Chapter 73: Goren: Wit's End

  “I deserve this…” Goren muttered under his breath, watching as Spellsword disappeared into the portal. “It was always too good to be true.”

  For a moment, he thought they could become friends.

  He let out a bitter chuckle. “What did you think was going to happen?!” His own voice snapped back at him, as if mocking him. “That he’d forgive you after all you did?!” His fists clenched. “You’re still a lonely, lonely loser. Just like before. Nothing changed.”

  Then his tone shifted, rage boiling within him. "Fuck him. Fuck Spellsword."

  Then, with a sharp slap, he struck his own cheek. “Stop. He deserves to be mad at me. I earned it.”

  Another slap – on the other cheek. “And I don’t deserve forgiveness.”

  He took a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling slowly. “But at least…he didn’t push me away outright.”

  The thought calmed him. Even if just for a little bit.

  “It’s already more than I deserve…”

  Another deep breath, and a batch of blackberries.

  “This should be enough. It’ll have to be enough.”

  And with that, he stepped into the portal.

  ***

  “What happens now that Lysandra is dead?” Spellsword’s voice echoed softly in the dark corridors as they made their way toward the second level. “There’s no one to operate that device – to terrorize the adventurers.”

  Gaelith nodded. “You’re right, but I believe it won’t change much.”

  “How so?” Goren interjected, trying to insert himself into conversation.

  They had been walking ahead of him for the last five minutes, leaving him feeling like an outsider.

  “My Other Self is the one who sealed the tomb.” Gaelith explained. “If it had been Lysandra’s doing, I would have been able to unseal it and release everyone caught in here. But I never could. Never had been able to.” He took a slow breath. “The monsters were never under her direct control either, so it doesn’t matter. They’ll keep attacking the adventurers regardless. Be it because they received passive commands from Lysandra back when she was still alive, or because they’re controlled by my Other Self.”

  Spellsword was quiet for a moment before finally speaking. “I condemned you for it before, but now that I remember your Other Self, I can say this much – you probably did the right thing.”

  Gaelith’s steps slowed.

  Spellsword continued. “If you hadn’t killed the adventurers who came here over the past thousand years…then Your Darkness would have been even stronger right now.”

  Gaelith didn’t respond at first. “Once all of this is over, the Creator shall judge me.” He sighed heavily. “But thank you, Aidan. I appreciate it.”

  Goren felt the tension, so he tried to shift the conversation, but all he could think of was equally grim. Still, that didn’t stop him from opening his mouth.

  “What happens if – or maybe when – we stumble upon mine and Spellsword’s comrades?”

  Gaelith and Spellsword stopped walking. They turned toward him, then exchanged glances.

  “He’s right.” Spellsword admitted. “We’re heading toward the second level. That’s too close to the main antechamber. If the raid plays out the same way, despite Lysandra’s death, then we’ll definitely run into adventurers – those who were running for their lives after the Grave Moles attacked.”

  Gaelith nodded solemnly. “If we truly intend for this run to be the last, then we can’t turn away from anyone.” He looked directly at Spellsword, as if seeking confirmation. “Whoever dies in this run will stay dead. If we succeed, there won’t be another loop. Correct?”

  Spellsword nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. But we’ll have to help them discreetly. We don’t want them following us into bigger dangers.”

  Goren’s mind immediately went to his family. His mother. His brother.

  Not his guildmates.

  They weren’t bad people. But none of them were worth sacrificing his family for. If there was a chance to end it on this run, he didn’t care about the lives of the other 99 adventurers that joined him here today.

  But…he kept that thought to himself. He already knew that Spellsword thought poorly of him. Escalating things further would not benefit anyone.

  Still, he made a mental note. If the time came – if things got out of control – he would take matters into his own hands. He’d take the Darknessbound Core and imprison Erebus on his own if he must.

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  “What about the Dark Hunters?” Goren asked, changing the subject and directing his question at Spellsword.

  “What about them?” Spellsword barely spared him a glance.

  “I want this to be our last run too.” Goren said. “But if we fail, we can’t have you marked for the next loop.”

  “The Destroyer’s agents shouldn’t be a worry for us.” Gaelith interjected. “The Sword of Radiance should keep the away.”

  “Key word – should.” Goren pointed out. “We’re too deep in this crap to trust the should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.”

  Spellsword let out a long sigh. Then his gaze met Goren’s.

  “If it comes down to it – you have my permission to kill me, Goren. I already know you’d be up for the task.”

  He resumed walking immediately, not looking back.

  ***

  On their way to the second level, they indeed stumbled upon escaping adventurers – but not as high up as they had expected.

  The Grave Moles’ attack likely happened while they were fighting Lysandra, already scattering the surviving adventurers across the tomb.

  They’ve helped discreetly – as Spellsword put it – by slaying the monsters chasing the adventurers, then hiding before anyone could see them or follow their trail.

  At last, they reached the chamber they had been searching for.

  It was a chamber within a chamber.

  A large stone door blocked their path. At its center, protruding slightly, was a golden circle – with a hand shaped engraving.

  Goren had been here many times before. And yet, he had never managed to open this damn door.

  His Intelligence stat was already high enough for Disenchantment Magic, but it had never worked here. In one of his previous runs, he had even considered asking Kelltins for help. But he had never been able to bring himself to face him again.

  “Only an Axul can enter here, right?” Spellsword asked. Then, without waiting for a response, he continued. “Now, we have one on our side.”

  Gaelith nodded, stepping toward the door.

