"Sometimes, victory isn't about strength or speed—
It's about who's willing to bleed in silence,
and strike when no one's watching."
-The Brawl Between Bonds-
Up above the chaos of the dungeon floor—where the Dungeon Master-Armored Flesh roared and thrashed—the air was filled with tension hotter than fire, heavier than lead.
Trevus stood alone.
His curved sabers gleamed under the dim, pulsing lights of the fleshy cavern. He exhaled slowly, bracing his stance on the ruined platform. Cracks spiderwebbed beneath his feet. Blood—someone else's—dripped from one blade.
Across from him stood two shadows he once called comrades.
Camylle, the Flame-Fisted Battle Mage, her bare hands shrouded in searing heat and with thick mana reinforcement.
Sir Harlen, the disciplined Knight, wielding a straight-edged arming sword crackling with dense, silver-blue mana.
These two stood against,
Trevus, an agile and calm, two curved sabers in dual wield, his body rippling with fluid energy that enhanced each motion like a dance of death.
The three had fought side by side in a dozen dungeon-clears. Now, they clashed like wild beasts, each driven by a different purpose.
"You should've stayed down, Trev!" Camylle yelled, her fists igniting in bright crimson as heat warped the air around her.
Trevus didn't answer. His breath came steady, his eyes sharp.
He angled his body low—sabers gleaming.
Harlen scoffed. "We're not here to talk anymore."
Trevus responded. "That's good. I wasn't going to side with you two anyways..."
Then they charged.
Choosing to divert his mana to enhance is fluid, Trevus wasted no time.
-First Clash-
Camylle struck first—flames bursting from her fists as she leapt and closed the gap in a blink of an eye. She opened with a left hook, enhanced with a burst of combustion—
WHAM!
Trevus twisted at the last second, avoiding the strike by inches. The blow cracked stone behind him, leaving a scorched crater.
He countered with a sharp horizontal slash, aiming for her abdomen—
But Harlen intercepted. His sword met the saber mid-swing with a thunderous clang, mana-on-mana grinding in a clash of sparks and force.
Trevus staggered slightly from the impact, but spun with the motion, catching Camylle's follow-up kick with his opposite blade.
Her boot blazed, fire licking the edge of his saber as he deflected it upward—just enough to avoid losing an arm.
Camylle... she's too strong.
A Battle Mage through and through. Her fists burn hotter than steel, and her mana reserves? Gods—she's got more than me and Harlen combined. I can't go head-to-head with her. Not for long.
He ducked under another flaming strike, the heat singing his brow.
I need to play it smart.
Harlen's a textbook knight—direct, heavy-handed. Camylle's aggressive, emotional. Neither of them are sharp against feints or ripostes.
I can use that.
-Second Exchange-
Trevus darted back—
A blur of motion, body enhanced with mana threaded into every muscle, every joint, every breath. He moved like fluid water—too fast, too precise.
Harlen's eyes narrowed. "He's faster than before."
Beside him, Camylle smirked, fire dripping from her knuckles like molten sap.
"So what?" she said, stepping forward. "He still bleeds."
Trevus didn't wait.
He surged forward—The studies of The Way of the Sword flowing through him, a rhythm honed by blood and repetition.
His twin sabers slashed in overlapping arcs—low, high, sweeping diagonal, then reversed.
Each cut was meant to corner, break, or bait.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Steel rang out as Harlen's arming sword met the assault head-on. He shifted, blocked, deflected, his boots grinding into stone with every impact—his footing reinforced by concentrated mana just to withstand the barrage.
Harlen swung horizontally with a strong but uncontrolled slash, but this is what Trevus was waiting for.
A moment for Harlen to slip and make one single mistake.
Then—Trevus dropped low.
A sudden sweep kick took Harlen off balance. The knight stumbled.
And Camylle dove in.
But she didn't go for a punch.
She slammed her hands together, compressing flame between her palms—
A wave of intense heat erupted as she shouted her incantation:
"Molten Slug."
Trevus's eyes widened as he saw it—her fists clamped up glowing a furious white-orange, burning brighter than magma.
BOOM—!!!
The explosion engulfed him.
Smoke. Shockwave. Fire.
The ground cracked beneath the blast. Heat waves warped the air.
Camylle skidded to a stop, panting—ready to call it over.
But then—
The smoke cleared.
And Trevus was still standing.
Barely.
His coat was scorched and smoldering, smoke clinging to his pauldrons, and ash flaked from his sleeves like snow. His defensive stance wavered, and in his right hand—
—was a broken saber.
