Chapter 96

Chapter 96

***

Sometimes, there were moments when you felt a strange certainty that taking a reckless action wouldn't result in getting hurt. You couldn't explain why. It was just a feeling that things would work out.

Whether traps lay ahead or they had already passed the entire trap zone, nothing was certain. They could die, but it felt like it didn't matter.

It was a feeling akin to sheer euphoria. The roughly thirty adventurers felt as though they had become one entity; their emotions were so elevated they wouldn't have any regrets even if they died right there and then.

Therefore, the darkness dared not threaten them. Come out, you demons. We will stab you to death.

A few ran holding torches. The pounding of thirty men's footsteps on the stone floor echoed chaotically down the corridor.

A massive set of doors appeared before Rickart, who was leading the charge. Without slowing down, Rickart actually sped up and rammed his shoulder straight into it.

BANG!

FLASH!

The huge doors burst open with a clatter, and bright sunlight cascaded down. Rickart tightly squeezed his eyes shut, lost his balance, and stumbled before finally collapsing onto the dirt.

Quickly scrambling to his feet, Rickart pressed a hand to his forehead, squinting slightly as he slowly opened his eyes. His first impression was that he had stumbled into some sort of garden.

It was an architectural style featuring an open-air garden situated within the building itself. He had heard the Salamandrians built like this, though it didn't seem as if the Cult had specifically intended to mimic them.

The others arriving right behind him also squinted against the sudden glare before gradually adjusting to the sunlight.

Looking around, the space was rectangular, open to the sky above, and bordered by colonnades on all sides.

Beyond the colonnades, doors leading east, west, south, and north were visible; the side Rickart had just burst through was the east.

"Where are we?"

"Rather than asking where we are, I'm wondering what the hell this is."

Marie, who arrived second, remarked as she took in their surroundings. In the center stood a tree resembling a large oak, surrounded by various planted flora.

As it was autumn, the leaves were turning shades of yellow and crimson. A thin layer of fallen leaves already blanketed the ground. Surprisingly, there was a small fountain, and the water appeared exceptionally clear.

"Is this safe to drink?"

With their retreat cut off, many had failed to bring adequate food or water. Rickart was among them.

"I'll give it a try."

One of the adventurers stepped forward boldly. Before anyone could stop him, he eagerly gulped down water from the fountain, evidently parched.

Everyone watched him intently. For the moment, he seemed perfectly fine outwardly. Still, there was always the risk someone might fall ill later.

"Let's avoid drinking it if we can."

"Actually, seems fine? I'm gonna drink."

"Me too."

Despite Rickart's advice, those who wanted to drink simply drank.

"It's the 'Garden of Contemplation'. It draws water from an underground spring, so poisoning it would be pointless. It should be safe to drink."

Ice chimed in. It appeared he had visited this place during his time in the Cult.

As soon as he finished speaking, everyone, including Rickart, rushed the fountain and began gulping down water indiscriminately. They drank until they felt slightly full. What they would do when they inevitably needed to pee later was a problem for another time.

Bolka wiped his mouth and asked.

"Where to from here?"

"South leads to the training rooms and living quarters. North is the disciplinary cells, and west should be the path leading to the temple housing the Holy Sword."

"What's the plan?"

Bolka asked Rickart. When it came to judgment calls in actual combat situations, Rickart was truly unparalleled.

Rickart pondered for a moment before replying.

"Heading south seems the safest bet. We might rendezvous with our forces pushing up from the south, and Ice should know the layout well."

"Didn't you say we were fighting to the bitter end?"

"That was just to boost morale because of the urgency. We need to stay flexible and adapt to changing circumstances."

"Really? But... I really wanna see this through to the bitter end. Anyone have a different opinion?"

Having quenched their thirst and caught their breath, none of the surrounding adventurers raised any objections. It seemed they were eager to ride their current high.

However, a moment's respite called for cautious and cool-headed judgment, so Rickart attempted to rein them in.

"Marie, give me some agarwood."

"Oh, hold on a sec."

Marie pulled a small pouch from her pocket and tapped out a suitable amount into a distinctively notched pipe. Fortunately, the men holding torches helped light it, and she held it up to Rickart's nose.

