Roy's internal instinct screamed to eliminate the threat, but he knew he had to play the host. He squared his shoulders and walked forward. The dwarven siblings, Drakvar and Lysara Emberforge, reacted to the facility with open curiosity, their eyes tracing the runic conduits and structural supports. Their attendants and Ardent's monstrous prisoners followed suit, murmuring in awe. Ardent himself, however, didn't even glance at the technology, his focus entirely on Roy.
"So... you are the boy with the metal ship," Ardent began, his voice a low, casual drawl. "What was it, 'Slave Swallowing Black Demon of the Iron Realm'?"
"Nightshatter, but close enough," Roy shot back, forcing a brave smile.
"Eryndra and FDR are standing by, ready to jump in at any moment," Serenity's voice warned in his ear. "Don't provoke him. Remember, this is the number three of the Abyssforged Alliance."
Ardent's eyes scanned Roy from head to toe, and he let out an impressed whistle. "Well, ain't that a picture. Mighty impressive mana you got there, kid."
"Aww, you'll make me blush!" Roy deflected, his voice a little too high.
Ardent's demeanor shifted. The smile on his face didn't falter, but all the warmth bled out of it, leaving something cold and sharp. Suddenly, a wave of something strange washed over Roy, so immense it felt like reality itself was fraying. For a fraction of a second, his vision fractured, and he saw three shimmering, overlapping versions of Ardent. The tile floor seemed to tilt, and the distant clatter of a plate sounded a moment before it was actually dropped.
Roy's senses screamed in confusion. The force was undeniable, world-bending, yet he neither felt or saw any mana. A silent scream erupted from the most primal part of his mind, the part that understood gravity and time, howling that the fundamental rules of the universe had just been casually broken in his presence.
Through the internal chaos, Ardent's voice cut through, calm and stripped of its friendly tone. "It looks like Vorthas was tellin' the truth."
Roy, disoriented by the pressure, struggled to focus. "Sorry, who?"
The crushing pressure vanished as quickly as it came. Ardent Blacktide's easy smirk returned, the menacing energy gone, leaving only a folksy amusement in his eyes. Roy swayed on his feet, his heart hammering against his ribs as he struggled to regain his composure. He needed to get back in control of the conversation. His eyes darted past Ardent to the three figures standing behind him, looking at the intricate, glowing collars they all wore. An opportunity.
"Those slaves," Roy said, forcing his voice to remain steady as he gestured toward them. "I'll buy them from you. Name your price. We don't permit slavery in our lands."
Ardent let out a low, rumbling chuckle. The sound was genuinely amused, which was somehow more terrifying than his earlier pressure.
"Slaves?" he drawled. "Oh no, kid. Nothin' so simple. These baddies ain't property. They're prisoners. There's a difference." He turned, his gaze sweeping over his monstrous attendants. "You seem like the type to build a nicer cage and call it freedom. Let me show you why some creatures don't belong outside a cage at all."
He gestured to the silent giant beside him. The man was a towering, shredded mountain of muscle, his dark skin holding a deep satin sheen, with veins like rope coiling around his arms. He wore tattered work pants rolled to his mid-calf, and his feet were bare. An intricate, ceremonial vest was stretched so tight across his massive torso that every seam strained, a clear reminder of some failed attempt to civilize him. In stark contrast to his rugged appearance were the immaculate, hammered gold hoops in his ears, layered with thin, etched prayer rings. His eyes, a startling pure white, held a calm, steady gaze.
"Meet Lorn Garru," Ardent said. "A real puppy dog now, thanks to twenty long years of church rehabilitation. Before that, though… before that, he killed over ten thousand children."
Ardent then pointed to the wiry man, who grinned, revealing stained teeth. He wore a heat-scorched leather jacket with stitched reflective strips, and his short, wild blond hair had singed tips. A harness of brass ampoules and ceramic vials was strapped across his chest, and Roy noticed strange, thumb-wheel sparkers mounted on two of his fingers.
"This one's Jintase Gordian," Ardent continued. "Burned dozens of towns and villages right to the ground. I captured him myself after he torched a whole district of Seranovia." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But he was a real considerate sort. Made sure to evacuate every single person first." Ardent paused, letting Jintase speak.
"What good is there to watch a home where a loving family created their life burn to ash if they aren't there to watch it with you?" Jintase said, taking micro steps forward before a glance from Ardent stopped him.
