“CHEERS!” Bert bellowed, smming a foot onto the creaking tabletop and hoisting his massive tankard high. For anyone else, it might as well have been a cask; its size comical compared to even the rgest goblin mugs.

  “CHEERS!” the gathered adventurers and goblins roared back, their voices reverberating off the timber walls and the open night sky, a thunderous echo of the first celebration weeks ago. Yet tonight, the air felt different — lighter. Gone was the cheap wine, the wary gnces exchanged over raised gsses, and the forced smiles that never reached their eyes. Instead, the golden glow of spirit wine illuminated the scene, its effervescent light mirrored in the unrestrained joy on every face.

  Laughter burst forth in great waves, punctuated by clinking tankards and the occasional thump of a goblin tumbling from their precariously banced perch. The air buzzed with energy, the scent of roasted meats and sweet stone peaches mingling with the faint, earthy tang of the forest.

  It helped there was still more than enough of the stone peach spirit wine — now officially dubbed [Swampbreaker Ambrosia] — to go around. A bit grandiose for Alpha’s tastes, but Cultivators seemed to enjoy their fshy names, and he knew enough to py into the market.

  For now, Bert had the festivities well in hand, leaving Alpha free to turn his attention elsewhere.

  ——————————————————

  Dr. Maria had carved her domain into the heart of the goblin vilge. Over the weeks, she had commandeered several buildings, transforming the space into a bustling clinic. Inside, the blend of old-world charm and new-world efficiency hummed with activity. Vilgers and adventurers alike streamed in and out, some clutching fresh wounds, others seeking relief from the lingering effects of the Kigendoro’s spiritual onsught.

  The most severe cases — those suffering from ‘spiritual poisoning,’ as Dr. Maria termed it—occupied the clinic’s central space. The Kigendoro’s oppressive energy had tainted their systems like a metaphysical virus gnawing at their cores. Yet under Maria’s guidance and with the aid of Alpha’s technology, their prognosis was optimistic. Recovery was a matter of time.

  For some, however, the process demanded a more personal touch.

  “You reckless girl!” Dr. Maria snapped, her hands glowing with soothing Spirit Energy as she worked over Maggy’s frostbitten hand. “What was that so-called ‘teacher’ of yours thinking, giving you something so dangerous?”

  Maggy winced under the doctor’s gaze, her cheeks flushing crimson. “It was my choice to use it…” she murmured, looking away. “If I hadn’t, more people could’ve died.”

  “And you could have died with them!” Maria countered sharply, flicking Maggy on the forehead. “What good are you to anyone if you throw your life away so carelessly?”

  Maggy rubbed the sore spot and sighed. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I lost the artifact. Teacher’s going to kill me…”

  Maria rolled her eyes. “Leave your ‘teacher’ to me. I’ll have words with that man.” Her gaze sharpened as it locked onto a small, hovering [Wasp] drone nestled in the shadows. Its tiny limbs twitched in a mimicry of nervousness, and Alpha chuckled to himself.

  What? She dropped it. Did the doctor really think Alpha was going to let that chance go?

  He’d return it… eventually.

  Alpha decided now was a good time to see how the others were doing.

  He wasn’t running. No, not at all…

  Once more, he turned his attention to another part of the vilge.

  ——————————————————

  The atmosphere inside the command tent was far from celebratory.

  Robert’s fists smmed into the finely carved table, the impact reverberating through the room. “Who do you think you are?!” he roared, his face flushed with fury. “I am the one in charge here! That was an order!”

  Across the desk, Garrelt stood unflinching, his stance soldier-straight despite the withered arm encased in a sleek, metallic cylinder. The damage wrought by the Kigendoro’s rampage was severe, but Alpha had been monitoring the recovery capsule’s progress. The Cultivator’s biology was fascinating; even in such a state, Garrelt’s arm would only take hours to heal fully.

  A standard Federation human would have needed nearly a week to get the same results. That said, it was still far less expensive and stressful than simply amputating the limb and regrowing it from scratch. Alpha had considered doing so anyway, and giving the man an ‘upgrade’ via an enhanced cybernetic prosthetic, but had decided against it in the end.

  But this wasn’t about technology.

