Chapter 187
The smoke and drifting haze clung stubbornly to the fractured wall of the Second Gate, a rolling ocean of gray ash and pulverized stone that blurred outlines and swallowed sound. Yet beneath its suffocating veil, the shape of victory had already been carved into the ruins. What had once stood as an unyielding bulwark of the undead horde now lay in ruin, its shattered battlements buried beneath rubble and fire, its skeletal defenders strewn across the industrial quarter like discarded fragments of brittle bone. The once-deafening chorus of war, the pounding of armored feet, the shrieks of Death Cavaliers, the endless rattling of undead spears had dulled into a hollow silence, broken only by the groan of collapsing stone and the hiss of lingering flames.
The final pulse of the Chaos Shard's energy flickered and died, its unnatural amplification fading like the last echo of thunder after a storm. Across the battlefield, the guild's long-range casters gradually lowered their arms, their spell circles dimming as fatigue settled into their limbs.
For five minutes they had hurled firestorms, torrents of ice, and lances of lightning with a ferocity few could maintain under normal circumstances but now, with the shard's surge dissipated, the price of such reckless output weighed heavy upon them. Mana reservoirs lay depleted, breaths came ragged, and the steady rhythm of their incantations faltered into silence. Even so, Daniel's expression softened with satisfaction. The veterans under Addison Lazarus had proven themselves; their destructive magic had torn gaping holes through undead formations, their discipline and timing equal to anything he could demand.
And yet, the veterans themselves found their focus drawn not to their own feats, but to Daniel. His unrelenting barrage of plasma bullets had outshone even their finest spells, his glowing hands cutting down foes with a precision and rate of fire that seemed almost mechanical. It was as if he wielded a weapon from another world a high-powered quad-barreled minigun of searing light, spitting destruction without pause. The glowing aura that lingered around his fingers, faint arcs of residual plasma sparking across his gauntlets, testified to the inhuman consistency of his assault.
Among those who watched in awe was a grizzled figure, scarred but steady, a veteran not only of the game but of real wars fought long before Arcane Crusade had blurred the line between soldier and player. Russel Cross, a retired soldier of forty-eight years, stepped forward through the rubble-strewn ground, his eyes fixed on Daniel not with envy, but with the keen appraisal of a man who recognized the unmistakable rhythm of a sustained weapon. His voice, roughened by age and smoke, carried a soldier's directness.
"How," Russel asked, wiping dust from his brow as he drew nearer, "can you fire that many projectiles without pause? No chant, no delay, no break to recover? That rate of fire shouldn't even be possible for a mage."
Daniel's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, the kind that belonged to a man who had anticipated the question long before it was asked. He lowered his glowing hand slowly, the last sparks of plasma fading into the drifting fog, and met Russel's gaze with the calm certainty of a commander explaining the obvious to one who should already know.
"There's no such thing as a true cooldown," Daniel said, his voice level but carrying across the hushed battlefield. "It's not a law of magic. It's a limitation players imposed on themselves. What you call cooldown is nothing more than the time it takes for a caster's body to recover the mana they've spent. If your body can restore that energy fast enough " his eyes narrowed, the faint shimmer of plasma flickering once again across his fingertips, " then there is no need to wait. No pause. No interruption. Spells can be fired endlessly, as long as your mana holds."
Russel's eyes narrowed in understanding, the soldier in him recognizing the truth for what it was. Daniel continued, his words flowing like instruction, but also warning.
"Mana potions can answer the problem, yes. They replenish what the body cannot. But potions are a crutch, not a foundation. The real question isn't how quickly you drink, but how deep your reservoir runs. How much mana can you store in your veins? How much strain can your body withstand before it tears itself apart?" His hand flexed open, the faint glow of plasma pulsing between his fingers like a heartbeat. "That is the difference. Most casters spend more time waiting for recovery than casting. I've removed that obstacle."
Around them, guild veterans exchanged uneasy glances, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten as the reality of his explanation settled upon them. For years they had treated cooldowns as unshakable rules, unchanging constants of spellcasting. Yet here was proof standing before them, a man who had rewritten those very limits by sheer mastery of his body and mana.
