The walk back to the forward camp was quiet, but it wasn't relaxing. Though the others might not have fully realized what they had just seen, they were either experienced in adventuring or skilled in magic enough to know the cave paintings had not been normal.

  Nick walked at the back of the formation, his staff tapping rhythmically against the basin floor. His senses were alert, scanning the shadows for ambushers, but his mind was far away, charting a map he’d only glimpsed for a moment.

  East. West. South.

  The three distinct tugs he’d felt back at the mural weren't just random directions. Now that he was paying attention to them, letting his [Empyrean Intuition] drift beneath the surface of the dungeon’s ambient hum, he could sense their geometry. Even without the Northern point, the Greater Ritual had reconfigured itself into a tripod structure, forming a stable base.

  The Wolf was important, but not necessary, Nick thought, visualizing the lines connecting the points. Its battery, but it was not the focal point.

  By killing the Guardian and destroying the northern ritual, they effectively slowed the ritual to a crawl, but its main body remained alive and functioning. Three anchors were enough to continue channeling mana from the leyline and to gather the power of every single death that occurred inside the domain.

  Leaving it alone isn’t an option. We might have gained time, but it’s not much.

  If he were honest, Nick would admit they were very lucky to find the Northern site first. If it had been any other, the ritual would have had enough power to activate in days. This way, they had weeks. It still wasn’t much considering what they were up against, but it was better than the alternative.

  He glanced behind him. Malik and Yvonne were walking close together, their shoulders touching, seeking comfort in each other's proximity. Tessa looked pale, while Ord ambled behind her.

  They know something is wrong. Even without being experienced in magic, I assume they haven’t encountered many things like this in their careers.

  His gaze shifted to Monte. The young noble walked with a straight back, seemingly unaffected by the bloody mural. He had been the one to point out the "coincidences" earlier, and Nick was inclined to believe him, though he didn’t know how the ritual they’d discovered fit into that.

  Do the Archmages know? Is it also part of their games, or is the dungeon operating in the shadows while their attention is elsewhere?

  He didn’t know. Couldn’t really know, since he doubted Tholm would tell him even if he asked.

  I need to discuss this with Raphael first. I can’t make this decision alone.

  They arrived at the camp just as twilight turned into full night. The defensive wards they’d set up earlier were still humming, untouched, but the fortress they’d built felt surprisingly small compared to what Nick now knew was happening.

  "Secure the perimeter," Raphael ordered, his voice rasping slightly. "Check the wards. Malik, Yvonne, take the first watch. Everyone else, eat and rest. We’ll debrief in twenty minutes."

  The apprentices obeyed, grateful for something to focus on. Raphael caught Nick’s eye and tilted his head toward the edge of the camp, away from the others, and Nick followed.

  They stopped where he’d held the Second Step, out of sight. Raphael slumped slightly, the mask of the stoic leader slipping for a moment to reveal a tired young man.

  "Tell me," he said, crossing his arms. "And don't give me the simplified version you gave earlier. What was on that wall?"

  “Something very dangerous," Nick said, leaning against the rock. “A powerful ritual."

  "For what? Rituals have a purpose.”

  “Most likely, it is to summon a god,” he answered grimly.

  Raphael stared at him. "You're joking."

  "I wish I were. My sense of humor is usually better than this." Nick shook his head. "The drawings depicted a Grand Sacrifice, meant to empower the four guardians to either open the way for their god, or to become its incarnates. I’m not sure about which one.”

  He saw Raphael’s jaw tighten. "The Feral God, I imagine?”

  “Indeed, though I wouldn’t dwell on that part too much." Nick gestured vaguely toward the horizon. “Anything that powerful breaking into the material world is bad news, whether demonic, divine, or otherwise."

  “How can we stop it?” Raphael asked, and that was why Nick liked him. He was very practical when it came to it.

  “There are three more anchors," Nick confirmed. "I can vaguely feel them pulling mana in from all directions, feeding on the deaths. We need to break them, though they’ll be defended by more Guardians.”

  Raphael swore softly. He reached into his robes and pulled out a communication orb, a smooth sphere of polished quartz designed to connect directly to Tholm’s receiver.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  "We need help," Raphael muttered. "This is above our pay grade."

  He channeled mana into the orb. It glowed faintly, then flickered.

  Bzzt.

  A harsh, static hiss tore through the air. The light inside the quartz shattered, spinning wildly before fading away.

  “Is it being jammed?" Nick asked, though he already suspected the answer.

  “The interference is preventing contact," Raphael corrected, shaking the orb as if that would fix the metaphysical blockage. "The dungeon’s ambient mana density is too high, or something else is actively preventing us from making contact, but I don’t know who could.”

  “That’s lovely," Nick noted drily. “I guess it means we're on our own."

  Raphael pocketed the useless orb and looked at Nick, his eyes cold. "So, what's the plan? If we retreat, we risk the dungeon going critical behind us. If we stay, we’ll run into whatever is guarding those anchors, and one Guardian alone was almost enough to wipe us out.”

  “We can’t retreat,” Nick said, shaking his head. “Even if we’d be playing it blind, the risk of letting the ritual come to completion is too high.” Not to speak of the damage it’d do to the Steps. I’ve almost completed the first part; I’m not stopping now.

  Raphael studied him for a long moment. "You enjoy this, don't you? The chaos."

  “I enjoy facing challenges and growing from them,” Nick replied defensively. “And I hate leaving a job half-done.”

  Raphael sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Fine. But we can't tell the others what we're hunting. They're barely holding it together as it is."

