Chapter 113
Daniel reached into his dimensional storage, and pulled out the old core of the Hallow Treant, a crystalline heart, once pure, now tarnished and dim. This was the infected core, the very one corrupted by the strange, malicious force that had twisted the Hallowtree into a nightmare.
The five companions stepped closer, their eyes narrowing as they examined it. The crystal's surface was cracked and cloudy, its once-brilliant glow now replaced by a dark, unstable energy that pulsed erratically like a dying star. It didn't hum with mana—it groaned with something far more ominous.
Ysil Thorne reached out, then hesitated.
"That's not natural magic," she murmured.
"No," Daniel replied, his voice firm. "It's something else."
Despite the clear unease and rising curiosity in the group, Daniel said nothing more. He simply tucked the core away, locking it inside a containment rune stitched into his coat.
"It was infected by a... miasma," was all he offered.
The vagueness of his explanation did little to settle their questions. Thalen and Galen exchanged glances. Lora and Ormin frowned. They wanted answers, but Daniel's silence made it clear: he wasn't ready to share them.
Not yet. And perhaps… not ever.
The previous Hallowtree was gone, reduced to ash and scattered bark across the swamp. The twisted giant that had once pulsed with dark energy was no more.
And in its place, from its shattered grave, a new sapling had taken root, fragile yet vibrant. Its soft green glow shimmered faintly in the mist, untouched by corruption. Though small, it radiated a quiet purpose. It did not move. It did not speak. Yet somehow, everyone felt it:
A guardian, reborn.
Its presence wasn't a threat it was a vow.
The five companions stood before it in uneasy silence, their eyes drifting between the sapling and Daniel, who remained unreadable as he secured the corrupted core deep within his coat.
They had questions. Too many.
How had he done it? How had he cleared the quest? They had all seen the system prompt—an unmistakable [QUEST COMPLETE] notice, issued not from a guild or region, but from the Tower's ancient system itself. And that shouldn't have been possible.
Everyone in the Tower believed they understood how quests worked. According to historical texts taught in every district, quest tasks were not regulated by a single authority but divided into three main sources. First were the Gatekeepers, silent, masked figures who stood vigil at the great portals between regions. They were said to serve the kings and queens under the blessing of the gods, receiving divine instructions that guided the land. Without their sanction, there could be no law, no truth, and certainly no official quests.
Second were the priests and priestesses of the many cathedrals scattered throughout the Tower. These religious figures could issue quests either by regular decree or through divine inspiration, depending on the will of their patron gods.
Lastly, there were the commoners and nobles, anyone with coin or reason enough to post a request. These unregulated quests could be found on parchment boards within the guild halls—but only sanctioned quests, bearing the mark of Gatekeepers or high clergy, held real political and divine weight.
This structure was accepted as absolute truth, embedded into the culture and belief systems of every being in the Tower. Yet it was a lie—one deeply rooted in a manufactured history. Daniel knew this better than anyone. After all, he and his team had created this entire social construct long ago. But he rarely spoke of it. The ideology had taken root far too deeply, woven into the bones of the Tower's people.
And yet… this one had been real. Cleared. Judged.
By Daniel alone.
Thalen broke the silence. "That wasn't a rogue event, was it? You triggered something the Gatekeepers didn't mark…"
Daniel said nothing.
Ysil stepped forward. "There's no record of this quest in the Grand Archive. No flags. No intel. Nothing. How did you"
"He's not going to answer," Melgil said flatly.
The others turned to her, surprised by the sharpness in her voice.
Melgil stepped between them and Daniel, her tone calm but firm, eyes locked onto the group with quiet intensity.
"You're asking questions you're not ready to understand," she said. "You all saw what happened. You all felt the shift when the Hallowtree fell dead at the heart of the swamp,"
"that you all should have been part off. "
"But you all decided to back down and just turn your back on the quest and felt fear for your lives."
"And you're still looking for instructions. For structure. For an authority to explain it to you."
Galen frowned. "And what's wrong with that? If there's more like this out there, we need to know."
Melgil's gaze didn't waver.
"What Daniel wanted wasn't just for the threat to be stopped. He wanted you to see. To understand. To act. And you waited. You watched."
Her voice dipped lower, tinged with disappointment.
