"Phew… Endel, I mean, I want to trust you, but why are we even doing all this?" Carlos muttered wearily, staring at the piles of fallen trees.
With every passing minute, the scene grew more surreal.
Dozens of trunks, stacked in heaps, reeking of fresh sap and raw wood.
And not the slightest hint of what it was all supposed to be for.
He turned around: silence all around, except for Leina, who, breathing heavily, kept slicing through another trunk with a blade of wind.
No one else nearby.
Just the two of them.
And that nagging thought came back again, buzzing like a fly.
How was this supposed to help clear the dungeon?
Build a wall out of them? No.
The trees were far too massive to move anywhere.
And chopping them down into smaller parts — it would take forever, even with Leina's strength.
Besides, why would they need a wall anyway? Their task was to kill the Artlaps, not build fortresses.
To Carlos, they were wasting their strength on complete nonsense. Worst of all — it had already cost them two whole days.
Two precious days. Now they had only five left to complete the task.
Carlos wiped the sweat off his face, staring with frustration at the horizon.
There, looming, was an enormous mountain, covering the entire northern view.
That's where Endel had gone — two days ago.
But before vanishing, he had left them instructions. Strange, confusing, contradicting any common sense. Back then, they exchanged glances, barely believing they were agreeing to it.
But Endel's confidence had been so unshakable, resisting it had seemed impossible.
Carlos wanted to refuse at first, but deep inside, he had been afraid to admit: they really had no other choice. To clear this dungeon…
"And really, why are we doing this?" Leina finally said, panting, wiping sweat from her hair. She wanted to trust Endel's plan, but she still had no idea what exactly they were working toward.
She kept chopping down trees with her wind magic.
In these few days, she had learned not only to direct compressed air but to shape it into razor-sharp blades.
Each gust cut through wood with terrifying precision, turning the wind itself into a lethal weapon.
Heavy trunks cracked, snapped, and the sound of shattering wood echoed through the gorge, blending with the howling wind.
Carlos, meanwhile, calculated the angle of every fall, making sure the trees all landed in one direction, forming massive, dense piles.
These piles stood spaced about two hundred meters apart.
The deep, dull thud of timber slamming into the ground reverberated in their chests, a constant reminder of the weight of their efforts.
In just two days, they had managed to raise dozens, maybe hundreds, of such colossal heaps.
They didn't know the true purpose, but kept going — driven by trust in Endel, and a gut feeling that this had to be done.
Still, the unease never left them.
Leina felt tension buzzing under her skin, her heart skipping a beat at every cracking trunk.
They worried not only for Endel — his arm had been broken, and now he had disappeared, leaving them alone with this bizarre task — but also about the mission itself. Time was slipping away, and progress was barely visible.
Carlos wiped the sweat from his brow, felled another tree, and the heavy crash rolled through the gorge.
"I just don't get him anymore," he muttered, struggling to process it all, while the sharp scent of resin and pine filled his nostrils, mingling with the cold mountain air.
Leina glanced at another falling branch, tiny wooden splinters scattering close to her face.
She sighed, refocused, summoned her wind, and sliced through the next trunk.
Every movement was exhausting, yet strangely satisfying.
The wind whistled between the cliffs, trees cracked and toppled, and their arms, legs, and backs ached with fatigue.
And all this — for something that seemed pointless, yet in Endel's eyes, surely held great meaning.
"Fine…" Leina exhaled, pausing for a second, "but I still hope he knows what he's doing."
Carlos only nodded, watching wearily as another trunk slammed into the growing mountain of timber.
Two more days passed.
Somewhere on one of the mountain's smaller peaks — a peak still piercing the sky with its grandeur — stood a ragged, bloodied young man.
It was Endel.
"You're really pulling off the new look," the Third chuckled.
"Then you're pulling it off too," Endel replied calmly, gazing at the vast horizon.
He noticed the fallen tree from their arrival point, still lying there. Even now, it seemed larger than he remembered.
Why was Endel standing here?
The answer was simple: he wanted to see this place from above — for his plan.
Of course, he could've done without it, but he wanted proof. Proof about this world.
It wouldn't change much of the plan, but he hoped it would reassure him.
That's why he spent four whole days climbing the mountain.
And though he had only reached one of the smaller peaks, it was enough to see what he needed.
It delighted him: they were quite close to an ocean, washing against the shores on two sides.
That was enough.
He spent some time admiring the view, then finally said:
"It's time. We've already wasted too much."
Endel had only been at the top for thirty minutes before he began his descent.
"Will we make it?" the Third asked with worry.
"We must. If I rest ten minutes instead of an hour, we'll make it," Endel muttered, exhausted.
And so, he started climbing down.
Though his right arm was still broken, four days of constant [Healing] had already shown results.
He felt that by the end of the week, the arm would be as good as new, even despite the strain of climbing.
But how had he even managed to get up here?
...
He began to remember.
Every step was like a sentence.
Rocks slid from under his feet, tumbling down, echoing through the cliffs. Endel never looked down — too afraid to see the abyss stretching hundreds of meters below.
The air grew colder.
His lungs burned, his throat dry, as if he were breathing dust.
Sometimes the wind struck so suddenly he had to flatten himself against the rock, clutching it with his left arm, cheek pressed against the cold stone.
