While Zavet trained and learned, a far grimmer situation was unfolding beneath the city. Runner and the rest of the kingdom’s forces, having noticed the absence of Vlad, Krunk, and Zavet, mounted an expedition into the labyrinthine cave system in search of them. The cave’s passages, damp and eerie, seemed to close in on them the deeper they ventured. The stench of death lingered in the air like a suffocating blanket, and it became clear to all that this place was not just another cavern but something far more sinister.

Lina, leading her group, marched ahead of the Barons and knights. They had no idea Vlad and Krunk had already made their way out, now under Iscariot’s control. Her resolve was ironclad, though the dread of the unknown hung heavy over them.

Meanwhile, the knights of the Golden Lotus were just a little behind. They had spent generations protecting the kingdom, their golden armor gleaming even in the cave's darkness. Led by their Knight Master, they had always believed their training and divine magic made them invincible. But this cave, this place of evil, had shaken even their confidence.

Suddenly, as they moved deeper into the labyrinth, they encountered something that made the hair on their necks stand up. At first, it was only a whisper of movement, like the shifting of shadows, but then, Iscariot appeared as if materializing out of the darkness itself.

He stood amidst a sea of undead, a wave of malicious power surrounding him like a dark halo. His glowing green eyes flickered with a sickening glee as he surveyed the knights, his lips curling into a sinister smile.

Without hesitation, the Knight Master stepped forward. “You will fall before the light of our blades!” he declared, his voice filled with righteous fury. Channeling all the divine power he could muster, he cast a barrage of healing spells at Iscariot. Sixteen waves of golden light surged forward, striking Iscariot with the force of a tidal wave. Each spell collided with the lizardman’s form, causing his body to tremble and his skin to sizzle and crackle under the intensity of the life magic.

For a moment, the knights allowed themselves to hope. They poured everything they had into the assault, slashing, casting, and screaming prayers into the void as they pushed forward. Iscariot seemed to falter, his form kneeling under the weight of their relentless barrage.

But as the last healing spell was cast and the final sword fell, the knights were spent. Exhausted and shaking, they could barely stand, their hands trembling too violently to grip their swords properly. They gasped for breath, their armor heavy and drenched in sweat. Victory seemed close, just within reach.

Iscariot lay still for a moment longer and then slowly began to rise.

He stood, his body glowing with a sickly green light, the cracks and burns on his skin knitting themselves back together. His maniacal laughter echoed throughout the cave, sending chills down the spines of every knight.

“Your best couldn’t even make me sweat,” Iscariot sneered, brushing off the dust from his chest. “Did you really think that would be enough?”

He quickly snatched a sword from one of the knights, turning it on them. Before the knight could react, Iscariot slashed across his chest, cutting through the golden armor as if it were paper. The knight fell, gasping in disbelief, as the life drained from his body.

Iscariot bent over him, placing a hand on the knight's chest. Magic surged through his fingers, and within moments, the knight's eyes flickered open again, glowing a malevolent green. Undead.

One by one, Iscariot turned each fallen knight into his thralls, reanimating their bodies with dark power. Their once pristine armor now looked twisted and corrupted, the golden sheen replaced with a dull, sickly gray.

Iscariot stood back, satisfied, as the newly risen undead knights formed a line before him, their once noble expressions now vacant and lifeless.

"Go," Iscariot commanded, his voice dripping with venom. "Return to your comrades. Kill them. Turn them undead."

The undead knights moved without hesitation, marching deeper into the cave to slaughter their former allies. There was no mercy left in their eyes, no recognition of the bonds they once shared. They were now merely tools of Iscariot’s growing army, puppets in his game.

As Iscariot watched them go, a dark smile played across his lips. His army was growing and becoming an unstoppable force.

The battle in the caves beneath the city had descended into chaos. Iscariot's dark magic had twisted the tide of the fight, corrupting the valiant Knights of the Golden Lotus into undead monstrosities. Their gleaming armor now bore the tarnish of death, and their once noble visages were distorted with dark magic. As they turned on their allies, the caves became a battlefield of desperation and betrayal.

The first to fall were the soldiers of Erenlond. Unprepared for the sudden betrayal, they were overwhelmed by their former comrades. The Knights of the Golden Lotus, now under Iscariot’s control, cut through them with ruthless efficiency. Erenlond's forces, once disciplined and strong, crumbled under the onslaught. Those that weren't killed outright were turned into mindless undead, their bodies animated by Iscariot’s dark magic.

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The scene was gruesome. Knights who had fought side by side for years were now ripping into each other, the air filled with the sound of clashing metal and the screams of the fallen. Blood stained the ancient stones beneath their feet, mixing with the foul stench of necromantic decay. The once orderly ranks of the soldiers became a chaotic scramble for survival.

Farther away, Krimlond and Razlond's forces found themselves cornered, pressed hard by the undead hordes. Just when hope seemed lost, the Knights of the White Orchid arrived, their white and silver banners gleaming like beacons in the dark. They moved like a wave of salvation through the battlefield.

