Time had lost meaning. How long had passed before he was finally able to stand again? Minutes? Hours? Days?

  Not knowing felt healthy in a way. Time inside the dungeon passed differently, was processed differently, was understood differently.

  Days lost meaning. Keeping track lost significance.

  Survive. That was all.

  That was all that mattered.

  With a sunken gaze, Faust fixed on a direction in the garden. An instinct, natural and unthinking, guided him where he needed to go.

  The travel was silent. Other coffins were ignored as he crossed the flowery carpet.

  Eventually, something materialized into view: a grand black wall, starkly contrasted by a white door set within it.

  He advanced and stood before the door, staring at it for a long while. In his heart, a glimmer of hope flickered.

  If opening this door led to his uncle’s old, shabby wooden house… to see his uncle lying on the floor, the room smelling of alcohol and piss… then to his own little room, to observe the wooden walls as he read another book for another day…

  When the day ended, if he could lie down on his old little bed, under his old little sheets, and have a night of sleep—that would be enough. A good night’s sleep and a good day of reading. What more could he want?

  That was the kind of peace a man would fight for. Maybe not every aspect of it was perfect, but what life was?

  Yet, the scenario was only a sentiment. His brain was overloaded, his thoughts slow. He purposely drifted his attention to avoid thinking of what he had seen.

  Slowly, some of those visions leaked back into his thoughts, but small fragments were all he could process.

  It’s painless to have a bucket of water thrown at you, but it is death to be crushed by the ocean.

  “Let’s go, Beak.” Faust placed his hand on the door. It opened immediately.

  Crossing into the next room, he was met with another grand area, completely different from the pattern of the dog battles.

  Above his head, blue pearls that looked like stars illuminated the ground, mixing with the cast shadows of leaves that filled the horizon.

  Tall grass reaching up to his waist and trees stretching toward the ceiling expanded as far as he could see. But like second nature, Faust recognized something else.

  The smell. The smell of carcasses, of blood, of rot, of flesh—the same smell that had long plagued him.

  Sounds. Far away, heavy breathing. To his right, the rattling of something on the ground—snakes. To his left, something sharpening claws against a tree trunk.

  Unlike the last room, this one would not be peaceful.

  “Good,” Faust said, his gaze unmoved. “Good.”

  There was no need to think.

  …

  A woman sat on a chair inside a tent, its noble and vivid colors weakly illuminated by a blue torch.

  Her eyes stared unfocused at the entrance, thoughts flickering.

  After a while, she broke the silence.

  “It has to work.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Graciously, she stood, her long layered dress a mix of golden silk and white detailing. She unclenched her fist, revealing a cross necklace within that also wrapped around her neck.

  Observing the cross for a moment, her eyes shone with cold determination. Tucking the cross beneath her dress, she walked toward the exit but stopped one step before leaving.

  “Do not disappoint, Devotee.” She remained unmoving. “The Order is counting on you.”

  Unnaturally, her cold expression twisted into a sly smile as she finally stepped outside.

  From a dimly lit corner of the tent, a figure stepped forward, adjusting a wooden carved mask. They bowed slightly, honoring the woman who had just spoken, before melting back into the shadows and disappearing.

  …

  Rust’s exotic saber cut through the head of a swamp dog. His dark hair was tied back; his muscles had been hardened since the start of the dungeon, resulting in an enviable physique.

  Wind wolves, forest stalkers, earth crabs… the crabs were the worst. All these beasts proved annoying—to say the least—enemies.

  But the dogs? They were slower and weaker than wind wolves, less cunning than stalkers, and less enduring than crabs. Overall, an easy enemy—especially with a group for support, just like Rust had.

  Alongside him was a small group of White-Star village survivors. A few other men helped protect the group, serving as the main strength. A handful of women tended to the wounded and sometimes joined the fighting directly. But the one who stood out most was a man whose frail body and homely face made him appear almost as wretched as the slain beasts.

  Yet his help to the group was invaluable. No one really knew what he did or who he was before entering the dungeon—perhaps an aide to the Village Leader, who had gone missing since the incident in the forest.

  The man clicked a bronze pocket watch, marking the time in his journal. His fingers kept writing regardless of the situation… including the current one, where the group had been surrounded by a pack of swamp dogs.

  They fought fiercely. The humans held on and won without a single fatality, sustaining only mild injuries that were quickly tended to.

  Once the battle was over, the homely man approached Rust, who sat on a patch of earth cleaning his blade.

  “Mister Rust, I wish to speak with you again,” he said, his voice as unremarkable as his appearance.

  “Then speak—aren’t you doing so already? And again, drop the ‘mister.’ Just Rust.” Rust’s tone was clearly stressed.

  “Mister Rust,” the man continued, “our supplies are running low. This swamp has already forced us to use too much. I’d advise you, sir, to let the heavily injured go. We cannot save everyone.”

  “I knew you’d say something like that again,” Rust stood. “Listen, I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: no one will be left behind while they’re alive. No one—”

  “Your heart is truly generous, sir,” the man interrupted. “But to guide our group forward, difficult decisions will be necessary. When the time comes, I trust you will make the right one.”

  Rust’s gaze pierced the man, startling him.

  “Ahem… well, sir. That was all. I shall let you rest now.”

  The man walked away. Rust went back to cleaning his sword.

  “I need a drink,” he muttered, “but…”

  His green eyes scanned the group. Many were injured. Soon their resources would exhaust, and moving forward as a group would become even more difficult than what it already was.

  Does he think I don’t know that? But I can’t leave anyone… I can’t leave anyone else behind.

  Staring at the moon, he fell into silent contemplation.

  I’m sorry, sister. I’m sorry, my friend. I failed both of you… I couldn’t protect your son. I’m sorry. I will atone for that…

  It’s been so long. No child would survive in a place where even men die… But I will carry your memory, Faust… my nephew. For you, too, I say sorry. I hope you can forgive me.

  …

  Inside the forest, a duo rested undisturbed in a cave, their presence concealed by darkness. They were waiting; their time had yet to come.

  “Hey, Simon,” a girl said, playing with her vermilion hair. “How long do you think it’ll take?”

  Next to her, a man grunted in response. His body was large but not visible, completely covered by massive plate armor. His slitted helmet had just enough opening to allow vision.

  He polished a thick cutlass, as if he had already given his answer.

  “Yes, yes… I know.” She stood up. “But it’s so boring to wait this long. Can’t we do anything?”

  The man offered no response. She huffed and sat back down on the stone.

  “You’re so boring, you know that, right?"

  Only silence remained in the cave.

  …

  A hooded figure walked out of the swamp, reaching the border between mud and sand. A desert stretched before them.

  They opened a small bag at their waist, revealing a strange glow within. Their hands dove inside, reaching deeper than the bag’s external size suggested possible.

  From within, they pulled a small brooch engraved with intricate markings and fastened it to their belt.

  “This should be enough,” they said in a voice that was masculine, yet sweetly alluring.

  This desert should be more difficult than the swamp… although it contains that place. Not that anyone will find it. Well, no reason to deviate so far from the route unless you’re a fool.

  They looked out over the golden sand that filled the horizon, the dunes shifting with the wind, all of it illuminated under the piercing gaze of the azure moon.

  The person sighed.

  Just a little more and this is over. I shouldn’t have been assigned this place. Guess I’ve always been somewhat unlucky.

  Then they stepped forward, leaving the swamp and its dead ambiance behind.