The morning air was crisp, the light of the sun casting long shadows across the village square. Ryan stood near the edge of the bustling market, his new sword gleaming at his side. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, the silver blade catching the sunlight and reflecting it in sharp, dazzling arcs as he swung it experimentally through the air.

His movements were precise, deliberate, yet filled with the eagerness of youth. With each swing, he imagined the green-skinned Master before him, his strange horn and pleading voice replaced by the fiery determination of vengeance. This time, Ryan thought, gripping the hilt tighter, he would not lose.

The memory of Master Terrance surfaced as he sheathed the sword, the older man’s words echoing in his mind. “This blade will serve you well,” Terrance had said, his voice steady and filled with quiet authority. “Guide the party to the square. Learn from them. Your strength will come with time.” Then Terrance was gone, off to Ironmire for some important task.

Ryan had nodded then, his jaw set with determination. Now, standing in the village square, he felt that determination rekindle. He would lead the party. He would prove himself.

Mrs. Keys’ stall loomed ahead, its familiar clutter of hanging keys swaying gently in the breeze. The old woman sat behind the counter, her sharp eyes watching as Ryan approached. She didn’t smile—she rarely did—but her gaze softened slightly as she saw the young man.

“Back for your daily key, are you?” she asked, her voice a rasp that carried above the hum of the market.

Ryan nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Keys regarded him for a moment, her wrinkled hands busy with the bundle of keys in front of her. “You’re heading back to that square, aren’t you?” she said finally, her tone laced with quiet warning. “The one that killed you.”

Ryan straightened, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “It won’t be like last time,” he said firmly. “I’ve got this now.” He tapped the blade at his side, its polished surface catching the light.

Mrs. Keys’ gaze lingered on the weapon before returning to Ryan’s face. “A fine sword,” she admitted. “But a sword alone won’t keep you safe. That square’s getting dangerous. It feels… wrong.”

Ryan smiled, his confidence unwavering. “I’ve got others helping me this time. We’ll be fine.”

Mrs. Keys shook her head but handed him the key nonetheless. “Be careful, boy,” she said softly. “Even the strongest fall when they don’t see the danger coming.”

Ryan tucked the key into his pouch, offering the old woman a brief nod before stepping aside. He didn’t have long to wait before the first of his companions arrived.

Ryan pocketed the key without a second thought, stepping back to wait near the stall. He didn’t wait long before a towering figure approached, his shoulders broad and his arms as thick as tree trunks. The man’s muscular build seemed carved from stone, his presence commanding attention.

“I’m Shem,” the man said, his voice deep and steady. “You Ryan?”

Ryan nodded, grinning. “You must be the martial artist.”

Shem raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint smirk. He raised one hand, and flames danced to life in his palm, flickering and bright. “Wizard,” he corrected, his tone amused.

Ryan blinked, his grin faltering for a moment. “Oh,” he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. “Right.”

Before Shem could respond, another figure approached—a petite woman, her steps light and hesitant. She looked up at Ryan with wide, timid eyes, her hands clasped in front of her as though bracing for an apology.

Ryan’s confidence returned as he stepped forward. “You must be the martial artist,” he said, his tone warm and encouraging.

The woman looked up at him, her wide eyes filled with uncertainty. “I… I’m Serina,” she said softly, her voice barely audible above the bustle of the market.

“Serina,” Ryan repeated, nodding. “Got it. So you’re—”

A sharp crack interrupted him as something hard struck the back of his head. He staggered forward, his hand instinctively flying to the source of the pain. Behind him, a tall, athletic woman lowered a gnarled staff, her expression a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

“I’m the martial artist,” she said, her voice crisp and clear. “Name’s Vynessa. Try not to make assumptions next time.”

Ryan rubbed the back of his head, his cheeks flushing as Shem laughed and Serina stifled a giggle. “Alright, alright,” Ryan muttered, straightening up. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get moving.”

