Brent felt it the moment it happened.

  The dungeon’s energies didn’t tremble, nor did the enchanted pathways shift. There was no disruption to the flow of magic, no violent recoil from the system. By all technical accounts, the race was continuing as intended.

  But something was wrong.

  His awareness flickered to The Shifting Spires, scanning the chamber in an instant, and his core pulsed with a wave of cold realization.

  One of the Obsidian Blades was missing.

  Brent’s vision focused downward, tracing the depths beneath the broken spire, searching for any sign of movement. There was nothing. No struggling racer attempting to climb back up, no kart overturned on a lower ledge. Just a twisted wreck of metal and shattered stone at the bottom.

  Garrick was gone.

  A heavy silence filled the core chamber. The only sound was the faint hum of the dungeon’s inner mechanisms, the lifeblood of Golem’s Gambit pulsing through its magical framework.

  Emil was the first to break the silence.

  “…That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  Brent pulsed sharply, a ripple of energy running through his core. “No. It wasn’t.”

  Emil stood beside the projection of the racecourse, his ever-calm expression uncharacteristically tense. While the dungeon was meant to be dangerous, these were seasoned veterans. They shouldn't have had trouble with this part of the course.

  His sharp, analytical eyes scanned the magical interface, running through a silent diagnostic. There was no system error. No malfunction alert.

  And yet, a platform had failed.

  Brent’s awareness stretched further, reviewing the moment again from multiple perspectives—the shifting paths, the rise and fall of the spires, the momentum of the karts. The timing had been off.

  By just enough to kill.

  Brent’s glow dimmed slightly as he processed the implications. “It doesn’t make sense. The dungeon shouldn’t have let that happen. We designed The Shifting Spires to be dangerous, but controlled. It shouldn't have dropped like that.”

  Emil exhaled, folding his arms. “There was a fail-safe.” He turned, his voice lower than usual. “It didn’t trigger.”

  Brent pulsed again, his energy shifting uneasily.

  They both knew what that meant.

  Something—or someone—had interfered.

  Brent’s mind immediately went through what options he had for suspects. His minions had always seemed so excited to do their work. They were proud of what they were accomplishing. Why would anyone even consider doing this? Would anyone really go this far?

  His presence flickered with uncertainty. “…If this was deliberate, I would have felt it.”

  Emil glanced at him. “Would you?”

  Brent stilled.

  That was the question, wasn’t it? He should have known. The dungeon was an extension of himself. Every lever, every hazard, every shifting pathway—all of it existed within his control. And yet, he had felt nothing. No breach in the system, no magic forcing the mechanism to fail.

  If someone had tampered with it, they had done so in a way that Brent never noticed.

  The thought sent a chill through his core.

  Emil sighed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “The remaining racers don’t know what happened yet. They think he just fell.” His gaze darkened slightly. “But they’re going to start asking questions.”

  Brent’s glow pulsed dimly. “I should call off the race.”

  Emil didn’t answer immediately. He was staring at the interface, watching the adventurers hesitate at the edge of the spires, their karts idling as the realization of Garrick’s death settled over them.

  Leon was already trying to rally them. The leader in him refused to stop now.

  Mira and Lucian weren’t so sure.

  Elias was still gripping the wheel tightly, unmoving.

  Emil finally spoke. “…If you call it off now, what do you think they’ll assume?”

  Brent hesitated. “That something went wrong. That this wasn’t just an accident.”

  Emil nodded. “Right now, they don’t have a reason to suspect anything beyond bad luck. But if the dungeon reacts—if you intervene —it confirms their worst fears.”

  Brent’s core pulsed erratically, a flicker of frustration running through him. “So what? I just let them race after someone died?”

  Emil’s expression didn’t change. “What else can you do?”

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  The silence stretched between them.

  Brent hated it.

  Hated the idea of playing along, of pretending like nothing had happened. But Emil was right. If the dungeon suddenly reacted, the adventurers would start questioning why.

  And if they realized something unnatural had happened?

