite the fact that Oblivion was supposed to erase a soul completely, he reached into that boundless void and pulled her back. After that miracle, she had become his most devoted servant, the fanatical leader of the cult that worshiped him with unwavering zeal.

Neferati.

Nephra.

It can’t be, right? The idea that some several-thousand-year-old princess casually strolled through the streets of Daelin was so absurd that Viktor couldn’t help but laugh.

Oh well, whatever.

It didn’t really matter who she was. The fact remained that she was someone powerful and dangerous, someone he couldn’t directly confront at the moment. There was nothing he could realistically do about her. Yes, he would still keep an eye on her whenever she showed up, but he was also going to maintain a healthy distance from her and avoid doing anything that could upset her too much. For now, he would just focus on problems that he could actually solve.

“Enough about that woman,” Viktor said. “Let’s talk about something else. Namely, the matter of those Iskora remnants who are going to march into town and occupy the west side.”

[Yes, that certainly sounds problematic. What are you going to do, Master?]

“We’ll simply observe them,” Viktor said. “Find out what they are trying to accomplish here. Once we understand their intentions a bit better, we can decide what sort of response would be most appropriate.” He paused. “I’ll start visiting the west side more frequently, to keep an eye on the situation there. As for the places I can’t enter without attracting suspicion, well, we’ll let Galatea handle them.”

[Understood.]

Celeste fell silent for a brief moment, then she spoke again.

[Do you think some of those adventurers will end up entering our dungeon, Master?]

Now that was an interesting possibility.

Until yesterday, those men had been stationed at that outpost to guard the enormous construction site where the ambitious project to rebuild the old imperial capital was underway. Now their glorious new duty was sleeping in the slums and intimidating petty criminals. Quite the promotion, indeed.

To make matters worse, the portal that once connected them conveniently back to Iskora was gone. No more easy access to the big city’s drinking halls, gambling dens, pleasure houses, or any other form of entertainment. On the other hand, what Daelin was going to offer them would be... disappointing, to say the least.

Which meant they would be bored. Very, very bored.

They would start looking for ways to pass the time, and perhaps earn a bit of extra coin in the process. Some of them might very well decide to register with the Adventurer’s Guild in Daelin and pick up local contracts. And what was more tempting than exploring a newly emerged dungeon?

“Probably,” Viktor said. “And if they do... that will present an opportunity for us to thin out their numbers.”

[Understood, Master. I will keep a close watch on them and make sure they get the special welcome they deserve.]

“Let’s not be too obvious about it,” Viktor said. “If many of them die inside the dungeon all at once, that might discourage the rest from entering. So, just pick off one or two at a time.” His lips curved into a grin. “And whenever we need to conduct an experiment, well, we’ll know exactly where to find our volunteers.”

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Chapter 150: A Pair of Stalkers

Viktor trailed after Khalid and his lackeys.

He had thought it was a bad idea. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself, especially from Spiky Head. The brute might not have recognized him earlier in the Mayor’s Office, but that did not mean he should test his luck a second time by getting suspiciously close to him on the street.

Yet, circumstances had handed Viktor the most convenient excuse imaginable to walk in the same direction as the three men.

No, he was not going after them, not at all. He was simply following a strange person who was drifting across the sky overhead. After all, who wouldn’t be curious after spotting someone hovering up there like a lazy cloud? Besides, he happened to know the woman in question, so it was completely natural he would want to see what she was doing.

Besides, it was not like he intended to approach Khalid and his men directly. In fact, the three of them had already vanished from sight altogether. The only reason he knew where they were going was because of Renee, whose movement high above had served as a clear marker for their route.

They were heading east, which hardly came as a surprise.

If he had to guess, Khalid would soon cross the river and go to wherever the surviving adventurers from Iskora had gathered after the destruction of their outpost. Then he would order them to march into town and claim their newly granted territory.

Renee continued to drift at an unhurried pace, the staff in her hand angled slightly downward as currents of invisible air cradled her like a feather that had forgotten to fall. From the ground, she looked small against the afternoon sky, little more than a distant silhouette crowned by two very recognizable buns of hair.

