...

As the sun dipped low on the horizon—the jagged peaks, barely visible against the fading light, threw long shadows over the wild landscape. Yet, signs of sapience presence emerged here and there through the improvised fortifications. A group of guards from the Strip stood vigilant, ready to defend the outer perimeter and ensure no unauthorized entry to the dungeon, something that could ensue horrific wars.

After William read his Mother's note, he wasted no time and quickly arrived at the eastern mountain range. "What a feisty woman," he mused aloud, a fond smirk tugging at his lips.

William sighed as he approached, running a hand through his tousled hair. Despite his deep affection for his Mother, he couldn't help but find it both amusing and exasperating that at eighty years old, she was starting to act like a rebellious teenager. Her newfound zest for life was heartening but also filled him with a quiet worry.

With each step, the earth seemed to solidify beneath his feet, responding to his determined stride. "Too adventurous for her own good," he chuckled softly, shaking his head. Still, seeing her embrace this new life—embarking on her own journey—was a welcome change after years of watching her endure quiet suffering. He recalled how she used to gaze longingly at the horizon, her dreams of adventure stifled by frail health and the sacrifices she had made for him.

His Mother had always harbored dreams of becoming an adventurer—aspirations suppressed by her fragile condition and the burdens of the past. For the first ten years of his life, he had been sustained by her milk and care that drained her vitality, causing immeasurable damage to her well-being. Guilt and warmth tightened his chest at the thought. Now, after a recovery facilitated by the Temple healers, she was full of life and plans. She eagerly sought out anyone with combat experience, often engaging the soldiers of the Altar—a codename they used to conceal the dungeon's existence—in animated discussions.

"She's probably listening to battle stories right now," he thought with a wry smile. "Next thing I know, she'll be challenging me to a duel."

William loved to give her pointers, but her zealousness needed to be damped, as he knew too many who died just because of that. Sometimes, he was a little more than forceful, showing that the world was still full of monsters, ready to rip her apart.

'Hm?' When William arrived at the fortification right before the cave entrance, the sentries behaved weirdly—they shifted uneasily, their gazes distant and unfocused. A glassy sheen dulled their eyes, masking the sharpness he had expected. A faint odor hung in the air—sweet and acrid. "That's odd," he thought, a frown creasing his brow. "Have they been drinking again?"

"Is everything all right here?" he called out, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of authority. Old habits died hard; he couldn't help the subtle edge that crept into his voice.

The guards snapped to attention with jarring rigidity. "Yes, William!" one barked, his voice a notch too loud.

"All good!" another added, a strained smile stretching his lips thin.

"Right..." William replied slowly, his eyes narrowing as he studied them. Something was off. "Have either of you seen my Mother pass by?"

They exchanged nervous glances. One shrugged, avoiding William's gaze. "No, haven't seen her."

A knot tightened in his stomach. "Okay," he murmured, forcing a casual tone. He glanced toward the cave entrance. "She wouldn't..." He hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind. His Mother possessed [Divine Skills] that could conceal her presence. She might have slipped past these less-than-vigilant guards if she was feeling adventurous.

Without wasting more time, he moved toward the dungeon entrance. "We'll speak later," he said over his shoulder, his voice carrying a hint of warning. As he walked away, unease gnawed at him. The guards' behavior was unsettling, and the silence around the dungeon was unnerving.

The cave entrance swallowed him, the bright daylight giving way to the dim glow of luminescent fungi clinging to the damp walls. Their eerie light cast elongated shadows, making the rocky passages feel even more claustrophobic. Deeper inside lay the dungeon, but he had some distance to cover. Usually, soldiers were stationed along these corridors as a precaution and to manage the occasional spider hatchlings that ventured out from the depths.

He recalled how, when they first arrived, these tunnels had teemed with thousands of monsters. It had taken weeks of meticulous operations to clear every inch, ensuring the safety of those on the island so that no dungeon break would occur. Yet now, the corridors were eerily silent—too silent. The usual distant clank of armor or murmur of voices was absent. His footsteps echoed unnervingly.

"Something's not right," his instincts whispered. His senses sharpened, his eyes darting to every shadow, his ears straining for the faintest sound. The ambient noises—the distant drip of water, the scuttle of small creatures—were conspicuously absent. It was as if the dungeon was holding its breath. A chill ran down his spine.

He moved forward cautiously, each step deliberate. 'Mother wouldn't have come this far alone,' he reassured himself, but doubt gnawed at him. 'Would she?' She was resourceful, yes, but venturing this deep was reckless—even for her newfound adventurous spirit.

Just as he was about to activate his [Divine Skills], a faint echo of footsteps reached his ears. He froze, heart pounding. Then came a voice—familiar yet off-key. "Oh, my dear Will! My darling, at last!" His Mother's voice, but laced with an unnatural sweetness that sent a chill through him.

