When Zorayel and the others entered the cave…
Not far from the entrance, hidden behind a thick bush near the rocky slope, Aeron, Allesio, and Arcane lay low in silence.
"We have to get past those guards," Arcane whispered, his eyes focused on the watchmen near the cave.
"That's easy," Aeron said. He picked up a rock and tossed it toward the opposite side of the clearing.
The stone clattered loudly against a pile of rubble. The guards instantly turned their heads, stepping away to investigate the sound.
"Now," Aeron whispered. In an instant, the three of them slipped past the distracted guards and entered the mouth of the cave unnoticed.
The moment they stepped inside, the cave swallowed them in darkness.
"It's pitch black in here," Aeron muttered, squinting into the void.
Allesio stayed silent, but something stirred in his expression—a flicker of memory. He recalled the time he was trapped in a cave with Aamon. The bitter echoes of that moment still weighed on his heart.
With a flick of his hand, Allesio conjured a small fireball and lit the end of a large stick he carried.
Aeron glanced over. "Wait—when did you pick that up?"
"Before entering the cave," Allesio replied calmly.
Aeron gave a grin. "Sometimes I forget you can talk."
Allesio gave him a sideways glance but didn't respond.
They continued walking deeper into the cave. The shadows danced against the walls, casting strange, twisting shapes.
"How long is this tunnel?" Aeron asked after a while, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space.
"I don't sense any looping magic," Arcane replied, scanning their surroundings. "But there's definitely something deeper ahead."
Aeron sighed. "I wish I could do some cool magic."
Arcane gave a rare, amused smirk, while Allesio remained focused, holding the torch out in front.
The three continued forward, step by step, until the narrow path opened up—and before them stood the structure Zorayel and the others had crossed.
"There's a lot of rooms here. Where did they go?" Aeron asked, glancing around the dim corridor.
"Look—over there. That door has a seal on it," Arcane pointed toward the one Zorayel and the others had entered.
As Aeron stepped closer to it, his expression shifted.
"Do you hear that?" he asked, pausing mid-step.
"What?" Arcane raised an eyebrow.
"There's a weird sound... like someone chanting," Aeron said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Following the sound, Aeron turned toward a nearby room, slightly ajar. He slowly pushed the door open—and what he saw froze him in place.
Inside, six figures, cloaked completely in black, stood in a circle. They were chanting in low, eerie tones. A dark, smoke-like aura twisted and spiraled around them like writhing shadows.
"Don't get closer," Allesio warned firmly.
Aeron stopped instantly. "What are they doing?"
"It looks like... a ritual. Dark magic," Allesio replied, eyes narrowing.
"Dark magic?" Aeron echoed, unsettled.
Suddenly, the chanting stopped. The cloaked figures went silent—then, as if possessed by the same thought, they all turned their heads at once toward the door.
"I think we should run," Arcane muttered.
Without warning, the door slammed shut behind them with a loud BANG.
The figures raised their heads. Their faces were grotesque—covered in deep, jagged scratch marks. But instead of red blood, something black and thick seeped from their wounds, as if their very bodies were rotting from within.
"Summoning magic: Grimwind!" one of them chanted.
With a crackling roar, six Grimwinds emerged from magic circles. They hovered in the air—phantoms with flowing, dark-purple bodies, no legs, and long scythes in their clawed hands. The air grew cold.
"Shit… Grimwinds," Arcane gritted his teeth. "There's no way I can take them down without using Demon Art."
He looked at Allesio—Allesio nodded slightly. He was thinking the same.
One of the Grimwinds lunged toward them.
"Smoke Screen!" Allesio shouted.
Instantly, a cloud of thick, dark smoke exploded around them, blinding three of them. Their vision and hearing were muffled completely.
Within the cover of smoke, Arcane slipped away silently.
"It's the perfect distraction," he smirked to himself.
"Demon Art: Demon Reaper!"
He summoned a towering, furious demon phantom. It radiated crimson flames, its long claws pulsing with deadly energy.
