The battle that followed was a symphony of chaos, a brutal, grinding struggle for survival where every second was paid for in blood and exhaustion. Without Cyrene's area-clearing fire magic, the Dawn Vanguards were like lumberjacks trying to fell a forest with hand axes. The spiders, sensing their vulnerability, pressed the attack with renewed, predatory frenzy.
Caden and Isabelle formed a buckling shield wall at the front. Caden's sword arm, once fluid and powerful, now moved with leaden fatigue, each parry sending jarring shocks up his shoulder. Isabelle's pristine white shield was now a dented, scarred mess, spider ichor dripping from its edges. The relentless impacts numbed her arm, but she held, her teeth gritted, her vixenish charm replaced by the grimace of a cornered animal.
Lyra's quiver was empty. She had resorted to using her bow as a clumsy club, her delicate features contorted in a snarl as she smashed it against chitinous legs and multifaceted eyes. Her wind magic, used to guide her arrows, was now a useless trick, barely strong enough to stir the foul air of the cavern.
And Theron? Theron was the picture of diligent support. He darted through the fray, not with the flashy heroism of Caden, but with the cold efficiency of a field medic. A timely strength buff here, a minor healing spell to seal a bleeding gash there. He conserved his mana, his spells calculated to keep them just barely standing, never turning the tide. He was the one ensuring the pot didn't boil over, all while stoking the fire beneath it.
His eyes, however, kept flicking to the center of the storm's eye: Cyrene.
She was curled into a ball on the cold, damp stone, her body wracked with silent sobs. The world had narrowed to the accusing voices echoing in her skull—*Liar, selfish, disappointment*. She clutched her head, muttering to herself, a litany of despair. "Everything was fine this morning… why now? Why can't I feel my mana? Did someone… no, it can't be…"
Her gaze, blurry with tears, swept across her struggling comrades. They were ignoring her, their faces masks of pain and determination, their own survival the only priority. Then her eyes landed on Theron. He was the only one who occasionally moved near her, his slender sword—a weapon he'd barely used—flicking out to efficiently dispatch a spider that strayed too close to her helpless form.
In her shattered state, the gesture was magnified. While her beloved Caden didn't spare her a glance, this commoner, this outsider, was subtly ensuring she wasn't torn apart. A confusing, twisted knot of gratitude and resentment tightened in her chest. He had been the one to suggest this quest. He had been the one to voice the accusation that sealed her fate. And yet… he was the only one providing a sliver of protection.
The battle raged through the night. By the time the last spider shuddered and died at Caden's feet, the first grey light of dawn was filtering through the cave's entrance. The cavern floor was a carpet of twitching legs and shattered chitin. The Queen Spider's massive form lay still, a pincushion of arrows and deep sword wounds.
One by one, the party members collapsed. Caden, Eve, and Lyra hit the ground simultaneously, their bodies drained, their energy spent. Their light armor was in tatters, their weapons notched and dull. They lay there, panting, the adrenaline crash leaving them trembling and hollow.
Theron, breathing heavily but still standing, allowed himself a moment of genuine relief. 'This was closer than I calculated,' he thought, a cold sweat on his brow. 'The protagonist's luck is still formidable. I still can't believe Caden pulled those high-grade instant-recovery potions out of his pocket. Enough to buy a small estate, and he used them like candy. Truly, the plot armor is thick.'
He remembered the pivotal moment, when they were on the verge of being overwhelmed, Caden had roared, withdrawing four small vials from a hidden pouch on his belt. The liquid inside had glowed with a soft, golden light. Drinking it was like swallowing sunlight; torrents of pure energy had flooded their systems, giving them the final push to victory. 'Sure enough,' Theron mused, 'the protagonist cannot die so easily.'
After a few hours of fitful rest, they began to stir, groaning as they assessed their injuries. It was then that they saw her. Cyrene was still on the ground, but she was awake. Her eyes were fixed on Caden's face, which was crisscrossed with shallow cuts and bruised from a glancing blow. His haggard appearance, the proof of his suffering, was a knife twisting in her gut.
Seeing him look her way, she scrambled to her feet, a desperate hope flaring in her sapphire eyes. "Caden! I'm so sorry! But don't worry, I can feel it… the problem is gone! My mana is back! Look!" She began to chant, determined to prove her worth, to show him it was all a terrible mistake.
But before the first syllable could fully leave her lips, there was a sound that froze the very air in the cavern.
*CRACK.*
It was the crisp, brutal sound of an open-handed slap, delivered with all the pent-up frustration and anger of a betrayed hero.
Jasmine and Lyra's eyes went so wide they threatened to pop from their sockets. Theron himself felt a jolt, not of surprise, but of intense satisfaction at the sheer, dramatic perfection of the moment.
Cyrene stood frozen, her head whipped to the side. Her hand slowly rose to her right cheek, where a bright red handprint was already blooming on her jade-like skin. She couldn't muster a sound. The shock was absolute. Tears, no longer of sadness but of sheer, utter devastation, began to drip down her cheeks one after another, tracing clean paths through the grime on her face.
