CHAPTER 127: THE SPIRAL OF WHISPERS

The staircase seemed to stretch into infinity.

It was a wide, spiraling descent carved from pale blue stone, floating in a void of dark mist. There were no walls, no railings—just the steps spiraling down into the abyss. The only light came from the floating runes that drifted like fireflies in the dark.

Click. Click. Click.

Their footsteps echoed in a rhythm that felt slightly off-beat, as if the dungeon itself was breathing out of sync with them.

Oliver took point, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his rune-sword. Behind him, Amy and Sophia walked close together, their staffs glowing with defensive light.

The silence was heavy, oppressive. It was the kind of silence that demanded to be filled.

"So..." Amy’s voice cut through the quiet, echoing slightly. She quickened her pace to walk a half-step behind Oliver. "The Princess... Her Highness Elisha speaks very highly of you."

Oliver didn’t look back, keeping his eyes on the shifting mist. "Does she?"

"She does," Sophia added, her voice quiet but curious. She adjusted her cracked glasses. "She said you were the one who led the expedition through the Blackveil Expanse. That you... saved her quite a few times. I didn’t talk to her much but even in the short duration she kept praising you."

Amy looked at his back—the black cloak, the confident stride. "You move like someone who’s been fighting for decades. But your voice... you sound young. Maybe our age."

Oliver smirked beneath his mask. "Age doesn’t mean much in this line of work. Only survival does."

"That’s a grim way to look at it," Amy murmured.

"It’s the only way," Oliver replied. He decided to turn the tables. He needed information. "What about you two? The ’Heroes from Beyond.’ That’s what they call you, right? Chosen by the Goddess, living in the Royal Palace... must be a dream come true."

The air shifted.

He expected a generic, noble answer. He expected them to brag.

Instead, Amy let out a laugh. It was a dry, hollow sound.

"A dream..." she repeated, her voice bitter. "Yeah. That’s what we thought, too. At first."

Oliver slowed his pace slightly, allowing them to catch up. "It’s not?"

Amy hugged her staff against her chest, looking into the abyss below. "When we first arrived... it was amazing. Banquets, magic, people cheering for us. We thought we were special." She shook her head. "But that didn’t last long. Now? We’re just... assets."

"Assets?" Oliver pressed.

"The Empire’s personal soldiers," Sophia whispered, her eyes downcast. "They dress it up in fancy words like ’Duty’ and ’Destiny.’ But the moment we learned how to cast spells, they stopped treating us like guests."

Amy nodded, her expression tightening. "It’s constant. ’Go to the border, there’s a skirmish.’ ’Go to this dungeon, we need resources.’ ’Clear this mine.’ We barely sleep. We barely eat without some noble watching us to see if we’re ’behaving.’"

She looked at Oliver, her eyes tired.

"We aren’t heroes. We’re high-maintenance weapons. And if we break... I don’t think they’ll care."

Oliver felt a pang of sympathy in his chest. He remembered Amy from the classroom—the class rep, always trying to keep things organized, always trying to be nice. Seeing her this worn down... it stung.

"Is it like that for everyone?" Oliver asked, keeping his tone casual. "I saw the other guys at the banquet. Daniel, Jason, William. They seemed to be enjoying themselves."

At the mention of those names, Amy’s face twisted in disgust.

"Of course they are," she spat. "For them? It is a dream come true."

Sophia shuddered visibly. "They... changed. The power... the attention... it went to their heads instantly."

"They love it," Amy said, her voice dropping to a whisper filled with revulsion. "The King treats them like royalty. The nobles throw money at them. And the women..." She looked away. "The Empire gives them whatever they want to keep them happy."

Oliver narrowed his eyes behind the mask. "Whatever they want?"

"Anything," Amy said. "They treat this world like a game. Like a playground."

She gestured vaguely upwards, back toward the surface.

"Jason and William... they think they’re kings. They spend their nights in the pleasure districts, or worse—right in the barracks. I’ve seen them pull female adventurers into their rooms. Sometimes even the female soldiers assigned to guard us."

Sophia gripped her staff tighter. "They don’t even hide it anymore. They brag about it. About how many... conquests they’ve had."

"And the palace maids," Amy added, her voice trembling with anger. "Every morning, there are new maids coming out of their wings. They treat those girls like... like disposable toys. Just things to tend to their dicks before they go out and play ’hero’ for the cameras."

