My cough echoes through the chamber as I lean back against one of the stone pillars, trying to relax. And this time, it's not Eirwen at my side—but Garrik.
The boy mentions he's only a few points away from hitting level twenty-one, which is why he's decided to stop farming EXP altogether—at least for now. As he doesn't want to risk whatever happened to me and my body happening to him.
"Eh, I'll still probably level up after we take out that one team anyway," he shrugs, offering that as his excuse when he asks to sit beside me—settling himself to my left…
Quietly watching as Therion and Siona continue their daily grinding, both of them pushing to hit level twenty.
"And how exactly are we supposed to slip away from those two?" Garrik interrupts my peace again, his voice low but tinged with curiosity.
So I answer casually, "We just wait for Siona to notice something… off."
"Oh? Alright then… But speaking of which—where's Eirwen? Wasn't she clinging to your side these past few days?"
His words just now are just loud enough to catch Siona's attention. She turns toward us, then scans the area, clearly realizing the fragile girl she entrusted to me is nowhere in sight.
"Wait, what? Where the hell is Eirwen, Deon!? Didn't I tell you to—"
"She said she really had to go," I cut her off mid-rant, keeping my tone flat.
"Then why didn't she say anything to me?"
"Because she didn't want to bother you. Besides, her Luck stat is high… So you don't need to worry."
"I'm going to kill you, Deon. When exactly did she vanish?"
"Maybe… fifteen minutes ago? Or twenty."
"Deon!"
"Alright, alright… I'll go look for her now."
I drag Garrik to his feet and start walking off with him, leaving the other two—still locked in combat. Thanks to that glowing orb floating above Siona's head, it's almost too good at luring the undead—more of them keep trickling in, like flies to a lantern flame.
Then I wave at them as we leave—nonchalant, pretending like this is no big deal at all.
~~~~~
"This time, we're facing a full team—seven members total. With Sigvald out of the equation, that leaves the four of us to deal with the remaining six." I whisper to Garrik, forcing down a painful cough that claws at my chest.
At this very moment, we're standing in the heart of the chamber, where the stench of the water is thick in the air… The mission calls for me to submerge myself in this foul pool, if only to mask my scent for a little while.
I actually suggested Garrik do the same, but he just shook his head and squatted at the edge instead, watching me silently as I submerge my entire body a few times into the water. Then, after a moment, he finally speaks—curiosity lacing his tone.
"Four… You're really counting her?" he asks, eyebrow raised. "Sure, she can kill... but actual combat? Are you seriously convinced she can hold her own in a real fight?"
"For the hundredth time, yes—I'm sure about it." I answer with firm conviction, then add a question of my own, glancing at Garrik. "Actually… is there anything you know that can dispel debuffs from yourself?"
"That I know? No. There should be, but I don't know any… Healers might know a few, or shamans. Oh, and Orion. I remember—on the first day, he claimed he could dispel even some types of curses. But why do you ask anyway?"
"Because that girl must've cast her charm spell on you too, without you even noticing. I mean, you're not usually this careless or oblivious."
"I see... You're probably right."
Garrik nods, a moment of realization washing over him—only for it to fade as frustration takes its place. "But that doesn't answer my question!"
"See? It's pointless for me even to explain how she's managed to survive all this time in this hellhole if you're just going to forget it in a moment and go back to thinking she's helpless… Just like I've told Siona several times already. Her charm magic, remember?"
"Ah… Charm magic… Right, I remember now. But maybe you're just being overly suspicious, no?" Garrik tilts his head, half-grinning like he's trying to brush it off—but the uncertainty in his voice betrays him.
"Shut up," I mutter, short and sharp, as I haul myself out of the murky pool. I move ahead without waiting for him with my bare, soaked feet slapping against the stone floor. Then I snap over my shoulder, irritation thick in my voice, "Hurry up and follow me already."
~~~~~
I actually understand it… the way Garrik walks with hesitation, his anxious gaze darting around in the dark. He's scared—probably thinking I'm just wandering aimlessly through the shadows… But I've already gone over all of this with Sigvald the day before. Every detail of the plan, the route, the timing—we agreed they'd be here by the third hour of the trial.
And even if something goes off script, all I have to do is bring back my scent… then wait.
Wait for something to come sprinting on all fours from the darkness. And wherever that thing shows up—that's where our destination lies.
Well, of course, that would ruin our attempt at a silent approach—but we've already prepared a backup plan for that. Luckily, I don't have to worry about it after all.
Because eventually, Garrik and I begin to hear it—the distant roar of the monster, followed by the sharp clashing of blades against claws. Two faint orbs of magic light flicker in the distance, barely visible through the gloom, each marking a group: five figures around one, and three around the other.
