Damp blood-fires blazed around the freezing Blood Forge.

  Red light blinked every so often against obsidian and bloodstone walls. Mists wafted about, swirling in the cavernous space. The once thick heat now a smolder due to the Reaver’s interference. Melen had finished looting for Luke, and Fleur remained in her avoidant position, yet winds swirled at her hands at all times.

  She had taken Veyri’s instruction to heart, to her distaste and vexation.

  With the central spawn point overtaken by Luke, the remaining hunter parties at the area’s edges had their monster flow dramatically reduced.

  Other pools would create Red Watchers, Vampire Smiths, or the Blood-Fire Quill Beasts at a drastically lower rate. Not enough to satisfy the other parties. Each would grumble, glare at Luke or Veyri, then proceed to grow a little more resigned.

  After Luke’s condition, Veyri became radio silent, unable to provide what he desired. She kept an aura radiance around her party, but when other monsters spawned, she only watched in interest. Once Luke confirmed Beast Crystals dropped from the creatures here, he decided to stay put awhile.

  Something of a rotation occurred, where anywhere from seven to eleven monsters would be mass created in a few seconds span. Luke would make quick work of the majority, leaving one to three for Melen and Fleur. A steady stream of Beast Crystals, crafting materials, uncommon items, and other loot entered Luke’s bags, a portion going to Melen or Fleur. Veyri declined any cut of the spoils.

  “Too low grade for me,” she said.

  Feeling the weight of responsibility for being Sooty’s owner, Luke set himself a Beast Crystal quota to help out his crow. These monsters gave him a pitiful amount of stats, but he still felt a bit of initial growth. As an unexpected side effect of the improvised grinding session, Melen began to level, reaching level thirty in short order.

  It had yet to be two hours since Luke settled here, claiming the Blood Forge as his own. Other parties had wandered in, and a bolder leader or two began to utter audible complaints within Luke’s sensory range, “If it’s so damn easy for him, why doesn’t he go to the Sanctum? We hunters have to make a living too.”

  “Do they have any shame?” Another asked.

  “Must be too cowardly to face the Sanctum.” A tora monk commented.

  “We ten teams could gather up and demand he share,” A human woman knight suggested.

  At the idea of doing more than grumbling, the leaders all found themselves sheepish and unwilling. They knew well enough what the Ice Defier was capable of.

  After all, they had front row tickets to his ‘show’ for the past hour.

  A more patient elf leader sighed, “Haven’t we all done similar to other teams in the past? That’s the way the Vampiric Wing works.”

  “But never this much and for so long,” The knight from before said.

  Ceasing any attention to the complaints around him, Luke finished off another spawning group. He planned to stay until the Beast Crystal requirement underwent significant progress.

  After the second hour passed, Veyri asked Luke, “Is this your plan for the day, Wallace? Or are you going to the Shadowed Sanctum before I die of boredom?”

  “I’m taking responsibility for Sooty as her owner. She needs Beasts Crystals, and this place is dropping them at a steady rate. Go be bored, you can leave, Veyri.”

  Cracking her back, Veyri started to walk to the other end of the Blood Forge, “Your instincts are keen, Wallace. This is the best Beast Crystal farming spot within either Wing, but it’s better to do it in a two or three hour spurt. Stay for too long, and the rate of drops begins to decline. It’s not as harsh in the Tower, but in the dungeons, it’s a well known effect. I’m surprised you’re ignorant of it.”

  Compared to the first hour, the second hour saw a small decline in the Beast Crystal drops that Luke camped for. Breathing out ice mist, Luke asked, “These dungeons take the remnant ether the Silver-Black Tower fails to manage. A couple of lines talked about how drop quality declined if you ‘overdrew’ from the ether, but it never said what that meant. Is excessive grinding an overdrawing?”

  Pausing her steps, Veyri turned to Luke, “Someone uses the library. That’s the most common overdraw method. You could squeeze out a third hour if you wanted, but you’ll see a dramatic decline after that. Now that you know, are you going to the Shadowed Sanctum?”

  “A third hour it is. We can leave after that.”

  “I’ll be waiting in the safe area for when your finished. Fleur, Melen, stay here and do your jobs.”

  With a steady stream of experience, Melen lodged no complaints. Fleur groaned but kept her mouth shut otherwise.

  Veyri made good on her words, leaving the Blood Forge zone and returning to the safe point in front of it. At her departure, a bolder party tried to invade Luke’s territory, but the Reaver brokered no competition. He got up, formed an Essence Lance, and started walking toward the group.

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  In response, the formerly imposing party scattered away like rats, with one Tora stepping on his tail in haste to backtrack. Luke sat back down on a frozen forge, closing his eyes until he could sense another wave of monsters reforming nearby.

  Like this, a third hour passed, and for curiosity’s sake, Luke kept at it for an additional fifteen minutes afterward. Not only did just one measly Beast Crystal appear, but raw money, materials, and other items saw a nosedive drop rate. Melen noted he experienced a decline in leveling speed as well.

  Believing he bled this forge dry, Luke got up, shattered the ice around, and made it return to mist before sucking most of it inside his body. After a short trip to get Veyri, he gathered the team and left the Blood Forge, going in the direction of the Shadowed Sanctum.

  On the other end of the exhausted cavernous space lay a floating white marble path, jettisoned by blood streams and mana leylines. Shadows crawled across, writhing from any light source. Obsidian pillars rotated in the air a few feet from the path, black chains attached to their bottoms.

