Monarch Chapter 56

Chapter 56

Rayne’s boots struck the stone floor with steady, determined steps as he backtracked through the tunnel. The map felt unnaturally heavy in his pocket, as if the lines inked on it carried weight far beyond their size.

He knew it was just the hope in his heart, wishing that the markings in the map turned out true.

No undead or any other monster bothered him, and in just two hours, he reached the fourth dungeon room of the level.

The wooden, iron-banded door stood exactly as before.

After the first three rooms, he had barely moved to check everything when entering one, and that might have become a major mistake if he hadn't found the map.

Rayne inhaled once, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

The room looked exactly as it had earlier: bare stone, pale glowstone light, and nothing that hinted at a hidden path.

He pulled out the map again and crouched, letting the glowstones illuminate the parchment. His fingers traced along the drawn outline of the chamber, then up the thin line that was drawn straight through the wall.

“It should be… here,” Rayne murmured.

He stood and walked to the far-right wall. It looked perfectly normal—solid, unblemished stone. No seam, no grooves, nothing that suggested anything else.

Rayne placed his palm on the wall and began feeling along it with slow, methodical movements. Inch by inch, he pushed at the stone. Pressed his knuckles in. Dragged his fingers along the edges.

Nothing shifted.

He moved left. Tried again. Results didn’t change.

He frowned, checking the map a second time. “This is definitely the room…”

He pressed lower, sweeping his hands along the base of the wall. His fingertips brushed over smooth stone, then a faint indentation.

Rayne paused.

He felt it again and examined the stone thoroughly, and noticed it was the only one with its edge raised a hair higher than the rest.

His pulse quickened.

“Come on… don’t let this be in my head.”

He pushed the stone.

It didn’t budge.

He pushed harder, leaning his weight into it, fingers digging at the edges. His arm strained—

A soft click echoed through the room.

Rayne froze.

Then the wall shuddered.

At first, it was just dust drifting from the seams. Then a faint grinding filled the chamber, stone scraping stone. A vertical line split the wall, glowing slightly as if light bled through the cracks.

Rayne stepped back, sword already half-raised.

With a heavy groan, a rectangular section of the wall slid outward, shifting like a hidden door being unlocked after centuries of silence.

Cold air drifted out.

Behind the moving slab, a staircase spiraled upward into darkness.

Rayne stared, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and relief.

“So the map was right…”

He moved closer, inspecting the edge of the hidden passage with a cautious gaze. The stone had been carved with precision, disguised so perfectly that without the map, no delver would ever find it.

He reached out and ran a hand along the step. Dust crumbled under his fingertips. If he didn't know any better, Rayne would have thought that the stairs hadn't been touched in decades. But all of it was simply a construction of the dungeon core.

Rayne tightened his grip on his sword, cast one more wary glance around the empty room, and stepped toward the darkness. At once, his [Umbral Sight] got to work, and his vision adjusted to the darkness.

He climbed the steps with slow, deliberate movements, every sense sharpened and ready.

The air felt colder here.

The stairwell was cramped—barely wide enough for him to lift his sword properly—and the ceiling hung so low he constantly had to keep his head bent forward.

If not for his skill, he would have been anxious with each step. But with it, he saw everything—dust, broken cracks, patches of uneven ground. It wasn't a perfect sight, but it kept him from stumbling or walking straight into a wall.

Every step echoed like someone else was following behind him.

Rayne didn’t look back. He kept moving, one hand brushing the cold wall, the other resting on the hilt of his sword. His muscles were still sore from the beetle fight, but he had eaten more fruits on the way, and still felt a soft warmth running through his limbs.

Before he knew it, he had ascended fifty steps.

Then a hundred.

He hadn't seen any danger till now, but he felt almost sure of it, and kept his blade ready. And finally, after thirty more steps, the ceiling cracked.

Something dropped.

Rayne didn’t think—just reacted. He rolled sideways as a small bug monster slammed where his head had been. It was no bigger than a dog, all fangs and glossy chitin, legs clicking rapidly as it scurried toward him.

Two more thumped down from the ceiling, tiny mandibles chattering.

“Of course,” Rayne muttered.

The first lunged.

Rayne stepped into its path, drove his sword straight through its face, and tore sideways. The bug spasmed and fell twitching as green ichor splattered across the steps.

The second leaped the same as the first one. Rayne slammed his shoulder into it, pinning it against the wall. Its legs scraped his armor, leaving faint lines, but he crushed its head with a stomp.

The third tried to retreat upward, clinging to the wall with frantic scrapes. Rayne didn’t give it the chance. He stabbed upward, punching through its belly, and ripped it down the steps.

Their bodies lay still.

His breath fogged against the cold air of the stairwell, and notifications buzzed in his mind, giving him nothing but a trickle of experience.

“Small fry,” he whispered.

He wiped the blade against one of their corpses and resumed climbing. Watching the ceiling now with every other step.

The staircase twisted once—twice—then straightened into a long, narrow slope. Stone dust drifted lazily whenever he brushed the wall. And he slowed, not wanting to slide down accidentally.

After what felt like another hundred steps, Rayne finally reached it.

A wall.

A smooth slab of stone blocking the way forward.

He frowned and ran his hand along the surface. No cracks on it. No hinges. It looked… solid. Too solid.

“Please don’t tell me I climbed all the way up for nothing.”

He looked down on the path he had walked through, then took a step back and posted lightly. The wall didn't budge.

He took a few more steps back and pushed harder. The wall shook off dust.

Rayne frowned, rolled his shoulders once, twice, and lowered himself slightly after taking ten steps back. He could probably cut through it with enough swings, but that would take hours, and his stamina wasn’t infinite.

So he did the next best thing.

He tackled it.

