They find themselves in a large room, skeletons scattered across the floor.
Swan unsheathes her two swords. "Take out your weapons."
They hesitate at first, then recall what they fought against in the fortress. Virgil draws his spear from his space bag, eyes fixed on the skeletons as he waits for them to rise.
Suddenly, the room's lights flare red. An alarm blares, and a metallic voice echoes, "Intruder! Intruder!"
Small holes open in the ceiling, dropping four metal balls. Before they hit the floor, legs, arms, and heads unfold from within, and the constructs land on hands and feet with a heavy boom.
Vincent whispers, "Automaton." Constructs made from gears—taught in the School of Instruments.
The automatons rush to attack. Virgil and Swan each face one alone, while the others take on the remaining two.
Virgil dodges a crushing punch and counters with his spear. Sparks fly as the tip scrapes against the automaton's body.
The automaton's fist crashes down, shaking the floor, but Virgil slides aside, his eyes narrowing.
He grips his spear tighter, channelling mana into the tip until a sharp, invisible force hums along its edge. The air distorts faintly, the piercing aspect sharpening his weapon beyond steel.
The automaton lunges, gears screaming, but Virgil steps in rather than back. His spear thrusts forward, the mana-infused point slipping through the metal chest plate as if it were cloth.
The construct jerks, its arms flailing, but Virgil twists and rips the spear free, shredding gears and pistons in its path.
He spins the shaft and drives it upward into the automaton's neck joint—mana tearing through the thick plating with ease.
The head tilts, then drops with a metallic thud as the entire frame collapses in a heap of broken machinery.
Virgil turns just in time to see Swan unleash a torrent of flames from her sword, the searing heat engulfing her automaton until it melts and crumbles apart.
Across the room, Marcus and Clide hammer at their target, each blow cracking the construct's armour. Vincent and the others bind the machine with spells—chains of light and shadow coiling around its limbs—before Marcus and Clide release their blood power, ripping the automaton apart in a violent burst.
The metallic wreckage barely hits the floor before it ripples like water, sinking out of sight.
They press forward, room after room, the number of automatons growing with each step. Virgil and Swan cut through the majority with ease, their combined speed and power overwhelming the constructs. The others adapt quickly, learning to block and stall an automaton long enough for one of the two to arrive and finish the job.
At last, they stand before a massive set of metal doors. Pushing them open, they step inside—and freeze.
A towering black automaton, twice the size of the others, stands at the centre, its dark frame radiating menace.
Swan's expression hardens. "This one is Rank 6," she says quietly. "And I always stop here."
The group stares at Swan, eyes wide.
"Rank 6?" Vincent blurts, disbelief cutting through his voice. Marcus and Clide glance at each other, their grips on their weapons tightening. Even Cynthia takes a half-step back, her usual composure slipping.
A low hum vibrates through the floor. The black automaton's eyes flare crimson, and its head turns with an unnatural jerk. Metal grinds as its massive arm whips forward—extending like a chain to lash across the room.
"Move!" Swan shouts.
They scatter, the extended arm slamming into the floor where they stood a heartbeat ago, sending cracks spiderwebbing through the metal tiles.
Swan's blades ignite in a blaze of fire, heat washing over the group as she lunges forward. Flames trail in her wake, her focus locked on the towering construct.
Virgil steadies his breath, eyes narrowing. If destroying this thing earns him even one simulation reincarnation opportunity, it's worth the risk. Mana floods his spear, wrapping it in a piercing aura sharp enough to rip through steel.
He charges in beside Swan, the two closing the distance in perfect sync.
Virgil thrusts, but the mana-wrapped spear that once tore through steel scrapes uselessly against the black automaton's armour.
He pulls back instantly, rolling away as its massive foot slams into the spot where he stood, the impact rattling the floor.
Swan's blazing swords strike next, but the flames lick harmlessly off the dark plating.
The rest of the group fares no better; their attacks barely leave a mark.
The automaton's speed keeps them trapped; every dodge met with another blinding strike that cuts off escape.
"Swan, how did you escape before?" Vincent yells over the clash of metal.
"I never stepped inside the room!" Swan replies, sweat beading on her forehead as she twists away from another blow.
"Then how are you sure we can get out of here?" Mira demands.
"Look at the back of the room! There's a platform—it rises to the ground!"
Virgil glances over her shoulder and spots the lift.
