"Did you sleep well last night?" Valen asked as they walked through the lowlands, tall grasses brushing their boots, damp mud clinging to every step.
The summer sun beat down from a cloudless sky, heat pressing against cloak and leather. Humidity from the nearby marsh hung in the air, thick and faintly sour. In the distance, insects droned in as a continuous, needling chorus.
Amber had a rare, relaxed smile on her face as she watched the trio ahead of them—Raylan, Elara, and Marcus—engaged with a cloud of large, buzzing shapes. Giant insects, each the length of a forearm, wheeled and dipped above the grass, their wings a blur.
"I did," she answered, turning to glance at Valen. The uncertainty that had lingered in her eyes since the swamp incident had subsided, leaving only a faint edge. "But it seems you have lost yours. Do you dislike the idea of adventuring with those three so much?"
If the full truth were shared, you would not want to walk beside them either.
"We have to be very careful," Valen said, holding her gaze. "Stay close to me."
A shrill shout split the air.
"Kya—do not look!"
Elara's voice cracked. One of the insects had spat an acidic glob from above. The sizzling liquid had struck her blouse, fabric hissing and dissolving in a jagged oval that exposed far more skin than she would ever tolerate on purpose. She clamped an arm across her chest, cheeks reddening.
So this is what protagonists must deal with. Perils at every angle, including wardrobe malfunctions.
"I am coming!" Amber broke into a run, irritation forgotten as she raced toward Elara.
"Wait—do not rush off. I meant stay close to me, not close with them," Valen muttered, but he was already moving after her, boots splashing through a shallow patch of muddy water.
By the time he reached them, the last of the giant insects lay scattered across the grass, bodies twisted, wings still twitching. Acid had pitted the ground wherever it landed, burning black scars into the soil.
They continued east after regrouping, the terrain gently rising and falling beneath their feet. The lowlands gradually gave way to small hills packed with tall trees—broad trunks and dense canopies that filtered the sunlight into shifting bands of green and gold.
Amber pulled out a small, pocket-sized notebook, pages already filled with neat writing and simple maps. "There are some abandoned camps around these hilltops," she said, flipping to a marked page. "Someone reported seeing Blight traces in their vicinity."
Efficient. She has already collected and organized field reports.
Valen's attention lingered briefly on the notebook. Amber's careful preparation contrasted sharply with the chaotic enthusiasm of most young mages.
They found one of the old camps as the sun climbed higher: a ring of blackened stones where a firepit had once burned, a few half-rotten stakes, the faint rectangular shadow in the grass where tents had once stood. The air smelled of old smoke, damp earth, and faint rot from the nearby marsh.
They sat on logs around a freshly kindled fire. Valen handled the cooking with crisp efficiency, skewering the bear paw they had carried, along with the legs of giant toads and a few rock crabs they had collected in the grasslands earlier.
Oil hissed as fat dripped into the flames. The savory smell of roasting meat slowly smothered the swamp stink clinging to their cloaks.
He had packed enough condiments to feed a small squad for days—salt, dried herbs, a jar of coarse pepper, a small packet of ground spice that stung the nose pleasantly.
If Iris's constructs could have helped, Valen reflected. Unfortunately, the risk of exposing them was not worth it.
In the lands surrounding the Worm Outpost, no truly powerful monsters remained. Adventuring parties crossed these areas regularly; anything too dangerous had long since been eradicated, and the rest had learned to keep their distance.
But predictably, whenever Raylan's trio walked, trouble sprouted like mushrooms after rain.
They had already fought twice before the campfire—first the giant insects, then a pack of lean, horned beasts that had tried to ambush them from the undergrowth. Nothing too threatening at this level, but persistent.
They had also gathered a respectable pouch of Core Crystals along the way.
Amber and Valen had simply watched and offered support from the edges—occasional barriers, a precise spell or two, and quiet observation.
By the time lunch finished cooking, the meat was crisp at the edges and tender within. They all gathered around the fire, bowls and wooden plates in hand.
"Should we split up to cover more ground?" Amber asked, looking up from her notebook as she chewed. Her tone was casual, but there was a glint of calculation in her eyes.
Valen gave her a small, invisible thumbs-up in his mind.
Elara hesitated. "Blight can be very dangerous," she said. "We are only Rank 1."
Not entirely accurate. Your main protagonist friend broke through last night.
