Grand Olympia - Chapter 26: Encounter

Grand Olympia: Further Horizon - Chapter 26: Encounter

The air was still, quiet for the first time in what felt like hours. The distant scent of smoke lingered, but it was faint now, almost forgotten. In some distance the battlefield—a place of chaos and blood not long ago—had settled into something calmer. 

The massive serpent's corpse lay cold and unmoving, a grim reminder of what they had survived. But that fight was over. For now, they could rest.

Jeanne sat near the edge of camp, her spear laid across her lap. She had been cleaning the blade for nearly ten minutes, but her hands moved slower now. Her muscles ached, but the pain was satisfying—a reminder that she was still standing. 

She ran her fingers over the worn torn flag attached to her spear, tracing the familiar grooves. This weapon had been with her through wars, through fire and death. Somehow, she felt comfort in its presence.

George sat nearby, his rifle resting across his shoulders. He wasn't cleaning it, just holding it. His fingers tapped softly against the trigger, a quiet rhythm to keep his mind from wandering. He thought back to the fight, the close calls, the way they had held their ground.

He felt proud—not of himself, but of them. For once, he wasn't thinking of strategies or survival. He just sat there, quietly content.

Billy stretched out on a patch of grass, one arm tucked behind his head. His revolver was within reach, but for once, his hand wasn't on it. His hood was pulled low over his eyes, but he wasn't asleep. He just let himself breathe.

Every breath felt a little easier than the last. For someone who spent most of his life living fast and loud, moments like this—quiet and still—were rare. He figured he'd enjoy it while he could.

Musashi sat cross-legged near the fire, sharpening one of his wooden katana with calm, methodical movements. The blade didn't need sharpening—it never did—but the ritual of it was familiar. Soothing. His thoughts wandered to the serpent, the way its body thrashed, the look in its eyes before it died. 

He wondered if he'd slowed down—if his blade had dulled in skill, not just in edge. He pushed the thought away and focused on the steady scrap of wood against stone.

Lapulapu rested against a tree, his shield propped beside him. He held a small knife in his hand, carving something into a piece of bark. The movements were precise, deliberate. A habit from his days in the tribe—carving patterns to pass the time.

His mind drifted to his people back home, their faces, their voices. He didn't know if he'd ever see them again. But carving these familiar shapes made him feel closer to them, even in this strange place.

Fu Hao lay on her back, staring up at the sky. Her fingers tapped against the dirt, counting out an invisible rhythm. Her ribs ached, and her body felt like it had been trampled by a stampede, but she smiled anyway.

She remembered the serpent's head tearing free in her hands—remembered the heat of its blood on her face. She laughed quietly to herself. "Crazy," she muttered. But she didn't regret a thing.

The campfire crackled softly, its flames flickering like whispers. No one spoke much—they didn't need to.

There was comfort in the silence, in the quiet sounds of breath and movement. Each of them knew this moment wouldn't last, but that only made it feel more precious.

For now, there were no medallions to chase. No rival groups to fight. No twisted monsters lurking just out of sight. For now, they were just people—wounded, tired, but still standing.

They didn't know what the next thing would bring. Another fight, another enemy, another impossible challenge. But that was a problem for the future. This time, they let themselves rest.

And somehow, that felt like enough.

George, seated on a fallen log with his rifle resting across his shoulder, cleared his throat.

"We have to you something," he said.

The others turned. Musashi's eyes barely opened from his exhausted state. Fu Hao scowled from her resting spot, clutching her ribs. Jeanne, still standing with her spear in hand, had barely stopped moving. Only Billy looked relaxed, lazily spinning his revolver in his fingers.

"What now?" Fu Hao muttered.

George and Lapulapu recounted their trek through the dense forest, describing how they carefully avoided monsters while gathering herbs. The air had been thick and heavy, each step feeling like they were being watched. Then they found it — an ancient temple, weathered and overgrown, hidden deep within the trees.

Its cracked stone walls and faded carvings suggested something far older than any of them had expected. The three agreed it was best to regroup before exploring further — something about that place didn't sit right.

George kept his voice calm. "That temple we found in the forest—it's very big. Old. And from the looks of it, untouched for a long time."

He let the words hang in the air, hoping they'd carry enough weight.

"Yeah?" Billy drawled. "So?"

"I think we should check it out," George said. "Could be medallions inside. Maybe supplies. Maybe even clues about this place we are in."

"Or traps," Musashi cut in, voice dry. "I don't like walking into things blind."

Jeanne stepped forward. "We can't ignore it. If there's something useful in there, we need it."

"Agreed," Lapulapu muttered. His voice was calm, but there was something else—concern.

"Alright," George said. "We vote."

The results were clear. Nearly everyone agreed.

…

The group set out the next hour, moving slower than usual. Fu Hao limped slightly, and Musashi walked stiffly, his body still aching from the battle.

Jeanne, George, and Billy kept ahead, acting as scouts. Lapulapu, Musashi, and Fu Hao trailed behind to conserve what little energy they had left.

The forest swallowed them whole, dense and thick. Leaves rustled faintly in the breeze, but otherwise, it was eerily quiet. The kind of quiet that sat on your skin.

"You ever get the feeling," Billy muttered, "that somethin' ain't right?"

