Lucas, Meluis, and Silas sat around the dimly lit war table in Marona's villa, the flicker of candlelight casting long, restless shadows across their faces. The air was thick with tension, and the storm brewing outside mirrored the battle plans brewing within.
Laid out before them were Marona's precious stock of potions—vials and flasks shimmering faintly in the low light, each one a small lifeline in the dangerous task ahead.
Silas was engrossed in the bloodied scroll in his hands, his expression unreadable. But slowly, a smile curled on his lips, dark and knowing, as if he was remembering an old trap.
"It's a trap already," Silas said with a quiet confidence, glancing at Marona.
Marona raised an eyebrow, confused. "How do you know? Did I miss something in the scroll?"
Silas gave her a cryptic look and shrugged. "Trust me. I just know."
Lucas, intrigued by Silas's certainty, leaned forward. His eyes, usually so calm, flickered with curiosity. "Can I take a look?"
Without a word, Silas handed over the scroll, still bearing traces of blood magic, its surface pulsing faintly with residual energy. Lucas unfurled the ancient leather, studying the maze of tunnels. The map was intricate, deadly, with narrow corridors twisting into dead ends. At the center, a blood-red 'X' marked the location of Death's Hand's base.
This isn't just a map. This is a death trap, waiting to spring.
"AI," Lucas whispered, his voice barely audible, "scan this and project a 3D model."
The AI beeped softly, an eerie contrast to the grim surroundings. "Scanning… converting to 3D model."
In moments, the labyrinth came to life in Lucas's mind—every tunnel, every tight corner, every potential ambush point rendered in vivid detail. He could practically feel the weight of the walls closing in, the deadly secrets of the tunnels laid bare before him.
Lucas handed the scroll back to Silas. "The tunnels are intricate, but there are weak points. There's something we can use to turn this in our favor. I'll explain when we've finalized the plan."
Silas nodded thoughtfully, handing the scroll back to Marona. Before Lucas could speak again, Meluis broke the silence, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "The old dark mage who runs Death's Hand... he's infamous among mercenaries. Ruthless. No honour. The kind of man who strikes from the shadows and never gives you a chance to fight back. Promises aura sparks to lure young swordsmen into his ranks. That's how he's gathered so many."
Marona's voice was cold, a quiet fury simmering beneath her words. "Yes. He may only be an apprentice dark magus, but dark magic isn't about raw power. It's about how low you're willing to sink. And this one—he's willing to crawl through the dirt to win."
Lucas leaned forward. "How many swordsmen does he have?"
Marona folded her arms, her expression hard. "Around a hundred, though most are low-grade dawn blades. Even so, in those tunnels, their sheer numbers alone could crush us. If we make a single mistake" She trailed off, leaving the implication to hang in the air.
Silas, still studying the map in his mind, spoke again, his voice low and tense. "It's not just the men. It's the traps. They know the tunnels like the back of their hand. We misstep even once, and we're walking into our graves."
Meluis's gaze sharpened as he turned to Marona. "We'll need your potions, Marona. Every last one, if we're to stand a chance."
Marona's eyes narrowed, the irritation clear in her voice. "Potions don't grow on trees, Meluis. Do you think I've got an endless supply?"
Meluis snorted, his tone dismissive. "I'm just asking a simple question. If we're going to attack, we need to know what we've got to work with."
Marona's fist slammed onto the table, silencing the room. "I'm not a fool, Meluis. I know what's at stake. I've prepared what I can—20 healing potions, 10 blast powder flasks, 3 mana recovery potions, and 2 blinding flash flasks. It's not much, but it'll be enough to turn the tide when things get tight."
Lucas, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally spoke, his voice calm but commanding. "We need canon fodders numbers to win this. We need strategy. If they expect us to fall into their traps, we'll flip the script. We'll control the flow of the battle, not them."
Silas leaned in, intrigued. "What's on your mind, Lucas?"
A dangerous glint appeared in Lucas's eyes as the plan came together. "We trap the trappers."
Meluis frowned, though his interest was piqued. "Trap the trappers? What do you mean?"
"They'll be expecting a head-on assault in this part of tunnel," Lucas explained, leaning forward. "But we'll give them something else. We'll drive them into their own traps. Once we deal with their swordsmen, we isolate the dark mage. That's when we strike."