What was she doing, anyway? Why did she feel the need to follow these three men?

Certainly, many adventurers in Daelin were paying attention to Iskora’s movements. But most people satisfied their curiosity with gossip and speculation. They did not take to the skies and stalk the foreign Guildmaster across half the town.

As Viktor passed through the town’s eastern quarters, the houses gradually thinned behind him. First they grew farther apart, then disappeared altogether, replaced by the wide stretch of farmland rolling out on both sides of the road.

Only a few months ago, when winter still reigned over Daelin, this place had looked completely different.

Back then, the fields had been empty and lifeless, their soil hardened by frost and scattered with brittle stalks left behind from the previous harvest. There had been no farmers working the land, no oxen pulling plows, no sound except the hollow whistle of the wind.

The world had felt abandoned.

Now, however, spring had returned. The fields were alive again.

Fresh furrows carved through the dark soil stretched in long lines across the land, their neat rows filled with newly planted crops just beginning to push through the surface. The air carried the rich scent of wet earth and growing things, and the quiet promise that life endured even after the harshest weather.

Even the trees had shaken free of winter’s grip.

Where the cold months had left them as skeletal silhouettes clawing at a gray sky, they were now dotted with pale blossoms that trembled whenever the breeze wandered through their branches.

Ahead, Renee began to come down, her form slowly lowering until at last she came to rest among the upper reaches of one of those trees. She did not turn her head at all during the descent, her gaze remaining fixed upon the distant road leading to the bridge.

Viktor approached her from behind, and he made no effort to hide the sound of his footsteps. This place was quiet enough that she would hear him long before he got close anyway.

And sure enough, she turned around.

“Quinn, what are you doing here?”

“Following you,” Viktor said with a shrug. There wasn’t much point pretending otherwise.

Renee blinked at him.

“What? Why?”

“Because I happened to see a strange woman floating through the sky above the town while stalking the Guildmaster from Iskora and his two subordinates. If you were in my position, what would you do?”

“So... you spotted me, huh?”

“Pretty sure half the town did,” Viktor said dryly. “If you’re supposed to be a spy, I regret to inform you that you’re a terrible one.”

Renee let out a groan and pushed off from the branch where she had been perched. The air under her feet slowed her fall until she touched the ground a short distance in front of him.

“You’re right,” she said with a weary sigh. “This kind of job really doesn’t suit me at all. Honestly, this is the first time I’ve ever tried to do something like this.”

That didn’t sound like the explanation coming from someone who had decided to tail Khalid of their own accord. Perhaps someone had hired her to do so.

“Why do you follow them, anyway?”

“Ekon told me to,” Renee replied. “Actually, I’ve been keeping an eye on those men from Iskora for a while. This morning, I heard their camp had been burned down, so I went there to check it out. Then, I spotted that Guildmaster. Well, I didn’t know he was the Guildmaster of Iskora at first. He just... um, looked like someone important. And the one with him was the Zubayr who ran the outpost. So I figured it was worth following them. You can guess the rest.”

Ekon?

Why would that bald Southerner feel the need to monitor these men so closely?

Funny enough, Viktor had just overheard Khalid instructing his lackeys to investigate some cult, specifically telling them to look among the pyromancers. And now, he had an actual pyromancer who was oddly interested in them.

Also, Ekon was no ordinary flame-flinger, that much was clear. Viktor had already suspected the guy might have ties to an Ascendant. The power he wielded seemed to involve both fire and ice, and the Cult was a bunch of fire worshippers who might have their claws sunk deep in the frozen North.

Interesting. Very interesting, indeed.

“Why did you stop, then?” Viktor asked. “Why land here?”

“Well, we’re outside the town now, and it’s pretty empty around here. I thought if I kept following them, I might stand out too much.”

Viktor had to resist the urge to smack his own forehead.

Girl, it’s not like you had any cover when you were inside the town either.

“Trust me,” he said, “they already noticed you a long time ago.”

After all, two of the three men she had been tailing were Mithril-ranked adventurers, and people didn’t get to that rank by being blind to something so obvious.