The others approached Mrs. Keys’ stall, each collecting their key. Shem’s was almost comically small in his massive hands, while Serina’s trembled slightly as she tucked it into her pouch. Vynessa’s fingers lingered on hers for a moment, her expression unreadable, before she slipped it into her belt.

With their keys in hand, the party followed Ryan through the village streets and out into the surrounding woods. Ryan’s grip on his sword tightened, his mind fixed on the red walls of the square and the vengeance waiting just beyond them.

He would not fail this time. Not with this sword. Not with this party.

The forest path was narrow and uneven, dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above. The party moved in a loose line, their steps crunching softly on the underbrush.

Ryan led the way, his silver sword resting on his shoulder, its polished blade catching the light with every step. He exuded confidence, though it was tempered by a boyish energy that bordered on the absurd.

“We need a name,” Ryan announced suddenly, glancing over his shoulder at the others. “A real name for our group. Something that’ll strike fear into our enemies.”

Shem, walking just behind him, raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Silver Slashers?” Ryan offered, grinning as he gestured to his sword. “Or Flame and Fury? Because, you know, you’ve got the flames, Shem.”

Shem rolled his eyes, a flicker of fire dancing in his hand as if to punctuate his disinterest. “Pass.”

Ryan’s grin faltered, but he pressed on. “Alright, what about… The Bold Companions?”

Vynessa let out a bark of laughter from the back of the group. Her staff was slung across her shoulders, her toned arms draped lazily over it as she walked. “The Bold Companions? Sounds like something out of a bard’s tale.”

Ryan scowled but said nothing, his enthusiasm dampened.

Serina glanced nervously at the trees surrounding them. Her small hands clutched the staff she carried, though it looked more like a walking stick than a weapon. Shem, walking beside her, noticed her unease and offered a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his deep voice calm and steady. He raised a hand, letting a small flame flicker to life in his palm. “Slimes are nothing against magic. One good blast, and they’re toast.”

Serina nodded, though her grip on the staff didn’t loosen. “I’ve never fought before,” she admitted. “Not like this.”

Vynessa, striding ahead of them with her usual confident gait, glanced back with a grin. “That’s what makes it exciting. You’ve got to feel the thrill, the rush of it. There’s nothing like a good fight to make you feel alive.”

Serina didn’t reply, her gaze dropping to the ground. She clutched the amulet around her neck—a simple charm shaped with the symbol of her Goddess—and murmured a quiet prayer.

When the blue walls of the square finally came into view, the group slowed their pace. The translucent barrier shimmered faintly, its hum filling the air like the sound of a distant storm. Ryan stepped forward, his hand reaching for the key in his pouch.

The others followed suit, their keys glinting in the light as they held them out. Script floated above the barrier, glowing softly: Square: Introductory.

“One step at a time,” Ryan muttered, glancing back at the others. “Ready?”

They nodded, each inserting their key into the wall. The blue light flickered and shifted, bleeding into an ominous red that pulsed faintly with the heartbeat of the square. Ryan took a breath, gripping his sword tightly, and stepped through.

Ryan was met with a quiet square, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and moss. The red walls seemed to press closer than the blue ones, their glow casting long shadows across the ground. Serina hesitated as she stepped inside, her eyes scanning the forest with a flicker of recognition.

“This feels… familiar,” she said softly.

Ryan turned, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been in squares before?”

She nodded. “With my parents. They’re herbalists. They used to come into squares to collect rare plants—ones that only grow because of the magic of the Master of the Square.”

“Not to fight?” Shem asked, his voice curious.

“No,” Serina replied. “Just to gather herbs. I wasn’t supposed to come, but… I always followed them. Stayed close, stayed quiet.”

Shem raised an eyebrow. “Why not stick with that? Herbalists are useful. Easier than this kind of work.”

Serina clutched her pendant tightly, her expression solemn. “The Healer spoke to me,” she said, her voice quiet but resolute. “I want to help others. To bring her light to those who need it.”

Vynessa let out a short laugh, her bo staff tapping against the ground. “More noble than my reason, that’s for sure. I just like hitting things.”

