Tholm's image flickered like a candle in a draft, his ghostly form wavering under the dense, oppressive mana of the dungeon’s inner layer. He could only persist because of his enormous mana reserves, which allowed him to resist the resistance temporarily, but even that probably wouldn’t last long.

  "Master, what is happening?” Raphael asked.

  The Archmage seemed to sigh, though static fuzzed around his mouth. "The situation in Alluria has escalated. The temples have finally mobilized their full response to the attack."

  Ah, Nick thought, his mind racing through the political implications. If the religious orders are moving in force, the balance of power in Alluria is gone. I almost forgot about it, with how chaotic everything is here, but I suppose the city has its own problems.

  "All Archmages have been recalled to the Tower," Tholm continued, his image warping and reforming. "We are needed to ensure the city does not tear itself apart during the upcoming purge. I must leave immediately."

  “What about House Hone?" Nick asked sharply. "If you leave, what stops them?"

  Tholm’s projection turned its gaze toward Nick. "Archmage Hone has also been recalled. He cannot take action directly without losing his seat on the Council. However..." The image flickered violently, turning gray for a second. "...House Hone has other assets, and without my presence to check them, they will increase their presence in the dungeon. I have dispersed the army surrounding Long Reach to prevent a siege, but I cannot protect you inside. You must be careful in the coming days, before the Shadows get here.”

  With one last pop, the simulacrum shattered into drifting motes of fading light, leaving them standing in the sulfur-scented wind of the western pass.

  Silence stretched between them.

  "Well," Monte said, breaking the quiet with a dry, humorless chuckle. "That complicates matters."

  "Complicates?" Malik spat, slamming the butt of his spear into the ground. "It ruins us. If Tholm is gone, the Hones can just march a legion in here."

  “The army was dispersed," Raphael corrected, though he didn’t seem very relieved. “But I expect to see elite squads bearing their standard soon enough, yes. They do not need to hide now.”

  "We should go back," Tessa said. "If the Archmage says it’s dangerous, what chance do we have? We can be back in Long Reach by tomorrow if we move now."

  "And then what?" Nick asked quietly.

  He turned to look at the group. He didn't use any magic, but the sheer weight of his presence made them pause.

  "We destroyed two curse anchors," Nick said. "We destabilized the magic of the dungeon. If we leave now, the mana we unleashed will start to pool in the remaining sites. House Hone will come in, patch up the leaks, and finish what they started. Or even worse, they might not make it, and we’ll have unleashed a magical disaster on the region.”

  He looked at each of them in the eye. "If that happens, Long Reach will not be safe."

  Raphael closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. When he opened them, the uncertainty was gone, replaced by the cold logic of a leader.

  "Nick is right. We broke it, and we have to finish the job." He looked at the mercenaries. "The deal still stands, but we’ll need to move faster and take out the remaining anchors within a few days. That means camping out here."

  "Fine," Ord grunted, sounding resigned. The others didn’t put up more resistance, which was as good as any agreement.

  "Good," Raphael said. “Now let's move."

  The air grew hotter as they pushed west, carrying the distinct rotten-egg stench of sulfur. Steam vents hissed from cracks in the ground, releasing plumes of yellow gas that drifted lazily through the stagnant air.

  “Try not to breathe that stuff in," Nick warned, circulating a gentle wind cycle around the group. It wasn't a full spell, just a pressure difference to keep the toxic fumes away from their faces, but he couldn’t help them if they walked directly into a cloud.

  As they moved forward, the terrain turned into a nightmare of volcanic rock and obsidian shards. Visibility dropped to less than a hundred feet as a low, clingy fog rose from the ground. It wasn't natural mist at all, being far too heavy and oily, and sticking to their clothes like sweat.

  Hiss.

  The sound came from everywhere and nowhere, bouncing off the fog.

  "Contact," Nick whispered, and the others tensed.

  Shapes appeared from the mist, staying close to the ground and moving with a slithering, jerky gait.

  They were about the size of ponies, with pink, fleshy scales that blended in the smoke. Their jaws dripped with a purple, oily substance that sizzled when it hit the rocks.

  "Loose!" Tessa shouted, firing a volley of arrows at their eyes. The shafts hit the lead iguana’s side and shattered, not even scratching the pink scales as they absorbed the impact with a wet thud.

  Damn, those things are sturdy.

  The iguanas lunged forward, opening their mouths and spraying out jets of hot, pressurized oil.

  "Shields!" Raphael yelled.

  He twisted his hand, warping space before the formation. The oil streams struck the distortion and splashed harmlessly to the sides, burning into the stone with a furious hiss.

