Ah, dear Hilvar, keeping an eye on the humans you are so wary of will be easy.
After all, more are already making their way down. The next batches of humans had already marked their respective entrances and were preparing for their adventures.
Some of the more decisive factions had already started their assault.
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In the southern areas of the [First Kingdom], a kingdom-city was heartlessly being attacked.
Figures with bodies of grey fog were flitting about the shadows cast by the dancing torchlight. They moved through the empty streets, rushing towards the giant Ogres that occupied these lands.
If the goblins stood at around a metre, the Greater Goblins at around 1.3-metres, and the Orcs at a consistent 2.2, then the Ogres towered over all of them at a whopping 4.5-metres tall.
They swung clubs even larger than the Orcs, and even in the wars they waged, the bodies of their enemies became their weapons. Skulls and spines created a lovely flail.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Heavy footsteps rocked the earth as shockwaves washed over the bodies of the Ogres. But it did nothing other than slightly nudge them around.
"Pesky bugs!" An Ogre cursed the Nightwalkers that kept running around his legs. Several buildings had already been destroyed by their battle, angering him to no end.
"I finally caught you!" One of the Nightwalkers fell into his grasp, making him rejoice. It had taken him forever to catch one, and now he could eliminate an annoyance that kept buzzing around him.
"Now, die!" The Ogre yelled out in delight.
The Ogre awaited a terrified wail of desperation to sound out from his tightening grip. Every monster or beast that ended up inside his hand had always reacted that way. They writhed around as their bones shattered and their organs popped.
But no matter how much they screamed or yelled, nothing would prevent their demise.
It was always a refreshing sound to hear for these Ogres. To them, they were the superior Enlightened race, and their strength was the proof of their abilities. The kingdom-cities in their territories were always beautiful.
It was in stark contrast to the ruined and messy lands of the Orcs and Greater Goblins. After all, they were also craftsmen who took pleasure in construction and sculpting. Just like how the Greater Goblins were beast tamers and the Orcs were chefs.
And yet, as the Ogre felt the Nightwalker in its grasp lose its shape and form, no song of pain was sung. Only an eerie silence as a chaotic well of energy erupted from the Nightwalker's body.
In the Illumic tongue, the Nightwalker cursed, "Dumb pig."
BOOM!
A large sphere of destructive energy appeared in the Nightwalker's place. It tore apart the hand that captured him, but it could not annihilate the Ogre itself. Despite the buildings and rubble that had littered the area suddenly being cleaned up and turned into sand, the Ogre still stood strong.
It was almost as if he was one of the important tower torches that were being kept safe, as both parties did not fancy its destruction. All violence steered clear of the all-important source of light.
The very fact that the Ogre had made it through the Nightwalker's kamikaze attack with only an injured hand and some burns and bruises was a testament to their strength. Every Ogre had the physique equivalent to that of a Rank 3 human Evolver.
Even if there were just a dozen or so Ogres in the entire kingdom-city, that still meant a dozen or so existences that the Nightwalkers normally had no chance to defeat. Rank 3s were the elites among elites for the humans. So much so that Illyas itself only had three before Irene and Apple went and joined their ranks.
Thus, the battle lasted throughout the night, and yet all the Nightwalkers had achieved was the fall of a pair of Ogres. They destroyed so much and expended so much energy, but that was all they could do.
"Hah..."
The Spiritualists all woke up with immense headaches plaguing their brains.
"Damn... Ugh..."
And groans resounded throughout the labyrinth's corridor while the scent of blood blossomed from their bleeding nostrils.
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Elsewhere, someone was raiding an Orc settlement. But instead of an all-out battle, this individual had brought about a land of assassinations.
An agile, one-eyed man flickered across the rooftops of Lispell. His shaggy brown hair, brown beard, and finely chiselled face shone in the yellow torchlight. The scars on his face were the only things tainting his image.
But the Orcs who were in mad pursuit all saw his scars as a sign of a powerful foe.
"So this is a human..." One of the Orcs grunted. "I don't like them—"
The Orc's words weren't given a chance to be completed.
Another head had been separated from its neck in that moment of carelessness. It sent a chill down the spines of the other pursuing Orcs. All they kept seeing were flashes of light, and then injuries always followed. They had no idea how or when they were being wounded.
With their developed sword skills and Battle Prowess, they could've held on in a frontal assault. They knew they could fight. They were confident in prevailing.
But the One-eyed Harbinger clearly did not allow them such luxuries.
