The Cursed Descent

Septimio smiled, but this time there was no trace of joy on his face. It was a cold, calculating smile—the smile of a man who had faced these creatures before and knew what was coming."We must strike hard," Septimio said, his voice firm and full of determination. "In this world there isn't a Dark Lord raising them, and there must be few… otherwise, you'd already be dead, Marco. We must push deeper."

As he spoke, his green eyes shone with a supernatural intensity. In the darkness of the grotto, Septimio could see more clearly than on the brightest day. Shadows posed no obstacle for him; on the contrary, they seemed to reveal secrets that others could not perceive. His senses, sharpened by his mystical heritage, caught every sound, every movement, every detail that escaped the others."I think I know where they are," he said, turning toward his hunters. "Torches in front, archers behind. Follow me."

The hunters nodded silently, their faces serious yet resolute. They knew that Septimio's orders were not suggestions but directives that could mean the difference between life and death. The torches were lit, casting a flickering light over the damp walls of the mine, and the archers took position, ready to fire at the first sign of danger.

Septimio then turned to Marco Hernico Caese, who was watching the scene with a mixture of concern and determination."You, good mayor, stay here," Septimio said in a respectful yet firm tone. "What we're about to do may be… a bit violent."

Marco remained unmoved. With one hand on the pommel of his gladius hispaniensis, he replied in a calm yet authoritative voice:"Septimio, this is my people and these are my lands. It is my duty to be here just as much as yours. I won't stand back while others risk their lives for us."

The townsmen who had accompanied Marco nodded silently. Some adjusted their weapons; others exchanged glances, but all shared the same determination. They were not trained soldiers, but they were brave men, willing to defend what was theirs.

Septimio looked at them for a moment, assessing their resolve. Finally, he nodded."Very well," he said. "But stay behind and follow my orders. These are no ordinary enemies, and they won't hesitate to kill anyone who gets in their way."

With that, Septimio ventured into the mine, closely followed by his hunters and the townsmen. The torches lit the path, yet the darkness seemed to resist, as if the mine itself were alive and aware of their presence. The air was thick, laden with the smell of decay and damp earth. Every so often, a distant drip echoed from the depths, but aside from that, there was only silence.

Septimio advanced with confidence, his green eyes scanning every corner, every shadow. Suddenly, he halted and raised a hand, signaling for the others to remain still."There," he whispered, pointing toward an opening in the rock, barely visible in the gloom. "That is the place."

The hunters readied themselves, their bows drawn and swords at the ready. The townsmen, though nervous, held their positions, trusting in the experience of Septimio and his hunters."Remember," Septimio said softly, "do not underestimate the Orci. They are fast, cunning, and brutal. Strike first and give no quarter."

With a gesture of his hand, the group moved toward the opening, ready to confront whatever awaited them deep within the mine. The light from the torches danced on the walls, casting shadows that seemed to move on their own. Septimio, wielding Caladhel in hand, led the way, his green eyes shining like beacons in the darkness.

And at that moment, a deep, guttural sound echoed from the depths, followed by the rapid patter of approaching footsteps. The Orci had detected them, and battle was inevitable.

Young Antonio, with his sturdy build but trembling heart, followed at the rear of the group, gripping tightly the butcher's knife he had used so many times to carve up sheep at the mayor's farm. Now, however, the knife seemed ridiculously small and useless against what might be waiting for them deep in the mine. His hand—accustomed to holding work tools—shook visibly, and the torch in his other hand cast eerie shadows on the grotto's walls.

As they walked, Antonio couldn't help but notice the skeletons scattered across the floor, some still chained to the walls or trapped beneath piles of rocks. They were the remains of slaves who had worked there centuries ago when the mine was still in operation. Their pale, brittle bones seemed to whisper tales of suffering and despair, and Antonio felt that every step he took drew him closer to a similar fate."My God," Antonio thought, his eyes flitting from one skeleton to another, "what the hell am I doing here? This is no place for a peasant. I should be at the farm, tending the sheep—not here, in this hell of stone and darkness, chasing… what exactly are we chasing? Monsters? Demons? What do I know about such things?"

His thoughts raced, blending with the sound of his own footsteps and the distant growls resonating from deep within the mine. Every piercing laugh he heard made his skin crawl, as if thousands of spiders were scurrying across his back."That Septimio," he continued in his internal monologue, "seems so calm, as if this were a stroll in the countryside. How can he be so composed? He says he's fought these things before, but… what kind of man does that? What kind of man enjoys it?"

Antonio looked ahead, where Septimio advanced steadily, dagger in hand and an almost cheerful expression on his face. The young noble appeared to be in his element, as if darkness and danger were his home. Antonio couldn't understand it."I just wanted to help," he thought, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach. "I wanted to prove that I'm brave, that I can be of use. But this… this is too much. I'm not a soldier, I'm not a hunter. I'm just a peasant—a peasant with a butcher's knife and woolen hands that won't stop trembling."

Suddenly, a sharp shriek rang out in the mine, followed by a guttural laugh that seemed to come from all directions at once. Antonio froze, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He looked around, expecting to see something, but there was nothing but shadows upon shadows."What was that?" he murmured, unaware that he had spoken aloud.

One of the hunters, an older man scarred on his face, turned to him and placed a hand on his shoulder."Calm down, boy," the hunter said in a rough yet not unkind voice. "Keep your cool and don't stray from the group. If you wander off, you're lost."

