The lair's darkness seemed to stretch on forever, its twisting corridors revealing scenes more macabre at every turn.
Brighid led the way, steps quick and calculated. Safira followed close behind, moving with caution, eyes sharp for any sign of danger.
Colin watched the rear, one hand always near his sword's hilt. Each new passage yielded something different—but nothing of value. Only the damp smell of stone, old blood soaked into the walls, and the forgotten trail of battles long since ended.
An underground hall opened before them.
Water on the floor gleamed in the dim light of scattered torches, casting wavering patterns over slime-slick walls. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like spears pointed at the earth. The echo of their footfalls seemed to ring for ages, filling the emptiness with an invisible presence.
In another wing, they found chambers that had once served as training rooms. Broken swords, shields corroded by rust, and blackened bloodstains still marked the stone floor. A scene of a forgotten war—but nothing beyond useless relics.
After long hours of exploration, the abandoned quarters made it clear that nothing remained there but silence and time. Torn curtains fluttered in the night breeze; glassless windows let pale moonlight bathe corroded furniture. But no fortune awaited them. No great discovery.
When they finally emerged from the lair, the morning light greeted them like a blessing—the forest's fresh air sweeping away the cave's dust and weight.
Safira yawned, stretching her arms.
"I think we've earned a long night's sleep, don't you?"
Brighid only nodded.
"Feels like we were in there for weeks."
Colin sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"At least we secured the reward. We've still got a few days. We could take it easy, do a little fishing…"
Brighid cut him a sidelong glance, and he returned it. They didn't need words to read each other's minds.
"But… is there even anything to fish in a swamp?" Safira arched a brow.
"Ivan's lived off it for years," Brighid said, unconcerned.
"And I don't know how," Safira muttered, kicking a stone toward the lair's mouth. "Hard to believe anything in there is edible."
The talk died as they realized they weren't alone.
Soldiers.
There were many.
They ringed the lair's entrance with bared spears and swords, most wearing crooked, mocking smiles. Ivan stood among them. When he saw the trio, he rushed forward.
"You're alive! Thank the Gods!" He was panting as if he'd run for hours. "It's been two days! Two! I thought you were dead! When I saw a troop passing through the village, I asked them to come check. They got here just in time!"
Brighid and Colin traded a look.
"Two days…?" Colin frowned. "We were inside for two days?"
Ivan bobbed his head, jittery.
"Yes! Lord Lukasyl and Lady Rylian were worried! The whole village was!"
The relief didn't last.
The soldiers' leader stepped forward. He wore a dark cloak and a smile that promised nothing good.
"And what guarantees they aren't the cultists?" His voice was oily, like venom spreading through a wound.
Ivan choked on his own spit.
"But… sir, they aren't! Everyone in the village can vouch for them!"
The soldier smiled, eyes cold.
"Or perhaps they bewitched the villagers into thinking so? Wouldn't be the first time vermin used dirty tricks."
The others laughed, trading looks and making vulgar gestures at Brighid and Safira.
"We don't want to hurt the ladies…" the leader murmured, feigning pity. "But if they beg… who knows? Maybe we let them live."
More laughter. Whistles. Looks that made the blood boil.
Brighid clenched her hands.
"Colin…" her voice came out tight. "They're human. I can't…"
He didn't hesitate.
"I'll handle it."
And he stepped forward.
"Did the nobles send you?" Colin smiled—a lazy smile with razors hidden underneath.
"Don't expect me to believe you just happened to pass by, do you? You lot, who leave your own empire's people to fend for themselves."
The leader cocked his head, amused.
"How about it—leader against leader? I don't want to hurt those two treasures behind you." He winked at Safira, whose fists tightened.
"We're the ones who'll hurt you!" Safira's mana burned in her hands like live coals.
"Safira." Colin didn't raise his voice, but it was enough.
She faltered, eyes widening.
"But Lord Colin, your mana—"
"Safira." This time, when he looked at her, there was no hesitation—only a crushing weight.
She lowered her fists.
"Right… sorry."
The leader guffawed.
"An obedient little bitch? Let's hope she's obedient with us, too."
More laughter.
Colin didn't even blink.
The leader shrugged off his cloak, revealing light armor made for speed.
"You're going to get beaten in front of them." He raised his sword. "What a humiliation, huh? That's life."
Ivan tried to step in. "Sirs! There's no need to—"
The mana slash came fast—a blue beam tearing the air.
Colin stepped in front.
The mana blade struck his chest—but didn't cleave him. The cut was superficial, nothing but a bloody score on his skin.
Ivan gasped, and Colin didn't even step back.
"Get over by them, Ivan."
The man didn't argue; he ran. The soldiers' leader frowned.
What…? My strike should have cut him in half… Dorien, you bastard, you told me he was weak!
"Using dirty tricks? Typical bandit behavior."
Colin only smiled. The indifference made the leader click his tongue, tense, and take his stance.
"You may be tough, elf, but I'm a knight!"
He gripped the blade tight.
"Prepare yourself."