With the death of the Western Guardian, the heat of the caldera had lessened to a dull warmth, but the smell of sulfur still lingered, preventing them from feeling comfortable.
Nick sat on a cooling ridge of obsidian, the Shard resting across his knees, and stared into the empty space where the Cinder-Maw had once been.
The adventurers efficiently stripped the massive carcass, packing away scales, claws, teeth, and the core into spatial bags, leaving only a steaming pile of flesh that was already beginning to harden into stone.
Sighing, Nick summoned the System.
Seventy-three. It was a number that would have made any other student at the Academy burst with joy, a milestone usually reserved for teachers with many more years of experience than he had lived. Still, Nick felt only a detached sense of satisfaction.
It’s still slowing down, he noted, dismissing the window with a flick of his mind. The curve was growing steeper, since the exp from a Level 84 Guardian should have pushed him further, no matter that he was sharing it with others. Truly, the crystallization of the soul demanded a heavy tithe.
He looked inward, beyond the physical exhaustion on his body, to his spirit.
The Tree of Life was no longer just a sapling. It was taking root, weaving itself through the metaphysical fabric of his being, and the completion of [Gevurah] had made him more solid. He felt heavier, denser in a spiritual sense. The wild mana of the dungeon pressed against him, but it no longer surged through him, crashing against his will like waves against a seawall.
It’s still not enough, but I bet that if I met a demon now, its aura would have a much weaker effect on me.
Looking up at the diagram carved into his mind, to the empty node opposite Gevurah on the Tree, Nick considered the next step, [Chesed].
It was mercy. Love. Zeal.
It was also Jupiter's domain, the expansive force that countered Mars’s restriction. If Gevurah was the knife that trimmed the branches, Chesed was the water that nourished the roots. It represented unlimited giving, kindness, and a strong desire to share. Both positive and negative.
Some might have taken it first and tried to complete all the emotional attributes in order, but I couldn’t finish Chesed without the spiritual strength provided by Gevurah. Not if what I believe will happen once I reach the Crown Three actually happens.
Nick frowned, tapping his fingers against the haft of his staff.
Mercy, he thought, refocusing on the matter at hand, with a cynical curl of his lip. Zealotry. Neither of those fit my profile.
But the Steps of the tree of life were not meant to be fully embodied, at least not by mortals. And Chesed also included the aspect of Reproach, the love that corrects.
Perhaps it’s not about being nice, Nick theorized, standing up and brushing the ash off his robes. Perhaps it’s about managing myself with the right amount of emotions. Gevurah was fiery Judgment. Chesed might be the balance between restraint and anger.
"Nick?" Raphael’s voice cut through his meditation.
Nick turned and saw the team leader just a few feet away. He looked exhausted, clearly having used a lot of his energy to land the final blow on the Cinder-Maw, but he didn’t appear ready to slow down any time soon.
"We're ready," Raphael said. "We should get going."
Nick looked toward the southern horizon, where the jagged volcanic landscape softened into a low, mist-covered depression. “Alright, let’s go.”
They moved out, leaving the broken caldera behind.
The transition from the Western Sector was smooth but noticeable. As they moved southeast along the curve of the dungeon’s circular design, the ground started to soften, and the sharp crack of obsidian shards under their boots was replaced by the wet squelch of mud.
They hadn't gone more than a mile when the howls started again.
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“Left flank!" Malik shouted, raising his shield.
Six Furnace Hounds, survivors of earlier packs or perhaps fresh spawns from the dying embers of the West, burst out from a cluster of rocks. They were quick, their jaws dripping liquid fire, but they no longer seemed terrifying after what they had just faced.
"Drop them," Nick ordered, without even breaking his stride.
Yvonne stepped out, her greatsword swinging in a wide horizontal arc. “[Glacial Cleave]!”
The first hound was sliced in half before it could leap, its flames snuffed out by icy magic.
Monte moved smoothly behind her, his rapier striking out like a viper's tongue. He stabbed the second hound’s eye, instantly scrambling its brain.
The third lunged at Ord, but the large man didn't flinch. He caught the beast on his tower shield, kept it in place for several seconds through sheer physical might, and allowed Tessa to shoot an arrow through its throat.
Raphael and Willow trapped the last three, allowing the other apprentices to handle them.
The skirmish lasted only thirty seconds, and Nick gained no experience since he didn't need to do anything.
These hounds were probably a bit weaker than the ones we faced earlier, around level forty, but that’s still significant. Compared to what fighting the werewolves was like, it’s clear that everyone has grown quite a bit in the past few days, enough to handle such a threat without breaking a sweat.
If he had to guess, he’d say everyone except him had gained at least five levels.
People come here for the loot, Nick thought, watching the mana signatures of his team and noticing how much brighter they were compared to even a week ago. But they stay for the power. This level of growth is addictive, and I’m not much better, since I’m growing a tree in my soul with only a Rosicrucian cross as the focus.
"Hold up," Raphael signaled, raising a hand as the terrain dipped sharply downward.
They gathered on a ridge overlooking the next area, where a broad, sprawling wetland replaced the volcanic rock.
"We need to talk strategy," Raphael said, turning to the group. "We got lucky with the Wolf. We brute-forced the Sovereign. And the Cinder-Maw was a death of a thousand cuts. But we shouldn’t expect to always get lucky.”
"It’s going to be waiting for us," Terence said, cradling his right hand. He had drunk a high-grade regeneration potion, and the flesh had knitted back together, but the skin was pink and raw, and he kept flexing his fingers as if he didn't quite trust them to work. “Considering the way things have been escalating, we might not be getting out of there if we go in blind.”