The blade had snapped clean in half, ruined by the shockwaves of raw force from the impact.
Camylle's eyes widened in disbelief.
He blocked it…?
Molten Slug—her most devastating close-range technique—known for punching through heavy plated armor and dense mana-reinforcement.
During when Molten Slug hit Trevus, he had raised his saber just in time—channeling every last drop of mana into its edge.
The blade gave its life for him.
He coughed.
Spat out soot.
Then grinned—that same quiet, infuriating grin he always wore when he outlasted something meant to finish him.
"Not bad."
-Third Clash-
Camylle launched herself like a cannonball, both fists ablaze.
She shouted mid-air: "Burn, you stubborn bastard—!"
Trevus sidestepped and grabbed her arm mid-swing—With a twist of the hip, he redirected her momentum and slammed her down into the stone, back-first.
The air wheezed from her lungs as the flames around her flickered.
"Camylle!" Harlen roared.
Trevus turned—just in time to block Harlen's overhead strike.
The impact sent a tremor through Trevus's arms. His knees buckled slightly.
Harlen pushed harder, gritting his teeth.
"You were like a brother. You knew Ferris was weak—Then what the hell are you protecting!?"
Trevus, straining, replied through clenched teeth. "I thought we're not here to talk anymore..."
Harlen continued on.
"Tsk! you just kept turning a blind eye. You saw the weakness in Ferris. The cowardice. You still clung to that idealistic fool."
"I saw honor," Trevus shot back. "Something both of you buried long ago."
Their blades locked—grinding, sparking.
Then—A punch. To the gut.
From Harlen.
What the—hell!? Did he just—punch me while we were locked?!
Trevus staggered. That wasn't knightly form—that was dirty.
This isn't just a duel anymore... It's survival
Trevus snapped a kick into Harlen's shin, breaking the bind.
In a blur, he spun behind him—Steel flashed.
A shallow cut opened across Harlen's back.
"Gnh—!" Harlen staggered forward, wincing. But he twisted around immediately, swinging his blade in a wide, angry arc.
Trevus ducked low, the edge whistling over his head. His saber scraped the ground, carving sparks as he prepared a rising slash—
But Camylle was already there.
Her boot slammed down on the incoming saber with explosive force, halting the upward strike cold.
Trevus recoiled, stepping back—
And then he saw it.
Camylle's body shimmered. Her skin steamed.
Flames danced across her limbs, not wild, but contained—refined. Her aura pulsed with
Mana-Amplification, now laced with fire.
He narrowed his eyes. That technique wasn't just a buff.
Mana-Amplification, in its elemental form, was no mere shield.
It didn't block—it dampened incoming force while punishing proximity. Combined with Camylle's imbued flames, anyone foolish enough to engage her up close would find their own flesh blistering the longer they lingered.
Camylle grinned, the air around her rippling with heat. However this is probably her final card.
Trevus didn't hesitate.
He sidestepped, avoiding a direct clash. His eyes snapped toward Harlen, who was already moving in again.
Trevus twisted his blade in a feint mid-air—inviting the parry.
Harlen took the bait.
Their blades met with a clash of force—
But Trevus slipped low.
Before Harlen could recover, Trevus's saber struck from below—fast, precise.
Crack.
The impact rattled against Harlen's thigh. He flinched, teeth clenched, his footing thrown off once more.
There! His reinforcement—it's slipping! The mana around his blade is weakening.
He's losing focus.
But before Trevus could press in, Camylle came barreling toward him, flames spinning around her arms.
Shit! I'm fighting a goddamn sword and a living furnace at the same time!
-The Retrieving Shadow-
The chamber trembled with rage.
At the heart of it, the Dungeon Master—Armored Flesh—thrashed and convulsed, its grotesque bulk pulsing with wounded fury. Chunks of metal-clad sinew glistened under the bio-luminescent glow of the chamber. Tendrils stabbed wildly at nothing, its fury blind.
Nira moved like a whisper of death.
Nira darted through the massive chamber like a shadow herself—her form hidden beneath Ashe's illusion: "Shroud."
But Shroud wasn't true invisibility.
It was tacet made physical—an illusion spell that didn't mute sight, but presence. To the Dungeon Master, she was nothing more than a flicker. A silence. A note not played.
She sprinted through the pit—boots soft on the fleshy floor.
The Armored Flesh writhed, confused. It could sense her vaguely—the way beasts smell
lightning before a storm—but it couldn't pin her down.
Nira circled it, heart racing.
She vaulted over a barbed tendril, rolled past a quaking mound of twitching sinew, narrowly avoided a spike erupting from the bloodied ground.
