The northern corridor rose from the stone floor like a silent sentinel, its worn archway marking the steep descent to the eighth floor. Dust drifted lazily through the dim lantern light, swirling around faint traces of dormant magic embedded in the dungeon’s stones.

  Cilian’s group moved with deliberate precision as they set up their ambush. Rubble was quietly rearranged into makeshift barricades. Illusions warped shadows of side chambers, bending corners and cracks until entrances seemed like nothing more than uneven stone. The dungeon itself became their camouflage.

  “Keep low. Keep quiet,” Cilian instructed, voice low but firm. “Do not reveal your position. Brill’s force will pass first. Once they secure the descent and the enemy passes us, only then do we engage.”

  Vel and Luim moved along the flanks, senses sharp, checking every hiding spot. Sunette and Agitha positioned themselves behind a barricade, shields angled to intercept a first strike. Lilian knelt near the wall, adjusting runes with careful flicks of light.

  Xulian sat cross-legged on a folded tarp, trying to draw her focus inward. Her dual spirit roots thrummed faintly, but her mind was scattered.

  Focus… calm… steady…

  The dungeon’s stillness did little to soothe her jittering heartbeat.

  Cilian crouched behind the slab, eyes on the corridor. Why risk this? A full Surillian army… here? Nothing about this made sense—unless someone had fed them information. Me. It has to be either me or the dungeon core.

  A flicker of unease passed through him. One wrong move, and this could ignite a war. Or it already has…

  He rested a hand lightly on his sword, mind racing. Every shadow, every faint trace of magic, every sound mattered. The enemy might not know the trap waiting for them—but he did. And if he didn’t act perfectly, everyone here would pay.

  He hated variables he couldn’t identify.

  Xulian breathed slowly through her nose, trying once more to centre herself. Her energy moved freely but cautiously; she had learned not to overfill her meridians with Qi, keeping them going with just enough that they do not overstrain.

  Minutes—or hours, she could not tell—passed before the echo of marching boots finally reached them. The stone walls carried the rhythm like a heartbeat.

  Brill’s forces appeared first. They moved with military perfection despite their haggard appearance: disciplined lines, sturdy but worn shields, and weapons at the ready. Torches cast long shadows across their iron armour as Brill’s voice rang out crisply.

  “Archers, positions along the ridge! Shields—brace and fill the corridor! I don’t want to see a gap, or I’ll beat you myself! Mages, eyes on the forward line!”

  Each order was answered instantly. Not a step out of place. Not a wasted movement.

  Xulian felt a twist of awe. This wasn’t the chaotic, messy violence she imagined battle to be. It was… organised. And terrifying.

  As Brill’s force passed and formed formations deeper toward the corridor, Cilian’s group slipped even deeper into shadow. Vel adjusted their concealment. Cilian’s eyes swept over every detail.

  “Stay ready,” he whispered. “The enemy will commit soon.”

  Xulian tried once more to steady her breathing, but her thoughts bounced between fear, anticipation, and unease. This will be her first battle against people. And next to her, there are people she barely knew. Why am I here?

  It was a long while til the drum of boots on stone hit like thunder. Deep. Resonant. Ominous.

  The enemy force poured into the corridor: red-and-black armour, shining spears, heavy shields. Knights formed the front line while archers, mages, and support units spread out behind them. It was a standard but deadly formation—one that had likely crushed countless opponents. Wards shimmered along their armour. Spells crackled faintly in the air. Arrows glinted in the dim light.

  Before long, the first clash erupted between the front line and Brill’s shield wall—steel crashing, spells flaring, shouting echoing through the tight passage. The dungeon became a cage, a funnel that turned brute numbers into chaos. With the numbers at play, even levels were meaningless in this confined space as bodies piled over each other at the front.

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  Xulian’s heart hammered. She’d read about battles, watched simulations, but the first sight of a man dying—blood hitting stone, a shield splintering under a spell—twisted her stomach. She wasn’t ready for this. But if she froze now… someone else would die instead.

  Cilian’s hand tightened around his sword. He was waiting. Calculating. Timing every beat of the battle.

  Finally—after what felt like an eternity—his voice cut through the tension:

  “Now.”

  The shadows erupted. Vel’s arrows streaked through gaps in armour, piercing joints and slit, followed by volleys of arrows and spells by accompanying troops. Lilian’s hands glowed as she cast support spells, protective shields wrapping their team, reflexes sharpened, enemy wards disrupted. Sunette and Agitha surged forward, shields angled, weapons swinging in disciplined arcs, every step measured and unyielding as they cleaved their way through the first batch of enemies.

  Cilian’s force—sixty knights, a dozen parties of adventurers—flowed like a river of steel and magic. The enemy’s rear line barely noticed the silent advance until chaos hit.