Drawing in the smoke deeply with practiced ease, the throbbing pain in his lungs subsided within moments.

Meanwhile, Daisy watched the entire process in silence. Had she followed them all the way here? The sheer tenacity of it was almost terrifying. Or perhaps, she was simply that desperate.

But right now, he needed to focus on the situation at hand.

"Lay down the wounded first and use potions if you have them. Let's do a gear check. Anyone without a weapon?"

The wounded were the few who had been struck by arrows earlier. Those without weapons either had them break or drop them during their frantic surge forward.

Miraculously, there were zero casualties.

"Here's the plan. I'll take point. Once I clear the path and confirm it's safe, the next person follows. Should I fall victim to a trap or an ambush, hang back, figure out what killed me, and then Bori-bori takes over clearing the path. Then Ice, then Marie. That's the rotation. We should be able to make it all the way."

"......"

Silence fell as Rickart casually factored in his own death from the vanguard position. Then, practically in unison, everyone started speaking at once.

"I'm coming with you."

"If Ricky dies, who gives the orders?"

"Isn't moving in pairs at least better?"

"Must we seriously split up after making it this far?"

It was obvious no one wanted Rickart taking the brunt of the danger alone. He appreciated the sentiment, but Rickart hadn't volunteered to take the lead simply out of bravado. It was because his sharp eyes and intuition were unmatched.

Still, a faint smile inevitably played on his lips.

"Then let's spread out a bit; Marie, Bori, Ice, and I will advance together."

Even that seemed to make them uncomfortable, but constantly challenging the leader's orders wasn't ideal either. Keeping some distance between them should be fine. That way, they could minimize damage and still assist each other if things went south.

"You can't go, Ricky..."

Daisy broke the silence. Everyone leveled their gaze at her. Expressions clearly reading, 'Who the hell is she throwing a fit here of all places?' were plastered on their faces.

Though inherently distrustful of her Cult background, considering Ice was also present, the adventurers limited themselves to shooting her glares without voicing their complaints.

But to Daisy, Rickart was her entire world. Her parents were dead, the Cult was facing an uncertain future, and she had nowhere to go.

Marie avoided looking directly at Daisy, but her expression betrayed a whirlwind of complex emotions. It was a mix of knowing empathy and intense dislike. Reconciling conflicting emotions was often a paradoxical aspect of humanity.

After finishing the agarwood, Rickart remained seated as he spoke to Daisy.

"Why do you constantly demand that we run away?"

"God will resurrect. And then everyone will die. How could I ever let you die, Ricky?"

"Let's say I concede a hundred times and do exactly as you ask. We successfully flee and find a quiet place to enjoy peace. Then I wouldn't be me anymore. The Ricky you so desperately want wouldn't exist. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Daisy couldn't comprehend. To her, prophecies were absolute and guaranteed to happen. How could she possibly understand someone willingly marching toward inevitable death?

Her heart ached terribly, and tears welled up, but she tried hard to swallow them down. However, her attempts to hide it failed miserably.

"...Then I'm coming with you..."

"Hey, that's..."

"Ricky, wait."

Unexpectedly, Marie stepped forward. Very much like Rickart, she was tough on the strong but soft on the weak. Especially since she understood exactly how Daisy felt, she couldn't bring herself to speak harshly.

"You can come. You might not accept this, but I understand how you feel. But you have to understand this: we can't guarantee your safety."

That was the absolute limit. It was the maximum extent of goodwill Marie could offer.

Whether it was because she felt humiliated receiving pity from her rival in love, sorry for her own miserable circumstances, or simply still solely worried about Rickart, Daisy merely kept her head bowed as tears streamed down her face.

Rickart didn't exactly feel comfortable either, so he pointedly looked away and stood up.

He took a deep breath; there was no pain. He wanted to try and finish the job before the agarwood's effects wore off completely.

Passing through the colonnades to the west door, he delivered a solid kick. With a resounding BANG!, the door swung wide open.

A narrow corridor, entirely constructed of brick—ceiling, floor, and walls—came into view. It screamed 'trap-infested' to anyone looking at it.

