Lotus exhaled a long, smoky breath, leaning casually against the half-crumbled wall as if they hadn't just been in a life-or-death brawl minutes ago. "Well," he said, voice calm but laced with exhaustion, "I suppose this is where we cut our losses." His eyes slid over the ruined bodies of the Diamond Kingdom mages strewn across the icy floor, then back to Mars—still breathing, still staring at the ground in silence.
"You're really just gonna walk away?" Klaus asked, his grip still firm on his grimoire.
Lotus chuckled. "Walk away, yes. Forget, no. I'll tell them…" His grin widened faintly, eyes narrowing. "That the Clover Kingdom had already claimed the dungeon before we got here. That we fought, we lost. End of story. Convenient, right?"
"Convenient for who?" Sekke snorted, stuffing another gold bar into his satchel.
"For everyone," Lotus said simply. "If Mars stays here, though… that would be better for him. But trust me, boys and girls, you don't want that change. A captured Diamond officer, alive, in Clover hands? That's how wars start."
Zura's expression didn't shift, but his thoughts were already spinning. 'In the manga, this whole thing was swept under the rug because the dungeon collapsed. Nobody got the claim, so there was nothing to fight over. But now… Clover has the dungeon, the treasure, the resources… This won't fade quietly. Diamond won't let it go. And Clover won't give it back.'
Lotus adjusted his hat, glancing once at Mars. "I'll tell them you died here. It'll be easier for everyone. You stay, you're a dead man on paper. Or you come back with me, and… well, we both know what happens then."
Mars finally looked up at Zura. There was something in his eyes—uncertainty, maybe a plea.
Zura didn't answer right away. His mind was already digging deeper, seeing the ripples of this choice stretching far past this frozen chamber. If he kept Mars here, it would be like throwing a lit torch into a powder keg. And part of him… almost wanted to see the explosion.
But part of him knew he wasn't ready to play with that kind of fire. Not yet.
Zura let out a sigh and waved his hand dismissively. "I don't care what you do. Our mission was to claim the dungeon, and we have done that. If you want to fight again, I am ready. If you want to stay here, I don't give a shit. If you want to return, then get the fuck out already."
Lotus and Mars disappeared into the shadowy hall, their footsteps fading until the dungeon swallowed the sound. The air felt heavier without the tension of the fight, but Zura didn't relax—not when he knew how the aftermath could spiral.
Mimosa moved between the wounded, her hands glowing with gentle green light. Klaus sat cross-legged with Sekke, already prying open chests in the treasury, their muttering a mix of excitement and greed. Coins clinked and the smell of old parchment filled the air.
Zura sat on a cracked stone bench, letting Mimosa kneel beside him. Her magic seeped into his wounds like warm water, knitting muscle and sealing torn skin. He let her work, but his mind wasn't here—it was somewhere deeper in the dungeon.
'In the manga… Asta found it here. The Demon-Dweller Sword.'
His mind pictured it vividly—its ornate hilt, the spiral grip, the heavy pommel. The black-marked blade, dulled by dirt but brimming with power. A sword that could cut magic itself, drink it in, and spit it back out in a slash of pure, stolen force. It could connect the wielder to allies, let them share magic and information, or drain an enemy dry with a single thrust.
It was perfect for him… and also a damn problem.
'That sword passively absorbs magic from whoever holds it, Zura thought, his gaze unfocused. Asta had no magic, so it was like it was made for him. But me? I've got magic coming out of my ears. If I use it for too long, it'll drain me, maybe even cripple me mid-fight. And let's not forget…'
His eyes flicked to his forearm, tightening slightly. 'The thing's heavy as hell. Asta could swing it because he was a freak in a different way. If I'm gonna use it, I'll have to get strong enough to swing it around like a lunatic without slowing down. No magic crutches, just muscle.'
Mimosa finished with a soft smile. "You're good to go, Zura. Try not to get stabbed again so soon."
He stood, rolling his shoulders, the healed skin still warm. "No promises."
Without another word, he strode into the deeper corridors, torchlight flickering across his face. The dungeon's walls were jagged, some too smooth, some too uneven—things that didn't fit the architectural pattern.
He balled a fist. "Let's see… where's your little secret?"
With a grin, he started smashing through suspicious walls, rubble crashing to the ground, dust blooming in the air. Somewhere in here, the chamber waited… and so did that sword.
Stone cracked under Zura's fists, each punch echoing through the hollow corridors like a drumbeat. Dust clung to his hair, gritting between his teeth. The others were busy with their loot, their voices muffled far behind him—no one was here to stop him from tearing the place apart.
Another strike, and the wall gave way with a hollow groan. A rush of stale air hissed out, cold and dry, carrying the faint smell of old parchment and… metal. Not rust—something older, heavier.
He stepped through the narrow break, ducking under a crooked arch.
The hidden chamber wasn't big, but it felt endless. Every surface was carved in ancient runes, some glowing faintly, like dying embers that refused to go out. The ceiling dipped low, dust dancing in the torchlight, and in the very center…
…on a single pedestal of black stone…
…was a sword.