Chapter 538: Dungeons and Chaos 4

A sunny morning stretched across the countryside, the kind that made the air taste clean and new.

In the golden fields on either side of the dirt road, the ripened hay swayed gently, each stalk catching the sunlight until the entire plain seemed to breathe with a warm, golden shimmer.

The rhythmic thud-thud of a horse’s slow, unhurried gallop echoed softly beneath them, the sound melding with the faint rustle of grass in the wind.

A beautiful woman rode with ease, her posture relaxed but elegant, her gaze drifting over the fields as if the sight itself were a balm.

In front of her, perched neatly on the saddle, was a young girl of about ten—her daughter, Stacia—her small hands resting on the pommel.

“So, how did your week go, Stacia?”

“The same,” Stacia replied without looking back, her tone calm but with a trace of boredom.

“Mm… Did you at least find something that caught your interest? I went through quite the trouble to hire you a new tutor this time. He’s supposed to be one of the strictest and most gifted in the kingdom—his reputation rivals the grand scholars from across the world.”

Stacia gave a tiny shrug. “He was smart and knowledgeable, yes… but he seemed just as ignorant as the limits he’d already reached.”

Her mother raised a brow, half in surprise and half in pride at the girl’s blunt observation. “I see… well, then this great mother of yours will just have to up her game, won’t she?” she said with a smile.

They rode on, the pure white horse carrying them in an easy rhythm, its mane glistening in the morning light.

As they passed through the road, scattered travelers, merchants, and farmers paused their work to greet them with friendly waves.

The woman returned each one gracefully, her gestures poised yet warm, and Stacia—ever observant—mirrored her mother’s polite nods, though with a quieter, more reserved air.

The path ahead stretched into a picture-perfect horizon, but the air carried a quiet undercurrent, as if the peace of the scene was something precious… and temporary.

“Is our presence here really necessary for the masses, Mother?”

Her mother’s lips curled into a soft, knowing smile. “Fufu… what do you think?”

Stacia fell silent for a moment, letting the question linger in the air as the steady clop of the horse’s hooves marked the passing seconds. Finally, she nodded slightly.

“While I agree with the importance of presenting oneself to one’s subjects… wouldn’t it only matter in larger cities where the masses gather?”

Her mother’s gaze swept over the endless golden fields surrounding them, the wind tugging gently at her long hair.

“Although what you’ve said is true, and even objectively correct… at the end of the day, recognition and influence matter far less than people think.”

She shifted her eyes back to Stacia, her voice warm but firm.

“We all bleed. We all think. We all feel. A higher pedestal in life doesn’t make your worth greater than someone else’s. The title you carry as royalty isn’t value, it’s a burden—a heavier one than most will ever bear. Importance is subjective, my dear… but in the end, we are all human. It doesn’t matter how big the city or how small the village—sometimes, a simple smile is all it takes to make a difference, even in the most remote countryside.”

“I see…” Stacia’s eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful. “So, our presence here fosters loyalty, trust, and recognition. Hm… still, I believe there are far more efficient ways of achieving better results, since these farmers are one of the corner stones of our country maybe we can—”

Her mother let out a short, amused laugh. “Fufu—hahaha.”

Stacia glanced over her shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re too clever for your own good sometimes,” her mother said warmly, leaning forward to tap the tip of Stacia’s nose with a gloved finger.

“Remember, not everything we do has to be complicated. What we’re doing right now—it’s simply something I like.”

“Like?” Stacia tilted her head.

Her mother’s eyes softened, and she looked out toward the horizon as if her thoughts were somewhere far away.

“Yes… like.”

She didn’t elaborate yet, as though she wanted Stacia to come to the answer on her own, letting the golden morning and the road ahead speak in her place.

“Speaking of which,” her mother said casually, glancing at Stacia with a faint smile, “have you taken a liking to anything yet?”

Stacia tilted her head, slightly puzzled. “How is that any different from an interest? I already told you—nothing has really caught my attention so far.”

“Fufu… not even the news about Princess Snow from the Empire?”

“My admiration for her and my interests are two separate things,” Stacia replied matter-of-factly.

Her mother sighed in amusement. “You really do like to make things complicated, don’t you?”

Stacia fell silent, her eyes drifting away to the swaying golden fields.

She’d already told her mother she had no particular interest in anything… yet as she thought more about it—truly considered what it meant to like something—her mind settled on a single memory.

“There was… this book.”

Her mother’s brows lifted ever so slightly. “Ho? So my dear daughter does have something that caught her attention. Perhaps your instructors have done their job properly after all. What kind of book was it?”

“A book about heroes,” Stacia said simply.

“Heroes?” her mother echoed, the word rolling off her tongue with a faint note of surprise. She hadn’t expected her daughter, who was often so pragmatic, to be interested in such an idealistic subject.

“It had a… well, a terrible ending,” Stacia continued.

“A terrible ending?” her mother asked, intrigued.

“Yes,” Stacia said, her tone gaining a trace of sharpness.

“A very tragic one. For someone so great to just die like that… without ever experiencing their own happiness. I think stories about tragic heroes are nothing more than excuses made by their authors.”

She looked up at the sky, her voice taking on a quiet intensity.

“A light that shines the brightest should remain, like the morning sun—casting its radiance over everyone, and at night, coating the moons above so they keep us warm and watched over. Not… fading away.”

…….

Hng…

A faint sound escaped Stacia’s lips as consciousness returned to her. Her eyelids fluttered open, and for a brief moment, she felt disoriented.

The ceiling above wasn’t the familiar one she was used to—it was jagged, spike-like, each stone shard glistening faintly in the dim light.

Dozens, maybe hundreds of them, protruded like the teeth of some great beast, catching the glow of nearby spirit flames.

