Chapter 33: Hands of Scouting
The guild hall's usual clamor was subdued, replaced by a low, anxious hum. Adventurers clustered in tight groups, their conversations hushed. The quest board was a patchwork of hastily nailed emergency notices, their red seals standing out like wounds on the parchment.
Azazel and Reginleif had barely crossed the threshold when a guild officer with a harried expression intercepted them. "Azazel. Reginleif. Good, you're here." His voice was grave. "We have an emergency. Our investigation unit was mapping the 26th floor of Fresh Tears. Only two made it back."
He thrust a scroll into Azazel's hands. "Bloody raptors. They've overrun the entire floor—vicious, fast, and hunting in coordinated packs. We're issuing an emergency extermination quest. Secure the area. This is critical."
Azazel scanned the scroll, his expression neutral. The 26th floor. the ruined scroll had hinted at. Past the point where the dungeon itself had begun to fight back. He exchanged a glance with Reginleif. Her subtle nod was all the confirmation he needed.
"Understood," Azazel said, his voice flat. "We'll handle it."
Reginleif moved to the counter to formalize the acceptance. The dog-eared receptionist, usually cheerful, looked worried. "Are you sure? Just the two of you going that deep? It's… it's a slaughterhouse down there."
Before Reginleif could answer, a voice cut in from the side. "Maybe they don't have to go alone."
A party of four adventurers approached. They moved with the easy coordination of a seasoned team. A broad-shouldered man with a scarred tower shield led, followed by a lithe woman with keen eyes, an archer checking his bowstring, and a mage with a grimoire at his hip.
The receptionist's ears perked up. "Oh! Reginleif, this is the 'Hands of Scouting.' They're a capable Bronze-rank team. You could join forces for this."
Reginleif turned, offering a small, polite bow. "I am Reginleif. The guy over there…" She gestured, then paused. Azazel was no longer standing by the board. She spotted him across the hall, already seated at a table, methodically eating a meat pie as if the surrounding tension were mere background noise. "…is my partner, Azazel."
The large tank of the group, Kael, grinned. "We know you. The rising stars who cleared the 20th-floor Boss. So Cool." The scout, Rin, chimed in, her tone curious. "Yeah, and then you kinda vanished. Started taking all those low-rank harvesting quests."
"I didn't know we were considered stars," Reginleif said, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. So that's why he's been avoiding the dungeon spotlight. He doesn't like being seen. She couldn't blame him. Someone whose power stemmed from a Mythic of shadow and negation would naturally shun the light of attention.
The mage, Joren, elbowed Rin gently. "Manners. I apologize for my companions." He placed a hand on his chest. "I am Joren. Our heavy anchor is Kael. Our eyes and ears are Rin, and our sharpshooter is Tarin. A pleasure."
"The pleasure is mine," Reginleif replied.
The receptionist nodded, looking relieved. "So, it's settled? A joint operation? The Hands of Scouting are Bronze, but don't let that fool you. They're very capable. I quite like them."
"Refreshing to talk to some normal people," Reginleif said, almost to herself.
The guild girl leaned in slightly, whispering. "What about Azazel? Will he agree to a party?"
"I think you know his personality," Reginleif replied.
"I don't know him like you do."
Reginleif's brow furrowed slightly. "Is that supposed to mean something?"
She was interrupted by Azazel appearing beside them, wiping his hands on a cloth. "So. Do we get the job?"
"Yes," the receptionist said, her expression turning solemn. "Happy hunting. And please… come back alive."
Azazel gave a single, curt nod and turned to leave. "So, Reginleif, we should—"
She cut him off, stepping into his path. "We're going with a party. The Hands of Scouting. For this quest."
Azazel stared at her for a long second. "I can clearly see that"
She moved closer, her voice dropping to a low, urgent murmur only he could hear. "Do not reveal the nature of your Mythic. Keep the darkness contained. Some people… wouldn't be able to handle the amount of negation you can unleash in a proper fight. It would frighten them."
A faint, cynical smile touched his lips. "Wasn't the whole point of your teaching to control my output? Or did you forget?"
"No, I didn't forget. But sometimes you just… unleash," she insisted. "I want to socialize with other people without having to explain why my partner sometimes looks like a walking piece of the void."
Azazel's shoulders relaxed a fraction. He understood the boundary she was drawing. "Okay. I get it. You want me on my 'good boy' behavior. Be normal. Don't freak out the normies."
Reginleif sighed. "If you're 'normal,' it's going to mean me making most of the conversation while you just… don't talk."
"How did you know that was my plan?" he said, the smile finally reaching his eyes. It was a rare, genuine expression of amusement. "Haha."
---
The descent through the upper levels was tense but uneventful. The guild's emergency notice had cleared the usual traffic, and the lower floors felt abandoned, the silence broken only by the eerie, distant drip of water crystallizing into stone. The party moved with practiced efficiency: Kael and Azazel at the front, Tarin and Joren in the center, with Rin and Reginleif ranging slightly ahead on the flanks.
They reached the 18th floor, a cavern glittering with pale blue and violet crystal formations. It was here, in the relative calm, that Reginleif's green scarf stirred faintly, though there was no draft. She held up a closed fist, the signal to halt.
"Stop," she whispered, her voice barely audible yet carrying clearly in the still air. Her head was tilted, listening to something only her wind-sense could detect. "A group. Not directly hostile yet… but moving into an intercept path. Crystal Crawlers on the ceiling to the left, a few Mist Wisps drifting near that large geode, and… something heavier, slow, among the larger crystal clusters ahead. A weakened Tearroot Ent, maybe."
