The Baron's group moved at the speed of a funeral procession. The man kept grabbing the magess's sleeve or grimacing, freezing in place to listen to the stone silence. His cries – incoherent, full of paranoia – echoed off the vaults.
"There! Behind that rock! I saw it move!"
All his companions could do was exchange weary glances and go check another niche, filled only with broken rock and sleepy cave beetles. Their faces, lit by the cold crystal light, were a picture of silent despair mixed with exhaustion.
Saigo, following them literally on their heels, almost felt sorry for the mercenaries. 'A psychopath with power is worse than a horde of goblins. Especially when you can't slit his throat for peace and quiet.'
He kept a respectful distance, couldn't hear the conversations. All that remained was to be a shadow and… admire the view. And on the fourth level, there was plenty to see…
They entered the Crystal Kingdom – giant prisms, grown into the walls and floor, emitted a cold, iridescent light – not bright, but enough to outline the path like lanterns at a ghostly ball.
The cave widened until it spat them out into a hall of monstrous scale. Its vaults were lost somewhere in the impenetrable heights, invisible even to Saigo's sharp gaze. The air hummed with its own emptiness.
Here, the group unexpectedly quickened their pace. And Saigo instantly understood why. His internal radar screamed an alarm. Entities. Of another kind. Varied and hungry: Carrion-eaters – a whole pack. About three hundred meters away, beyond a ridge of stalagmites.
Trolls – Two massive lumps of flesh and malice. Somewhere in a side tunnel on the other end of the hall. Their primitive, dull anger hung in the air like a heavy stench, so strong Saigo turned his nose up in disgust.
And... cold. Dark, sticky – Ghosts. Saigo felt a slight chill along his spine. Not fear, though they were creepy – but pragmatic irritation. They ignored physical attacks. And dealing with them was very long and tedious. At least they popped like soap bubbles from magic...
Surprisingly, the group moved as if on a beaten path, skillfully avoiding the hotspots of activity. Not a single skirmish, fast and relatively quiet. Saigo slid behind them, amazed at the focus a madman could inspire.
The Fifth Level greeted them like an oceanic abyss – dark, immense, filled with the silent horror of the unknown. The caves here were monstrous in size, their boundaries lost in the gloom, evoking primal fear. The air was heavy, saturated with ancient dust and something... otherworldly.
Boom.
Not a sound, a blow to the very core. Saigo felt it – huge and powerful. The echo of its strength had already covered his internal radar like a heavy, invisible blanket.
With every step deeper, the pressure grew, squeezing his temples, making the air thick as syrup. The group ahead slowed, creeping. Saigo knew why. He emerged from the shadow of a rock, closing the distance, merging with a boulder at the very edge of their route.
The dragonslayer (Lyn), waiting for them there, crouched; his face in the dim light of the glowing moss was focused.
"Is everything ready?" the Baron hissed, his sword trembling in his hand.
Lyn just scratched his stubbled chin, looking into the blackness of the giant passage ahead.
"No, of course not," he replied simply, as if discussing the weather. "But a better chance to attack won't present itself. He's... distracted."
Saigo strained his hearing to the limit, absorbing every sound, every vibration from the black maw of the lair. Distracted? By what? The pressure of the dragon's aura pulsed in his bones like the hum of a giant heart, muddling his thoughts.
"By what?" the Baron hissed again, nervously gripping his sword hilt. "And what is he even doing here? This isn't his lair!"
Lyn slowly lit his short pipe. The glowing embers cast sinister, dancing shadows on his scarred face, turning it into the mask of some subterranean demon.
"Don't know what lured him here," he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "The hall glows like the midday sun, all because of that crystal freak," he nodded towards the giant crystal hanging from the invisible vault like a gods' icicle.
"Been hanging here, probably, since the stones were water." He gave the cave a quick, experienced hunter's glance. "But glancing at it... we won't find a better place for dragon-slaying, I can explain the facts."
"Explain," grunted the warrior, checking his shield strap.
