Chapter 64: Chapter 64: Kancil’s Training Ground

The secondary ventilation duct was a narrow, suffocating vein of galvanized steel and copper, damp with the condensation of a thousand steam cycles and reeking of acrid rust mingled with the lingering, sulfurous stench of the Abyss. The metallic walls were hot to the touch, vibrating with the low-frequency thrum of Terragard’s gargantuan geothermal engines working somewhere in the distant bedrock. The neon-green luminescence from Dayat’s GPNVG-18 goggles sliced through the absolute gloom, illuminating microscopic dust particles dancing in the air and thick, viscous droplets of fluid seeping from the pipe joints overhead.

Dayat crawled at the vanguard, his movements labored. His breath came in heavy, irregular gasps that fogged the interior of his goggles. Every inch forward felt like dragging a literal ton of weight. It was the exact sensation of finishing a ten-kilometer sprint at maximum velocity without a single second of respite. His muscles throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache, and his temples still harbored the stinging remnants of the successive data transfers he had endured from Dola.

“Master, your respiratory rhythm indicates systemic fatigue at a 68% threshold,” Dola’s voice echoed in the tight space behind him. It was calm, yet carried a chillingly objective tone of observation. “A tactical pause of 180 seconds is highly recommended to stabilize your blood oxygen levels and prevent a cognitive brown-out.”

Dayat halted, leaning his sweat-slicked back against the unyielding, warm metal of the pipe. He wiped a stray droplet of perspiration that had crawled into his eye. “I’m… I’m fine, Dol. Just need to catch my breath. Manifesting heavy thermal weaponry back there really drained the battery.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, Dola was crawling with a terrifying, insect-like efficiency. Despite the cramped dimensions of the duct, she was still managing to transport the unconscious Lunethra. However, the sight was far from romantic or compassionate. Dola was carrying the ancient Elf over her left shoulder exactly like a sack of raw grain—Lunethra’s head dangled toward the floor, and her silver hair acted as a makeshift mop, dragging through the grime and soot of the pipe floor.

“Dola… could you maybe be a little more… human with how you’re carrying her?” Dayat whispered, his voice cracking.

Dola paused, her electric-blue eyes locking onto Dayat’s with a sharp, calculating intensity. “This Elven unit is currently classified under the status: Primary Logistics Burden. Carrying the object with weight distributed at a singular focal point on the shoulder increases my navigational stability in this confined space by 14.2%. Unless, Dayat, you are instructing me to discard the burden here?”

Dayat simply massaged the bridge of his nose. He knew full well that if he hadn’t explicitly ordered Dola to rescue Lunethra, the machine-wife would have quite happily watched the Elf evaporate in the Napalm fire back in the control room. Jealousy or not, Dola viewed Lunethra as a pure interference variable to her primary priority: Dayat’s absolute safety.

“Keep carrying her. Do not discard,” Dayat commanded firmly.

“Instruction acknowledged. Resuming [Sack-of-Grain] transport procedure,” Dola replied with a noticeable, needle-sharp curtness.

At the rear of their formation, Kancil crawled with the alertness of a hunted predator. His Glock 17 was gripped tight in his right hand, his eyes constantly darting toward the small ventilation slits they passed. Despite his small frame and the jagged wound on his shoulder, there wasn’t a trace of trauma on his face. As a child who had come of age in the brutal gutters of Bakasa’s Lower District, the sight of corpses and the smell of death were old acquaintances. To Kancil, fear was a luxury he had never been able to afford.

“Big Bro Dayat,” Kancil whispered, his voice raspy. “This pistol… it’s amazing. But if they come from behind in a hole like this, the noise is going to blow our ears out. And if I’m a second late on the trigger, they’ll be on top of us before the bullet leaves the barrel.”

Dayat went silent, processing the boy’s logic. Kancil was right. In an environment as restricted as a ventilation duct, long-range firearms were a double-edged sword. If Kancil panicked and fired wildly, the high-velocity 9mm rounds could ricochet off the curved metal walls, potentially wounding the team.

“Dola, you hear that?” Dayat asked.

“Affirmative. Tactical analysis suggests that Subject Kancil requires a close-quarters defense option that does not rely on limited ammunition and possesses a zero-ricochet risk factor,” Dola replied. “Initiating database search: [Close Quarter Combat (CQC) Specialized Weaponry].”

A small, focused fragment of data was flicked into Dayat’s mind. This time, it was merely a mild pulse, a manageable throb. Dayat received the high-resolution schematic for a bladed weapon developed as a prototype for industrial-military cutting tools back on Earth.

“Kancil, come here,” Dayat called.

Kancil scuttled forward. Dayat extended his right hand, which began to pulse with a dim, sapphire light. The ambient Mana swirled into a localized vortex, forming particles of light that rapidly solidified in Dayat’s palm. A second later, a medium-sized dagger appeared. It featured a matte-black, non-reflective blade and an ergonomically textured grip.

The Vibro-knife.

“Take this,” Dayat said, handing it over.

Kancil accepted it, his eyes widening as he felt the unusual balance of the weapon. As his fingers closed around the hilt, Dayat pressed a small, recessed button at the base of the guard. Suddenly, a faint, high-pitched hum filled the air—the sound of a hornet trapped in a glass jar. The black blade didn’t appear to move, but the air surrounding the edge seemed to blur and ripple with violent energy.