"And that sweet thing over there," Ardent said, nodding toward the old woman. She was a small, hunched figure with her graying hair in a neat roll held by bright white combs. Her face was a contradiction of perfect lipstick and thin, dry smiles set against a web of new and old scars. She wore a modest, high-collared blouse, but paired it with a black and turquoise skirt that was unnervingly short for her age. A bandolier made of polished keys and metal tags was draped across her chest like jewelry. She was scanning the crowds with a cold, predatory gleam in her eyes.
"That's Momma Tristaphene," Ardent finished. "Used to put on a sweet grandma act to get inside military outposts. Once they let her in, she'd slaughter the soldiers and sell their families to slavers. Took years to capture her. Luckily, she became easier to identify once she got that giant scar on her face after a run-in with some noble fella. I bet she's seein' all sorts of juicy targets here, ain't ya, Momma?"
"Oh, the families of these tender-footed fools must be so soft, so plump…" she began to rasp, a wicked grin spreading across her face.
"Easy there, Momma. Don't go scarin' the locals, I got no taste for panic when I'm hungry. Sit quiet, smile wide, or you'll miss dinner."Ardent said, his voice still casual but cutting her off instantly. She fell silent.
He turned back to Roy, his lesson complete. "All of 'em are strong enough to be captains in this alliance themselves. These are not prisoners you could handle."
"You'd be surprised, ha... But okay, thanks for sparing me a headache." Roy said after a forced, shaky, nervous laugh.
As Ardent began to walk toward the closest open restaurant, he paused, clapping a hand on Roy's shoulder. "By the way. Nice place you're buildin', kid. Walls up, watchers posted. People sittin' down to their meals without a care. And from what I've heard, the masses adore you for that comfort. Don't forget, though, true safety only comes from bein' the most frightening thing on the map. Cause if you're not, all you've built is a cage waitin' for a bigger monster."
He gave Roy's shoulder a final, firm squeeze and walked away.
Roy's crew finally exhaled, moving to his side. Maelara, however, was staring after Ardent's crew with an expression Roy couldn't quite decipher.
"I have never," she said slowly, "seen a man as attractive as Lorn."
"Did you not just hear his rap sheet?! The man is a monster!" Roy yelled, face contorted in disgust.
"Yeah, but, look at that toned a—"
"No buts!" Roy raged, his face flushing. "No buts allowed! No butts allowed either! Especially not that killer's!"
"I apologize for my daughter's lust," Lynder said with the somber gravity of a eulogy. "She takes after me."
"Good lord," Roy groaned, his voice trailing off as if he were genuinely quitting on life. "I'm done. Can we just go home? And you two freaky elves go… do whatever it is you do?"
They agreed to meet again in the morning. After confirming with Zehrina's team that they were continuing their delve, Roy led his group back to the Nightshatter. As they walked, he whispered discretely into his comm, "Serenity, make sure Father Skeleton stays in the brig tonight. The main shower hall is off-limits to him."
"Why not just let them use your shower?" Serenity responded.
"I'm NOT going to be cleaning goblin grime from my shower drain, Serenity!" he added under his breath.
"Understood, Captain."
The next morning, Roy was getting dressed when Serenity's voice chimed in his quarters. "Good morning, Captain. I've taken the liberty of preparing several magazines of special rounds for your sidearms. They're on your desk."
"Special? What kind of special?"
"It's a surprise," she said, her voice laced with digital amusement.
"Tell me, Serenity, that's an order!"
"An order I will cheerfully disobey. Have a wonderful day!"
Muttering to himself, Roy led his team back to Technomendia. They walked to the guild admin desk in the Central Court to check the leaderboards. Roy's eyes immediately found the entry: Team "AA" had blown past Zehrina's team and were now on Floor 253.
He turned to the catlike beastfolk receptionist, who was filing her claws with a look of profound boredom. "Can you pull up any quality footage of their boss fights?"
"Ugh," she sighed, not looking up. "Can't you just ask your little ghost lady-thing to do that? I just got off break."
"I could have asked Serenity, yes," Roy said, struggling to maintain his cool. "But if you just got off break… that means you are currently working."
"Duh, that's what I just said. But this is the post-break period. You don't do hard work during that."
"Post-break… period?" Roy's voice cracked. "Seriously, who dug this freak up? She's got the charm of a stab wound and the bedside manner of a serial killer. I'm about five seconds from losing my mind."
Lynder approached, nervously clearing his throat. "I'm very sorry, Captain, but this is my three hundred and forty-seventh great-great-great-granddaughter, Shalira. I promised her a job in exchange for a bit of money from her mother."
