Unauthorized Reincarnation

  Chapter 12: Consequences (Part 2)

  The golden-haired knight’s piercing gaze lingered on Lily for a long moment. Then, just low enough for his companions to hear, he asked:

  “Is she the one?”

  One of the elves in her black hood inclined her head. “Yes.”

  His eyes shifted, now cutting across the campfire’s glow toward Sarvar—the man’s black hair, the rough beard, the brown eyes shadowed with grief.

  “And he?” the knight asked again, voice steady, testing.

  The other elf’s answer came like a whisper of fate. “Yes.”

  The knight dismounted, golden boots striking the earth with purpose. Dust swirled around him as he approached, and the pressure of his presence filled the clearing.

  “I am Alaric Veylor,” he declared, his voice clear as steel on glass. “First-born son of King Cassian Veylor.”

  The words fell heavy. Fenra and Shuyi dropped to one knee instinctively, even Sarvar lowered his head out of old habit. But Lily—exhausted, resolute, unwilling—remained standing, her eyes meeting his without flinching.

  Alaric’s lips curved faintly. “No need to bow. For now, I walk this land not as a prince, but as Alaric the S-rank adventurer.”

  Inside, his thoughts burned sharper than his words. I thank Mother for this gift. And now—I know how to control this situation.

  He turned his gaze back to the group and spoke aloud. “I seek your aid. To the north lies the King’s Fall Mountains, the range that divides the dwarven and human nations. A report has reached me—manifestations of a dungeon. Monsters spilling out of the cracks. Adventurers who drew too close… have not returned.”

  The fire popped. His words carried no hesitation, no doubt.

  “On my way here,” Alaric continued, “I passed the corpses of minotaurs. Freshly slain. If they too came from that dungeon, then the threat is greater than any of us imagined.”

  Shuyi’s eyes narrowed as she studied him. Her trained instinct told her his words rang true—yet her woman’s intuition screamed Run. Something about him coiled danger and charm in equal measure.

  Alaric’s piercing gaze swept the group once more. “I ask only for direction. Guide us north. We’ll face this threat together.”

  Lily straightened, her voice faint but certain. “Sarvar might know the way there. Right?”

  The man stiffened, caught by her trust. Slowly, reluctantly, he nodded.

  Shuyi rose swiftly, cutting in. “No. We’re wounded from the last battle. Lily can barely stand. We should head back to the city and—”

  Her words faltered. None of them held weight in this moment. Lily’s resolve, Sarvar’s reluctant agreement, Fenra’s silent acceptance—all aligned, as though fate itself bent toward Alaric’s will.

  And so it was decided.

  Against Shuyi’s warnings, the two groups—Alaric’s shining six and Lily’s weary four—would march north together.

  Toward the King’s Fall Mountains.

  Toward the dungeon that waited.

  Toward the beginning of something far darker than any of them yet understood.

  The march north was quiet, broken only by the clop of horses and the crunch of boots over stone. Shadows stretched long between the trees, the morning sun bleeding into a dull haze as if the land itself knew what lay ahead.

  Shuyi walked beside Fenra, her voice low and sharp, hidden from the others.

  “If we see something off,” she whispered, “we take Lily and run. No hesitation.”

  Fenra’s golden eyes flicked to her, ears twitching. “Even if it means leaving them behind?”

  Shuyi’s jaw tightened. “Especially then.”

  Up front, Sarvar led with steady steps, but his mind churned. His gaze drifted toward Alaric, the golden-haired man who walked as though the world bent around him. If he is truly the crown prince… then why? Why was I ordered to run from him? What is his motive in seeking us now?

  Sarvar clenched his fists around the leather straps of his satchel. He had accepted this offer for his own sake as much as theirs. He had faced death already, and Lily’s team had pulled him back from the abyss. If walking beside Alaric meant learning the truth of his past orders—then so be it.

  Each step forward only made Shuyi’s unease worse. Her instincts screamed louder with every mile. And yet, behind her glasses, she kept her composure cold, hiding the storm inside.

