I glanced around, and sensed nobody. My breath steadied only because it had to—my body was screaming for rest, but my instincts refused to loosen. I said, "We need to get to Ryuha."

  The cavern around us hummed with distant echoes—drip, drip, drip—water falling into unseen pits like a metronome keeping time on our urgency. Dust swirled through shafts of faint green light leaking from cracks overhead. The corrupted gas drifted like smoke, assaulting the senses, clinging to skin, probably because we were weakened.

  Alexander walked over, clutching his side. The wound across his ribs pulsed with every heartbeat. He flexed the cut closed. His bad performance must've been an anomaly.

  The blood and muscle were still damaged. He frowned, "I'll go. I can still fight."

  His tone was iron, but the edges were frayed. He was pushing himself past his limits.

  Kaiguya waved us off, not even attempting to hide the exhaustion dragging down his shoulders. His breaths came shallow and uneven—every inhale sounded like it burned him from the inside. "I'll just hold you back. Odina will savor it on my behalf."

  His smile was faint, tired—yet unbroken.

  Odina frowned, her brows pulled together like a child being told to abandon a dying parent. "You have to finish it..."

  Her voice cracked. That woman rarely let emotion escape—not in such a whimpering way. But Kaiguya had earned more than her respect. He had earned her loyalty.

  Kaiguya smiled, and patted her on the head. His hand lingered for a second—gentler than anything he had done tonight. "It's funny... how someone from a different tribe could be this kind."

  Odina stiffened, gripping the handle of her bow.

  He turned his hips and laid down, exhaling like a man who had finally found somewhere soft to fall. "Go. I'm going to rest."

  Not sleep.

  Rest—like a warrior awaiting death or victory, whichever came first.

  I pulled Odina by the collar, forcing her to her feet. My patience was gone—not for her, but for the time we no longer had. "You heard him."

  The fight had drained her fire. The normally confident warrioress now looked small, weighed down by grief and exhaustion.

  Odina drooped, barely audible, "Understood."

  We left Kaiguya and the bodies behind.

  We leapt to the roof of where Kanglim introduced himself. The tiles cracked under our weight, moss and dust exploding outward. We blitzed forward, entering deeper into the cave. The air thickened with every step, colder, older—heavy with forgotten suffering.

  When I first met Ryuha in that colosseum, I felt his power. Kanglim and Lucas were certainly more powerful, but his fighting style would be an issue. His taekwondo is different. He outstretches his toes and punctures into the muscle every kick. It's a brutal and deadly style that earned him the nickname 'The Butcher' in his prime.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  A title he wore proudly.

  We were getting weaker as we went deeper. The buildings carved into the cavern wall were more dilapidated and rundown—shattered windows, collapsed roofs, rusted metal, and wood softened by moisture into pulp. This place felt like the skeleton of a forgotten city.

  How could people live like this?

  Well, perhaps it was just abandoned as the gas spread.

  A faint wind blew from somewhere deeper in the darkness. It carried whispers—either memory, hallucination, or the voices of those left behind.

  Alexander leapt forward in a burst of speed, leaving cracks under him. "There."

  It was a large two-story building made out of a gray substance. It wasn't brick or stone. The surface was smooth, almost polished, as if molded rather than built. For some reason, the building didn't have the green tint that the gas spread. It was untouched. Preserved.

  Protected.

  It was special. I couldn't understand it.

  We burst into the building through the windows on the second floor. Glass shattered and scattered like crystal snow. As soon as we entered, a smell of chemical and cleanliness entered our very soul. Sterile. Cold. Wrong.

  There was still cooking equipment lined up on the rows of tables—scales, burners, sealed tubes, and containers labeled with alchemical symbols and coded markings. The silence in the room was haunting. It felt like walking into a place that should have been busy—alive—but was abandoned seconds before we arrived.

  I said, "Be wary. He may try and ambush us."

  Odina looked around some cabinets, but couldn't find anything. She opened drawers with trembling fingers—more from anger than fear.

  While she did so, I looked into a separate room. An office. The door was partly open, a sliver of warm lamplight spilling through like a glowing invitation.

  Alexander noticed, and we nodded to each other. The silent acknowledgment of transcended.

  I readied my spear hand, muscles tightening along my arm like drawn wire, and sliced my door down. The wood split cleanly, cracking as it hit the ground.

  We entered back to back.

  But the room was still.

  Too still.

  Dust hadn’t settled yet—that meant someone had moved recently.

  I didn't spot anything other than a normal-looking office, with a lamp on. The warm glow fought against the cold green tint from the gas outside, creating a strange half-lit world.

  He was just here.

  The lamp glowed, and outlined a paper sitting perfectly centered like a message waiting for us. The ink shimmered slightly, not yet fully dry.

  Alexander had my back as I examined it.

  It read...

  "If this is Kanglim or Lucas, I'm sorry I left. My goal has been achieved. Live freely with the wealth I left in the safe.

  If this is whoever Sun sent to kill me, I'm glad I left. I have enough coin for my family to live in luxury for hundreds of years. But at least Surge is done for, right? I can't manufacture it anymore.

  Wrong.

  I sent the formula to the best black market manufacturers I know. My creation will live on without me, and it shall be your greatest loss."

  My fingers curled around the paper until it tore and crumpled. Rage didn’t just rise—it ignited. A firestorm inside bone and blood.

  I let my killing intent spread all over.

  The room felt heavier—like gravity thickened. The air vibrated faintly. Alexander stepped back slightly—not out of fear, but because instinct told him anything too close might die.

  Alexander looked concerned.

  My vision tunneled. Across the desk, on the far wall, hung a painting of two kids laughing—carefree—standing beside a man with Ryuha’s unmistakable short stature.

  A family portrait. A peaceful life.

  You dare live out your days in peace?! After what you did?! Then you mock me?!

  My chest tightened. The muscles in my jaw trembled from clenching.

  I yelled with all my might, "Ryuha! Ryuha! Ryuha, you bastard!"

  My voice echoed across the building, down the halls, through the broken city outside. A war cry made of grief and fury.

  Odina burst into the room, expecting a fight. Her arrows were up, eyes wild.

  She asked, "Where?!"

  Her hope died the moment she saw our expressions—saw the emptiness in the room.

  I yelled back, forcing her to her knees from the pressure.

  "He's gone! He played us! He played his subordinates! He played life like it was a game, and he won! He won!"