Russel, ever the soldier, said nothing further. But in his silence there was both respect and a quiet recognition of danger for men who could ignore the boundaries of exhaustion were either saviors or monsters.
Charllote Lazarus pushed her way through the lingering haze, her armor scorched, her face pale from exhaustion, yet her steps carried the steady authority of one who bore the voice of many behind her. She stopped at Daniel's side, brushing dust from her cloak as her eyes swept over the broken wall of the Second Gate and the long road ahead. Her tone was firm but laced with concern.
"Daniel," she said, her voice carrying over the mutter of tired players behind her, "we should set up camp. The others are asking. no, begging, for rest. They've fought hard, and most are drained of mana. Even the veterans can barely stand."
Daniel did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned slowly, raising one hand to point toward the looming silhouettes ahead. The tall industrial structures rose like black giants from the ash-choked ground, chimneys jutting into the gray sky, their jagged shadows twisting in the smoke. Massive warehouses and rusting factories lined both sides of the broad stone road that stretched like a scar toward the Third Gate.
"Do you see those factories?" Daniel's voice was calm, but beneath it ran an edge of steel. "Undead still prowl inside. Hundreds, maybe thousands. This road this main artery leads directly to the Third Gate, but it is far from safe. If we camp here, if we rest here, then every factory and every tower around us becomes a nest waiting to collapse upon our heads. Resting here is suicide."
Charllote frowned, her lips parting to argue, but Daniel raised his hand again, cutting her off, his gaze still fixed upon the ruined skyline.
"What we just did," Daniel continued, his tone sharpening into command, "was not luck. It was a blessing of calculation. I took every scrap of information we had—the fog, the Chaos Shards, the enemy's formation—and I turned it into a path that carried us halfway to the Third Gate without a single casualty. Halfway." He turned back toward her now, his eyes hard, his voice carrying across the weary players who had gathered behind. "But do not mistake this for victory."
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the crackle of distant fire. Bonnie and Cody, both standing a few paces back, exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing. Their silence carried weight, an unspoken understanding that something was wrong.
Daniel let the silence hang before he spoke again, his words cutting through the smoke like a blade. "Tell me… did you hear the announcement?"
The question rippled through the players, confusion flashing across their weary faces.
"The announcement?" Charllote repeated, brow furrowed.
"Yes," Daniel said. "The confirmation that the Second Gate quest is cleared." His eyes swept the group, watching their faces, searching for understanding. "Did anyone hear it?"
Bonnie shifted uncomfortably, her hand tightening on the grip of her staff. Cody stared at the ground, lips pressed into a thin line. Neither spoke, but their silence was answer enough.
Daniel's jaw tightened, and he let the weight of his words fall heavy upon them. "See? There is no confirmation. Meaning the quest is still ongoing."
Charllote's eyes widened, her exhaustion instantly replaced with alarm. "What?!" she exclaimed, her voice sharp with disbelief. "But the Second Gate is down, we destroyed it! The defenders are gone! How can the quest not be cleared?"
Daniel's gaze turned back to the factories, his expression grim, as if he could already see what lurked within the steel husks and broken chimneys.
"Because," he said, his voice low but carrying, "the Second Gate was never just a wall."
Charllote's eyes narrowed, her voice sharp and incredulous. "You mean to tell me… all that, everything we did to break the Gate, was only the first step?" She gestured toward the wreckage around them, the shattered battlements, the scattered bones, the flames that still licked at the rubble. Her voice cut through the smoke like a blade. "We've fought tooth and nail, half the mages can't even stand, and now you're saying the real fight hasn't even begun?"
Daniel drew breath to reply, but before he could speak, another voice rose from the rear of the group, calm, steady, carrying the weight of age and reason.
"Please… understand Daniel's words."
It was Alexsei Sokolov, his frail body seated in the heavy steel of his wheelchair, pushed forward by his lumbering Golem whose stone hands gripped the handles like pillars. Despite the ruin around them, Alexsei's eyes were sharp, the glint of an old strategist who had survived more wars than most players could imagine.