The group froze, their eyes scanning the forest. In the distance, the faint outline of a hovel was visible through the trees, its crude structure blending into the surrounding foliage. The air grew heavier, the red light of the walls casting an eerie glow over the clearing.

Serina’s voice was barely a whisper. “Be careful.”

The forest opened suddenly into a clearing, the trees giving way to a rough patch of earth where the hovel stood. Its structure was crude but deliberate, the roof of packed dirt sagging slightly under the weight of moss and foliage. The doorway yawned open like a blackened wound in the hillside, a silent invitation to those foolish enough to enter.

Ryan’s eyes lit up at the sight, his grip tightening on the hilt of his silver sword. “They’re inside!” he exclaimed, his voice carrying across the clearing. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the hovel, his excitement drowning out any sense of caution.

Vynessa sighed heavily, her staff resting against her shoulder. “That idiot is going to get us all killed,” she muttered, breaking into a jog to follow him.

Shem and Serina exchanged a glance. The former rolled his eyes, flames flickering to life in his palms. “If he gets himself killed, at least it saves us some trouble.”

Serina hesitated, her small frame trembling slightly as she gripped her staff. “We should stay together,” she said softly, but the others were already gone.

Ryan reached the hovel first, the crude door hanging ajar. He glanced back at the others, his grin wide. “It’s here! The orb must be inside!” he called, his voice filled with conviction.

Before anyone could respond, Ryan stepped through the threshold. The moment his boot touched the uneven ground, the floor gave way beneath him. He let out a sharp cry as he plunged into the darkness below. He landed hard, his sword clattering against the dirt walls of the shallow hole.

Three green slimes pulsed in the darkness, their gelatinous forms quivering as they moved toward him. Ryan scrambled to his feet, his sword raised awkwardly in the confined space. The slimes jumped, their movements quick and deliberate, and Ryan swung his blade wildly, the edge slicing through one of the creatures but failing to halt its advance.

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“Damn it!” Ryan shouted, his voice echoing in the pit. He swung again, but the space was too tight, the sword catching against the dirt walls.

Vynessa crouched at the edge of the pit, her hand outstretched. “Take my hand,” she said sharply. “Get out of there before they swarm you.”

Ryan glared up at her, his pride flaring. “I’ve got this!” he snapped. “Just stay back.”

The slimes jumped again, one latching onto his shoulder, another onto his arm. Ryan cursed, twisting and slashing, but his movements were clumsy, his strength fading as the creatures continued their assault.

“Idiot!” Vynessa called, her irritation giving way to concern.

Behind her, Shem and Serina arrived, their breaths labored from the run. Shem’s eyes darted to the pit, a flicker of amusement passing over his face before he rolled his shoulders, flames dancing in his palms.

“Should’ve listened,” Shem said simply.

Serina’s timid voice rose, trembling but insistent. “We need to help him!”

Vynessa opened her mouth to respond, but the sharp thrum of a crossbow cut through the clearing. In the next instant, Serina gasped, her body jolting as the bolt struck her chest with brutal precision. Blood bloomed against her tunic, spreading rapidly as her wide eyes darted downward to the protruding shaft.

Kael’s square had sprung its trap, and the hunters had become the hunted.

Vynessa spun, her eyes scanning the trees for the attacker. The red light of the square’s walls cast long shadows across the clearing, the forest suddenly feeling darker, more menacing.

“Serina!” Shem shouted, dropping to the ground beside the healer.

In the pit, Ryan cursed loudly as another slime latched onto his leg. The clearing descended into chaos, the faint sound of laughter drifting through the trees like a ghost.

Shem cradled Serina in his arms, her small frame frighteningly light. Her breaths came shallow and quick, her face pale as the blood seeped from the wound in her chest. The bolt protruded grotesquely, the fletching slick with crimson. Shem’s brow furrowed as he looked down at her, his flames dimming as his focus shifted.

