The inner ring smelled of wet stone, old smoke, and ink.
Seoryeon slipped through a gap between two collapsed walls and entered the court that everyone avoided. Broken pillars stood in a rough circle. Scratches in the ground formed shallow arcs, worn by feet and dragged steel. The air tugged faintly at his chest, a subtle pull that made his Heart-Thread vibrate out of rhythm.
The courier stayed close, tether taut, coughing into his sleeve until his shoulders shook. Each cough scraped the boy's thread thinner.
Seoryeon tightened his grip on the seal pin he had taken from the captain. It rested in his pouch like a small piece of authority. Authority opened doors and invited knives.
He watched the court for a full minute.
Alliance units held the western edge. Cult squads held the eastern edge. Small clashes sparked and died at the corners. The center stayed empty, respected in the way men respected pits they could not see the bottom of.
A line of Alliance men entered through a narrow arch.
They wore clean collars and carried lanterns shielded by metal hoods. Their leader walked with a clerk's posture and a killer's timing. Four guards surrounded a covered chest, each guard holding a short weapon close to the body, built for cramped work.
The chest sat on two poles carried at shoulder height. Its weight made the carriers' steps careful.
Seoryeon's eyes narrowed.
A ring-key.
He had seen the scratches on the ground, the circular patterns. He had felt the air pull. A place like this demanded a token, a physical permission to cross the next threshold.
The courier saw the procession and whispered, voice hoarse. "They have it."
Seoryeon kept his gaze forward. "Quiet."
The procession reached the center and stopped beside a pillar stump. The clerk leader opened a leather tube and read a sheet by lantern light. His lips moved soundlessly. His eyes stayed calm. The guards' Heart-Threads vibrated steady and thick, tighter than ordinary soldiers.
A cult squad emerged from the shadows at the court's edge.
Eight men, moving low, blades short, faces wrapped. One woman in red followed behind them at a measured pace. Hwa Yeon's robe stayed clean despite the mud below. Her gaze stayed on the covered chest.
She lifted her hand once.
The cult squad surged.
Alliance guards reacted instantly. The front guard stepped forward and angled his blade toward the oncoming line. The second guard raised a crossbow and fired into the mass. A bolt punched into a cult fighter's shoulder near the collarbone and pinned him back a step. The fighter's arm sagged and the blade dipped.
The court filled with sound.
Steel rang. Boots scraped stone. Men shouted names and directions. Fear rose and got crushed by discipline.
Seoryeon moved.
He dragged the courier behind a fallen column, looped the tether once around his own wrist, and stepped into the outer lane that led toward the center.
A cult fighter broke from the pack and sprinted toward Seoryeon, mistaking him for another Alliance body.
The fighter swung a short saber toward Seoryeon's forearm, hunting the wrist tendons.
Seoryeon drew and met the blade with a parry. Contact rang. Pain spiked through his injured shoulder and lit numbness down his fingers.
He released a short push through contact.
The saber slid off line and scraped Seoryeon's sleeve. Cloth tore. Skin warmed. The cult fighter's wrist opened for a heartbeat.
Seoryeon stepped in and drove the point into the weapon shoulder at the front seam. Steel bit deep enough to anchor.
He pulled.
The fighter lurched forward into the blade. The shoulder dragged out of alignment. The saber dipped.
Seoryeon slammed the pommel into the jaw hinge. Teeth clicked. The head snapped sideways. Knees softened. The body folded and hit stone hard.
Seoryeon moved again, using the fall as cover.
Another cult fighter came low with a hooked dagger aimed for Seoryeon's back of knee, seeking collapse in the tight lane.
Seoryeon pivoted and met the hook. Contact rang. His grip threatened to fail for a fraction.
He pulled through contact.
The hook jerked inward. The attacker's wrist crossed the centerline. The shoulder opened.
Seoryeon thrust into the inside of the forearm near the wrist tendons. Steel sank shallow and precise. Fingers spasmed. The dagger dropped.
The attacker lunged with the free hand toward Seoryeon's throat.
Seoryeon drove a knee into the inner thigh. The leg folded. The attacker dropped low.
Seoryeon stepped past and drove his boot into the attacker's ribs. Air left in a choking burst. The attacker curled, hands clawing at the ground.