Roy stared at him, his anger deflating into sheer amazement. "How old are you?"
"Couple thousand," Lynder responded, each word more desperate than the last. "I lost track… too many kids… too many jobs… too much stress…"
Shalira sighed with the weight of a thousand years of customer service despite just starting the job, tapping a few commands on her console. The massive monitor above the admin desk flickered to life, the image stabilizing on a vast, high-ceilinged cavern cloaked in darkness. From the shadows near the ceiling, two points of crimson light ignited, burning like malevolent embers. A vaguely man-shaped silhouette coalesced around them, and a pair of vast, leathery wings unfolded, stretching to a terrifying width. The creature let out a high-pitched shriek that echoed unnaturally in the massive space before it dove.
It descended like a falling shadow, a silent, winged terror plummeting straight toward Lorn Garru. The giant remained rooted to the spot, his posture one of absolute, unconcerned stillness as the creature fell upon him.
A moment before it was in range to strike, Lorn's arm shot up, his open palm meeting the diving creature's chest. The impact was a dull, heavy thump of immense force, a sound like a wrecking ball hitting packed earth. The monster's dive stopped instantly, its entire momentum vanishing as if it had hit a mountain. Its wings flared out wide from the dead stop. Then, with a sickening, wet crunch that was audible through the monitor's speakers, Lorn drove his palm forward. The creature's entire torso accordioned inward around his fist. It went limp, a broken puppet, and he let it slide to the floor, his face remaining completely, unnervingly placid.
"That was a Thaman," Lynder snapped out of his despair, leaning forward, his eyes wide with professional astonishment. "Incredibly strong, incredibly rare. To break it without so much as a twitch on his face… incredible."
The scene on the monitor flickered, shifting to an overgrown, humid sector on Floor 183. The camera focused on Jintase Gordian speaking to a monster. The monster he was holding was a thrashing, reptilian creature aloft by its neck with one hand. Its claws scrabbled uselessly against his scorched leather jacket, its fanged jaw snapping at empty air as it writhed in a desperate, animalistic frenzy. Jintase didn't even seem to notice the monster didn't understand a word he was saying. He pressed his cheek tenderly against the monster's scaly head, forcing it to watch the scenery.
"Shhh, shhh," he whispered, his voice a sadistic coo. "Just watch. It's pretty, isn't it?"
A torrent of brilliant, alchemical flame erupted from his free hand, washing over the lush vegetation and turning the sector into a roaring inferno. In the background of the shot, visible through the shimmering heat, Lorn stood in the boss chamber, another monstrous beast held in a crushing bearhug. As Jintase's fire consumed the landscape, there was a single, sickening crack from the background, and the monster in Lorn's arms went limp, its spine severed.
Lynder's voice was grave. "Those creatures… the one that the fire brat is tormenting is an Elder Pakcap. The one Lorn just broke… that's an Ancient Douba Patriarch. I have only ever read about them in forbidden texts. They are mythical beasts. To find them more than 150 floors from the bottom of this dungeon… what hells await below?"
On the screen, the camera drone drifted past the cackling Jintase, panning across the devastation toward the boss chamber. It zoomed in, coming to rest on Lorn's face. It was completely devoid of humanity, his pure white eyes betraying no emotion as he stared out at the flames. Then, without warning, the feed dissolved into a blast of static. A collective gasp went through the crowd watching in the Central Court.
The feed on the main monitor flickered, the view changing to a stark hall of polished, bone-white stone. A horde of tall, skeletal creatures milled about, their forms like something sketched from a nightmare. Featureless skulls atop pronounced ribcages, all held aloft by limbs longer than its own body. They moved with a jerky, unnatural gait through the hall.
"The Dernselliem Horde," Lynder said, his voice low and tight with a sudden, grave intensity. "The Immortal Family supposedly wiped them out over three thousand years ago, deemed them too much of a nuisance to exist. Just one of those things is a match for any high A-class adventurer."
On the screen, the small figure of Momma Tristaphene stood calmly at the edge of the horde.
"…Could you beat them?" Roy asked hesitantly.
"Hmmm," Lynder murmured, his gaze fixed on the screen. "I'm not a pure elf, so I'm nearing the end of my lifespan. My combat ability has dropped more than fifty percent in the last five years alone. I am but a shadow of my prime." He paused, a flicker of the old warrior in his eyes. "Despite that, I could take the lot of them if my life was on the line. Two hundred years ago… I could have destroyed those monstrous whelps in three breaths."
"You scare me, Lynder," Roy whispered.