CHAPTER 37: FINALLY OUT

Even after all her tempting words, Oliver couldn’t bring himself to become Isolde’s "specimen." At least, not for now. His instincts screamed that letting her carve runes into his heart wasn’t a risk he could afford, no matter how sweetly she described the rewards.

So he forcefully shifted the topic.

"Alright, enough of that crazy talk. What we need to figure out is how to get out of this hellhole. I’ve been trapped in here long enough. I’m sick of stale air and walls. I want to see the open sky, breathe fresh air, and—" he clutched his stomach, "—eat something that isn’t roasted dungeon rat."

Isolde’s lips curled in amusement.

"Of course I know a way. I know every nook and cranny of this dungeon. The only question is... how do you want to leave? Climb all the way up the floors... or teleport out instantly?"

"Is that even a question?!" Oliver shot back without hesitation. "Teleport, obviously!"

"Then follow me," she said, striding forward with effortless grace. "There’s a teleportation enchantment in the city hall. It was once how we Umbrals traveled in and out of our nation."

Oliver frowned, jogging to keep up with her. "Didn’t that... I don’t know, increase the risk of someone tampering with the other end? Like, what if your enemies used it for infiltration?"

"Ha~ do you think you’re the only person who thought of that problem?" Isolde chuckled darkly. "Naturally, we protected it. The array can only be activated using the blood of an Umbral as a catalyst. Without it, it’s just lifeless stone."

Their conversation carried them through what remained of the underground city. When they reached the city hall, Oliver stopped in his tracks. Or what was left of it.

The grand structure was in ruins—half its walls caved in, ceilings collapsed, pillars shattered. Furniture lay in splinters, and broken glass glittered faintly in the dimness. Looters had clearly stripped away everything valuable ages ago.

Oliver whistled low. "You sure this thing will even work after all this?"

Isolde smirked faintly. "We’ll soon find out."

They pressed onward, stepping over debris, ducking under half-fallen beams, navigating cracked corridors until finally reaching a chamber deep within.

The moment they entered, Oliver stumbled, pitching forward as his foot caught on loose rubble. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

"[Lumos]," Isolde intoned.

A soft white light blossomed at her fingertip, flooding the chamber. The glow revealed an ancient hall buried in decay—spiderwebs strung from wall to wall, dust thick enough to choke on, broken lamps dangling like corpses.

Oliver scrambled up, patting himself down. "Well, this looks promising," he muttered. "Maybe we should just start climbing floors after all."

"Patience," Isolde said coolly.

She raised her hand again. "[Levitas]."

The ground trembled as chunks of debris lifted into the air, floating as though gravity had forgotten them. With a flick of her wrist, she swept them neatly out into the corridor.

Oliver gawked. "That... was pretty damn convenient."

"Not done yet." Her voice was flat, almost bored. "[Gust]."

A roaring wind blasted through the room, ripping away centuries of dust in one violent sweep. Oliver was caught square in the blast, coughing and wheezing as grit stung his throat and eyes.

"Gahh—!" He rubbed his face furiously. "Couldn’t you have given me a warning before doing that?!"

Isolde shot him a sidelong glance. "What are you, a child?" Then she simply walked ahead, ignoring his glare.

Oliver huffed but bit back a retort. His eyes trailed after her—and that’s when he noticed it.

Beneath the dust, the floor revealed itself: intricate markings and strange symbols etched into stone. Circles within circles, runes spiraling outward like an intricate web. Faint, almost invisible grooves covered nearly the entire chamber, forming an enormous magic circle that pulsed with dormant power.

At the very center, Isolde stood tall, her pale skin glowing faintly in the light of her spell. She turned to face him, one hand stretched toward the runic circle.

"Well?" she asked, tilting her head. "Aren’t you coming?"

Oliver snapped out of his daze. "Ah—right!" He hurried forward, stepping carefully until he stood beside her.

"So... what now?" he asked.

"Now?" Her eyes gleamed with something sharp and dangerous. "Now you just stand still."

