The scent of blood filled the air and soaked the earth. Red and viscous, it flowed like a raging river between the corpses of monsters and humans alike, without discrimination.
A boy, about fifteen years old, felt his flesh being ripped away by the claws of one of the lizardmen.
Bile and disgust filled his mouth, mixed with the metallic taste of blood.
Splat
He felt his skin tear, organs burst, and bones snap under the relentless pressure.
Until he felt nothing. No anger, no pain, no worry. The sweet embrace of death wrapped around him, pulling him in.
Across the field, a young girl stood frozen, paralyzed by fear.
Plod.
Plod.
Plod.
The slow, monotonous footsteps of a beast echoed in her ears like a death sentence.
She took a step back.
First one foot.
Then the other.
Until something hard and rough pressed against her back.
Slowly, the girl looked up.
And her eyes saw it in all its hideousness.
Yellowed, decayed teeth dripping with thick saliva that ran down its greenish jaw. A long, forked tongue hissed within.
"M-Moth-"
She tried to say.
But the monster was upon her.
Crunch
As her head was crushed within its powerful jaws, a stream of urine stained her thighs, trapped in an involuntary spasm.
____________
"Damn it! Damn it!"
Rayliar shouted, sprinting through the swamp. His feet seemed to scorch the ground beneath them.
His breath was ragged, lungs on fire, heart pounding.
But despite everything, he would not stop.
I can't. I won't!
Rayliar thought, vaulting over a fallen tree.
And finally, the battlefield came into view, engulfed in the glow of flames.
Chaos reigned supreme: men slaughtering monsters, monsters slaughtering men, in a primal dance where roles seemed to blur and lose meaning.
"Shit… shit!"
The carpenter yelled.
On the ground, the body of a young boy lay lifeless, torn beyond recognition.
Rayliar's gaze darted around the battlefield.
At every corner, death's horror seemed determined to pull him back into memories… scenes he'd already seen, already lived.
"H-H…elp…me…"
A faint voice whispered beside him.
Rayliar looked down.
There, in the mud, a man clutched his chest, trying to stem a massive bleeding wound.
Three claw marks slashed across his stomach.
The raised skin revealed the muscle beneath, torn by the impact. Blackened blood gushed from the wounds like water from a fountain.
Quickly, Rayliar tore a strip from his shirt and pressed it onto the man's abdomen, applying pressure. Like ink, the blood spread through the cloth.
"H-Hold on, okay? I'm sure you can make I—"
Splat
And the man's throat opened like the sea for Moses.
The metallic hum of a blade vibrated faintly in Rayliar's ears.
"W-Why the hell did you do that?!"
Rayliar asked, glaring at Astalon.
In his eyes, a blend of anger and hatred made him seem more dangerous than any other creature present.
"Dark blood. It means his liver was destroyed… it had already contaminated the other organs. He was dead already. I just ended his suffering."
The man replied indifferently, his hair tied back.
"And now focus, unless you want to end up like him."
He added, motioning for Rayliar to get up.
And so he did.
First, we get out of here alive… then…
Rayliar thought, that fierce resolve still burning in his eyes.
The hair on the back of his neck rose, signaling imminent danger.
With a twist of his torso, he narrowly dodged the claws of a lizardman as they swiped past his chest.
Shoom
His arm moved swiftly, followed by the axe.
A swift trajectory and a clean cut.
Splat
With a thud, the monster's limb fell to the ground, severed from the body.
Rayliar spun the weapon in his hand with natural dexterity before slashing it across the beast's throat.
A deep gash appeared on the creature's neck.
Turning back to the battlefield, he surged forward, taking lives in every direction.
It took about half an hour for the battle to finally end.
Standing motionless on a pile of corpses, a dark-haired boy wiped blood from his face.
"Well done, kid."
Edgar said, stroking his blond beard, his sharp eyes fixed on Rayliar, his trusty hammer in his right hand.
"It was a massacre, you know… if only we had arrived sooner..."
The young man replied desolately. It had been years since he had felt this way.
I'm still not strong enough to make a difference, Grandpa...
Rayliar thought, glancing around.
Pieces of bodies were scattered throughout the swamp. High up in a tree, a man's body dangled, swaying in the wind. His bloodless, white skin looked almost porcelain-like. One leg, part of an arm, and the head had been bitten off.
Slowly, Edgar made his way through the bodies of monsters, moving toward his companion.
His massive hand rested on Rayliar's shoulder.
"And if we hadn't arrived, they'd all be dead by now. Sometimes you shouldn't dwell on what you couldn't do, but on what you managed to accomplish… Oh, crap! I got blood on your shirt!"
The half-giant added, breaking the moment.
"Don't worry, it's trashed anyway."
Rayliar replied, smiling.
One by one, the survivors gathered.
Yeah...
The boy reflected on his friend's words.
The crackle of flames sounded softly in the air.
It had been a meager meal: bread and water, nothing more, nothing less.
Seventy-seven.
The number of survivors.
With a hand on the muddy ground, Astalon rose to his feet. The cold night wind blew through his long hair.
"I'll be honest. This expedition has been a disaster so far."
The knight began.
"We have two options: die here and let the portal reopen, or kill every monster in this dungeon and return to our friends and families."
At those words, a theatrical pause followed.
"Anyone who doesn't want to fight can stay here. For the rest, we'll move at dawn tomorrow."
Astalon finished, sitting back down.
Seated among the survivors, a boy carefully cleaned his axes.
I'll make things easier for you all.
And as this conviction formed in his mind, the darkness of the night enveloped them ever tighter.
___________
Why send two hundred and fifty people to the slaughter? Half of those present don't have what it takes to survive.
That's what he had said to that man.
And now he was certain. Sitting in his study, that person was plotting something.
Once he returned, he would expose him.
That was the knight's promise.
____________
The dim candlelight illuminated the small room.
In every corner, stacks of books covered the floor, almost hiding it entirely.
Carefully, the man adjusted his glasses on his nose, though they soon began to slip.
Behind him, a shadow moved.
"Are you sure it's him?"
The shadow asked.
"Yes. I checked everyone who entered the dungeon. One by one. I'm certain he's the one who ruined our plans three years ago."
"Good. We're pleased to have chosen you for this role. Keep it up."
And as if nothing had happened, the shadow ceased to move.