“Serina,” he said, his voice softer than one might expect from a man of his size. “Stay with me.”

Her eyes fluttered, her voice faint. “In… my bag. Health potion,” she whispered, her words a fragile thread of hope.

“Vynessa, cover us,” Shem growled, his voice sharp now, commanding.

Vynessa’s staff twirled in her hands, her gaze snapping toward the treeline. “Hurry up, big guy.”

Shem’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to the small satchel slung across her shoulder. He nodded, his movements quick and efficient as he set her down gently against the side of the earthen hovel. The crude structure offered scant cover, but it was enough to shield them from further crossbow fire.

He rummaged through the bag, pulling free a small vial of red liquid. Uncorking it with a flick of his thumb, he brought the vial to her lips, tilting it carefully to pour the potion into her mouth. The liquid glowed faintly as it flowed, its magic promising life where there was none.

But Serina’s body did not stir. Her chest remained still, her eyes closed, the potion pooling at the corner of her mouth. She was gone.

Shem froze, the vial slipping from his fingers and shattering against the ground. The fire in his hands dimmed as his shoulders sagged, a deep growl of frustration rumbling in his throat. “Damn it,” he muttered, his voice thick with anger and grief.

“She’s gone,” he said aloud, more to himself than anyone else.

Before Vynessa could respond, another crossbow bolt cut through the air, its aim true. She moved with practiced speed, her hand snapping up to catch the bolt mid-flight. The wood splintered in her grip, the force sending a shock up her arm.

With a fluid motion, she hurled the bolt back toward the treeline, her throw so precise it vanished into the shadows from which it had come. A faint sound—a grunt, perhaps—followed, though no figure emerged.

In the pit, Ryan’s grunts of effort turned to muffled cries as the slimes closed in. His silver sword, so pristine and deadly in open space, was useless in the tight confines. The slimes overwhelmed him, their gelatinous forms pressing against his limbs, their weight unrelenting. His cries grew fainter, his movements weaker, until finally, all was silent.

“Damn fool,” Vynessa muttered, her hands tightening on her staff.

Then, Jello emerged.

The massive slime slid from the trees, its size dwarfing the others. It pulsed faintly, the eerie red glow of the square’s walls casting a sinister sheen over its quivering surface. Vynessa’s grin faded as she sized it up, her stance shifting instinctively.

Vynessa shifted her stance, her staff forgotten as her body flowed into the Way of the Bear. Her muscles tensed, her breath steady, her eyes fixed on the towering slime. “Come on, then,” she muttered. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Her first strike came swift and sharp—a Bear Palm—a powerful palm strike meant to force the slime back. Jello absorbed the blow with ease, its gelatinous mass rippling but unmoved.

Vynessa followed with the Flying Red Panda, a spinning kick that landed squarely on Jello’s surface. The impact sent tremors through the slime, but it did not retreat. Instead, it quivered ominously, its form shimmering as though drawing strength from her attack.

“Alright,” Vynessa growled, stepping back. “Let’s finish this.”

She launched into the Triple Panda Punch, her fists flying in rapid succession, each blow landing with a sickening squelch. Jello wobbled under the assault, its surface warping as it absorbed the energy of her strikes. For a moment, she thought she had it.

The return came swift and brutal. Jello surged forward, its gelatinous body striking Vynessa with a force that sent her sprawling to the ground. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs, her vision swimming as she struggled to rise.

From her prone position, Vynessa saw movement near the pit. The slimes that had overwhelmed Ryan were climbing out, their glistening forms undeterred as they slid toward Shem and Serina’s lifeless body.

Her heart raced, panic surging as she shouted a warning. “Shem! Behind you!”

Shem’s hands snapped together, the crackle of lightning surging between his palms. His eyes burned with focus as he slammed his hands to the ground, releasing the spell. The earth trembled as Thunderwave erupted from him, a shockwave rippling outward. The three slimes closest to him wobbled and slowed, their gelatinous forms quivering under the force, but the damage was minimal. They pressed forward, unyielding.

