Chapter 3 - Youthful Recklessness

The forest swallowed them as they staggered out.

No one spoke for a long while.

The canopy above groaned in the wind, but otherwise, the world outside felt wrongfully calm — sunlight dripping through the leaves like honey, uncaring of what they'd left behind.

They made camp that night without fire, taking shifts in silence.

It took four days to reach the town of Blackreed, a rough stone outpost pressed up against the hills. It was the nearest civilized settlement — not truly a town, more a border garrison with a tavern and a chapel. Far from completely secure, but safe enough to not worry about a stray beast wondering in. 

Ryel bought antidotes with shaking hands. Deren went straight to the Guild Hall, scribbled a request for reinforcements and sent it off with a courier hawk. Ana collapsed at the healer's cottage and didn't rise for two days.

Even so, they were already planning to return.

"Two weeks," Deren said, grimly. "Give us that. Rest, resupply, come back ready to drag that thing out of the shadows. We finish it, clean, this time."

Ryel nodded. "Let's just hope no one else gets curious before then."

But someone did.

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The dungeon stank of rust and bile.

Jessa wiped her blade clean for the third time that day and cursed under her breath. "I thought this place was supposed to be half-cleared."

"It was," Korin panted beside her, leaning on his cracked shield. "I read the report myself. Guardian down. Core untouched. That's what it said."

"And yet," muttered Tarn, the group's wiry mage, nudging the corpse of a spined hound with his boot. "Every bloody corridor's crawling with beasts."

"Resurrected," said Elra, grimacing as she bound her forearm with a strip of cloth. "Which means it's been a few days since the first group fled. They didn't make it back fast enough."

"They said they'd return in two weeks," Korin added, as if it were reassurance. "The courier with their message departed from the outpost just five days ago. No way they would already be back on their feet."

Jessa grunted. She didn't like this. But she also didn't like the idea of leaving empty-handed. Especially after Bailiff Hevrick had quietly slipped them that report. Said it was 'a chance to make something of yourselves before the big city lot come back to snatch all the glory.'

The man had smiled like he was doing them a kindness.

So they'd gone. They were locals. The dungeon was only three days' travel from Blackreed. They'd grown up hearing stories of adventurers and glory. They hadn't expected the fight to be easy — but they'd expected it to be survivable.

And so far, it was. Barely.

They limped down the last corridor before the guardian's chamber, faces pale and gear scuffed. Most of their potions were gone. Elra's limp was getting worse. Even Tarn, ever sarcastic, had stopped joking.

Then they reached the guardian's room. A moment of hesitation. What if the previous group hadn't actually felled the guardian? What kind of experienced adventurers would defeat the toughest foe at the dungeon's end and not destroy the core? Jessa knew something was amiss.

But there was no turning back. They'd spent what little they had to make this raid happen. This might be their only shot at a big enough reward to leave the borderlands and make a living in the city. Maybe even earn guild standing. Sure, they weren't the ones commissioned to clear this dungeon—too green, not enough renown—but the guild cared about results, not politics.

Whether the original team would be furious about their claim-jumping was a problem for another day.

Now was the moment of truth.

Jessa stepped into the hallway.

It was empty.

She let out a slow breath. The stone floor was cracked and scorched, but there was no great armored figure. No sword waiting in the dark.

"That... that's it, then," Korin whispered. "They did kill it."

"I wouldn't relax yet," Elra muttered, squinting into the corners. "Too quiet. Too clean."

"Clean?" Tarn laughed, voice edged with weariness. "Place looks like a siege took place." The walls were scored with sword marks, the flagstones shattered and unstable.

Jessa stepped carefully toward the far archway. "Let's finish it. We destroy the core, take what treasure we can carry, and get the hell out before anything else shows up."

They entered the core room.

The violet orb hovered above its dais, pulsing gently like a heartbeat. Cold light spilled across their faces.

Something about it made the air feel thinner. Like the chamber was watching them.

Tarn whistled. "Well. There it is. Looks... unguarded."

Korin moved toward it, slow and reverent. "Hard to believe this thing holds the whole dungeon together."

"I thought there'd be more treasure," Elra murmured, looking around. "Maybe some vanished with the guardian."

Then—

THUMP.

A dull echo rolled through the walls. Stone trembled faintly beneath their boots.

Everyone froze.