Jeanne kept her gaze sharp, scanning the trees. "Feels too quiet."

"That's because it is too quiet," George said grimly. He slowed his pace, hand resting on his rifle.

From the underbrush, a pack of twisted, raptors-like creatures lunged. Their bodies were thin and stretched unnaturally long, their jaws filled with rows of jagged teeth.

"Contact!" George barked.

He squeezed the trigger, dropping the closest beast with a shot to the head. Billy spun his revolver and fired off two quick rounds, both hitting their marks.

Jeanne's spear flashed, impaling one of the creatures mid-leap. She drove her heel boot into its skull, twisting the spear deeper.

"Behind you!" Billy shouted.

George spun, barely getting his rifle up in time to block a lunging beast. He rammed the blade of his rifle into its jaw, stabbing it in it's place before finishing it off with a close-range shot.

The rest of the group staggered into position—Fu Hao gripping her one handed small jade axe tightly, Musashi trying to raise his blades.

"Stay back!" George shouted. "We've got this!"

Jeanne danced through the chaos, her spear carving through muscle and bone. Billy fired again and again, emptying his revolver. George covered him, taking careful shots at any creature that got too close.

Some time gas past and by the time the fight ended, Jeanne was covered in grime, Billy was out of breath, and George was nursing a deep scratch on his arm.

"That," Billy muttered, "was too damn close."

The forest seemed to darken the deeper they went. Twisted trees curled like grasping fingers, and the air turned stale, carrying a foul scent that clung to their skin. Then the creatures appeared—grotesque things that shouldn't exist.

Wolf-like beasts with elongated snouts and too many teeth, their limbs twisted unnaturally. Bear-sized snails with slimy, mucus-covered shells that pulsed like breathing flesh.

And worse still, towering figures that resembled scaled raptors like monsters, their jagged claws slicing through the undergrowth with chilling speed. They didn't come one by one—they came in swarms, a chaotic tide of fangs and claws.

The group moved fast, forced to rely on precision over power. Jeanne's spear struck quick and clean, piercing the skull of a raptor that lunged too close. George fired shot after shot, picking off stragglers that tried to flank them. 

Billy's revolver barked out sharply, each shot a clean kill. 

Musashi, still weakened, fought with calculated strikes, conserving what little strength he had. Lapulapu's sword pierce through the beasts like a needle, each thrust precise. 

Fu Hao danced between foes, her jade axe flickering like lightning as she weaved through the chaos. But even with their combined skill, the endless numbers threatened to overwhelm them.

Blood soaked the ground. The snarls and roars of dying beasts filled the air. By the time the last monster fell, their breaths were ragged, their limbs heavy. Bodies lay scattered across the ground, the twisted remains of beasts rank one through five.

The air stank of iron and rot. For a moment, no one moved. The battle had drained what little strength they had left—but they were still standing. And that was enough.

Some time has passed finally reaching at the ancient temple.

The group stood in silence, staring at the ancient structure. The temple was massive, yet somehow felt suffocating. 

Cracks snaked across its weathered stone, and vines strangled the walls like nature itself was trying to pull it back into the earth. The entrance—a gaping, hollow mouth—seemed to swallow the light whole.

Jeanne gripped her spear tightly, her knuckles pale. Something about the place unsettled her—not just the darkness, but the silence. No birds, no insects, not even the wind. A place forgotten by time. She shivered.

George adjusted his glasses and wiped sweat from his brow. "Creepy," he muttered. He hated ruins like this—places that felt too quiet. Every stone seemed like it held a story he didn't want to know.

Billy gave a dry chuckle, spinning his revolver lazily. "Looks like the kind of place folks disappear in," he said, more to himself than anyone else. His grin wavered, though. He wasn't laughing anymore.

Fu Hao crossed her arms, scowling. "It's just a bunch of old rocks," she muttered, but her voice didn't carry its usual bite. Even she felt it—the weight of something wrong. Her hand drifted near her axe's grip, a habit she barely noticed.

Musashi said nothing. He stared hard at the entrance, eyes narrowed. The swordsman had seen death in many forms, yet this place felt different. Not like a duel. Not like a battlefield. It felt… hungry.

No one spoke for a while. The air seemed heavier the longer they stood there, like the temple itself was waiting for them to take one step too close.

"We're not the first ones here," Lapulapu murmured.

The group turned to him.

"What do you mean?" Jeanne asked.

Lapulapu gestured to the ground. Small symbols—stones stacked in odd formations—marked the path. Not obscure to notice by someone and only to scatter.

"I laid those down earlier," he said. "Someone's been through here since."

"You sure it wasn't just an animal?" Billy asked.

Lapulapu shook his head. "No animal does this. Someone passed through here—recently."

Silence settled over them again, heavier this time.

"Could be one of the other groups," George muttered. "The Watcher mentioned eighteen of us. We've only met half."

"Great," Billy scoffed. "So now we've got other survivors sneaking around too?"

Jeanne stepped forward. "We go inside together," she said firmly. "No splitting up. No surprises."

The others nodded.

"Stay sharp," Lapulapu warned. "Something's wrong about this place."

The air felt colder now. The sky above dimmed as the sun dipped below the trees, casting jagged shadows over the temple's face.

And beyond the entrance, darkness waited.