The worst possible scenario had unfolded, the monsters had somehow anticipated the place of their arrival and had set a trap in advance, a fact which implied a level of intelligence no report had ever suggested they possessed, and though the realization was unsettling, there was at least one small consolation: if the group managed to gather themselves quickly enough, they still had more than enough strength to cut down three of the creatures without much difficulty.

"You!" Mathew snapped as he spun toward Joey, his voice sharp and commanding, "pull the others here so we can strike together."

Joey gave a curt nod, raising his hand without hesitation, and in that instant five runes burst into life before him, glowing with sharp intensity, their symbols spinning faintly in the air.

Mathew's eyes widened, a gasp escaping his lips, for he had not expected that, some nobody at rank ten should not have been able to draw out multiple runes at once, and yet here Joey stood, calmly doing what even those of higher standing struggled to achieve.

The runes activated, thin white lines stretching outward from each one and connecting to the remaining five scattered members, and then, with a sudden violent pull as though Joey himself had dragged them across the battlefield, the group was yanked toward him, all of them regaining their balance as they landed neatly on their feet beside Mathew.

"Mages, stay back and provide support, all knights forward to engage!" Mathew barked, and even as the words left his mouth he was already moving, his katana sliding from its sheath with practiced ease. His aura wrapped tightly around the weapon, igniting the single enchantment carved into its steel, and at once the blade took on a deep red glow, heat radiating from its edge so strongly that even he could feel it through the air.

He cut to the side with a swift motion, the katana's burning edge colliding with the outstretched hand of one of the hulking monsters, sparks scattering with the impact. At that same moment he felt his own strength surge, his body lightening as power flowed into him from the enchantments of the mages who were doing their work diligently behind him.

Another monster lunged from the side with frightening speed, but before it could close the distance one of the knights rushed in, his hammer raised high above his head. The knight bellowed with raw effort as he brought the weapon down in a crushing arc, the hammer slamming into the creature's skull with a heavy thud that sent it collapsing toward the ground in a heap.

Relieved that he could trust the others to hold their ground, Mathew turned his focus back to the first monster. With a sharp movement he drove his boot into its chest, the impact forcing the beast to stagger backward, and without wasting the opening he followed through, his katana slashing forward in a wide arc, the heated blade cutting through the air with a searing hiss.

He slashed across the monster's chest, the katana cutting deep and leaving a jagged wound from which thick streams of green blood began to pour, and though it should have satisfied him, Mathew only frowned, for the strike was not behaving as it should have, the blade's enchantment was meant to sear through flesh, the heat spreading outwards like fire, slowly consuming the body until only ash remained, yet no such burning spread across the creature's skin, only the sluggish, unpleasant flow of its alien blood.

The beast staggered back with a guttural groan, its clawed hand clutching at the wound in its chest, and then, after a brief moment of stillness, it unleashed a roar, harsh, garbled, and far from human before throwing itself at Mathew with sudden speed.

He moved quickly, sidestepping with practiced precision, and as the monster passed over him, he thrust his blade upward, the glowing steel piercing deep into its throat, a spray of green blood erupting in a sharp arc that rained down heavily.

A few stray drops splattered across his face, and the effect was immediate: searing agony tore through him as though his skin were being eaten alive, as though his flesh were dissolving under something corrosive, the pain sharper and more unbearable than any flame. A scream burst out of him before he could contain it, and collapsing briefly to the ground, he forced the words out between ragged breaths:

"Their blood, don't let it touch you!"

Yet fortune seemed determined to turn against them, for no sooner had he shouted than another scream rang out from his left, the kind that carried both pain and terror. Turning his head, Mathew's eyes fell upon one of the knights, who had just cleaved into another monster; the strike had been true, but the backlash was cruel, for its blood had burst outward with force and splattered over him.

If Mathew was nearly undone by a few scattered drops, then to be drenched in that poison was a fate too dreadful to imagine.

And he watched, helpless for a moment, as the blood began to eat through the knight's armor and flesh, the man's body convulsing violently as the corruption worked its way inside him, his screams echoing across the field until even Mathew felt his chest tighten and his spine chill.

Almost instinctively he raised a hand to his own face, half-expecting the skin to have been torn away, but the damage was mercifully shallow, and though the pain lingered he would endure.

Forcing himself upright, he turned back to the creature he had wounded; it writhed pitifully on the ground, its movements disordered and slowing, and with a quiet sigh Mathew raised his katana high before driving it firmly into the skull, ending its struggles with a single decisive thrust.

When he finally looked around, the grimness of their situation settled on him. Of the nine who had begun the fight, only six remained standing, and though three of the abominations lay slain, the cost had been heavier than he could have tolerated.

Two knights and four mages, barely enough for the task ahead, and it was already clear that at least one mage would need to step into close combat to make up for their losses.

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This was not how it was supposed to unfold. They had drawn up plans carefully before the expedition, prepared contingencies for the unexpected, and even had intelligence pointing toward a powerful artifact that their scouts had confirmed, guarded by one of the stronger monsters. The plan was simple: clear the grunts, tighten their formation, and then push forward to eliminate the guardian. Now, everything felt uncertain.

"All of you, group up, we're leaving quickly," Mathew ordered, his tone sharp and leaving no room for hesitation. His gaze swept the battlefield one last time, searching for any movement in the shadows, and once he was certain none remained, he turned back.

The others, still shaken but responsive, gathered themselves and prepared to move. Within moments, the surviving six were already retreating, their footsteps hurried, their silence heavy with the weight of what had just been lost.