  At last, the forest gave way to jagged stone. Before them rose a massive mountain wall, its peaks lost in clouds. And there, at its base, a yawning wound split the earth. Black stone framed an entrance wide enough for giants, its edges glowing faintly with ominous red runes.

  The dungeon.

  Everyone drew closer, their steps unconsciously slowing as the air grew heavy, charged with mana that prickled against the skin. The saintess dismounted, her white vestments glowing faintly as she lifted her staff.

  “By the grace of the Seven,” she whispered. A soft radiance spilled outward, healing every wound and easing the fatigue that clung to their bones. Lily swayed, relief softening her tense shoulders. Even Fenra’s trembling subsided under the warmth.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Then the saintess raised her staff higher. “Sanctum Aegis.”

  A shimmering veil wrapped around them all, a protective blessing thrumming like a heartbeat against their skin.

  Weapons were checked, satchels secured, potions tied at the ready. The adventurers braced themselves, every movement sharpened by the weight of what was to come.

  Together, they stepped across the threshold.

  The world convulsed.

  A blinding flash swallowed them whole, the runes screaming with power. The ground vanished, the air turned to nothing—then a crushing impact snapped reality back into place.

  They were no longer at the entrance.

  Stone walls rose on every side, jagged and dark, lit only by the glow of crystals embedded in the cavern ceiling. But worse than that—

  They were separated.

  Sarvar blinked, finding Fenra at his side. The two dwarf girls in silver armor stood close, weapons already drawn, and behind them the twin elf mages adjusted their black robes.

  Meanwhile, far across the unseen dungeon, Lily staggered beside Shuyi. Alaric stood tall, his cape stirring despite the still air, and the saintess lifted her staff once more, her light illuminating their corner of the abyss.

  Two groups.

  Two paths.

  The dungeon had chosen its game.

  Sarvar’s group pressed deeper into the dungeon. Fenra led with sharp ears twitching, her grip firm on her blades, but the silence of the cavern weighed heavily. No monsters lurked in the shadows. No claws scraped the walls. Not even the faintest echo of movement stirred the air.

  It was too quiet.

  They followed a spiraling path until the ground fell away before them. A vast chasm yawned beneath, so deep that the glow of crystal veins only painted shadows over shadows. At the bottom lay a sea of slumbering beasts—horned hulks, scaled titans, creatures with wings folded tight. Dozens. Hundreds. A nightmare waiting for the smallest sound to shatter its fragile stillness.

  Fenra’s breath caught. “Gods…”

  And then, without warning, two armored hands shoved hard against her back.

  “Wha—?!” Fenra’s cry vanished as she tumbled, claws scraping rock, body hurtling toward the abyss.

  Sarvar’s instincts flared. His curved sword flashed into his grip from his magic bag as he whirled on the betrayers. The dwarven girls stood unflinching, their silver armor gleaming in the cavern light. Beside them, the robed elves lowered their hoods.

  His voice thundered, breaking the silence.

  “Hey, you two in black—I know you know something I shouldn’t. Now tell me…” His sword trembled in his grasp, rage blazing through his veins. “Why is it you all want me dead?”

  A sound answered him. A slice of air, sharp as lightning.

  Pain exploded through his body. Blood sprayed. His right arm hit the stone with a wet thud.

  Sarvar staggered, teeth clenched against a scream, as the elves began to chant. Their voices warped with every word—woman, man, child, old, shifting like echoes of a hundred throats.

  “Father… Father… shall come, shall come…”

  “Who has the blessing of Nyx… who has the blessing of Nyx…”

  “He will raise his son… he will raise his son…”

  “To bring our death… to bring our death…”

  Their words rattled the cavern like a curse. Flames surged from their hands, consuming Sarvar’s body in searing fire. His skin blistered, his vision blurred, his scream tore through the dungeon—then a second spell struck, a gale of wind roaring like a hurricane.

  The blast hurled him from the ledge. His body, burning and broken, tumbled into the abyss. His severed limb, his sword—everything scattered into the dark.

  And yet, even as he fell, Sarvar clutched his satchel tight. He struck rock, bounced, struck again, until finally his battered body slammed against the floor of the abyss. The impact drove the breath from his lungs, blood spilling from his mouth.