Renee’s eyes went wide as the full moon. “Really? Then... what should I do?”

“Relax. They probably think you’re someone employed by Guildmaster Isadora. So you’ve got nothing to worry about. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing. They won’t suspect you’re actually spying on them on someone else’s behalf.”

Renee thought for a moment. Then she slowly nodded, tension easing from her shoulders.

“I see,” she said. “Alright, then I’ll go after them again.”

But just as she was about to rise, Viktor spoke.

“Hey. Mind giving me a lift as well? I’d also like to take a look at what they’re doing.”

“Why would you—” Renee blinked. “Oh... wait, I get it. I saw you earlier. You were with the Guildmaster and the others when they went into the Mayor’s Office. She asked you to do this too, right?”

Viktor chuckled. One of life’s more pleasant truths, he had found, was that lying became entirely unnecessary if one could simply allow other people to reach the wrong conclusions of their own accord.

“I’m just hoping to pick up something useful,” he said with a shrug.

“Well, if that’s the case,” Renee said, “let’s go.” Then she added, “Have you ever flown with an aeromancer before?”

“No.”

Again, it was not a lie.

He had never been hauled around by a wind mage. He always flew by himself.

“Alright,” Renee said. “Try not to move around too much once we’re up there. It’s easier if you stay still.”

“Understood,” Viktor replied.

The young aeromancer lowered her voice and began to murmur an incantation. The air stirred around them, faint at first, then gradually growing stronger as invisible currents coiled upward. Leaves and loose petals trembled on the branches overhead, and the dust on the road began to skitter as the wind answered her call. The pressure under Viktor’s boots grew firmer, like there were an invisible hand sliding beneath.

Then it pushed.

The ground began to sink away, fields spreading out in every direction, patchwork greens and browns stitched together before his eyes.

“Whoa.”

He let the word slip out with a carefully measured blend of awe and disbelief. Exactly how a boy from some forgotten backwater ought to sound on his first flight.

“So this is what flying feels like?” He continued his exclamation. “I’ve always imagined it, but the real thing is... quite something.”

“Pretty amazing, right?” Renee asked, hovering beside him while watching his reaction with amusement.

“It’s incredible. Everything looks so different from up here.”

Alright, that should be enough. There was no need to keep up the performance any longer than necessary.

He turned his gaze to the road ahead. It wound toward the river, which gleamed in the distance like a strip of polished silver laid out under the afternoon sun.

It didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for.

“There they are,” Viktor said, pointing down.

“Good.” Renee nodded as she followed the direction of his finger. “We didn’t lose them.”

The currents around them shifted obediently as she gave the new command, carrying them forward at a slow, steady pace.

As they drifted after the three men, Viktor glanced sideways at Renee.

“How’s your friend’s herb planting going, anyway?”

“Pretty well. We’ve trimmed back the tree branches around the clearing, thanks to the tools Alycia made for us, and Mandragora has already planted the first batch of herbs. I’m going to her place this weekend to help her with the next one.”

“Just the two of you? Or do the rest of your party lend a hand as well?”

“Ekon and Ba’atar?” Renee shook her head. “No, they don’t really take part in this kind of work. But Mandragora has just found a girl willing to help out, so there will be three of us working there.”

Let’s hope that’s not Rhea, Viktor thought. She had been helping half the town already.

Then, an idea crossed his mind. His objective was to get close to Ekon, wasn’t it? He had successfully befriended one member of the group, so it was time to move on to the next one on the list.

“Sounds interesting. Can I join as well? I’ve always been curious about the Druidesses and the way they brew their potions.”

“Sure,” Renee said. “Why not?”

They continued to drift forward while the three men trudged along the road below. After crossing the bridge, however, the trio came to an abrupt halt. Naturally, they did the same, hovering high above and keeping their distance.

Why did they stop there? Viktor wondered. If they intended to meet the rest of their men, they should have continued onward. There was no reason to linger on an empty stretch of road like this.