“This isn’t a normal knife,” Dayat explained. “The blade vibrates thousands of times per second at an ultrasonic frequency. Do not touch the edge, Kancil. This thing can slice through demonic bone as if you were cutting warm butter.”

“Gila… it feels like it’s alive, Big Bro,” Kancil muttered, a grin of pure pride spreading across his soot-stained face. He tucked his Glock into his waistband and gripped the Vibro-knife in a reverse-grip—the classic, dirty style of a street fighter who knew how to shank someone in the dark.

Dola suddenly chimed in, her voice dropping into an instructional, technical drone. “Subject Kancil, observe. The biological structure of Imp and Dretch entities features a high-density carbon lattice in the thoracic cavity. Do not waste kinetic energy by stabbing there. Utilize the blade’s vibration to sever the knee joints, the wing roots, or the gap between the cervical vertebrae. A single, precision severance is 400% more efficient than ten brutal punctures.”

Kancil nodded rapidly, absorbing the data like a sponge. “Understood, Sister Dola. Cut the joints. Make them stop moving.”

“Excellent. Utilize your small stature and high agility. You are currently the unit’s Diversion Specialist and Shadow Executor,” Dola added. Despite her curtness, she didn’t mind training Kancil; the stronger Kancil became, the lighter the burden of protecting him would be on Dayat.

They resumed their journey. The duct began to slope downward at a sharp angle, indicating they were approaching the Deep Steam Vents—the sector closest to Terragard’s core and the weakest point of the dimensional tear.

Suddenly, the sound of leather wings flapping echoed from the darkness behind them.

KREEEEEEEKKKK!

An Imp—a small, leathery flying demon with claws still slick with Dwarven blood—had managed to slip through a damaged exhaust grate in the ceiling. It glided through the pipe with predatory speed, diving toward Kancil, who was at the rear.

“Kancil! Behind you!” Dayat yelled, trying to twist his stiff body around in the narrow tube.

But Kancil moved faster than Dayat anticipated. The boy didn’t freeze. On the contrary, his adrenaline hit his system like high-octane fuel. Kancil dropped flat to his stomach, letting the Imp sail inches over his head. As the creature tried to stall and turn in the confined space, Kancil lunged forward.

He didn’t reach for his gun. His right hand, clenching the humming Vibro-knife, slashed through the air in a jagged, dirty arc.

Zzzzzzz-shreeeet!

The hum of the blade changed for a microsecond as it met demonic flesh. With its ultrasonic vibration, the knife bypassed the Imp’s thick, hide-like armor with zero resistance. The base of the demon’s left wing was severed instantly, falling to the floor of the pipe with a wet, sickening thud.

The Imp shrieked in agony, attempting to claw at Kancil’s face with its remaining strength. Kancil used his thief’s instincts; he caught the demon’s wrist with his free left hand, yanked it closer, and drove the Vibro-knife precisely into the gap of the cervical vertebrae as Dola had instructed.

CRACK.

The creature’s head flopped uselessly as the blade severed its central nervous system at a molecular level. Black smoke hissed from the wound, and the Imp’s body began to rot instantly, dissolving into a pile of stinging ash.

Kancil stood there, gasping for air, standing over the smoldering remains. He stared at his blade, which was still humming smoothly—there wasn’t a single drop of blood on it, as the vibrations had instantly shaken off any fluid.

“I… I did it, Big Bro,” Kancil said, a wide, triumphant smile breaking through the soot.

“Execution: Satisfactory. However, your reaction time was 0.4 seconds slower than the optimal standard. Continue training, or the next entity will take your head before you have the chance to smile,” Dola interjected, her eyes flickering toward Kancil before she resumed her crawl, still carrying Lunethra like a sack of potatoes.

Dayat let out a long breath of relief. He no longer saw Kancil as a burden to be carried, but as a budding assassin in the making. “Good job, Kancil. Stay alert. We don’t know how many more of them have infiltrated this path.”

They eventually reached a wider ventilation junction where several gargantuan steam pipes converged. In the center was a manual pulley system leading down into a vertical shaft of absolute darkness.

“Master, we have reached the threshold of the Inner Ventilation Sector,” Dola reported. She lowered Lunethra from her shoulder with a gesture that was slightly more gentle—though it still looked like dropping fragile glassware onto a pile of laundry. “Below us lies the Deep Steam Vents. The presence of Abyssal Mana has increased by 300%. My sensors are detecting gravitational anomalies and spatial fluctuations.”

Dayat checked the action on his HK416, slotting in a fresh magazine. His fatigue was still there, but seeing Kancil find his courage gave him a needed mental boost.

“Dola, prepare a wide-area scan. We can’t keep crawling in pipes if there’s a General waiting for us at the bottom.”

“Instruction acknowledged. Synchronizing your GPNVG-18 overlay with my internal Pulse Radar. Hostile entities will be highlighted in red on your HUD,” Dola answered.

Dayat stared into the vertical abyss ahead. His heart was hammering against his ribs. He knew that the skirmish in the corridor was just the warmup. Down there, in the wounded heart of Terragard, the real challenge awaited.

“Let’s go. Kancil, stay on my six. Dola, watch Lunethra… and please, for the love of logic, don’t carry her like a sack of grain once we hit open ground.”

“Your request… will be considered based on mobility efficiency,” Dola answered shortly, giving the unconscious Elf one last, icy glare.

The small group began their descent down the manual pulley, disappearing into the bowels of the earth filled with scalding steam and shadows from another dimension.

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