The once quiet inn had come alive by the time James descended the stairs.
The scent of baked bread, roasted meat, and cheap ale hit him all at once. Where silence had dominated earlier, now the room buzzed with laughter, shouts, the occasional chair scrape, and the sharp clack of tankards meeting in messy toasts. Music trailed from a corner where the bard had somehow found rhythm and tune again.
Adventurers huddled at wooden tables—patched-up and rowdy. Some James recognized from earlier: the hunched rogue, the wind mage, even the hulking hammer-user. Their wounds were gone. HP bars, once pitifully low, now shimmered at full.
James narrowed his eyes and approached the one with the splintered warhammer—Gravik. The big man was in the middle of laughing at something when James stopped beside him.
"You were half-dead ten minutes ago," James said. "What happened?"
Gravik grinned beneath his scarred brow. "Spring out back. Costs a couple coppers, but it'll seal a busted rib or two." He took another swig of drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Small wounds only. No revivals. But it helps push through the day."
"A healing spring…" James echoed, filing the information away.
He turned, intent on seeing it for himself—when the air changed.
A pulse rolled through the room like a low drumbeat beneath the surface of the world. Faint, but inescapable.
James's skin crawled. The hairs on the back of his neck stood. His sixth sense—his raw, instinctive perception honed by danger and honed again by mana training—screamed at him.
Something was coming.
The double doors leading to the back creaked open.
Five robed figures emerged.
They moved like smoke—silent, smooth, eyes shadowed beneath elegant hoods. Their robes bore no guild mark. No insignia. Just dark, layered fabric with stitching too fine to belong to commoners.
James's eyes widened.
Too dangerous.
Without thinking—
[Cloakstep – Activated]
He vanished.
Footfalls erased. Aura muted. His breath hitched as the five passed right beside him—unaware.
Mana Detect – Active.
[Analyzing...]
→ [??? – Class: Unknown | Rank: A+ | HP: 14,280/14,280]→ [Sylfa – Class: Arcblight | Rank: A | HP: 5,720/5,720]→ [Halren – Class: Dreamblade | Rank: A | HP: 8,070/8,070]→ [Eile – Class: Spiritchord | Rank: A | HP: 6,660/6,660]→ [—]
James's heart skipped.
The fifth figure… had no data. No name. No HP bar. No class. Just a dark red tag above their head:
[Unknown – ERROR | Entity Unregistered]
The figure at the back tilted his head, ever so slightly, as if sniffing the air.
He senses something.
BAM.
James blinked—and the world blinked with him.
He was gone.
Teleporting to the last mark he'd placed—deep in the forest, just outside the swarm den. His breath caught in his throat. Knees hit dirt.
Sweat trailed down his brow.
He doubled over, spitting into the grass. "What… the hell… was that?"
Nysilus hovered beside him, face uncharacteristically grim.
"You ran into another tool," the fairy said. "That was the shield of another god."
James looked up, shaken. "Another what?"
Nysilus floated in a slow circle, arms crossed. "We're not the only ones sent to this world, James. You think your mission's unique? It's not. The gods have their own agendas—some want to save this place, others want to burn it, and a few… just want to watch."
"Their tools walk among you. Just like you. Just like him."
James wiped his face with the back of his glove. "So what—you're telling me he's like me?"
"No," Nysilus said. "You were chosen by a god."
He pointed toward the direction James had fled.
"He is a god's will, wearing skin."
A long silence.
"If he spots you again," Nysilus continued, "you won't be able to hide. Not in this kingdom. Not in the next. Not in the sky or sea or hell. He will find you."
James stood, jaw clenched. "Loud and clear."
He turned to leave the forest—but stopped.
A sound.
Faint. Wet. Chittering.
The den. Something inside had changed.
He reentered cautiously, eyes adjusting to the dim light. The pit that once held the swarm was quiet now, but James saw it: tunnels carved along the walls, slick and spiraling deep into the rock.
Something skittered in the dark.
A ripple of movement. Then—
Silence.
James stepped forward, his spear lowered, breath tight in his chest. The air stank of rot and iron. He followed the curve of the tunnel until his boot struck something soft.
A body.
Then another.
They were knights. Low-rank, judging by the patchwork armor and standard-issue gear. Crumpled. Torn open. Faces frozen mid-scream. Some had tried to run. Others had never moved at all.
James's jaw clenched.
He crouched beside one, checking for a pulse he knew wasn't there. Throats shredded. Chests caved in. One hand still clutched a flare, never lit.
They hadn't stood a chance.
A clicking echoed again from deeper in the burrow.
Not swarm.
Something else.
James rose slowly. Whatever had torn through these knights didn't leave survivors.
And it hadn't left yet.
🔔 SYSTEM ALERT[New Threat Detected]→ Crimson Shell Watcher – E-Rank | HP: 540/540→ Hollow Lance Drone – E-Rank | HP: 490/490→ Wraith Broodmother – D+ Rank | HP: 2,880/2,880"Nesting detected. Hive remnant active. Sub-core forming..."
James's mouth opened. "Wow. This isn't good—"
A scream of clicking mandibles. Then—
SZZZ-ZZKRACK.
A drone burst from a tunnel, leaping straight at him. Its spear-like limbs aimed to skewer.
James flipped backwards into the air, cloak whipping—
"Come on!" he snarled mid-spin, eyes blazing.
The den had survived.
And so had the danger.