Roughly a month had passed.
The members of Team 7 had grown accustomed to the new power thrumming within them after reaching the Awakened stage of the Bodhir rank.
"Where are we headed?" Imla asked, falling into step beside Ashan.
Her green hair had grown long, falling like wild vines down her back.
Ashan's own hair now brushed his neck.
Ashan met her gaze. "Our path isn't fixed. We move northeast, through Ganshka territory. The primary objective is to harvest vestiges."
'And to find the altar,' he added silently.
Imla nodded, her thoughts a mirror to his own.
'He knows more than he lets on. He always has. He must know the lay of this pocket dimension.'
"Everyone, move out," Ashan commanded.
They departed at dawn, a light breeze cooling their tense faces.
Ashan cast a final glance at the hidden cave. 'I'll miss it... somewhat.'
The memory of its pungent odour made his face twitch. 'On second thought, I won't.'
They marched with weapons ready, eyes scanning the dense undergrowth.
Small animals scattered from their path.
The tall trees formed a canopy that dappled the forest floor in shifting light.
Gnash! Gnash!
A group of Ganshka burst from the side brush, their noses twitching at the scent of fresh human prey.
"Eliminate them," Ashan ordered, his voice low.
Team 7 surged forward, a well-oiled machine.
The three non-members provided supporting fire from the rear.
At the Awakened stage, their urja had taken on a darker, slightly corrupted hue—a mark of the Danav lineage in their Vidyas.
The dark-blue energy of Dris's [Broken Stone Kiriya] was now almost black as he slammed his fist into a Ganshka's torso before severing its head.
Roderic's sword moved with lethal precision, guided by [Traya Vetra].
Ballio and Helma unleashed [Combat Bolts] before switching seamlessly to their bows.
Imla and Damara fought in tandem, their spears piercing Ganshka's flesh with ruthless efficiency.
Ashan observed, his hazel eyes glinting with faint traces of greyish-white.
'Good. We've grown stronger.'
"Harvest the vestiges, quickly!" he commanded.
As they pushed northeast, they encountered more roaming bands of Ganshka.
By nightfall, they were eating the raw meat of a forest animal around a small, concealed clearing.
"Fucking tasteless," Dris spat, yet he took another resigned bite.
"Why are there so many wild Ganshka roaming?" Roderic pondered aloud.
"Maybe they're relocating?" Damara suggested, slicing her portion in half.
"All of them? Simultaneously?" Helma countered, her expression sceptical.
Ballio nodded in agreement. "It is strange. A mass migration..."
"Something large is happening," Imla concluded, her voice cool. "The only reason to mobilise an entire species like this is war."
A chill settled over the group. Damara's meat slipped from her fingers.
Helma's face darkened. Roderic looked to Ashan for confirmation.
"It's likely," Ashan confirmed calmly. "The Manuga factions have likely declared war on each other, and the Ganshka are being drawn in as allies."
'According to my vision, the war has already begun.'
Dris snickered, breaking the tension.
"Well, isn't that a perfect opportunity for us? We can use the chaos to harvest all the vestiges we want!" He pumped a fist in the air.
"This fool," Roderic muttered, shaking his head.
"War or not, we must prepare for the worst-case scenario," Ashan stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And we should find other survivors."
"Other survivors? How many could even be left after all this time—" Dris's words were cut off by a desperate, cracking voice.
"Help! Help! Please, help!"
A young boy, a deep gash weeping blood across his torso, stumbled into the clearing and collapsed.
Dris squinted. "Should we put him out of his misery?"
"No, you idiot!" Ballio retorted, rushing to the boy's side. He checked for a pulse, his face grim. "It's fading. He's beyond saving." He shook the boy gently.
Cough! Cough! Blood frothed from the boy's lips. His skin was deathly pale.
With a final, rattling breath, he gasped, "Help... Ganshka..." and fell still.
"He's gone," Ballio said, standing up.
A vestige began to form over the body. Dris swiftly collected it. "Waste not, want not."
Ashan's eyes shifted to greyish-white as he analysed the scene. 'No trap. They did encounter a large Ganshka war party.'
"Let's move," Ashan said, a faint, predatory smile touching his lips. "We have vestiges to harvest."
"Heh. Now you're speaking my language!" Dris laughed.
"Die, you imps!" Srish roared, driving his sword through a Ganshka's chest.
"Everyone, stand firm!" he shouted, trying to rally the thirty remaining Order members around him.
They were exhausted, their faces gaunt with fatigue.
Dozens of Ganshka corpses littered the ground, but thirty more pressed the attack.
'Damn it! We've fought for three hours, cut their numbers from a hundred to thirty, and I've lost half of the sixty members I gathered. We're on our last legs.'
Gnash! Gnash!
The remaining Ganshka cried out in hungry anticipation, yellow eyes gleaming, saliva dripping from their jagged teeth.
Swish! Swish!
Suddenly, arrows rained down from the trees.
[Combat Bolts] and [Elemental Bolts] streaked into the Ganshka ranks.
Srish's eyes widened. 'Reinforcements!'
Ashan and his team descended into the fray like avenging spirits.
Srish's initial relief curdled into disgust. 'Tch. Team 7. I'll use them for now.'
"Don't just stand there! Attack! This is our chance!" Srish bellowed, charging forward with his last reserves of strength.
The other survivors, seeing a glimmer of hope, fought with renewed desperation.
"Ashan! You're still alive! The Lord of Wrath smiles upon me! I will truly enjoy—" Srish's gloating was cut short.
Slpurt!
He spat a mouthful of blood, looking down in shock at the sword tip protruding from his chest. Ashan stood behind him, his expression impassive.
In one fluid motion, Ashan shoved the dying Srish forward, using his body as a shield against an oncoming Ganshka before letting him fall.
Ashan quickly scanned the area.
The battle was too chaotic; no one had seen it. '
'I never had the habit of shit-talking,' he thought, a ghost of a smile on his lips as an old, otherworldly meme flashed in his mind. 'This is cleaner. With Srish gone, I can consolidate command.'
The battle was swiftly concluded. An hour later, the last Ganshka lay dead.
"Yeah!" Dris shouted, punching the air in triumph.
A wave of relieved cheers echoed from the other survivors.
"This fool," Roderic clicked his tongue.
"Let him have his moment," Ballio said with a light laugh. "He's earned it."
"Everyone, listen!" Ashan's calm voice cut through the celebration, drawing all eyes to him. The members of Team 7 moved to stand behind him, a silent show of force.
"Srish is dead," Ashan stated, pointing to the half-eaten corpse.
Someone in the crowd retched. "Now, I will give you a choice. Follow me to escape this place, or die here."
A voice shouted from the back. "And why should we follow you?"
Ashan smiled faintly in the speaker's direction. "Because I know the way out of this pocket dimension."
A wave of shocked gasps and confused murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Pocket dimension?"
"Is he telling the truth?"
Dris leaned in, whispering harshly, "Ashan, is that true? Do you really know the way out?"
Ashan's lips curled into a subtle, confident smirk. "Of course I do."