"Remember what he told us," Alexsei continued, his voice firm despite his weathered lungs. "The quest scenario can change. It has always been so. While everyone was busy fighting, nobody thought to ask where the boss was. None of us saw him. That alone should have been warning enough." He gestured with a trembling hand toward the smoldering gate. "It means the Warden monster has not yet awakened. That is why the system has given us no confirmation."
The weight of his words hung heavy, and for the first time, the tired guild members shifted uneasily, doubt creeping into their already weary minds.
Addison Lazarus, ever the calm anchor of the veterans, stepped forward, his tone sharp, interrogative. "Charllote… how many times did you play this quest when it was still just a game?"
Charllote blinked, caught off guard by the sudden turn. "Once," she admitted. "Only once."
Addison's gaze swept across the others. "What about the rest of you? How many times?"
Natasha Sokolov, standing at her cousin's side, crossed her arms, her silver eyes reflecting the dull glow of the fires. "My team ran it twice. The first time we failed. Lost to the Warden outright."
Daniel's attention snapped to her. "Where did you face him? Where was the Warden?"
Natasha turned and raised her arm, pointing toward the collapsed, sealed ruins of the Second Gate. "There. He came out directly through the wall and joined the five hundred-strong undead army. We were crushed before we even understood what was happening.
" She lowered her arm and then pointed again, this time to the west, where a tall factory still belched faint plumes of gray smoke into the dusk sky.
Its jagged roofline stood in stark contrast to the ruins around it, its metal frames groaning under some unseen weight. "But on our second attempt… the Warden did not appear at the gate at all. He emerged from that factory, about a hundred meters west of where we stand now. The entire battlefield shifted around him. It was a slaughterhouse until we adapted."
A chill rippled through the guild as the truth sank in.
Daniel's eyes hardened. "Exactly. Different locations. Different triggers. That is why so many failed this quest. Not because the Warden was undefeatable… but because the conditions are never the same twice."
Charllote's eyes narrowed, her voice sharp and incredulous. "You mean to tell me… all that, everything we did to break the Gate, was only the first step?" She gestured toward the wreckage around them, the shattered battlements, the scattered bones, the flames that still licked at the rubble. Her voice cut through the smoke like a blade. "We've fought tooth and nail, half the mages can't even stand, and now you're saying the real fight hasn't even begun?"
Daniel drew breath to reply, but before he could speak, another voice rose from the rear of the group, calm, steady, carrying the weight of age and reason.
"Please… understand Daniel's words."
It was Alexsei Sokolov, his frail body seated in the heavy steel of his wheelchair, pushed forward by his lumbering Golem whose stone hands gripped the handles like pillars. Despite the ruin around them, Alexsei's eyes were sharp, the glint of an old strategist who had survived more wars than most players could imagine.
"Remember what he told us," Alexsei continued, his voice firm despite his weathered lungs. "The quest scenario can change. It has always been so. While everyone was busy fighting, nobody thought to ask where the boss was. None of us saw him. That alone should have been warning enough." He gestured with a trembling hand toward the smoldering gate. "It means the Warden monster has not yet awakened. That is why the system has given us no confirmation."
The weight of his words hung heavy, and for the first time, the tired guild members shifted uneasily, doubt creeping into their already weary minds.
Addison Lazarus, ever the calm anchor of the veterans, stepped forward, his tone sharp, interrogative. "Charllote… how many times did you play this quest when it was still just a game?"
Charllote blinked, caught off guard by the sudden turn. "Once," she admitted. "Only once."
Addison's gaze swept across the others. "What about the rest of you? How many times?"
Natasha Sokolov, standing at her cousin's side, crossed her arms, her silver eyes reflecting the dull glow of the fires. "My team ran it twice. The first time we failed. Lost to the Warden outright."
Daniel's attention snapped to her. "Where did you face him? Where was the Warden?"
Natasha turned and raised her arm, pointing toward the collapsed, sealed ruins of the Second Gate. "There. He came out directly through the wall and joined the five hundred-strong undead army. We were crushed before we even understood what was happening." She lowered her arm and then pointed again, this time to the west, where a tall factory still belched faint plumes of gray smoke into the dusk sky. Its jagged roofline stood in stark contrast to the ruins around it, its metal frames groaning under some unseen weight. "But on our second attempt… the Warden did not appear at the gate at all. He emerged from that factory, about a hundred meters west of where we stand now. The entire battlefield shifted around him. It was a slaughterhouse until we adapted."