Focusing intensely and heightening his senses to their absolute limits, Rickart stepped forward. With slight intervals between them, Marie, Ice, and Bori-bori followed.

Daisy shadowed them all the way to the very end. Was she planning on dying alongside Rickart if he fell?

Regardless, Rickart traced his hand along the wall, maintaining a steady, moderate pace. Then, he spotted a figure standing squarely in his path. Without a word, the figure drew a sword, a brilliant beam of light radiating from the blade.

"Ricky, switch with me."

Marie offered from behind.

"No. I can take him."

Drawing his own blade from his waist, Rickart advanced toward the opponent. Given the cramped quarters, evasion was severely limited; could Rickart, who wasn't a Sword Master, really withstand his opponent's strikes?

Surprisingly, Rickart initiated the attack. His opponent swung his blade out to meet Rickart's, seemingly intent on slicing straight through Rickart and his sword simultaneously.

However, Rickart's strike was merely a diversion. Allowing his own sword to be cleanly severed, he practically threw himself into his opponent's space. He was absolutely certain he would win if the fight devolved into a brawl.

CLANG!

Rickart's sword snapped. In that exact instant, Rickart's left hand clamped down on his opponent's forearm like a vice.

At such close proximity, an opponent should ideally abandon their sword and engage in grappling, but astonishingly, the Cult's Sword Masters severely lacked situational adaptability and comprehensive combat skills outside of pure swordsmanship.

It was a hallmark of individuals severely lacking in real-world combat experience, akin to those who had only ever trained strictly in a dojo.

Becoming a Sword Master through sinister and bizarre methods inherently rendered them hollow husks. Of course, actually becoming a Sword Master via such methods was still no easy feat either.

Rickart yanked the opponent's arm forcefully and delivered a brutal headbutt, instantly shattering the man's nose. Simultaneously, his right hand seized the man's throat and squeezed with bone-crushing force.

Crack.

Having killed his opponent in mere moments, Rickart relieved him of his sword and claimed it as his own. If my sword breaks, I'll just use yours. Since it had belonged to a Sword Master, its quality was quite exceptional.

Stepping over the corpse, he pushed relentlessly forward until he encountered the next opponent. Gripping the longsword in one hand, Rickart extended his empty, bare hand forward, as if measuring the distance.

To the opponent, Rickart's stance looked completely bizarre.

As it was a swordsmanship honed purely on the battlefield in actual life-or-death struggles, his stances shifted fluidly depending on the situation. To an untrained eye, his style appeared rife with glaring weaknesses and completely lacking a proper foundation.

Yet, that was the very swordsmanship of the god they worshipped. Though they wouldn't have recognized it even if they had seen it.

This time, Rickart feigned moving in for a grapple before whipping out his dagger and brutally stabbing and slashing the man's throat. After relieving this opponent of his sword as well, he pressed forward.

It was when they encountered their third enemy. Witnessing his comrades fall, he suddenly slammed his hand against a specific brick on the wall. Immediately, the two walls began to slowly close in on them.

Grndngndgn....

"Huh?"

"Ricky?"

Voices of his friends echoed from behind. The opponent, apparently having accepted his own certain death, showed zero intention of stepping aside. His goal was clearly to take them all down with him.

Feeling the urgency, Rickart abandoned all pretense and simply charged wildly. Throwing caution and impromptu strategy to the wind, he launched a reckless attack, willing to sacrifice flesh for bone.

The opponent's glowing blade arced forward, stabbing into Rickart's abdomen, but the exceptional defensive capability of the true silver breastplate prevented complete penetration while forcefully deflecting the trajectory sideways.

SCREEEECH!

In that critical moment, Rickart reversed his grip on the dagger and, utilizing his forward momentum, violently embedded it into his opponent's face.

Quickly shoving the dead man aside, he sprinted forward without looking back. The walls were continuing to close in. His side burned fiercely, but the urgency was so overwhelming he didn't even register the pain.