Seoryeon felt his own ribs burn as he breathed. The wound under his arm tugged at the bandage. Warm blood seeped where it had torn earlier. He ignored it and kept advancing.
He reached the edge of the central clash.
Alliance guards fought in a tight square around the chest. Cult fighters tried to pry it open by dragging men down and piling bodies. Each side used short strikes, aimed at knees, wrists, and throat lines, choosing targets that ended function fast.
Hwa Yeon stayed behind the cult line, watching the chest and the clerk leader. Her face carried calm. Calm turned crowds into tools.
Seoryeon watched the clerk leader.
The man moved like he had done this before. He parried with minimal motion. He stepped into angles that turned enemy blades into wasted arcs. He targeted joints. He crushed fingers with the guard. He did not chase kills. He created openings for his guards.
Seoryeon chose the chest.
A cult fighter grabbed one of the carrying poles and yanked hard, trying to dump the chest onto stone. The carrier stumbled, shoulder twisting, breath spilling out.
Seoryeon stepped in and stabbed into the cult fighter's inner thigh near the seam where stance lived. Steel anchored.
He pulled.
The cult fighter's leg folded. The grip on the pole weakened. The pole dipped and the chest tilted.
Seoryeon shoved the pole back up with his forearm, pain ripping through his shoulder, and used his sword hand to deflect a blade aimed for his ribs. Contact rang. He released a push through contact.
The blade slid away from his side by a handspan, still close enough to graze bandage. Heat flared. Breath turned sharp.
Seoryeon drove his point into the attacker's lower ribs and anchored.
He pulled.
The attacker lurched into Seoryeon's space. The collision stole breath. Seoryeon used the body's weight and shoved it into another cult fighter, disrupting both lines for a heartbeat.
The clerk leader's eyes flicked to Seoryeon.
Recognition came as a tiny tightening around the mouth.
Seoryeon lifted the seal pin in his left hand for a moment, just enough for lantern light to catch it.
The clerk leader's gaze hardened.
"Traitor," the man said quietly, voice carrying a strange calm.
He stepped toward Seoryeon, blade low, stance wide.
Two Alliance guards shifted to intercept.
The clerk leader waved them off with a small gesture.
He wanted this himself.
Hwa Yeon saw the opening and lifted her hand again. Cult fighters surged toward the chest with renewed pressure.
Seoryeon's mind stayed cold.
He needed the ring-key. The clerk leader stood between him and the chest. The cult pressure would tear the square apart within seconds. Chaos would spread. The ring-key would vanish into someone else's hands.
He chose a fast cut.
The clerk leader struck first, a shallow slice aimed for Seoryeon's injured shoulder, hunting the joint line.
Seoryeon raised his sword to parry. Contact rang. Pain tore through the shoulder. Fingers numbed. The blade line dipped for a fraction.
The edge kissed the shoulder and opened a shallow line. Blood warmed cloth.
Seoryeon released a push through contact.
The clerk leader's blade shifted a handspan. The leader's stance absorbed the motion and returned a thrust toward Seoryeon's ribs, angled toward the bandaged wound under the arm.
Seoryeon parried late. The point scraped bandage and tore it further. Warm blood spread. Breath sharpened.
The leader stepped in close, using his shoulder and forearm to crowd Seoryeon's sword line toward the pillar stump. Stone pressed against Seoryeon's back. The air tug in the court tightened, pulling at his Heart-Thread and making his breath feel thinner.
Seoryeon anchored his point into the leader's inner thigh, high on the inside where balance lived. Steel bit deep enough to hold.
He pulled.
The leader's body jerked forward a half-step. The stance sagged for a heartbeat. The leader's free hand shot toward Seoryeon's wrist.
Seoryeon drove his knee into the same inner thigh.
The leg softened.
Seoryeon drove the knee again.
The joint folded.
The leader's weight spilled. The blade line wavered. The leader tried to recover by dragging the back foot, yet the stone underfoot shifted loose and the heel slipped.
Seoryeon ripped his blade free and slammed the pommel into the jaw hinge. Teeth clicked. The head snapped sideways.
The leader stayed upright through sheer control and swung toward Seoryeon's forearm, aiming for tendons and grip.
Seoryeon met the cut with his guard. Contact rang. His shoulder screamed. His fingers trembled.