She ducked.
Another burst from the ground—she leapt, legs coiling and snapping upward.
In midair, she twisted, landed in a slide, and dove headfirst into the spreading shadow pool beneath the stone.
A pool of shadow blossomed beneath her as she disappeared into it, merging with the dark.
Beneath—The World of Shadows
The world beneath the veil was like swimming through night. Viscous, dense, silent. The Shadow Realm twisted reflections of the real world into oily silhouettes. Nira's breath slowed, her heartbeat pounded through the silence.
There they were. From below she can see the surface.
She saw the porter packs, carelessly discarded from the early chaos.
Nira swam through the heavy silence of the World of Shadows, her form gliding just beneath the surface where shadow met stone.
Above her, the discarded porter packs and scattered explosives lay still—forgotten in the chaos, but now vital.
She reached up, placing her palm gently against the thin membrane that separated the shadow realm from the physical world.
A soft ripple pulsed outward as she conjured a shadow pool, merging realms at the point of contact. The floor above darkened, liquefying into ink-like void.
The packs and explosives sank slowly through the blackened surface, as if pulled into deep water.
One by one, Nira caught them—her hands moving with practiced precision beneath the weightless drag of shadow.
Her fingers brushed past useless shards, cracked vials, spent charges—until her hands closed around what she needed.
The good ones.
The usable ones.
And with those, she turned, drifting deeper into the dark, preparing for the only shot they might have.
Nira held her breath. Eyes sharp.
Above her, the Dungeon Master stirred. Its rage was tangible, leaking into the shadow world like drops of blood in water. Tendrils—dark, bony, twitching—pierced the surface, stabbing downward. Each puncture rippled the world around her.
She moved quickly.
With each movement of her hand, a mana-imbued explosive floated up from the packs, suspended in the slowflow of shadow-water. One by one, she tested them—her fingers pulsing gently with a spark of mana.
Click. Dead.
Click. Useless.
Click. Ping.
Its like hearing the click of a grenade pin being pulled.
She exhaled softly through her nose. As she inhales the oxygen lingering within the Shadow Realm.
One. Two. Three.
Three intact mana-reactive charges. Still viable.
But just as relief settled in her chest her eyes drifted upward—and widened.
Through the translucent floor of the Shadow Realm, she could see it.
The underbelly of the Dungeon Master had changed.
Where earlier her daggers had carved wounds into its softest flesh, fleshy needles now sewed the injuries shut, veins reconnecting, muscle writhing to repair itself.
Even worse—eyes had formed. Dozens of them. Bulbous, wet, grotesque, peering directly into the shadows beneath.
It knew.
Tendrils with barbed bone-tips stabbed violently into the shadows above her. Each strike carved through the veil, distorting the World of Shadows like ripples on water.
Nira flinched.
She couldn't hide much longer. It was adapting.
-A Plan in Darkness-
Floating silently, clutching the three mana charges tight against her chest, Nira whispered to herself in the black.
"The bastard's healing itself..." Nira thought grimly.
It was evolving—learning from their attacks, reinforcing its weakness.
Time was up.
She couldn't go for the belly again. That window had passed.
She adjusted her plan.
If the underbelly was guarded—then she'd go for the core nerves along the spine. A risky gamble, but one she'd have to take. Especially looking for the spine since the Armored Flesh is just a glob of armor & flesh, literally.
She would emerge, plant the charges along the spine, and detonate it mid-motion, when the Dungeon Master was reeling from a distraction.
But for that—she'd need help.
She closed her eyes in the darkness, focusing, steadying her breath, then reached into the black with her mana—sending out a low pulse through the shadows.
A signal.
A call for Ashe.
Not a word, not a sound—just a faint, fleeting echo through the Tacet-veiled shadows, aimed at the one person who could create just enough chaos to draw the Dungeon Master's attention…
...and give Nira the perfect window to kill.
Nira pressed her mana-slicked fingertips to her temples.
"Alay-Relay."
Her consciousness flickered—shifting into mental space.
In her mind, she floated like a dot of mana in a void filled with thousands more. She searched. Reached. Focused.
There—
A thread. A familiar rhythm.
Ashe. She recognizes his mana signature.
She latched on—
——"It's Nira. Don't ask, it's Telepathy Magic. I've acquired three working mana-reactive charges. But I'll need an opening. We need Trevus... or someone to buy us time. Maybe Harlen and Camylle, but... doubtful. We just need that Dungeon Master caught off guard. Good luck."——
-Aboveground – The Relay Received-
Ashe flinched.
