Ronan and Luke moved down the stone corridor with steady, near-silent strides. Torches set into the walls flickered in the draft seeping from unseen cracks, throwing restless shadows across their path. Behind them, Erza Grimhart had already closed the door, sealing their fate deeper inside the fortress. Every second dragged heavier than the last.

"Those maids will only keep guarding the Bastion area, but once that place is free of danger, they'll return." Ronan said without slowing.

"I know," Luke answered, eyes locked ahead.

"You shouldn't have done it. You shouldn't have tricked her."

When he felt they'd put enough distance between themselves and Erza, Luke let his shoulders relax, though his fingers stayed tight on the bowstring.

"She said only two of us could pass through the door. That's exactly what happened." He drew a breath, focused. Charlie emerged from inside his soul.

"She technically didn't pass through the door," he added with a faint, knowing smile. Ronan blanched at the sight.

"That woman… you shouldn't have crossed her," he muttered, casting a glance back over his shoulder.

"She kept the deal and so did I. I just found a loophole." Luke's voice dropped, almost to himself. Samael had drilled that lesson into him long ago: when you make a deal, read between the lines, exploit the margins. He wasn't about to leave his ace behind.

Charlie, immune to poison and disease because of her skeletal form, was the natural counterweight to Bartholomew. Luke would never walk into this fight without her. And he knew this was the second time he'd fooled Erza Grimhart, the first had been when he'd disguised himself as Lucy.

"Three in a fight is better than two," Luke said.

Charlie was the perfect shield against Bartholomew's arsenal: a tank immune to his primary damage, Luke striking from range, and Ronan hammering the front line.

Ronan ran with a scowl carved deep into his face, caught between anger and unease. "It wasn't supposed to end like this," he muttered. "Bartholomew wasn't supposed to go this far."

"You wanted to spare him. I didn't. I should've killed him the first chance I had," Luke said without looking over.

Part of him still regretted it. He should have ended Bartholomew at the banquet. But back then it would've been suicide. Bastion's king had Kruger, the assassins, the inner guard, the maids, Erza Grimhart, and anyone else in that room. No shot at survival.

As they ran, Luke checked his vitals:

[Health Points (HP) 1913/4340] [Mana Points (MP): 771/5100] [Arrows in Quiver: 17/20]

On paper, the plan was straightforward. Bartholomew was a healer, only good for reinforcing body, stamina, and mana. He shouldn't have Mason's or Allison's offensive bite. As long as Luke kept his distance, he should have the advantage. The problem was the arena, a sealed chamber at the heart of the mechanism, no windows, no escape. Stepping into Bartholomew's zone meant enduring the slow bleed of his area effects.

"He's got… eight thousand mana," Ronan murmured.

"Eight thousand?" Luke's eyebrows rose. That was a lot of mana.

"I know because we used to plan strategies together. He never told me every cost, but the total was his point of pride. He dumped every free point into mana. For him, it was the trump card. With that pool, he heals himself and everyone else. Didn't see the point in any other stat."

Luke locked the details into memory while running the risks through his head: the crown's electric field, the profession's epic skill, the class's epic skill, the rank skills, and whatever hidden tricks Bartholomew might still be holding back.

"We're close," Ronan whispered, stopping abruptly.

Princess Charlie drifted forward. At the end of the corridor a ragged hole opened in the wall, the mechanism chamber beyond. Bartholomew had carved himself a path back into the place he'd sealed off.

He's going to be inside… and in a cramped space his disease cloud wins, Luke thought.

He drew a deep breath, the corridor's damp chill filling his lungs. The smell of old stone carried a metallic trace of dust and blood. His fingers went to the pendant hanging at his neck, steady, calculating.

He pulled out a small glass vial that caught the flickering light of the torches. Inside, a dense green liquid shimmered faintly on its own. He handed it to Ronan.

"What's this?" Ronan's voice betrayed a flicker of unease.

"My only super-antidote," Luke said.

[Antidote of Jormungandr (Ultra-Rare)]: An extremely powerful antidote, crafted from a rare sample of blood taken from a Jormungandr hatchling. Its effect grants total immunity to any kind of physical or magical poison for a limited time, rendering the user invulnerable to toxins, gases, and poisonous substances. However, its effectiveness has limits: poisons of mythical or higher origin remain beyond its protection.

It was the pinnacle of what he'd managed to brew from the Beast Lord's blood. Not absolute immunity, somewhere out there existed toxins it couldn't block, but more than enough to neutralize anything Bartholomew could whip up here, whether through alchemy or skill.

"Why are you giving it to me?"

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"Your strongest skill, Iron Skin, already bleeds HP per second," Luke explained. "Now you're about to fight an enemy who stacks poison and disease damage over time. Strategically, you and Charlie hold the line. I'll stay at range."

Ronan stared at the vial for a heartbeat too long, then exhaled sharply. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. It's strategy." Luke nocked an arrow, its tip flashing under the torchlight.

They advanced at a deliberate pace, boots echoing off the stone. Every breath felt heavier. Luke knew the king of Bastion never acted blind. Every detail of the mechanism, every hostage, every trap, all part of some calculation. And a name kept surfacing in his head, one he didn't want to face: Jonathan.

At the lip of the hole in the wall, Luke motioned for silence. The three of them split to cover angles, Charlie at his side. They peered inside. The mechanism chamber sprawled wide but low, torches casting uneven light across stone and rubble. Less debris than Luke remembered, but still enough for cover. And at the far end, a lone figure sat waiting.

They pulled back instantly.

"I know you're there," Bartholomew's voice rolled out, deep and cold.

Ronan and Luke traded a quick glance. Luke already had an arrow drawn.