He released a pull through contact.
The leader's blade drifted inward across the leader's own centerline. The elbow lifted. The shoulder opened.
Seoryeon drove the point into the upper chest below the collarbone, angled down to break structure and steal breath. Anchor set.
He pulled hard.
The leader lurched forward onto the steel and collided with Seoryeon's shoulder. White flashed across Seoryeon's vision. His knees threatened to buckle.
Seoryeon forced his feet to hold, shoved the leader away, and let the body fall to the side.
The clerk leader hit stone and wheezed, hand pressed to chest, eyes wide with disbelief.
Seoryeon turned toward the chest.
The square had broken.
Two Alliance guards lay on the ground with wrists ruined, blades dropped. A cult fighter crawled with a broken knee, dragging himself by elbows. Another cult man tried to lift the chest alone and failed, the weight dumping him forward so his face struck stone.
Seoryeon stepped in, grabbed the cloth cover, and ripped it away.
The chest was smaller than he expected. Iron bands wrapped it. A ring-shaped latch sat at the center, etched with shallow grooves that matched the circular scratches in the court.
A ring-key would fit there.
Seoryeon searched the fallen guards quickly.
One Alliance guard lay on his back, throat crushed, eyes staring. Seoryeon tore open the man's collar pouch and found a metal ring the size of a palm, heavy, warm from body heat, etched with the same grooves.
The ring-key.
Seoryeon slid it into his pouch and felt its weight settle like a promise.
Hwa Yeon saw the movement.
Her calm cracked for an instant, visible in a sharp tightening around the eyes.
She stepped forward, blade drawn now, no longer hiding behind bodies. Her guards shifted to create a lane through the chaos.
Seoryeon's Heart-Thread vibrated thin and uneven. Pain dragged at his breath. Blood seeped under his arm and down his side. His shoulder hung lower and trembled.
He tightened the tether and yanked the courier up from behind the column. The boy stumbled, eyes wide, coughing hard.
Seoryeon moved toward the archway that led deeper into the inner ring.
The archway's stone carried more scratches, deeper, cleaner, arranged in circles. The air tug grew stronger near it, pulling at his chest like a hand testing a knot.
A cult fighter sprinted to intercept, short blade aimed for Seoryeon's belly.
Seoryeon parried. Contact rang. He released a push through contact.
The blade slid outward and scraped Seoryeon's belt line, opening the old cut again. Heat flared. Breath hitched.
Seoryeon stabbed into the attacker's weapon shoulder and anchored.
He pulled.
The attacker lurched forward. The shoulder dragged out of alignment. The blade dropped.
Seoryeon drove the pommel into the mouth. Teeth cracked. The attacker fell, hands at the face, gagging on blood and panic.
Seoryeon dragged the courier through the archway.
Stone swallowed sound.
The corridor beyond ran narrow and curved, walls close enough to scrape shoulders. The air inside felt colder and heavier. His Heart-Thread vibrated with a faint tug toward the end of the passage, as if the world itself wanted his wire to stretch.
Behind him, voices rose, Alliance and cult both, chasing the same key.
Seoryeon kept moving.
The corridor ended at a circular door of stone and iron. Grooves spiraled across it like scars. A ring-shaped socket sat at the center.
Seoryeon pulled the ring-key from his pouch.
His hand shook. He forced it steady by tightening his grip until pain sharpened focus.
He placed the ring into the socket and turned.
The stone door shuddered. Dust fell in a thin sheet. A deep click sounded from within the wall, followed by the slow grind of old mechanisms waking.
The door opened a finger's width.
Cold air rolled out, carrying a scent like wet metal and old bone.
Seoryeon leaned close and looked through the gap.
He saw a chamber shaped like a bowl. The floor carried circular grooves. A raised platform stood at the center. Something rested on that platform, wrapped in pale cloth and bound by thin metal bands, as if the world itself feared it moving.
The air around it tugged harder, pulling at Seoryeon's Heart-Thread and making his chest feel tight.
Footsteps echoed behind him in the corridor.
Fast. Coordinated. Close.
Seoryeon tightened the tether, pulled the courier behind his leg, and turned toward the sound with his sword lifted.
The chamber waited behind him.
The hunters arrived in front of him.