  Golem’s Gambit’s reputation would shatter.

  No one would trust the race again. The challenge was supposed to be dangerous, but fair. This… this was something else.

  Brent pulsed once, his presence darkening. “Then we watch. We monitor everything. If anything else feels off, we stop the race. ”

  Emil nodded slowly. “Agreed.”

  Brent turned his focus back to the racers. They were starting to move again. Hesitant at first, but one by one, they pushed forward, leaving The Shifting Spires behind.

  Their minds were still on Garrick.

  But the race wasn’t over yet.

  And for the first time since Golem’s Gambit had been created, Brent wasn’t sure if it ever should have started.

  The air was still.

  Garrick’s kart was gone. The spot where he had been just seconds ago was empty, save for the lingering hum of arcane energy from the shifting platforms. The Obsidian Blades sat in their karts, unmoving, the weight of what had just happened settling over them like a heavy fog.

  Lucian’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, his eyes locked on the empty platform.

  Elias hadn’t moved. His gaze was fixed forward, unblinking. His fingers flexed, almost like he was preparing to cast a spell—but there was nothing to cast against.

  Mira exhaled slowly, a measured breath that did little to steady the unease creeping into her chest.

  Leon finally spoke. His voice was low, steady—but not untouched by grief.

  “We have to keep going.”

  Lucian’s head snapped toward him. “Are you insane?” His voice was sharper than usual, the usual cool detachment cracked by something raw. “Did you not see what just happened?”

  Leon held his gaze, jaw tight. “I saw.”

  “Then why the hell are you talking about continuing like this is just—” Lucian gestured wildly toward the track ahead, his composure unraveling. “—some game ?”

  “It’s not a game.” Leon’s tone was firm, grounded. He took a slow breath before speaking again. “But we’re in the middle of the dungeon. We can’t stop now. If we do, we leave ourselves vulnerable.”

  Elias let out a short, humorless laugh. “Vulnerable? We’re already down a man.”

  Mira finally spoke, her voice quieter than usual. “If we stop now, what do we do? Turn back?” She shook her head, a deep frown etched onto her face. “You saw the way the track is built. There’s no going backward. And even if we could, do you think this place is just going to let us leave?”

  Lucian gritted his teeth but said nothing. She wasn’t wrong.

  Leon leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the wheel, his gaze sweeping over the team. “Garrick wouldn’t want us to stop.”

  Lucian let out a sharp breath. “Don’t—”

  “He wouldn’t,” Leon pressed. “You know that. He was reckless, yeah, but he never backed down from a challenge.” He swallowed. “We finish this. For him.”

  Silence.

  For a long moment, the only sound was the distant hum of the dungeon’s shifting mechanisms.

  Elias closed his eyes briefly, then let out a slow, measured breath. He didn’t speak, but his grip on the wheel relaxed slightly.

  Mira nodded once. “We keep going.”

  Lucian scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. “This is stupid,” he muttered. But he put his hands back on the wheel.

  Leon nodded, exhaling as he turned back toward the track ahead. “Alright.”

  The team fell back into position, their usual ease and confidence replaced with something colder, heavier.

  They weren’t racing for fun anymore.

  The excitement of Golem’s Gambit was gone.

  Now, it was about getting to the end.

  Leon gripped the wheel tighter as the doors ahead rumbled to life, stone mechanisms grinding as the next chamber unsealed itself.

  The heat hit them first.

  A wave of dry, suffocating air rolled through the opening gates, carrying the sharp, metallic scent of molten iron. The walls ahead glowed with an angry red hue, casting flickering shadows over the stone track.

  Sparks crackled in the distance.

  And then came the sound—a deep, resonant clang.

  Like a hammer striking an anvil.

  The doors finished opening, revealing the massive chamber beyond.

  Mira’s fingers tightened around the wheel.

  Leon exhaled through his nose.

  Lucian, for the first time in a while, didn’t have a quip ready.

  Elias stared ahead, expression unreadable.

  They moved forward.

  Straight into The Molten Forge.