  Piercing through the shadows that tried to deny sight, Luke saw what lay at the other end of the short marble path: a Gothic cathedral hewn into the face of a black stone mountain. Four giant stained glass windows decored its top, right, and left sides, each depicting vampire lore. One had a goblet with blood, another sucked into a woman’s neck, a third had bones ripped from its body, and a fourth manipulated shadows into orbs.

  Funneling Essence to his eyes, Luke took measured steps forward, going at a confident yet reserved speed, ready to react should the path be more than it seemed. Opposite of his expectations, nothing of the sort happened along the path besides the shade around it recoiling at his foot movement. A short sign above the carved out stone entrance read in runic—a language Luke could now read—‘One may enter, but one may not leave.’

  Right as Luke made a move to come inside the Cathedral, Fleur yelled from across the marble path, “It’s a party lock area. Wait for Melen and I. Your impatience is annoying, iced one.” The brown-haired elf tried to play it off as if she were saying this out of frustration; her body language hinted the truth was closer to concern.

  Slouching against a pillar stationed before the marble path, the archer crossed her arms, “I’ll be waiting here, going in with the three of you would be too much hand holding. Face what’s in there without me.”

  Compared to Fluer’s guardedness and Veyri’s disregard, Melen displayed closed body language, his eyes constantly shifting about, knees bent, and body rotating to check the edges of his vision, shadows tugging at his mind. The Curse Weaver was in over his head, and Veyri called him out for it, “You cowardly monic, stay here. Your class is at a disadvantage anyway. You can try again once you’re in the mid-forties. It’s too early for you without Fleur or Wallace saving your ass every two seconds.” Accompanying her words, she dragged Melen back with her to the pillar, then pointed out her chin to Fleur, “Go on, you wimp. I know you’ve never cleared the Shadowed Sanctum; anyone whose someone in this city has to do it eventually. You won’t get any more prepared than you are now. Support Wallace, he’ll handle the terrors of the night for his princess.”

  Breathing out heavily, Melen sat down in a crisscross, sweat going down his two temples, “It feels like death surrounds me.”

  Veyri commented, “That’s because it does, Moon Born. Without being carried, people of your level who go in there—die. I planned to keep you back anyway if Wallace wanted to try the Sanctum.” Eying Luke, she winked, “Leave the babysitting to me, courtesy of your captain.”

  Rolling his eyes, Luke made to respond, but Fluer’s vehement shout clouded over his words, “Who says I’m a princess? I’m a proud lady of the winds, one of the best hunters in this city below the second tier. I can take care of myself. No Defier through luck is better than me.”

  With a white-knuckled grip on her two-handed staff, Fleur came beside Luke. Her ears sagged, and her hair withered. The poor girl appeared to have either aged a decade in a minute or made peace with death.

  So much for a vote of confidence, this place may have been what all the fear from earlier was about, Luke sighed internally.

  Rather than prod at this woman who appeared to have a misplaced grudge against him, Luke asked her, “Anything else to know about this place, Fleur? Looks like it’s going to be us as a pair.”

  Breathing in and out rapidly, Fleur calmed halfway, “From the written guide in the Hunter’s Branch, there should be four Hallowed Priest sub-bosses inside. We need to kill them to release the boss to this dungeon, Arjanax. A Vampire Coven Lord with bone and blood magic. Be careful of the shadows inside; they drain stamina and sap away your health slowly. Around them should be other Vampire-types, Thralls, and Acolytes. I hope we came here before any fools got themselves killed since the last clear.”

  “What makes you sure it’s not cleared right now? Can you heal, by the way? I’ve only got what I can leech from damage.”

  “A cleared Shadow Sanctum has an impassable black mist blocking the entryway. Since we can go in, it means Arjanax is currently alive. I’ve got Soothing Winds, a moderate heal over time, but no direct large heals. We can make do….I think.”

  Fleur had tried to put a brave face before Luke, but the Reaver could see through it. She feared dying here. The elf mumbled under her breath, “The guide recommends a party of four at the minimum…drat, what did I get myself into? Oh, Fleur, you stupid woman, your pride might get you killed today, then what will you tell your mother?”

  Choosing not to comment on what Luke saw as a subconscious release, he patted Fleur on the shoulder, “I can clear this alone, Fleur-”

  “No! There’s only so many ways to gain a feat for the second tier, and this is one of them. None are easy; I have to go in.”

  The shadowed aura leaking from the Cathedral felt threatening, with a pungent blood smell being its partner. It certainly added to the oppressive atmosphere. For Luke, it felt hollow.

  This place was worthy of a feat? Somehow, he doubted it would be so easy for him.

  No, it definitely wouldn’t be a recognized challenge for him. A place of death to a hunter was a place of growth to a Defier. Luke tossed Xera to his left hand, put an arm around Fluer’s waist, then dragged her into the Cathedral in one motion. Once he let her go, the stone entrance shut, black mist rushing up in a scream like a rapid wind.

  A notice opened up in Luke’s periphery.

  [Party detected, boss room lock initiated]

  Jumping back from Luke, Fleur pressed her back against the wall of mist. She stammered, “W-what did you do that for? That was uncalled for. I can walk in myself, thank you.”

  Luke’s voice dropped low as he scanned the interior, “Hey Fleur.”

  “What? Are you going to apologize?”

  “Stop looking down on me. I’ve been in far more suffocating circumstances. Get a grip or give up on being a hunter.”

  Fleur appeared floored, and Luke sealed her lips with ice before she could issue a rebuttal. “Instead of wasting energy being angry, pay attention to the situation.”

  The Reaver gestured with Xera’s sword point. There, on the ebony cloth path lining the interior, lit by weak candlelight, lay four hunters, one of each race—with lifeless eyes—their bodies a dry husk, not an ounce of blood within them.