  But he lived.

  With trembling hands, he fumbled into his bag and drew out the slime. His voice was hoarse, ragged.

  “Luma… run. Escape…”

  But the little creature did not obey.

  Instead, it pulsed with radiant blue light and wrapped its jelly-like body around him. The flames smothered. The burns cooled. His torn flesh knit together as the pain ebbed away.

  “Luma…” Sarvar whispered, his voice breaking.

  The slime slid away, quivering once in defiance, before bouncing across the jagged ground. It found the severed limb, dragged it stubbornly back, then returned with the curved sword clutched in its quivering form.

  Sarvar clenched his jaw, pressed the limb against the bleeding stump, and let Luma wrap itself around the wound.

  Warmth spread. Skin rejoined. Bone fused. Fingers twitched.

  His hand was whole again.

  Sarvar clutched Luma to his chest, his body trembling. Even if his body was healed, his shattered bones made it impossible to move.

  Above, in the cavern walls, the monsters stirred faintly in their slumber.

  And the betrayal cut deeper than any blade.

  On the other side of the dungeon, Lily’s group carved a path through the dark.

  Monsters poured from every tunnel, shadows with fangs and claws, their roars shaking the stone. But at the center of the storm stood Alaric. His golden armor blazed against the gloom, his sword moving with impossible speed. Each swing was like lightning cleaving the dark—one strike, one corpse, then another and another.

  He was a storm given flesh, cutting down beasts as though they were nothing but grass beneath his blade.

  Lily raised her swords desperately, sweat running down her face. “We have to find the others!” she shouted.

  But there was no time. With every monster they felled, three more surged forward. The air reeked of blood and smoke, the stone slick with black ichor.

  Shuyi loosed arrow after arrow, her breathing ragged, her ankle aching with each movement. Her sharp eyes never left Alaric as he moved like a whirlwind, unstoppable, inhuman.

  And in her heart, a cold realization struck.

  Even if we all fought him… even if Lily used every blessing she carries… we couldn’t win. Against him, we’d never win.

  Then the ground itself shuddered.

  Cracks split across the cavern walls. Crystals shattered, plunging the dungeon into chaos. A roar like a thousand collapsing towers echoed, and the floor pitched beneath their feet.

  “The dungeon—!” the saintess gasped, clutching her staff. “It’s collapsing!”

  There was no time to think. They ran, cutting down anything in their path. Stone rained from the ceiling, corridors caved in behind them. The light of the surface grew closer—closer—until at last they burst out into the open air.

  But what awaited them was no relief.

  Standing outside were the two dwarven girls in silver armor and the black-robed elf twins. They were alive, waiting, but no Sarvar. No Fenra.

  Lily’s chest tightened. “Where are they?!” she cried.

  Shuyi’s voice cracked, sharp with desperation. “We have to go back—!”

  But before she could move, the dungeon’s entrance screamed with power. The runes flared once, then imploded inward. The wound in the mountain sealed with a thunderous roar of stone grinding against stone.

  The path was gone.

  And then came the avalanche.

  Massive boulders tore free from the mountain’s cliffs, crashing down in clouds of dust and splintering trees like twigs. The world shook as though the gods themselves tried to bury the dungeon forever.

  “Move!” Alaric roared. His arm shot out, seizing Lily with one hand and Shuyi with the other. His strength was absolute, dragging them faster than their own exhausted legs could carry.

  The saintess sprinted behind, her white robes stained with dust, as the others fled for their lives.

  Only when the roar of collapsing stone began to fade did they finally stop—on a ridge where the air was clear, the mountain visible in full.

  They turned back.

  The King’s Fall Mountains loomed silent, the scar of the dungeon buried beneath tons of rock. No entrance. No trace.

  No way back.

  Lily stood frozen, her blades trembling in her grip. Shuyi’s fists clenched at her sides, her face pale behind her glasses.

  Fenra. Sarvar.

  Gone.

  The mountain swallowed their friends, and no prayer could pry them free.