With expert precision, the White Orchid Knights slashed through the undead ranks, creating a corridor of escape for Krimlond and Razlond’s soldiers. Despite their best efforts, the battle was still grim. Many of the knights fell, their shining armor soon battered and bloodied. Yet their sacrifice bought just enough time for the survivors to flee deeper into the cave system, regrouping strategically to slow Iscariot's forces' advance.

Solond's forces, however, could have been more fortunate. Despite their formidable numbers and strength, they suffered heavy losses. Iscariot had prepared for them, his traps and undead warriors waiting in ambush at every turn. Edmond, had returned just in time to rally his men. But it was not enough, the forces of Solond were being decimated. Waves of undead surged forward, their rotten limbs fueled by the dark magic coursing through them.

In the heart of the chaos, Edmond fought valiantly, his sword cutting through the undead with lethal precision. His armor was smeared with blood, his muscles burning with exhaustion, yet he refused to fall. His mind raced, calculating every move, every command, knowing that one wrong step could mean the end for his men. But despite his best efforts, the losses mounted. Whole squads of soldiers were wiped out, their bodies joining the ranks of the undead.

Realizing the battle was lost, Edmond ordered a full retreat. The caves echoed with the desperate shouts of commanders and the panicked cries of the soldiers as they tried to flee. What had once been a controlled evacuation quickly devolved into chaos. Hundreds of soldiers and knights tried to flee through the narrow passageways, their heavy armor slowing them down, while the undead pursued them with relentless speed.

It was a stampede. Soldiers shoved past each other, desperate to reach the surface. Some were trampled underfoot, their cries lost in the cacophony of the retreat. The narrow tunnels became choke points of chaos, as bodies piled up, making it harder for those at the rear to escape. The wounded were left behind, their pleas for help unanswered as their comrades ran for their lives.

The Knights of Solond, once proud and mighty, were now scattered and broken. Edmond himself barely managed to escape, bloodied and battered, his forces a fraction of what they once were. The loss of so many men weighed heavily on him as he watched the survivors stumble out of the caves, their faces pale with horror. Solond had taken a devastating blow, and though they had survived, they had been humbled by Iscariot’s dark power.

Back at the cave entrance, Lina stood with a grim expression, her eyes scanning the fleeing soldiers as they emerged from the darkness. Her heart sank as she counted the numbers; too many were missing. The cave, which had once seemed like a promising lead, had turned into a deathtrap. They had barely scratched the surface of what lay beneath the city, and already, the cost had been staggering.

As the last of the survivors stumbled into the daylight, the decision was made. The cave was too dangerous to explore further without reinforcements. They had to regroup, gather more forces, and come up with a new strategy. But for now, all they could do was retreat and lick their wounds.

The battle in the caves had been a bitter defeat, and the shadow of Iscariot loomed larger than ever.

As the survivors of the cave expedition emerged into the light, they felt a brief but profound sense of relief. The labyrinth was now behind them, but something was undeniably different. The strange pull, the mystical call that had drawn them all together, compelling them to fight, seek, and overcome, was gone. Its absence weighed heavily on them, though none could explain why.

The heroes, soldiers, and adventurers had all felt the call when it first began, pulling at their very souls, urging them toward some grand purpose. It had united them, guided them, and given them strength through their struggles against Iscariot’s undead forces. But now, without warning, that call had vanished, as if the reason for their gathering no longer existed.

Confusion spread through the camp. Whispers and rumors filled the air as everyone sought to understand what had happened. Some believed it was a sign of victory, that perhaps the quest had been fulfilled in some unknown way. Others, more skeptical, feared it was an ominous sign that something terrible had happened in the depths of the caves. But no one knew the truth. No one knew that Ta'Ffair had been found.

Back in the city, chaos had already started to take root. The knights and warriors who had fallen in battle while retreating from the caves began to rise again, animated by the necromantic magic spreading across the land. Iscariot's influence lingered, even here. Those who had survived the battle watched in horror as their fallen comrades, now twisted and mindless, began to stir, rising from the dirt with hollow, dead eyes. Even though those who died did resurrect properly, now there are two of them in the world, which is typical for those who can resurrect.

Panic set in without the call to unite them or the sense of purpose pulling them forward. The once-organized ranks of soldiers and mercenaries began to fray. People argued over what to do next; some wanted to continue the fight, while others saw no reason to remain. The fear of facing Iscariot’s growing army without the mystical force that had once guided them was too much for many to bear.

Small groups began to leave one by one. The once-unified army of heroes and warriors fractured as each person weighed their survival against the threat of the undead. Some tried to convince themselves that the call’s end was a sign of completion, that their work here was done. Others simply wanted to escape the inevitable confrontation with Iscariot.

Merlot was among the first to make his decision. He gathered his remaining troops and announced, “The call has ended, and whatever fate brought us together seems to have passed. We’ve done our part. There’s no point in throwing away more lives against an enemy we can’t defeat. I’m ordering everyone to retreat to Nuri’fon.” His words resonated with many.