Kael hefted his shield, a eager grin spreading across his face. He glanced at his team, then back at Azazel and Reginleif. "Let us handle this. Consider it a… demonstration. So you know the hands you're shaking."
So that's it, Azazel thought, his expression impassive. They think we're the hotshot newcomers. They need to prove they're not dead weight. Pride. He gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod to Reginleif.
She understood. "Are you sure?" she asked the group, her tone neutral. "We can engage together."
"We're sure," Rin said, her fingers already threading a thin, nearly invisible wire between two stalagmites. "We've handled worse on a bad day. Just watch our flanks."
"Alright," Reginleif said, melting back a few steps, her form seeming to blur slightly where the green scarf met the shifting crystal-light. "I'll support from the rear. Call if you need a pivot."
Azazel didn't speak. He simply stepped sideways, his dark leathers and light-drinking gloves causing him to fade into the deep shadow of a towering amethyst formation. He became a spectator, a ghost in the wings.
---
The Hands of Scouting moved like a well-oiled machine.
"Contact!" Rin called as a skittering sound echoed. Three Crystal Crawlers, each the size of a large dog, detached from the ceiling, their chitinous bodies clicking as they scuttled down the wall towards the party's left flank.
"Joren, light 'em up! Tarin, pins!" Kael boomed, planting his feet.
"Lumina Burst!" Joren incanted. The gentle orb above his shoulder flared, flooding the left-side cavern with stark, blinding light. The crawlers recoiled, their light-sensitive eyes overwhelmed.
Twang. Twang. Twang.
Tarin's arrows were not lethal shots. They were surgical strikes. Each shaft thudded into a joint—a leg-hinge, a claw-articulation—pinning the creatures to the wall and floor, immobilizing them with shrieks of crystalline agony.
From the right, the two Mist Wisps, drawn by the commotion, drifted closer. Their forms shimmered, and the air grew cold, threatening to sap warmth and strength.
"On it!" Rin darted forward, not towards the wisps, but to a brittle-looking, moisture-slick stalactite. She kicked its base hard, then leapt back. With a crack, it fell, shattering on the ground right beneath the drifting wisps. The impact sent a shockwave of damp air and crystal dust upward. Disoriented, the wisps swirled chaotically, their chilling aura disrupted.
Now, the main event. From behind a curtain of jagged quartz, the Weakened Tearroot Ent emerged. It was a shambling mound of petrified wood and glowing crystal sap, one arm a shattered stump, its movements slow and groaning. It wasn't aggressive, but it stood directly in their path, and its remaining good arm, a club of knotted wood, rose in a defensive warning.
"Kael, now!" Joren called, his fingers weaving a new pattern.
"Stonebind!" Tendrils of earth magic snaked from the floor, wrapping around the Ent's root-like feet, slowing it further.
Kael let out a roar and charged, not with wild abandon, but with a devastating, focused power. His tower shield slammed into the Ent's midsection with a sound like a falling tree. The creature staggered. As it reeled, Kael dropped his shield's edge, drew a massive hand-axe from his belt, and with three brutal, precise chops, severed the crystal-laden tendons at the back of its good knee.
The Ent crashed to the ground with a ground-shaking thud, defeated but not slain.
The entire engagement took less than thirty seconds. No spells were wasted, no movement was superfluous. It was a display of clean, professional crowd control and takedown.
---
Reginleif, true to her word, had supported from the periphery. When one of the pinned Crawlers managed to wrench an arrow free and lunged at Tarin's blind spot, a gust of wind—sharp and focused—kicked up a cloud of crystal grit into its multifaceted eyes, causing it to miss its pounce by inches. Tarin, without turning, put his next arrow through its head. He gave a slight nod in Reginleif's general direction.
Azazel, from the shadows, had done less, but his presence was a tactical net. His Shadow Sense had traced the vibrations through the crystal floor, confirming no other threats approached. His focus had been on Joren. The mage was competent, but his concentration was entirely forward. Azazel had seen a fourth Crystal Crawler, clever and patient, circling high on the ceiling far behind them, waiting for the mage to exhaust his focus. Azazel didn't intervene. Instead, he let a single, whisper-thin tendril of darkness—You Shadow—coil like a vine up the wall behind the mage. It didn't attack. It simply rested, a hair's breadth from the crawling thing's underbelly, a silent threat. The creature froze, sensing the unnatural cold, then skittered away into a crevice, abandoning its ambush.
The fight was over. The Hands of Scouting stood amidst their disabled foes, breathing steadily. They had taken no damage, expended minimal resources, and demonstrated flawless teamwork.
Kael turned, wiping his axe clean, his chest puffed out just a little. "See? Nothing to worry about. We've got this."
Reginleif stepped forward, her expression one of genuine respect. "Efficient. Well-coordinated. You fight like a single entity." It was high praise from her.
Azazel emerged from the shadows, his return so smooth he seemed to simply condense out of the dark. He looked at the disabled monsters, then at the proud party. His analysis was complete. "Good control," he stated, his voice flat. "You minimize risk. That's smart."
His compliment, while delivered like a stock report, was sincere. They were professionals. They had passed his initial assessment. But in his mind, the calculation continued. They fight textbook. Predictable to each other, maybe predictable to an enemy that watches. Their strength is cohesion. Their weakness might be the same.
He caught Reginleif's eye. A silent message passed between them. They're capable. We can trust them with the obvious threats. But the moment something breaks the textbook… that's when our real work begins.
"Let's keep moving," Azazel said, gesturing towards the downward path. "The real test is still twenty floors down."
End of chapter 33