The return to the forward camp was a quiet affair, lacking the victorious energy that usually followed a successful hunt. The silence was oppressive, as the harsh truth of how dangerous their situation was became impossible to ignore.

  Nick walked at the back of the formation, keeping his senses alert and scanning the canyon walls for any sign of being tracked, but the only things moving in the dark were scurrying scavengers too small to pose a threat.

  When the makeshift fortress of stone walls and defensive wards came into view, it looked incredibly fragile, yet he couldn’t hold back the breath of relief that escaped him.

  "Check the perimeter," Raphael ordered. "I want to know if anyone sniffed around while we were gone."

  Nick approached the wardstones he had placed days earlier. To his relief, they remained undisturbed, with no sign of a breach.

  Nothing came through, but if the long-range surveillance I suspect is happening, even with the dungeon’s interference growing in strength, it might not mean much.

  He knelt beside the primary anchor stone, pouring a fresh flow of mana into the matrix. Not that it needed recharging, given the wild mana of the leyline below their feet, but he wanted to twist the intent.

  Integrating strands of spiritual mana into the standard alarm spells, Nick gave them an extra layer of secrecy and insignificance.

  If House Hone has a diviner watching this place from within the dungeon, this won't stop them, he reasoned, rising to his feet and dusting off his knees. But it might annoy them and blur their vision. And right now, I'll take any small victory I can get.

  "We're clear," Malik called from beyond the wall. "Nothing's been touched."

  Good, Raphael nodded. "Start the fire. We should eat, talk, and then go to sleep. I know I need it.”

  The stew was fairly bland, a practical mix of dried meat and root vegetables that mostly tasted of dry spices, but to Nick, it was ambrosia. The simple act of eating kept him grounded, pulling his mind away from the horror of the fungal hive-mind and back to the basic needs of his body.

  The team gathered around the fire, and the mood became somber and contemplative as they ate.

  Raphael set his bowl down, the clack echoing through the silence. "We need to be clear about what happened out there," he began, looking everyone in the eye. “Kael’s team wasn't just a rogue element. The equipment we recovered, and the Sunsteel, all point to external support, if we needed confirmation after what we saw.”

  “It can only be the Hones, right?” Ord grunted, shifting his heavy frame. The shield-bearer looked tired, the lines in his face deepened by dirt and stress.

  “Yes."

  “They have gotten bolder,” Monte muttered. They’d all known from the start that they were up against a powerful noble house, but at first, their influence was limited to directing monsters to harass villages. Now they were actively recruiting adventurers to do their dirty work.

  “To be fair, this is where everything is happening,” Nick said, leaning back against a rock. “They probably have about a week at most to complete their land grab. If they can seize control of the Core before the King’s representatives arrive, they’ll have solid standing to be seen as the new center of power in the region.”

  “They don’t seem to care how they achieve it," Yvonne muttered, staring into the fire. “I doubt those guys knew their heads would explode.”

  "Expendable assets are a reality of this kind of operation," Raphael said coldly. "They hired locals, provided them with high-grade gear and psychic kill-switches, and directed them at the anchors. It’s efficient, and there’s no direct link back to the House if they fail, while they stand to gain great benefits if they succeed. No reason not to do it, really.”

  Tessa shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "We signed up for monster hunting, Raphael. Not this."

  "We are completely out of our depth," Malik added, his voice rough. "That thing, it was Level 85. If Nick hadn't done whatever he did, we’d be fertilizer right now."

  "We know," Raphael said, his tone softening. "And nobody would blame you for wanting to turn back. But if we leave now, the remaining two anchors will destabilize the dungeon even more. By the time the King’s men get here, there will be either a huge crater or it will all be in the Hones’ hands, and you’ve seen what they do with their people.”

  “Say that we decided to stay,” Ord prodded. "What’s next?"

  "The Western Anchor," Nick said. He pointed his spoon toward the dark horizon. “Then the South. We have to break the anchors; only then can we start thinking about what’s going on at the Core.”

  Silence surrounded the fire, heavy with the unspoken weighing of their paychecks against their mortality.

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  Nick observed them, studying their auras. Fear was present, sharp and yellow, but beneath it was a hardened resolve. They had survived the Wolf. They had survived the Sovereign. The dread of the unknown was gradually being replaced by the grim determination of veterans.

  "I say we finish the job," Malik said, breaking the silence. "We've come this far, and I’m not letting some nobles burn down the Sunlands just because they can."

  "I'm in," Yvonne sighed. There was more resolve behind her words than she let on, but given what Nick knew of her background, that wasn’t surprising. A runaway noblewoman would likely have a problem with overbearing Houses gaining more control.

  Monte nodded. "House Hone cannot be allowed to establish such a foothold. My family would never forgive me if I walked away from this.”

  Terence just shrugged, clearly not seeing a way he wasn’t involved, given his House’s situation.

  All eyes shifted to the last two adventurers. Ord looked at Tessa. Tessa stared at the fire, then sighed deeply, a long, ragged sound.

  "Double shares," Tessa said. "For everything we loot from here on out. And if we see something at Prestige, we’ll run."

  Raphael smiled, a tight, relieved expression. "Agreed. Double shares."

  Later, while the others took the first watch or sank into their beds, Nick retreated to the edge of the light. He sat cross-legged on a flat stone, with the loot from the battle spread out in front of him on a cloth, and picked up the psychic spike.

  It was a hideous thing, a jagged violet metal lance that felt oily to the touch. It hummed with a persistent frequency, trying to crawl up his fingers and into his nerves.