"Terence is right," Tessa added grimly. "We've been reacting. We need to prepare better. We can't just stumble into the boss area and hope for the best."
Nick leaned on his staff, looking at the group. "I agree, and that’s not even the worst of it. The Hones know we're coming. We should expect interference from them.”
"Scouting," Ord grunted. “We need to do some proper scouting. No offense to Nick, but it seems like his sensory magic isn’t working well here.”
Nick shrugged. [Empyrean Intuition] wasn’t blind, despite the dungeon’s best efforts to obscure his sight, but it was true that he couldn’t scout ahead for a mile like he would outside the dungeon.
“It seems we’re all on the same page," Raphael nodded. “I don’t want us to go in blind. We’ll do some proper scouting first and come up with a plan before going in.”
"And what if we see the Hones' agents?" Monte asked. “We can’t let them reach the anchor before us, and it’s a real possibility.”
"We will have to eliminate anyone heading for the anchor," Nick said flatly. “Or at least disable them, though it depends on the situation.”
The mercenaries nodded. The memory of the psychic backlash that had liquefied the brains of the previous traitors was still fresh. There was no room for mercy here.
They descended into the South.
Surprisingly, the heat didn't vanish, but it did change. The volcano's dry, fierce burn was replaced by a damp, heavy warmth that felt like being wrapped in a steaming wool blanket. The air thickened with moisture, carrying the smell of decaying vegetation, stagnant water, and a constant tang of sulfur.
The southern area was a swamp. I wonder if this is the same one that extends further south, where my ancestor studied Class Ceremonies?
"Watch your step," Yvonne warned, pointing her sword at a cluster of bright green bushes with purple veins. "Those are Blister-Leaf. If you brush against them, the oil will burn through your boots."
"Lovely," Monte sighed, stepping gingerly around a mud puddle.
As they pushed further, gnarled trees began to appear. They had twisted pale bark and roots that arched high above the muddy water, leaning against each other to form a canopy that blocked the sunlight, casting the world below into a murky twilight.
Nick expanded his senses, and the world shifted into shades of gray and mana glow. However, the feedback was unclear, as the dungeon’s power pushed back.
I can only see about three hundred feet.
"My range is much reduced,” Nick whispered to Raphael.
"Mine too," Raphael murmured. “It’s gonna be hard to cast anything beyond a dozen feet."
They moved quietly, the only sounds being the sucking noise of boots pulling out of the mud and the distant drip-drip-drip of condensation falling from the canopy.
Something moved in the water to their right, displacing a large amount of water beneath the surface of a stagnant pool.
Nick halted, raising a fist.
The team got the message immediately. Malik and Ord moved outward, while Tessa nocked an arrow, and the apprentices got to cast.
Nick fixed his eyes on the pool. The water was murky and opaque, covered with a patina of seaweed and mucilage.
There, he thought.
A faint distortion in the mana revealed his target. A cold, reptilian hunger lurked just beneath the surface, concealed by some kind of skill.
“To our right," Nick whispered. “Twenty feet below the water. It’s large."
"I see a ripple," Yvonne breathed.
"On my mark," Raphael murmured, gathering mana in his palm.
But the predator didn't wait to be attacked, clearly sensing it had been noticed.
The pool's surface exploded as mud and water sprayed outward in a violent surge. A large shape shot toward the bank, moving with terrifying speed for something so bulky.
It was a salamander, but it had grown to monstrous proportions. Thirty feet long, with slick, rubbery skin mottled in shades of green and brown. Its eyes were bulbous and milky, but its mouth was a cavern filled with serrated teeth.
“On me!" Malik shouted, bracing his shield as the beast plowed into him.
The impact pushed him back two feet through the mud, his boots gouging deep furrows, but he held his position.
Surprisingly, the salamander didn't bite down, even though it had a clear opening to do so. Instead, its throat swelled and glowed with a sickly yellow light.
“It’s about to spit!”
The beast retched, spewing a glob of thick, yellow slime that arced over Malik, heading directly for the backline casters.
"[Aegis of the Lake]!" Willow screamed.
A dome of shimmering water erupted around them. The slime hit the shield with a hiss like frying bacon, and where it touched the water barrier, the mana boiled and turned black.
“I have a shot!" Nick warned.
As soon as the others moved enough to clear a path for him, he thrust the Shard forward and cast. "[Spirit Blast]!"
A surge of concussive spiritual energy struck the salamander’s skull. The creature flinched, its head snapping back, stunned by the spiritual hammer-blow.
"[Spatial Sever]!" Raphael followed up instantly.
A distortion line cut across the beast’s left flank, slicing through thick hide and muscle, exposing bone.
"[Piercing Thrust]!" Monte lunged, extending his rapier into a six-foot beam of pure light. He drove it directly into the open wound Raphael had created, boiling the creature’s organs from the inside.
The salamander writhed, attempting to thrash its tail to knock them away, but Yvonne was already there. She leaped onto its back, reversing the grip on her greatsword.
“Go! Down! Bitch!” she grunted, driving the blade through the creature's spine and pinning it to the mud.
The salamander gave one final, gurgling croak and went still.
"Clear," Yvonne panted, wrenching her sword free with a wet sucking sound.
Nick lowered his staff, scanning the treeline for more threats, yet nothing moved.
"Harvest the poison glands," Raphael ordered. "Nick, keep scanning. We should push another mile, then we’ll set up a forward observation post to coordinate the final attack."
Nick nodded and peered further into the swamp, where the fog was the thickest. Somewhere in that gloom was the last Outer Guardian.
How the hell am I supposed to show mercy here?
45+ chapters:
