The Warden of Isykar was still standing.

  Which was frankly rude.

  Thessaly was right in its face now, fists slamming into its torso like war drums. Her bark-covered knuckles cracked with each blow, thornspike armor shredding the miniboss’s outer shell one layer at a time. Every hit chipped something away, metal, stone, ancient pride.

  To her right, Buddy darted in low and fast, flames spewing from his open jaws.

  [Blazefang – Activated]

  The Warden staggered back two steps, its segmented foot sinking into the half-rotted floor.

  Badger-Brimma didn’t wait.

  She dove forward with a shriek that sounded like an insult wrapped in bloodlust, claws flashing as she tore into the Warden’s side. Sparks flew. Runes dimmed. She didn't stop. Not until it swung at her and she darted backward, snarling.

  Kael’s arrows sang overhead.

  [True Hit – 48 Damage]

  [Forest Rot – Refreshed]

  Then another...

  [Tangle Shot – Connected]

  Movement Slowed – 40%

  Alistair watched all of it from the far edge of the battlefield, one hand still pressed to his ribs.

  Still cracked.

  Still hurt.

  Still fighting.

  “Alright, team,” he muttered, raising his hand. “Let’s give you a buff and pretend I’m still useful.”

  He pointed at Thess.

  [Tactical Flow – Activated]

  Target: Thessaly

  Next skill buffed: +50% effectiveness, no cost, cooldown halved.

  She grunted in acknowledgment then slammed her fists together, a shockwave of thorns erupting from her body and knocking the miniboss off-balance again.

  “Oh, you felt that one,” Alistair said, smirking. “She hits like a pissed-off dryad.”

  His mana ticked down.

  Fine. He had more.

  He raised his hand again, this time locking eyes with Kael.

  [Soullinked Surge – Activated]

  +15% to all stats for Alistair and Kael – Duration: 10 seconds.

  A glowing tether snapped into existence between them, pulsing with soft white energy.

  Kael’s body flickered, blurred, then solidified, every movement sharper, faster, ghost-precise.

  “Kill him gently, sweetheart,” Alistair called, wiping blood off his lip. “Or violently. Your call.”

  Kael didn’t answer. His next arrow tore through the air and nailed the Warden right between the eyes.

  [Critical! – 92 Damage]

  The Warden let out a low mechanical moan.

  Alistair’s gaze flicked to its status.

  [HP: 374 / 950]

  “Nearly there.”

  He rolled his shoulder and straightened. The pain still flared, but screw it.

  Time to help properly.

  He exhaled, gathering motes of soft, burning white into his throat.

  [Light Breath – Cast]

  A short cone of radiance burst from his mouth, like exhaling the sun itself.

  The Warden reeled, its body flickering. The light seared through its outer layer, and its movements slowed for half a second.

  Disoriented. Vulnerable.

  Alistair’s smirk sharpened. “Say cheese.”

  Then, just for good measure, he cast again, this time at its feet.

  [Thornspike] – Target: Vault Warden

  The summoned thorn exploded upward like a plant on caffeine, jabbing into the Warden’s leg.

  [Status Applied: Spore Cloud]

  -10% Accuracy

  Chance to Fumble

  From the sidelines, Brimma’s badger snarl somehow managed to sound approving.

  The whole squad was in sync.

  Alistair felt it, not just through the system, but soul-deep. This wasn’t luck. This was coordination. Soulbonds. Trust.

  Victory.

  He wiped more blood off his chin and whispered, “Just fall already, you ancient lawn ornament.”

  The Warden didn’t fall.

  Of course it didn’t.

  It roared, a hollow, rune-laced scream that made the broken windows tremble, and surged forward, swinging its blade-arm like a guillotine.

  Thessaly ducked under the arc, slammed her palm into its knee, and used the momentum to launch a spinning heel kick straight into its chest.

  [Impact – 52 Damage]

  Buddy howled behind her, charging with a burst of flame that trailed behind him like a comet.

  He launched himself.

  [Firebite – Triggered]

  [Blazefang – Active]

  Direct Hit – 84 Damage. Warmth Stacks: 3

  The Warden reeled again, but it didn’t go down.

  Alistair felt the floor tremble beneath his boots.

  Not from combat.

  From something else.

  The ground was still shaking, still moving, like the city was being dragged toward an abyss. Every step sent dust cascading from the ceiling. Every shout echoed oddly, like the walls didn’t quite want to hold sound anymore.

  “Brimma!” Alistair called. “Now would be a great time to turn it into gravel!”

  The badger lunged.

  Claws struck metal. Teeth sank into stone-rune plating. She twisted her whole body like a battering ram made of hate.

  [Savage Rend – 61 Damage]

  The Warden buckled. Sparks burst from its joints.

  Kael, perched above, whispered something under his breath.

  His fingers blurred.

