After a short rest, Gauss and Alia rose and, treading carefully over the slick moss, made their way toward the deep-green “birdcage” pavilion.

Though this space was wrapped in verdant growth, the neat flagstones underfoot and the relatively open layout—few wild shrubs running rampant—betrayed traces of deliberate planning. It felt like an abandoned public square of some ancient age, not a natural cave.

It was clearly another ruin of the lost civilization.

Up close, the pavilion’s full shape came into focus. It wasn’t a traditional stone gazebo, but a structure woven—exquisitely—out of countless living, dark-green, broad-leafed vines like ivy. Interlaced, spiraling, arched, they formed a hemispherical dome roughly three meters high and two meters across: a great plant “birdcage.”

Most striking of all was the hazy green energy sheath enveloping it. Like a thin, translucent ripple of water—like a drifting mist—it wrapped the entire green pavilion. Through it you could just make out an entrance to a passage leading downward; everything else was indistinct.

“We probably can’t get in?” Alia tapped the surface with her oak staff. Despite its delicate look, the pavilion felt unexpectedly solid.

Gauss took up his fine-steel longsword and struck a few times; the recoil numbed his hands, and it did nothing. He tried Magic Missile, Mage Hand, Firebolt, Burning Hands, and other Cantrips and spells. Whatever he used, the slender greenery, leaves, and watery halo didn’t so much as quiver, holding everything at bay.

The green pavilion plainly had some near-indestructible property, far beyond what their current power could budge.

“There’s a recess here—looks like a slot for something?” Alia pointed at an odd indentation near the gate, naturally formed by the vines.

“We probably need a matching ‘key’ to unlock it,” Gauss guessed; his instincts told him as much. He fixed the shape of the recess in his mind.

They searched the area carefully, but found nothing with a matching profile.

“I wonder if we’re the first to find this,” Alia said, peering inside.

“Hard to say,” Gauss shook his head. If others had been here—or came later—there’d be more people hunting for the ‘key.’ Still, the labyrinth is huge, and this is its opening phase; it wouldn’t be strange if only the two of them had seen it so far.

“Let’s camp here tonight,” Gauss decided after a look around. He’d already scouted while searching for the key and found no dangers nearby. Compared to other areas, there were fewer insects too—good ground for a camp.

The ambient glow in the air slowly dimmed. Alia yawned. Today had run a bit over quota: up at dawn, rescuing a struggling team, finding the entrance to floor two, exploring, killing a mimic, and pushing on…

“Dinner, then rest,” Gauss said, still fairly fresh. He stirred the spoon in the pot. Mimic tongue stew was soon ready, a rich aroma rolling through the camp. With good ingredients, most cooking worked; different from noon’s grilling, the stewed version was still delicious.

Full and content, Alia grew sleepier. They chose a corner by the wall and pitched the tents. Gauss sprinkled powder to repel bugs and snakes, then prudently set the Alarm. After that he read by the firelight awhile, until drowsiness tugged at him.

He patted Ulfen and Echo, signaling them to keep watch. Beyond the alarm spell, the wolf and raven were the party’s sentries.

He lifted the tent flap and lay down.

“Hm?” Half asleep, Gauss snapped awake at a strange disturbance. The Alarm had tripped. His heart tightened. He checked his Omni-Armor first—intact, not the slightest wear. He exhaled a little, drew the bone staff from his pouch, and carefully crawled out.

Outside, Ulfen was dozing by the fire; the noise of Gauss emerging made him lift his head, bleary-eyed. Echo paced lightly over a patch of bare ground. Gauss looked around—the camp lay silent, the fire crackled. Nothing seemed wrong.

“A false trigger?” He frowned. He was sure he’d seen nothing amiss. This was the first time that had happened; magic was usually quite stable in practice. Previous alarms had always had a cause—a big python crawling past, or an eagle dropping into camp. As for Ulfen and Echo setting it off—no; they were exempted.

Erring on caution, Gauss woke Alia.

“What is it?” she asked, rubbing her eyes as she stepped out, pillow marks still on one cheek.

“The alarm went off,” Gauss said.

“What?” Her yawn froze; sleep vanished at once. She drew her oak staff and scanned the dark, tense. “Where’s the enemy?”

Yet she saw nothing out of the ordinary, same as Gauss.

Just then a cold wind swept through. Gauss and Alia both shivered—a chill that seemed to pierce the soul. Where did that wind come from?

An instant later, he realized what was wrong. With his constitution, there was no way a mere draft would make him shiver. Thinking of the unexplained alarm, a suspicion surfaced.

The Horn Bangle’s faint glow washed his vision, and, peering closely, he caught vague, wavering distortions in the supposedly empty air.

“Wraiths?”

He grew more certain. Wraiths—also called spirits—were bodiless, muddled souls. Normally a sentient being’s spirit dispersed after death, unable to form such entities; but under special conditions, or the influence of dark magic or rituals, wraiths could come into being. Undead by nature, they needed no air, food, or sleep, and ordinary weapons could not harm them.

Alia, uneasy, looked about. With Gauss’s warning, she too felt the invisible chill wrapping the camp, as if countless unseen eyes were watching from the dark.

“Awoo!” Ulfen rose; he hadn’t sensed much, but seeing both masters alert, he bristled in turn.

“What do we do—leave?” she asked.

“No need.” Gauss shook his head. These life-essence-hungry wraiths had picked the wrong target. Ordinary adventurers might have no recourse, their vigor drained and next morning’s march a slog—but not him.

He raised the bone staff and barked, “Light!”

Perfectly attuned to the staff, the Light spell burst into blazing brilliance. The hall blazed like noon.

“Uuuuaaaah!”—a chorus of shrieks. Countless phantoms writhed, fled, and scattered in the glare. Those closest were snuffed out in an instant by the light; faint black miasma drifted in the air.

“Wraith Slain ×1.”

[New Title Earned: ‘Ghost Hunter.’ This title upgrades with kill count.]

[Current Effect: Scorch – against wraiths and related higher ghost-type beings, your effective attacks also inflict a lingering burning effect.]