A chill rippled through the guild as the truth sank in.
Daniel's eyes hardened. "Exactly. Different locations. Different triggers. That is why so many failed this quest. Not because the Warden was undefeatable… but because the conditions are never the same twice."
Charllote's eyes narrowed, her voice sharp and incredulous. "You mean to tell me… all that, everything we did to break the Gate, was only the first step?" She gestured toward the wreckage around them, the shattered battlements, the scattered bones, the flames that still licked at the rubble. Her voice cut through the smoke like a blade. "We've fought tooth and nail, half the mages can't even stand, and now you're saying the real fight hasn't even begun?"
Daniel drew breath to reply, but before he could speak, another voice rose from the rear of the group—calm, steady, carrying the weight of age and reason.
"Please… understand Daniel's words."
It was Alexsei Sokolov, his frail body seated in the heavy steel of his wheelchair, pushed forward by his lumbering Golem whose stone hands gripped the handles like pillars. Despite the ruin around them, Alexsei's eyes were sharp, the glint of an old strategist who had survived more wars than most players could imagine.
"Remember what he told us," Alexsei continued, his voice firm despite his weathered lungs. "The quest scenario can change. It has always been so. While everyone was busy fighting, nobody thought to ask where the boss was. None of us saw him. That alone should have been warning enough." He gestured with a trembling hand toward the smoldering gate. "It means the Warden monster has not yet awakened. That is why the system has given us no confirmation."
The weight of his words hung heavy, and for the first time, the tired guild members shifted uneasily, doubt creeping into their already weary minds.
Addison Lazarus, ever the calm anchor of the veterans, stepped forward, his tone sharp, interrogative. "Charllote… how many times did you play this quest when it was still just a game?"
Charllote blinked, caught off guard by the sudden turn. "Once," she admitted. "Only once."
Addison's gaze swept across the others. "What about the rest of you? How many times?"
Natasha Sokolov, standing at her cousin's side, crossed her arms, her silver eyes reflecting the dull glow of the fires. "My team ran it twice. The first time we failed. Lost to the Warden outright."
Daniel's attention snapped to her. "Where did you face him? Where was the Warden?"
Natasha turned and raised her arm, pointing toward the collapsed, sealed ruins of the Second Gate. "There. He came out directly through the wall and joined the five hundred-strong undead army. We were crushed before we even understood what was happening." She lowered her arm and then pointed again, this time to the west, where a tall factory still belched faint plumes of gray smoke into the dusk sky.
Its jagged roofline stood in stark contrast to the ruins around it, its metal frames groaning under some unseen weight. "But on our second attempt… the Warden did not appear at the gate at all. He emerged from that factory, about a hundred meters west of where we stand now. The entire battlefield shifted around him. It was a slaughterhouse until we adapted."
A chill rippled through the guild as the truth sank in.
Daniel's eyes hardened. "Exactly. Different locations. Different triggers. That is why so many failed this quest. Not because the Warden was undefeatable… but because the conditions are never the same twice."
Alexsei Sokolov nodded grimly. "And if we set up camp here, on open ground, with that factory still active, we'll be trampled the moment he awakens. That is why players struggled to clear this. The quest was designed to break expectations to constantly change."
The words settled heavily over the exhausted company. The silence that followed was not from relief but from the weight of inevitability. Somewhere in the steel bones of the factories, the Warden stirred, waiting for the moment to make himself known.
And as the last echoes of Natasha's explanation faded, the ground beneath their boots gave a faint, shuddering tremor as though something deep within the industrial quarter had just drawn its first breath.
The ground gave a low, grinding shudder beneath their boots, faint but steady, like the heartbeat of something immense stirring in its sleep. Dust trickled down from the jagged lip of the broken gate wall, and from the direction of the western factory, the metal skeletons of its towers groaned and rattled as if strained by an unseen weight. Shadows inside shifted. too slow, too deliberate to be tricks of the light.
