Eternal Rest

The next day, Rayne and Belle stood together before the cell door. Rayne cast a final glance at Belle, silently confirming her readiness. Her resolve shone in her eyes, assuring him that she was prepared for whatever lay ahead. With a nod of affirmation from Rayne, they entered the cell together, their purpose clear and their determination unshakable.

"How's your morning, Guntar? Had a good night's sleep?" Rayne startled Guntar, wearing the saddest expression he could muster as he spoke.

"I've had it worse," Guntar replied, his frost-covered face reflecting the chill of his cell.

"Well, don't let it get you down. Our day is just starting," Rayne offered, attempting to maintain a semblance of sympathy.

"Yeah? Well, fuck your day then! You think you're gonna get away with…who's the lackey?" Guntar interrupted, noticing the skittish-looking girl standing behind Rayne.

Rayne glanced aside as Belle hopped next to him, offering a cheerful greeting to the restrained man in the frigid cell. "Hi, Gunty! The name's Anabelle, and I'll be your host for today!"

groan "Is this your way of torturing people? Oh, disgraceful former guild leader?" Guntar mocked.

Rayne chose not to respond directly to the provocation. "Belle, would you please?" he requested instead, deferring to his young accomplice.

Belle grinned mischievously and deftly drew the rapier from her waist. In an instant, she vanished from Guntar's sight, causing him to hiss in surprise as Belle reappeared behind him, swiftly piercing his bound hands with the blade.

"See, Guntar, the beauty of the freezing conditions in this cell is that you won't bleed out from injuries," Rayne remarked coolly. "Now, I promised my little prodigy here," he gestured towards Belle, "that I'll let her take the lead in today's interrogation. As you may have gathered, she prefers a more...physical approach to extracting answers. I, on the other hand," he leaned in closer, poking Guntar's chest with his index finger.

A dim blue light emerged and coiled its way towards the prisoner's chest. It wriggled and squirmed until it settled over Guntar's heart, then vanished without a trace. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen.

"You poked me? You on the other hand, will poke the answers from me? Are you ser…hhnngh gasps"

Guntar's words were abruptly cut off as he felt his heart squeeze violently. His entire body convulsed in agony as excruciating pain surged through him, originating from the depths of his being. The pressure was unbearable, as if he were on the verge of bursting at any moment. Then, in an instant, the sensation vanished, leaving behind only the numbing ache of the wound in his hand.

"How was it?" Rayne inquired, crouching down to meet Guntar's gaze.

"What was that? groan What the hell did you do to me?" Guntar demanded, his voice strained with pain.

"That is a good question. Ice is my domain," Rayne declared matter-of-factly.

"What you felt was the grip on your soul, Guntar. You'll have to excuse me, as I have matters to attend to. I'll be leaving you in Belle's capable hands. I'll come by later to check on your progress," Rayne explained calmly. The last part was directed at Belle, who nodded eagerly in response.

Just before exiting the dungeon, Rayne heard a distant scream echoing through the cold, gray stone walls. "Seems like she's getting the hang of it," he remarked with a proud smirk before departing.

It was only the second day, but Rayne knew he needed Guntar to understand the seriousness of the interrogation. Guntar was the primary lead in uncovering the individual responsible for the attack on Westbrook. More importantly, Rayne needed to ascertain if the old man he had dealt with was Silva—the man he had been relentlessly searching for.

"If the old man really is Silva… it means he's changed his appearance since the last time I saw him, and it won't be long until he changes it again! I need to find him before he disappears once more!" Rayne clenched his fists tightly, a surge of cold, unrestrained aura sweeping the staircase leading down to the dungeons, freezing the steps beneath his feet.