"Even now, you're looking to him like a quest giver ,someone to hand out answers and tell you what to feel. But the truth is, some questions... can only be answered by yourselves."
A heavy silence followed.
Lora looked down. Ormin shifted awkwardly beside her. Even Thalen, ever steady, had no response.
Because Melgil was right. They had grown used to deferring to rules they usually get from information from guilds , to gods, to Gatekeepers. Used to expecting guidance, comfort, context.
But Daniel had stepped beyond all of that. Faced something none of them dared to, and returned changed.
Not divine. Not invincible. But awake. And they had missed the point entirely.
Melgil turned away, her voice quieter now. "You don't need a system to tell you what's real. Not anymore. Not here."
Behind her, Daniel finally began walking again, his footsteps soft in the wet earth.
The sapling swayed gently in the wind, like it, too, had heard.
The swamp remained quiet as the group followed the winding trail back toward the battle wagon. The thick, mossy canopy filtered out what little light tried to pierce the gloom. The fog was still there, but it no longer clung to their skin like dread. The weight was gone.
But something heavier now sat between them.
Shame.
No one spoke for a while.
Their boots squelched through the damp soil, and the rustle of Melgil's cloak ahead was the only sound for several long minutes. Daniel hadn't looked back once. He walked ahead in silence, lost in thought or perhaps too tired to care.
Finally, it was Thalen Merrow who broke the silence, voice low and steady.
"…We waited."
No one answered.
"Could've gone after him. We had the numbers. Power, equipment, But we still… waited."
Ysil Thorne sighed through her teeth. "Because it didn't feel real," she muttered. "No markers. No information about the target. No trail to follow. "
"yes we have been trained and spent many days reading about the Hallowtree history and i admit i was arrogant to accept the quest."
"signing on that piece of enchanted paper felt great, and i felt special."
" but seeing the reality of my action, scared me to my core,"
"We were afraid," Lora Sithe admitted softly. "Not of the fight, but we just gave up and tuck out tails and ran away."
Ormin stared at the wet muddy ground. "We've been so used to fight inside the simulation training halll to validated our skills."
"boosting our ego, we all wanted to show off to those noble we are better than their sons and daughters,"
"the moment they change the acadamy grading system, we all just jump into the opportunity thinking we are ready,"
"But Daniel didnt join us to brag about his skill," said Galen Althus, his voice gruff. "He saw what was wrong and moved. He didn't wait for permission , and responded like a true warrior."
"That's what we should've done."
"we were too lazy, weak and no different from those entitle students we hated,"
They all fell quiet again, the truth settling like mist on their shoulders.
Ysil crossed her arms. "Melgil was right. We don't get it. We're still stuck thinking like them in a broken social norm,"
"But the world's changed. The rules have changed."
"No…" Thalen corrected gently. "We need to change."
He looked up toward the path ahead, where Daniel's figure moved further into the fog, steady and distant.
"I used to think resolve meant holding the line. Guarding the team. Playing my role," Thalen continued. "But sometimes resolve means stepping forward, even when the script isn't written. Even when it scares you."
Galen grunted. "Guess that's what makes him different. He's not trying to play the game anymore. He's trying to fix the world."
"And we've been trying to survive inside it," Lora added.
Ormin finally exhaled, shaking his head. "We've been small. Safe. Controlled. But today showed us how far we've fallen behind."
No one argued.
It was Ysil who broke the final silence, her voice calm but resolute.
"Then it's time we catch up."
They all nodded, unspoken agreement passing between them. Not out of obligation—but out of recognition. The world was evolving. The Tower was shifting. The old rules, the waiting, the dependence, it had to end.
From here on, they wouldn't just follow. They'd choose ,as the battle wagon's distant silhouette faded behind the treeline, Thalen, Ysil, Galen, Lora, and Ormin stood together at the edge of the now-quiet clearing, just beyond the blast site where the Hallowtree had fallen.
Around them, the fog had thinned, but the air still whispered of unease.
The Hallowtree may have been destroyed, but the miasma hadn't vanished completely. It clung to the deeper roots of the land, pooled in crevices and hollows, and still pulsed faintly in the twisted veins of the creatures it had already touched.
Daniel wasn't concerned with the lingering miasma in the swamp. His eyes could still see the energy and flow of natural magic-based miasma, a phenomenon as old as the land itself. Now that the corrupted Hallowtree virus infected was gone, the magic had returned to its original rhythm: passive, balanced, no longer evil or erratic.
