CHAPTER 127: EXPLOSION

Suddenly, just as Nolan’s foot hovered over the villa’s threshold, Lirazel’s voice rang out, sharp, clear, and filled with desperation.

"Master! Where are you going?!" Her tone cracked through the night like a whip, stopping Nolan cold in his tracks. The breeze that had tugged at his cloak now felt like chains, holding him in place.

Nolan clenched his jaw. He turned, eyes blazing with resolve, heart pounding as if it might break free from his chest.

"Lirazel," he said, breath heavy, "my students are out there. They’re fighting, probably dying, and I—" he pointed at himself with a trembling finger "—am their teacher. I have to help them. That’s my responsibility!"

But Lirazel stepped closer, her spectral form flickering in the dim light. "No!" she cried. "We need you here! I need you here. Master, don’t you understand? I haven’t even fully materialized. That enemy—that thing that’s coming for us—it will kill me! And if I die—if this dungeon den collapses—you’ll die too! You’re the only defense we have left!"

Nolan’s fists balled at his sides, his nails digging into his palms so hard he thought they might draw blood. "What about my students, Lirazel?" His voice cracked, his gaze fierce. "What about them? Do I just abandon them? I taught them, I guided them. They’re mine to protect!"

The two glared at each other, the tension thick as stone. Lirazel’s voice dropped to a tremulous whisper. "Master... they are not your responsibility anymore. Are you going to take care of them forever? Is that what you think being a teacher means? At some point, they have to stand on their own. And look! Look at them!"

Her arm lifted, pointing beyond the villa’s walls.

Nolan’s system flared, pulling the battlefield into his view. His students—Selin, Ruvin, Erik, Calien, and the others—stood in a line, faces streaked with grime, eyes alight with fierce determination.

They worked in unison, slinging the rope-bound knives he had taught them to wield.

One after another, the knives flew true, embedding into the skulls of the twin-tentacled octopus creatures.

The monsters collapsed, dissolved into briny pools, leaving behind the glimmer of mana crystals littering the forest floor.

Nolan swallowed hard, watching as his students fought with the precision of seasoned warriors.

Calien’s blade sang through the air, severing tentacles before the creature could even strike.

Selin’s throw curved beautifully, burying itself between an octopus spawn’s eyes. Ruvin barked commands, rallying the others to cover blind spots, their teamwork flawless.

He took a step back, chest rising and falling in labored breaths. "They’re... they’re doing fine," he murmured, more to himself than to Lirazel.

His heart ached with pride and worry, but also with the slow, painful acceptance that she was right. If he left, if the dungeon den fell—if Lirazel fell—then all of this would be for nothing. His death would seal their fate too.

Lirazel’s gaze softened. "Please, Master," she whispered. "Stay with us. Trust them."

With great difficulty, Nolan nodded, shoulders slumping in reluctant defeat. He remained by the villa, watching, waiting, the weight of inaction pressing heavy upon him.

All he could do now was hope—hope that his students would endure, that they would prevail.

---

Meanwhile, in the shadows of the forest, Georan reveled in the chaos.

His ragged figure flitted between trees, eyes gleaming with twisted delight as he watched the scattered knights fall beneath the relentless advance of the octopus spawn.

His laughter echoed through the night, wild and unrestrained. "Yes! Yes! Run, you fools! Run faster! It won’t save you!" His voice cracked, his glee bordering on madness as he watched the knights trip, stumble, and scream.

One knight, breathless and pale, clutched at a bleeding wound. "Mercy... please..." he gasped.

Georan’s grin widened.

"There’s no mercy here! Only death! Only my victory!" He barked with laughter as the spawn descended, tentacles lashing out to claim another victim. He danced in their wake, arms wide, as if embracing the destruction he’d wrought.

But then—a crackle of energy in his mind. Yxthul’s voice, cold and furious, pierced through Georan’s euphoria. Why are my spawn dying!? The words boomed inside his skull, making him stagger, clutching his head as if to block out the sound. Find it for me, Georan! Find who dares to kill them!

Georan’s glee turned to confusion. "W-what? Dying? No! They’re slaughtering the knights! I saw it! I see it!" He spun in circles, eyes darting through the darkness. "Who? Who’s killing them?!"

Yxthul’s fury grew. Find them! Surround them! Kill them all! I don’t care who it is—wipe them from existence!

Georan scrambled, commanding the spawn through his link. He pushed at their senses, tried to seize control of their vision, to see what they saw.

But it was like staring through broken glass—the images were fragmented, disjointed.

A flash of a tree, a sliver of moonlight, the ground soaked in brine. And then—nothing. No sign of the one who dared strike them down.

"Where? WHERE?!" Georan screamed aloud, pulling at his filthy hair, panic rising like bile in his throat.

He barked commands at the spawn, forcing them to close ranks, to form a perimeter, to encircle the hidden threat.

But no matter how he pushed, how he prodded, the assailant remained a ghost, striking with impunity, slipping through his grasp.

He tried to meld his mind deeper into the spawn, to ride their senses like a rider on a beast—but each time he felt close, another spawn fell, another mind went dark, leaving him more blind, more enraged.

His breath came in ragged gasps. He thrashed against the invisible walls of his failure.

"I can’t find it!" Georan roared into the night, voice raw with frustration.

"Yxthul! I can’t see them! They’re killing my army and I can’t even see who it is!"

His cries echoed through the trees, a sound of pure desperation as the spawn fell one by one, and the mystery killer remained hidden, untouchable, unstoppable.

