Their forward scouts dispatched the lingering spirit beasts — those too slow or stubborn to flee the drake’s path toward the trap — with practiced ease. Yet, the trek back through the dense forest proved far more grueling. The sheer bulk of the stone container housing the Mud Drake made every step a calculated effort, forcing the team to maneuver through the gaps in the towering trees with painstaking coordination.

More than once, they had to stop to give their Geomancers and Earth Cultivators a chance to recover. The strain showed in their tight shoulders and deep breaths, yet they kept moving forward. As the mosslight dimmed, casting long shadows between the trees, signs they were drawing closer to the dungeon entrance began to appear. A ripple of excitement swept through the group, an undercurrent of triumph buzzing beneath their exhaustion.

A few goblins broke into low song, like hunters returning from a grand hunt. Which Alpha assumed they were, in a way.

Even Boarslayer found herself caught in the moment. Her usual stern demeanor softened as she unconsciously hummed along. Soft footsteps fell in beside her.

Dr. Maria, ever perceptive, looked up at her with an amused grin.

“You look happy,” the doctor remarked. “Not too much farther now.”

Boarslayer’s faint smile vanished, her expression hardening into its usual scowl. She turned away, but not before Maria caught the faint blush coloring her bark-colored cheeks.

“A warrior doesn’t count their victory until the gates are closed,” Boarslayer stated, back straight, eyes forward.

Dr. Maria chuckled. “Wise words,” she said, nodding her head. “That said, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the march home,” the doctor grinned. Then, in a lower voice said, “While our goals might differ from the Adventurers, that doesn’t make what we’ve accomplished here any less significant. The drake was a problem we would always have to solve, eventually. I understand why you might be… disappointed things turned out this way, but trust an old woman when she says it’s better this way. Two birds with one stone, and all that.”

Boarslayer stiffened at the words, then let out a slow exhale. Had she been that obvious? Maybe not. If the past few months had taught her anything, it was that the doctor was far more observant of others than she let on.

She couldn’t deny it — she’d imagined this moment countless times. The victorious return after slaying the cavern’s greatest threat. The triumphant march, the cheers, the recognition. After the bandit attack, those daydreams had only intensified.

And yet… reality had played out differently. The victory was theirs, but not in the way she’d envisioned. She hadn’t struck the final blow. She hadn’t even played a major role in the planning. The realization had her grinding her teeth.

Not like there’s anyone to blame, either, she thought to herself. Well… there were Icefinger’s men. The thought of the approaching bandits made her grin, sharp and eager.

“Yeah… maybe you’re right,” she conceded at last. “No point complaining about someone else’s prey… there’s always another bird in the forest.”

Maria arched a brow at the response, but a sly smile curved her lips. “That there is, dear. That there is,” she said, giving Boarslayer’s arm a reassuring pat.

Before either could say another word, Alpha’s voice crackled over the comms.

“Well… that’s not good. Get to the transport team. Now.”

Boarslayer’s stomach clenched, her grin vanishing. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

The question had barely left her lips when a massive wave of Spirit energy pulsed through the air, pounding like a heartbeat. The sheer force nearly drove them to their knees.

“That,” came Alpha’s grim reply.

——————————————————

Several moments earlier

——————————————————

“That’s it! Keep her steady! A little to the left… yeah, right there. Good job!” Garrelt called out, guiding the transport team through yet another tight passage between the ancient trees. A dozen Geomancers and Earth Cultivators worked in tandem, their expressions tense with concentration as they maneuvered the massive stone container carrying the sleeping Mud Drake.

Stolen story; please report.

Off to the side, Maggy watched, eyes shining with barely restrained excitement.

“I can’t believe I got to be part of a drake hunt! My teacher’s going to lose his mind!” she whispered, practically bouncing in place. Earth magic wasn’t the young woman’s forte, but she knew enough that she could help if something went wrong, so she had kept close by in case she was needed.

Antchaser stood beside her, gaze fixed on the container.

I can’t believe I helped make this happen, he thought to himself. Well, in part, at least. It wasn’t like he’d come up with the concept. But he and Garrelt had worked together to do much of the heavy lifting with tweaking the arrays and ensuring the trap would work as intended. Alpha’s lessons on arrays over the last few months had greatly boosted the goblin’s understanding of the art.

“Maggy!” Robert’s voice cut through the goblin’s thoughts. “Switch with Mr. Runehill, please!” He gestured to a mage at the rear of the transport team, who was bent over, hands on his knees, panting.

Maggy shot Antchaser a quick wave before jogging over to take the man’s place. The exhausted Adventurer gave her a grateful nod.

“Thanks. Guess I’m getting a little too old for this,” he admitted, running a hand through sweat-dampened hair.

