[CONGRATULATIONS TO THOSE WHO HAVE DEFEATED OCH. HIS FLESH AND CORE SHALL BE REFINED INTO REWARDS FOR YOU.]
An ancient voice, heavy with the weight of time, echoed throughout the stone chamber. Immediately, the grotesque pile of Och's remains shattered, dissolving into thousands of glittering purple dust particles that floated upward, gathering at the apex of the vaulted ceiling.
Glowing purple fissures snaked through the room, tracing along the walls and the stone floor. In the blink of an eye, all the destruction, every crack and crater from the fierce battle, was restored to its pristine state, as if the fight had never happened.
Upon hearing that voice, Jack's group reacted as if they had struck gold. Their eyes lit up in unison; forgetting their pain and exhaustion, the entire party scrambled desperately toward the center of the room.
Long looked down at Lia, noticing her pensive expression, and immediately asked with concern:
"Are you feeling unwell somewhere?"
Lia quickly shook her head and whispered:
"No... it's just that hearing the familiar voice of that Great Sage makes me uneasy."
With that, she grabbed Long's hand and pulled him toward the center of the room, where a pillar of purple light beamed down from the ceiling.
Within the mystical glow, the rewards slowly materialized: A glass jar containing a thick, dark purple blood-like liquid; an exquisitely crafted necklace set with a glittering purple crystal; and finally, a smooth, soccer-ball-sized sphere radiating a mysterious, eerie purple hue.
The group let out a collective hoot of excitement, rushing over to inspect the loot. Jack eagerly grabbed the purple sphere, his rough hands caressing its smooth surface as his eyes lit up like headlights.
"Good lord! Look at the size of this thing! Selling this would fetch enough gold to buy a massive estate. I could retire, buy some land, and live like a landlord!"
"That's not all. Take this jar of fluid to the Royal Mages at the Magic Tower, and they'll pay a fortune for it, guaranteed."
Arwen's voice suddenly chimed in right next to Jack, startling him. He looked down to see her long, pointed Elf ears twitching rhythmically in sheer delight.
"Huh? Where have you been hiding all this time?"
Jack's innocent question made Arwen's face flush a violent shade of crimson, like a ripe tomato. She was instantly reminded of her mortifying "deathbed confession" earlier, when she thought she was a goner. She had quietly slunk away to a dark corner to compose herself, but her adventurer's instinct—and that damn greed—had betrayed her, dragging her out here unconsciously the moment she smelled treasure.
Lucas stood nearby, bending down to pick up the necklace. He inspected it for a moment before tossing it lightly toward Long, his voice calm and sincere:
"This is your share. Thanks for the help."
Lily gasped in sheer surprise:
"Eh? Lucas actually knows how to say 'thank you'?"
Jack's rough hand immediately wrapped around Lucas's neck, pinching his cheek playfully as he feigned annoyance:
"Hey, why are you making decisions on your own? Does this team even respect me as the captain or what?"
"No captain is as lame as you are."
Arwen shot back with a sharp retort. Lucas swatted Jack's hand away and looked around the group:
"Any objections to this split?"
Jack scratched his head, grinning broadly:
"None at all. If anything, I think it's still too little compared to what they did for us."
"I agree."
Arwen nodded in agreement, though her eyes remained glued to the jar of purple liquid.
Meanwhile, Lily hesitated for a moment before standing up. She timidly approached Long, keeping her head down to desperately avoid Lia's fierce, predatory glare.
She fumbled inside her robe and held out a small yellow talisman to Long, her voice barely a whisper filled with guilt:
"I... I'm sorry for calling you a monster earlier. This is a protective charm I got from the temple... Keep it with you, and you won't get sick easily."
Long gently accepted the talisman from her hand, his gaze softening as he replied in a warm, low voice:
"Thank you, Lily. And... I'm sorry for scaring you. Are you and the others hurt badly?"
That reverse apology made Lily's heart clench in her chest. She stood frozen, unable to comprehend how she could have been cruel enough to call such a gentle, caring soul a "monster."
"Ah, just a few scratches. Nothing to write home about."
Jack laughed it off, waving his hand dismissively. Standing beside him, Arwen chimed in, her voice tinged with professional pride:
"For the record, if we actually wanted to take you down, we wouldn't look this messy. The hard part was trying to subdue you without breaking any of your bones."
"But... thank you. You did save our lives twice, after all."
Arwen's voice suddenly softened, losing its usual sharp edge.
Hearing this, Long offered a gentle, relieved smile. The heavy weight in his heart finally lifted, and the emotional turbulence that had plagued him settled into a calm. But just as his internal storm subsided, a literal tremor erupted—right beneath his feet.
Rumble... Rumble...
The ground shook violently, putting the entire group instantly on high alert.
"Now what?!"
No sooner had Arwen voiced her complaint than the ground beneath Long's feet cracked open. From the dark fissure, a long, tattered strip of jet-black cloth, resembling the bandages of an ancient mummy, shot upward with terrifying speed.
It struck like a cobra, lunging straight for Long's right arm and coiling tightly around it. The grip was so crushing that Long panicked, frantically clawing at it with his left hand, trying to rip it away.
"What the hell is this?! Let go!"
But the fabric seemed alive; the more he struggled, the tighter it constricted, its inky fibers digging into his flesh. Suddenly, a raspy, chilling voice—sounding like rusted metal grinding together—emitted directly from the black cloth itself:
[MASTER CONFIRMED]
The ghostly sound sent shivers down everyone's spines, causing them to instinctively step back.
Instantly, the cloth wrapped around Long's arm began to twist violently. It solidified, elongating and altering its structure in a split second. The soft fabric hardened into cold, glossy black metal.
In a single breath, it had taken the form of a massive, two-meter-long Glaive, radiating an oppressive, murderous aura.
At the base of the blade, a dragon head emerged, intricately formed from the folds of the now-petrified cloth. Its eyes were bulging and glowed with an eerie, demonic green light. The dragon's maw slowly unhinged, and from its deep, dark throat, a massive, razor-sharp blade slid out.
The air seemed to be sucked out of the room. Lia covered her mouth, her violet eyes widening in sheer terror, her pupils constricting to pinpricks. Her voice trembled as she uttered a name that sounded like a forbidden curse:
"This cursed artifact... Why is the 'Black Dragon Fang' of the one who betrayed Alex here?!"
The name instantly drained the color from Jack and the others' faces, leaving them frozen in place like statues.
But Long was deaf to their fear. His senses were locked onto the cold, jet-black shaft of the glaive in his hands. There, glowing faintly in ancient runes, was an inscription. Strangely, he could read and understand it perfectly:
"To the grandson of Alex, I await you at the final floor of the Dungeon."
Long read the inscription aloud, his voice hollow.
Upon hearing those words, Lia's entire body went rigid. A chill shot down her spine, making her shudder violently.
She had assumed that the strange anomalies, the mutated monsters, and the collapsing seals within the dungeon were due to the system being ancient and glitching over time. But this message shattered that assumption.
He was still alive.
"The Great Sage... Albert."