Oliver’s blood ran cold. The rage he had felt at the banquet flared up again, hotter this time.

So that’s how it is, he thought, his grip on his sword tightening until the leather creaked. They didn’t just abandon me. They abandoned their humanity.

"It’s disgusting," Amy whispered. "But we can’t say anything. Because they’re the ’Strongest.’ They’re the ones the Empire needs. If we speak up... we’re the ones who get punished."

She looked up at Oliver, her eyes searching his masked face.

"That’s why... seeing them planning to get rid of you in the dungeon in guise of accident didn’t sit right with... like them..." She trailed off. "That’s why I visited last night to warn you. So don’t get any wrong idea."

Oliver remained silent for a long moment. The weight of her words hung in the mist.

"Don’t worry," Oliver said finally, his voice low and steady. "I am not that naive."

Amy managed a weak smile. "Thank you."

They continued their descent.

But the labyrinth was listening.

The mist around them began to swirl, thickening, changing color from blue to a sickly violet. The temperature dropped. The silence was replaced by a low, throbbing hum that seemed to come from inside their own skulls.

[Psychological Stress Test Initiated]

"Do you hear that?" Sophia whispered, stopping in her tracks.

"Hear what?" Oliver asked, alert.

"Voices..." she murmured, her eyes losing focus. "My mother... she’s calling me."

Amy stopped too. She stared into the empty mist, her face pale. "No... that’s not right. Why is he here?"

Oliver frowned. The Rune of Vigor pulsed in his back, keeping his mind clear, filtering out the mental intrusion. But the girls didn’t have that protection.

"Amy? Sophia? Snap out of it," Oliver commanded.

They didn’t hear him.

Sophia stepped toward the edge of the stairs, staring into the infinite drop. "I can go home... she says if I just jump, I’ll wake up in my bed. I just want to go home..."

Amy was backing away, shaking her head at an invisible figure. "I didn’t mean to... I didn’t mean to leave him behind... Oliver... I’m sorry..."

Oliver froze.

She’s hallucinating about me.

"It wasn’t my fault!" Amy cried out, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I wanted to save him! I wanted to go back! But Daniel said... Daniel said he was already dead!"

The mist swirled around her, forming a vague, shadowy shape—a boy, reaching out with a rotting hand.

"Amy," the shadow whispered, its voice distorted. "Why did you run?"

"No!" Amy screamed, falling to her knees. "I’m sorry! I’m sorry!"

Sophia was leaning dangerously over the edge. "Just one step..."

"Shit," Oliver hissed.

He moved.

He grabbed Sophia by the back of her robe just as she leaned too far, yanking her back onto the stone. She gasped, blinking rapidly as if waking from a nightmare.

"Stay there!" he ordered.

Then he turned to Amy. She was curling into a ball, sobbing, the shadow looming over her.

Oliver stepped between her and the illusion.

The shadow turned its faceless head toward him. It raised a clawed hand.

Oliver didn’t flinch.

"Get lost," he growled.

He didn’t use a spell. He didn’t use a sword. He simply flared his mana—a sharp, aggressive burst of pure will fueled by the Rune of Vigor.

[Runic Art: Dispel]

The shockwave hit the mist. The shadow shrieked—a sound like tearing metal—and dissolved into nothingness.

Amy gasped, looking up. The hallucination was gone. Standing there instead was the masked adventurer, his hand extended toward her.

"Up," Oliver said firmly. "It’s not real. None of it is."

Amy stared at his hand. Through her tear-blurred vision, the silhouette... the way he stood... it looked so familiar.

"...Oliver?" she whispered.

Oliver stiffened.

"Yes, I am Oliver" he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Now stand up. The dungeon is trying to break your mind. Don’t let it."

Amy blinked, the moment passing. She took his hand, her grip trembling. "R-Right. Sorry. I... I saw something terrible."

"It’s a test," Oliver said, pulling her to her feet. He glanced at Sophia, who was shivering against the wall. "This floor feeds on guilt and desire. Keep your minds guarded. Focus on my voice."

He turned back to the stairs, his expression grim beneath the mask.

"We’re getting close to the bottom. Stay close."

As they resumed walking, Amy stared at his back.

It’s just a coincidence, she told herself. He’s just an adventurer with same name. Oliver is dead.

But as she walked, the doubt lingered in her heart, heavier than before.

And the stairs spiraled down, deeper into the dark.