A rumble carried through the steel and stone, more felt in their bones than heard, a vibration that turned the air brittle. The faint clang of chains echoed from deep within the factory, followed by a long, dragging scrape, like claws pulling across concrete. The players fell silent, weapons clenched tight, every eye straining toward the dark maw of the factory doors.
Daniel raised his hand, his voice steady though the tremors beneath them grew more pronounced. "Do you feel that?" His gaze swept across the guild leaders. "The quest is changing again. The Warden is stirring." He turned sharply to Charlotte, Mary Kaye, Natasha, Addison, and Alexsei. "All of you guild leaders step forward. We need to talk before panic eats us alive."
Charlotte exchanged a look with Jacob, her sub-captain and retired mother by her side, the lines of exhaustion and defiance warring on her face. Natasha's older brother, Alexsei Sokolov, shifted in his wheelchair, the massive stone golem at his back pushing him forward with silent loyalty. Addison Lazarus, his hands still faintly glowing from spent spells, tightened his jaw, and Natasha herself moved beside her brother, the crest of her guild the White Devil catching the dim light.
Daniel let his hand fall to his side, his tone low but piercing enough to reach the ears of the gathered players. "What you're feeling, the tension, the irritation, the sudden urge to argue or resist orders that isn't just exhaustion. It's the Warden's influence seeping into your minds. The Second Gate Warden has another name… The Defiler Warden."
Murmurs erupted through the crowd, some snapping their heads toward each other with suspicion, others clutching their weapons tighter. Daniel's gaze hardened. "It's not only a monster of flesh and bone. It defiles will, poisons resolve, and turns unity into division. That's why the Second Gate was always harder to clear. Not because of strength… but because it makes us fight ourselves."
The tremor came again, stronger, rattling broken glass and making the nearest lampposts sway. A deep, guttural howl vibrated from the factory's black throat, and for a moment, the players could swear they saw a massive shadow unfurl against the far wall inside too large to belong to anything human.
Daniel drew a sharp breath and addressed the guild leaders directly. "We can set up camp here, wait, and be trampled when it wakes… or we face the truth of what's coming. But first, I need to know can your people resist it? Or will you let the Defiler Warden break us before the battle even begins?"
Charlotte was the first to step forward, her boots crunching on the rubble. Her face was pale, streaked with soot and sweat, but her eyes burned sharp with disbelief. "You mean to tell me it's already inside our heads?" Her voice trembled, not from fear but outrage. "I thought the bickering was stress, exhaustion players being players. But if this… Defiler Warden can twist our will before it even shows its face…" She clenched her fist, knuckles whitening. "Then we're already standing on a knife's edge."
Jacob, standing just behind her, placed a hand on her shoulder, his old soldier's calm anchoring her spiraling thoughts. "Charlotte," he said quietly, "he's right. Look at us—we've been sniping at each other more in the last ten minutes than we did in the entire siege." His eyes lifted to Daniel. "If that thing feeds on division, we can't afford to give it what it wants."
Mary Kaye stepped forward next, her expression hard, her tone clipped as she addressed Daniel directly. "Then why didn't you tell us sooner?" she demanded. Her players behind her shuffled uneasily at her sharpness, some glaring at Daniel as if they'd been betrayed. But even as she snapped, her voice cracked with something else beneath fear. "We marched through hell to break that wall. Half of us can't even stand, and now you want us to believe the real fight hasn't even started?"
Daniel met her gaze steadily. "Because if I'd told you before the Gate fell, panic would've torn us apart faster than the undead." His words hit like stone dropped in water, rippling through the crowd. "Now at least, we've seen what we can do together. And that matters."
Addison Lazarus adjusted his cloak, his weary but calculating eyes narrowing. "I can confirm what Daniel's saying. The Defiler was always a… wildcard in the original quest. My veterans remember strange inconsistencies each run. Players fought in different places, died to different strategies, sometimes even lost their minds mid-battle. We dismissed it as bugs." His lip curled bitterly. "But it wasn't a bug. It was the Warden."