Valen calmly took another bite of crab. Nothing escapes Iris when it disturbs mana as loudly as a breakthrough.
"I think we can handle ordinary Blight below Rank 4," Raylan said, quiet but firm.
Marcus swallowed, then added with a confident grin, "I have perfected my Double Slash. It has already engraved into my core."
Good. When the main protagonist advances, nobody around him is left behind.
"Very well," Amber said, her mind already dividing the map. "You three go toward the southern camps. We will investigate the northern ones. Let us meet back here before dark." She tore a page from her notebook, and handed it to Raylan. "These are the locations we confirmed earlier. We will set up our own camp here as a base."
After lunch, they gathered their belongings and checked their equipment—belts fastened, pouches secured, blades sheathed, staves ready. The sun had passed its peak, shadows beginning to stretch longer from trees and rocks.
"Be safe," Amber said as they prepared to part.
"And stay away from other adventurers unless they are from renowned guilds," Valen added.
"They already know that, old man," Amber said, giving him a gentle push in the direction of their northern route as the parties split.
She gave him a teasing smile over her shoulder. "No need to thank me."
"It was you who insisted we travel together in the first place," Valen replied, matching her expression with a faint smile of his own.
"Hmph. I had to appear cordial before the Watcher."
"Sigh. All nobles are merely masked men," Valen said mildly.
"As if you are not one of them."
"Where have you seen me wearing a mask? I am always genuine."
"That will be the last thing I believe."
They left the old camp behind and crossed a shallow valley mottled with low shrubs and scattered boulders. The air cooled slightly as they entered the shadow of the next hill, climbing along a faint game trail between roots and rocks.
With four Iris constructs roaming in each direction, this part of the expedition felt more like a leisurely hike than a serious mission. Birdsong filtered through the trees; insects chirped in the grass. A soft breeze carried the scent of resin and damp moss.
Previously, Valen had refrained from deploying them near Raylan's group. The ghost housed in Raylan's Ghost Catcher would have sensed them if they swarmed the area.
As a result, one strange encounter after another had come knocking.
Now, at last, it feels almost safe.
He stretched his arms overhead, joints popping pleasantly.
Some distance away, on a different slope, a pair of eyes watched the trio.
"Young Master Kale, I have spotted them," a scout said quietly from his vantage point behind a thick trunk. "The three from yesterday have separated from the princess and the other Ashford. They are heading south alone."
"Hmph. Still daring to separate and walk on their own legs," Kale Karst snorted, lips curling in amusement. "Good. We will follow them."
His party shifted behind him, adjusting gear and checking weapons, before melting back into the trees.
Deep underground, far from sunlight, the air in a narrow cave tasted of stone dust and stale mana.
The gaunt Rank 4 mage from the Dark Guild knelt on both knees upon the cold rock. Before him stood another mage, cloaked from head to toe in black, a featureless mask concealing any hint of face or age.
"You let your mage die," the masked man said. His voice was hoarse and distorted, scraped raw—or deliberately altered. "Was my order unclear? You were told not to wander during this time."
The kneeling man started to bow more deeply, beginning a rushed explanation.
He never finished.
The masked mage stepped forward in a blur. His boot crashed into the leader's chest with brutal force. Bone met stone; the Rank 4 flipped and slammed into the cave wall, skidding across the muddy floor before coming to rest in a heap.
Pain twisted his features, but he forced himself back onto one knee.
A lazy voice drifted from deeper in the cavern, echoing off stone.
"Enough. You will go and join the others at Point Two."
The command carried no heat, only chill authority.
The gaunt man bowed his head. "Yes."
He staggered to his feet, clutching his ribs, and disappeared into one of the branching tunnels.
Raylan, Elara, and Marcus stood in a low-ceilinged cavern further south, the air damp and heavy. Pale fungi clung to the stone walls, casting a faint greenish glow through the darkness.
The corpse of a large spider lay at their feet, legs curled inward, hairy abdomen split open by blade and spell.
"Ghost-haired spider," Elara said, wiping her rapier clean with a cloth. "The eggs are there."
She pointed with the tip of her blade toward a cluster of pale, translucent orbs clinging to a web-matted shelf of stone. Silvery strands of webbing shimmered faintly in the dim light.
"We can brew muscle-strengthening potions from those," Marcus said, eyes lighting with interest.
Raylan exhaled slowly. "We do not have a spatial pouch. Carrying them throughout our journey will be troublesome. They will also attract other things."
