Caught off guard, one of Henry's guards took a fatal shot to the chest. He staggered back, blood pooling beneath him as he collapsed lifelessly onto the stone floor. George barely had time to react before a flood of enemies emerged from the shadows. Dozens of figures, armed with crude yet deadly muskets, surrounded them, filling the tight space with the chilling sound of cocking weapons.
These attackers, dressed in dark, nondescript clothing, moved with practiced coordination. Though none of them were as powerful as elite fighters like George, their sheer numbers and firepower made them a serious threat. In the confines of the dungeon, where every corridor was narrow and every corner a potential ambush, even George couldn't afford to face them head-on.
The muskets, though primitive compared to other weapons, were devastating at close range. A single well-placed shot could pierce even an elite fighter's defenses. George grimaced as he realized he couldn't protect Henry and fight them off at the same time.
"If this were an open field, I'd tear through them," George muttered bitterly, his grip tightening on the weapon in his hand. "But in here, we're cornered rats."
He quickly hoisted Henry onto his back again and darted down the nearest passage, away from the hail of gunfire that erupted behind him. Bullets ricocheted off the stone walls, sending fragments of rock flying as the two narrowly escaped deeper into the labyrinth.
---
A moment later, when they found a brief respite in a quieter corridor, George set Henry down gently. The scholar's face was pale, his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. Yet his mind remained sharp, his eyes gleaming with clarity despite the chaos around them.
"Why the hell are they after us?" One of the expedition member demanded, his tone sharp as he scanned the corridor for any signs of pursuit. "The Black Council; aren't they supposed to stick to their sacrifices and weird rituals? Why are they suddenly crawling all over this dungeon?"
Henry steadied himself, leaning against the wall. "It's me," he admitted, his voice shaky but resolute. "They're after me."
George narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"Because I'm the only one in Malian City who can read the ancient texts they need. Documents related to this relic… I'm the key to understanding it," Henry explained, his voice bitter. "But now I realize, it's not just me they want. It's the relic itself. They must have learned how important this place is. If they can capture me, they'll force me to unlock its secrets and steal whatever lies inside for themselves."
George let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Great. So not only are we dealing with a cult of maniacs, but they're after something that might be even more valuable than we thought. Fantastic."
The implications hung heavily in the air. If the Black Council was willing to deploy this many people, the relic was clearly more significant than anyone had anticipated. For George, that meant the stakes were higher, but so were the dangers.
"This relic might hold exactly what I've been looking for," George murmured to himself, his expression darkening. "But if we don't get rid of those bastards, we'll never make it out alive."
His thoughts turned to Harry. They'd been separated during the chaos, with Harry taking another route alongside the hunter. Unease stirred in George's chest as he remembered the peculiar tension surrounding the hunter.
"The hunter…" George's voice trailed off, his mind racing. He recalled how close the hunter had been to the girl who had betrayed them, attacking their group without warning. The realization hit him like a hammer. "If the girl was working for the Black Council, then there's a damn good chance the hunter is too."
His fists clenched tightly. If the hunter was truly an infiltrator, then Harry was walking straight into a trap. George's gut twisted at the thought. The hunter had the perfect opportunity to strike, Harry was isolated, surrounded by darkness, and no one was around to intervene.
"If Harry dies here…" George muttered grimly, his jaw tightening. "Even if I survive, this expedition will turn into a nightmare."
But there was nothing George could do. The dungeon were vast, and any attempt to backtrack would likely get him killed. For now, all he could do was press on and hope Harry's instincts were as sharp as ever.
---
Far away, Harry had stopped walking. The air was still, the silence pressing in like a heavy weight. The dim light from his torch barely illuminated the cave walls, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to dance with malice. Behind him, the hunter's quiet footsteps came to a halt.
"You've stopped," the hunter said casually, his voice echoing faintly in the cavern. "Why? Aren't we in a hurry?"
Harry didn't answer right away. He stood there, his back to the hunter, his hand resting loosely on the hilt of his sword. The oppressive quiet grew heavier, the tension between them palpable. The only sound was the faint dripping of water somewhere deep within the cave.
"I was just thinking," Harry said at last, his voice calm and measured. "If you decided to shove me right here, in this spot… would I survive?"
The hunter stiffened slightly. The question hung in the air like a knife poised to strike.
Harry turned slowly, his piercing gaze locking onto the hunter. His face was unreadable, but his eyes burned with quiet intensity. "What do you think, Mr. Hunter?" he asked, his tone deceptively light. "Would I?"
For a moment, the hunter said nothing. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, his hesitation betraying his thoughts. But then he forced a grin, his composure returning as he waved off the question.
"Don't be ridiculous," the hunter replied, his tone light and dismissive. "Why would I do something like that? We're on the same side, aren't we?"