Cold dread washed over him. "Mama?" he whispered, the word barely escaping his lips. Disbelief and fear tangled within him as she stepped into view. Her eyes lacked their usual warmth, replaced by a vacant gaze. Her movements were stiff, almost puppet-like.

Suddenly, a sticky substance ensnared his wrist. "What the—" He barely had time to react before more webbing shot out from the shadows, binding his limbs and yanking him off balance. He thrashed against the restraints, summoning his [Energy] to break free, but the webs seemed alive, regenerating faster than he could tear them.

"Who's there?" he demanded, his voice echoing through the cavern. He hesitated to unleash his full power, afraid of harming his Mother—or whatever had become of her.

From the shadows, a figure emerged—a hauntingly familiar silhouette that made his blood run cold. Klepto stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with twisted delight. William was confident he had killed him—a figure from his past he never expected to see again.

As he struggled, slender, black appendages—resembling spider legs—hovered menacingly near his Mother's neck, caressing it softly. A chilling voice oozed from Klepto's lips. "Don't worry, darling! We will be together forever!"

William's eyes narrowed, rage igniting within him. "If you harm her, I swear you will not just die!" he snarled.

Klepto chuckled, a sound that echoed unnaturally. "No, no, no! I would never hurt your precious Mother. See?" He gestured, and she stepped forward, a vacant smile plastered on her face. William's heart clenched—this wasn't her.

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Desperation and hope clawed at him. He tried to channel his abilities, but a viscous liquid dripped onto his skin from above. A numbing sensation spread rapidly, his limbs growing heavy and unresponsive. 'Poison...' he realized, panic seeping in. His vision blurred. 'Can't... stay awake...'

He sank to his knees, the strength draining from his body as it was unusually strong, as if planned, 'No...' Klepto sauntered toward him, gazing down with a twisted smile. "Don't fret, darling. Soon, you'll be free, and together we'll become one."

Out of the corners of his fading vision, he saw hundreds of spiders crawling along the walls, their myriad eyes fixed on him. He tried to speak, to plead or bargain, but his tongue felt thick, his words slurred and incoherent. Panic surged as a sharp pain lanced through his abdomen—a piercing appendage stabbing into his flesh.

"First, I need to remake you, just like your dear Mother," Klepto whispered gleefully, leaning in close. "And then, with our new army, we'll fulfill the promise you made to me, and I'll help you fulfill yours—the one you've forgotten!"

Agony and betrayal warred within him as the darkness closed in. Memories flashed—the promises, the mistakes, the secrets he'd buried. 'What have I... done?' was his last thought before consciousness slipped away.

...

Many knew Alexander as the epitome of charm—an eloquent young man loved, adored, and even worshipped by many when he stepped out from the estate. But those who truly knew him understood that beneath the polished exterior lay a much rougher edge. His likability remained, but it was tempered with a raw intensity that, compared to those masses of commoners, few ever glimpsed.

"Where is Will?!" Alexander's voice thundered through his room in the Wintersleep Hotel, reverberating off the walls of polished wood and dozens of exquisite paintings—weeks had passed since he'd dispatched his people to find the fool daring enough to concoct a plan to cause chaos, death and lastly, blackmail his household.

As his patience waned, a dangerous glint flickered in his eyes. The air around him crackled with suppressed aura as he conjured a half-translucent hand of mana, lifting Makol effortlessly off the ground. The night elf hung there like a rag doll, his eyes hollow and rimmed with fear.

"I want a pound of flesh," Alexander growled, each word dripping with menace. "Trust me, I can make it easy or hard."

Makol met Alexander's piercing stare, a bleak resignation settling over his features. "I... am sorry," he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips as if all emotion had been drained from him. "I will accept any punishment you deem necessary, Mr. Alexander, and—" He hesitated, biting his lip—a fleeting sign of the turmoil within. "I will also reveal everyone else who was involv—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the heavy door swung open with a resounding crash, and Lorient swept into the chamber—her summer dress fluttered in the wind as every step she took exuded an aura of authority that demanded attention. "Makol, you will not!" she commanded without sparing a single glance. Her golden eyes—mirrors of Alexander's own—locked onto him with fierce intensity. "Alex, would you mind explaining why Makol is here?" Her tone was dangerously calm, each word laced with an unspoken threat.

Without a second glance, Alexander released his hold, and Makol crumpled to the ground like a discarded marionette. He advanced toward Lorient, a manic smile creeping onto his face. "Oh? Do you realize that I'm barely restraining Lia from wiping out the entire Strip?" he retorted, his voice dripping with thinly veiled menace.

Lorient didn't flinch, meeting his gaze head-on. "Then perhaps you should remind your disciple that this is my Strip," she replied coolly, her voice steady and unwavering.