  On its own, it’s pretty blunt, Nick thought as he examined it. But it’s effective, and in the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing, this could be terrifying.

  He tried to push a pulse of spiritual mana into it, aiming to reverse-engineer the enchantment, but the structure was alien. It wasn't built on the standard principles of mana manipulation he’d learned at the Tower, nor did it follow the logic of Earth’s spellcraft.

  This feels strangely biological. I suppose its origin might be linked to the study of some naturally psychic creature. Still, pushing it further will only break it. Spiritual and psychic mana are just too incompatible.

  Wrapping it back up in the dampening cloth, Nick shoved it into his spatial storage. He would analyze it more later, or maybe sell it to Tholm. The man would surely know its value better than he did.

  That done, he closed his eyes and turned his gaze inward.

  The inner world of his soul had changed.

  The Tree of Life, once a fragile sapling, had grown. Its roots were dug deep into Malkuth's foundation, drinking from the dense spiritual mana he had gathered. The trunk was sturdy, rising through Yesod and Hod, and now, a new branch had unfurled, vibrant and strong.

  Nezach, the Victory.

  He sensed the idea taking root deep within his spiritual core. It not only affected his ability to win battles but also strengthened his Will’s resolve, having managed to withstand Eternity’s test.

  The Right Pillar is growing stronger, Nick observed. His emotions' power was increasing, as was the strength of his spiritual magic. I wonder what the final result will be. Another Trait, I suppose, but something tells me this will be quite significant, even compared to the Blessed Hunt.

  Still, the Tree needed balance. He looked up at the next empty node on the diagram etched into his mind, where Gevurah, the next step, would go.

  It was a realm of Strength, Judgment, and Severity.

  If Chesed was the water that nourished, Gevurah was the fire that pruned. It was the restriction that shaped creation. Without it, growth became unchecked, formless, and destructive, like a cancer. Like the fungal colony he had just destroyed.

  Fire, Nick thought, sensing the resonance. The next trial will be fire.

  He opened his eyes and looked westward. The mana drifting from that direction felt hot. Not like the wet, rotting heat of compost, but like the dry, scorching heat of a kiln.

  The Wolf of the Black Sun, Nick recalled the lore he had gathered. If the White Wolf symbolized the Spirit, and the Sovereign represented Vitality, then the West Anchor must be the Body, embodying physical strength, aggression, and flame.

  It fit. Gevurah was the sphere of Mars, after all.

  I can’t say I ever delved much into the element; that was always more Elia’s interest, but I guess it’s time to start.

  He checked his status screen one last time. His stats had increased significantly thanks to the Minor Feat’s reward, and at level seventy-two, he was stronger than he had ever been, stronger than any other student had a right to be, really.

  But as he gazed at the dark sky above the canyon, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was still small.

  The morning came slowly. Nick had the last watch, and he sat on a rock, watching the flow of mana in the canyon below.

  Something about it bothered him.

  They had destroyed two of the four anchors. By all rights, there should have been consequences. The ambient mana should have been chaotic, flailing aimlessly even if the ritual’s structure was still intact.

  But it wasn't.

  The flow was turbulent, yes, but it was controlled. Like a dammed river, the mana pooled, redirected, and flowed deep underground toward the center of the dungeon. Toward the Well.

  Someone is actively holding it together, Nick realized.

  It wasn't an automated process. There was a mind at the center. A Master Ritualist was down there, manually wrestling the energies that could have opened the way for a god, forcing the ritual to persist through sheer force of will.

  That’s impressive, Nick admitted. And terrifying, of course, but mostly impressive.

  It meant the final boss wouldn't just be a monster acting on instinct. It would be someone who knew exactly what Nick was doing and was patiently waiting for him.

  "Nick?"

  He turned to see Raphael climbing out of his tent, looking surprisingly alert considering he’d taken the worst watch.

  “Let’s get ready," Raphael said. “I want us to move before the sun is up."

  Nick hopped down, landing lightly. "How's morale?” His previous night’s meditation meant he hadn’t spent much time chatting with the others after the debriefing, though he didn’t expect any big surprises.

  “Everyone’s a bit worried," Raphael said, "but they are also determined to see it through."

  They broke camp efficiently and quickly formed up in marching order, with Malik and Ord on point, Raphael and Monte in the center guarding the casters’ flanks, and Yvonne and Tessa covering the rear.

  "Let's find this next guardian,” Raphael commanded.

  They marched out of the basin, leaving the safety of their campsite behind and heading southwest. The terrain initially stayed the same, so much so that Nick wondered if the canyon reached even the western part of the dungeon, but the earth started darkening soon after, and a heavy smell of sulfur filled the air, forcing him to circulate the air to avoid choking.

  They reached the entrance of the western pass before noon, a narrow crack of jagged obsidian that looked like a wound in the earth.

  "Hold!" Malik shouted, raising his shield.

  A figure stood in the center of the pass, blocking their way.

  For once, it wasn't a monster. It was a man, translucent and glowing with a pale, white light. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his robes flowing in a wind that didn't exist.

  Its mana signature was unmistakable.

  "Master?" Raphael breathed, stepping forward.

  The figure didn't move, but its head turned slightly, and its spectral eyes locked onto them. It wasn't the man himself, but Nick’s [Empyrean Intuition] recognized it as a Simulacrum, a high-tier communication spell he’d read about in Tholm’s library.

  What’s going on?

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