Meluis raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. "You sure about this, kid? Sounds ambitious."
Lucas's gaze hardened. "Trust me. Once I explain it fully, you'll see how it works."
It took some time for Lucas to lay out the full plan, step by step, explaining how they would navigate the labyrinth, how they would use the traps against Death's Hand. As the strategy unfolded, the room grew still. By the time he finished, a heavy silence fell over the group.
Marona, always cynical, finally cracked a small smile, admiration flickering in her eyes. "You're full of surprises, kid. If this works, you might just survive long enough to get a real reward from me."
Hearing that, Lucas's face flushed beet red, the unexpected praise catching him off guard. He quickly turned his attention back to the map, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping up his neck.
Silas stood, his face resolute, any trace of doubt gone. "Then it's settled. We strike in three days. We end this."
The room fell silent, each of them deep in thought, preparing for the battle ahead. This wasn't just about defeating Death's Hand—it was about survival.
The following day, Marona was busy gathering her guards and recruiting a handful of expendable soldiers for the ambush. She moved with purpose, her sharp eyes assessing every man she brought under her command. These were not elite warriors—just cannon fodder, meant to buy time in the chaos that would soon unfold.
Meanwhile, Lucas had spent the past two days immersed in intense training. His swordsmanship was improving with every session, and he could feel his aura growing stronger, thanks to the Helix Method of tempering. However, his mana remained stagnant. No matter how much he pushed, it seemed he had hit a bottleneck, frustrating him to no end.
From a distance, Meluis and Silas stood watching, their conversation hushed but tense.
"You're not seriously considering bringing Lucas into the ambush, are you?" Meluis asked, his tone laced with disbelief.
Silas sighed, a hint of weariness creeping into his voice. "Yes, he's coming with us."
Meluis retorted, his temper rising. "Has your brain finally got fucked from all those years of magic use? He's a kid! This isn't his fight."
Silas's expression darkened, his voice dropping to a grave tone. "And what do you suppose we do? Leave him here defenceless? If we all die in this ambush, do you think Death's Hand will spare him? They'll take their revenge, and it won't be quick or merciful. They'll hunt him down, torture him for information, and then kill him. We're his best chance."
Meluis scowled but said nothing, though the glint in his eyes showed his reluctance.
As the day of the ambush arrived, Silas found Lucas in the training yard, sitting cross-legged, deep in meditation. He could see the faint aura surrounding the boy, a testament to his recent progress. But Silas also knew that mana would be more critical in the battle ahead.
Silas approached quietly, but Lucas sensed his presence and opened his eyes. Silas held out five small vials filled with a faintly glowing blue liquid.
"What are those, Grandpa?" Lucas asked, eyeing the vials with curiosity.
"Diluted mana recovery potions," Silas replied, handing them over. "But listen to me carefully—don't drink more than two at once. Any more, and the backlash could tear your mana nodes apart."
Lucas nodded, accepting the vials. He carefully placed them in his pouch, glancing up at Silas. "What about you?"
"Marona's already provided me with what I need," Silas said, his voice steady. "Don't worry about me. You focus on yourself and staying alive today."
Lucas gave a small nod of understanding. He could feel the weight of the upcoming battle settling over him like a shroud. This wasn't just a skirmish it was life or death.
"Prepare yourself," Silas added, his tone firm but kind. "We strike soon. This will be the hardest test you've faced yet."
Lucas exhaled, standing up from his meditative posture, his eyes narrowing with determination. He had trained for this moment, and despite the anxiety gnawing at him, he was ready.
As per Lucas's plan, Silas, Meluis, and Lucas made their way toward Nyx "Shadowflame's" territory. According to the map, there were two known entrances to Death's Hand's base—one nestled within Marona's domain and the other on the border of Nyx and Marona's territory. Instead of taking the more direct route through Marona's land, Lucas had suggested a detour, an unexpected approach that might give them the element of surprise.
Lucas had his rune sword secured to his waist, and his prized Crown Eagle bow slung over his shoulder. They moved through the narrow, desolate alleyways, the air heavy with the stench of decay. No signs of life. Just eerie silence. At the end of one narrow alley, marked on the map, lay an entry point into the labyrinth below.