[Arrows in Quiver: 16/20]

"Bartholomew!" Ronan called, keeping low behind cover. Neither of them knew what kind of epic skills or ranged attacks Bartholomew had prepared.

"So the traitor finally came," the voice replied.

"It doesn't have to be this way," Ronan called back. "Activate the mechanism and surrender, we can walk out of here alive."

Luke ignored the words. In a flash he dashed inside, sliding to a block of fallen stone and bracing behind it. His eyes swept the chamber for Jonathan. Two enemies with epic skills in their state would be a nightmare.

"So it's true…" Bartholomew's voice carried an unexpected weight of sorrow as he watched Luke duck behind cover. "My cousin Kruger couldn't kill you after all."

"No. I killed him," Luke replied, peeking over the stone.

Ronan slipped forward to another piece of cover.

"Was it quick and painless?" Bartholomew asked, voice heavy with a strange melancholy.

"Quick, yes. Quicker than the bastard deserved. But not painless." Luke raised his bow.

As he rose to shoot, Bartholomew lifted a cloth from the floor. Underneath lay a cluster of unconscious bodies. Luke recognized every face: Eugene, Thiara, Gilbert, Cecilia, Miriam… even Dustin. Key members of the Haven. All hostages.

"Then I'll return the favor," Bartholomew said. "Come any closer and you know what happens. I'll trigger my skills, and in minutes these people are dead."

"You're insane!" Ronan's shout cracked across the hall. "There are people dying out there!"

"A small price. Everyone out there is a traitor. If they're so eager for a final war and to leave this world, I simply brought the war to them… dying included." Bartholomew's tone had gone ice-cold.

Ronan shot Luke a look, a single nod. Luke snapped the bow up and loosed an arrow. Bartholomew raised a barrier in a heartbeat, deflecting it. Ronan activated Iron Skin and charged. Another arrow hissed from Luke's string, forcing Bartholomew back. The air thickened instantly, a green haze seeping from Bartholomew's skin, the ultra-rare skill, his disease cloud.

The Haven members lay inside its radius.

"You're really going to let them die?" Bartholomew shouted behind his barrier. Ronan shattered it with a punch and kept advancing.

"Kill you and the problem ends," Luke shot back, arrows flying while Charlie sprinted forward, sword in hand.

Bartholomew moved fast, circling through the chamber. Luke pressed him, eyes flicking to the mechanism at the far wall. It wasn't only these hostages at stake. Erza Grimhart, Allison, and the others were outside. If Erza's maids returned, the deal would collapse and she'd slaughter everyone with her.

Bartholomew conjured barriers to slow Ronan, then lunged close and activated the crown. Lightning cracked, hitting Ronan and staggering him. A fresh burst of the poisonous mist rolled off Bartholomew's palms, catching him head-on.

Luke swept the room for Jonathan. Nothing. As the fight intensified, Charlie thrust her arms toward the hostages. Spectral chains lashed out, dragging two limp bodies away from the green cloud. Bartholomew flinched at the sight.

Charlie seized two more, then advanced with her blade raised. Luke sprinted toward the mechanism, but Bartholomew slammed a massive barrier across the chamber. Spikes erupted from it like a living wall, shoving forward. Luke dove behind rubble. Ronan staggered back under another burst of the crown's lightning. Bartholomew kept retreating, inch by inch, toward the far end of the hall.

"You don't understand!" he bellowed. "You'll doom everyone if you try to complete the final mission! I'm protecting them!"

"Protecting them? You murdered Angelica!" Luke's voice cracked with fury. "I'm holding her bow, you bastard!"

He loosed another arrow. Bartholomew yanked vials from his storage bracer and hurled them. Luke tracked their green arcs across the chamber as each shattered against the floor. Luminous liquid spread like glowing oil, filling the air with a metallic, acidic stench that burned at the back of the throat.

Charlie didn't hesitate. She surged ahead of the hostages and raised a thick, translucent barrier, spectral light crackling where it met the poison in the air. Ronan planted his shield beside her, sealing the gap. Luke sprinted to the unconscious bodies, bow still in hand. He hooked two by the arms and dragged them back. Ronan grabbed another pair, and Charlie's spectral chains snatched the rest, hauling them toward safety.

The entire chamber was becoming a poison chamber. Torches flickered, casting greenish light over their sweat-slick faces. Bartholomew, now wrapped in a toxic glow, stood at the center, the crown of lightning pulsing against his skull. His skin shifted between sickly green and ashen gray as he absorbed and released power.

"It's his epic profession skill," Ronan panted beside Luke. "Venomous Radioactivity."

Luke narrowed his eyes at the floor. The green liquid bubbled in tiny blisters, coughing up a dense, heavy smoke. It wasn't acid—stone and metal stayed intact—but it spread like a living breath. Poison gas.

Bartholomew lifted his hand with a deliberate flourish. "You know my skill well, Ronan," his voice echoed across the hall. "But I've improved it… with alchemy."

Dark brown sludge began to form in his palm, a lump of rotting flesh that reeked of corpses.

"The epic class skill…" Luke whispered, nocking another arrow.

Charlie shifted in front of him, her barrier trembling under the weight of the toxins.

With a sharp shout, Bartholomew hurled the rotting mass at the mechanism. It hit near the device and burst, releasing a yellow haze that churned through the air, different from the earlier poison.

"Now it's all or nothing," Bartholomew said. "How long can you survive in here?"

Luke glanced at his health bar. The damage numbers scrolled like a countdown. The combined power of epic skills, potions, and that ultra-rare cloud was eating them alive.

Forty-eight points per second.

Luke ran alongside Charlie and Ronan as they carried the bodies out of the mechanism chamber. While glancing at his health bar, he calculated the time. In a fight against Bartholomew, Luke would only have thirty-nine seconds to live. Getting close to him was suicide.

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