Lyn snapped his fingers, pointing around:
"First, space. Big, but... manageable. He can't burn us with one breath – plenty of cover. But also not small enough for him to just trample us." He jabbed a finger at the piles of rocks and crystalline boulders.
"Second, height. Enough for him to lift off slightly, but not for full flight. He can't maneuver here, can't hover by the ceiling, showering us with magic... or worse." Lyn's eyes shot an ironic glance.
"Third, light. We'll fight seeing the target, not poking blades in the dark." He raised his hand, knocked his knuckles against the nearest wall. A dull, monolithic sound.
"And fourth, granite. Solid. Risk of collapse is minimal. Even he'll have to sweat to bring something down here. A real fortress."
"I just don't get it," the girl shrugged, "why does a dragon need light? As far as I remember, their eyes see perfectly in the dark..."
"I'd like to know!" Lyn turned to the mage. "I wanted to ask you, our eternal enigma. Ready?"
Shuma just clicked her tongue contemptuously, as if shooing away a bothersome fly, and demonstratively turned away, staring into the shimmering depths of the cave.
"Enough!" The Baron sharply raised his hand, his voice trembled but tried to sound authoritative. "I've waited too long as it is... We proceed as planned. Precisely and clearly, as agreed."
The three professionals – Lyn, Shuma, Kant – nodded in unison. In this party, there was no dead weight, well except for Akno, but he didn't count as he was the client. Each had been through the hell of fights and battles, so empty words were superfluous here.
They disappeared into the belly of the "Lantern" – as Saigo mentally dubbed the glowing cave. He followed like a ghost, merging with a boulder right at the entrance. Curiosity pressed against his cold nature.
The dragonslayer... seemed average. Maybe not outwardly strong, but experience and cunning were still a thing. The mage – her power was felt even from here. The warrior – no clear impression yet, too little information.
And so the battlefield – prepared, and their chances... not illusory, but minimal.
The corners of his lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. 'Better for me. In any battle, the true winner comes... last. And takes everything for himself.'
Letting the group go ahead, Saigo ghosted into the glowing hall. His gaze was immediately drawn to the dais in the center – and what was perched upon it. Up close, the monster was far more... frustrating than any engravings or tales from drunken bards recorded in reports.
Thin, three-toed paws, unnaturally long, with dagger-claws, resembled the limbs of a giant, mutated bird of prey more than the foundation of a mighty dragon.
Its body was covered not in scales, but glossy, partly scaly, but mostly bluish, flabby-looking skin, exposed and seemingly vulnerable. A thin neck, appearing fragile, held a head assembled from a nightmare constructor: two massive, ram-like horns; a vulture's beak with a predatory downward curve; and the most hypnotic – a single red eye in the center of its forehead.
It burned like a hot coal, casting bloody highlights around, illuminating the stone walls with its inner, hellish light.
Saigo mentally smirked. 'I've known dragons with hereditary curses... but this one... Wyvern? Basilisk? A cross between a bormoglot and a lindwurm? Or something else?'
Appearances could be deceiving, he knew that better than most.
The monster was pretending to sleep. Saigo felt it with his instinct – tension, like a drawn bowstring, hung in the air around it. It was a game, and the prey was about to step into the trap.
The group cautiously crept forward, their hearts seeming ready to burst from their chests. Step... another step... They were within confident striking range.
And then the dragon opened its eye. Not sharply. Slowly, with exaggerated, theatrical weariness. Its voice, when it spoke, was low, vibrating, like the grind of stones underground, but with notes of deliberate indifference:
"Hmmm..." It yawned protractedly, revealing rows of needle-like teeth. "A tasty dinner... delivered itself to my chambers? How... convenient."
The last word sounded not like a statement, but an icy mockery hanging over the group.
"Scatter!" Lyn barked, understanding the element of surprise was lost forever. "Baron, Kant – flank him! Mage – prepare to strike!"
The battle began... and the dragon seemed to merely condescend to participate in this bustle. It watched them like bothersome flies that had decided to play predators. Its single eye glowed with scarlet contempt.