  [Unseen Arrow – Fired]

  The arrow vanished mid-flight, bending light and shadow, slamming into the miniboss from behind.

  [True Damage – 73]

  The Warden faltered.

  [HP: 37 / 1800]

  Alistair blinked. “Oh for...”

  He took one shaky step forward, redcrystal sword dragging behind him.

  “Fine.”

  He locked eyes with the Warden, inhaled sharply...

  ... and used [Bloodcall].

  A crimson tether snapped into existence, latching to the Warden’s chest. Blood, spectral and glowing, began to siphon, pulling energy straight into Alistair’s veins.

  [Bloodcall Active]

  5s Heal Over Time

  +28 HP

  The Warden stumbled.

  Flames still burned across its lower half. Spore cloud still clung to its joints. Thorn punctures. Burn marks. Scorch gouges. And a giant hellhound staring it down.

  It raised its blade one final time...

  ... and Thessaly drove a bark-covered fist straight through its glowing chestplate.

  [Final Blow – 39 Damage]

  [Vault Warden of Isykar – DEFEATED]

  The miniboss let out a last, dying chime as the runes flickered and died.

  Its body cracked, fractured from within, and collapsed in on itself like a brittle shell.

  The silence that followed was instant.

  The only sound left… was the grinding.

  That deep, endless vibration in the stone.

  Still there.

  Still growing.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Like the whole Arena was being pulled by something massive, ancient, and very, very hungry.

  Alistair exhaled slowly, wiping his sword clean.

  “Okay,” he said. “Now someone tell me that was the last one.”

  Brimma reappeared in a puff of green magic, her badger form collapsing into a scowling, sweat-drenched gnome with twigs in her hair.

  “Level twenty-four,” she rasped, wheezing as she leaned on her staff. “I demand tea. And a foot massage.”

  Kael dropped down beside her from his perch, landing like a cat. He gave a short nod, brushing dust off his cloak.

  “Level twenty-two,” he said simply, eyes unfocused, already pulling open his system screen.

  “Ugh. You’re still a baby,” Brimma muttered.

  “And you’re a badger who needs a bath,” Kael shot back without looking up.

  The two of them sat cross-legged amid the rubble, both too tired to bicker properly, heads down in the glow of their notifications.

  Alistair, meanwhile, paced the wreckage of the old armory with Thess at his side.

  “No loot,” she murmured, kicking aside a fractured crate. “Can you believe it?”

  “This place was a vault,” Alistair said, squinting at the cracked wall near the back. “A vault with a warden. Which means...”

  He turned just in time to see her pluck something from the center of the cracked miniboss shell.

  A shimmer of light coalesced between her fingers, another godkey fragment.

  Thess held it up.

  It hovered for a heartbeat, then clicked against the six already floating around her.

  The pieces locked with a soft chime, forming a perfect medallion of twisting vines and thorns.

  She slipped it over her neck.

  “That’s seven,” she said, voice quiet. “You’re the only one left now.”

  Alistair opened his mouth to respond...

  Grrrrr.

  Buddy growled from the far corner.

  He wasn’t in attack mode. It was his pay attention to this weird thing I found growl.

  Alistair walked over.

  There, half-covered in soot and grime, was a rune carved into the floor near the rear wall. Not part of the original structure. More like a keyhole etched into reality itself.

  “Good boy,” Alistair murmured, rubbing Buddy’s ears.

  He knelt and placed his hand over the rune.

  It was warm.

  A pulsing heat, subtle but insistent.

  Alistair closed his eyes and pushed mana into it.

  The rune flared.

  A low rumble echoed through the room, not from above this time, but behind the wall itself.

  Stone scraped against stone. Dust rained down. A hidden panel shifted open with a hiss of stale air.

  Behind it… a staircase.

  Dark. Cramped. Leading downward into shadow.

  Thess appeared beside him, eyes narrowed.

  “You’re not seriously thinking of going down there now?”

  The ground shook again, stronger this time. Pebbles danced. Cracks spread across the far wall.

  Thess winced. “This place is being eaten alive. We need to move.”

  But Alistair barely heard her.

  [Treasure Seeker – Ping: Extreme Proximity]

  [Multiple Objects of Interest Detected Below]

  [Unstable Access – Duration Unknown]

  His trait was screaming.

  He stepped forward, ignoring the ache in his ribs.

  Each step down buzzed through his bones like static.

  The staircase ended in a vaulted chamber, curved stone ceiling, cracked pillars, faint runes pulsing along the floor.

  Most of the room was ruined. Smashed chairs. Half-burned tapestries. Collapsed tables and overturned benches. But that wasn’t what caught his attention.

  It was the boxes.

  Dozens of them.

  Stacked. Shoved into corners. Hidden under tarps.

  Some small, some massive.

  All intact.

  He stopped breathing for a second.

