The nightmare evolved.

The swamp dissolved without warning.

Mud withdrew, fog thinned, and the suffocating weight beneath their feet gave way to solid ground. Trees rose where mire had been, trunks thick and ancient, roots gripping the land like veins hardened over centuries. The nightmare did not end.

It changed shape.

They stood in a forest now–dense, silent, and closed. No wind stirred the leaves. No insects cried. Even the ground felt restrained, as though sound itself had been disciplined into stillness.

Then the circle closed.

Ghost Prison Hollow Face Spiders emerged from between the trees.

Not one.

Dozens.

They did not rush. They did not crawl. They occupied. Massive bodies settled into place, legs anchoring to earth and bark alike, forming a perfect ring around the group. Each spider mirrored the others in posture and distance, their presence overlapping until the forest itself became a cage.

Their abdomen pulsed faintly.

The skulls embedded within did not scream loudly–but together, their restrained cries layered into something unbearable. A chorus of compressed resentment, anguish refined into structure, echoing through bone and soul alike.

Fear spiked.

Hunters trembled openly now.

Hands shook. Some dropped weapons without realizing it. Others clutched them too tightly, knuckles whitening as muscles locked between fight and collapse. Breathing turned shallow, uneven, each inhale scraping past dread that refused to settle.

The spiders did not move.

They waited.

Kiaria felt a familiarity.

This was not threat.

This was feeding.

The behavior too mirrored. Kiaria thought.

Evil Spiders thrived on prolonged fear, on resentment cultivated slowly until it hardened into something permanent. They did not kill quickly. They harvested despair, refined it, compressed it–until souls became useful.

Diala stood beside Kiaria.

Her presence was steady, her breathing controlled. She did not look at the spiders surrounding them. She looked only at Kiaria, instinctively anchoring herself to what was real. The red thread binding their hearts resonated quietly, neutralizing the pressure before it could form roots.

Fear did not reach her.

Nor him.

They had faced this before.

They had already learned what terror failed to take from them.

But the others–

They were unraveling.

The spiders' forms alone were enough to fracture focus, but it was the sound that did the real damage. The muffled screams crawled beneath thought, stirred buried guilt, unresolved loss, old self-blame. Fear sharpened into resentment.

Resentment deepened into belief.

Kiaria opened his vision again.

The Will of Life responded instantly, golden threads rising into clarity as the Eyes of Insight cut through the forest's false stillness. Normally, weakness revealed itself through thinning strands–fractured flow, unstable rhythm, hesitation etched into light itself.

But now, every strand trembled.

Fear saturated the space, thickened by the spiders' presence and the low, endless resonance of imprisoned souls. Resentment did not belong to one mind alone. It radiated outward, braided together until distinction blurred.

There was no weakest thread.

Only a field of shaking gold.

Kiaria exhaled slowly.

If fear equalized all Will, then strength could not be measured by stability alone. He needed pattern. Intention. Posture. What fear did not erase.

So he stopped searching.

And began observing.

His gaze settled first on the Chief.

The man trembled–openly. His shoulders were tense, breath uneven, jaw clenched hard enough to grind teeth. Fear was present. Undeniable. Yet beneath it, something else remained intact.

Structure.

The Chief's stance had not collapsed. His feet were planted deliberately, weight balanced despite the shaking. One arm remained angled forward, shield-ready. The other hovered near his weapon–not reaching, not freezing.

Defensive.

Protective.

Leadership had not fled him.

His Will shook, but it did not scatter. It folded inward, guarding rather than leaking. Even now, even here, his attention tracked the hunters nearest him instead of the spiders encircling them.

This was not the posture of a host.

Kiaria dismissed him.

His focus shifted.

Mu Long.

The tremor in Mu Long's hands was worse. Breath harsher. Eyes sharp with restrained panic. Yet his position told a different story. He stood half a step behind the Chief's shoulder, angled precisely where reinforcement mattered most.

Not forward.

Not fleeing.

Supporting.

Behind him, the Chief's subordinates mirrored the same instinct. Ruyi Guns trembled, grips uneven–but their formation held. Loose, imperfect, yet deliberate. Twins watched the others as much as the threat, unconsciously adjusting spacing.

