Chapter 137: Beneath The Surface
Circular Chamber ,
The three of them froze—eyes wide—as the familiar voice echoed through the dusty chamber.
From the corner, Zayne strolled out casually, brushing off a bit of sand from his shoulder. In one hand, he held a steaming slice of pizza; in the other, a chilled soda cup. He took a bite, utterly unbothered.
Lyria’s lips parted in disbelief.
He took a direct hit from that golem and... he’s perfectly fine?!
Daxon’s thoughts mirrored hers, his grip on the sword tightening. That thing’s attack could crush boulders... yet he’s fine and he’s eating?
Cassynne, however, had a very different question spinning in her mind. Where in the world did he even get pizza and soda in a ruin?!
Daxon forced an awkward smile, trying to ease the growing tension. "H-hey man... maybe we should talk this out, right?"
Zayne looked up mid-bite, his light purple eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips.
"Well," he said lightly, "we won’t be getting time to talk."
"What do you—" Daxon began, but his words cut short as the ground beneath them pulsed with a sudden, blinding light.
Lines of intricate runes lit up across the entire floor, spreading in a perfect circle around them.
Lyria’s eyes widened in horror. "I-It’s a teleportation spell!"
Before anyone could react—before Daxon could even raise his sword or Lyria could channel her mana—
the entire chamber flared white.
And in the next heartbeat...
all four of them were gone.
--
Somewhere,
The world reformed around them in a shimmer of light.
Stone walls, cracked and covered in dust, replaced the glowing runes. The air here was colder—still ancient, but this place lacked the grand murals of the last room. It was empty, silent, and heavy with the weight of forgotten centuries.
The four figures appeared at the center of the chamber.
Daxon was the first to move, blade half-raised as his eyes swept the surroundings. Lyria followed, scanning with tense precision. Cassynne gripped her staff, her stance cautious.
Only Zayne stood calmly, hands in his coat pockets, finishing the last bite of his pizza.
"Where... are we?" Daxon asked, his voice low but wary.
Lyria shook her head, frowning. "I don’t know. But that was a teleportation circle—old and advanced. I’ve never seen one like it before."
Then she spun toward Zayne, anger flashing in her eyes. "It’s because of you! You knew about that circle, didn’t you?!"
Zayne blinked innocently, as if the accusation amused him. "I did," he said, pausing for effect, "but only after it activated. And there was no way any of you could’ve stopped it."
Cassynne sighed, rubbing her temple. "As much as I also want to fight this guy... maybe we hold off for now? We don’t even know where we are."
Zayne chuckled softly, that faint, knowing smile returning. "She’s right, isn’t she?"
No one replied, but Daxon eventually nodded. "Fine. We move together. No one split up."
The three stepped ahead toward a half-collapsed stone gateway that led into another dark corridor. Their footsteps echoed faintly.
Zayne followed behind, unhurried—his coat swaying slightly, hands buried casually in his pockets, eyes gleaming faintly light purple in the dim light.
Whatever waited ahead, only he seemed utterly at ease walking toward it.
.
.
.
.
From the far end of the corridor, a faint glow pierced through the darkness.
Cassynne’s eyes widened. "It’s light...! That’s our way out!"
Without hesitation, she broke into a run, her boots echoing against the old stone. Daxon and Lyria followed right behind her, hope flickering across their tired faces.
Zayne, however, didn’t rush. He simply adjusted his coat, finishing his soda before casually matching their pace.
But as they passed through the gateway—
—they froze.
It wasn’t sunlight that greeted them.
It was an entire world beneath the ground.
The ceiling above stretched high, embedded with glowing crystals that mimicked daylight. Below them sprawled what looked like a village—but one built in secrecy. Narrow streets, small wooden houses, and among them, shadows moving in synchronized rhythm.
Men and women dressed in black masks and armor moved between the buildings, carrying crates, inspecting weapons, and marking strange runic sigils onto stone walls. At the heart of it all stood a large building, towering like a central command post.
The air was thick with mana and secrecy.
Lyria’s voice trembled as she whispered, "What... the hell is this?"
Daxon narrowed his eyes, disbelief clouding his face. "This isn’t a ruin... it’s a base. A whole underground base."
Cassynne stood still, silent for once—her expression unreadable.
Zayne simply watched from behind, his gaze calm yet sharp, as if piecing together invisible threads.
His eyes briefly flickered violet as he muttered under his breath—
"...So this is what that teleportation circle led to, interesting."