Alexsei Sokolov let out a slow, rattling breath from his seat, his golem's heavy footsteps thudding as it pushed him closer. His voice was quiet, but it carried. "We already feel its hand, comrades. The shadows in that factory are moving, and the chains have started singing. The Warden is calling. Whether we believe Daniel or not is irrelevant our bodies already know the truth." His pale fingers tapped the wheel of his chair, steady as a drumbeat. "The choice isn't if it's real. The choice is if we will break before it does."
Natasha stepped forward last, her chin raised with the kind of defiance only hard-earned losses could carve into someone. "My guild fought it twice. I watched friends cut each other down when they turned on each other under its influence." She pointed toward the west corner, where the factory loomed like a steel mausoleum. "That's where it came for us the second time. Different spawn, different horrors, but the same corruption in our minds. If Daniel says it's stirring, then he's right." Her gaze cut sharp toward the gathered players. "You all feel it too, don't you? The urge to argue, the pull of defiance? That isn't you. That's it."
A silence fell, heavy and suffocating. The only sound was the groan of steel and the low, guttural vibration coming from the factory.
Daniel finally stepped forward, his voice calm but heavy with urgency. "Listen to me—all of you. The Defiler Warden thrives on doubt, fear, and rebellion. Every raised voice, every second you hesitate, it grows stronger. You think you're fighting each other—but you're feeding it." He pointed at the looming silhouette behind the factory's broken windows, where something massive shifted in the darkness. "If we let it finish awakening while we're divided, we won't stand a chance. Not here. Not anywhere."
Another tremor rolled under their feet, this one stronger, making loose stones skitter across the ground. From within the factory came the hollow, thunderous clang of something vast slamming against iron. A shadow unfurled against the smoke-streaked wall—massive, jagged, and unmistakably alive.
The silence did not hold. It cracked thin at first, like glass under strain and then began to splinter into voices, sharp and cutting.
One of the White Devil guild members muttered, "He knew all along… held it back until now," glaring at Daniel. Another spat, "Convenient, isn't it? He just happens to know the Warden's tricks no one else saw. Maybe he's the one manipulating us."
The ripple spread fast. Suspicion turned to accusation, tired minds turning vicious under the unseen weight pressing down on them. A mage from Mary Kaye's guild shoved a warrior aside, snarling, "You were eyeing me during the fight! Waiting for me to drop so you could steal my loot!" The warrior shoved back, blade half-raised.
Charlotte spun, shouting, "Stop it! This isn't you, it's the Warden " but her voice barely cut through the rising clamor.
Daniel stepped forward, planting himself in the center, his presence like a wall against the crumbling unity. His tone was sharp, commanding, but measured like iron hammered into shape. "Enough." The single word carried more force than the shouting, pulling dozens of eyes toward him.
He pointed at the factory where the chains groaned louder, the silhouette behind the smoke dragging itself closer to the light. "You feel that weight in your chest? That need to argue, to accuse, to tear each other apart? That isn't your will. That isn't your anger. That's the Defiler's hand inside your skull." His hand tightened into a fist, glowing faintly with residual mana, like a lantern in the fog. "And every second you give in, it grows stronger."
A hush, brittle and uneven, followed his words. The players glanced uneasily at one another, breaths shallow, faces taut with the war inside their minds.
Daniel's gaze swept across them, unflinching. "You fought like gods at that wall. You brought down an army, shattered the Gate. That wasn't the Warden's doing, that was you. Do not dishonor what you've already bled for by handing it victory before the battle even begins."
Another tremor shuddered through the ruins, stronger than before. The factory's windows burst outward with a deafening crack, shards of glass raining across the road as a roar bellowed from within, low, guttural, and laced with malice. The shadow inside lurched forward, vast limbs scraping against steel, chains snapping as though they were twine.
Daniel raised his blade, voice cutting through the terror rising like smoke. "Hold your ground. Steel your minds. The Defiler Warden is awake."
The air thickened like tar as the Warden's corruption spread—unseen but undeniable. One moment the guild stood together in tense silence, the next, personalities began to fracture like glass under a hammer.