"What—" Korin began, then another THUMP. Heavier. Closer. Armored feet, in steady rhythm.

"Back," Jessa hissed, sword half-raised. "Someone's coming."

"No," Elra said. Her voice was too quiet. "That's not someone."

But Tarn, peering over his shoulder toward the archway leading back to the guardian's chamber, shook his head with an uneasy smile.

"Maybe another party?" he offered, forcing levity. "They probably saw us come in and followed. Could be the group that didn't finish the job last time."

Jessa didn't reply. Her gaze was locked on the doorway.

Korin's blade cracked through the core just as the second heavy footstep rang out.

He turned, breath catching, eyes wide — but with a flash of smug triumph. "Let them come. They'll see we claimed it first."

THUMP.

What entered the room was no adventurer. Iron flesh. Horned helm. A monk's scorched robe. Two weapons, each as long as a man.

But it didn't look uniform. Some horns curved upward. Its frame mismatched—steel in some joints, glinting with unnatural strength. No eyes. No glow. Just a void where its soul should be.

It towered above them, the room seeming to shrink around it. It didn't look like an opponent they, nor any experienced team of adventurers could handle.

The guardian entered at a ritual pace — slow, deliberate, like a priest at a funeral.

No roar. No sudden lunge. Just the sound of his armor flexing as he moved — a metal whisper, a noise you only noticed when your heart was already pounding.

None of the adventurers moved.

They froze in place — the moment where instinct wrestled denial.

Mouth agape and eyes wide, Korin dropped his sword.

Tarn was the first to react. A surge of blue light flared from his fingertips as he shouted a quick incantation.

The spell hit. Lightning danced across the guardian's breastplate.

But it did nothing.

The guardian reached Tarn before he could cast again.

A single swing with a mace. A wet, crunching sound.

Tarn's body flew and struck the wall, then slid down it like meat off a butcher's hook.

Elra screamed, but not out of courage.

Jessa dragged her back, forcing her toward the doorway — "MOVE, DAMN YOU!" — but Elra staggered, limping, and her sword clattered to the stone.

Korin, frozen with wide eyes, bent to retrieve his dropped weapon—

Too late.

The guardian struck him with the flat of his blade. Not to kill.

To shatter.

Korin crumpled like a ragdoll, legs folding under an unnaturally twisted spine.

Jessa was dragging Elra backward through the doorway into the corridor, when the guardian turned his attention to them - his steps behind them unhurried, patient.

They were no longer fresh. They had fought too many times on the way in, bled too much.

Still it came.

Jessa could feel her skin tingling, her body ringing alarm bells, her brain screaming.

'He is going to reach us!' - Jessa could tell that much despite her clouded mind. The guardian was not rushing to pursue them, but the length of his stride made rushing unnecessary for him in the first place. 

"Push your body to the limit Elra, we are running towards a corner!" - barked Jessa.Elra gritted her teeth, nodded. It was a gamble. Get cornered. Hope the thing swung wide. Hope it got stuck.

Not likely. But even seconds might buy them enough distance.

Enough to flee? Maybe not.

Enough to pray? Maybe.

"This is it, Elra! Get ready!"

Jessa turned. Sword in one hand, Elra in the other. Braced. Desperate.

But the real nightmare was not the creature.

It was what came next.

Jessa had read Deren's report. The guardian had a limited set of attacks—wide swings, like a beast battling its own environment.

But now—it didn't swing.

It didn't need to.

It simply stood, looming

Inspecting the walls?

Was it savoring this?

Then—an explosion.

Then—an explosion.

Stone shattered to Jessa's left. A wall crumbled.

The guardian had swung—at the wall.

Its mace and rubble now blocked their escape.

Too strong. Too deliberate.

Jessa had a terrible feeling. The feeling you might get if you were to see a wooden puppet suddenly move on its own. 

The monster was no longer bound by whatever forces limited its behavior. Having struck the wall and having dropped the mace, it grasped its sword with both hands, and shifted its grip. As if suddenly aware of its size and the limits of its surroundings, blade angled downward, it raised the weapon high above its head — aiming to drive it down in a brutal, executioner's thrust, in order to impale its foe beneath.

Elra, too stunned to cry now, tried to lift her dagger. On the other hand, Jessa, seeing the arrival of her impending doom lowered her sword. 

"Dear Lord, please welcome us in your warm embrace -"

The blade fell.

Cutting her prayer in half.