"How'd you even end up lost here in the first place?" one of the two boys asks Eirwen from behind a stone pillar, his posture exaggerated—trying to make himself seem taller, more masculine.
"But hey, if you really do need our help to get back safely," the other one—squatting with a smirk as he looks up at her—drops the small talk and gets straight to the point, "shouldn't it be fair for you to do something for us in return?"
It's clear what he's implying.
And the moment those words leave his mouth, I catch the flicker of rage in Garrik's eyes. He starts creeping toward them, clearly intending to intervene.
But I clamp down on his arm—tight, fingers digging in. A surge of irritation flares through me as he struggles, trying to yank himself free. The boy's making this more difficult than it needs to be, and it only pisses me off more. I don't let go, holding him back with more force, especially when Eirwen, looking confused and fearful, reluctantly follows the two boys, letting them drag her further away from the rest of the group still locked in battle with the chimera.
The chimera is forced back, step by step, its strength clearly waning—no longer a real threat, not even to a single one of those kids. And with five of them surrounding it, the outcome's already decided. But they don't finish it off. Instead, they toy with the creature, grinning and laughing like it's all a game. They're abusing its regeneration, dragging out the fight just to farm it for endless EXP, turning its suffering into their twisted form of entertainment.
I might be at odds with that monster. And I know it still holds a grudge against me that refuses to die out. But watching those kids laugh—taking pleasure in its pain—makes me wish the chimera would be the one to end their lives, not me. Unfortunately, something unexpected happens right before my eyes…
The chimera turns and bolts, abandoning the fight. A few of the kids immediately start shouting insults, already gearing up to give chase—but Sigvald quickly advises against it. Seems like the kid's worried that Garrik and I might not have made it here yet, and if they move too far, they'll break the formation and drift away from the spot he promised me.
"Where the hell did Julius and that bastard Kieran run off to?" Sigvald snaps, frustration bleeding through his voice.
But before he can say more, one of the boys—the most vicious-looking one out of the other two—barks back at him while a girl with a blank, unreadable face stands at his side, silent.
"Let them do whatever the hell they want. Why are you always acting like some self-righteous saint, huh?" the boy spits, smearing the blood from his lip with his thumb.
"What's your problem all of a sudden?" Sigvald's voice tightens, losing his patience.
"You're always trying to hold us back. I don't know what your purpose is with that. When you do something fun, we don't interfere, but why is it that whenever we do the same thing, you feel the need to lecture us?"
"Because you're doing something downright disgusting, that's why. The way you toyed with that chimera, and all of the girls you've killed… Everything!" Sigvald shoves the kid away before continuing, "This one's no different... the lost girl. You're planning to do the same to her after the others, aren't you?! Just so you know, I can tell when things have gone too far!"
"Who the hell do you think you are, trying to boss me around?!" The boy's sword comes rushing toward Sigvald's neck, but before it can make contact, it's ripped out of his hand by a sharp gust of wind that comes from deep within the shadows... Shadows that carry the sound of slow footsteps, and from them, I emerge—my expression casual, unbothered.
"Sorry for the interruption... I'm looking for two of my teammates. Have you seen them, by any chance?" I ask, holding back a smirk.
"Deon?!"
The group recognizes me, and I can't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for my past life… Since recognition like this is something I really haven't heard in the past twenty days, not since the last time.
And the way they quickly prepare their weapons, as well, almost brings a tear to my eye. But still… All of this is also enough to confirm their suspicions toward Sigvald, and soon, all eyes are on the boy in the center of the group.
"I knew it!" he responds, drawing a backup dagger from his belt and pointing it at the boy next to him as he curses under his breath, "Damn you, Sigvald!"
A sharp command then follows, and the girl beside him swings her one-handed sword toward his face. But just as the strike is about to land, the boy chants a canceling incantation under his breath: "Voz."
The single-word spell causes his form to vanish without a trace. Yet, none of the others show even a hint of confusion.
It seems that the cancellation isn't unfamiliar to them—either they've seen Sigvald pull the same trick before, or they know exactly what kind of spell came right before it. No confusion, nor hesitation… Instead, they fall into formation, instinctively guarding each other's flanks. But now, with their real target gone, all attention shifts toward me. Blades tighten in grip. Eyes narrow. I feel it—recognition, hesitation... then focus. I'm the only one thing left they can still strike at least.
Figures.
"That bastard Sigvald… I didn't think he had this all planned out…" the boy growls through a split lip, voice sharp as he barks out orders. "Myrrhiel! You remember where he left his sigil earlier, don't you? Then go track him down and don't stop until you've got him!"