They moved quickly through the winding corridors, their pace steady and cautious, and though they did not encounter any more of those creatures, Mathew found himself more unsettled by the absence than he would have been by another confrontation.

For a group that had proven capable of setting traps, their sudden disappearance felt too deliberate, too calculated, and the silence of the passageways struck him as more ominous than the sound of claws scraping stone.

The possibility existed that the enemy had believed those three monsters sufficient to end them all, but even so it made little sense that the rest of the corridors would be left so unguarded.

If they truly had intelligence enough to bait them once, then surely there was purpose in this emptiness. To Mathew, only one explanation seemed likely, this was another trap, a lure designed to draw him deeper.

His hands clenched into fists as he walked, his thoughts circling the same truth: he should have left the site the moment he realized they had anticipated his arrival. Withdrawal would not have been difficult.

A book lay in the exact place where they had first appeared, and by touching it they could have returned without further risk. Yet he had not done so, and the question of why lingered bitterly in his mind.

The answer, though, was one he already knew, his pride. He had never wanted to send scouts ahead, had never wanted to waste time on preparation, for he had believed he could face whatever awaited with only his own strength and will.

It was the higher-ups who had refused him, unwilling to gamble with his life so carelessly. Now, as things continued to slide toward chaos, he found his resolve hardening in the opposite direction. The more dangerous the situation became, the less willing he felt to retreat, for risk carried its own promise, and with greater risk came the possibility of greater reward.

The thought made his lips curl slightly, and he licked them as the taste of ambition stirred on his tongue, if the prize was great enough, then all his aspirations, all his long-held dreams, could at last be within reach.

It was after several hours of careful movement that they finally arrived at what could only be called the entrance to the library. At the far end of the corridor stood a small, unassuming metal door, and before it sat one of the creatures.

In its hand it held a sphere, small and pale purple, yet radiating with a purity and strength of energy so concentrated that Mathew felt a wave of attraction the moment he laid eyes on it. His body almost betrayed him, his legs itching to carry him forward, his chest tightening with desire, and he had to force himself to stop, pulling back sharply and raising an arm to halt those behind him who might have been similarly affected.

Yet it was not only the sphere that unsettled him. The monster itself exuded a pressure that left no doubt about its power. Its energy was overwhelming, and even without certainty of how these creatures measured their strength, Mathew could sense enough to make a judgment.

At the very least, it was at rank nine, and not at the lower threshold either, its presence carried the weight of something near the peak. Against such an enemy, a single rank ten would never stand a chance. In a group, perhaps it was possible, though even that confidence wavered in him as he studied it.

He remembered what they had been told, that success was only feasible if someone of Jacob's caliber were present. His teeth clenched as the name came to him, and he muttered under his breath, "that bastard Jacob," with a bitterness sharpened by frustration. They had been aware of the guardian, they had known a rank nine would be waiting, but he had not expected such losses before even reaching this point. Now, he was no longer certain whether the six of them could hope to prevail.

But retreat was unthinkable. Not merely because of his pride, though that burned hot enough, but because of the sphere the monster clutched so carelessly. The energy it released was intoxicating, the promise it carried too vivid to turn away from, and Mathew found that no matter the cost, he wanted it for himself.

That was when he felt a hand settle firmly on his shoulder, and turning, he found Joey standing there with an expression that was far more serious than Mathew had ever seen on him. "Young master Mathew," Joey said quietly but with conviction, "I can take Jacob's place, let us fight."

Mathew almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Jacob's role had always been clear, he was meant to meet the beast head-on alongside Mathew, the two of them keeping its focus while the others attacked from a distance or exploited whatever openings the clash created.

For a rank-ten mage, untested and unproven, to declare that he could shoulder Jacob's place was almost ridiculous. And yet, the very fact that Joey had spoken those words with such certainty was enough to push back the creeping hesitation in Mathew's chest and replace it with the reckless confidence needed to commit himself.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his tone grave now, though his hand was already moving to unsheathe his katana, the blade whispering against its scabbard as though it too longed for release.

Behind Joey, runes came alive, one after another flaring into sharp existence, and Mathew could feel their pressure in the air, how refined and deadly they were. Joey nodded once, his eyes steady. "I'm sure."

Mathew turned back to the others, his voice carrying over them with sharp authority. "All of you listen well. We attack now. No matter what happens, do not throw your lives away. This battle is not the end."

Then, with no further hesitation, he stepped out into the open, Joey keeping pace at his side. The monster ahead stirred, its gaze falling upon them as Mathew forced himself to still his breathing, his heart thudding inside his chest like a drum, his grip on the katana tightening as though it were the only anchor holding him in place. He was ready to move, ready to leap forward.

The silence was broken by a sound sharp and sudden, whoosh, like a door being flung wide. The monster's head turned fully toward them, and in its eyes there was something none of the others they had faced had shown: a glimmer of intelligence. And then, unmistakably, it smiled.

The trap was sprung. From every direction around them, more monsters began to emerge, their footsteps deliberate, their movements synchronized as though they marched to a rhythm only they could hear.

They came in a steady tide, five, ten, fifteen, twenty, and still more followed until Mathew counted twenty-six in total, their circle closing, their bodies hemming in the small group of six survivors. Among them stood the rank-nine guardian, towering with its pale sphere clutched loosely in one hand, but even without it, the sheer number of enemies made Mathew's stomach sink.

His pupils trembled as he took it all in, the weight of reality pressing down, his hands unsteady on the hilt of his weapon. But there was no retreat, no time for fear, and no possibility of negotiation. He knew it, and everyone else knew it as well.

"All of you!" he roared, voice cracking through the tension like steel striking stone. "Attack!"

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