Arthur surveyed the chamber, his sharp gaze absorbing every detail. The air was thick with tension, the kind that constricted the lungs and prickled the skin. Beside him, Morgan stood steadfast, her inscrutable expression masking the quiet confidence that Arthur had come to trust. The dim light of flickering torches painted shifting shadows on the cold stone walls, adding to the unease of the moment.
Before them loomed a figure cloaked in darkness, its features obscured save for the piercing gleam of its eyes. Arthur stepped forward, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
"We've come a long way for this. No riddles, no tricks. Tell us what we need to know."
A gravelly chuckle echoed from the shadows. "And what makes you think you are ready for the answers you seek? Knowledge carries a weight, Arthur—a burden not easily borne."
Morgan's voice, sharp and unyielding, sliced through the figure's posturing. "We wouldn't be here if we weren't prepared. Test us if you must, but don't waste our time."
The figure stilled, as if weighing her words. The silence stretched, taut and uneasy, until Arthur's hand instinctively drifted to the hilt of his sword. At last, the figure spoke.
"Very well. But know this: once the path is revealed, there is no turning back."
Arthur nodded, exchanging a silent agreement with Morgan. Together, they stepped forward, their resolve firm and unshaken, prepared for whatever trials awaited them.
The spell Arthur cast created a temporary path between him and Phloria, but the reprieve was fleeting. More enemies swarmed, sealing off the route within moments.
Phloria cursed under her breath, shaking off the sting of her earlier mistakes. Thorman's words echoed in her mind, their meaning now painfully clear. Most Mage Knights' spells were short-ranged, but their true strength lay in their versatility—requiring only one hand to cast.
With practiced precision, she conjured the Full Guard spell. A spherical blue aura enveloped her, its radius of 1.65 meters (5.41 feet) offering perfect coverage. It was the same spell Thorman had used, tailored to her estoc's range. Inside the sphere, no attack could catch her off guard. Whether it was spit, webs, or the claws of her enemies, the aura detected all, allowing her to strike with unerring precision.
Her estoc—her father's parting gift, forged with a secret family technique—cut through the onslaught. Its pointed tip pierced like a spear, while its single edge sliced like a katana. Each strike released bursts of darkness, her weapon tearing through the Clackers with lethal efficiency. Their tightly packed vital organs and decaying flesh made even shallow cuts fatal.
Arthur, slumped against the wall, could only watch in a venom-induced haze. His feverish mind churned incoherently. So cool… It's awesome… I need to… remember… something.
Phloria advanced relentlessly, her conjured tower shield acting as both a ram and a barrier. Reaching Arthur's side, she crouched and cast another spell Thorman had taught her. Driving her estoc into the ground, she activated Blast Guard, summoning a small flaming sphere that incinerated everything within its radius—except for the area immediately around her.
Shielded from harm, she cradled Arthur and cast a tier-three detoxification spell, her voice tight with urgency.
"Come on, come on! I can't screw up three times in one day! Snap out of it—you're the healer, not me!"
Her spell neutralized the venom's worst effects, buying Arthur the clarity to weave his own magic. He cast the same spell he had used to save the Marchioness's daughter, expelling a small orb of venom from his body. A healing spell stored in his ring followed, restoring a measure of his strength.
Arthur's lips curved into a weak grin. "If I were you, I'd start running," he quipped, his pupils still dilated.
Phloria sheathed her estoc and lifted him effortlessly in a princess carry, her cheeks flushing despite herself. She activated a flight spell stored in her ring, soaring away from the Clackers and using her floating shield to guard against aerial attacks. A roundabout path and the Concealment spell ensured they evaded pursuit, finally bringing them to safety.
Arthur, delirious but recovering, glanced up at her with a goofy smile. "Look, Morgan! My knight in shining armor saved me!"
Phloria's cheeks reddened further. "Why Morgan?" she asked, exasperated but curious.
Arthur's response was a jumble of nonsense. "Three miles due east… and I like you… date me?"
Her flush deepened, and her voice sharpened. "Why would I want to force myself on you? Who do you think you are?"
His laughter softened, and as they returned to the cave, Phloria's teammates joined in tending to Arthur. Hours later, fully cleansed of venom and clear-headed again, Arthur shared freshly cooked blinkers with the group.
Phloria broke the silence. "How far out is she?"
Arthur, now more focused, replied, "She's a mile away."
Another teammate chimed in, introducing herself. "Name's Nice. War Mage. How'd she find us?"
Arthur grinned. "I sent out magic pulses—she's tracking them."
Phloria arched an eyebrow. "And how is she?"
Arthur smiled faintly. "She's on her way."
They all readied themselves, knowing the next encounter would demand everything they had left to give.