The demon slashed through the Grimwinds in an instant—but the creatures only reformed, their phantom bodies regenerating like mist.
"Tch... so that's how it is," Arcane muttered.
"Demon Art: Demonic Flames!"
The demon reaper unleashed a wave of fire, slicing through the Grimwinds and setting them ablaze. But again, they regenerated—this time slower, but still alive.
"Damn it…" Arcane hissed. He saw the smoke was starting to clear.
Without wasting another second, he dismissed the Demon Reaper and dove back into the smoke.
To Aeron, it looked like Arcane had never left.
As the smoke faded, Allesio glanced at Arcane. Arcane's gaze met his—subtle, but telling. "I couldn't kill them."
"I think we need to get out of here. Now," Arcane said.
"The door's sealed! How do we escape?" Aeron shouted.
Arcane scanned the walls. "There! That side looks thin and has crack on it—we can break through."
Without hesitation, Arcane and Allesio slammed the wall with wind charge. Stone cracked and split, they burst through to the other side.
They leapt through the opening—and landed in the middle of Zorayel and the Pillars, right in the heart of another battle.
Present time…
"What are you doing here?" Zorayel asked, his voice sharp with tension.
Aeron, his eyes scanning the chaotic room, caught sight of the swarming Kraggors and Iktomis. "Why are there so many monsters here?" he asked, alarmed.
"We can escape through that hole," Arceal pointed urgently.
"But there are monsters there too!" Aeron countered, spinning around to check—only to freeze. The room where the Grimwinds had been was now empty.
"What?" he muttered, confused. "They were just there…"
"I sense a powerful spell lingering," Arcane said, narrowing his eyes, his voice tight with unease.
"Everyone, through the hole! Now!" Zorayel commanded.
One by one, they all dove through the broken wall. As the last person came through, Ysera turned around.
"Barrier!" she chanted, slamming her hand into the ground. A glowing shield of energy rose, sealing the breach and keeping the Kraggors and Iktomis trapped inside.
But then—
"Guys!" Arceal called out, pointing with a shaking hand.
Dozens of magic circles had appeared across the new chamber as well. A sudden, suffocating wave of mana surged from within them. It was dark… powerful… oppressive.
A monumental force weighed down on everyone like a mountain crashing from above.
"What… is this presence?" Zorayel gasped, falling to one knee. The others buckled around him—Selvana, Rahzei, Miren… even Arcane dropped to the ground, groaning in pain, though his eyes glinted warily.
Aeron, however, stood unaffected. He looked around, bewildered. "What's happening?"
From the magic circles, it wasn't monsters that emerged this time—humanoid figures, cloaked in dark armor, eyes glowing with malice. The Black Troops had arrived.
And then, without warning, space itself shimmered—and from thin air, Dareth Grimsoul stepped into reality.
Tall. Regal. Terrifying.
"I didn't know we'd be having guests today," Dareth said smoothly, his voice like velvet wrapped around a blade.
The sheer force of his mana pulsed outward like a shockwave. Everyone dropped flat—clutching their heads, gasping for air.
Only Aeron remained standing.
Even Arcane felt Dareth's immense presence. Inside he was stunned. "What's that presence, I… can't measure the full depth of his mana."
Dareth tilted his head, his piercing crimson eyes locking onto Aeron.
"Oh?" he mused. "A little lamb that doesn't kneel?"
Then his mana surged again—blacker than night, hotter than flame, more suffocating than the deep ocean. The air twisted.
Still, Aeron stood firm.
Dareth paused, amused. "I see... you're something special."
With a snap of his fingers, the world blinked—and in an instant, all of them were teleported to a vast chamber bathed in eerie red light.
At the far end sat Dareth, now upon his obsidian throne. Around him, shadows slithered like living things. The members of the Black Troops stood like statues around the edges of the chamber, eyes fixed on them.
Aeron looked around at his companions—some still unconscious, others gasping on the ground.