Rayne let out a sigh, forcing himself to calm down. He reminded himself that he wasn't the inexperienced rookie silver rank adventurer he had been thirteen years ago, freshly graduated from the academy. The memory of that dreadful day remained etched in his mind. His father, the captain of the guard, had been overseeing the guards tasked with maintaining order near the palace. His father hadn't even been scheduled to work that day; he had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

An alert rang out from the royal palace, signaling trouble. Rayne's father was tragically killed in the line of duty while attempting to thwart a group of assailants fleeing after a failed assassination attempt on the Royal Treasurer. At the time, Rayne was at the Adventurer Guild, perusing contracts when he received the devastating news.

Despite investigations, the assailants and their leader remained elusive. Rayne refused to let the matter rest and continued his pursuit of justice. Over the years, he uncovered information indicating that the leader of the group was a middle-aged man named Silva, and the group itself was known as the Defiant Hounds. Silva was a notorious wanted criminal, but tracking him down proved challenging as every report about him described a different appearance.

To think he had been hiding in plain sight for over a year as a librarian... Rayne shook his head in disbelief as he continued up the stairs.

Near his office, an old man stood, waiting patiently, unnoticed by ordinary senses. No one paid him any attention until Rayne locked eyes with him and greeted him.

"Greetings, Guild Lea...master! You didn't have to come all the way down to where us mortals reside," Rayne remarked.

snort "Brat, you don't call! You don't write! How else am I supposed to see you if I don't come down myself?" the old man retorted with a gruff tone.

Both shared a smile as Rayne led his master into his office. He brewed them a cup of tea, and after a brief and pleasant exchange of pleasantries, Rayne broached the real reason for his master's visit.

"Rayne, my boy..." the old man began, his words heavy with hesitation. "I know I promised you'd have your revenge, but I fear nothing good will come of the path you're on. Was it truly necessary to imprison that young lad in the dungeon?"

Rayne couldn't help but feel conflicted as he observed the expression on his master's face. The man was renowned for his icy demeanor and typically maintained an indifferent attitude toward the affairs of the kingdom. Like most ascendants, his master had long surpassed the need to involve himself in the intricacies of kingdom politics. Even the current king had been largely absent for the better part of the last century. Witnessing his master display such an uncharacteristic expression caused a momentary flutter in Rayne's heart.

Rayne steadied his resolve and responded firmly. "I cannot afford to deviate from this path, master. Everything I have trained for and all that I have done until now has been in pursuit of strength and justice. Now that I have a potential lead, you're asking me to abandon my quest? I cannot do that, master. Forgive me for being such a disappointing disciple."

Seeing the unwavering determination in Rayne's eyes, all his master could do was sigh. He had anticipated this outcome from the moment he took the boy under his wing.

"I understand," the old man replied solemnly. "I just don't want you to lose yourself in the pursuit of something that may not bring you the closure you seek."

Slowly rising from his seat, the old man made his way to the door, pausing to offer a final piece of advice. "You possess immense potential, Rayne, more than I ever did. I simply hope you use it wisely and don't squander it on fruitless endeavors. If you insist on continuing down this path, then ensure there are no loose ends left behind. Thank you for the tea."

With that, he departed, leaving Rayne alone in his office, a frown etched upon his brow.

"Fruitless endeavor? It isn’t fruitless to me, master!" Rayne muttered to himself, his commitment unwavering.

Beyond the closed door, the old master shook his head knowingly. He understood that ultimately, the decisions rested with his disciple. All he could offer was guidance gleaned from a lifetime of experience.

cough cough

Bones rose from his meditation, his resolve firm as he approached the cavern wall. With a deliberate motion, he traced the markings with his bony finger, feeling the indentations where the runes were etched.

"Nothing to do but repeat the first stage, I suppose," he muttered to himself.

In response, the markings briefly glowed, and a prompt materialized before Bones. Without hesitation, he accepted, and in an instant, he found himself back in the familiar safe zone where he had first entered the dungeon. Here he stood again, facing the tunnel ahead, uncertainty lingering in his mind. Would it be the same dungeon? Only one way to find out—he had to venture forward.

The tunnel remained unchanged, retaining its dark and damp ambiance, with motes of light from spores on the walls illuminating his path. Bones proceeded down the tunnel, arriving at the first biodome where oversized ants busily went about their business, just as they had before. "Let's get this done expeditiously," he muttered to himself.