"You are my childhood friend," Caden's voice was cold, devoid of its usual warmth, "so this time, I will ignore your childish and selfish behavior. But I will not trust someone like you again. You will no longer have a say in any decision that affects this group. Your responsibilities will be reduced. Who knows what disaster you might lead us into next time?"
He looked at her, his eyes those of a stern judge passing a life sentence. "I think you need to grow up. We are no longer the children who played on the streets. I have dreams and goals, Cyrene. I will not let you jeopardize them again."
Without another glance, he turned away. "Let's go. Our job is done. Collect the Queen's fangs as proof. We'll be able to rank up to Silver after reporting this. First, to the village to collect our reward."
The walk back to the village was a silent funeral procession for Cyrene's old life. The villagers cheered, applauding their heroic saviors. The chief, overjoyed, handed over the bag of gold coins and the quest completion documents. The return journey was smooth, the villagers having gifted them horses and a carriage out of gratitude.
Inside the carriage, the mood was a study in contrasts. Caden, Lyra, and Isabelle, having felt the thrill of death and emerged victorious, were energetic, even jubilant. They laughed, commending each other's bravery, discussing their imminent promotion to Silver rank, their minds matured and bonded by the shared ordeal.
Only Cyrene sat in the corner, her head bowed, staring at her hands as if they belonged to a stranger. She was an island of misery in a sea of celebration. The effect of the drug had worn off; she could feel the familiar flow of mana in her body once more. She had checked and re-checked during the journey, finding nothing wrong. A terrible, insidious thought began to take root in her mind, planted by Theron's earlier accusations: '*Maybe I was so scared… that my own panic blocked my mana? Maybe it was my weakness all along…*'
Seeing her dejected appearance, Theron allowed a small, genuine smile to touch his lips. His first objective was almost complete. The cyan-haired beauty was broken, isolated, and drowning in self-doubt. She was ripe for the picking.
**– – –**
Back in the city, the guild hall felt different. Grander. More imposing. They went directly to the headquarters to receive their Silver-ranked badges. Theron looked at the strong guards, the opulent décor, and felt that familiar, hungry awe. This was real power. And he would have it.
The receptionist's eyes widened when Caden presented the Spider Queen's fangs. "The youngest to rank up in decades…" she muttered, before hurrying upstairs to fetch their new badges.
"We need to celebrate!" Lyra chirped. "The finest wine in the city!"
"Yes! We've earned it!" Isabelle agreed, her voice slipping back into its seductive purr.
Caden smiled, the heroic leader once more. "You're both right. This is a moment to remember."
As they waited, the hall fell silent. The receptionist was descending the stairs, but she was not alone. Following her was a woman who made both Lyra and Isabelle instantly tense.
She was Parul, the daughter of the Guild Master. Her jet-black hair cascaded like a waterfall to the floor. Her face was perfectly sculpted, her skin white as snow. Her body, encased in a tight, dark dress, curved in a way that spoke of mature, effortless sensuality. With every step, her hips swayed, a hypnotic rhythm that made countless men in the hall lose their train of thought.
Even Theron took a sharp, involuntary breath. '*Danger. Another disaster-level beauty.*' His mind flashed a warning. This was a variable he hadn't fully accounted for.
Lyra and Isabelle felt a nuclear-level crisis. But before they could speak, Caden was already moving, a charming smile on his face. "Lady Rena! The honor is ours."
Theron watched, his mind racing. The protagonist's halo was blazing. But as he watched Caden effortlessly charm Rena, a flash of enlightenment struck him.
'*Why is the protagonist strong? Background. Harem. Allies. Cheat abilities. It all adds up to his absurd luck. If I take it all away… his luck collapses. I can steal his very destiny.*'
The plan crystallized with terrifying clarity. Plunder the harem. Sabotage the family business. Co-opt the allies. Steal the cheats. He would become the main character of this story.
To hide his excitement, he turned his face away—and got the shock of his life. An old man, shrouded in dark robes, was pressed against the wall in their blind spot. Their eyes met for a split second. Then the man threw a small, folded piece of paper in a precise arc, landing it exactly where only Caden would see it when he turned, before vanishing into thin air.
Theron's blood ran cold at the display of stealth and precision. But his greed was faster than his fear. While Rena had Caden's full attention, Theron sidled over to the wall, his movements as fast and furtive as a pickpocket, and slipped the paper into his pocket.
Later, as the group discussed their celebratory plans, Theron begged off, citing exhaustion and important pending tasks. He couldn't waste time watching them fawn over Caden. As he expected, the newly bonded group accepted his excuse easily.
Then, Cyrene spoke, her voice hollow. "I made too many mistakes. I need to go home and reflect. I cannot celebrate. I was just a burden." She didn't look at Caden, but her eyes, filled with a strange, scary glint, flickered towards Theron for the briefest moment.
Lyra and Isabelle, eager for alone time with Caden, quickly agreed. Caden, still disappointed, simply nodded. "You should reflect."
No one noticed that Cyrene's focus wasn't on introspection, but on vengeance. As Theron separated from the group and walked away, a shadow detached itself from an alley. Cyrene, her face set in a mask of cold, wicked fury, began to stalk him, a sharp, newly purchased knife hidden in the folds of her dress. Her smile grew more twisted with every step he took, completely unaware of the serpent following the would-be predator.