Tione, Tiona, Gareth, Ais, all divided by the closing gates and shifting mechanisms, each now facing their own peril alone.
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Inside the man-made dungeon lay countless vast and empty chambers. In one of those enormous rooms, located deep within a section no intruder could ever reach, heavily armed members of the Evilus in black hooded cloaks patrolled ceaselessly along every corridor and junction.
Even through their veils, one could sense the deep wariness in their eyes, and a faint trace of panic.
This was the Evilus' newly relocated stronghold, transferred here only moments ago.
Sparse blue magic-stone lamps were embedded in the smooth, precisely built walls.
Perhaps the designer had deliberately intended to create a certain atmosphere, for the lamps gave off only a dim and unsatisfactory light.
They seemed meant less for illumination than for ambiance, leaving the vast chamber in a heavy, somber gloom, one that, perhaps, suited the taste of certain gods.
Because of Fron's sudden rampage and Valletta's violent death, panic had spread among these rats of the Evilus like a school of fish startled by a catfish suddenly stirring the pond.
Fearing that Fron would charge into their upper chambers and annihilate them all, they had hastily abandoned their former base.
Such a large-scale migration could never be hidden, no matter how carefully it was planned.
"Yo-ho, Knossos sure is lively today," came a mocking voice. "Even noisier than when I used to deliver contraband. What kind of show is this, my dear big brother?"
Because someone was rampaging through the artificial dungeon of Knossos without a shred of restraint, tearing through corridor after corridor, Barca's mood had sunk to the depths. The intruder's flippant tone was like a spark dropped on dry tinder, instantly igniting his fury.
He shot the newcomer a cold glare and rasped, "Shut your mouth, you traitor who betrayed the will of our ancestors."
The man who entered wore a brown jacket with a fur-lined collar. Though he looked far younger than the outwardly aged Barca, their facial features and bone structure shared a distinct resemblance.
Just as his form of address suggested, the man was Barca's younger brother.
Dix Perdix, titled Hazer, Level 5, a member of the Ikeros Familia.
On the surface, the Ikeros Familia was a quiet, low-profile group. Even though Fron had lived in Orario for two years, he had barely heard its name mentioned. That was closely tied to their god's doctrine.
Yet regardless of reputation, the fact that their captain was a Level 5 adventurer was proof enough of their strength.
After all, across the countless familias of Orario, adventurers of Level 5 were few indeed.
That this "Hazer" Dix should appear in the man-made dungeon, and even call Barca his brother, would surely shock anyone who witnessed it.
Dix was tall and broad-shouldered. From beneath his open jacket, the hard lines of his muscles showed through his shirt. A cruel grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, the expression of a man who was anything but gentle.
As the saying goes, there are no wrong nicknames, only the right ones. Hazer fit Dix perfectly.
"Besides," Dix said lazily, "you don't need to call me your brother. We just happened to be born from the same woman. You don't need to act so sentimental."
As he stepped out from one of the corridors into the massive room, Barca's eyes filled with cold disgust.
To him, Dix was the embodiment of betrayal, one who defied his bloodline and spat upon the will of their ancestor.
"Heh, I was only joking. Don't take it so seriously," Dix chuckled. "No need to get all worked up. Besides..."
He pushed up his tinted crystal goggles, revealing the same blood-red D-shaped rune gleaming in his eyes that mirrored Barca's own. A cruel smirk crossed his face.
"Just thinking that I share blood with a cursed slave like you makes my skin crawl."
Barca's expression barely shifted. He didn't bother to respond to the mockery. His thoughts were fixed entirely on one person, Fron Argon.
Though that adventurer had stopped desecrating their ancestor's great work, the current situation was even worse than destruction.
In the projected image before them, they saw that same hated adventurer, the one the Evilus regarded as a thorn in their eye, standing before a massive sealed gate of reinforced metal.
He held a magic tool, the Daedalus Eye, and effortlessly found a hidden passage, walking through it as though treading familiar ground, heading toward his companions.
Even Barca, usually cold and composed, bit his lip until it bled at such audacity.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" Dix leaned closer to the projection, eyes gleaming. "Oh-ho, what's this? Hahahaha! You idiots lost the key? And that guy from the Night Weaver took it? Are you kidding me? Is this some kind of farce?"
He rubbed his eyes in mock disbelief, then burst out laughing.
"Hmph. Don't say I didn't warn you," Barca said coolly. "If that man breaks through Knossos, all your little hobbies and smuggling rings will be exposed."
Dix's laughter gradually faded. His thick eyebrows furrowed, and bloodshot eyes fixed on the display.
"I'd suspected for a while that someone was sniffing around, tracking the smuggling routes from the underground waterways to Melen Port. I didn't expect it to be those damned Familia bastards after all."
"Tsk, tsk. We've really caught the attention of some troublesome people."
Barca said nothing, eyes locked on the flickering battle projections before him.
"That lunatic Valletta's already been taken out by the Night Weaver. She left nothing but a mess behind," he muttered.
Dix's grin widened. "Like losing the key?"
"Exactly. Since you're here, you can lend a hand. I doubt you want the Loki Familia catching wind of your side business either."
"Heh. That's your way of asking for help? Fine, since we share a goal, I'll lend a hand this time. So, what do you want me to do?"
"Kill that lone wolf."
"Oh? And here I thought you wanted me to take out the Night Weaver. I was ready to apologize for refusing."
"..." Barca fell silent.
Fron, now moving freely through Knossos, was far beyond their ability to deal with. His strength alone was already beyond their reach, and now that he possessed the key, the situation had grown utterly untenable.
No minor scheme or ambush could stop him anymore.
And just as they feared, guided by the "key" in his hand and the detailed map in his mind, Fron had already located the Tiona squad that was trapped in desperate straits.
Boom-