A sharp breath escaped him as the voice echoed in his mind, his eyes widening with the shock of sudden clarity.
Mina and Lotha spun toward him, alarmed.
"Are you alright?" Mina asked, stepping closer.
Ashe blinked, then nodded slowly—still catching his breath.
"It's Nira… she's alive," he said, voice low and urgent. "She has the charges—three working ones. But she needs a distraction. Something big."
Lotha's eyes widened. "She spoke to you? In your mind?"
"Yeah. Telepathy." Ashe shook his head. "No idea how, but we don't have time to question it."
Mina's fists tightened. "Trevus is still stuck fighting those traitors. We won't reach him in time."
"We don't need to," Ashe said, straightening up. His lips curled into a rare smirk. "We just need to give Nira her shot. While we give that flesh-cloaked freak a show it won't forget."
Mina's grin returned like fire to kindling.
"Ohhh, now you're talking."
She unsheathed her blades with a practiced flourish:
"Mischief" a lean, vicious straight dagger built to puncture and twist through monster hide.
"Ruth" a brutal push dagger with a broad, almost cleaver-like build, perfect for close-quarters and humanoid foes.
The steel caught the flicker of distant flame as Mina twirled both blades into ready stance, eyes alight with anticipation.
"Let's go make some noise."
Lotha exhaled sharply, her breath misting in the stale dungeon air.
She closed her eyes, murmuring rapid chants under her breath—ancient words that pulsed with divine resonance.
Threads of golden mana spun around her fingertips as she tucked a few loose strands of blond hair behind her ear, steadying herself.
"I'm prepping Chant-Hold," she said. "Three spells. Blessing, Light Dispel, Purge Ward. One word each—instant cast. Just give the signal."
The Shadow Surges
Beneath the earth, hidden in the Realm of Shadows, Nira crouched in silence floating within the dark waters.
Her fingers tightened around the three mana-reactive explosives, knuckles white. Around her, the shadow-waters rippled—tendrils probing, searching, their jagged edges slicing deeper into her world.
The illusion spell, Shroud, had already dissipated. With the illusion now gone, she can't risk going out but she can't risk staying either.
Nira took a sharp breath, checking her mana timer etched into the face of a worn, arcane-infused wristwatch. She had created a limit for herself: the maximum time one could safely remain within the Realm of Shadows.
Any longer, and she risked awakening something far worse than the Dungeon Master,
The Matron of Shadows.
A name whispered in fear among shadow divers.
A being that tolerated presence, not trespass.
Nira's heartbeat quickened.
She bit her lip, whispering, "C'mon, guys… any second now."
Then— Boom.
-FREAKSHOW-
A sudden explosion rumbled from above. The walls shook. Dust rained from the ceiling. Nira jerked her head upward, eyes narrowing as silhouettes moved across the surface above the pit.
"Finally…"
As Ashe, Mina, and Lotha peered out from the crevice, preparing to launch their distraction...
A sudden commotion stole their attention.
Three bodies came crashing down into the pit, landing near the monstrous form of the Armored Flesh with brutal finality;
Trevus. Camylle. Harlen.
The Dungeon Master snarled, redirecting its focus instantly.
Harlen erupted into fury, sword raised.
"ARE YOU INSANE!? You DRAGGED the fight down here!?"
He barely had time to deflect a set of snapping tendrils before hacking one down mid-flight.
Camylle roared, launching a wave of combustion magic into the Dungeon Master's flank. A chain of flame detonations erupted across its flesh.
"You're DEAD after this, Trevus! But only after this thing is!"
Trevus, bruised and grinning, held his stance.
"I knew I couldn't beat you two alone," he said between breaths, saber ready. "So I made you change targets. I'll make you two pay for this betrayal later..."
Camylle scowled. Harlen growled. But neither could deny it—
Now that the Dungeon Master—Armored Flesh— stood before them, drooling gore and blood through shattered armor plating—they had bigger problems.
And Trevus had bought the opening Nira needed.
Trevus smiled despite the chaos.
From fighting against Harlen & Camylle, he now stood beside them against the Dungeon Master.
His gambit had worked.
He couldn't beat Harlen and Camylle head-on. Not in a prolonged clash.
So he manipulated the field.
Footwork, tempo, angles—every move calculated to drift closer to the pit's edge. And at the right moment, he shoved the brawl into the Dungeon Master's lair.
Now?
Camylle and Harlen didn't have a choice.
They were surrounded. Outmatched. And if they wanted to survive—
They'd have to fight the real monster together.
Not him.
End of Chapter 7...