  The first shouts rang out.

  “What… what is this?!”

  “They’re… behind us!”

  “Protect the mages!”

  To Xulian, the chaos wasn’t just on the battlefield but in her heart as she stood there not knowing how to move, until a sharp whistle split the clash. An arrow streaked straight toward Lilian, who froze halfway through casting a spell.

  Xulian reacted instinctively. Void Flower Steps propelled her forward in flashes of speed. Nine-Lotus Sword Art guided her blade, intercepting the arrow and sending it harmlessly into the wall behind them.

  At the same moment, a nearby enemy soldier lunged. Without hesitation, she struck. The man crumpled lifelessly. Her stomach twisted, and her hands shook at the sight of blood that sprayed from him. I… I just killed someone.

  Breath came in ragged gasps. The battlefield screamed around her—steel, spells, and cries of panic. The terror and guilt coiled in her chest, yet at that moment survival demanded action like it did when she faced the direwolf, and later Cilian and his party.

  She adjusted her stance, letting her energy flow only as much as her body could manage. Nothing more. Each movement was precise, controlled as she took a deep, steadying breath.

  She moved again, Void Flower Steps flickering between enemies, her blade slashing with Nine-Lotus Sword Art. One support mage fell. Another crumpled. Only to leave flower patterns lingering between them. Panic erupted among the enemy ranks.

  “They’re everywhere! She’s—she’s a ghost!”

  “I… I can’t see her—gone!”

  “Fall back—no! There’s no room!”

  Brill’s front line remained unshaken, holding the choke point. The knights pushed against their shields, unaware that their rear line had suddenly collapsed.

  Xulian’s pulse steadied. Hesitation lingered at first, but she synchronised with her teammates soon after. Luim’s cover, Vel’s arrows, Lilian’s protective spells, Sunette and Agitha’s lanes—all combined to create openings she could exploit. This… is this what it feels like to fight in a party?… not alone?

  They pressed into the rear of the enemy front line after decimating the ranged and support units. Cilian’s forces slammed against knights with unrelenting power. Xulian darted alongside, exploiting every opening, her speed overwhelming enemies who had no idea what struck them.

  Cilian surged forward, elemental magic coiling around his blade—fire spiralling along the edge, wind whipping in arcs that cleaved through armour and shields. Each strike was precise, deliberate, and overwhelming.

  Xulian followed, Void Flower Steps propelling her forward in bursts of impossible speed. Nine-Lotus Sword Art guided her blade, leaving fleeting images of flowers and floating petals in her wake—petals swirling and drifting through the chaos before blood gushed from wounds seconds later.

  Her heart skipped when she struck an enemy going for Cilian. She realised: Cilian had anticipated her strike, angling his sword to match her motion perfectly. She blinked, caught off guard.

  Her next attack flowed faster, yet he adjusted seamlessly. The petals from her sword seemed to ride the wind of his elemental strikes, linking their movements into a single, harmonious force.

  At first, it was tentative—his overwhelming force contrasted with her light, fleeting motions. Gradually, she learned to flow with his rhythm. He drew enemy attention, crushing shields and armour; she moved through the openings he created, her blade tracing arcs of petals that seemed to float atop fire, wind and lightning.

  A Knight lunged from the side—he blocked with a brutal swing, and she twirled behind him, striking precisely where his guard left a gap. Their movements intertwined, petals spiralling across arcs of elemental fury.

  Every motion became a wordless dialogue. He was thunder, dominating by force; she was wind, graceful and elusive. Together, they carved through the rear of the enemy front line, lethal and mesmerising. Enemies fell faster than they could react, crushed by power or sliced by impossible speed, as the two moved as one—a storm of domination and a phantom of elegance.

  Seeing their actions, the morale of Cilian’s side surged. Every knight and adventurer shouted in unison as they cleaved through their opponents. Every arrow found its mark, every spell found its target.

  The enemy’s panic spread:

  “The back line! Mages and supports—they’re gone!”

  “Something’s killing them from behind!”

  “Fall back!”

  “There’s nowhere to run!”

  Yet Brill’s shield wall held, and Cilian's force swept through.

  Step by step, the enemy was annihilated. The screams of panic grew louder. The Surillians finally sensed the collapse—but it was too late. They were trapped, cornered between Brill’s choke point and Cilian’s force.

  After a while, the corridor fell silent around them. The rear line was gone. The front was crushed, leaving only a few dropping their weapons in surrender. Xulian exhaled, heart pounding, hands steady as she gazed at Cilian next to her. She felt no longer alone. She felt part of something, yet she couldn’t place this feeling because she never knew it existed.