A muscle twitched in Alexander's jaw. His facade cracked ever so slightly, revealing the storm brewing beneath. "You're pushing it now," he murmured. A palpable aura of malice radiated from him, the air thickening as a faint reddish mist seeped outward, causing the glassware around them to shudder and crack. "I'll tell you this once," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I love you, but Lia has every right to behead the little bastard who took her brother."

Lorient held her ground, her features hardening into a mask of resolve that reminded him of their Mother. "And I've told you," she replied evenly, "he's nowhere to be found. He and his Mother have vanished."

For weeks, Alexander and Ocilia had been waiting for information about William's and, subsequently, Klepto's whereabouts. Through relentless training, he could only do so much to restrain and distract his disciple—pushing her body beyond its limits.

Despite Klepto's treachery, blood ties ran deep among the beast-kin. In their canine-centric culture, family bonds were sacred. Alexander knew all too well how much it had cost Ocilia when her own brother forced her to kneel and beg for forgiveness—a humiliation that burned in her soul.

"This isn't a game anymore, Lori," Alexander said, stepping closer until their foreheads nearly touched. His eyes bore into hers, a mix of desperation and determination. "I need to find that little bastard, no matter the cost."

"Alex, you won't undermine my authority," Lorient retorted, her voice rising. "I am the Chief, and now you're causing chaos among my people—"

He cut her off, pressing closer. "Your people?" he sneered. "If not for me, you'd still rot under house arrest for the next decade. Your so-called 'average talent' wouldn't even qualify you as a decent warrior."

Lorient's [Energy] flared, a dark red aura igniting around her and mingling with the lingering mist. "Say that again," she challenged, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Alexander knew he'd struck a nerve, but he was beyond caring. His priority was to delve into the Strip of Hope, even if it meant stripping away her authority. Just as he prepared to demonstrate why she had every reason to reconsider, a desperate voice shattered the standoff.

"Please, stop!" Makol's plea echoed in the chamber. He had fallen to his knees, a dagger pressed against his own temple, [Energy]crackling around it. Tears streamed down his face, carving paths through the grime. "Chief is telling the truth!" he cried. "We've questioned everyone—we found no trace of where he went! We don't know! Please, Mr. Alexander! If you don't believe me, ask me for the truth, and if I lie, so end my life immediately! We signed a contract of truth, so please command me!"

Lorient turned sharply, a mix of shock and concern flickering across her features. Before she could react, Alexander's sudden burst of laughter filled the room.

"Ha! Fuck it!" he exclaimed, the sound unnervingly cheerful in the tense atmosphere. He paced the room, running a hand through his hair as if trying to massage away a headache. Peering at Lorient through splayed fingers, he said, "So, you've got quite the loyal followers. Fine. I'll give you a chance to find this little rat. How does that sound?"

"And if I can't?" Lorient asked, her aura dimming but the challenge still clear in her eyes.

Alexander's expression hardened. "If not?" he echoed, arching an eyebrow. He took a deep breath, his tone shifting to cold pragmatism. "You want to remain Chief, don't you? Then do your damn job."

Her fists clenched at her sides, knuckles turning white. "Feeling angry?" he taunted, noting her frustration. "Imagine how I felt when the scum I saved tried to kill Patty and seize part of my future territory. Tell me, how do you think that feels? And now, think how Lia feels after humiliating herself to save him!"

As Makol began to speak, Alexander's gaze snapped toward him. He instantly summoned a spectral mana hand, seizing Makol's wrist and wrenching the dagger away from his temple. A second mana hand slammed Makol's head into the floor with a sickening thud. "Stay down," Alexander commanded coldly. "Know your fucking place."

An uneasy silence settled over the room. At last, Lorient gave a curt nod. "You're right," she conceded, her gaze steady on his. "But I haven't forgotten your ambitions and ideals. Are you suggesting I simply abandon my position if I can't find someone who has fled?"

Alexander's eyes narrowed, frustration evident. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, realizing she had a point. Finally, he exhaled sharply. "Fine," he conceded. "You're right, Lori. So here's what's going to happen—you'll speak with Lia and find common ground. But if you two end up clashing, I'll make sure you both regret it. I won't tolerate infighting right before the military operation. Understood?"

It was rare for Alexander to step in so directly, but witnessing Ocilia's anguish had compelled him to act. Still, he knew he couldn't control everything; some conflicts needed to unfold on their own. He would intervene only when absolutely necessary—to prevent serious issues or internal strife. For now, he simply felt too nervous right before leaving for something he dreaded.

Lorient nodded slowly, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. "Understood," she replied, her voice softer but still firm.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but the door swung open once more before she could. Maurice stormed into the room, his face flushed and eyes wide with urgency. Behind him, a cacophony of angry voices echoed, each laced with wrath and arrogance. A shiver ran down Alexander's spine as he braced himself for his worst nightmare, 'Teenagers.'