Chapter Forty-Seven: The Fall

“Hah... hah... hah…”

The young warrior ran down the corridor, his figure seeming rather disheveled. Even now, his vision was haunted by the brutal slaughter he had witnessed—the spray of blood, the scattered corpses. In his ears still echoed the desperate screams of his comrades. His heart pounded furiously, as if it might leap from his throat at any moment. Yet, despite it all, the young warrior did not stop; gritting his teeth, he pressed onward with unyielding determination.

The Underdark.

He knew well what this place was: the abyss of darkness, a land of eternal evil where sunlight never shone, where the dead would never rest. Since childhood, he had heard tales of the Underdark—the bottomless chasms, the man-eating monsters that surged from the depths. But these had always seemed like mere stories to frighten children. After joining the Holy Church, he learned from his peers the legends of how the terrifying denizens of darkness were driven back, eradicated, and forced to hide in the sunless depths below.

When he was conscripted to join the expedition, the young warrior had been filled with excitement. At last, he could seek the Lord’s blessing, venture with many brave souls into the subterranean dark, and fight against evil. When they returned victorious, he imagined himself celebrated for vanquishing monsters, his deeds sung by bards and remembered forever in legend.

But now, blood and death confronted him in the most direct and merciless way possible, making it painfully clear that the path of heroism was nothing like the glorious dream he had envisioned. Instead, it was paved with bones and blood. No longer did he think of fame or becoming a legendary hero. Now, all that mattered was survival—not joining his comrades in becoming another wretched corpse.

That’s right, just as the bishop had said: send for help, he only needed to send for help...

With this thought, the warrior lifted his head and fixed his gaze on the iron door ahead. Stumbling, he reached the door and pushed it open. Inside was the special communication array used by the Holy Church in emergencies. If he could activate it, their situation would be relayed to all nearby units. Then...

Clang!

The iron door swung open with a jarring crash that echoed down the corridor, making the young warrior shudder. Instinctively, he glanced behind him. For some reason, he was suddenly seized by an inexplicable dread, as though some terrible thing had taken notice of him—like a lone traveler in the wild, stalked by a hidden beast.

An illusion, it must be just an illusion.

He turned away and entered the room, quickly spotting the pure white statue standing at its center. Normally, this statue was used for prayer, but in emergencies, pulling the lever would unleash the holy power sealed within, generating a unique energy wave detectable only by members of the Holy Order. At that point, none of the evil denizens below would be able to escape!

This was the young warrior’s final thought.

A sharp, ice-cold tail blade sliced silently through the air, slipping through a gap in the warrior’s armor to pierce his throat from behind. His eyes widened; he tried to scream, but only a feeble gasp escaped as air rushed from the wound. Desperate, he reached out toward the statue, as if a drowning man pleading for a straw. But before he could move, the slender black tail coiled around his neck and, in a flash, dragged him out of the room.

Soon, silence returned to the corridor—only a fleeting black shadow slipped by, vanishing without a trace.

Something is wrong!

Standing atop the outpost’s walls, the old bishop’s expression grew ever grimmer. Several minutes had passed since he’d sent for help—so why was there still no response? This was not normal. Could something have happened within the outpost itself? With this thought, he turned to look behind him. There was nothing but darkness—no firelight, no movement—and the sight filled him with alarm.

Could it be that these evil denizens of darkness had already infiltrated the outpost, planning a pincer attack?

“All units, retreat at once!”

With that, the old bishop made his decision. Though he had kept a close watch during the battle and noticed nothing unusual, perhaps the enemy had not slipped in during the chaos but had sneaked in even before the fighting began. If so, continuing to resist here would be disastrous. Better to pull everyone back and hold out as long as possible. Once the patrols returned, the situation could be turned around.

The old bishop’s suspicions were not misplaced. In fact, before the battle even began, Zann had dispatched Xenomorphs to infiltrate the outpost and quietly eliminate several guards. When it came to assassination, the Xenomorphs were as skilled as the dark elves, leaving no one the wiser. Afterwards, Zann led Enoia and the others in a direct assault, drawing the defenders’ attention, while the Xenomorphs hunted freely, slaughtering everyone inside. The young warrior who had tried to send for help had long since been noticed by Zann. But there was no need for him to act personally; a simple mental command to his Xenomorphs ensured that none who entered the outpost ever returned.

“Trying to run?”

Seeing the soldiers begin to fall back, Zann sneered. Alex’s earlier choices had not exactly been wrong; he had intended to hold the outpost and use ranged attacks to whittle down the enemy. But he hadn’t expected Iris and Zann to turn their magic on him, shattering his defenses and leaving his forces crippled. To salvage the situation, he’d been forced to order a charge, hoping close combat would win the day against the troublesome spellcasters. Unfortunately, Alex had underestimated Zann and his companions, leading to total defeat.

These surface dwellers are almost laughably foolish... But now that you’ve come out, did you think you’d get away?

Zann raised his right hand, and lightning began to gather in his palm once more.

“Not good! Watch out! Scatter—quickly!”

Seeing Zann’s movements, the old bishop cried out in alarm, shouting for the soldiers to take cover as he raised his holy emblem and invoked the sacred name. A golden barrier materialized from the emblem, spreading out from the bishop like a shield to protect the soldiers within.

At that moment, Zann unleashed the lightning in his hand.

Thundering bolts poured forth, swallowing everything in their path. The blinding glare illuminated the dark cavern as brightly as a disco hall, the thunderous boom pounding like a frenzied dance beat, the flashing light burning afterimages into the eye, making it impossible to look directly at the scene. The ground shook violently, as if gripped by a fit of shivers, making it impossible to stand. Overhead, the cavern ceiling cracked under the force—lightning struck like hundreds of missiles, carving a smooth, arched crater into the uneven rock. Stones rained down like a storm, burying everything below.

When the lightning faded, the outpost was transformed—ruined, shattered. Against the might of nature, the bishop’s barrier was as futile as a mantis blocking a cart, offering no protection at all. The spell Zann unleashed, drawing on the power of the entire Undercity, was as mighty as dozens of mages working in concert. Without specialized defenses, only a demigod might hope to survive.

“Whew…”

Lowering his right hand, Zann wiped sweat from his brow, looking fatigued. Even for him, focusing all the city’s magic and unleashing it in a single instant was a taxing feat. He was not yet spent, but his reserves were more than half exhausted; doing it again anytime soon would be impossible.

But there was no longer any need. Now, before him, no one was left standing. Few of the outpost’s defenders had survived the storm of lightning: most were charred to cinders or crushed to pulp by falling rocks. The rare survivors lay groaning amid the rubble, but Zann felt no pity for their luck—after all, having one’s throat slit by a dark elf or torn out by a Xenomorph was hardly a fate to envy.

The obstacles were cleared. Now, then…

Rubbing his hands in anticipation, Zann’s eyes gleamed as he gazed at the ruined outpost ahead. By the logic of games, after a boss fight came the search for treasure.

Let’s hope these surface dwellers aren’t too stingy.