Or were they planning to deal with the two observers tailing them? No, it didn’t make any sense. Neither he nor Renee posed any immediate threat. Khalid’s top priority should be gathering his lackeys and moving them into town as quickly as possible. Every moment of delay risked Isadora doing something to complicate the matter before they could secure their foothold.

And—

The answer to his questions materialized itself after a moment.

Suddenly, the empty space before the three men began to twist. The distortion intensified until a narrow tear split the fabric of reality, just wide enough for someone to pass through.

A rift.

And from it, a figure emerged.

“A Riftwalker?” Renee murmured beside him. “Who is she?”

That, as it happened, was a question Viktor could answer.

The woman stood so far away that it was impossible to make out the finer details of her appearance. Her face was little more than a faint outline, and the features of her clothing blurred together into indistinct shapes.

Yet, none of that mattered. Viktor knew exactly who it was.

That was the woman with skin of bronze.

Nephra.

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Chapter 148: Foothold

The Mayor’s Office looked exactly like what you would expect from a town like Daelin. Two stories of timber with a shingled roof, carefully maintained yet utterly unimpressive. Still prettier than most structures in Daelin, of course, but that was hardly a great achievement. It was rectangular, it was sturdy, it was there. All in all, a civic building that served its purpose, housing the bureaucracy that kept this backwater from cheerfully descending into complete chaos.

A large crowd of onlookers had already gathered near the entrance, their numbers swelling by the moment as word spread through town that something was happening at the Office. Isadora did not spare them even a glance as she walked past, flanked by her two gnoll bodyguards. Calyssa followed, then Claire and Viktor. Half a dozen adventurers brought up the rear, with Jeanne among them.

As they walked inside, they were greeted by the faint scent of ink and parchment. The first floor of the building stretched before them, a single wide room lit by evenly spaced, unadorned windows. Stripes of light cut across the wooden tables, behind which sat clerks with anxious faces. They let out a collective sigh of relief as they saw the Guildmaster and her retinue arrive.

“They... they’re on the second floor,” a young man said, fingers twitching as he gestured upward. “The Mayor is alone with them in his chamber.”

Isadora gave a nod and strode toward the staircase at the back of the room. Everyone followed her lead, their footsteps echoing on the steps as they climbed to the narrow corridor of the second floor.

At the end of it stood a large man. Someone Viktor knew all too well.

Spiky Head.

No glowing eyes, though. No burning sword, either. Just a brute with an ugly haircut and a heavy stillness that hinted at violence being held on a short leash.

To be honest, coming here was a risky move. There was a real possibility the guy had seen through Viktor’s shroud of darkness last night. And if that had been true, then walking straight into his line of sight now bordered on reckless.

Still, Viktor believed that was not the case. If Spiky Head had truly realized he was a mere boy, if he had seen his attempt to hide his real height by hovering above the ground, then he would have reacted differently. Men like him did not miss opportunities to mock other people. He would certainly have come up with a better, crueler insult than that boring “rat.”

As Isadora approached, the brute cast a disdainful gaze down at her.

“The Mayor is in the middle of an important discussion. Leave!”

So that was his job: use intimidation to keep everyone at bay while his boss cornered poor Marcellus behind closed doors. Clearly, it was the only trick he had. But to be fair, it would work on almost everyone.

Almost.

“I am the Guildmaster of the Adventurer’s Guild in Daelin,” Isadora said. “Move.”

Spiky Head’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek, and for several long seconds, he said nothing.

It had to sting, right? For a brute who used fear to get his way, to face people—on two days in a row—who were wholly unimpressed by his threats. But no matter how powerful he was, an adventurer defying a Guildmaster in broad daylight, in front of many witnesses, was a line few dared to cross.

At last, he let out an irritated grunt as he shifted his weight. One heavy step to the side, and the path ahead opened.

Isadora continued her march as though he had already ceased to exist. The others followed, walking past the large man one by one. Spiky Head watched them pass, his stare crawling over each of them.

It brushed over Viktor. And moved on.

No reaction.

Viktor chuckled to himself. His theory had been correct.

