CHAPTER 208: EX 208. TYRANTS CAVE

The city of Shantel was restless. Word of the great tyrant’s fall had spread like wildfire. While Leon was deep in the forest, busy carving his own path, the city lord of Shantel was busy as well, assembling a group of warriors to uncover the truth behind the forest’s new ruler.

Inside a grand hall, torches burned low against stone walls, throwing long shadows across the chamber. At the center stood the city lord, draped in a dark mantle embroidered with silver threads, his stern face betraying nothing. Before him knelt five figures: four warriors, each hardened by years of quiet service, and one mage whose cloak shimmered faintly with threads of mana.

This wasn’t a gathering of elites. These weren’t heroes meant to triumph over calamities. They were a squad carefully selected for one reason, their stealth. All four warriors were late Rank 2, their bodies tempered for survival and concealment rather than glory. The mage, however, stood apart: a peak Rank 2 specialist whose camouflage spell was refined enough to mask a group this size for a time, perhaps even from a predator far stronger than them.

But the warriors weren’t fools. They knew what they were. They were tools, not saviors. And as the lord began his speech, their blank, unblinking eyes said it all.

"You all are powerful professionals," the lord declared, his voice firm and rehearsed. "Each of you has contributed greatly to our great town, and this mission you’re about to embark on is of the highest importance. That is why you were chosen."

The words fell flat. Powerful? If this was power, the Empire would have collapsed long ago. They had seen true power from afar, Rank 5s who split the earth with a swing, Rank 6s whose presence alone could cripple the weak. Compared to that, they were nothing but fodder. But fodder with families, bound to Shantel by ties they couldn’t afford to sever. Even if the lord’s speech was veiled in platitudes, refusal wasn’t an option.

The city lord’s gaze sharpened. "Your mission, as you are aware, is to investigate the new ruler of the forest. Determine if it is like the great tyrant... if it intends to remain within the forest. Should you find that it will not, you are to report immediately. We must prepare for evacuation at once."

Silence filled the hall. The professionals gave no response, only stiff nods. They didn’t need to ask what would happen if the beast refused to stay contained. Everyone knew the cost of evacuation, the risk, the loss, the chaos. For generations, Shantel had gambled with its position, surviving only because the tyrant beast before had been "tame," never straying beyond its forest domain. But a new ruler meant uncertainty, and uncertainty meant death if they ignored it.

The lord dismissed them after final instructions. The warriors and the mage departed at once, heading toward the forest with grim determination. Their mission was clear. Their chances of survival were not.

When the chamber emptied, the lord walked back into his residence, his heavy steps echoing against marble floors. His attendant stood waiting, head bowed low.

"If they do not return by the twelfth cycle," the lord said, his voice colder now that no one else remained, "begin the evacuation."

The attendant bent at the waist in a deep bow, accepting the command without question. Then, with brisk steps, he disappeared into the dim corridors to set the preparations in motion.

Shantel would endure, or it would burn with the forest.

****

The vessel skimmed across the mossy earth, its metal hull whispering like a blade over silk. Though it hovered only inches from the ground, the way it cut through roots, mud, and stone at impossible speed gave it the feel of flight. The squad sat tense, gripping the sides as the dense green of the Tyrant’s Forest blurred into streaks.

At the back of the vessel, James, their leader, a robed mage with sharp, weary eyes, kept his hands pressed firmly on the runic controls. The structure pulsed faintly under his touch, the humming engine at the stern straining like a chained beast eager to be released.

"Get ready," James called over the rush of wind. His voice was calm, but it carried authority that none dared question. "Our destination is close. The cave where the Tyrant was last detected."

"Yes, leader!" the squad replied in unison, their voices a mix of fear and excitement.

The vessel shuddered, then roared as James fed it more mana. It leapt forward like a bullet, branches whipping past in flashes, small beasts scattering from its path.

Among the squad, a young fighter named Carl leaned forward, his brows knit with unease. "Leader..." he raised his voice against the rushing wind. "I know our mission is to confirm whether the new ruler of the forest is hostile, but—there’s something that doesn’t make sense."

James didn’t look back, his eyes fixed on the green blur ahead. "And what would that be, Carl?"

Carl gripped the edge of the vessel tighter. "Why has the Great Tyrant never attacked our city? For three whole generations of city lords, it was alive. It was stronger than anything in this forest. Yet it never once marched against us. Why?"

The question lingered in the air. Even the others glanced at James, waiting for his answer.

For a long moment, the only sound was the screaming rush of the vessel cutting through the woods. James’ jaw tightened. His gaze drifted slightly, as if chasing a memory, then he gave the faintest shake of his head.

"The only thing I can say," James finally replied, voice low, "is that we were lucky. But even I know... there is no such thing as blind luck." His grip on the controls hardened. "So, Carl, I don’t know. I don’t know how we survived all this time."

Silence followed, heavy and uneasy, broken only by the roaring hum of the vessel. No one spoke further.

And then, as the forest parted in a clearing of jagged stone, the shadows of an ancient cave mouth rose ahead of them, it was massive, dark, and waiting.

The Tyrant’s Cave.

The vessel slowed, the ground trembling faintly beneath them, as if the forest itself knew they had arrived.