  “You may lead this expedition,” Garrelt said evenly, his good arm folded neatly behind his back, “but as scout leader, I’m within my rights to veto any order I deem a threat to the group’s safety.”

  Robert’s teeth ground audibly as Garrelt continued, his tone unwavering. “The Dungeon Core has explicitly requested that I withhold information about the restricted areas and the Guardian. Considering the likelihood of an external attack, I believe honoring that request is in the expedition’s best interest.”

  “You’re an Adventurer of Halirosa!” Robert spat, jabbing a finger at him.

  “And you expect me to believe antagonizing a Dungeon Core powerful enough to create something like that Guardian is in Halirosa’s best interest?” Garrelt countered. His voice dropped, dangerous and deliberate. “You saw what it did to the Kigendoro. It toyed with a [Core Condensing] spirit beast — one with dragon blood, no less — as if it were a pything.” He took a measured step forward. “And that Guardian? It’s incomplete. To an astounding degree.”

  Robert paled, his confidence faltering for a moment before he straightened. “The Dungeon Core’s purpose is to train successors,” he said, though his voice wavered. “As long as we provide candidates, it will comply. And it’s not like it would even know if we —”

  “It would,” Garrelt interrupted coldly. “And you’d do well not to test that theory.”

  Robert paused, his smirk falling as quickly as it appeared, as he narrowed his eyes. “If you still refuse to provide me the information I’m asking of you, then I’m afraid I’ll have to report you to the Guild for insubordination.”

  Silence hung between them like a bde. Finally, Robert pointed to the tent’s entrance. “Fine. Have it your way. Dismissed.”

  Garrelt saluted sharply and turned to leave, his boots crunching against the coarse floor.

  At the threshold, Robert spoke again. “Garrelt…”

  The scout leader paused but didn’t turn.

  “You’ll regret this,” Robert said, his voice low and venomous.

  Garrelt chuckled, his back still to the man. “Maybe. But I think you’ll regret underestimating the Dungeon Core more.” With that, he stepped out, the fps closing behind him.

  Robert stood frozen, his gaze locked on the empty entrance. Slowly, a smile curled at the corner of his lips — small, dark, and dangerous. “We’ll see…” he whispered into the empty room.

  The drone hidden in the shadows caught every moment.

  ——————————————————

  Atop the vilge gate, Antchaser leaned over the edge, his sharp eyes scanning the celebration below. The sound of ughter and clinking tankards drifted up on the cool night air, but he stayed rooted in pce, detached from the revelry.

  A faint chuckle crackled through the comms in his ear.

  “Did you say something, sir?” Antchaser asked, straightening.

  “No,” Alpha replied. “Just saw something… interesting, that’s all.”

  “Anything we should worry about?” Antchaser’s tone tightened, his hand instinctively brushing his rifle. Part of him regretted volunteering for guard duty tonight. The party below was a hard-earned victory, a moment of rare levity in the wake of their recent trials. Yet, the weight of unearned ease sat heavily on his shoulders.

  Dr. Maria had insisted that his efforts — helping the wounded escape — had been just as vital as the battle itself. But Antchaser couldn’t shake the memories of Garrelt’s shattered arm or Maggy’s frostbitten hand. He’d seen the others too — those who hadn’t made it out fast enough, caught in the maelstrom of the Kigendoro’s rampage.

  “Maybe if I’d stayed to fight…” he muttered to himself, the words bitter on his tongue.

  “Stayed to fight and ended up in the clinic with the rest?” a voice piped up behind him, tinged with amusement.

  Antchaser flinched, spinning on his heel to see Boarsyer halfway up the dder to his post. Wrapped in yers of bandages that carried the acrid tang of medical salves, she still radiated her usual defiance. Yet, it wasn’t her injuries or her mischievous grin that caught his attention — it was the tankards she carried. Each brimmed with golden, glowing wine, their surfaces swirling with a five-colored mist that exuded both richness and potency.

  “Boarsyer,” he said, frowning. “Pretty sure Dr. Maria told you to stay in bed.”

  Boarsyer rolled her eyes and hoisted herself over the edge of the ptform. “Yeah, and she also said no Spirit Energy for a month. No way I’m sitting around like some invalid while Alpha’s breaking out the good stuff.”

  She thrust one of the tankards into his chest with a grin. “Figured you could use some company.”

