The guardians lurched forward.
The swamp quaked under their weight, twenty, maybe thirty of them, all bone and muck, stitched with pulsing red mana that made their bodies glow like dying embers.
They didn't move like beasts. They didn't move like men either. Their motions were jerky, marionette-like, pulled by strings only the dungeon itself could see.
Lucen's boots sank an inch into the muck as he squared his stance. The hunters behind him hesitated, their formation fractured before the fight even started.
"Stay close," Varik said, his voice even, unshaken. "If you scatter, you die."
That single line cut through their fear. The hunters snapped back into motion, weapons raised.
Lucen smirked faintly, hands already tingling with mana. 'He didn't even raise his voice. And yet they'll all listen. Always.'