“Damn it,” Shem muttered through gritted teeth, sweat beading on his brow. He raised two fingers, pointing toward the nearest slime. The flames that had once flickered in his palms roared to life, forming a searing bolt of fire. He let it loose, the Fire Bolt streaking across the clearing and striking the slime dead-on. The creature wobbled violently before bursting apart, its remains sizzling against the earth.

Encouraged, Shem turned to the next target. Another Fire Bolt streaked through the air, but this time his aim faltered, the flames narrowly missing their mark. The slime slid forward, undeterred, while more green forms emerged from the forest’s edge behind him.

Shem pivoted, his heart pounding as the advancing slimes surrounded him. He raised his hands again, flames dancing at his fingertips, ready to unleash another spell. The fire surged forward, illuminating the clearing as it struck one of the slimes, but before he could revel in his small victory, a sharp, searing pain lanced through his back.

He gasped, stumbling forward, his flames sputtering out as his concentration broke. Turning slowly, he saw him—a figure in gray robes, his green skin catching the red glow of the square’s walls. In Kael’s hand was a sickle, its blade stained with blood. The Dungeon Master’s expression was calm, almost serene, as he regarded Shem with quiet intensity.

“The Master,” Shem hissed, clutching his side as blood seeped through his tunic.

Kael said nothing, his grip tightening on the sickle as more slimes emerged from the shadows, their forms pulsating with an eerie rhythm.

Vynessa lay sprawled on the ground, her body battered and bloodied. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her strength nearly spent. In the haze of pain, a memory surfaced, sharp and vivid—a voice, deep and steady, filled with the wisdom of years.

“The Way of the Bear is for taking damage and delivering it,” her grandmaster had said, his hands demonstrating the stances with practiced precision. “But against certain foes, blunt force will fail. Against slimes, you need slashing.”

The words snapped her back to the present. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself to her feet, her legs trembling beneath her weight. The Way of the Bear fell away as she shifted into a new stance, her fingers curling into clawed shapes. The Way of the Tiger. Her body moved with renewed purpose, her breaths steadying as she prepared to strike.

Jello loomed before her, his massive form quivering with unnatural energy. With a sharp exhale, Vynessa dashed forward, her body low and swift. The Pouncing Tiger technique carried her across the clearing in a blur, her clawed fingers slashing through Jello’s gelatinous mass. The slime wobbled, recoiling from the attack as pieces of its form began to fall away.

She didn’t stop. Her hands moved in a flurry of strikes, each clawing motion tearing through Jello’s body. The Double Slash raked across its surface, carving deep wounds that oozed and sizzled. The massive slime trembled, its form shrinking with each blow.

Vynessa steadied herself, her eyes locked on her target. Drawing on every ounce of strength, she roared—a deafening cry that echoed through the square, shaking the trees and stunning the large slime. The Lion Roar, the ultimate technique of the Way of the Tiger.

Jello quivered, momentarily paralyzed by the force of the sound. Vynessa seized the opportunity, leaping high into the air, her body twisting as she came down hard. Her clawed hands struck the center of Jello’s mass, parting it into two halves with a wet, violent splatter.

Her victory was short-lived.

As she turned to assess the field, one of Jello’s remnants surged upward, engulfing her leg in its viscous mass. Vynessa cursed, her movements slowing as she struggled against the slime’s grip. Her claws raked at its surface, but the slime’s viscosity held fast, dragging her down.

Then, she saw him.

Kael stepped forward, his gray robes flowing in the faint breeze, the bloody sickle still in his hand. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, as he approached. Around him, a dozen slimes slid into the clearing, their forms pulsating with intent. They circled Vynessa, their movements methodical, like predators closing in on wounded prey.

Her leg trapped in Jello’s body, Vynessa struggled to move, but the slimes were upon her before she could react. They surged forward in unison, their gelatinous bodies striking her from every side. She fought back as best she could, her claws raking through their forms, but her movements were sluggish, her strength waning.

