The main entrance to the dungeon didn't look like an entrance. It looked like an open wound in the earth. The ice around it wasn't natural, didn't follow the pattern of ordinary cold. It pulsed in irregular layers, as if it were breathing. Every time I took a step closer, the flame inside me reacted, becoming unstable, uncomfortable, as if it were being watched from very far away.
I took a deep breath before crossing the threshold.
It wasn't ordinary fear. It was the clear sensation of advancing against something that didn't need to prove its strength to crush us.
Behind me, the group gathered in silence. Vespera adjusted her bow with tense hands; I knew that gesture—it was when she tried to convince herself she wouldn't miss. Elara kept her eyes closed for a few seconds, conserving mana before entering. Liriel murmured something softly, probably a short prayer, even knowing her light magic was far too limited for this.
And yet, none of them retreated.
"It's now," I said, more to myself than to the others.
We descended.
The dungeon's inner corridors were far too wide for an ordinary structure. The walls bore claw marks, but they were organized, almost like symbols. They weren't traces of chaos; they were signs of command. That wasn't a nest. It was a barracks.
The further we advanced, the more oppressive the cold became. It didn't freeze the skin immediately, but it drained energy, focus, will. I could feel it clearly in the way Elara breathed deeper than usual, or how Vespera clenched her teeth, trying not to complain.
Liriel broke the silence.
"This place was shaped for war. Every curve, every column… nothing is random."
"Then we're entering exactly where he wants us," Vespera replied.
"Yes," I said. "And he knows it."
The first attack came without warning.
Demonic soldiers emerged from the walls as if they had always been there, troops covered in dark ice armor, wielding long spears and empty eyes. They didn't advance chaotically. They surrounded us. Cut off routes. Isolated us.
"Formation!" I shouted.
Vespera fired. She missed the first shot by centimeters, the second struck one enemy's shoulder, the third embedded itself in the ground. She cursed under her breath, but kept shooting. Elara cast a short, precise spell, spending as little mana as possible. Liriel tried to raise a barrier of light, which flickered and nearly collapsed, but still deflected a fatal blow.
I advanced at the center.
The flame answered with force. It didn't explode. It didn't lose control. It focused, as if it understood that brute strength wouldn't be enough here. Each strike of mine brought down an enemy, but others immediately took their place. They weren't there to kill us quickly. They were there to wear us down.
And that became clear when the ground trembled.
A deep sound echoed through the corridor, heavy and profound, like a giant heart beating beneath the stone. The cold suddenly intensified, and the demonic soldiers retreated in perfect synchrony, opening a path.
"He's watching us," Liriel said, her voice faltering.
I hadn't seen the General yet. But I felt him.
His presence was like a weight on the world. Something so dense it distorted the air, magic, even thoughts. My flame reacted violently for the first time since we entered. Not out of fear. Out of recognition.
We moved forward, even knowing that each step brought us closer to something we weren't ready to face.
The central hall opened before us like an inverted throne. Columns of ice supported the ceiling, and at the far end, a field of pale blue energy pulsed slowly. That was it. Not the final confrontation yet, but the threshold.
A group of allies arrived just behind us—adventurers from various guilds, some wounded, others too determined to retreat. Among them, the SS-Class elf stepped forward without saying a word. His presence was different from ours. Stable. Absolute. He looked ahead like someone who had already accepted the risk of dying there.
"From here on," he said calmly, "no one advances alone."
I agreed.
The next attack was brutal.
Demonic commanders appeared—larger creatures, covered in plates of living ice. The battle spread across the hall. I saw allies fall. I saw the elf face two of them alone, his movements precise, almost elegant, yet still strained. For the first time, I saw someone of that level being pressured.
That's when I understood.
It didn't matter how many of us there were. It didn't matter how strong we thought we were. All of that was just the antechamber.
When the voice finally echoed through the hall, it didn't come from a visible mouth. It came from everywhere.
"You advance… even knowing."
My body froze for an instant.
Not from cold.
From weight.
The Sixth General of the Demons was there. Not completely. Not physically. But present enough to crush us without touching us.
"Takumi," the voice said. "You arrived earlier than I expected."
The flame inside me burned like never before.
I took a step forward.
And I knew, with frightening clarity, that the final confrontation was near… and that we would not come out victorious.
But even so, I did not retreat.
Because now, it was no longer about winning.
It was about surviving what was to come next.