Thankfully, the exit wasn't far, and as he shot out of the corridor, his friends emerged one after another right behind him. Once Daisy, who was much faster on her feet than she appeared, slipped out, the walls of the corridor clamped completely shut.

The new space they had entered was absurdly grandiose. Massive, imposing pillars lined both sides of the hall.

Delicate carvings spiraled up the pillars, but every single one depicted humans in agony or other horrifying tableaux.

Rickart inspected his wound. A small section of the true silver armor on his side was sheared off, and blood was pulsing freely from the gash.

"Ricky!"

Shocked, Marie hastily sat Rickart down. She quickly removed the damaged armor, tore her clothing, and poured a potion over the wound. As she moved to make him drink the remaining liquid, Rickart turned his head to refuse.

"If I drink it, I'll fall asleep. I think we're almost there."

Honestly, it wasn't a life-threatening wound. If he used the potion, he was guaranteed to live. However, the situation made it hard to decide the best course of action.

"Just drink it. We might be the first ones here anyway. It's okay to take a nap."

Marie insisted, practically shoving the mouth of the potion bottle against Rickart's lips. Left with no choice, Rickart relented and drank it.

Leaning back against the pillar, resting to catch his breath, sleep inevitably washed over him shortly after. As his eyes slowly fluttered shut, someone's voice brushed past his ear.

In the vast corridor, a stranger was speaking toward them. It was the figure wearing the pointed hood from the trap-laden corridor.

He was speaking directly to Ice.

"Traitor."

As he pulled back his pointed hood to reveal his face, Ice froze in place completely. The man was the very priest who had trained Ice during his childhood. He was also the one who had forced Ice to spit on his own dead brother.

Having harbored an inexplicable sense of lingering anxiety the entire time, Ice's trauma violently erupted to the surface. His mind went entirely blank. He began hyperventilating with breaths so shallow it seemed harder for him to breathe than a tuberculosis-ridden Rickart.

"Is this how I taught you?"

"Who the hell are you?"

Bori-bori demanded with a warning tone.

Ignoring Bori-bori, the man addressed Ice like a specter from his past.

"This is your final opportunity. His resurrection is upon us. Come to me. Do this, and both you and your brother shall be granted salvation. Otherwise, you will suffer eternally in Hell. It is precisely because of you that your brother plummeted into Hell."

"Stop spouting complete and utter bullshit!"

Having silently listened until her patience snapped, an infuriated Marie drew her sword, ready to strike him down. But it was then.

CLANG!

Ice drew his sword with lightning speed and parried Marie's blade. Taken completely by surprise from such an unexpected source, Marie stumbled backward.

Along with Bori-bori, she stared at Ice with an expression of sheer disbelief.

Ice stood there with an empty, vacant stare, appearing as though he was now guarding the deranged cult priest, opposing his own friends. He was pointing his blade at them. Hadn't he sought salvation? Why falter now?

"Hey..."

Bori-bori called out to Ice with an expression of near-total devastation. Disbelief laced his trembling voice, as if saying, 'This can't be happening.'

A creeping sense of disappointment and betrayal began to simmer deep within his chest. It felt as though all the time they had spent forging their friendship had been an absolute lie.

"Hah, hah, hah..."

Unable to utter a word, Ice merely stood there panting heavily.

"Good. Ice, slay those non-believers. It matters not if you perish in battle. It is an act of martyrdom, you shall ascend to Heaven."

Even so, Ice couldn't bring himself to immediately lunge at his friends. He seemed to be suffering immensely from severe internal conflict. Yet, the point of his blade did not waver.

Bori-bori felt his heart tearing apart. How could things turn out this way? As a human being, this just isn't right, is it? We understood and accepted the fact that you were a heretic. We protected you to the very end when the Cult was being violently suppressed.

Anger began to flare. He was so angry he felt like he was on the verge of shedding tears.

"Marie, take Ricky and go. I'm going to kill him."

"Bori..."

Bori-bori spoke toward Ice.

"To be honest, I never liked you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. But I was still grateful to you, you know? But you see, Ice..."

Bori-bori's eyes reddened as he slowly unsheathed his sword. The memories of the days they had spent together flashed through his mind.

"You're no match for me anymore."