Gusche dropped down into an alleyway when the Orcs faltered in their chase. He disappeared from their lines of sight for a brief moment before delivering death to another unsuspecting Orc.
Swoosh! Ssuk! Swoosh!
Four more Orcs, despite their formidable physiques, dropped dead a few seconds after.
The pursuing Orcs could only follow a trail of corpses if they wanted to keep track of their nimble foe.
After slaying a perfect one-hundred Orcs, Gusche then disappeared into the Baneful Shroud. A Cloak of Tranquility was already in his hands.
There was no one pursuing him, as all those who did have already been silenced.
At what was an appropriate distance away, Gusche stopped and allowed his weary body to rest. He pulled out a notepad from his clothes and scribbled a few things down with his bandaged hands.
He calmly analysed to himself, "The Madame has given me quite the task this time."
The map of the kingdom-city Lispell was now ingrained in his mind after those many hours of assassinations. All he had to do was close his eyes and the image of every alleyway, every street, and every corner appeared before him.
Then, he would breathe as plans aplenty began forming themselves almost automatically in his mind.
Gusche was going to tear the city apart bit by bit. One monster's life at a time.
The Orcs will learn of the terror wrought by the One-eyed Harbinger.
They will know fear.
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At yet another kingdom-city, a lonesome teenager was walking in the midst of a crowd of beasts and Greater Goblins. The teenager's pony-tailed black hair was swaying with her hips as she strutted forward without a single care in the world.
What was surprising was that despite her arrogance, the Greater Goblins didn't seem to bear any hostility. All they did was watch with wary gazes as she waltzed all the way into a throne room where a High Shaman was meditating.
"Leave... on floor..." The High Shaman spoke in broken Illyasian upon her entry.
The teenager smiled, replying in fluent Acivis, "It was a pleasure doing business with you! I look forward to the day we meet again, High Shaman Wol."
She then did as she was told, and left a pouch filled with grain-sized, orange gemstones on the dirty, red carpet. Nebula Gems were being supplied to those who sought them out.
Clearly, the Careless of Aquarius had found themselves in the [First Kingdom] as well.
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Hyeon and Arnold had come across a winding staircase that led into the dark depths.
"Have we finally found it?" Arnold rubbed the tattoo that both he and Hyeon had on their right wrists.
"I think so. We've gone through all four trials. We can just walk in from here." Hyeon replied. A slight tremble had found its way into her hands as both excitement and the fear of the dark clawed at her.
Thankfully for Hyeon, the winding staircase was well lit with small torches that never seemed to die out. The duo had to clear out thick cobwebs to get where they were, and yet the torches depicted no sign of burning out.
It was a good sign for the young sixteen-year-old.
Thus, with one last glance at each other, the duo descended the spiralling staircase. Their footsteps brought them down one step after another in a seemingly endless manner. It was a descent worth tens of thousands of steps.
And with the darkness just lingering beyond the torchlight, Hyeon and Arnold lost track of time as they walked in single file. Hyeon in front and Arnold at the back, leaving both of them silent as they allowed their thoughts to roam free.
'This darkness... is dangerous.' Arnold thought, tempted to touch it with his fingers.
The Baneful Shroud was just at an arm's length away.
And Arnold could perceive its dangers even without knowing exactly what it was. His gut was telling him that the darkness was foul even before he came into contact with it.
That was why he kept rubbing the tattoo on his wrist. The black ram head with its giant horns had a great purpose in the subterranean kingdoms—his intuition was just screaming of such a connection.
'Just what is this place?' Arnold worried for the days to come. Just the labyrinth itself had been extremely weird. What was lying in wait here in the [First Kingdom] if the path to enter it was already filled with outlandish creations?
Four halls had symbolised four trials that he and Hyeon had to complete, and they almost died in the process.
The riddles were fine, and so were the puzzles of Mystic Patterns. Hyeon had breezed right through those.
But the monsters in the third and four halls were the stuff of Arnold's nightmares.
Amalgamations of different body parts, animals connected by seemingly inorganic organs, and mechanical monsters made purely out of metal. They were all bizarre and terrifying to look at.
If not for Hyeon's enthusiasm upon encountering such beings, Arnold would've burned them all into ashes so that there would be no opportunity for those monsters to rise again.
'...But metal doesn't burn...' Arnold couldn't help but sigh as he shoved those thoughts away.
He had to brave through everything that came his way.
For his dreams, and for peace in Illyas.