Stone crunched beneath the impact as he slammed his shoulder into the wall. Pain vibrated down his arm, but the wall shifted. Just a little.

Rayne grit his teeth, stepped back again, and rammed into it a second time.

This time the stone split.

Light spilled through.

One more tackle, fueled by everything left in him, shattered the stone slab outward. The broken pieces crumbled forward, and Rayne stumbled into a familiar cold breeze.

He stared.

The swirling black surface of the portal flickered in front of him, lighting up his face. He looked around, all the pain forgotten.

He was back in the entrance.

Rayne slowly got up, not believing his eyes for a second, but he knew it was real.

He finally found his way out.

All the emotions he had been suppressing the past few days burst out. He had tried to never let himself rest for too long because he didn't want anxiety and fear of death to grip him, but now, all of it seemed like a thing of the past.

A few steps and he would be out in the sunlight. Or moonlight.

Rayne had no idea how long he was in the dungeon, but he knew it had been a few days. But when he took a step forward, a thought made him pause.

If he moved back to camp, there was no chance he was coming back to this dungeon. Honestly, he didn't want to, but that would mean missing out on all the Arcane stats the undead might give him.

And he didn't know if he would get a chance like that again.

“I'm being a bloody idiot,’’ he murmured, looking back towards the hidden path that led down.

But for the current him, he just couldn't afford letting go of such a lucrative thing. In the end, he had seen no signs of the chimera and had no plans to get into another dungeon room.

So, the risk was worth it, right?

“Won’t stay for longer than necessary. I will kill any undead I see, and if I hear even a shriek, I'm going to run as fast as possible,” he said, slapping his cheeks and giving one last look at the portal before climbing down again.

He had one more day in the dungeon left.

***

Nate yawned so hard his jaw popped.

Then he forced his eyes open again, squinting against the glare of the early afternoon sun as it beat down on the wooden palisade walls. The air smelled like dust, sweat, shit, and simmering tensions. Soldiers moved below in tight, nervous clusters, some repairing gear, others pacing like wolves trapped in a cage.

Guard duty felt worse today. He and Kesh stood atop the wall-walk, blades in hand, staring out at the forest around the hill. Nothing moved out there.

And yet the entire damn camp felt ready to break.

“Third day,” Kesh muttered beside him, dragging the butt of his spear against the wooden plank, leaving a long scratch. “Do you think they are going to be sending the rescue group today?”

Nate snorted. “According to a lot of the captains, there's no one to rescue. And you know all the war mages are sent to different dungeons. Casper already got told to rest and not involve herself into this any further. Who else do you think would go into that dungeon to die?”

Kesh shrugged tiredly. “Captain Edran maybe. I'm sure Hobbs and Jason will go. I heard both of them talk about retrieving Rayne's body.”

“No matter how good a leader Edran is, a silver blood like him will never put himself in so much danger. And the other two are as weak as us in front of that ugly beast.”

“Then should we just not care?” Kesh said, frowning. “If not for Rayne, I'm sure the others would have died.”

“Yes, but what else can we do? Half the camp wants him on a pyre anyway.”

Nate shook his head, leaning against the wall. And for the first time, he felt like his days as a thief were better than whatever he was doing in the army.

When they had stumbled back into camp—battered, limping, and half dead—everyone had assumed the commander would immediately send a second rescue party.

But then the captains rejected the proposal. Commander Evans agreed with them.

Rayne was put on record as dead, and they were far more interested in learning about the chimera and what happened in the dungeon. Since sending regular soldiers would be suicide, Nate had heard whispers of an all mage and spellsword party being prepared.

When will they be deployed? Probably after he died from the blades of everyone who had bet on Rayne being dead.

Fredrick had been increasingly annoying in that regard, even looking to get his coins back from Rayne's belongings.

Nate rubbed his forehead, groaning. “Rayne better be alive. Or I lose too much money.”

Kesh shot him a flat look. “You are worried about the money, not our friend.”

“Well, if he returns, I get both the money and him back.”

Kesh exhaled, leaning against the railing. “Out of everyone… Rayne surviving makes the least sense. But I don't know if he could even survive that fall. The water looked really cold too.”

“He’s tougher than he looks.” Nate smirked. “Guy’s like a cockroach. You can’t kill him unless you step on him twelve times.”

“That’s not encouraging,” Kesh muttered. “And if he’s truly dead, it would be a pity. I actually thought we were a good party under him.”

Nate kicked a loose pebble off the side of the wall. “I still think he’s alive.”

“Why?” Kesh asked.

“Because that bastard’s luck is bullshit.” Nate shrugged. “First the troll cave. Then the deserters. Then the dungeon. You also saw how he fought in the troll war. Now a river fall? If gods hate anyone, it isn’t him.”

Kesh opened his mouth to reply—

Then he froze.

His spear slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the wall-walk.

“What?” Nate frowned, turning to follow his gaze, only for the breath to punch out of his lungs.

Down the road leading from the forest, a man walked toward the camp. Limping a little, armor scratched to hell, hair plastered to his face with dried sweat and blood—walked Rayne.

Alive.

Nate’s eyes went wide. “No… fucking… way.”

Kesh sucked in a sharp breath. “You saw him too, right? It couldn't be a spectre.”

“No spectre comes out in the afternoon.”

“Then it's really… him.”

For a second they both just stood there, stupid and frozen.

Then Nate broke into a grin so wide it hurt.

“I told you!” he shouted, grabbing Kesh by the shoulders. “I freaking told you he was alive!”

Below them, soldiers began whispering, pointing, stepping forward with their weapons to find who was walking toward the camp.

Nate and Kesh immediately made their way down, moving across the sentries and running toward Rayne, who lifted a hand lazily in acknowledgment and waved.

When they finally reached him, Nate smiled. “Bloody gravewalker, impossible to kill.”