As the slimes overwhelmed her, Kael stood at the edge of the clearing, his sickle glinting faintly in the red light. He watched in silence, his presence a stark reminder that this square was his, and in it, he was the Master.

******

Ryan awoke to the sharp bite of rope against his wrists and the cold press of dirt beneath him. His head throbbed, and his body ached from the bruises left by the pitfall and the relentless assault of the slimes. Blinking against the dim red glow of the square, he turned his head and saw another figure beside him.

A man with a bald head and a scar cutting across his cheek. The hunter’s face was pale, his lips trembling as he muttered beneath his breath. Ryan groaned, his voice low and hoarse. “What… what is this?”

Before Stone could respond, a figure stepped into view. Kael, draped in his gray robes, his green skin almost luminous under the square’s strange light. His hands rested on the haft of his sickle, its blade still stained from the battle.

“Master Kael!” Stone exclaimed, his voice breaking. He struggled against his bindings, his tone desperate. “Please, release me! I did what you asked. I dug the pit for you, just as you commanded. You promised I’d be freed.”

Ryan froze, his eyes snapping toward Stone. “You dug that pit?” he spat, his voice rising with fury. “You’re the reason I’m here?”

Stone turned to him, his expression defensive. “It’s not my fault you fell in! You’re the one who charged in like a blind fool.”

Ryan strained against his bonds, his rage boiling over. “You traitorous worm! You sold yourself to this—this thing! And for what? A promise from a liar?”

Stone’s face darkened, and he turned his gaze back to Kael. “Master Kael keeps his promises,” he said firmly, though his voice wavered slightly. “The magnificent Master of the Square wouldn’t betray someone loyal to him.”

Kael raised a hand, silencing them both. His expression was calm, detached, as though their bickering was no more than a passing inconvenience. “Enough,” he said, his voice cold. “You will both listen now.”

The clearing grew still, the faint hum of the square’s magic the only sound. Kael stepped closer, his sickle glinting faintly in the light. “Do either of you know,” he began, his tone measured, “what monsters a new Master can summon?”

Ryan and Stone exchanged confused glances, neither answering. Kael sighed, the weight of their ignorance clear in his posture. “You should know this,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of disappointment. “Slimes and spiders. That is all we can summon. Simple creatures. Creatures that cannot build. Creatures that cannot wield tools.”

He crouched before them, his green eyes sharp and unyielding. “And so, the obvious answer is this: A Master needs humans to serve as their workforce.”

Stone’s eyes widened, a flicker of understanding dawning across his face. Ryan, however, sneered, his lip curling in disdain. “You think we’ll serve you?” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “You’re mad.”

Kael’s gaze shifted to Stone. “And you?”

Stone hesitated for only a moment before nodding vigorously. “I’ll do it,” he said quickly. “I swear my loyalty to you, Master Kael. Whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

Kael’s expression remained unchanged as he rose to his full height. He stepped behind Stone, the sickle gleaming as he cut through the hunter’s bonds with a single motion. The rope fell away, and Stone scrambled to his feet, rubbing his wrists.

But the moment he was free, Stone turned, his hand darting toward the sickle in Kael’s grasp. With a sudden, desperate motion, he wrenched the weapon free and turned it on himself. The blade flashed in the red light, and with a sickening sound, Stone fell to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

Ryan stared, his mouth agape. “What—what the hell did he just do?”

Kael stood over Stone’s lifeless body, his expression unreadable. “Humans,” he said softly, almost to himself. “You throw your lives away so easily. Always thinking you’ll return, that another chance waits for you.”

He turned to Ryan, his green eyes locking onto him with a cold intensity. “But you,” Kael said, his voice quiet but firm, “you won’t make the same mistake.”

Ryan’s blood ran cold as Kael stepped closer, his presence suffocating. The sickle, bloodied and gleaming, hung loosely in Kael’s hand. Ryan could only stare, his fury giving way to fear as he realized he had no idea what kind of game he had stepped into—or what Kael intended to do next.

******