The manipulated threat had already passed and ended . And because of that, the monsters of the swamp had begun to emerge once more.
During the Hallowtree's violent and evil reign, they had hidden, cowering in tunnels, burrows, and stagnant pools, too afraid to scavenge. The Hallowtree had hunted them relentlessly, slaughtering anything that moved, as if its hatred extended to all life around it.
Now, with its violent presence erased, the balance had shifted.
But so had the hunger.
These creatures hadn't eaten for days. They were emaciated, feral, desperate. And now, as they crept from their holes and slithered through the vine-choked mud, they caught the scent of something new.
Humans.
Five of them.
Moving through the undergrowth, deeper into the twisted hollows and fungal nests still saturated with trace miasma. Thalen, Ysil, Galen, Lora, and Ormin, unaware that in their search for infected beasts, they had wandered into predator territory.
They were students of the old world, trained adventurers, yes—but still clinging to systems and routines. Their senses were focused on identifying corrupted auras, magical anomalies, and signs of infection. None of them noticed the shifting shadows, the subtle rustle of vines disturbed by clawed limbs and slavering maws.
To the starving monsters, the five humans were not intruders.
They were prey.
A chance to finally feed.
And the swamp… was hungry.
They could feel it.
Not as a threat, but as unfinished work. they wanted to hunt on their own,
"We're staying," Thalen said firmly, already adjusting the straps of his armor.
Ysil nodded, scanning the darker edges of the swamp with a hunter's focus.
"There are still infected beasts moving through this zone. The quest may be complete, but the fallout isn't." these monster will surely come out and go beyond the swamp and reach the nearby Riverton city."
"My parents' farmhouse—where I grew up—is on the opposite side of Riverton, where most of the farmers live," said Lora, her eyes scanning the fields beyond the ridge we passed going here."
"Good," Galen muttered, drawing his axe with a grim smirk. "I was hoping to hit something today."
Lora and Ormin glanced at one another, then raised their palms. Soft light flickered between their fingers, purification sigils.
"We'll cleanse what we can," Lora said. "And mark any remaining nodes where the miasma's too thick to deal with alone."
Ormin added, "We'll leave this place better than we found it. For once."
They didn't wait for approval. They didn't need it.
Back at the campsite, Daniel lay motionless on the weather-worn cot beneath the canvas canopy of the battle wagon. The fabric above fluttered gently in the breeze, the flickering fire casting warm light that danced across his face. The dry ground cradled the wagon wheels, elevated above the muck and miasma of the swamp below.
Melgil sat close by, sharpening her blade with the slow, steady rhythm of someone trying to keep their hands busy while their thoughts spun in silence. Her eyes occasionally drifted to Daniel, watching his chest rise and fall.
He looked at peace, but Melgil knew better.
Daniel was no longer in the grass field were the battle wagon was stationed.
Daniel walked the endless corridor of his subconscious library, the quiet hum of memory and logic intertwining around him like static-charged mist. The floors shimmered with soft blue light, and the walls lined with code-scripted shelves responded to his presence, shifting ever so slightly to accommodate his path.
He was not alone.
Up ahead, two familiar figures moved in silence.
Ward, the silent librarian, was gently guiding freshly manifested memory tomes into place—stacking them, tagging them, and letting the neural data settle. He wore the face of someone Daniel once knew, though his identity had been eroded by time and trauma. Ward's existence wasn't a real memory; he was a keeper, a stabilizer, an echo of structure.
At the center, behind the reception desk where the spatial grid looped endlessly back on itself, stood Miko. She was sharper, her eyes tracking the expanding data threads with surgical precision. She never looked directly at Daniel, but her attention was always present. She was the interface, the overseer of this inner world, ensuring chaos never overran what little order remained.
Neither of them spoke.
They didn't need to.
They had already made their choice, to remain distant, to allow Daniel to walk this journey alone. They would protect the walls of this place, catalog the fragments, and hold back the flood,but they would not interfere.
Daniel nodded to them both, offering a small, knowing smile.
It was enough.
This place was his sanctuary.
But it was more than that.
It was a construct of necessity.
Long ago, before the fall, before the game became reality, before his identity was rewritten—he was Damon Lazarus, the architect behind the virtual game Arcane Crusade.
