Chapter 34: Into the Mouth

  Snow rolled in thick curtains when Duke Nox and the Fire Elites reached the final bend overlooking the Hollow Shade valley. The moon falling, making way for the morning sunrise. Corruption pulsed through the landscape like veins of sickly violet light, threading between the stone outcrops and blackened shrubs. The frostline crackled faintly with each beat of tainted mana.

  Nox pulled his mount to a halt.

  For a moment he said nothing, simply observing the grotesque shimmer that marked the fissure’s presence far below. The Fire Elites followed suit, forming a loose semi circle behind him, their breath fogging in the cold air. Their armor softened the winter wind as they wrapped themselves in a software fiery warmth with their mana.

  Sir Darvish and Cassie came riding up the ridge from a lower path, both looking like they had not stopped moving since leaving Knighthelm. Ronan emerged from the slope shortly after, covered in frost from head to boot. Lars was already there, standing atop a jutting rock, watching the valley with the stillness of a carved monument.

  Nox’s gaze settled on him.

  “Baron Lars,” he called as he dismounted.

  Lars turned. The lamplight lantern beside him cast his features in hard relief. His beard was dusted white with rime. His expression was composed, but fatigue tugged at the edges of his eyes.

  “Duke Nox,” he greeted, descending to meet him. “Your timing is fortunate. The fissure has grown since Darvish and I first scouted it.”

  Nox stepped in close, lowering his voice. “And your condition?”

  “Cold and irritated,” Lars replied, “but breathing.”

  Darvish grunted softly. “He did not sleep. He stared at that valley like it owed him gold.”

  Ronan folded his arms. “He would not sleep even if we tied him to the trees.”

  Lars ignored them and gestured toward the cliff. “Come. You should see it with your own eyes before we plan.”

  The group followed him to the overlook. The wind lifted their cloaks and hissed between the stones. Below, the corrupted dungeon entrance yawned like a wound in the earth, pulsing with that same violet heartbeat. The same rhythmic hum of something breathing. The surrounding terrain showed signs of gnawing and claw scraping. Shredded roots. Burrowed pits. Places where the corruption had begun consuming the ground.

  Nox studied the valley with a trained eye.

  “It is worse than the reports,” he said.

  Ronan pointed to the lower slope. “The creatures do not move blindly. They scout. They search for trails that lead deeper into the forest. Their pattern is almost precise. Like a siege beast sniffing for the weakest wall segment.”

  Cassie shivered, hugging her arms. “It feels like it is watching us.”

  “It is,” Lars said. “Corruption with a root always watches.”

  Darvish stepped forward. “Our assumption remains the same. This is not a simple corruption node. It is a dungeon. And if a Broodmother nests inside, the creatures surfacing now are only the outermost children.”

  Garric Emberhold, the Pyreguard, rested his glaive against the ground. “What is the situation like inside?”

  Lars shook his head once. “Unknown. We did not enter. The highest level scout outside the dungeon we have seen was a Tier 3. Likely the stronger ones are inside protecting the brood while she is vulnerable. Even from a distance the mana inside felt warped. The air itself resisted motion.”

  Serra Vaelwyn, the Flame Warden, studied the violet glow. “If the mother is mature, the dungeon may already be layered. Multiple anchor nodes, distinct chambers forming. Each with its own spawn pattern.”

  Kael Ferronspear jabbed the butt of his spear into the snow. “If it is layered, we need a proper formation when breaching. Fire user in the middle, shield in front, Darvish and Lars on either flank.”

  Darvish lifted an eyebrow at the last suggestion. “You want Lars on the front flank. The man who will charge into a wall if it insulted his wife.”

  Lars stared at him. “If the wall deserves it, I will consider it.”

  Cassie coughed lightly to hide a laugh.

  Nox brushed snow from his cloak and turned to the group. “Enough. We need structure, not jests. Lars, report your observations fully.”

  Lars nodded. “Three patterns so far. First, the scouts emerge every few hours. They search the valley edges but avoid open space. Second, the corruption pulse spikes every time they return. Meaning the dungeon reacts to information they bring back. Third, something inside the fissure shifts every time the pulse spikes. Something large. If I was a betting man, she's preparing some nasty down there.”

  Ronan continued. “Tracks from beasts ranging between tier two and tier three. No tier four scouts yet, but the mana density near the fissure indicates that will change pretty rapidly. Expect the Brood to be a high Tier 5.”

  “Then we strike before that happens,” Garric said firmly.

  Nox turned to him. “We will, but not blindly. Lars, how stable is the terrain around the entrance?”

  Lars crouched and drew a rough outline in the snow with his glove. “There is a rocky lip above the entrance. If Fire affinity users burn the loose frost and remove weak stone, we can open a more stable ledge. Enough to position archers or shields.”

  Serra traced the drawing with her eyes. “How deep does the corruption extend outward?”