Harry didn't blink. He didn't smile. He simply watched the hunter, his silence louder than words.
Harry's hand remained on his sword as he followed, his instincts on high alert. Trust was a luxury he couldn't afford, not here, not now. And if the hunter made his move… Harry would be ready.
"What do you think, Mr. Hunter?"
Harry's voice cut through the silence like a blade, calm but edged with something cold and deliberate. The cavern was eerily still, the faint flicker of torchlight casting shadows that danced along the jagged walls. The words hung in the air, drawing the hunter's focus as if they carried a weight far beyond their simplicity.
The hunter hesitated. His eyes flicked toward Harry, studying his expression. Something about the young fighter's composure unnerved him. For a moment, his face betrayed uncertainty, but he quickly forced a smile, a poor attempt to mask his growing unease.
"Stop joking," he said, his voice strained but casual. "Why would you even ask something like that? It's ridiculous."
"Is it?" Harry's lips curled into a faint, almost amused smile. His gaze didn't waver, pinning the hunter in place.
"Let's put it another way," Harry continued, stepping closer. His voice dropped slightly, each word deliberate and heavy. "What do you think would happen if I pushed 'you' off this ledge right now?"
Before the hunter could respond, a brilliant flash of steel illuminated the darkness. Harry's sword was out of its sheath in an instant, the blade slicing through the air with deadly precision.
The hunter's instincts kicked in. He stumbled backward, his hand darting to the hilt of his own sword. Barely managing to parry the strike, he felt the shock of the impact reverberate through his arm.
''Bang!''
The force of the clash sent the hunter flying back, his body slamming into the stone wall behind him. Dust and debris rained down from the ceiling as the impact echoed through the cave.
"You…" the hunter gasped, his voice tinged with disbelief. His sword trembled in his hand as he steadied himself. "Your strength…"
Harry's smile remained, but there was a sharpness to it now, a predatory gleam in his eyes. The hunter's confusion deepened. This wasn't the fighter he had been briefed about. The intelligence had been clear: Harry was a newly promoted fighter, young and inexperienced. Yet the power behind that strike had been overwhelming, something far beyond what he'd anticipated.
"How did you figure it out?" the hunter demanded, his voice rising with a mix of anger and fear.
Harry took a measured step forward, the faint light catching on his blade. "Figure it out?" he echoed, as if amused by the question. "I didn't. Not entirely."
The hunter's brows furrowed. "What?"
"I just had a feeling," Harry said, his tone light, as though discussing the weather. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Something about you didn't sit right. And that was enough."
Harry's steps were slow and deliberate, his silhouette looming larger as he moved into the light. "This place is remote," he continued, his voice calm but laced with menace. "If you die here, you die. No one will ever know what happened."
The hunter froze, the realization hitting him like a hammer. He was supposed to be the one setting the trap, but now he felt as though the roles had reversed. The hunter had become the prey.
Before he could react, Harry lunged again. This strike came faster, harder, the blade arcing down with lethal intent. The air seemed to hum with the sheer force behind it.
The hunter barely managed to throw himself to the side, the sword grazing his shoulder as he dodged. His mind raced, panic setting in. This wasn't a fight he could win; not here, not against this opponent.
"Damn it!" the hunter cursed under his breath. He had to act fast.
As Harry advanced for another strike, the hunter hurled a small object to the ground. ''Boom!'' A thick cloud of smoke erupted, billowing outward and filling the cavern with a noxious, choking fog. The acrid scent stung Harry's eyes and throat, forcing him to pause and pull back slightly.
"Coward," Harry growled, his voice cutting through the smoke. His annoyance was palpable, but his movements remained steady as he adjusted his stance, his sword ready for another attack.
But the hunter didn't stick around. Using the smoke as cover, he bolted, his boots pounding against the stone as he fled deeper into the dungeon. Fear gnawed at him, pushing him forward. The memory of Harry's strikes was fresh in his mind, each one a reminder of just how close he had come to death.
"Staying here is suicide," the hunter muttered to himself, his breath ragged as he sprinted. "I'll regroup. I'll find reinforcements. Anything but staying here…"
The sound of his retreat faded into the distance, swallowed by the endless tunnels.
---
As the smoke began to dissipate, Harry emerged, his figure calm and composed. He lowered his blade, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring in the direction the hunter had fled.
Then, a faint smile crept across his lips. "Running, are we?" he said softly, almost to himself. "That's fine. I enjoy a good chase."
Without hesitation, Harry began to follow, his steps purposeful and unhurried. He wasn't worried. The hunter could run, but there were only so many places to hide. And when Harry caught up, there would be no more smoke, no more tricks.
The chase had only just begun.