The rock was freezing, as if the mountain itself was mocking him.
"You look like a drenched cat…" the Third snorted, trying to cheer him.
"Then you're a cat too," Endel rasped, eyes shut tight.
With every hour, the clouds drew closer. Sometimes he climbed through a milky fog, where the world dissolved around him, and only the rock beneath his palm proved reality still existed.
When the fog parted, rare sights appeared: tiny yellow flowers sprouting from cracks, life stubbornly clinging to the void.
Sometimes he paused on ledges, leaning back against the stone, shutting his eyes, waiting for his heart to stop hammering like it wanted to burst out.
One hour of rest — and then up again.
[Healing] dulled the pain but couldn't fight the weakness. His right arm hung heavy, useless, always re-injured by the climb.
The wind carried the scent of pine resin from solitary, stunted trees growing right out of the rock.
Now and then he heard a bird's cry high above — and every time, he looked up, envying its freedom.
Once, he slipped.
A rock shot from underfoot, and he dangled by his left hand, skin tearing on his fingers.
"Endel!" the Third howled in panic, this time without mockery.
"Relax… I've got it…" he gasped, not even sure himself.
He hated this mountain.
Sometimes he hated himself for climbing it.
But he kept going — because their survival depended on it.
And when a glimpse of horizon broke through the clouds — a dark-blue line like the edge of the ocean — a spark of joy burned inside him.
"See? Not in vain," he told himself.
And he pulled upward again.
Step.
Another step.
Ten meters — a small victory.
A hundred — a great one.
And after four days, he had reached a spot where the horizon stretched clear before him.
"I made it…" he whispered hoarsely.
…
But now the descent had begun.
And it was far more terrifying than the climb.
He realized it in the first few minutes, when his foot slipped on smooth stone, and only a desperate grab saved him.
His heart thumped so loud, he swore the mountain heard it.
Now every step demanded not strength, but caution.
Where climbing had been about pulling upward, now it was about choosing the only safe foothold among countless treacherous ones.
Gravel hissed and slid into the abyss, every sound sending shivers through his gut.
"You look like you're walking on ice with a shark beneath it," the Third muttered, still trying to act the same, though even he felt the danger.
"Better a shark than falling," Endel sighed, pressing his shoulder to the stone. Sweat ran down him in streams.
His muscles burned, his eyes stung from the cold wind. His chest ached, his breath ragged.
The sun dipped lower, shadows cutting the slope in two. Sometimes they made it impossible to judge depth, leaving him stepping blind.
He stopped often, resting on narrow ledges, waiting for his vision to adjust.
His fingers trembled, his right arm still heavy with dull pain.
His legs shook, close to giving out.
He kept using [Healing], a tiny lamp in the dark, just to keep going a little longer.
The magic burned inside him, but he whispered the activation words, again and again.
Light spread through his arm, and it felt like the mountain itself softened for a moment.
"Lucky you unlocked that skill," the Third admitted, oddly serious.
"Can't argue with that…" Endel chuckled weakly.
Once, he had to half-slide on his back, pressing his boots against the rock, scraping skin raw.
By the time he reached a gentler slope, his whole side ached, and his lips cracked from dryness.
The wind grew stronger, carrying the damp smell of pine below.
He knew night was coming. He had to reach at least one of the spots where he'd rested on the way up.
They seemed like islands of safety now.
"Maybe we should sleep here?" the Third suggested when they found a ledge with a twisted pine.
"No," Endel shook his head. "If I stop, I won't rise tomorrow."
He rested two hours.
Then he pushed on.
The lower he went, the more life appeared. Grass sprouting from cracks. The faint line of forest below.
Birds cried in the distance, and it mocked him — such free creatures soaring while he clawed at the stone.
It angered him, but he held his calm.
At some point, he noticed his breathing.
It was too fast, as if every cell screamed for air. He pressed his forehead to the cold stone.
The rock was damp — maybe from eternal clouds.
And two more days passed.
"Hey, we're almost there," the Third said softly, no joke this time.
Endel forced his eyes open, looked down.
Yes, the base was close. Just a few hundred meters.
But those few hundred were the hardest: his muscles quivered, his head spun.
He felt like he'd black out and fall at any moment.
But he forced himself onward.
Step by step. Every movement checked ten times before shifting weight.
Sometimes sliding down on his backside, leaving a dusty trail.
Sometimes jumping down to a lower ledge, heart racing till he was sure he'd landed safely.
And…
He reached the ground.
When his feet hit flat soil, his legs gave way.
He collapsed on his back in the grass, head tilted, eyes shut.
The air was moist, smelling of earth and leaves, sweeter than any wine.
"Alive," he whispered hoarsely, smiling.
"This look suits you — filthy, battered, but alive," the Third said again, strangely impressed.
"Then it suits you too," Endel murmured, exhausted.
But no time yet. He still had to reach Carlos and Leina. And time was running out.
He looked at the mission tracker:
[Your task: Kill 10,000 Artlaps.]
[Progress: 573 / 10,000]
[Time remaining: 1 week (23 hours left)]
[Penalty for failure: You will remain here forever]
Note: So you can die here.
"As always," the Third muttered at the note.