Cyrus remained still as he stared down the dark tunnel. Didn't he have a book written by a Wayfarer in his pouch? A quick pull revealed Leal's black notebook, and Cyrus sifted through it. Nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. He found a section at the very end, probably recently written just for him.

It said: "Never enter dangerous places without proper training."

Cyrus looked around and closed the notebook. "Too late for that."

He then rubbed his messy beard in contemplation. Should he just... check it out? That was the point of being an explorer: to travel the unknown.

"I'll be careful," Cyrus muttered. "The first sign of danger, I'll take off."

And so he went. But it was not without preparation. Cyrus juggled between spear and camera, the latter for searching for more signs of life.

Click Click Click

Luckily, there weren't any green marks. But he did find some blue marks. Did that mean there was another source of water? This one may have carried aqua crystals as well. Cyrus shook his head and pushed forward. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted. But a few minutes of traveling a dank tunnel soon brought boredom to the front of his mind. An empty cave was not the first location Cyrus wanted to explore in this magical world. How... boring.

Click

A new picture brought a flood of earth marks across his camera's screen. Just after the exit of this tunnel, Cyrus stored his camera and readied his spear. Just as he stepped into the exit, he froze at the sight before him, clutching his spear in one hand while the other sputtered with flames.

Bodies. A lot of dead bodies. A sudden bile went up Cyrus' throat that he forced down as he looked away. Slowly, He stepped back into the tunnel and took gasping deep breaths.

"Oh... gods."

It took everything Cyrus had to avoid sprinting for his life. Instead, he gritted his teeth and remained just at the tunnel's mouth, lighting a hungry ember in his palm and flashing brilliance with his gaze. It was another large cavernous room with bodies, tens of them, strewn across the place with fog wreathed over them like cobwebs. Moreover, most of the cadavers were shrunken and emancipated, their taut, bony skins a rotten gray. And against all rational thought, Cyrus slowly, tentatively took a step forward and inspected one.

It was ancient. At least, Cyrus thought it was. Their clothes, unlike the formal, dapper wear of Avalorn, resembled medieval peasant garb, now almost disintegrated from years of exposure to decay and the elements.

Another once-over revealed something more important: there were no injuries, none he could see. Cyrus frowned and checked another nearby. And another. Again, no wounds. But then, what had killed them? Magic? Cyrus had no clue. And he didn't want to find out.

Just once last scan—A sudden gleam caught his gaze. There at the back was an entire wall of glowing veins. Their occasional glimmer would have been the first thing Cyrus caught notice of if it weren't the corpses.

But Cyrus did not move forward. No, he stayed put, picked up a pebble, and tossed it across the room. One second. Two. There were no sudden movements or attacks, but Cyrus remained still and revealed his camera.

Click

His screen revealed the entire room concentrated with earth runes. But more importantly, there were no signs of life, including the corpses strewn about. And there were no arcane runes. So, the possibility that there was a hidden magical circle was nil.

Not that Cyrus knew what one looked like.

Regardless, he felt a mix of emotions as he confirmed this. They must have starved to death here a long time ago. What else could be the case? There were no bite or claw marks. Scratch that. Now, after checking a few more bodies, he actually confirmed that that was the case. There were no signs of a struggle. Some appeared to be soldiers or huntsmen scattered about. While others were simple peasants. And there were even children among them. All seemed to have simply sat down and waited for the end. Were they simple people seeking temporary sanctuary in these caves? Maybe these were ancient dead that were mostly preserved from the elements. More importantly, these corpses lacked those pitchless holes for eyes that one... thing he met on his arrival to this new world. Yes, they were gaunt and sunken in after years of being exposed to the elements. But far from he remembered.

Such a sight compelled a grateful sigh to escape his lips. But another scan revealed something weird. Cyrus frowned and picked up one of the scattered swords. It wasn't anything special: simple with a shiny, unblemished steel blade. Yet that was the point.

"Not a single hint of rust," he muttered, holding the blade closer. "Is it enchanted?"

One way to find out.

Click

And nothing. Of course, how could peasants afford arcane weapons that could survive years, possibly decades, of erosion? What was he thinking?

"Maybe it's this metal?" Cyrus wondered, his sight moving to the glimmering wall.

It could be some magical metal with preservation properties. After a minute of thought, Cyrus shook his head. He could guess until his homeworld's sun exploded, but it wouldn't get anywhere. With that thought, Cyrus returned his attention to the swords.

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These could be worth something.

He thought of offering them to the Wayfarer organization for some brownie points. But ultimately, he thought better of it. Stealing from a corpse pile wouldn't look too good on him, especially after being caught with the medallion.

Only one question was left: Now what?

He thought as he tossed the sword on the ground. Ignoring the clattering sound, Cyrus activated his hungry ember and readied his spear. Slowly, cautiously, he moved across the large cavern, intentionally avoiding his gaze on those hallowed, rotten faces. Once Cyrus was before the shimmering wall, he used his mana sense and examined it.

He hummed. To him, it felt like his mana sense had met with a solid barrier of earth affinity on the vein itself, which was strange, as he could sense things beyond regular earth and rock, just like at the cathedral.

Cyrus didn't know how he felt. This was his first find in his first exploration. He had hoped he would stumble upon some magical ruins or someth—snap.

Cyrus turned around, spear and flame at the ready.