Without knocking, Isadora pushed open the door to the Mayor’s chamber. Inside, there were three men. One of them was Old Marcellus, sitting hunched behind his desk, his hands resting upon the wood with the air of someone bracing against a strong wind.

To the side stood Zubayr, the brown-skinned Mithril-ranked adventurer. The last time Viktor saw him, he had been smooth, he had been calm, he had been condescending. Today, that composure was gone. He now looked like someone who was suffering from an incurable constipation. One could only assume his boss had expressed great displeasure regarding the minor inconvenience of an entire camp burning down under his watch.

And of course, that boss was also here.

The third man in the room was unusually tall and absurdly thin, draped in a sweeping white robe embroidered with fine threads of gold. A prominent, hooked nose dominated his face, and a neatly trimmed moustache rested above his mouth. He was likely a Southerner as well, though his complexion was a shade lighter than Zubayr’s.

“Who are you?” the man demanded, his chin angled upward.

“I am Isadora, the Guildmaster of Daelin.”

A thin smile curved the man’s lips. “I see. A pleasure to meet a fellow Guildmaster. I am Khalid, the Guildmaster of Iskora.”

“I was under the impression that the Guildmaster of Iskora was Clovis. I hadn’t heard he’d been replaced.”

“It happened recently,” Khalid replied. “He resigned on his own, only a few days ago. So I can hardly fault you for being uninformed, given that you’ve been posted to this... corner of the world.”

“Is that so?” Isadora said. “Anyway, would you care to explain the purpose of your visit? And why did you choose the Mayor’s Office rather than the hall of the Adventurer’s Guild?”

“Because, Madam,” Khalid said, folding his fingers in front of himself, “this matter does not concern you. My business is with the town of Daelin.”

“And what might that be?”

“As you may already be aware, the outpost on the other side of the river—my outpost—was burned to the ground last night. An act of sabotage. And murder. A grave crime, by any reasonable standard. And I believe I don’t need to remind you of the tensions that exist between your people and mine. So I came to speak with Mayor Marcellus about the matter. I am not accusing him, of course. Merely suggesting that perhaps someone in town has acted independently, without his knowledge. In which case, I trust he will assist me in finding the culprit.”

A snort came from one of the adventurers behind Viktor.

“You think one of us did that? If we were going to torch your camp, we would’ve done it long ago instead of waiting for last night.”

Another chimed in, “It was the dark spirits in the ruins of the Dark Emperor’s castle. Your people must have poked around where they shouldn’t. And they got what they deserved.”

Khalid laughed.

Loudly. Heartily. As though he had just been handed a particularly good joke.

“I’ve heard the charming local ghost stories about that place,” he said at last. “But forgive me if I’m not so easily impressed by superstition. Unlike the more... ignorant inhabitants of certain backwater towns.” He glanced at Isadora. “You are the same, I presume, Madam? Don’t tell me you also believe the long-dead Dark Emperor has emerged from his crumbling castle and personally set my camp alight.”

Well... yes, that’s exactly what happened.

“I have no opinion on the matter,” Isadora said flatly. “Is that all? The entirety of your discussion with the Mayor?”

“Yes,” Khalid said with a smile. “Though I did also make a small request. A reasonable one, I assure you. And he has graciously granted it. In fact, I was just about to take my leave when you so energetically joined us.”

Isadora’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

Well, that was another problem with Daelin: its ambiguous leadership. Technically, the Mayor was the highest authority in town. In reality, he was a weak-willed old fool who tried to appease everyone. That was by design, though. After all, for generations, it had been the Overseers of the caravan station who ruled the town, and the Mayors were little more than figureheads. Which was exactly why Marcellus got this post. It was because of those “qualities.”

After the dungeon emerged, after the agreement between Isadora and Rennald had been reached, now it was the Guildmaster and the Overseer who held the reins. Decisions that shaped Daelin’s future had been discussed and concluded between them, and were only presented to Marcellus afterward for a stamp and a signature.

For a while, that arrangement had not produced any visible consequences. Daelin was small, after all, and its prosperity revolved around the two pillars, the Adventurer’s Guild and the caravan station. But as the town grew, as external powers began to pay closer attention, this unclear chain of authority could become a liability.