  Antchaser hesitated, the scent of peaches and alcohol tickling his nose. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not covering for you…”

  “Eh, Maria’ll live.” Boarsyer leaned against the wall, taking a hearty swig from her own tankard.

  Antchaser raised the drink to his lips with a resigned shake of his head. He was technically on duty, but one tankard couldn’t hurt. Right? The first sip was warm and complex, like a burst of sunlight on his tongue. His eyes widened. “Okay, you weren’t kidding — this is the good stuff.”

  “Told you,” she said, smirking.

  Together, they turned their attention back to the vilge. The distant firelight cast long, dancing shadows, and the ughter below seemed brighter than the mosslight overhead. Few words passed between them as they drank. None were needed.

  From the shadows of the gate’s rooftop, a small drone perched silently, its mechanical eyes tracking the pair.

  Alpha chuckled again, the sound muted and private. “One more stop,” he murmured to himself. The drone shifted slightly, its wings preparing to deploy. “Let’s see if this one’s what I’m looking for.”

  ——————————————————

  A short, stout man loomed over the bloodied, crumpled form of a woman sprawled on the ground. His build was as unyielding as the stone underfoot, his ft expression betraying nothing of the inferno flickering in his steely eyes. Around them, a ring of men and women stood frozen, their rough appearances masking the tension in their postures. The man’s voice cut through the silence, cold and sharp as a bde.

  “Send her to Joffre. Maybe he can get something more out of her.”

  The woman stirred faintly, her swollen eyes fluttering open. Trembling, she raised a hand streaked with dirt and blood, her voice a cracked whisper. “S-sir, I—”

  Her plea ended in a strangled scream as an unseen force bore down on her with a crushing weight. The air itself seemed to coil and twist, pressing her into the unyielding earth. A gossamer barrier shimmered over her body, straining against the pressure, but it was like spider silk against a storm. The barrier frayed, disintegrating into a million ethereal threads before vanishing altogether.

  Pinned and breathless, the woman’s eyes rolled back, and blood trickled from her nose and ears. Then, as abruptly as it came, the pressure lifted.

  The stout man sneered, spitting on her motionless form before turning on his heel. He took several deliberate steps before barking, “MOVE!”

  The command shattered the silence. Two men broke from the crowd, stumbling over themselves in their rush to obey. They hauled the woman’s limp body away, their faces pale as they avoided meeting the man’s gaze.

  He scowled and continued walking, his boots striking hard against the ground.

  “That was a mistake,” a voice murmured from the shadows a few moments ter as he passed through the camp.

  The stout man froze, his gaze snapping toward the darkness.

  “I don’t remember asking for your advice, fresh blood,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. Tiny pebbles at his feet jittered, disturbed by an invisible vibration.

  From the shadows emerged a young man, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Fair, fair. Not trying to overstep, boss.”

  The newcomer’s lithe frame and flowing bck hair gave him a regal air, his appearance at odds with the rough company. His finely tailored robes, humble yet meticulously crafted, bore the unmistakable polish of someone accustomed to better circumstances.

  “I just thought you’d want to know about the grumbling in camp,” the young man continued, his tone light but calcuted. “Some of the boys aren’t too happy about going this far off the beaten path. Crippling Aria won’t help things — she was one of our best scouts.”

  The stout man turned fully, his expression darkening. “Let me make one thing clear, boy.” His words were deliberate, each one weighted with menace. “I don’t care that Icefinger asked you to tag along. To me, you’re just another recruit who shouldn’t even be here. Next time you question me, you’ll be the one to pay Joffre a visit. Understood?”

  He didn’t wait for a response, marching off without sparing the young man another gnce.

  Even so, the lithe man bent into a deep, formal bow. “Yes, sir,” he called out, his voice smooth.

  When he looked up, his lips curved into a sharp grin, exposing wolf-like teeth. Amusement glinted in his eyes, pinching until they were almost slits. He stood, brushing back a stray strand of white hair that darkened to bck as his fingers passed.

  “I understand completely,” he murmured, the grin lingering.

  ——————————————————

  Unseen by all, the blood pooling where Aria had fallen rippled unnaturally. From its surface emerged tiny, writhing worms, each no rger than a thread. They slithered into the ground, vanishing without a trace.

  Osamaru