He froze. The corpses. They slowly stumbled up to a stand. Each one looked clear at him, mouth silently screaming as frothing fog spilled from their mouths. Each moved silently, lifting their heads toward the ceiling in a harrowing, soundless, forever scream. Then, they moved.

One woke beside Cyrus. It moved before him and swung its sword. Shock stilled Cyrus' mind, but his arm moved on instinct, and his spear quickly pierced the walking corpse's neck.

But it was of no use. The corpse stood still for a moment before it struggled and moved regardless as the spear's shaft slid through the puncture wound. The sword kept coming. Gaze widening, Cyrus twisted his spear downward with all his might, combined with the life runes in his arms. And it worked. The corpse toppled to the ground, allowing Cyrus precious moments to wrench his blade through its neck.

The creature appeared dead. But Cyrus thought nothing of it as he moved forward. He had to fight as his back was to the wall and couldn't allow himself to be encircled.

He stabbed and stabbed. One fell after another. But more and more swarmed closer, and the exit was no longer in sight, obscured by the mass of bodies in his path.

What was he to do? Hungry ember? Nerves taut, Cyrus retreated and ignited his palm. Then, he tossed. A hit! The corpse lit up in flames! But that was all! It kept moving closer and closer, bumping into other corpses and torching them!

Aghast, Cyrus stepped back. He wasn't immune to flames. One touch, and that would be it. But then, what was he supposed to do? Damnit. If only Latriaen were here.

That's it! Hands fumbling, Cyrus reached for his pocket. Out came a solid and vibrant fire rune, and he channeled his mana. But it demanded far more mana than he expected, and he was forced to avoid channeling all his life runes to avoid bottoming his pool out.

So there he was. Attacking flaming corpses that slowly pushed him back. Cyrus began to falter, missing attacks one after another as they swarmed him.

Another miss! The flaming corpse silently screamed at him and lunged! But at that moment, Latriaen's rune came to life! Gritting his teeth, Cyrus pointed it right at its face!

Then, the rune shuddered. It flared light as a fiery red beam cleaved through the mob of corpses. They didn't stand a chance. The moment the beam touched one of them, they liquefied.

Cyrus kept his gaze shut to avoid being blinded. A moment later, he opened his gaze and found a path of escape between a split in the mass of burning, moving corpses.

The rune shattered into red motes of light. But Cyrus didn't care, as the path to freedom was there. He ran through the path without hesitation, dodging or jabbing at every fiery body that lunged for him.

Freedom, or at least he was safe for now. Once he was beside the exit tunnel, Cyrus refrained from leaving. Instead, he turned and observed the flaming corpses clumsily move toward him. Backing away slowly, Cyrus retrieved a mana crystal, recovered his mana pool, and assessed the situation. The rune cost him over half his mana reservoirs, but that was okay. So long as he was here, he was safe. Cyrus rubbed his beard in deliberation. Perhaps he could lead them and fight them one by one inside the tunnel.

But was I really safe?

Once that thought burrowed in his mind, Cyrus stepped back and stared into the escape tunnel. Illuminated by the flames, it appeared like an endless abyss.

His gut told him not to linger, and Cyrus chose to listen. He ran deeper into the tunnel without glancing back at the burning pile of shambling flesh after him.

Forward he went, almost tripping over his feet. During his respite, Cyrus thought of what had happened. What were they? Wraiths? They didn't use abilities... echoes?

This was serious. Had he bumbled into a wraith nest? Of all the places... Here? In the mountains? The thought made him slow to a stop. Hands shaking, Cyrus retrieved his revolver and secured it in his inner coat pocket. At least he could shoot whatever came his way.

"Stop. Stop," Cyrus said to himself. "Think positive."

They weren't using magic, and it was nothing like that thing that died at the hamlet. So, Cyrus took a breath and calmed himself.

He had to move, and so he did. As Cyrus pressed forward, he would occasionally glance backward. No monsters were attacking him from behind. But the thought did little to help. All Cyrus could do was escape and formulate a plan once he was outside.

Soon, the tunnel revealed the bioluminescent moss, proving he was drawing near to the path of escape. But the moving shadows stopped him a few meters from the exit.

Cyrus sucked in a cold breath. Fuck.

Tens of skeletal echoes shuffled throughout the area. And once Cyrus' gaze fell on them, they all stopped and turned to him in unison. They all opened their frothing mouths in a chorus of silent screams.

Then, they moved. And Cyrus stepped back. There were too many of them to—even more emerged from the tunnel's corners. Had they come from the other tunnels?!

Cyrus had no choice. He had to funnel them into the tunnel and take them out one by one. And if, by some miracle, Latriaen managed to come back in time, then he could be saved.

So that was the plan.

The echoes drew closer, skeletal claws stretched out, aiming for Cyrus' throat. But the latter struck. He stabbed the first one in the head, and it dropped with a thud.

But its death did not stop the rest from trampling over it and attacking. Cyrus kept stabbing their head with his spear. And soon, one fallen turned to five, and five became ten. But how can ten matter when a horde awaits?

Painfully, slowly, time dragged on with no foreseeable end.

"How many are in here?!" Cyrus yelled desperately.

But the sudden sound of flames and scraping metal behind him brought him to a stop.

Cyrus... was surrounded on both sides.

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