And, apparently, someone had found a way to exploit it.

Viktor highly doubted Iskora had devised this maneuver in a fit of inspiration after their camp got torched last night. No, every plan had contingencies. They must have prepared this card long ago; they just had not needed to use it before. Now, however, they did.

“It is nothing extraordinary,” Khalid said smoothly. “After the misfortune befell my outpost, my people find themselves, for the moment, without lodging. So I merely requested permission for them to take temporary refuge in Daelin. Surely the generous citizens of this town would not be so heartless as to turn away the displaced?”

Didn’t you just call them ignorant folk of a backwater town?

“By ‘my people,’ you are referring to whom exactly?” Isadora asked. “The workers, or...?”

“The adventurers.”

Why am I not surprised?

“All adventurers are welcome to register with the Adventurer’s Guild in Daelin,” Isadora replied.

“That will not be necessary,” Khalid said. “They are already registered with the Adventurer’s Guild in Iskora, and they remain under contract for assignments issued by it. There’s no need for another registration here. Unless, of course, they want to take some local jobs.”

“You—”

“As I stated earlier, this matter does not concern you, Madam. I asked Mayor Marcellus for permission to allow my adventurers to reside within his town. And he has already granted it.”

“Most of the land in Daelin is privately owned,” Isadora said sharply. “And the communal grounds are either already occupied or in use. Where, exactly, are your men supposed to stay?”

Khalid smiled again. “The west side.”

“What—!?”

I see. So that’s what he’s aiming for.

The western quarter, the neglected limb of Daelin’s body. It had been sparsely populated to begin with, and after the monster attack eight years ago, many of its structures were abandoned as people left the town. Then, when the dungeon appeared and opportunity drew waves of hopeful migrants to Daelin, those without coin had drifted west, occupying empty buildings or erecting their own crooked shacks there. It had become a proper slum, with crime and hunger and ambition fermenting in its narrow streets.

Now imagine a well-organized, well-armed, well-funded group moving in.

They would own it.

The existing petty gangs would be dominated. They would bend their knees and fall in as foot soldiers to these newcomers. And in short order, the west side would become a foreign enclave within Daelin.

“I’ve been informed,” Khalid said, “the neighborhood in question has grown somewhat... unruly. Stability eroded after the influx of new residents. Crime has become commonplace. Therefore, in exchange for the town’s hospitality, my adventurers will assist in policing the district.” He turned slightly toward Marcellus. “We shall restore order where it has been lacking. A mutually beneficial arrangement, would you not agree?”

“Y-yes,” Marcellus said quickly, producing a thin, brittle laugh. “L-let’s get along and help each other. There’s no need for us to have any conflict.”

Isadora’s displeasure was evident. Yet she could not easily refute the arrangement. Legally speaking, the Mayor did have the authority to grant this request. Also, when she and Rennald planned Daelin’s development, they had sent funds east, north, and south, while the west had been left to fend for itself, evolving in whatever haphazard fashion its denizens could manage. So she was hardly entitled to have a say now in decisions about something she had long neglected.

“With my business concluded,” Khalid said, inclining his head with theatrical courtesy, “I’m going to take my leave. I’ll inform my men right away, and they’ll settle in before nightfall.”

He turned and strode toward the door with the satisfaction of a man who had just placed a decisive piece upon the board. Zubayr followed a pace behind, but unlike his superior, he didn’t look so triumphant. After all, he would be the one who slept in the slum, commanding men in mud and rot. For a Mithril-ranked adventurer, this had to be the ultimate humiliation. Still, he had failed to protect the outpost of which he had been in charge. So all he could do now was shut up and accept the punishment.

Well, this isn’t too bad actually, Viktor thought as he watched them go.

At the very least, this meant there would be no wrathful retaliation directed at Daelin in the near future. Whatever schemes Iskora now pursued, they would require time. Time to entrench themselves in the west, time to build their influence, time to gauge the strength of their new foothold.

And time worked both ways.

Let them come west. Let them settle.

All the while, he would observe them in turn and devise his own countermeasures.