The girl gives a curt nod before vanishing into the shadows, swift and silent.
"You—get Julius and Kieran," he continues, snapping his fingers at the other boy. "Tell them we need backup. Now."
But what the boy just said… It probably stirs something in Garrik, who's still hidden in the darkness behind me. Concern for Eirwen, maybe. And it's more than enough to make him decide to leave me here alone with two of them boys… Instead he silently steps out, shadowing the boy sent to call for reinforcements.
I mean, I don't think it's going to be a problem… Sure, Sigvald did mention that their team leader is tougher than the rest, but also according to the info he gave me, their levels should still be two or three below mine. And actually, there's one trick I can pull off here—thanks to Sigvald and all his sneaky little schemes. But to make it work, I'll have to fight with everything I've got using just this little dagger… at least until I can bring out my special card.
So that's exactly what I do.
With just the two of them left in front of me, they brace themselves in solid, defensive stances—like they have no intention of taking even a single step forward.
They're waiting for me to make the first move, hoping I'll be the one who starts the fight… or that it won't happen at all, since it's clear they're hesitating—there's doubt in their eyes, a subtle crack in their confidence.
They're afraid. Not just of me, but of the stories Sigvald told them. Of the things they've seen down here with their own eyes… The fabricated fear of death.
And that much becomes obvious the moment the group's leader tries to parry my dagger slash. Sparks fly at the clash, but he still ends up being dragged backward by the sheer force behind it… So it's true—his level is below mine.
But I still don't give him a heartbeat to recover.
Before he can steady himself, I follow up with a brutal kick square to his chest. The blow lands clean, driving even more pressure into his stagger. His footing falters. One step slips into the next, heels nearly tripping over each other, panic spilling into his movements. Lucky for him, his teammate manages to rush in just in time, driving the point of his sword straight toward my ribs from behind. It would've been a deadly strike—if I hadn't already predicted it.
There's no way I'd focus solely on one target when I'm up against two. My eyes and instincts are trained to track everything around me, and I've been keeping tabs on both of them since the very beginning. In a fight like this, even the smallest lapse could mean death… but I don't plan on giving them that chance.
So I spin around, trusting my beloved dagger to deflect the incoming strike.
Steel screeches against steel as I redirect the blade's tip away from me, sending it slicing harmlessly into empty air.
After that my left hand shoots out, grabbing his right wrist, yanks him forward, and slam his chest against my back for then I shift my weight, aiming to hurl him hard into the floor in one brutal motion—but as he spins midair, he manages to adjust his center of gravity, twisting just enough to land on his feet instead of being smashed into the ground, but I'm not about to let the effort I put into that throw go to waste… I mean, his arm's still in my grasp after all.
So I wrench it violently in a sharp spiral—elbow locked, shoulder twisted—and with a sudden torque, joints pop grotesquely out of place.
The boy's scream tears through the corridor as his fingers go slack, his sword slipping free. I catch it cleanly in my left hand, never once breaking eye contact with the one still standing—the one whose lips are already mid-incantation.
Where his blade then hums to life with a flickering surge of blue sparks, crackling with what looks like raw electrical energy coursing through it.
Instinct screams at me to dodge, so I leap backward. But the problem isn't me—it's the sword now in my grip. It's still too close. The moment his blade slices through the air, it brushes against mine, and that's all it takes…
A sudden jolt of searing pain floods my nerves. My body seizes midair, frozen for a breathless heartbeat—and then I crash hard onto the floor, spine-first, my muscles spasming from the residual shock, barely a second later before a blade comes lunging straight for my stomach… That's where my instinct roars louder than the pain.
I twist, kicking out with the flat of my right foot—just in time. Steel clashes against flesh, the edge slicing into my sole, but I force the weapon off its path, deflecting the thrust away from my gut… I basically trade blood for survival—a shallow wound to spare a fatal one.
Then I roll backward, momentum carrying me into a spring-loaded push as my palms strike the ground. With such a burst of force, I launch myself clear, creating distance before muttering a swift healing incantation under my breath.
Warmth pulses through the sole of my foot, closing the wound just enough for me to plant it firmly again.
I rise, steady and upright, jaw tight but breath calm.
That move—reckless as it looked—was worth it. No doubt.
After all, the cost of patching up a clean cut on my foot is nothing compared to the HP I'd burn healing a deep stab through my gut, not to mention the mess it'd make of my insides.
"Yeah… I made the right call," I whisper to myself, eyes narrowing.
Then I lower my stance again—ready to step in and begin round two.
~~~~~