But Yxthul wouldn’t let it rest. His voice echoed in Georan’s mind, sharp and grating, filled with unrelenting fury. There must be something, Georan! It’s either it or them! Someone is out there, killing my spawn, and you’re too blind or too foolish to see it! Find it! FIND IT!

Georan’s head throbbed with the force of Yxthul’s words. He clutched his temples, teeth bared in frustration. "I told you!" he shouted aloud, voice ragged, eyes bloodshot from strain. His filthy rags clung to his bony frame, soaked in sweat. "I can’t find it! I’ve tried everything! I’ve scoured the forest! I’ve pushed into their minds! There’s nothing—nothing but trees and shadows!"

But Yxthul refused to yield. His rage crackled through their connection like lightning in a storm. You will find it! I don’t care how! Tear the land apart if you must. I won’t be made a fool of by some hidden coward! I won’t lose my army to ghosts!

Georan stumbled, shaking with fury of his own now, fists clenched so tight his nails drew blood. "Fine!" he spat, eyes wild. "FINE! You want me to find it? I’ll find it! I’ll tear this whole cursed place apart!"

He spun, face twisted in a snarl, and barked a flurry of commands at the creatures under his sway.

The twin-tentacled octopus spawn quivered at his fury, then surged forward at his mental urging.

Georan’s voice filled the night like a demon’s chant, driving his minions into a frenzy. "Go! Hunt! Search every shadow! Rip apart every hiding place! Leave nothing untouched!"

The forest shuddered under the mass of slithering bodies. The spawn spread like a dark tide, sweeping through brush and bramble, upturning roots, tearing through undergrowth, scouring the soil as if they meant to dig their unseen foe from the earth itself.

Still nothing.

With each report of failure that echoed back through their link, Georan’s fury grew. His commands became harsher, more frenzied. "Push deeper! Leave no stone unturned! Go to the town! Search the town!"

The spawn flowed toward the empty medieval buildings on the town’s edge. The structures, worn by time and neglect, offered little shelter—a small town’s humble homes and shops, nothing like the fortresses of larger cities. The spawn poured through the narrow streets, tentacles scraping across stone, their slick bodies leaving trails of slime on the cobbled paths.

Georan’s eyes gleamed with mad focus as he forced his minions to check every building’s first floor.

Door by door, window by window, they swept through, smashing furniture, upending barrels, sloshing through rainwater that had pooled in corners. And at each empty room, Georan cursed louder. "No one! There’s no one! Where are they?! Where?!" His voice cracked from the strain.

Yxthul’s reply was ice and fire. Keep going. You will find them. I command it.

Georan growled, spittle flying from cracked lips. His gaze jerked toward the squat towers at the town’s center. "Fine! We’ll search higher!" He reached out to the massive slimy creature that slithered behind him like a living shadow. "Up! Search the towers! Bring them down if you must! We will check every corner of it all to find what this bastard is looking for!"

The towering sludge beast moved, a wall of quivering black muck, surging toward the nearest clock tower.

It oozed up the stone, pulling itself higher, tentacles of sludge slipping into windows, forcing their way through cracks.

Georan’s spawn followed, creeping up stairwells, dripping down walls, filling the hollow spaces with the stench of brine and decay.

Inside each tower room they found nothing but dust, old cots, abandoned supplies. But in one—flickers of movement.

Georan’s eyes narrowed, lips curling in anticipation. Through his minions’ senses, he saw what he thought were knights. Scattered, hiding in corners, clutching weapons with trembling hands.

"Ah... there you are," Georan hissed, grin spreading. "No more running."

The massive sludge beast reacted to his will, forming a giant maw that crashed down on the knights.

Sludge poured over them, crushing them against stone walls, smothering their cries. Blood and slime mingled, painting the floors in sticky red-black filth.

Their bodies crumpled beneath the weight, reduced to little more than paste while screaming.

"Nooooo!!" "Aaarggghhh!!" "I don’t wanna die—"

Each time, Georan’s heart pounded with hope. "Yxthul?" he asked eagerly after every kill. "Is it done? Are they stopping? Is your mana no longer falling? I killed several of them already..."

And each time, Yxthul’s voice came back with venom. No. My spawns are still dying. Whoever it is—it isn’t them. Keep searching! Keep killing! Make sure to find the culprit or the culprits! You must find them or we would fail!

Georan’s hope curdled into bitter rage. His voice rose to a fever pitch, barking commands, sending his minions clawing through every remaining tower.

Floors splintered beneath the sludge beast’s bulk. Beams cracked, walls caved in, but nothing—nothing gave them what they sought.

Finally, Georan threw his arms wide, head tilted to the sky, and screamed, "I CAN’T FIND IT YOU DAMNED FUCK!" His voice rang through the hollow town, raw and ragged, echoing against the empty buildings. His chest heaved as he stood trembling, surrounded by the wreckage of his failure.

And then—

A sound.

Low at first, a rumble beneath the earth. Then a roar, deep and terrible, as if the world itself had cracked. The ground shuddered, stones leapt from the streets. And somewhere near the edge of the town—

A massive explosion tore through the night. A blinding flash lit the sky, followed by the deafening boom that rolled across the land.

Smoke rose in a pillar, glowing red at its heart, as the shockwave rippled outward, rattling the bones of buildings and men alike.

Georan froze, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat.

Yxthul’s voice came again, low and seething. What was that? Find out. Now.

And in the silence that followed, even the spawn seemed to hesitate, as if the night itself waited to see what terror had been