  Ronan answered. “Thirty paces from the fissure on all sides. Enough that stepping closer without layered protections begins to eat your mana, makes it harder to cast your skills or pull ambient mana.”

  Cassie flinched. “It eats the mana?”

  “It corrupts it if you linger within too long,” Lars said. “Like frost breaking a lantern. Slower, but certain.”

  Kael blew out a slow breath. “Then we go in fast.”

  Nox nodded. “The plan must account for three phases.”

  The group leaned in as he continued.

  “First phase. Establish a defensive perimeter around the fissure. The militia will reinforce this post, then create a quick path just outside the current corruption zone. Fire Elites will stabilize the approach path. Darvish and Ronan will handle forward reconnaissance to make sure no beast emerges behind us.”

  Lars rose fully. “Second phase?”

  “Assessment breach,” Nox said. “We send a small unit into the first chamber. Serra at point. Darvish on her left. Garric at her right. Ronan and Kael covering the rear. You and I will remain at the entrance unless the formation breaks.”

  Lars frowned. “You want me to hold position instead of taking lead?”

  Nox gave him a measured look. “If the Broodmother awakens and attempts to flee upward, someone of command must be at the fissure to intercept.”

  Ronan whispered toward Darvish, “He said that politely. What he meant was that Lars will charge at anything with legs and ruin the formation.”

  Darvish did not disagree.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Lars ignored them both with the grace of a man long used to doubters. “Very well. And the third phase?”

  Nox turned his gaze back to the valley. “Extermination. If the mother is confirmed present, we collapse the chamber around her. If the dungeon is too deep for collapse, we purge layer by layer. Fire affinity will maintain forward pressure, while you and Darvish strike when the heart is exposed.”

  Serra exhaled slowly. “If it is a young mother, this is viable. If it is old…”

  Garric finished the thought grimly. “Then we are digging our own graves.”

  Lars’s expression hardened. “We are not losing anyone today.”

  Darvish stepped beside him. “There is another factor. Corruption dungeons adapt. If it senses multiple high tier presences outside, it may accelerate its spawn cycle. Or accelerate the growth of its guardian. Typical protection measures.”

  Nox nodded. “Yes. Which is why we move at dawn.”

  Cassie stiffened. “Dawn? That is only a few hours.”

  “That is all the time we have,” Nox said. “The second wave is almost here. Once our third station is built, we move.”

  Ronan looked toward the far path. “And the children? Lance and the other two. They will not sit quietly.”

  Darvish rubbed his forehead. “I told Margo to keep them inside the inner ward. Which means we will probably find lance on the field in about an hour, slade chewing rocks and Aofie admiring the spiders knowing those two.”

  Lars gave a low sigh. “I should have locked Lance in the armory.”

  Nox allowed a small, weary breath of amusement. “We have enough problems without chasing youths through corrupted valleys. Pray they stay behind.”

  Darvish did not pray.

  He had trained Lance.

  He knew exactly how stubborn that boy could be.

  Nox straightened, his voice gaining command. “Prepare your weapons. Eat what you can. Rotate patrols until the militia arrives. Darvish, Ronan, Cassie. You three keep watch with me. If the pulse spikes again, we adjust the plan.”

  The Fire Elites dispersed to check gear and scout positions. The wind picked up, howling over the ridge. The corruption heartbeat below throbbed again, faint but deeper, as if something enormous shifted in its sleep.

  Lars looked toward it with a grim calm.

  Darvish followed his gaze.

  Cassie swallowed.

  Ronan muttered, “Too quiet.”

  Nox drew his cloak tighter.

  “Dawn approaches. And with it, the true beginning.”

  The group stood together, watching the valley as the corruption pulsed again, louder this time, echoing through the bones of the mountain like the first breath of something waiting in the dark.

  When the group dispersed, making final preparations and checking their gear, Lars pulled Darvish aside.

  “Sadly, I agree with you, which means somewhere, my son is around here. Have a lieutenant start checking the militia members. Anyone unknown or suspicious verify their identity. My wife will probably kill me if the dungeon doesn't.”

  lars gave an annoyed sigh as he threw his head up towards the sky

  Darvish obeyed, he cared for those kids more than half the citizens on Knighthelm if he was being honest.

  He grabbed the nearest lieutenant to start doing checks.

  —-

  Snow heavied as the trail sloped downward, replaced by ice chunks and hardened snow. The trees grew stranger here. Their branches curled inward as if recoiling from some unseen touch. Ice clung to them in irregular plates, not formed by cold but by something unnatural that coated their bark in a translucent violet sheen.

  Lance, Slade, and Aoife moved slowly, each step deliberate, each breath controlled. Their disguises felt like thin paper now that they were walking directly toward the zone every veteran scout said not to approach without a full party.

  Honestly, if they thought about it at the time.. But why would the runner tell them to scout the bottom ridgeline!

  Thats suicidal!!

  However, not to break their disguise they obeyed.

  The sergeant’s words echoed sharply behind Lance’s thoughts. Confirm and return. Do not investigate. Do not engage.

