Corpses.

  The putrid smell of freshly-cleaved corpses permeated the den. They decorated the halls in a nauseating magenta as organs and viscera hang from the ceilings and walls. Only the black knight could have performed such an act of indiscriminate cruelty.

  Three paths presented themselves before the duo — a middle path, a left-most path, and a right-most path overhead.

  “It seems he took the forward path,” Ereth inquired. “You think we should follow him?”

  Adra took a hit of her cigarette before releasing the smoke with a quiet hiss. “I don’t mind him going off on his own and killing Shura. Leaves us with less work. However, the queen of the Ne’fari den lies at the deepest depths of the tunnel, which just so happens to be where the Drezha crystals lie. I doubt he’d be able to kill the queen on his own. If he falls, we lose a major advantage. I say we go after him and secure the ore later.”

  “Agreed.”

  They continued down the middle path, following the trail of blood back to its source. The labyrinth was filled with contorted passage ways, dead-ends, and winding hallways that connected to one another. As they delved further into the den, the blood became more scattered, less consistent. At first it was a mere trickle, but now it seemed as though every part of the tunnel was covered with a crimson haze.

  “This is getting frustrating,” Ereth said with an irritated expression. “This damn enclosure just doesn’t end. It’s like we’re running in circles. Isn’t there another way to navigate this place?”

  “There is, though its range is rather limited.”

  “If there’s a way to get us to the ore then it should be fine. I’ve already memorized the rest of our trail up to this point.”

  “...You can memorize that?” Adra asked with a raised brow.

  “I can memorize just about anything after seeing it once. I think my father called it…phantagraphic memory?”

  “Photographic memory. Well, anyways, that makes the return trip easier. What we need now is a certain spell.”

  “Spell…”

  “Yeah, and thankfully, there is a fuck ton of blood here — a decent medium.”

  Adra pulled out a long brown parchment from her bag, along with a crystal pendant. She dipped her hand into the pool of blood, inscribed the parchment paper with esoteric sigils and symbolism, and dangled the crystal necklace over the paper.

  “This is Divination, a type of magecraft specializing in information gathering. This specific variant is used for discerning the particular position of an object or person. Its effectiveness and range are usually dictated by how much of the original material you have, but with this much blood I should be able to pinpoint his exact location.”

  Ereth stared at the ritual site, mouth agape. “That’s awesome! I didn’t know such convenient things existed in this world! After all of this is over, do you mind teaching me the basics?”

  “Eyes up. Now’s not the time for gawking. Here’s where the hard part comes in.”

  “...!”

  Ereth sensed an overwhelming presence from the surrounding tunnel holes. It was animalistic and territorial in nature, as though Ereth and Adra had invaded a sacred land.

  10. 20. 30. 40. The pairs of ominous red eyes increased without end. The threat of imminent demise became clear in an instant.

  “These creatures…are they sensitive to magecraft?” Ereth asked.

  “Yeah. That’s why I need your help. A mage would have a rough time dealing with all of these Shura at once, so I need you to play the support role.”

  Ereth’s body trembled, not with fear, but with joy. It was a transcendent jubilation, akin to having one’s first meal after weeks of fasting.

  Finally… he thought. Finally, I can fight!

  And now, the young swordsman could indulge in his urges to his heart's content.

  The ground underfoot gave way, rupturing with a single step. Ereth unleashed his first swing. Its essence was that of a calamitous beast, yet its form was that of a noble warrior trained in the art of war. One could consider it a middle-ground between Zoltin’s elegance and the black knight’s ferocity.

  A golden light gleamed in the air, cutting apart the Ne’fari with ease. They extended their arachnoid claws and poisonous aculeus at the intruder, yet Ereth dodged their advances effortlessly.

  Light and clean. I’ve never cut something so easily before.

  Of course, the Sword of Promised Victory lived up to its mantle as a divine construct. Anything in the blade’s arc would be cleaved, hacked, and eviscerated with profound efficiency.

  The battle was so utterly one-sided that it could hardly be called a confrontation. Slaughter was a far more appropriate word.

  Adra, who was focused on maintaining the ritual, couldn’t help but react with awe at Ereth’s performance.

  Sheesh, I only brought the guy along because he seemed like the fighting type, given his physique, but I didn’t think he’d be this strong!