  “I don’t remember this chamber.” He said, his fingers tracing the inscription beneath the golden hand. “Come forth, child of Axul…” he muttered, reading it.

  He shook his head. “I can’t shake the feeling this inscription was left for me.”

  Goren raised an eyebrow. “Why? You were all children of Axul, weren’t you?”

  Gaelith nodded. “That’s right. And perhaps I’m wrong, but…Lysandra called me ‘the Child of Axul’ more times than I can count.”

  Spellsword’s grip on his glaive tightened. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

  Gaelith hesitated. “I don’t know. And even if it is…I couldn’t say by who.”

  “Could Lysandra have set a trap that would still work after her death?” Spellsword pressed.

  “She could.” Gaelith replied. “We already know she prepared for failure. And you’ve seen her post-death magic firsthand. And yet…I don’t believe it’s her doing. I can’t sense her magic here.”

  As they continued discussing the possibility of a trap, Goren felt like he couldn’t listen to them anymore.

  He muted them out, pacing behind them, agitation growing.

  He wanted to end this so badly. He was tired of waiting. Tired of all the talking.

  ‘Who cares if it’s a trap?!’ he thought to himself. ‘It’s not like we have a choice. We have to go inside. We need the key for the prison!’

  “Just do it already!” Goren finally snapped.

  Both Spellsword and Gaelith turned to him.

  Goren continued with the same energy. “We don’t have time to waste! We need to get inside! If the key is there, we don’t have the luxury of being careful!”

  “We can’t step in blindly!” Spellsword snapped back.

  Gaelith lifted a hand between them, his expression calm. “I agree with Goren. It looks like we’ll have to take this risk.”

  “Are you sure?” Spellsword asked, his expression growing concerned. “If it’s a trap, who knows what’ll happen?”

  Gaelith closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, his gaze was steady, his resolve clear. “The only thing I’m sure of…is that I’m done hiding.”

  Without hesitation, he pressed his palm against the golden hand engraving.

  The engraving began to glow. At first, a soft shimmer. Then brighter – more and more with each passing moment. Until a blinding flash of light erupted.

  Goren clawed at his eyes, groaning as the flash of light left him blind and in pain.

  “Spellsword?” he called out.

  No response. But he could hear his pained groans.

  ‘Good.’ Goren thought. ‘He’s still here.’

  “Gaelith?”

  Silence.

  Goren staggered, using the wall to steady himself as his vision slowly returned.

  At last, he could see again.

  Spellsword was on all fours, rubbing his eyes.

  He had been closer to the door, so it made sense that the flash blinded him more severely.

  ‘Oh, shoot, the door!’ Goren thought and his eyes shot up.

  The stone door – it was open.

  But Gaelith…He was nowhere to be seen.

  Goren stepped forward, passing the still groaning Spellsword.

  His breath hitched as he peeked inside the chamber.

  Then…his heart dropped. His mind refused to believe what he was seeing.

  It was the smallest chamber he had ever seen. Barely a meter deep!

  “What the fuck is this…” he muttered under his breath, in disbelief.

  The only thing inside was an old metallic helm, lying abandoned on the floor.

  Goren’s System recognized it as a simple helm and Goren dropped it to the ground, his hand shaking.

  The clank echoed in the tiny, empty space. Surprisingly, the antique survived the fall, remaining intact.

  ‘They built a door this massive…to guard this?’ His mind reeled, struggling to make sense of it.

  He summoned his sword – Convergence, and struck the wall, expecting – no, hoping – the wall was an illusion. But it wasn’t, and the blade just hit the wall, leaving some damage.

  “Damn it!” Goren growled.

  Behind him, Spellsword rose to his feet, still rubbing his eyes. “I knew this was going to be a trap!” He snapped, but it looked like his anger wasn’t directed at Goren. “Every time things start looking good – something shitty happens. Every. Fucking. Time!”

  “You don’t have to tell me about it.” Goren muttered, his voice shaking. “It’s empty, Spellsword.” He gestured toward the chamber, his hands tightening into fists. “It’s fucking empty!”

  Spellsword’s eyes widened. “What do you mean ‘empty’?”

  “What you heard!” Goren snapped, his patience now completely gone. “No key. No Gaelith. Nothing!” His voice rose with fury. “This chamber is the size of a closet, and the only thing in there is some old, rusting helm!”

  He dragged his hand down his face, furious. He couldn’t believe this was a dead end. Not only that – they also just lost their strongest ally for it.

  “But that can’t be it…” Spellsword muttered. “The priestesses mentioned the study – a room only the Axul can enter – it has to be it!” He shook his head, immediately rushing inside.

  Goren sighed through gritted teeth and followed, knowing damn well they wouldn’t find anything useful. Maybe he had exaggerated before – comparing it to a closet was an overstatement – but not by much. And the helm was definitely not the key they were looking for.

  Spellsword knelt and picked up the helm from the ground. It was the only thing inside. Like it had been waiting for someone to pick it up. It looked…odd.

  “The last memory fragment…” Spellsword whispered, piquing Goren’s interest.

  “The what?”

  Spellsword didn’t respond. His grip tightened on the helm, his gaze becoming distant.

  Goren’s rage flared – it finally got the better of him.

  “Enough of this bullshit, Spellsword!” he snapped, reaching for the helm, intending to rip it from Spellsword’s hand.

  But the moment his fingers touched it, the world around him lurched. Everything warped. And he was thrown into a memory of a distant past.