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Chapter 9 - Immortal

Chapter 9 ;

I opened my eyes to find myself back at the inn . How did I get back here , is this Nysa's doing ? I muttered to myself. What did she mean by try again, does she want me to find a way to enter that gruesome dungeon again .

I decided to go report to the capitals top guild about how difficult the dungeon was and how many of us had fallen there but just as I entered the guild I ran into Lyra Emberstone who I presumed dead .

"How are you alive " .

I was in shock , there's no way she's alive . I can still clearly remember how she fell down to her doom . This can't be unless somehow she resurrected or the dungeon raid never happened.

I saw the rest of her group and the Captain . They were all alive talking about how to raid the dungeon . Am i in the past now ? This must be Nysa's doing . I recalled the last words I heard from her "try again". She must have probably been disappointed with how things went the first time .

If I'm doing this a second time , then I better tell the captain not to focus on the number of the people they injure the dungeon but the quality and also not to trust the scouts words .

Lysander stood amidst the hushed shadows of the cavern, his heart heavy with the weight of knowledge from a timeline that no longer existed. The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows across the faces of his companions, their expressions a mix of weariness and determination as they prepared to venture deeper into the ancient dungeon.

"Listen," Lysander began, his voice echoing softly against the cold stone walls. "We need to be cautious. There are traps ahead."

Captain Arc, the seasoned leader of their expedition, glanced at Lysander with a furrowed brow. "Traps, you say? We've faced traps before, lad. We can handle them."

Lysander's gaze pleaded with the captain, his eyes reflecting a depth of certainty born from experience. "Not like these," he insisted. "I've seen what awaits us. We need to take the left path up ahead—it's safer."

Sir Elric, the grizzled second-in-command, exchanged a skeptical glance with a few other veterans of their group. "You expect us to believe you have visions now, lad?" he retorted, his voice edged with skepticism.

Swiftblade, the nimble rogue known for her intuition and quick wit, stepped forward with a reassuring smile. "Lysander, we appreciate your concern, but we've trained for this. We trust our instincts and our skills."

Thorn Ironhide, the towering barbarian whose stoic demeanor rarely wavered, grunted in agreement. "Enough talk," he rumbled. "Let's move. Time's wasting."

Lysander left disappointed. He knew his words might have been taken as the ramblings of a mad man but if he were to return to that dungeon he should at least find some way to suppress that demon on his own. It must have been a very high rank demon so he had to prepare thoroughly for this .

The next day , we all came out for the raid again . Captain Arc glared at me , we didn't exchange words but it was as probably his way of telling me not to try anything funny .

The ancient dungeon loomed before them, its shadowy entrance beckoning like a maw ready to devour the unwary. Lysander, his mind burdened with foresight from a previous timeline, stood at the forefront of his team, unease gnawing at his gut. He had seen what lay ahead, felt the sting of failure and loss, and now, armed with knowledge, he sought to guide his companions through the treacherous labyrinth.

Swiftblade, nimble and fearless, scoffed at Lysander's warnings. "We've faced worse than this," she declared with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. Her words found agreement among some of the more seasoned members, their past victories breeding complacency in the face of uncertainty.

Ignoring the skepticism that simmered among them, Lysander led the team deeper into the dungeon's depths. The air grew colder, laden with the musty scent of age-old stone and the faint echo of distant whispers—a foreboding reminder of the ancient powers that slumbered within.

Their progress was swift at first, the team navigating corridors lined with cryptic runes and dormant traps that Lysander had foreseen. Yet, as they delved deeper, subtle signs of unease began to manifest. Whispers of doubt circulated among the ranks, eroding the unity that had once bound them together.

It was during a brief respite, a momentary pause to regroup and assess their next move, that disaster struck. Swiftblade, ever the vanguard, led a small contingent ahead to scout a branching path—a decision spurred by impatience and a desire to prove Lysander wrong.

As they ventured deeper into uncharted territory, their overconfidence became their undoing. Without warning, the dungeon's inhabitants—malicious creatures adept at ambush and deception—sprang from the shadows with a ferocity that caught the scouting party off guard. Arrows flew, spells crackled through the air, and chaos descended upon them like a sudden storm.

Lysander, ever vigilant, heard the commotion and reacted swiftly. Drawing upon his foresight, he rushed to the scene just in time to witness Swiftblade and her team fighting desperately against overwhelming odds. With a surge of determination, Lysander guided the survivors back to safety, narrowly avoiding total annihilation.

Regrouping in a secluded chamber, the team licked their wounds, their earlier bravado replaced by solemn reflection. Lysander's warnings, once dismissed as paranoia, now carried weight among the survivors. They huddled together, the harsh reality of their situation sinking in—the dungeon was not just a test of skill, but a crucible of trust and unity.

Learning from their mistakes, Lysander took charge, directing them to prepare a strategic demon-suppressing formation—a plan forged from his knowledge of the dungeon's layout and the imminent threat they faced. Each member played their part, fortifying their defenses and steeling themselves for the final confrontation against the lurking demon that awaited them deeper within the labyrinth.

As they readied themselves for the battle ahead, Lysander's thoughts drifted to the daunting task that lay ahead. There was not much time left as he could already feel the presence of the demon albeit faintly .