But then they saw her—a frail, sickly child, huddled near a crumbling wall. The figure stirred as they approached, blinking awake. At first, with her slight frame and ragged clothing, she appeared to be a boy, but as the figure stood, Lucas realized it was a girl no older than twelve. Her face was pale, eyes sunken with hunger and exhaustion.
Suddenly, her eyes lit up with fear. "Please!" she cried, her voice cracking. "Please, save me from these people!"
Tears welled up in her eyes as she stumbled toward them. The desperation in her voice was raw, painful even. Silas instinctively stepped forward, concern flickering across his face. But there was something about the situation that didn't feel right. His gut twisted, warning him to stop.
"Wait," Silas muttered under his breath, raising a hand to halt Lucas and Meluis. His instincts screamed at him, but before he could react further, a sharp beep echoed in Lucas's mind.
"Mana fluctuation detected around the girl," AI alerted him.
Lucas's eyes widened in realization. This wasn't a helpless victim. It was a trap.
His body moved on instinct, years of training kicking in. In one fluid motion, he unslung the Crown Eagle bow, nocked an arrow, and let it fly. The arrow whizzed through the air, striking the girl directly in the heart. Her eyes went wide, mouth agape in shock, before her body collapsed to the ground.
For a brief moment, everything was still.
And then—BOOM!
A deafening explosion rocked the alley, the girl's body erupting in a massive blast of fiery mana. Smoke and debris filled the narrow passage, but Lucas's quick action had saved them from the worst of it.
Meluis stared at Lucas, stunned by the boy's cold decisiveness. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped, a strange look of respect mixed with apprehension crossing his face. Lucas's quick judgment had just saved their lives, and even Meluis couldn't deny the brutal efficiency of it.
Before anyone could speak, a low creaking sound echoed from the far end of the alley. A hidden door slid open, revealing several black-robed figures—Death's Hand assassins, their faces obscured by shadowy hoods.
"Ambush!" Silas growled, his voice hard and steady.
Lucas was already moving, his bow singing as he loosed arrow after arrow. Each shot was precise, deadly, dropping the approaching assassins with expert marksmanship. Silas, meanwhile, began muttering under his breath, his hands glowing as he conjured a spell. Meluis unsheathed his greatsword, Honeyblood, its blade gleaming as he swung it with a powerful arc, ready for the bloodshed to come.
At Marona's side of the tunnel, under the command of Death's Hand, nearly a hundred aura swordsmen and a thousand normal swordsmen stood waiting, poised like coiled serpents ready to strike. The tunnel was wide enough to accommodate their ambush, a perfect choke point. For the past few days, they had been stationed here, alerted in advance by their dark mage leader about Marona's supposed plans for a sneak attack.
Now, it was a waiting game.
Suddenly, the sound of screams and the clang of steel echoed from outside the tunnel door. Their leader tensed as the entrance to the tunnel groaned open, and through the dark passage flooded not a small strike team but an army of normal soldiers. The leader's brow furrowed in surprise—this was not the stealthy ambush he had expected from Marona. Instead, she was sending in hordes of cannon fodder. Has she got fucked in head?
No matter.
A twisted grin curled across his lips. "They'll die all the same," he muttered to himself before motioning to his men. "Prepare for the slaughter."
At his command, a thousand Death's Hand swordsmen and archers leapt from the shadows, their blades slicing through the air. Within moments, chaos erupted as they tore into Marona's soldiers, cutting them down with merciless efficiency. Blood splattered the walls of the tunnel, and screams of agony filled the air. It was a massacre.
But Marona, standing at the rear of the battlefield with her 30 aura swordsmen, watched with cold calculation. Her head guard, visibly shaken by the carnage, couldn't hold his tongue any longer.
"Lady Marona," he said, his voice tense, "our people are getting slaughtered. If this keeps up, we're doomed to lose. Please, let us join the front lines before it's too late!"
Marona's eyes flashed with anger. "Wait for my orders," she snapped, her tone sharp enough to silence the guard instantly. She muttered under her breath, hoping that Lucas's plan would work. Everything was riding on it.
After a tense moment, she gave the signal. "Collapse the tunnel."
The head guard blinked in shock, his face paling. "Lady Marona… if we do that, our own men—hundreds of them—will be trapped inside and slaughtered!"