There was a subtle weight in the air, a presence that felt almost… threatening.

“Good morning, Stacia!”

The cheerful voice broke her thoughts. She turned her head to see Emilia standing nearby, wearing her usual bright, almost radiant smile.

“Good morning… Did I oversleep?”

“Hehe, don’t worry about the guard shift duties,” Emilia replied, waving a hand dismissively. “Senior Lucas decided to do an all-night watch for us.”

“I see,” Stacia murmured, her tone calm, though her mind registered the gesture as another sign of Lucas’s quiet reliability.

“I was actually about to wake you,” Emilia continued with a little bounce in her step. “Breakfast is ready. Flamme even set up a small bath over those large stone slabs in the corner. She had her spirits fill it—it’s surprisingly clean and warm! I never thought I’d see the day where spirits of different elements worked together just to bathe me.”

“Alright… I’ll come later, after I wash.”

“Don’t be late,” Emilia warned in a teasing tone.

Then she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a dangerous secret.

“Uhm… Flamme and Reina are kind of stealing your portion. Well—Reina’s actually just taking it so Flamme doesn’t hog everything… but still, I’ll make sure you get yours!”

A soft laugh escaped Stacia.

She had known Emilia for some time now, and no matter the situation, the girl’s earnestness and slightly clumsy way of caring for others never failed to be… endearing.

Stacia rose slowly, her movements deliberate, as if shaking off the remnants of sleep still clinging to her.

The air was cool against her skin, laced with the faint scent of stone and lingering spirit magic.

She made her way toward the hastily constructed bath in the corner—and blinked in mild surprise.

From the outside, it had looked little more than a makeshift basin surrounded by uneven stone slabs.

But the moment she stepped closer, she realized the interior was far larger than it should be, like stepping into a space that bent the rules of reality itself.

The water shimmered faintly with a soft azure glow.

“…Did she create a small domain with her mana?”

Stacia murmured under her breath, genuinely impressed.

Flamme’s mastery over magic wasn’t just a matter of raw power—it was the kind of precise control and creativity that only came from years of dedication despite her genius like output…

Setting her cane down against the wall, Stacia extended her hand toward the water.

At her silent request, the nearby water spirits stirred, swirling gently before sending a small splash to her face.

Cool droplets struck her skin, washing away the last of her morning haze.

A wave of warmth spread through her body—not from the water, but from deep within.

Her steps faltered, and she nearly lost her balance.

That burning sensation at her core was still there, a reminder of her current fragility.

It will still take some time…

Her mana core hadn’t yet recovered; the damage ran deep, and even small exertions left her feeling the strain.

Until it fully stabilized, she would have to be careful.

Senior Riley said he’d come to see me… every week.

The thought brought a faint comfort.

He had promised to help her through this recovery, guiding her until she could stand on her own again.

But now… she was in a dungeon.

Under normal circumstances, that promise would have been impossible to keep.

…Though knowing Riley, she suspected “impossible” was just another challenge for him to dismantle.

With a small exhale, she reached for the pouch at her side and uncorked two slim glass vials.

The liquid inside shimmered faintly—mana restoratives.

She drank them in slow, measured swallows, letting the soft, tingling energy seep through her veins.

The burning eased to a gentler warmth, no longer clawing at her from within.

The pain dulled.

The fatigue remained.

But for now, that was enough.

A swirl of wind, stone, and water spirits gathered before her, their elements weaving together with deliberate precision until they formed a smooth, rippling surface—mimicking the sheen of a mirror.

Stacia leaned closer, studying her reflection.

Her face was still a little pale, hair loose from sleep, but her expression carried a quiet satisfaction.

She almost allowed herself to relax… until something shifted in the glass.

A shape emerged beside her—broad-shouldered, familiar.

Her breath caught. “Senior… Riley?”

She turned instantly, eyes scanning the space behind her.

The corner of the bath lay empty, her cane undisturbed against the wall.

No sign of him.

Frowning, she turned back to the mirror.

Riley was still there—only now, the corners of his mouth had curled upward into a smile that was wrong.

Too wide.

Too sharp.

The expression stretched unnaturally from ear to ear, exposing teeth like serrated blades, glistening as if wet.

His once-clear blue eyes bled into a deep, molten red.

The smile moved, but the mouth did not speak.

Instead, a sound clawed its way directly into her head:

Kukukukukukukuku…

The chuckle was wet, echoing, inhuman.

It filled her skull, rattled her thoughts.

Stacia’s hands gripped her cane hard enough that her knuckles whitened, but her knees buckled all the same. Her balance slipped, the world tilting beneath her feet.

The Riley in the mirror leaned forward, grin widening until it seemed his face might split apart entirely.

Then his jaw unhinged, opening impossibly wide.

From within that abyss, a wave of dark, blood-red energy pulsed outward, surging toward her.

It swallowed everything.

She gasped—only to find herself standing in a golden meadow, the air warm and heavy with the scent of hay.

The scene was beautiful, but wrong.

Too still.

Too silent.

Her crimson eyes widened.

“Stacia…”

The voice came from below her, raw and breaking.

She looked down.

And froze.

“Th… this is it for me…”

Riley knelt at her feet, his skin so pale it was almost translucent.

His breathing was ragged, each word catching in his throat before ending in a wet cough.

Blood stained his lips, dripped down his chin.

Her gaze fell to the gaping wound in his chest—a jagged hole that no magic could close in time.

His right arm was gone entirely, the stump torn and blackened at the edges.

He tried to keep pressure on the wound, but his strength was failing fast.

“R… Riley?”

The name left her in a broken whisper, almost as if saying it out loud would make him vanish.

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