Lark was furious, but he gradually calmed down. Vale kept him at a distance from Gloomer.
Damon let out a heavy sigh, just in time to recall countless details about this island.
It seemed he used to be quite the expert back in the day.
The torchbearers led the way; the rest stayed behind. Gloomer couldn't help but feel grateful for these cold-burning torches. Their dim light attracted fewer monsters.
But fate had no intention of giving them a break.
They ran into creatures.
So soon? Gloomer thought.
Not just lurking in ambush—but already fighting.
He froze.
Ahead, a group of people were fending off four-legged beasts. Their skeletal bodies moved with inhuman speed; claws tore through flesh, teeth crunched bone.
Eight already lay on the ground, motionless.
Five were still fighting, but they were injured.
One man stood out.
An adult in armor. A guard or maybe a knight, Gloomer guessed.
He was the only one still standing on his feet.
But he was worn out.
And yet—
He held his sword.
And in the moment Gloomer recognized him, the man shouted.
His blade ignited.
A blinding light filled the battlefield, burning through the darkness, freezing the monsters in place.
Two of the skeletons shattered into pieces.
Then the light faded.
The guard stood there, breathing heavily. But his wounds had begun to heal.
A chill ran down Gloomer's spine.
It was him.
The chief guard of the mine.
The one who once told him that the depths were the safest place.
The one who now stood between life and death, lit by the last gleam of his sword.
He had abnormal powers.
People like that were called miracle-bearers.
They always stood out among ordinary people.
Who you remember—you just might meet.
The group didn't hide. They stepped out of the shadows quickly.
The guard spotted them right away.
—Whoa, another group of people. You're lucky you ran into me, boys.
His voice was hoarse but confident—an old man's voice.
Then he noticed someone in the crowd and laughed.
—Gloomer? You've got to be kidding me! You're going into the cave yourself? Am I dreaming? You used to run the other way every time! Ha! Oh gods...
Everyone turned to look at Gloomer.
—Shut up, old man, — Gloomer muttered, clearly annoyed. — Desperate times call for desperate measures. And stop blinding us with that damn sword of yours.
The guard sheathed his blade and took off his helmet.
His face showed clear signs of exhaustion.
He was older than anyone they'd seen.
Forty, maybe fifty.
To find someone that age here was rare.
Even the vanished Elders had only been in their thirties.
But what surprised them even more was the fact that Gloomer knew someone like this—a man clearly a cut above the rest of these ragged townsfolk.
Vale, who had remained silent all this time, caught himself thinking:
Gloomer… You really do know how to surprise me.
The old man smiled again.
—Now you're even quoting me? Strange day indeed.
Gloomer looked tense.
—What are you doing here? Weren't you supposed to be guarding the cave? Don't tell me you...
—Put your worries aside, child. The cave is fine.
The guard paused for a moment.
—I was just out walking… and stumbled across these people. They were fighting back, and I barely made it in time.
Just out walking, huh? Gloomer thought. Could it be… I'm getting lucky for once? Or is it the group's luck?
They were all surprised, some even frowned—but they still followed the guard.
For some reason, Damon wasn't at all shocked by the old man's incredible abilities, as if such things were normal for him.
It was a clue to his past.
Could he have once belonged to a world of people like that too?
Now, they had a better chance of surviving.
After all, the old man was tearing through every monster he met with ease.
But no one relaxed. No one even dared to feel relieved.
Ars looked closely at Gloomer, his gaze filled with doubt and quiet unease.
—Gloomer, are you really sure we can trust him?
Gloomer understood exactly why Ars had asked. All of them—including Gloomer himself—treated miracle-bearers with caution. There were too many terrifying stories about them. About what they could do. About how easily their power could turn against those around them.
Fear, mistrust, prejudice—those things had been building up in people's hearts for years. So Vale's wariness was completely justified.
Gloomer took a deep breath, as if trying to convince himself of the truth in his own words. Then he finally answered:
—No doubt. He's the same good man I knew back then.
But even as he said it, a small seed of doubt still lingered deep inside.
On the way, they unexpectedly ran into another group—but this one was coming from the direction of the mine. Their clothes were torn, and their wounds were open, clearly visible.
—It can't be! Sir! It's the righteous guardian of the cave! —one of them shouted, his voice trembling with hope.
The entire group turned to look. It felt like they all let out the same breath at once, a wave of relief washing over them.
—…The cave is destroyed, — one of the miners said hoarsely. His voice shook, like he still couldn't believe his own words. — We… we barely made it out. It's all collapsed inside. The monsters… they broke through.
For a moment, everything stopped.
The torches seemed to dim. Even the wind died down, as if the world itself held its breath.
—What… did you say? — Gloomer managed to ask, but no answer came.
Silence hung in the air, heavy as lead.
Damon stood frozen in shock—had he really been leading all these people straight to their deaths?
The miner lowered his head. His face was the color of ash, his eyes completely lifeless. He wasn't looking at them, not really. It was as if he was staring through them—into the past.
—We fought, — another one added. — Till the end. But they were too strong.
Gloomer's brows drew together.
The crowd began whispering. Someone sobbed. Someone else took a step back.
They didn't know what to do now.
It felt like their path would have to change—again.
—Did anyone else survive? — the old man asked calmly.
But the miner only shook his head. His hands were trembling—and there was something disturbingly childlike in that tremble. Not the strength of a survivor, but the fear of someone who had seen the impossible.
—We lost everyone. We saved no one. She… she was our last hope...
And then the crowd faltered. Fear began to spread, like poison, like cracks in glass ready to shatter.
But the old man… he didn't move.
His eyes, faintly catching the flicker of the flame, locked onto the strangers, studying every detail—their breathing, their stances, the hands hiding in shadow.
For a single moment—then his hand moved. Slowly. Almost lazily.
Toward the hilt of his sword.