  “That’s the staff,” he whispered, eyes glittering.

  Then he grinned.

  “Oh, hell yes.”

  Thess dropped down beside him, brushing rubble from her arms. “Smells like mold, secrets, and regret.”

  Alistair took a long breath. “And treasure, darling. Don’t forget the important part.”

  She gave him a sidelong look. “You're actually glowing.”

  “No,” he said, stepping into the room like he was walking into a sacred temple. “You're just seeing me in my natural environment.”

  They made their way past a collapsed weapons rack, stepping carefully over cracked stone and rotted-out planks. Crates sat stacked near the far wall, some upright, others half-collapsed, a few already reduced to splinters.

  Alistair nudged open the first one.

  “Empty,” he muttered, and then turned to Thess, dramatically. “A tragedy.”

  The second had… something. Cloth-wrapped bundles.

  He unwrapped one.

  The blade inside was snapped in half, eaten by time and rust.

  Thess clicked her tongue. “This was an armory, alright. A few hundred years too late.”

  They opened another. This one had weapons. Mostly spears. Warped. The kind you wouldn’t trust to stab pudding. But...

  Thess pulled a short axe from the side of the crate, whistled, and handed it to him.

  The head gleamed faintly, humming with residual magic.

  “Vine-Cleaver,” she read from the faint inscription. “Rare quality. Enchanted edge. +10% damage against plant-type enemies.”

  Alistair gave it a little twirl and frowned. “I’ll keep it in mind if a tree ever pisses me off.”

  They moved on.

  The next box gave way with a grunt, and a stack of folded crimson cloth spilled onto the ground, stitched around a heavy pole.

  Alistair unfolded it slowly, revealing a blood-red banner. Faint sigils danced across the fabric in a looping pattern.

  “Banner of the Crimson Accord,” he breathed.

  Thess raised a brow. “You recognize it?”

  “No, but I’m charismatic enough to pretend I do.”

  The moment he planted the banner into the ground, he felt a pulse. Warm. Familiar. Like standing too close to a heartbeat.

  [Banner of the Crimson Accord]

  Allies within radius: +10% morale, +10% HP regen

  +1 Favor with Blood-aligned divine forces

  Thess stepped back. “Not bad. And it matches your weird vampire aesthetic.”

  Alistair bowed slightly. “We aim for consistency.”

  The next crate was heavier. He heaved it open with a grunt and nearly dropped the object inside.

  A perfect, orb-shaped pearl sat in a velvet-lined groove, swirling with red-gold flame trapped inside.

  “Careful,” Thess said, wide-eyed. “That’s draconic fire.”

  Alistair lifted it with reverence.

  [Whispering Flame Pearl – Draconic Fire]

  Mana Storage Node – Up to 50 Mana

  Detonate for AoE Fire Burst

  Rechargeable near leylines

  His fingers tingled.

  “I am absolutely keeping this.”

  “Obviously,” Thess muttered. “You’re already drooling.”

  The next box was small. Alistair popped the latch and froze.

  Inside was a tarnished black ring. The metal pulsed faintly, like it had its own heartbeat.

  The tooltip floated up like a whisper.

  [Ring of Chained Burdens (Cursed – Rare)]

  +2 Strength, +2 Constitution

  But every kill increases weight by 1kg until long rest

  Alistair didn’t touch it.

  “…That’s cursed,” Thess said.

  “It’s selectively challenged,” he corrected.

  They left it where it was.

  The next crate was more traditional, gold coins spilling from split seams.

  Thess whistled and started scooping them into a pouch.

  “Don’t mind me,” she said, “just ensuring our glorious cause is funded.”

  The final crate they opened was filled with rations, sealed, surprisingly intact.

  Thess didn’t hesitate. She ripped open a packet, chewed, and let out a soft moan.

  “I forgot what not-horrible food tastes like.”

  Alistair raised a brow. “I didn't know dry bark counts as cuisine.”

  “Hush. I’m having a moment.”

  They crammed hundreds of rations into three slots of his dimensional pouch, while Alistair grumbled the whole time about whether it was necessary, especially since he didn’t even eat. Thess just hushed him, insisting they might come in handy.

  And then...

  Alistair stopped.

  There, buried beneath a sheet of waxed canvas in the darkest corner, was a narrow black case.

  He pulled it out slowly, set it on a crate, and opened the lid.

  A dagger rested inside. The blade was folded, not physically, but magically, like shadow wrapped around metal. Its surface was mirror-dark. Its edge shimmered faintly. And when he touched it, he heard something.

  A whisper.

  No… a name.

  It vanished too fast to catch.

  [Velstrath’s Folding Dagger] – Epic

  Rogue Royalty Relic

  Active: [Blink Cut] – Teleport behind the last enemy struck and follow up. No cooldown if it kills.