Fear had not broken cooperation.

It had only strained it.

A host did not think this way.

A host did not anchor others.

Kiaria's conclusion was immediate.

They were not it.

He lifted his voice.

"Chief."

The word cut cleanly through the layered screams, sharper than command–certain.

The Chief's eyes snapped to him.

"You. Mu Long. Ru and Yi."

Kiaria did not raise his tone.

"Move."

No explanation followed.

Trust filled the gap where understanding would have taken too long.

The Chief reacted instantly, pivoting without hesitation. Mu Long followed. The formation loosened, then reassembled with fluid efficiency as they crossed the clearing.

Kiaria pointed once.

"Behind Shade."

They moved.

The forest held its shape.

Spiders remained where they were, unmoving sentinels stitched into bark and shadow. Their presence pressed inward without advancing, tightening the space until thought itself felt observed. Fear had stabilized–not faded, but disciplined into a low, constant pressure.

Kiaria turned.

"Chief," he said calmly.

"Have you found something about this nightmare?"

The Chief did not answer immediately.

His gaze remained fixed on the spiders for a moment longer, as though measuring distance that no longer mattered. Then his eyes shifted inward, searching not the forest, but memory.

Before he spoke, Mu Long stepped forward.

"I have," Mu Long said. His voice was strained, but focused.

"A pattern."

Everyone listened.

"These nightmares aren't targeting us directly," Mu Long continued. "As long as we don't attack or move with offensive intent, the illusory beasts don't act. They react only when resistance becomes aggression."

He paused, brow furrowing.

"And there's something wrong with power usage. At times, I feel mortal. At times, cultivation returns fully. Then suddenly–helpless. Even when confidence remains."

His jaw tightened.

"It feels manipulated. Like being guided. Or… pulled."

The Chief nodded slowly.

"He's right," he said. "But it isn't puppet control."

He exhaled.

"It's emotional sharing."

That single sentence shifted the air.

"At the beginning," the Chief continued, "we were isolated. Each of us saw our own beloved ones die. Those visions weren't foreign–they were thoughts we've carried before. Quiet fears. Imaginations the mind produces instinctively when facing danger."

His eyes darkened.

"We processed them alone. We endured them. And we survived–because the Patron intervened."

He lifted his gaze, sweeping across the forest.

"Then the nightmare changed. Blood worms became spiders. The swamp became this forest."

His voice hardened.

"This land is an exact replica of where we're camped now."

Silence followed.

"Someone among us is imagining this," the Chief said. "Not consciously. But vividly."

Understanding spread slowly.

"Hylisi is not the host," he added. "She never faced the blood worms with us in the swamp. Those details aren't hers."

Hylisi did not argue.

She already knew.

"These kinds of imagination patterns," the Chief continued, "come from experience. From hunters who've seen death often enough that fear stops screaming–and starts shaping."

Then his expression tightened.

"But here's the contradiction."

He clenched his fist.

"Helplessness."

That word landed heavier than fear.

"All of us here are wanted by the Empire," the Chief said. "Cruel. Hardened. Survivors who've crossed life and death more times than we can count. Survival instinct is carved into us."

His gaze sharpened.

"Helplessness is not something we display."

He shook his head slowly.

"And it's not worry. Worry is loud. Worry seeks control."

"What we felt was resignation."

Mu Long swallowed.

"The kind that accepts loss before resistance."

The Chief continued.

"And women hunters won't be the source of this," he said calmly. "Their minds are tempered differently. They process pain earlier. They don't collapse into imagined inevitability."

A pause.

"What we're dealing with isn't fear of death," the Chief concluded.

"It's belief in incapability."

The forest seemed to listen.

Kiaria did not speak immediately.

The spiders remained still.

Understanding struck Kiaria without warning–not like revelation, but like alignment. The pieces that had refused to fit finally slid into place, quiet and precise.

The spiders surrounding them were not the source of fear. They were its mirror. The resentment saturating the forest did not originate from the nightmare–it fed it. And the Evil Spider thrived on exactly that, not as a participant, but as a catalyst.

Resentment was fuel.And for the first time since the nightmare began, Kiaria smiled.

"The spider," he said quietly. "It's the key."