  "Now!" Monte commanded, thrusting his rapier forward to unleash a beam of concentrated light.

  The light hit a lizard, burning a black line across its back, but the creature barely slowed down.

  Magic resistance, too. Naturally.

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  "Cold or wind!" Nick shouted. "Hit them with thermal shock!"

  He moved past the defensive line, swinging the Shard, not bothering with a subtle spell this time, as he needed to clear the field. “[Jet Stream].”

  A cylinder of compressed air, firm and solid like a battering ram, burst from his staff, striking the lead iguana and flipping the heavy creature onto its back. The impact cracked the obsidian ground beneath, but it still wasn’t enough to pierce through.

  "Now! While the belly is exposed!"

  Yvonne lunged, her sword glowing with frost mana, showing that she was more resourceful than he’d given her credit for. She drove the steel down into the lizard's softer, pale underbelly, and soon violet blood sprayed up, freezing instantly in the magical cold.

  The iguana thrashed once and died.

  "They're tanky," Malik grunted, smashing another lizard in the face with his shield to stop it from biting Ord. "And they smell terrible."

  "Keep moving!" Raphael ordered. "Don't let them box us in!"

  The fight was tough. The iguanas weren't smart, but they were persistent and highly resilient. Nick fell into a rhythm, using wind magic to knock them back or destabilize them, setting them up for the heavy hitters to take down. He personally killed three, his [Spirit Blast] bypassing their physical armor to directly liquefy their brains.

  About three hundred thousand, Nick tallied mentally as the last lizard twitched and went still. Decent, but the curve is getting even steeper. At Level 72, this is just snack food. I really need to complete the Tree of Life if I want to keep pushing and not get stuck at this phase.

  "Clear," Raphael announced, breathing hard. "Check for injuries and tears in your clothing. That oil is corrosive."

  "My boots are ruined," Monte sighed, looking down at the smoking leather of his footwear. "I liked these."

  “You’ll get yourself a new pair," Nick said dryly, "with the money we’ll make from selling their gallbladders, you’ll get ten new pairs. Those toxins are valuable."

  They collected the cores rapidly, using magic to peel off the scales and push back the poisonous gases released, revealing mana-dense stones, and kept moving forward.

  The fog grew thicker as they went further, shifting from grey to a pale purple, and the heat intensified, causing the air to ripple and their vision to fade even more.

  Nick kept [Empyrean Intuition] active, but the interference from the dungeon was worsening. This zone was dampening his spiritual senses even more than the rest, forcing him to rely on hearing and sight.

  I suspect it’s a result of the mana becoming more concentrated after we break the anchors. That means the South will be even worse.

  Awooooo.

  The sound cut through the fog, but for once, it wasn't the lonely, haunting howl of a wolf. It was the deep, bell-throated baying of a hound on the scent.

  “More wolves?" Tessa whispered, nocking another arrow.

  "Hounds," Nick corrected. "Big ones."

  Shadows detached from the fog. They looked like dogs, but were sleek and hairless, their skin the color of dried blood. Flames flicked from their jaws, not orange, but a deep, smoky crimson.

  “They aren’t demons," Nick murmured, checking their signatures given their appearance. “Thank god for small mercies."

  The pack—at least twenty members strong—surrounded the group, moving together; unlike the iguanas, they weren't charging blindly.

  "Attack!" Raphael ordered. "Don't let them set the pace!"

  He launched a spatial well, pulling two hounds together, which Monte followed up with a piercing thrust, giving Terence an opening to wound the closest hound.

  The monsters scattered quickly, moving at terrifying speeds, then opened their mouths and released coordinated bursts of fire, forcing the apprentices to cower behind Ord and Malik’s shields.

  Nick prepared a wide-area [Vacuum Sphere] to snuff out their flames, but before he could cast, a new sound echoed from the ridge to their left.

  "Flank right! Arrows, loose! Mages, suppress the backline!"

  A volley of bolts rained down from the fog, hitting the hounds with perfect accuracy. The projectiles detonated upon impact, sending out clouds of freezing mist.

  Five figures rushed down the slope. It was another adventurer team.

  I’d like to think this is reinforcements, but our track record has been pretty bad.

  The new group was good. Their warrior, a man wearing heavy steel armor and wielding a warhammer, charged into the hound pack with reckless abandon. Their mage, a woman with glowing tattoos on her face, cast water shields that absorbed the hounds' fire breath.

  Together, the two teams crushed the pack in just minutes, even though it initially seemed like a long slog.

