The throne room was a tableau of horror and triumph, the raw power of the demon lying on the floor was reduced to a lifeless heap of flesh. Its dark blood slowly spread across the stone tiles, filling the air with a suffocating smell of sulfur. The enormous creature, a source of fear and destruction, was now but a grim reminder of the battle they had just waged.

He had struck the final blow. His sword had severed the demon's head, bringing an end to weeks of fierce struggle through these haunted ruins. Their nerves were constantly frayed, on the alert for any traps or creatures that might strike in their sleep.

The creature's head now lay on the cold tiles. Michael felt as though the demon was still glaring at him. Without blinking, he picked up a canvas bag he had brought specially for this occasion and slid the creature's head into it. He needed proof of his victory, and he had finally obtained it.

Slaying a demon was a prerequisite for earning the title of Hero. He and his team would enjoy privileges they had never dared dream of. Michael could finally breathe; they hadn't gone through all this nightmare in vain.

The adventuring team busied themselves with tending their wounds in the flickering torchlight. Relief was evident in their tired eyes, as well as a quiet satisfaction in surviving such a grueling struggle.

The warrior, a colossus clad in steel, wiped his broad, bloodstained sword on the canvas sack containing the decapitated demon's head.

"By all the gods, I thought this would never end!" He growled, his deep voice echoing throughout the vast hall. His skin bore the marks of battle, each scar a testament to his bravery.

Not far from him stood Sylvia, the Archmage. She was a tall, slender woman. Her long, wavy silver hair fell freely over her shoulders, reflecting the faint glow of the surrounding torches. Her eyes were the same gray as her hair, as if they were made of the same metallic substance. Her attractive figure radiated a certain grace; she possessed a charm of her own, shaped by her wisdom and magical power.

She set down her gem-encrusted staff. Luminous runes were engraved on the wood, emitting a soft glow.

"We have won, that's all that matters!" She murmured, exhausted but determined. The remnants of her elemental magic still sparkled around her, emitting a faint warmth.

The man of faith, a priest with long blond hair and a bushy beard, knelt on the floor. His imposing and somewhat plump stature contrasted with the delicacy of his movements as he whispered sacred prayers. He wore the official tunic of priests from the Order of the Holy Cross, but the initial whiteness of his garment had been replaced by the dirt and blood from weeks of fighting in the ruins.

A golden aura emanated from his palm, gently touching the scraped skin. Under the soft light, the pain seemed to immediately subside. The damaged flesh seemed to respond to his touch. The edges of the wound, once red and raw, began to turn a healthier hue, and slowly, you could see the skin regrouping, rewoven like torn fabric being carefully mended.

He looked up at Sylvia, a mischievous smile spreading under his thick beard.

"I thought the reward was what mattered to you?" He added with a burst of laughter. His words, though spoken in jest, contained a grain of truth that all acknowledged.

"I can heal wounds, but lost blood will take longer to regenerate. So Yazé, don't overdo it."

Beside him, the Elven archer grimaced slightly under the pressure of the priest's hands on her wound. Despite the pain, she remained as alert as ever. Her pointed ears twitched at every suspicious noise, ready to loose an arrow at the slightest alert. The smell of mold and dust tickled her nose, a constant reminder of the inhospitable dungeon environment.

The flesh fibers were reconstituting and what was a gaping wound was gradually turning into a mere scrape. With each second, the wound closed further, until it was nothing but a distant memory of pain.

When the golden halo of healing magic dissipated, she rose gracefully, her flexible bow in hand. She respectfully inclined her head to thank Henri, who responded with a smile before going about his duties. Already recovered, the elf moved with grace and lightness, her eyes piercing the darkness to locate arrows she could retrieve.

Yazé gently touched the shoulder of their last companion with the tips of her slender fingers.

"Find anything interesting, Adam?"

At the other end of the room, Adam, the group's assassin, clad in black leather armor, was busy with the bodies strewn across the floor. This man of average height with black hair and a poorly-shaved beard, a symbol of their weeks wandering in the ruins, was undeterred by the coldness of death. His usually impassive face was frozen in intense concentration as he searched the corpses. However, the slight touch of the young elf's fingers on his shoulder momentarily interrupted his immersion. He raised his head, his gentle gaze meeting Yazé's.

In response, he extended his hand, gently sliding his fingers against those of the young woman in an almost tender gesture. The contact was fleeting, but imbued with a secret camaraderie.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Yes… Far more than expected, we can make a pretty penny off this. Plus, I found this on the demon's body."

"What is it?"

Michael asked, his eyes scrutinizing the strange object Adam was holding.

"A translucent red crystal," Adam answered, his dark eyes fixed on the mysterious object. "The more I look at it, the more I feel like I'm drowning... There's something unsettling about it."

At these words, Henri sprang to his feet. In an instant, he was by Adam's side, wrenching the crystal from his hands without preamble.

"Good heavens, how horrific!"

Curious and disconcerted, Michael approached, attempting to study the crystal. But he felt an odd, unsettling discomfort, just as Adam had. Henri, however, seemed amused by their reaction.

"It's the creature's heart!"

He finally explained.

"Demons don't have hearts like we do, humans. Instead, they have this... It's a concentrated form of pure energy, the source of their power. But beware, it must be refined. Otherwise, whoever tries to use it will end up reduced to ashes."