He had built the library during the final phases of the game's development, not as code, but as a mental failsafe. A personal vault. A method of embedding all his designs, algorithms, lore, and systems into something he could access, even if everything else was lost.
He didn't trust the corporate backups.
He didn't trust the world to remember him correctly.
So he created a place within himself.
But as time passed and the world collapsed into its current state, the library evolved.
No longer just data storage, it had become a refuge for the fragmented remains of Damon's identity, each room, each book, each lingering echo a broken piece of who he used to be.
He wasn't just storing code here.
He was storing himself.
Daniel paused at the far end of the corridor—his footsteps slowing as he reached a door unlike the others.
Smooth. Blackened. Unmarked.
He placed a hand on it, and the door responded with a slow, mechanical click.
Beyond it lay his private chamber, a perfectly reconstructed memory of his developer's workspace, back when he was still Damon Lazarus. The desk. The monitors. The half-written notes scattered beside coffee-stained sketches of boss mechanics and interface maps. Shelves of lore books and modular AI blueprints lined the walls, humming faintly with forgotten genius.
The room was warm.
Familiar.
But also distant, like a childhood photo in a stranger's hands.
As he stepped inside, the translucent strings of code began to unwind, unraveling bits of memory, teasing truths buried too long.
This is who I was, he thought.
But he was changing., The man now renamed as Dane Lazarus and now reformed to be called Daniel was not just a shadow of Damon Lazarus, but a new being shared with two time lines scattered puzzle pieces , slowly rebuilding itself and connected by multiple lines toward a central core.
He was slowly reshaping, becoming something else. but his roots are still firmly connected to what he is.
He still carried the mind of the genius developer, but now it was tempered by pain, failure, survival. He no longer clung to the old frameworks of logic and perfection. He no longer sought control over the game world. Now he sought understanding. And justice.
And something else he couldn't name yet, a sense of reclamation. Not just of his world… but of himself. He whispered the access phrase.
"ZETA LOCK, bypass protocol. Trace origin: Hallowtree. Cross-reference: miasma behavior logs."
The library responded instantly.
A swarm of light condensed in front of him, taking the shape of a simulation—the original miasma design. It was soft, passive, ambient magic pollution—an atmospheric side effect of corrupted leylines, meant to be a narrative environmental hazard, not a violent force.
But the version he had encountered…
Daniel frowned as he watched the simulation mutate.
The core logic of the corrupted Hallowtree was not native. A foreign subroutine had embedded itself deep in the code, rewriting instincts, amplifying aggression, and introducing behaviors the system was never meant to allow—like recursive hunting loops, self-destructive rage, and the ability to reject divine parameters.
[Code Fork Detected]
Origin: Unknown
Classification: Unauthorized Mutation
Signature: USER_0000
There it was again.
User_0000 the ghost in the system. A hand without origin. A vandal who didn't understand the architecture, only how to break it.
Daniel clenched his fists as he observed the corrupted logic branch dig into the Hallowtree's neural core, mimicking fear, hunger, and pain—then amplifying it until the guardian turned into a monster.
"It was never meant to be this." he murmured.
"Someone weaponized it…"
He turned to one of the memory cores, and accessed a devlog; his own voice played back from a time when he still worked with the others, designing ecosystems that could think, adapt, and protect.
"Everything must follow the Law of Harmony, even corrupted entities. Infection should never be pointless evil , not unless… someone removes the limiter."
Daniel froze.
Someone had removed the binary script command .
Not just from the Hallowtree code, but from the laws of the swamp itself.
That meant the corruption wasn't a bug.
It was intentional.
Suddenly, the space rippled, an alert. Something tried to intrude into his subconscious interface. Daniel raised a hand instinctively, locking the outer walls of the library with a firewall of chaotic mana.
Intrusion Detected
Attempted Sync Request: Unknown Source
Identity Masked: [NULL REF / 0x00]
He narrowed his eyes.
The same force that corrupted the Hallowtree… was still watching him.
Still trying to understand how he survived.
Still trying to find a way in.
With effort, Daniel cut the session and forced himself back to the surface.
His breath caught in his throat as he awoke in camp. The fire had burned lower. The swamp air was quiet again. Melgil was sitting beside him, watching with a curious look on her face. But she was happy.