Fifteen minutes into his dungeon exploration, Bones paused to check his inventory. As expected, he discovered several slots occupied by ant drops, consisting mainly of chitinous body parts and mandibles automatically stored within.

Recalling his previous visit to the dungeon, where he left all loot behind, he now recognized its potential value to someone else. With a decisive gesture, he discarded the mandibles on the ground and resumed his journey forward.

An hour later, Bones completed clearing out the biodome infested with the Ant-men. Assessing his progress, he estimated he was about one-third through the dungeon as he hurried through the labyrinth of tunnels. While the battles with the monsters didn't offer him combat experience, they still contributed to honing his skills, albeit incrementally.

Bones had decided to refine his hand-to-hand combat style with the specific goal of enhancing his Bone Armor. Opting for Mana Blast over Bone Nova due to its superior effectiveness, he acknowledged the necessity of adapting his fighting technique. His sparring sessions with Solin in the city highlighted the need for a new approach.

His current fighting method was effective, characterized by agile movement and a combination of feints and precise attacks. However, his encounter with Solin exposed a crucial deficiency. Solin emphasized the importance of a movement technique that utilized mana rather than stamina for enhanced agility and unpredictability.

Bones recognized the need for such a technique and resolved to develop one to complement his combat prowess.

As Bones ripped a hole through an Ant-man, its body hitting the ground with a splat sound, he felt the impact of his empowered attacks. Expelling mana in short bursts with his fists proved effective, with noticeable results and minimal mana expenditure compared to using Mana Blast. Encouraged by this success, he attempted to apply the same technique to his legs, aiming to replicate Solin's quick bursts of speed.

However, his efforts with his legs yielded frustrating results. Instead of propelling him forward in short bursts, he found himself simply kicking the ground, mirroring the action of his fists.

"This is frustrating, to say the least," he muttered in annoyance, feeling stymied by the unexpected difficulty in mastering the technique.

Bones pondered his dilemma, realizing that the problem lay in his approach to using mana with his feet. While he could guide mana flow through his hands and expel it in bursts, the same technique didn't seem to work as effectively with his feet. The key, he realized, was not simply expelling mana, but rather holding it in until it was ready to burst.

"And then what?" he mused aloud, feeling frustrated by the lack of concrete progress. Theorizing was all well and good, but without tangible results, it felt like empty words.

As he contemplated his next move, Bones reasoned that by holding mana, he might be inadvertently over-empowering his joints. His next course of action, he decided, would be to attempt to propel himself with enough force to surpass his current limitations. It seemed like the logical step forward, even if the outcome was uncertain.

"Alright, might as well test it out," he resolved, steeling himself for the unknown. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Bones gritted his teeth as he engaged in combat with the Ant-men, using them as test subjects for his new technique.

Empowering his legs, he focused the flow of mana into his joints and held it, waiting for the right moment to release it. "Hoooold!!!" he urged himself, feeling the energy building up within him.

At the pinnacle of what he could hold, he unleashed the stored mana, expecting to propel himself forward with newfound speed and agility. However, the reality was far from what he had envisioned. Instead of enhancing his movement, the mana burst caused his feet to explode in different directions, sending him tumbling across the dusty ground.

As he struggled to regain his footing, two more Ant-men closed in on him, their spears poised for attack. Fueled by anger and desperation, Bones unleashed a powerful mana blast, obliterating all three Ant-men in a single explosive burst.

Exhausted and battered, Bones lay on the ground, the taste of failure bitter in his mouth. He knew he had a long way to go. Exhaling heavily, he pulled himself into a sitting position, analyzing his last attempt.

"I've held the mana for too long. I need to respond faster than that. One more time!"

A few minutes later, Bones was hopping on one leg, using bone lances as makeshift crutches, heading in the direction where his other foot was blasted away again. It was a minor misstep, but he was getting the hang of it.