Sylvia opened her mouth to speak, but Henri, anticipating her question, cut her off with a smile.

"Yes, Sylvia, it's worth a fortune. The Order will generously reward us for this demon heart."

He stored the precious stone in a small bag delicately embroidered with gold thread, and rubbed his hands with a satisfied look.

"Alright... this place reeks of death. Gather your things and let's get out of here. We have a long way to go," Michael commanded.

Suddenly, Sylvia exclaimed, drawing their attention to a stele placed in the center of the room. Her delicate fingers glided over the engraved runes, her mind intrigued by the mysterious mechanism. Her companions gathered around, their silent contemplation marked by palpable anxiety. That's when Michael's rumbling voice broke the silence.

"What is this now?"

Yazé shrugged, looking resigned, while continuing to study the runes with cautious curiosity.

"I have no idea. It's probably a magical artifact... The runes are demonic, I don't know how to decipher them."

At these words, the Archmage stepped forward, signaling her intention to take a closer look. As she rubbed her chin in deep thought, she occasionally glanced at a grimoire she always kept within reach.

"This is amazing, absolutely amazing!"

Sylvia's exclamation of surprise was punctuated by Michael's grunt.

"So, out with it! What is it?"

"Always so impatient... It's simply a teleportation system, capable of taking us back to the entrance of the dungeon."

The announcement left her comrades stunned. Teleportation, a reality?

"Is it safe to use?"

Adam asked, his piercing gaze fixed on the stele.

"Unless you prefer to spend several days retracing our steps to the surface."

Sylvia countered. The assassin's sigh conveyed his resignation. The opportunity to save several days of walking was just too enticing.

"And how do we activate it?"

Michael impatiently asked in an authoritative tone.

"Simply step onto the platform and place your hand on the orb in its center. The rest will take care of itself."

"Perfect! Everyone onto the stele, and quickly. I have no desire to spend another second in this macabre place."

They all gathered around the stele, hesitant. The touch of the cold and smooth stone evoked a strange vibration, like a mystical energy dancing beneath their fingers. They exchanged one last look before placing their hands on the central orb. It was a strange sphere, made of an unknown material that resembled crystal but was cold like metal.

Their palms grazed the orb, a shiver running through them. An intense light emanated from the stele, enveloping the group in a sparkling aura. A crushing pressure was felt, as if the air around them had condensed. The world twisted and bent sharply, distorted like a painting in a mirror. Sounds became muffled, as if filtered through water. And then, suddenly, the experience ended. They found themselves at the entrance of the dungeon, the coolness of the night enveloping them.

Once the experience of teleportation was over, the members of the company had a common and immediate reaction. All, except for Sylvia, rushed to the side of the path, regurgitating whatever their meager stomachs had managed to swallow in recent days.

The Archmage, standing tall and serene, sported a mischievous smile as she contemplated her disoriented companions. Her technique for avoiding the discomfort of teleportation had been simple: she had simply not looked.

"Why didn't you advise us to close our eyes?!"

Michael thundered, his frustration overflowing as he tried to regain his composure. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, his pride clearly dented. The Archmage started laughing jubilantly, savoring her little victory.

"I didn’t know, I tend to close my eyes when I hold my breath. I thought we would be plunged into something."

Yavé, the archer, shot her a dark look as she tried to forget the taste of the recently regurgitated dried meat while Adam rubbed her back.

Once the initial discomfort passed, they spread their map of the surroundings on the beaten ground, looking for a place where they could rest and recover. Michael's tired but firm fingers traced the lines and symbols on the map spread out before them, the four adventurers' eyes scrutinizing every detail. The discussion was lively, with diverging opinions and ideas clashing in a light cacophony. Familiar landmarks, distant cities, dense forests, and menacing mountains passed under their gaze, their options were limited.

"What about Arlor?"

Yavé suggested, pointing to a small town nestled in the heart of a lush valley. But the assassin shook his head.

"No... The village was raided a few months ago, there's absolutely nothing left."

"In that case, Bahrn seems like a good option, doesn't it?"

The priest suggested, indicating a coastal city with a thriving port. However, Sylvia grimaced, she had never liked the smell of fish and sea salt. After long minutes of deliberation, it was Michael who finally pointed to a destination.

"Ys!"

He declared firmly, his finger resting on a small town located on a high mountain plateau.

"Ys? Are you sure?"

Yavé asked, raising an eyebrow. The place was known for its harsh climate and solitude.

"It's secluded, secure, and I have a contact to meet there."

Michael responded, defending his choice.

"And I'm sure they have a decent tavern for Sylvia."

He added with a wink at the Archmage. The magician burst out laughing, amused by the warrior's remark.

"As long as there's good beer and cute bottoms, I'm in!"

"Sylvia!"

Yazé scolded her, giving her a disapproving look. Henry, the priest, let out a slight laugh, finding the young woman's brazen behavior highly amusing. Adam, however, couldn't help but let out a sigh. These moments of lightness after a brush with death were welcome.

As they packed their belongings, the sun was beginning its descent in the sky, tinting the clouds with shades of purple and orange. The atmosphere was serene and the nature around them had awakened, the songs of birds blending with the distant sounds of crickets. Their group of horses, tamed and obedient, stood by their side, ready for the journey.

"We have a long way to go."