  “I agree," Nick said. "We tell them it's curse magic. We need to cleanse it to make sure the dungeon doesn't curse more werewolves. It's close enough to the truth."

  "You're a terrifying liar, Nick."

  “I prefer thinking of myself as very creative,” he replied.

  Night fell over the basin, and they all gathered around the magical fire Joran had lit. They ate their stew in silence, the early relief of victory overshadowed by the tension coming from their leaders.

  Raphael stood up, dusting off his hands. "Listen up."

  Everyone’s heads snapped up.

  "The Guardian is dead," Raphael started, his voice steady. "But the job isn't finished. Nick examined the canyon site and determined the enemy has set more traps like it, magical anchors meant to further corrupt the Sunlands."

  “It was those drawings, then?” Malik asked.

  "Yes," Raphael lied smoothly. “Apparently, they were curses. If we leave them active, the monsters in this dungeon will become more aggressive, and eventually, they might surge out in a tide the likes of which no town could survive."

  "So we're staying?" Yvonne asked. She looked tired, but resigned.

  "We are," Raphael nodded. "We’ve identified three potential sites. We’re going to sweep them, cleanse them, and then we’ll go home. It will take a few more days. Can you handle it? We’ll likely have to face off against more Outer Guardians.”

  He looked around the circle. It wasn't a request; it was a challenge.

  "We killed the white wolf," Monte said softly, breaking the silence. "A few more shouldn't be a problem."

  The noble caught Nick’s eye across the fire. There was a knowing glint there, a subtle acknowledgment of the game being played. Monte knew it was a lie, or at least a partial one. But he was backing it for now.

  “We'll move at dawn," Raphael finished. "Get some sleep."

  The morning brought no sun, only a faint light breaking through the gloom as clouds covered the sky.

  They broke camp efficiently, and Nick took point alongside Raphael, keeping his senses peeled.

  "South-East," Nick murmured. "The pull is strongest there."

  "What's the terrain?" Raphael asked.

  "Hard to say. The mana feels wet."

  They moved out, leaving the rocky embrace of the canyon behind. As hours passed, the landscape began to change. The jagged red rocks smoothed out, initially covered by moss, and eventually replaced by fungal growths. Towering mushroom clusters the size of houses emerged from the mist, their caps dripping with luminescent slime as they clung to the stones. The ground became spongy, covered in a thick mat of mycelium that muffled their footsteps.

  It was quiet. Too quiet.

  "I don't like this," Malik whispered from behind. "Where are the monsters?"

  “I can’t sense any," Nick said, his eyes scanning the fungal canopy. “But I imagine they won’t let us wait long.”

  With Hod finished, Nezach is next. That means both Victory and Eternity, but given the vibe, I’m guessing it’ll be the second.

  He could feel the anchor calling to him as a vibration in the [Sephirot] sapling, a dissonant note in the world's song. He was nearly at the first point of stability, and if he succeeded here, the gains would finally begin to materialize.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a sound.

  Clack.

  It was a sharp, dry noise, like two stones hitting each other. Then again. Clack-clack-hiss.

  Nick halted, raising his fist, and the others froze.

  “There’s fighting ahead of us," he whispered.

  Through the fog, shouts, clashing steel, and a buzzing, chittering drone drifted toward them.

  "Humans?" Raphael asked.

  "Yeah," Nick confirmed, sensing the chaotic mix of mana signatures. “They are fighting lots of insectile monsters, but something is weird about them.”

  "Do we engage?"

  Nick weighed the options. Intervening meant risking exposure and using resources. But letting adventurers die could mean fewer swords between them and the Guardians. Plus, they might have intel.

  They might also be more agents of the Hones, but we have to bite the bullet if we want to understand what’s really going on.

  “We have to investigate," Nick decided. "But let’s prioritize our safety. No heroics."

  They pushed through the fungal treeline and emerged onto a ridge overlooking a depression.

  Below them, chaos reigned.

  A group of five adventurers—a typical party consisting of a warrior, mage, priest, and two rogues—were backed against a wall of calcified mushroom stalks. More importantly, they were surrounded by a swarming tide of white mantises.

  They were large insects, standing as tall as a man, with chitinous shells bleached bone-white. They moved with terrifying, jerky speed, their scythe-like arms blurring as they attacked the adventurers' collapsing shield wall, but as Nick had sensed, something was wrong.

  “More Mantises?" Yvonne whispered.

  “Look more closely," Nick observed, his eyes tracking the flow of the battle. “Fungi are growing out of their chitin."

  He watched as a mantis leaped over the shield wall, its scythe descending toward the terrified mage in the back line.

  “Oh no, you don’t," Raphael growled.

  "Go," Nick said.

  Space folded and twisted, gathering momentum, before the fracture reached the mantis. The insect exploded in a shower of white ichor and chitin.

  The adventurers looked up in shock as the team rushed down the slope.

  Nick raised the Shard, allowing the ether to respond to his intent and summoning all the fear and rage surrounding him.

  "Clear the way!" Nick shouted, his voice amplified by a minor wind spell. "[Spirit Crunch]!"

  A wave of translucent energy burst from his staff, striking the side of the mantis swarm. The insects shrieked as pieces of their bodies and souls vanished.

  As the lines clashed, Nick stayed back, narrowing his eyes and looking past the mantises into the fungal forest, where the mana was densest.

  There, half-buried in the mycelium, pulsed a stone obelisk wrapped in the same bloody, shifting drawings as the canyon wall.

  Found you, Nick thought, a grim smile touching his lips.