— How much longer are we going to stay in this shit hole?
The question sliced through the stifling silence of the cave like a dull blade, heavy with despair. No one answered right away. We were all exhausted, hungry, irritable. The air seemed heavier with each passing day — or maybe it was just the acrid smell of sweat and fear building up among those damp stones.
We'd been trapped in that pit for nearly four days now, a place that was supposed to be our refuge. But the truth was, little by little, the cave had become our prison. Outside, Marcoriel prowled. The fear of facing a legendary creature was already daunting, but to have to fight it when it was a platinum-ranked adventurer was more than any of us could even dream of confronting head-on.
Malaca stayed close to the entrance, hand always on the hilt of her sword. Her eyes, however, never left Varnak. They were sharp eyes, brimming with a restrained hatred that made me think she would've run him through right there without hesitation if she could.
At first, I didn't understand the reason for such bitterness. But on the fourth night, when the pale moonlight barely outlined the rocky mouth of the cave, she told me what everyone feared to say out loud.
— That son of a bitch hired the adventurers for ten days — she whispered, her voice low but trembling with anger. — Look around. See the supplies he brought? They won't last even three more days.
— But… — I tried to reason. — If the contract was for ten days, and we had food for ten days, what did Varnak do wrong?
Malaca let out a long, tired sigh. Her shoulders slumped as if weighed down by stones.
— It doesn't work like that. — She ran a hand through hair soaked with sweat, took a deep breath, and looked up at the cave ceiling, as if begging for a bit of divine patience. — By the rules, if you're staying for ten days, you have to bring provisions for at least twice that time. That's basic. Any idiot knows that.
She let out a dry, humorless laugh before continuing:
— And there's more… even if a rescue comes, they'd hardly start searching the very first day they notice we're missing. God, they don't even know what floor we're on! We'd probably need at least three extra days of food just to have any chance of surviving until we're found.
Her gaze hardened, lips pressing into a thin line.
— And even then... I have no idea how many men they'd send. — She made a vague gesture, hand trembling. — Honestly? I just want to get out of here, face that thing outside and be done with it. Better to die fighting than rot in this hole.
Her words hammered in my head. So Varnak was either too stupid… or worse.
— In the end that bastard just wanted to save money — I muttered.
— That's what it looks like. — Her lips twisted into a bitter half-smile. — Now we're all screwed.
An uncomfortable silence settled over us. I stared at the shadows dancing on the walls, cast by nearly spent torches, while my mind spun in search of solutions.
— What if we tried to lure some of the beasts outside into here? — I ventured. — Set traps, kill one or two… at least we'd have something to eat.
Her reaction was immediate. Malaca looked at me with such sorrow in her eyes that my stomach turned.
— Unfortunately, we can't eat the creatures in the dungeon. — Her voice came out weak, almost a whisper laced with grief. — They carry some kind of curse while inside here… something no one fully understands. Anyone who dares eat the flesh of these beings dies within days.
She paused, gripping the hilt of her sword as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.
— I've seen it myself. — Her eyes grew distant, dark. — It's a horrible death... full of convulsions, spasms that seem endless. Like the body's trying to vomit up its own soul.
I swallowed hard. I'd never read anything so specific in the books I devoured before coming here. In theory, dungeon creatures were just… monsters. Nothing mentioned what happened if someone tried to turn them into a meal inside the dungeon.
Maybe my face showed just how confused I was, because Malaca took a deep breath and continued, wearing that same heavy look.
— Certain information, especially anything involving the dungeon, is restricted by the Mother Church. — She let out a long sigh, almost of disdain. — That's why it's not the sort of thing you find easily out there. The few books that shed light on this problem — and many others, far more complex — were burned, and their authors… probably ended up swinging from a noose.
She shook her head, letting out a bitter half-smile.
— I never really understood why so much secrecy, but in the end… it is what it is.
— Not that I care much for what those fanatics preach. But their influence is strong, strong enough to bury certain truths deep. People grow up fearing divine punishment without ever stopping to question why those things are happening.
She stared into the darkness at the entrance again, her hand gripping the sword's hilt until her knuckles turned white.
I knew the Mother Church all too well. I spent almost my entire life locked up in one of its branches along with Helena. To me, it was always just a machine for squeezing money out of fools and innocents in the form of an orphanage. Thinking of them made my blood boil, raising my temperature a few degrees in an instant.
My mind drifted back to the day I came up with the perfect plan to escape that place. I never regretted what I did — not for a second. But sometimes I found myself thinking of the people I had to leave behind. Those, yes, weighed on my conscience.
Malaca seemed to share my contempt for the Mother Church, though for reasons very different from mine. While it had destroyed me for years, gnawing at my sanity, for Malaca the cult was a cowardly brake on human progress — a shackle designed to keep people submerged in ignorance, restricting knowledge to a handful of fanatics she deeply despised. All to protect truths that, if brought to light, could empower those they deemed unworthy — or, plainly speaking, the poor and ignorant who were meant to stay in their place.
For the first time, I found myself reflecting on how ignorant I had become of this world. For so long, I simply refused to accept it as something real — something that existed beyond the pages of books or the fanciful stories I heard from my daughter. It was easier that way, living buried in my own ignorance, worrying about nothing more than what I'd have for dinner.