Freedom sits just beyond it, but the automaton stands as an unmovable wall between them.
Mira's eyes narrow.
She pulls a small sphere from her space bag and hurls it at the automaton.
It bursts mid-strike in a deafening crack of thunder, arcs of lightning crawling over the black frame.
The construct shudders violently before collapsing in a heap, smoke pouring from its joints.
With a hiss of escaping steam, its pieces clatter apart, and a glowing red crystal rolls free onto the floor.
"You had a Thunder Ball," Cynthia breathes.
"A second-order, one-time thunder instrument," Virgil notes.
"The teacher gave me," Mira says simply.
Virgil kneels, fingers curling around the warm crystal.
"What is this?" he asks.
"The energy core of the automaton," Mira says.
"It is made from a poisonous metal."
Virgil's spirit probes the crystal, sensing an energy that feels strikingly similar to Fire Yang power.
With this, he thinks, maybe I can quickly neutralise the Fire Yang power.
"I will take it," he says, tucking the core away.
They rest for a few minutes, catching their breath.
Stepping onto the platform, Virgil pulls the lever on the wall.
The lift shudders and begins to rise.
With a click, the ceiling parts, revealing a forest above.
One side is dominated by a massive rock wall, the other by dense trees.
"Where are we?" Mira asks, glancing around.
They are still inside a cavern—this forest grows under the endless stone of the Underdark.
"Dark Forest," Swan answers.
She points to the right.
"Trifalm Cavern."
She points to the left.
"Orchen River Cavern."
She points straight ahead.
"Lonely Pike Village Cavern. Our destination is straight ahead. We will separate in Lonely Pike Village."
The group exchanges glances.
Out of the city at last, and with no idea which path is truly safe, they can only follow behind Swan.
Following her, they step into the forest and soon find a water source.
They decide to camp there for a rest.
Inside his tent, Virgil stares at the red crystal.
Closing his eyes, he begins to comprehend the power within it.
After some hours, they resume their journey.
They encounter many magical beasts, but most sense the group's strength and avoid them.
Except for one.
Growling low, a two-headed fire hound blocks their path.
The hound attacks, but within a minute, it is slain.
Virgil and Swan don't even draw their weapons.
The rest handle it easily, their coordination sharpened by the battle with the automaton.
Two days later, they arrive at the Lonely Pike Village cavern.
Stepping inside, they feel as though they have reached the surface world.
"Dark Fae Kingdom," Swan says.
She gestures at the vast fields.
"They transformed the cavern to mimic the surface so they can grow surface crops."
Virgil nods, seeing endless rows of plants stretching toward the horizon.
Mira inhales deeply.
"The air also feels like the surface."
Swan's expression tightens.
"Why don't I see any farmers working the fields?"
Then the group notices.
The farms are eerily empty.
Birds pick freely at the crops.
In the distance, the sounds of battle echo through the cavern.
They approach and find the Lonely Pike Village engulfed in chaos.
Dark Fae dart between broken houses, their light weapons flashing.
Bolts of dark energy and bursts of fire magic streak toward their enemies.
Dark Orcs push forward with heavy weapons, their brute strength shattering defenses.
A faint red fighting energy clings to their bodies like a second skin.
It makes them harder to wound, and their strikes carry crushing force.
The clash is brutal, but the Dark Fae are steadily losing ground.
A towering Dark Orc leads the slaughter.
Burly and broad-shouldered, his entire form is wreathed in a thick red aura like an energy barrier.
With a double-handed axe, he cleaves through any who stand in his way.
Each swing sends Dark Fae bodies flying, cutting their lines apart.
Even the swiftest dodge cannot escape the reach of his weapon.
Within minutes, the Dark Fae formation crumbles under his relentless assault.
The Dark Orc roars, the sound shaking the air.
From behind him, a phantom of a Dark Orc materializes.
It mirrors his movements perfectly, raising an enormous axe above its head.
Both real and phantom swing down in unison, from high above to the ground.
When the real axe strikes, the earth trembles under the force.
A jagged crack bursts from the impact point, racing forward.
It snakes across the battlefield, heading straight toward a Dark Fae formation that refuses to break.
The Dark Fae step aside, sensing danger, their eyes following the spreading fissure.
The crack reaches the spot where the phantom's axe crashes down.
A deafening explosion erupts in the center of the Dark Fae's square formation.
The blast tears their defensive lines apart, scattering bodies and weapons in all directions.