"Then we will eat them here," Marcus decided.
Elara gave him a dubious look, but in the end, they collected the eggs carefully, roasted them over a conjured flame until the outer layers crisped and the interior turned firm, and then ate in silence.
The taste was faintly nutty with a strange, lingering tingle that seemed to spread from tongue to limbs.
Elara looked at Raylan. "You really wanted to find that Chaos Heir and gain its power."
"Yes." After a brief silence, he continued, "I entered the Academy with the goal of finding a cure for corrupted people. It was Instructor Aelindra who showed me the way forward."
Marcus patted his back**. "How noble! I just want to become the strongest and take over the Ashfords." His face got a shade darker.
"Then, the Chaos Heir…"
"Sigh. If fate has it, we will find it."
After the "light evening snack," as Marcus insisted on calling it, they checked their gear and moved on. Their muscles felt oddly springy, as if fine threads had been woven through flesh and bone.
They emerged from the tunnel into another valley—not one carved by rivers, but a wide, bowl-shaped depression in the forest. The trees thinned here, leaving open space under the evening sky.
They froze.
The valley was filled with people.
Dozens of campfires burned in scattered clusters, sending smoke up into the darkening air. Tents of different colors and makeshift pavilions had been raised in uneven rings. Cloaked figures moved between them, checking weapons, adjusting armor, sorting packs.
Here and there, banners marked guild symbols—beasts, blades, stylized glyphs. Armored mercenaries, robed mages, lightly equipped scouts—every type of adventurer.
The mood was tense. Conversations were clipped. Eyes constantly scanned the edges of the valley and the cave mouths dotting the surrounding slopes.
"What is all this?" Marcus murmured.
Elara's gaze moved to the center, where a group of older, more heavily equipped mages and warriors stood in a loose circle, their faces stern.
Raylan followed her line of sight and felt his chest tighten.
He could feel it too.
The air pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat beneath reality. A prickling pressure brushed against his skin and spirit, neither wind nor spell.
"Convergence," he said quietly.
A cave mouth yawned at the valley's far side, dark and wet with condensed moisture. From within, an invisible wave of distortion rolled outward in slow pulses. The space around the entrance shimmered subtly, as if the world itself were ailing.
Apparently, a convergence had begun in an underground chamber nearby. The major guilds had sensed it quickly, and every party in the vicinity had been drawn here—some for duty, many for profit.
Convergence meant monsters. It meant rare materials torn loose from other realities, fragments of items that did not belong in this world. It meant Chaos Energy thick enough to suffocate the unprepared.
The convergence was still in its early stage. The corruption roiling within the cave was too concentrated; anyone who rushed in now would be corroded in body and soul.
So they waited.
Lines of armored men and women stood ready near the cave mouth, weapons drawn. Others gathered in clusters, whispering, trading rumors and information. Fresh-faced recruits in new armor stood beside scarred veterans who had seen this all before.
There had been around ten thousand new awakened young mages who had applied to the Radiant Academy this year. Barely three thousand had been accepted.
The rest had flowed into the guilds.
Their training did not match the Academy's breadth. They lacked systematic theory and the layered education of noble tutors and Academy instructors.
But they fought, again and again, without protective nets.
Most of them had more real combat experience in their first month than a sheltered Academy student accumulated in three. Their eyes were sharper. Their movements were leaner.
All of that stood here now—thick with tension and hungry anticipation.
As Raylan's group stepped a little further into the valley, keeping to the edges, Marcus suddenly tensed.
Elara caught his glance and followed it.
Near one of the camp clusters, a small party lounged around a fire—dark cloaks, mismatched armor, the faint air of coiled threat. One of them rose to stretch, his face turning just enough to catch the light.
Raylan's jaw clenched.
It was one of the Rank 3 members of the Dark Guild that had betrayed and attacked them in the marsh.
Elara's hand drifted toward her rapier. Marcus's fingers tightened around his daggers.
They were not the only party watching others with narrowed eyes. All around the valley, suspicion moved like a silent wind. A hundred grudges, rivalries, and private vendettas stood shoulder to shoulder under the same sky.
"We cannot accuse them here," Raylan answered, equally quiet. "Without definite proof, no one would believe."
Raylan forced his gaze away from the Dark Guild mage and looked instead toward the cave mouth, where reality pulsed like an open wound.