A healer who minutes ago was soothing the wounded now screamed at his comrades, accusing them of sabotage. A pair of frontliners shoved each other, fists clenched, eyes wide with paranoia. Mary Kaye's second-in-command suddenly drew his blade, voice dripping venom as he declared her unfit to lead. Even the most disciplined veterans shook with rage or suspicion, muttering, glaring, their stances turning hostile.
Daniel's eyes narrowed. Too fast. He had expected this, but not at this speed. The Defiler Warden was accelerating its influence, turning the guild against itself before its body even broke free of the factory walls. If he did nothing now, they'd tear themselves apart without the enemy lifting a finger.
He closed his eyes briefly, activating Resonant Perception. A faint vibration spread out from him, invisible ripples washing over the players like waves across water. Their minds lit up to his senses—distorted, cracked, drowning in malice not their own. But among them burned ten steady flames, untouched by the Warden's corruption.
His vision sharpened. The White Devil guild. Natasha stood like a spear planted in the ground, unyielding, her aura clear and bright despite the shadows pressing in. Beside her, Alexsei Sokolov, pale but steady, sat in his wheelchair, his golem bracing the handles as though it too shared its master's will. Around them, eight other White Devil mages held firm, their thoughts calm, their focus unbroken.
Daniel exhaled in relief ten anchors in a storm of madness. That was enough.
Without hesitation, he sent his consciousness outward, threads of will latching onto the crumbling minds of the guild. Telepathy. His voice resonated within their skulls, low and commanding, leaving no room for doubt or rebellion.
As one, the eight White Devil mages lifted their hands. Runes spiraled in the air, weaving through the stillness like chains of silver light. Their voices overlapped, echoing in eerie harmony.
"Middle Tier Sleep."
The spell struck like a silent wave. Its effect was immediate. Warriors sagged against their shields, healers dropped their staves mid-chant, and rogues crumpled as if their strings had been cut. Shouts died mid-curse, anger froze half-formed on faces before softening into blank stillness. Within seconds, the restless, corrupted minds of the other guilds had fallen silent. Dozens of players now lay scattered across the rubble-strewn street, weapons slipping from their hands, chests rising and falling in the fragile peace of enforced slumber, yet beneath that calm, the Warden's influence still clawed at their souls, waiting.
Only the ten White Devils remained standing, their expressions steady as they turned toward Daniel. Natasha's voice broke the silence, cool and unwavering. "You expected this." It wasn't a question—it was a statement.
Daniel nodded grimly, eyes shifting toward the factory where the Defiler Warden's bulk scraped against metal, shadows swelling like a storm behind broken glass. The ground shook again, harder this time, dust and stone falling in sheets. Chains rattled like mad laughter.
"Yes," Daniel said, his tone like iron. "But not this fast. It's stronger than before. If I hadn't stopped them, we'd be fighting each other by now." His eyes swept over the unconscious guild members, sprawled like fallen dominoes across the ruined street. Then his gaze locked onto Natasha, Alexsei, and the White Devils still standing. His expression hardened, unreadable, but every word carried weight. "That means from here on… it's just you. Protect them."
Before any of them could respond, Daniel spread his arms wide. Mana surged like a stormfront breaking loose. Runes spiraled into the air, shimmering gold and violet, intersecting in precise geometric arcs above the unconscious army. A dome of translucent light slammed into place around the sleeping guild members, its surface humming like a living thing. But it wasn't just a barrier it shimmered, fractured light bending like water. To the outside world, the street was empty rubble, nothing more. The sleeping guild had vanished into illusion.
Daniel didn't stop there. His palm crackled with violet current, arcs of lightning dancing across his forearm as he pointed toward the wreckage. The ruined husks of carts, factory scaffolding, and broken engines jerked, metal shrieking as they scraped across stone. Piece by piece, he dragged them into position with sheer electrical force, stacking them in layers around the dome. Collapsed walls ground forward like obedient beasts, sealing the barrier beneath a fortress of steel and stone.
The illusion shimmered once more, masking every edge of the construction, turning the protective dome into nothing more than a ruined industrial mound in the eyes of any enemy.
The White Devil guild watched in silence, the sheer precision of his spellcraft leaving even seasoned mages momentarily awestruck. Natasha finally exhaled, her voice low but cutting. "You've thought of everything."