  As the dust settled, the leader of the new group—the hammer-wielder—walked over, resting his weapon on his shoulder. He grinned, showing a missing tooth.

  "Well met!" he boomed. "Looks like we pulled your fat out of the fire, eh?"

  Ord stepped forward, blinking. "Gareth? Is that you?"

  "Ord!" The man chuckled, patting the shield-bearer on the back hard enough to make his teeth rattle. "And Tessa! I thought you all had been eaten by werewolves. Glad to see we didn’t save you for nothing.”

  “They are the ones who rescued us," Tessa explained. “Back when werewolves were hunting us."

  "Aye, we did," Gareth nodded. He looked at Nick and Raphael, his eyes assessing their gear with a greedy gleam. "We've been tracking these hounds for an hour. Nasty pieces of work. Good cores, though."

  The man’s aura was a blend of sincere camaraderie toward his fellow mercenaries and a sharp edge of opportunism, which put Nick on edge.

  "We appreciate the help," Raphael said diplomatically. "We were handling it, but the assistance was welcome."

  "Handling it?" Gareth snorted. "Looked like you were pinned down to me, lad. But no matter. Dead is dead."

  He turned to his team, who were already beginning to gather the hounds. "Right then! Gather the cores. Should be a good haul."

  "Hold on," Malik said, stepping forward with a furrowed brow. "We killed half of those."

  Gareth paused, his grin tightening. "Aye? And you’d be dead if we hadn't flanked them. That makes the kill ours by right of rescue. Standard frontier rules."

  "Standard rules say to split by contribution," Monte said coolly. "We held their attention while you hit their flank. That’s a fifty-fifty split at best."

  “Fifty-fifty?" Gareth chuckled, but his tone no longer sounded friendly. His team ceased their carving, instinctively reaching for their weapons. "Listen, fancy pants. We already saved your friends," he said, gesturing toward Tessa and Ord. "We didn't ask for a single coin. Now you want us to save you again? I believe we deserve a better deal. Eighty-twenty of the ingredients. And we get the cores."

  The air grew tense. The fog seemed to press in closer.

  Nick watched them. They weren't House Hone agents. They weren't cultists. They were just assholes. Greedy, confident adventurers who thought a group of youngsters would roll over to avoid a fight.

  Ah, the banality of opportunism, Nick thought. Still irritating, though.

  "We aren't giving you eighty percent," Yvonne snapped.

  "Then maybe we should take a hundred," the mage with the face tattoos said, as electricity crackled around her fingers.

  Tessa and Ord looked conflicted. They were the ones who had saved their lives, but they were also stealing from them.

  Raphael let out a sigh. He straightened his cloak, appearing completely bored. "I really don't have time for this," he said.

  Raising his hand, he casually swept his finger straight through the air between the two groups.

  A thin line of space, as fine as a hair yet incredibly deep, sliced into the obsidian ground. The rock parted silently, like a perfectly smooth fissure cutting through stone, gravel, and the corpse of a hound lying between them.

  The cut was thirty feet long and went down into the dark.

  Gareth took a step back, his eyes widening. His mage’s electricity flickered and faded.

  "That," Raphael said calmly, "is a warning, in case you didn’t understand.”

  He pointed to the pile of monsters. “We'll take fifty, and you’ll take fifty. And you get to walk away even after threatening us. That’s your repayment.”

  Gareth swallowed hard. He glanced at the fissure, then at Raphael, then at Nick, who was leaning on his staff and watching them with cold, dead eyes.

  "Fine," Gareth muttered, his bluster evaporating. “Fifty-fifty. We're square."

  They divided the loot in tense silence. Gareth’s team took their share and backed away, disappearing into the fog toward the East, clearly deciding that the loot wasn't worth fighting a spatial mage.

  "Assholes," Malik muttered as they disappeared.

  Nick closed his eyes, extending his [Empyrean Intuition] through the mist, and tagged Gareth’s aura, tracking them as they moved away. He watched them for a full ten minutes, making sure they didn't circle back or send signals, but they were just leaving.

  Not everything is a conspiracy, Nick reminded himself. Sometimes people are just greedy.

  "They're gone," he confirmed.

  "Good," Raphael said, turning back to the West. The heat was intensifying, but the fog was clearing, revealing a landscape of jagged peaks and rivers of molten rock ahead.

  "The Anchor is close," Nick said, feeling the pull resonate in his bones. "Somewhere in that caldera."

  "Then let's go," Monte said, checking his blade. "Before any more 'friends' show up."

  45+ chapters: