Malaca nodded slowly, agreeing with my analysis.
— Someone killed him, Fly. And whoever did it... might be after you now.
A chill ran down my spine, and it had nothing to do with the wind on the plain.
— But everyone was in the cave when he left! This... this doesn't make sense!
— I don't know how either, but... something is wrong in there.
— I think even Vrigs noticed. He's an experienced mage — he must have felt the same as I did when he saw Marcoriel's body.
— But no one said anything. It's as if we are all... inside a pressure cooker about to explode.
— But why me? — I asked, almost in a whisper. How can you be sure I'm the one being targeted?
— Because... whoever did it saw in the White Knight a chance to eliminate the strongest. And that only makes sense if... you're the real target.
— Think carefully, Fly: if I wanted to capture someone like you... I'd do the same.
I swallowed hard.
— You don't know, but there are many ways to enslave someone. Especially someone rare, powerful... and dependent on buffs.
— You're strong, Fly. But you're still vulnerable. Like a healer without a cleric. And it's not by chance that all Priests must study in the capital. That place is as much a school... as it is a fortress. A cage with golden walls, built both to train and to protect.
She paused, and I saw something different in her eyes.
— You're a Bard. And Bards... are even rarer than Clerics.
— Honestly, I doubt there's another who could do what you did in that battle.
Her fleeting glances were no longer just worry.
There was genuine fear.
— We need to get to the Guild. If you're inside, I can summon the leaders and request formal protection. Inside the headquarters... no one can touch you without declaring war against every guild in the city.
— And do you really think they'll help me?
— If the price is right... yes.
— Nobody here cares about "good". Only profit and power.
— But if you show them the power you showed me... they'll protect you as if you were a treasure.
The race continued.
We finally left the second floor behind.
The ambushing monsters from that level didn't chase prey that fled too quickly.
It was as if they respected an invisible territorial boundary.
But the first floor... was different.
There, the monsters had no rules.
If they saw you, they'd hunt you to the very end of the dungeon if necessary.
From that point on, we couldn't run anymore.
Each step required caution.
Every shadow, every corner... could hide an unnecessary fight.
Hours passed.
Night was already falling.
And yet... the exit still seemed distant.
— Aren't we going to rest somewhere?
— Yes, but we can't light any fires. That would be an invitation to death.
— Give me a second. I'll use a skill.
Malaca slowly knelt down and began tracing a circle in the snow with her finger. Her movements were steady, experienced, as if that gesture were part of an ancient choreography. When finished, she took from her backpack an opaque mana stone, still pulsing faintly with leftover energy — probably collected from one of the monsters defeated days ago — and positioned it at the center of the circle.
A subtle mist rose around us, rippling like heavy smoke, enveloping us in an almost invisible veil. The air grew denser, as though we had plunged into muffled silence.
— This is the Blind Shield skill — she explained, breathing heavily after the conjuration. — It's been many years since I last used it...
— Blind Shield? I've read about it. It was used for ambushes during the war, right?
Malaca raised an eyebrow.
— I see you've been studying. Yes, it was famous for that... but it also serves to make us invisible to untrained eyes — she gestured vaguely towards the circle. — The mana stone will keep the skill active for about four or five hours... if we don't make noise, it should be enough.
I approached, noticing the slight distortion in the air around the barrier. I knew the shield wouldn't prevent anything from entering — but anything leaving it would immediately break it.
— Do you think it will work?
— Honestly, I don't know. But on this floor, at night, tracks are hard to follow. And this skill is good enough to hide even a large group... if no one is stupid. We'll risk it.
**
The night was tormenting.
Even with the shield active, the screams never ceased. They were cries of pain... not human, but still deeply disturbing. Long, drawn-out moans, as if something ancient and hungry wandered outside, looking for living flesh.
Malaca sat at the shield's entrance, her back to me. She seemed absorbed in thought, eyes fixed on nothingness. I wanted to ask what was going through her mind... but didn't have the courage.
— Damn... I need to sleep. At least an hour.
I blacked out.
**
— Boy. Wake up. We have company.
Her hand covered my mouth before I could even murmur. Her eyes, sharp as daggers, pointed eastward, where the snow appeared denser and the fog thicker.
At first, I saw nothing. Only darkness between the stones...
But then, I heard it.
A weak, trembling voice, tearing through the silence like a plea for help from beyond.
— ...Someone... please... help...
My heart raced.
— It's Fiona! We need to help her!
My eyes widened as I saw her crawling along the path. Her clothes were torn, her body... covered in exposed wounds, so deep they revealed her bones and flesh. Each step looked like it would be her last.
— Don't look at her, look further behind — Malaca whispered without averting her gaze. Her tone was firm. Almost harsh.
It took me a moment to understand.
Then I saw it.
Behind Fiona... there was nothing.
Only a living darkness, a shadow that shouldn't be there... even at night.
— ...A shadow... but it's nighttime...
— You understand. — Malaca spoke bitterly. — Someone is using necromancy.
I stayed silent for a moment, trying to process this.
Fiona... was dead.
Only her body moved, driven by some sinister force.
— But... isn't dark magic forbidden?
— It is. — Malaca growled. — And that's precisely why this is so dangerous.
She took a deep breath before continuing, keeping her voice low.
— Shadow magic wasn't made for monsters. It was created to dominate humans.
— Pain, submission, slavery. That's what it does.
— It was used in wartime. But now... it's a crime punishable by execution. And whoever is using it now... clearly doesn't care about rules.
I dressed as quickly as I could.
— Do you think they've reached the portal already?
— Not yet. A necromancer's control radius is limited. They're probably still hunting around here. But they won't stop. Not after revealing their use of this magic.
— Malaca... will you help me fix my instrument?
Malaca hesitated for a moment but finally decided that any help would be welcome. She controlled the glue's temperature perfectly with magic, alternating between heat to fuse the parts and cold to stabilize them. I managed to repair the guitar's broken neck using the glue I always carried.
— It's not perfect... but it'll have to do. At least once — she said, analyzing the instrument with pragmatic eyes.
After a few minutes, Fiona's spectral figure disappeared into the darkness, heading towards the portal.
— We need to go.
It was still night, giving us the chance to slip unnoticed through busier areas. Malaca decided on an alternative route, less patrolled, that would let us approach the portal without attracting attention.
But what should've been a four-hour journey... stretched to almost six.
When we finally neared the portal, the sun was already rising behind the mountains, gilding the snow and making it impossible to hide.
— Alright... we're close. But with daylight breaking, the advantage is gone — I commented, breathless.
— Do you think it's better if we wait until night again?
Malaca considered, her eyes fixed on the distant path.
— We can't. I burned all my mana with that skill. I'm not sure I can cast it again.
— And during the day... if we manage to cross the portal, there will be people to protect us. I doubt whoever's responsible for all this will dare act in front of witnesses.
It made sense. The problem was getting there. In the distance, some people moved near the portal — but the view was too blurry to recognize them clearly.
— Strange... — murmured Malaca, narrowing her eyes.
— What is it? Who's there?
She took a long time to respond.
— Vrigs. Siman. Varnak... and Fiona.
My stomach churned.
How could it be? If Varnak and Vrigs were dead… then Varnak wasn't behind this. That had been our initial theory—that he or someone under his command was the necromancer. But seeing them here—zombified—destroyed that hypothesis.
— We're back to square one… — I murmured.
While we processed this revelation, Malaca froze.
— …We've been discovered.
A dagger sliced through the air from a concealed spot among the large rocks.
CLANG!
Malaca blocked it with her axe, spinning agilely on her heels.
— Damn it! Stay behind me, Fly!
— Can you see the enemy?
— Not yet! — I replied, scanning the surroundings. — Wait…
Then I saw it. A perverse gleam.
A smile floating in the darkness.
— …It's Isbel.
I spoke too loudly. The name slipped from my mouth like a profane whisper.
— My my… I really need to learn to control my mouth, don't I? — mocked a silky, amused voice.
Another dagger flew. Another block from Malaca.
— Isbel?! The scout from the allied guild?! — Malaca exclaimed, stunned.
But quickly, her expression changed. A bitter realization dawned on her face.
— How could I have been so stupid…
— What is it?
— I don't remember ever meeting a scout named Isbel…
A laugh filled the forest like a trail of poison:
— Hahahahaaa… I thought you'd notice sooner, but you were so busy with your little grandchildren you never suspected a thing, right? Hahahaha!
— Wait… does this mean that…!
— DAMN IT, GET DOWN!
Before I could react, I felt something tear through my shoulder. Pain exploded like liquid fire through my nerves.
— HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! We found these sons of bitches!
— Damn it, Cris! — growled Varnak Junior. — The Bard, you idiot! We need him alive!
The spear still vibrated in my shoulder, lodged deep in my flesh, when I recognized his voice.
Varnak Junior.
The bastard stared at me with a casual smile, as if death danced around him and he found it amusing.
— You… killed your own father…
He shrugged, as if discussing a mundane chore.
— Hahahahaha… I must admit that old bastard gave me more trouble than I expected. Who knew he had an explosive relic hidden? — he raised his mutilated arm, showing a blackened, smoking stump. — But I wanted to do it myself… wanted to feel the bones snap in my hand. Even in death, that son of a bitch taught me something.
Malaca narrowed her eyes.
— You… you're Adepts, aren't you?
The word struck me like a blade. I knew it. An ancient cult, a group of humans who surrendered themselves to the Dungeon, offering lives to their masters—the Floor Leaders—in exchange for power.
— Hahahahaha… How did you guess? — mocked Varnak Junior, eyes dancing with scorn. — It was the White Knight, wasn't it?
— Why?! — Malaca spat the question furiously.
— Ahhh… that's a little secret — he hissed, drawing out the 's' like a satisfied snake. — Buuut… since you asked so nicely… — he snapped his fingers.
Isbel approached from behind, bringing two more henchmen with dead eyes.
— When I discovered your Bard, Malaca Rhino… it was like receiving a blessing directly from the Dungeon itself. But then… that damned Molok interfered. Father always had this ridiculous habit of tolerating freaks. So I eliminated him.
As he spoke, the creatures closed in around us in a circle. Dead. Yet conscious. Hungry.
— All I wanted was to offer a living sacrifice to the Floor Leader. And you gave me… him — he pointed at me as if I were a trophy. — Maybe you don't even know what's behind that door your knight protected so carefully, Malaca. But I do. I know. Hahahahaha! There are secrets in this dungeon that people like you could never dream of understanding. Unfortunately, I didn't know the creature could be defeated, but… your Bard surprised us. Again. And again.
He stared at me.
Cruel. Proud.
— In the end, it didn't turn out exactly as I planned. But who cares? Results matter more than methods.
A snap of his fingers. The zombies surged forward.
— Now that everything's been explained… you can die peacefully, Malaca.
The spear pulled me out of the fight—Sebastian was trying to drag me away as if I were baggage. The pain was unbearable. My vision blurred. Blood flowed urgently, as if gravity itself had lost patience.
I needed to react.
My hand instinctively grasped the one thing that could still make a difference.
The Glove.
King of Hearts Glove (Unique Mystic Item) — Bound
1 - Card Soldiers:
Unleash the Grim March of the Card Soldiers, who relentlessly advance and claim the heads of any who dare resist.
2 – Locked
3 – Locked
— Cris, Isbel, and Varnak Junior… take their heads! — I shouted, spitting blood.