Antonio nodded, trying to control his breathing. He knew the hunter was right, yet that did nothing to dispel his fear. Every step they took plunged him deeper into a world he did not understand—a world of nightmares and monsters."My God," he thought again, tightening his grip on the knife, "if I make it out of this alive, I swear I'll never get into trouble again. I'll stay at the farm, tend the sheep, and live a quiet life. Please, God, let me get out of here."

But even as he thought that, he knew there was no turning back. They were too far in, too close to whatever awaited them in the depths of the mine. All he could do was keep moving, praying that his butcher's knife would be enough to protect him… and that Septimio knew what he was doing.

One of the hunters, a man roughly Septimio's age, walked at the rear of the group. His face was marked by scars and his gaze was cold, yet not without cunning. He noticed Antonio's nervousness—how the young man walked hesitantly, clutching his butcher's knife as if it were a talisman. The hunter approached him and began speaking in Latin with a strange, guttural, rough accent, as if the words were dragged from the depths of his throat."Don't worry, boy," the hunter said, his voice deep but not entirely hostile. "They're like a cross between a dwarf and a pig… or a dog. Some have lumps, like tumors, others fangs. Most are black—but not black like Ethiopians, black, black. They smell horrible, and their blood… their blood is black."

Antonio swallowed hard, trying to absorb the hunter's words. His Latin wasn't the best, but he understood enough to feel even more terrified. The hunter continued as though telling a story around a campfire instead of venturing into a cursed mine."They're cowards," the hunter said, adjusting the bow on his back. "They squeal like pigs when cornered. But don't pity them, boy. At the first chance, they'll leap to bite your neck."

Antonio nodded, though his hands still trembled. The hunter gave him a sidelong look and offered a crooked smile, as if he took a small pleasure in frightening the youth."My name is Caius Ulfangar," the hunter said, tilting his head slightly. "Servant of Septimio's legacy, of the Ninth Hispana Legion."

Though nervous, Antonio made an effort to reply politely."Antonio… Antonio of Vicus Passicus," he said, his voice trembling yet firm. "A shepherd and… well, now this."

Caius Ulfangar let out a brief, dry laugh."Welcome to the world of hunters, Antonio of Vicus Passicus," he said in a tone that was slightly mocking but not cruel. "Just remember what I told you: don't turn your back on them, don't show fear, and above all, don't pity them."

Antonio nodded again, trying to take in the hunter's words. As they advanced, the echo of growls and guttural laughter resonated from the depths of the mine, a reminder that Caius Ulfangar's warnings were not mere tales to scare novices. They were real, as real as the skeletons of the slaves lying at their feet—mute witnesses to the horrors that had occurred there centuries ago.

Caius Ulfangar, for his part, moved forward with the confidence of a man who had seen too much to fear the darkness. His bow was ready, his eyes scouring every shadow, his mind calculating every move. He knew the Orci were near and was prepared to confront them. But he also knew that in a place like this, even the most experienced hunters could fall.

The air in the mine grew denser, heavier, as if the walls themselves were breathing. The growls and laughter of the Orci sounded ever closer, and Antonio felt his heart pounding so fiercely he believed everyone could hear it. His hands sweated, and the butcher's knife he held seemed to weigh more than usual. Suddenly, a high-pitched, shrill sound rang out in the darkness, like a pig's squeal mixed with a human scream. Antonio froze; his breathing quickened, and his legs felt as if they were turning to jelly."I can't… I can't go on," he murmured, almost unaware that he'd spoken aloud. His eyes filled with tears of frustration and fear, and he felt panic completely overtake him.

Caius Ulfangar, who had been walking a step ahead, immediately turned back. His gray eyes, as cold as steel, fixed on Antonio—not with reproach, but with fierce determination."Hey, you!" Caius said, grabbing Antonio firmly by the shoulder. "Wake up! Now's not the time to falter. Do you think I'm some kind of hero? We all feel fear, but if you stop, you're dead. And if you fall, you endanger us all."

Antonio tried to speak, but no words came out. Caius shook him gently, as if trying to shake the fear from his body."Look at me," ordered Caius, his voice low but full of authority. "You are strong, boy. They are weak. They are not demons of great power, just disgusting beasts. Have you ever slaughtered sheep or pigs?"

Still trembling, Antonio nodded. His lips were dry, but he managed to murmur, "Yes… yes, I have killed sheep."

Caius offered a crooked smile, as though he had won a small victory."There you have it," he said, giving Antonio a friendly thump on the chest. "The flesh of the Orci is softer than that of a sheep. Your knife will cut through easily. Now, keep up with me. If we lag behind, we're in trouble."

Antonio swallowed hard, feeling the fear begin to ebb, replaced by a trembling yet genuine determination. Caius did not wait for a reply; he simply turned and trotted ahead, his bow at the ready and his eyes scanning the darkness. His attitude was almost carefree, as if this were a hunting trip rather than a mission deep within a cursed mine.

Antonio followed him, feeling Caius's confidence slowly rub off on him. The fear hadn't vanished completely, but now it was under control—like a fire that burned instead of consuming him. He gripped his knife tighter and told himself, "If Caius can do it, so can I."

The group continued forward, the torches lighting the way as the growls and laughter of the Orci grew louder. Antonio noticed that his steps had become firmer, and although his heart still pounded, he no longer felt as though it would burst. He looked at Caius, who advanced with an almost jovial smile, and for the first time since entering the mine, Antonio felt that maybe, just maybe, they might emerge alive.