Maggy flashed a bright smile. “No problem!” She pressed her palms against the stone container, bracing herself.

The man chuckled. “Careful. The drake’s sleeping, but he’s a bucker.”

Maggy barely had time to process the warning before the container gave a sudden, violent shudder.

“Whoa!” she yelped, eyes widening as she scrambled to steady the arrays. “I see what you mean! Thanks for the heads-up.”

The mage gave a tired laugh and stepped back to rest.

———

Less than five minutes later, another tremor ran through the stone, stronger this time. A strange unease prickled at the back of Maggy’s mind, a quiet instinct whispering that something was… wrong.

“Garrelt! Tell me the replacement will be ready soon! If this thing keeps thrashing, I won’t be able to hold the arrays together!” Maggy called, sweat beading on her forehead. Her particular brand of magic focused on precision and dexterity rather than raw power.

Robert, standing next to Garrelt, turned sharply. "You told me you could handle this, Ms. Greenwood," he said, a frown spreading across his face.

Maggy’s grip tightened as the runes flickered erratically beneath her fingertips, and the arrays twisted oddly. “Well, you didn’t tell me it would struggle so much!” she complained.

“Struggle?” Garrelt muttered, stepping forward. “The arrays are powerful enough to knock out a peak [Elemental Dominance] Cultivator.” The scout leader reached out, touched the stone crate, and connected to the arrays.

Garrelt’s breath hitched, and his eyes bulged. The stone crate pulsed, and dozens of twisting magic circles bloomed across its surface. A sudden explosion of force blasted outward — howling gales tore through the clearing. The transport team barely had time to cry out before they were hurled like ragdolls, flung meters back into the underbrush.

Maggy shrieked as she tumbled, barely catching herself before slamming into a tree. The crate, now unanchored, crashed into the earth with a bone-rattling thud.

“Garrelt!” Robert roared, scrambling to his feet, sword flashing into his hands. “What is the meaning of this?!”

“GET AWAY!” Garrelt bellowed, his hand still locked onto the crate. Spirit energy bled from the stone like an open wound, funneling into his arm in thick, visible tendrils. His veins blackened and surged toward his shoulder.

Robert stepped forward, blade raised. “Not until you—!”

“NOW!” Garrelt’s voice cracked with urgency.

Robert’s jaw clenched, but before he could act, a massive magic circle flared beneath their feet. A barrier snapped into place between them, crackling with raw energy. Robert snarled and swung, his blade biting into the shield, fracturing it.

Maggy lunged forward, seizing his wrist. “Robert, stop! That’s not—”

A pulse of Spirit energy cut her off.

The air twisted. The barrier shattered. Garrelt’s scream was lost beneath the deafening boom as he was hurled backward, crashing into the dirt at the perimeter of the clearing. The moment his body hit the ground, the air thickened, pressing down like an unseen hand. Spirit energy flooded the area, sparking like an oncoming storm. A swirling vortex of light coiled around the drake’s container, now visibly cracking as something fought to break free.

A trickle of black sludge seeped through the fractures. Thick. Viscous. Oozing down the stone like blood from a wound, accompanied by a bright white light.

Robert staggered back, his eyes locked onto the crate as realization dawned.

Boarslayer, Dr. Maria, and a squad of Adventurers burst from the treeline, Bert among them.

“What’s happening?!” Bert shouted.

A second pulse detonated from the crate, sending a wave of pressure rippling outward. At its center, something glowed — a luminous core of star-like radiance so bright it could be seen through the stone.

Bert’s face went pale. “Oh, no...”

The vortex vanished.

For a single, breathless moment, everything went still.

Then the stone container exploded.

A shockwave tore through the clearing, driving the gathered warriors to their knees. Spirit energy slammed into them, as heavy as ocean currents and thick as choking mud, the sheer force driving a few into the dirt. The earth beneath their feet shifted, solid ground turning to thick, sucking mire.

From the dust and debris, a shape stirred.

Not the squat, armored bulk of the fishlike Mud Drake.

But something longer. Leaner.

A serpentine form, fifteen meters long, slithered free of the wreckage, black mud sloughing from its body in thick rivulets. Stone-like scales gleamed beneath the filth, catching the ambient light like polished marble. Two branching horns crowned an eel-like head, encircled by a mane of writhing tendrils — thin as hair, yet ceaselessly shifting. More tendrils coiled at the tip of its tail, twitching like the whiskers of some abyssal predator.

Along its length, clawed limbs flexed experimentally, each movement more sure than the last.

Then it lifted its head, stretching a jaw far too wide for its body, and roared.

The force of its cry ripped the lingering dust away, laying bare the horror in full.

A newborn Kigendoro had risen.