A bead of sweat rolled down Daxon’s temple as he whispered, "We still don’t know where we are. We have to move carefully... we don’t know how they’ll react if they find us. First priority—find a way out."
Lyria and Cassynne nodded, their eyes darting around warily. Even Zayne gave a faint nod, hands tucked in his coat pockets as usual.
In Lyria’s mind, however, a sharp thought burned—
This all happened because of him. When we escape, I’ll kill this guy myself... and take that artifact.
Moving quietly, they descended from the elevated ledge toward the ground level of the strange underground village. The faint hum of mana-filled machinery and the rhythmic sounds of footsteps echoed around them.
They crouched behind a large boulder, watching masked figures patrol in the distance.
"Cassynne," Daxon murmured, "can you scout ahead—see if there’s another way out?"
Cassynne gave a silent nod and was about to slip into the shadows—
—but before she could move, the cold tip of a spear pressed against the back of her head.
"Raise your hands," a deep voice ordered. "Drop your weapons... or you die."
In an instant, spears surrounded them from all sides. The black-masked men had appeared out of nowhere—silent, swift, precise. None of the three had sensed even a trace of mana.
How...?
Lyria’s eyes widened in shock. We didn’t even feel them approach...
"Capture these three," one of the masked figures commanded.
"Three?" Lyria repeated, confused.
Then she turned—her heart skipped a beat.
Zayne was gone.
"Where is he!?" Daxon hissed, scanning around frantically.
But there was no sign of him.
The masked soldiers ignored their panic and swiftly restrained them with glowing handcuffs that was similar to hand cuff used in Astralis Arcanum.
"Damn it... I can’t use my mana," Daxon growled, struggling in vain.
The masked men began dragging them toward the central building.
Meanwhile—just a few steps behind them, unseen—Zayne walked leisurely, completely invisible.
The faint shimmer of mana distorted the air around him as he observed everything in silence.
He had cast the spell moments before the patrol arrived.
And now, as the three were being led deeper into the main building of the base, a small smirk touched his lips.
"I suppose," he murmured under his breath, "it’s time to see what kind of place is this and what kind of rats are hiding here."
.
.
.
The black masked men dragged the three through the corridor. The building looked majestic from the outside but inside — it was nothing short of a nightmare.
Screams echoed from rooms around, painful, desperate. The sound made the three of them shudder.
Daxon clenched his fists, veins visible on his arm. Why did this happen...? he thought.
They stopped in front of a red door, the only door that looked expensive — engraved with gold-like patterns.
Before the masked men could even knock, something crashed through the door, breaking it apart and slamming into the wall.
Dust rose, and when it cleared, they saw it was another black masked man lying unconscious.
The masked men holding the adventurers froze, and then quickly bowed down.
"Glory to the Vassel!" they shouted in unison.
From the throne ahead, a man stood up.
He wasn’t too tall, but his presence filled the room like heavy pressure.
Dark brown hair tied tightly into a small bun, a short boxed beard outlining his sharp jawline, and dark red eyes that looked like burning coals — one of which had a jagged scar running across the iris.
He looked furious.
"Don’t give me bullshit," his voice thundered through the hall. "I’m already angry enough that our plan at Astralis Arcanum failed... and those five idiots we sent are dead."
He glared at them. "So be careful with your words. Now tell me—what did you bring me?"
The black masked men trembled. One of them finally spoke, voice shaking.
"M-Master Darron... these three entered our base."
The man known as Darron narrowed his eyes. "Entered? How?"
"From the northern gate teleportation station..."
Darron’s brows furrowed. "That station is useless. It’s not connected to any branch or sub-branch."
The masked man nodded nervously. "Then, master, it’s possible... they accidentally found the original ruin channel."
"Hm..." Darron’s expression darkened.
He turned his gaze toward the three, who stood silently, bound with mana-suppressing cuffs glowing faintly blue.
"Throw them in prison," Darron ordered coldly. "Use them for experiments. If they resist—break them."
The three of them froze, faces pale.
Daxon gritted his teeth, Lyria’s heart pounded as she tried to gather mana but couldn’t, and Cassynne clenched her jaw, unable to move.
The masked men dragged them out of the hall, and Darron sat down heavily on his throne.
He placed one hand on his forehead, his scarred eye twitching slightly.
"Our plan failed..." he muttered. "What will I tell my superior now..."
Meanwhile, unseen in the corner of the hall, a faint shimmer flickered — the air bent for a moment.
Zayne stood there invisible, quietly watching everything.