Marona's eyes narrowed, her patience wearing thin. "Do as I say. Those mercenaries are expendable. Get our trusted guards out of the tunnel and let the hired swordsmen die."
Swallowing hard, the guard nodded and relayed the order. Five blast powder flasks were handed to him, their volatile contents glowing ominously in the dim light. With a grim expression, the guard hurled them at the tunnel walls.
BOOM! The tunnel shuddered violently as the explosion tore through the structure, collapsing the passage with a deafening roar. The ground quaked beneath them, and dust and debris filled the air. Those at the front, caught in the slaughter, had no time to react. Hundreds of swordsmen were crushed as the tunnel collapsed behind them, sealing their fate.
But amidst the chaos, a towering figure in heavy armor fought relentlessly, cleaving through Death's Hand soldiers as if they were nothing. His blade flashed with deadly precision, cutting down anyone foolish enough to get in his way. His instincts flared—something was wrong. Glancing over his shoulder, his worst fear was realized as the tunnel behind him began to crumble. With a burst of aura, he retreated with blinding speed, narrowly escaping the falling debris as it buried the battlefield.
Panting, he made it to the edge of the collapse, his armor covered in dust. "That cruel woman," he muttered under his breath, half in admiration, half in disbelief.
He wasn't alone. Fifty aura swordsmen had survived the collapse, many of them equally stunned by Marona's ruthless tactics. The air was thick with curses and grumbles as the surviving soldiers voiced their frustration at their employer's betrayal.
Before tensions could erupt, the leader of the aura swordsmen, a battle-hardened veteran, stepped forward, his voice calm but commanding. "The dead are dead. Those of you who wish to walk away, do so. For those who stay, there will be ample reward."
About forty men, grumbling in defiance, turned to leave, wanting no part in further betrayal. But before they could make it far, the remaining thirty aura swordsmen sprang into action. Blades flashed, and in an instant, the deserters were cut down where they stood. Blood stained the ground as their bodies hit the floor with sickening thuds.
The aura swordsman leader sheathed his blade, his voice ringing through the silence. "Good choice, those of you who stayed. Your loyalty will not go unrewarded."
Among the few who remained, most were too paralyzed by fear to move, which, ironically, had saved their lives. The heavily armoured swordsman stood watching, his face hidden beneath his helmet, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Marona's plan was brutal, but it had worked to perfection.
"She's more cunning than I thought," he murmured, amusement lacing his words as he turned to join the survivors, ready to regroup for the next phase of the battle.
On Lucas's side of the tunnel, they moved cautiously, grateful for the reduced patrols. Most of the Death's Hand soldiers were preoccupied with the fierce battle on Marona's side, leaving this area vulnerable. After navigating several traps over the course of a few hours, they finally arrived at the rear of the tunnel, where the sounds of clashing swords and distant roars echoed ominously.
Silas stepped forward, pulling out five blast powder flasks. "Meluis, it's time," he said, handing the vials to him.
With a confident grin, Meluis took the flasks and hurled them against the tunnel walls. The explosions rocked the passage, sending debris flying as the tunnel began to collapse, sealing off any escape for the Death's Hand soldiers.
"Let's head back and regroup with Marona," Silas instructed, glancing over his shoulder to ensure they weren't followed.
As they retreated, a sense of victory surged within Lucas. They had successfully trapped their enemies—now it was only a matter of time.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the collapsed tunnel, the leader of Death's Hand stood clad in black armour, fury radiating from him. He had watched in horror as Marona sacrificed her cannon fodder, trapping his men like rats. Panic was spreading among his soldiers as they frantically clawed at the rubble, trying to clear the entrance.
"Damn you, Marona!" he cursed, his voice a venomous hiss. "If I survive this, I will fuck you up!" But deep down, he knew his chances of survival were slim to none.
As chaos erupted in the labyrinth, his men's shouts grew louder, a cacophony of fear and desperation. The realization of their impending doom hung heavy in the air, suffocating them more effectively than the collapsing tunnel.
Back in the shadows, Lucas, Meluis, and Silas listened to the pandemonium, a mixture of dread and exhilaration coursing through them. The trap had been set, and now they would wait for the perfect moment to strike.