Everyone stiffened as his gaze remained fixed on the ring of spiders. "The mirrored forms are bound to it," Kiaria continued. "Resentment strengthens its domain here. That means we can channel it, shape it, and delay the nightmare's evolution."

The Evil Spider shifted, sensing intent, its limbs anchoring deeper into the forest floor.

"For a few minutes at a time," Kiaria said evenly, "it can suppress the nightmare's ability to shift forms."

Diala's eyes sharpened instantly. She understood before explanation followed.

"We act," Kiaria said. "Inside its domain."

He turned to the Chief, his tone flattening into command without raising volume. "Listen carefully. No recklessness. No hierarchy blindness. No gendered assumptions."

His gaze hardened as it swept the group. "Everyone here survived this far on their own strength. Man or woman makes no difference."

The Chief met his eyes without hesitation. "…Understood."

Kiaria turned back to the others. "We will recreate fear," he said. "Not to break you–but to test you."

The Evil Spider stepped forward, and its domain unfolded.

This time, the forest did not vanish. It compressed. Space bent inward as web-lines stitched reality closed, sealing sound and distance alike. The screaming skulls embedded in the spider's abdomen fell silent–not erased, but restrained. Resentment did not disappear; it thickened, stabilized, contained.

Inside the domain, Kiaria and Diala took the front.

They fought–not symbolically, not gently. They bled.

Diala's stomach pierced under impact. Kiaria's shoulder split open. The Evil Spider roared as if barely holding the domain together, webs tearing as its limbs braced against invisible collapse.

Behind them, the Chief and Mu Long entered already wounded, barely standing. The Chief's shield was cracked. Mu Long's breathing was ragged, blood streaking his armor. They fought like men on their last breath–back to back, defending not glory, but space.

Then Ru fell.Yi fell.

One strike. Both down. Motionless. Dead.

The illusion was perfect.

Silence rippled through the watching hunters, heavy and paralyzing. Kiaria's roar tore through it.

"MOVE!"

Diala screamed–not in pain, but fury. "DON'T JUST WATCH!"

The test was simple and merciless. If will rose–if someone moved forward, supported, coordinated, tried to protect–they were not the host. If despair won, if thought collapsed inward and blame replaced action, the nightmare would respond.

One by one, hunters were drawn in.

The first experienced hunter entered the domain, fear shaking him to the core. But when he saw Ru and Yi fallen, something snapped. He moved–covered Mu Long, dragged the Chief back, and survived.

The domain broke.He returned alive. Stronger.

The second entered. Hesitated, then followed.The third.The fourth.

Each time, Kiaria and Diala fought harder–bloodier–forcing the illusion to feel desperate, forcing reaction, forcing choice. Inside the domain, the Chief shouted orders–not commands, but guidance.

"Together!""Shield left!""Don't chase–hold!"

Mu Long reinforced it relentlessly. "Cover each other! Fear passes–movement doesn't!"

Coordination emerged. Hope bled through terror.

Thirteen were tested. Thirteen returned.

Then the fourteenth entered.

The moment they vanished, the domain reacted–not with resistance, but relief. The forest leaned inward. The spiders stilled. Resentment stopped circulating and pooled like stagnant water.

Kiaria felt it instantly."That's them," Diala whispered.

Inside the domain, the illusion formed again. Kiaria and Diala were dying. The Chief fell. Mu Long screamed. Ru and Yi were already gone. The fourteenth stood frozen, weapon lowered, eyes unfocused–not fear, but conviction.

"I can't," the hunter whispered.

The nightmare bloomed.

Kiaria stepped forward, voice calm and unyielding. "You don't have to be strong. You only had to try."

"No–no…, I'm weak. I cannot even grab this sword. I cannot…" He murmured.

The fear made him immobile.

"So, you are the host." The dead Subordinate twins came forward stopped act and grabbed him.

"Get up you fool. This was just a test." Chief hit on his shoulder and pulled him up.

They barely managed host from berserk.

"Now we have to find way to escape from this illusory world. For that I need your help." Kiaria said to the host.

"I–I'm sorry. I will try." Host replied.

The Domain broke itself. The surrounded Evil Spiders disappeared. But still nightmare forest remained.

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