And now, ironically, just when I finally felt better, stronger, ready to absorb everything this world had to offer… I ended up trapped in a hole with no way out, our food running out, and death circling like a patient vulture.
But it was only at dawn on the fifth day that Varnak finally broke the suffocating silence hanging over us. He brought up what sounded like an idea — to fight. It sounded foolish, almost pathetic, but I understood the desperation driving him.
He was fully aware of the grotesque mistake he'd made by not bringing enough provisions, and now he was cornered by the same conclusion Malaca had whispered to me the night before: we were doomed. There was nowhere to run. All that was left was to choose how to face the end — die slowly, consumed by hunger and thirst, or fall fighting, wagering everything on an almost epic victory.
For any true adventurer, there was no question. But Varnak… he was too much of a coward to admit that fighting was our only chance — miserable as it was.
— If we start from the premise that it's similar to the Black Knight… — Varnak began, his voice cold, almost clinical — …our formation is half of what's needed.
He looked at each of us, assessing us with the seasoned eyes of someone who didn't want to do what he was about to do.
— Even so, we have to agree: we're the best in our crafts.
Malaca had already told me what was needed to face something on the level of a Black Knight with relative safety — at least twenty experienced fighters. At most, an elite group of ten might manage — but even that she wasn't entirely sure about. Malaca knew better than anyone that brute force wasn't always enough. Fighting these creatures, these guardians as she called them, demanded more than muscle and magic. It required synergy, camaraderie, something that simply didn't exist among us there in that cave. We were a group thrown together in haste for a specific event and nothing more.
In that moment, reality hit me with the weight of a tombstone: we were a misaligned, half-broken group about to face something that wouldn't forgive the slightest mistake. And even so, for lack of choices, we would have to fight.
Everyone there seemed to share the same feeling I did: we lacked the synergy to take on a direct fight. But then, out of nowhere, Varnak started speaking with a confidence that deeply irritated me.
— We have something no other group has ever had.
— And what would that be? — asked Isbel, her voice trembling, almost begging for a lifeline.
But her expression crumbled the moment Varnak pointed directly at me. For an instant, I felt the heavy gaze of everyone turn my way, and the air seemed to grow thicker.
The adventurers who weren't part of Varnak's inner circle shifted uneasily, some already opening their mouths to protest, but Vrigs cut them off first.
— This kid has the power to give us a buff like you've never seen before. — His tone was almost triumphant. — If you were impressed by what you got earlier, know that was nothing compared to what he can really do.
I felt my face heat up, but not out of pride — it was pure rage. They had kidnapped me, thrown me into this dungeon under blatant coercion, and now they were using me as an argument, as bait for the rest of the group to buy into this suicidal idea.
Of course, I needed to be sensible. If this was the only way to motivate that bunch of doomed souls to fight, even using me as a scapegoat, I'd accept it. The alternative was worse: everyone already seemed far too ready to embrace death, which terrified me — and probably terrified Varnak too. I was his ace in the hole, even if I didn't know how myself.
— Since we have the Time Clock — Varnak went on, trying to keep his tone measured — we can take turns, casting spells on Marcoriel. That way we'll buy enough time to deal with the White Knight. If we combine all our abilities, we can hold him for about thirty seconds each round, which would give us… almost twenty-three minutes in total.
He paused dramatically, looking around.
— That's more than enough. Against the Black Knight, for example, we'd need something around seventeen minutes.
Malaca narrowed her eyes, clearly suspicious. Even I felt my stomach turn. In all my ignorance, I had already asked her what it was like to face the Black Knight, and her answer had laid bare just how insane it was to try to kill that creature.
It was tougher than anything normal, absurdly strong, and still struck area attacks that forced groups to spread out, dragging the fight into cruel attrition — not to mention the damn mind control power that almost always drove someone insane along the way, something the White Knight had exponentially stronger.
So either Varnak was blatantly lying to try to motivate us, or he was dumb enough to believe everyone there would swallow those fantastical numbers without blinking.
Either way, the weight of reality didn't change: that cramped cave was a tomb chamber waiting for bodies, and if there was any chance, even an illusory one, everyone there seemed ready to grab it. Even if it meant using me as the final bait.
Varnak came closer after laying out his entire far-fetched strategy. The way he moved betrayed more than he tried to hide: his eyes were tense, hands restless, but when he spoke, his voice came out surprisingly calm — almost gentle, like someone trying to soothe a frightened child.
— Kid… we need something that either gets us out of here alive or gives us a chance to win this fight. — He leaned in a little more, almost whispering. — If you can pull that off… I swear, I'll pay you your weight in gold.
He spoke low enough that I had to strain to catch it. Of course. He didn't want the rest of the group to know just how desperate he was, betting everything on me.
Damn… this son of a bitch is putting it all on my shoulders without even blinking.
My mind spun in circles, searching for an answer. But nothing came. I only knew one thing: if my theory about how my power worked was right, maybe we had a chance.
Maybe.
Honestly, I never imagined I'd have to test that hypothesis in a situation where my life — and the entire group's — depended on it. It was all or nothing. And if I was wrong… there wouldn't be a second chance to fix it.