  Passive: +15% crit chance against enemies not facing you

  Secret: The dagger remembers those it has killed… and sometimes whispers their names.

  Alistair exhaled slowly.

  “Well. That’s going in the left hand.”

  Alistair turned the dagger in his hand, feeling the weight, the hum of power, the quiet little secrets buried in its edge. Velstrath’s Folding Dagger. Elegant. Efficient. Lethal. Very him.

  Besides, he needed an upgrade anyway. His old [Dagger of Illumination] was serviceable, especially when stabbing things that hissed in moonlight or shrieked when touched by holy script, but the actual damage?

  Meh.

  It was more flashlight than fang. And he had enough dramatic lighting as it was.

  He sheathed the new blade with a flick and turned, only to hear Thess mumbling around a mouthful of rations.

  “Hey, come look at this,” she said, still chewing. “Think it’s something?”

  She pointed at a dusty little table half-buried under an old weapons rack. A small wooden box sat on top, simple, worn, sealed with a strip of cracked leather.

  Alistair approached, brushed off the dust, and flipped the latch.

  Inside was… parchment. Faded. Smudged with old ink. Symbols and scribbles covered the surface, half alchemical diagrams, half frantic shorthand.

  [Crafting Blueprint Discovered – Fogsteel Sword (Rare)]

  When crafted successfully, grants:

  Passive: -3% enemy accuracy against the wielder

  Passive: Immune to rust and corrosion

  Effect: On killing blow, restores 3 stamina

  Effect: On killing blow, deal a minor AoE slash to nearby enemies (2m, 30% base weapon damage).

  Note: This weapon can only be forged by a skilled blacksmith with access to an aspected forge or leyline.

  Alistair whistled softly. “Not bad.”

  He turned it over, trying to decipher the diagrams, each rune was jagged, crammed between alchemical notes and what looked suspiciously like a coffee stain.

  “Might be useful someday,” he muttered.

  Thess leaned over, peeking at the blueprint. “But you’re not a smith.”

  He didn’t look up. “Not for me. Doesn’t mean it can’t come in handy.”

  He folded it carefully and tucked it into his pouch.

  They were just about to leave when it happened.

  Ding.

  The sharp tone of his [Treasure Seeker] trait stabbed into Alistair’s ear like an impatient merchant slapping gold on a counter.

  He groaned. “Oh, come on.”

  Thess, already halfway through the door, stopped mid-step and turned, eyes narrowed. “What now?”

  Alistair held up a finger. “We haven’t found everything.”

  Thess muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer to any god willing to get them out before the building collapsed on their heads.

  Following the directional tug in his mind, Alistair moved across the wrecked floor, past the shattered counter and the scorched racks, until the sensation pulled him toward a half-buried table shoved against the wall. It was sagging under centuries of dust, rusty weapons, and old scratches that might have once been arcane diagrams.

  He started rummaging.

  Thess leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Do you ever get tired of this?”

  “Would you stop me if I said yes?”

  “I wouldn’t believe you.”

  Alistair’s fingers caught on something strange underneath the edge of the table. A faint seam. His eyes narrowed. He dug in, prying it open.

  A click echoed through the room.

  A hidden compartment slid open, revealing a box the size of a deck of cards, black, cold, and sealed with intricate lock runes carved in interwoven patterns. It practically hummed with latent enchantment.

  A notification flared:

  [You have discovered: Mysterious Box – Status: Sealed]

  You must obtain the Three Keys of Concordance to unlock this container.

  Origin: Unknown

  Note: The box resists attempts at magical or physical force. It must be unlocked properly.

  Alistair raised both eyebrows. “Oh. One of those.”

  He tapped the top. “It’s like someone’s laying out breadcrumbs made of loot.”

  Thess muttered, “You mean we’re being fattened for the feast.”

  Alistair smirked, carefully storing the box in his dimensional pouch. “I like to think of it as guided enrichment.”

  The floor rumbled beneath their feet again, another tremor from the arena’s core.

  “Alright,” he said, straightening. “We’ve overstayed our welcome. Let’s find the next victim before the Maw decides we’re on the menu.”

  Then he looked at Thess.

  Thess was still chewing, ravenously, like she hadn’t eaten in days. Alistair arched a brow, watching the crumbs trail from her chin to her lap.

  She caught him staring.

  “Want a bite?” she asked casually, holding out a ration bar that looked like it had lost the will to live somewhere between centuries of rot and the apocalypse.

  Alistair’s smile turned fangy.

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  He took her wrist gently, leaned in and bit.

  Just a little.

  Just enough.

  Thess didn’t flinch. If anything, she rolled her eyes, chewing the rest of her food like this was Tuesday.

  He pulled back a moment later, satisfied. “Tastes better than the bar.”

  Get early access to chapters, bonus content, and more. Now’s the perfect time to jump in!

  Patreon