Natasha's hand lingered on her blade, the steel humming faintly with latent energy. Her gaze swept across the dome, narrowing at the flickers of shadow that pressed against the edge of the barrier like insects against glass. Alexsei's golem shifted its stance, stone grinding as its shoulders rolled back, the cracks glowing faintly with runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. The rest of the White Devil mages whispered quick incantations, not casting yet, but keeping their spells coiled in readiness.
They looked like a cornered pack of wolves quiet, watchful, yet ready to snap.
Daniel's voice broke the silence, low and commanding."Stay here. Let me clear the path. Just kill whatever undead manages to reach this barricade. They're ordinary husks, nothing you haven't seen before but don't let your guard down. Even the weakest fangs can bleed you if you underestimate them."
Natasha's eyes flicked toward him, sharp. "And the Warden's influence?"
Daniel adjusted his gauntlet, sparks snapping across his knuckles as if the air itself bristled around him. "It'll weaken. Slowly. The barrier repels the pressure, but it won't chain anyone who decides to walk out of it. They're safe only so long as they don't lose themselves again."
Alexsei's voice rumbled, deeper than the shifting stone of his golem. "How long do we have?"
Daniel's eyes glowed faintly as his perception spell kept measuring the rhythm of each heartbeat within the dome. "Five minutes. Maybe a little more. The sleep spell is middle-tier, stable enough. It'll hold their minds in suspension."
Alexsei exchanged a glance with Natasha. "Five minutes…"
Daniel shook his head. "It's enough. I don't need more. Ten minutes, and the path will be open."
The words hung heavy. The White Devil guild fell silent, their breaths coming steady but sharper now, like soldiers bracing themselves against a storm they couldn't yet see. Outside, the undead stirred, the air thrumming with the first vibrations of the Warden's awakening—an unnatural heartbeat reverberating through the ground, making even the runes in Daniel's barrier tremble.
And then, almost in a whisper, Natasha asked, her tone cutting through the stillness like a knife:"…What exactly are you planning to face out there, Daniel?"
The silence stretched, broken only by the dull groan of the undead pressing against the barricade. Their claws scraped against the debris Daniel had dragged into place, but none broke through.
Daniel didn't answer right away. His eyes glowed faintly with resonant perception, tracking every flicker of corruption in the air, every thread of influence seeping from the Second Gate.
Finally, he spoke.
"The Warden isn't what you think it is." His voice was quiet, but the weight of it pressed on the White Devil guild more heavily than the barrier walls. "What you've seen so far—these echoes, these waves of influence they're only its chains rattling. The real body… the real mind… is buried deeper."
Natasha's grip on her weapon tightened. "Deeper where?"
Daniel's gaze flicked toward the industrial sector beyond the gate, where factory chimneys rose like jagged black teeth in the distance. "In the factories. The gate doesn't just spawn undead. It manufactures them. Every corpse you've killed was processed, branded, and linked back to the Warden's core. That's why the pressure is building so fast. The factories are feeding it."
Alexsei's expression hardened. Even his stone golem leaned forward as if the words themselves had weight. "And if we don't stop it?"
Daniel's jaw clenched, a spark of static snapping between his fingers. "…Then the Warden won't just influence us. It will rewrite us."
A chill ran through the dome. Even the most hardened of the White Devil guild members shivered.
Natasha narrowed her eyes, her voice sharp. "Rewrite?"
Daniel looked at her, but said nothing. The pause was deliberate, heavy with things he wasn't going to say not yet.
Instead, he turned, scanning the barricade, his shoulders squaring as the rumble of the ground deepened. Somewhere far off, a metallic screech tore through the night, like gears grinding bone. The Warden was waking.
Daniel raised his hand, palm sparking with blue arcs. "That's all you need to know for now. Hold this ground. When the rest wake, they can't know the full truth not yet. You'll understand when you see it."
The White Devil guild exchanged uneasy glances. Suspicion and fear rippled through them, but resolve slowly followed. They didn't like being kept in the dark, but Daniel's tone left no room for argument.
Beyond the dome, the factories lit up one by one as if eyes were opening in the darkness.