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  The Ne’fari were classified as a Rank 4 Shura. While it wasn’t a particular high ranking, it was still enough to give any moderately strong adventurer a run for their money. The chances that a ludicrously strong fighter would appear before Adra was next to none, yet this man, Ereth of the Eternal Twilight, was in a league of his own!

  Rank 2 — he has to be Rank 2 at the bare minimum, maybe even higher!

  It was sheer luck, a roll of the dice that landed in the most favorable outcome possible. Adra had found herself a diamond in the rough, and from now on, she would refuse to let him go.

  “It’s done! He’s taken the lower-right entrance, from there we should stay to the right until we reach the pit of the queen’s resting place, where we’ll descend from there!”

  “Gotcha!”

  Ereth wiped the blood off of the Sword of Promised Victory with the cloth on his forearm, his countenance displays not a hint of exhaustion. The Ne’fari were hardly even a challenge worth sweating over.

  They regrouped around the floating crystal pendant. It glowed a faint blue, its sharp tip pointing towards the black knight’s location. Right, left, right, right, up, right, down, left. Navigating the den was both tedious and confusing, but at least the divination granted them an accurate guide through labyrinthine tunnels.

  The Ne’fari continued to attack the duo, though it hardly mattered in the face of Ereth’s strength. Or at least, that’s what Ereth wanted to believe.

  “...!”

  For a moment, he had lost sight of one of the Ne’fari, allowing the arachnid to strike from his blind spot with a claw. It ripped a bit of cloth, nothing too serious, but it was enough to throw off his concentration. This effect only snowballed, allowing other Ne’fari to gain a fair bit of an advantage.

  Of course, it did not last long. Ereth quickly reoriented himself and struck them down all the time. However, that moment of weakness had wedged a stake into Ereth’s confidence. He wasn’t invincible. He wasn’t all-powerful, and it was a lesson the world was especially keen on teaching him.

  After a few more minutes of travel, they had finally arrived at the depths of the burrow — the queen’s personal quarters.

  Two roars emanated from the depths, neither sounding particularly human. One was filled with instinct, a fundamental drive to kill, while the other was filled with a repugnant hatred of their enemy. They were certain that the black knight was here.

  “Are you ready, Ereth? There’s a good chance we’ll see the worst case scenario.”

  “...Yeah, I understand. Even if he loses, we’ll continue as planned.”

  Though he spoke of great conviction, Ereth was not ready to consider the possibility of the man in black losing. He was vulgar, repulsive, and monstrous in his impression — none could argue such a fact — but he must have had a sliver of humanity behind that rough exterior.

  After all, he was the one who saved Ereth’s life for no discernible reward. Why would a monster do such a noble thing?

  Perhaps it was foolish to assume “good” or “evil” from the man, as such values hardly encapsulate the complexities of the human heart. It was that very complexity that beguiled Ereth, compelling him to find the man and stand by his side.

  He dropped down the hole, unmoving like a statue, before landing amidst a sea of viscera.

  “...!”

  Before him stood the black knight, broken beyond recognition. His legs had gone limp from the torrent of abuse they had endured, his body being held up only by his sword. Each breath was shallow. He heaved and heaved, yet his body refused to intake the oxygen. The black swordsman was on the verge of death.

  “You…!” Ereth dashed towards the bloodied warrior, prepared to lend a helping hand. However, just before he could reach the man in time, a singular line flashed before him, bisecting the knight before his very eyes.

  “...!”

  What just happened? Where did the attack come from? Ereth had no time to grieve or assess the situation. His body could only take on a battle-ready position, his instinct driving him to strike down whatever entity stood before him.

  “Hm…that man was weird. His body kept stitching itself back together no matter how many times I cut him. I wonder if you will be any different.”

  A humanoid creature emerged from the darkness, their figure resembling a deformed arachnid. It had large claw-like growths jutting out of its forearms with a small stinger at its tailbone. Its face was adorned with four sets of thinly-slit eyes that darted about in random directions.

  “Will you…dodge this? I’m so curious…”

  In an instant, the Ne’fari queen unleashed a dozen thin whips from her mid-back, attacking Ereth in all directions. His keen insight allowed him to intercept the attacks, but only by a thin margin.

  “Ah, so you deflected instead. Marvelous…! Strong human, you are. Unlike the failure from before.”

  An ominous aura developed Ereth, a sensation he had never felt before. This creature was on a completely different level than its kin. He steeled his resolve, gripping the Sword of Promised Victory with all his might.

  “Come at you, you freak!”