  That would have been ideal.

  But the energy in the air so heavy with tension, and the faint tinge of corruption jumbled most of their clear thoughts.

  The path tightened, curving between two slanted boulders carved by centuries of snow runoff. The ridge below pulsed with faint violet light, casting the rocks in an eerie glow. Slade walked a few paces ahead, his shield now out, a spear in his hand. He couldn't bring his hammer as his dad would have spotted right away.

  Aoife scanned the treeline constantly. Her eyes were sharper than most, a side effect of her father’s training and uncommon class. She caught every rustle, every flicker of movement between branches.

  Lance walked in the middle, gloves hiding his gauntlets, his own spear shifting slightly in his grip every time the corrupted pulse throbbed through the soil.

  “We should have stayed with the main post,” Aoife muttered quietly. “Or at least bribed the sergeant to assign us to something closer to the cooking tents.”

  Slade snorted. “What did you want me to do, Aoife? Hand him my left boot as a tribute and ask him kindly to let us peel potatoes instead?”

  Aoife shot him a glare. “You know what I meant.”

  “Unfortunately yes,” Slade said. “And the answer is still no. He would have assigned us anyway. Even without knowing our identities, just our stature and body language anyone could tell we were the youngest. Expendable. ”

  Lance winced. “Please do not use the word expendable while we are walking into a corrupted valley.”

  Slade shrugged. “Someone has to say it.”

  Aoife’s voice softened. “We will be fine. We stick together. No running off. No stupid heroics. No drawing attention.”

  Lance nodded. “Good plan. Very good plan. I like this plan. Let us do everything in this plan exactly as we discussed.”

  The corrupted pulse rippled again, vibrating through the soles of their boots.

  Slade stopped walking.

  Aoife froze.

  Lance swallowed, lifting his spear slightly. Hands buzzing with the early formations of his lightning mana itching to seep out and comfort him.

  The forest below shifted with the pulse. Branches shivered. Snow dust fell from perches without a breeze touching them. A faint, distant clicking echoed through the valley, small at first, then doubling, then tripling, until it became a scattered rhythm.

  Aoife whispered, “That is not the wind.”

  “No,” Slade said quietly.

  Lance strained his ears. “It sounds like… like claws tapping stone.”

  “A lot of claws,” Slade added.

  Aoife’s breath came shallow. “We need to get eyes on the ridge quickly. Then we leave. No closer. If these spiders go far around the ridge, they can circle back up the hilltop to attack our rear.

  They crept farther down the slope until the trees opened into a partial clearing. From here, they could see the lower ridge well enough. The path curved sharply downward, leading to a wide shelf of broken stone. Frost cracked along the edges. Patches of corrupted ice glowed faintly in a sickly lilac light.

  Aoife crouched behind a half frozen fallen tree, signaling the boys to join.

  Slade knelt, shield on the ground, spear hung low.

  Lance lowered himself between them, trying to keep his breathing steady.

  The clicking had grown louder.

  “I count three,” Aoife whispered. “Maybe four. Coming from the far side of the ridge.”

  Slade frowned. “Scouts?”

  “Probably,” she said. “Tier twos, maybe. Nothing stronger. If they are alone we can avoid them.”

  Lance slowly peeked over the fallen log.

  The ridge below shifted.

  Violet mist drifted like thin curtains along the ground. The snow trembled as something walked beneath it. A dark, angular shape surfaced from the frost like a spider emerging from a web. Then another. And another.

  They had six legs each. Their limbs were too long for their bodies and jointed in unsettling angles, like broken branches rebending themselves to move. Their heads were thin, sharp like elongated skulls, with mandible-like ridges that clicked against one another.

  Lance recognized the description from the reports.

  He nudged the system identification to get an accurate description

  He counted four.

  Then five.

  His breath hitched. “Five,” he whispered. All level 11, all corrupted crawlers.

  Slade’s brow pulled tight. “We cannot take five.”

  Slade stammered, “We can barely take 2!”

  Aoife exhaled slowly. “We do not have to. They do not see us. We move back now. Slow. Quiet.”

  It was a good plan.

  It would have worked.

  If not for the branch.

  Slade's shield nudged a branch as he shifted backward. It snapped under the pressure of its steel. The sound was small, barely more than a dry crack.

  But in the valley drowned in corruption, where every sound traveled strangely, it rang out like a thrown stone.

  All five corrupted went still.

  Lance stopped breathing.

  Aoife’s hand clamped around his forearm.

  Slade mouthed several silent curses.

  The Crawlers raised their heads in unnatural synchronization. Their mandibles twitched. Their necks stretched with a horrible creaking sound until their faces angled toward the ridge.

  Toward the three of them.

  Lance whispered, “No sudden displays of power, we agreed.”

  Slade whispered back, “We are wayyyy past that.”

  The first Crawler let out a sharp chitter. The others echoed it. Then they moved. Not in a run. In a burst. Their prey has been found.