She summoned mana to her fingertips, condensing it so dense that it shimmered into a thin, glowing needle. Without hesitation, she pricked her finger. A single crimson drop fell, splattering against the carved stone.

The dormant runes flared alive, glowing deep violet, spreading outward like fire along oil. The entire circle lit in sequence, symbols shining with otherworldly light as the air grew heavy with power.

"Get ready," Isolde said, her voice calm but commanding. Then she pressed her hand to the circle and flooded it with mana.

The ground shook. The air hummed. The teleportation enchantment had awakened.

The runes blazed brighter and brighter, until Oliver had to squint against the sheer radiance. The hum in the air became a roar, rattling in his bones. A sharp pull tugged at his gut, as if invisible hooks had latched onto his very being.

"Ugh—!?" Oliver staggered, feeling his body stretch and twist in ways it wasn’t meant to. He tried to yell, but no sound came out.

And then—

Flash!

The world inverted.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing—no floor beneath him, no air to breathe, only the suffocating weight of raw magic swallowing him whole.

When the pressure released, Oliver collapsed forward, landing hard on solid ground. His stomach churned like he’d been spun a hundred times. He gagged, half-expecting to vomit, but forced it down.

"Urghh... never again," he groaned, clutching his stomach. "Teleportation sucks."

"Oh, don’t overreact," Isolde’s voice drawled with mocking calm. Unlike him, she stood tall, not a single strand of her silvery hair out of place. "You’ll miss the view."

Blinking, Oliver forced himself upright—and froze.

They stood atop a broad plateau, high above a world of rolling plains and endless green. The sun hung low, casting molten orange across the sky, streaked with violet clouds. A cool mountain breeze swept through, carrying the sweet scent of wild grass and flowers. After weeks of stale dungeon air, the freshness nearly made him dizzy.

"Holy shit..." Oliver muttered. He spread his arms, letting the wind whip against him. "Finally! Fresh air! Real sunlight!" He spun in a wide circle, laughing like a man unchained. "I thought I’d rot in that dungeon forever!"

Isolde only smiled faintly, the golden light softening her sharp, ethereal features.

Oliver flopped onto the grass with a sigh of pure relief. "Gods, this feels good. I could just pass out right here and never wake up."

"Enjoy your little moment," she said dryly, stepping closer to the edge.

Oliver tilted his head to her. "Wait... where is this? Doesn’t look like we’re anywhere near the dungeon entrance."

"Of course not," Isolde replied, her voice as calm as ever. "From your words, it was clear the dungeon is now a hunting ground for adventurers. A bustling place, crawling with merchants and guild rats, yes?"

"Well, duh. Always crowded." Oliver nodded.

"Then wouldn’t it be foolish to appear out of nowhere in such a place?"

"...You do have a point," he admitted reluctantly.

"Well, duhh," she mocked, twisting his earlier words back at him, exaggerating with a childish face.

"Ha ha, very funny," Oliver said flatly. "But you still didn’t answer—where the hell are we?"

She stretched her arms lazily, eyes scanning the horizon. "This is Greenspire Mountain, at the edge of Evergrove Forest. At least, that’s what it was called in my time. Who knows what name this era gave it."

"That didn’t help at all." Oliver sat up with a groan. "Just tell me how far from the dungeon we are. If I wanted to walk back there, how long would it take?"

"Hmmm..." She tapped her lip, pretending to think. "Three... maybe four days on foot?"

"WHAT?!" Oliver shot up, arms flailing so wildly he almost tripped over his own feet. "Why the hell did you teleport us into the middle of nowhere?! And—wait—why would there even be a teleportation point on some goddamn mountain?"

Isolde tilted her head, unbothered by his outburst. "Hey, who said this is the middle of nowhere? There used to be a city right outside this mountain. A bustling one, at that."

Oliver blinked. "...Used to be? You mean it is not there now."

"How would I know? I have been sealed remember.," she said casually, brushing some dust off her dress as though the matter was obvious. "From what I remember there was a city at the mountain and since we couldn’t just go around installing teleportation points on someone else’s territory, we placed one here, on Greenspire’s slope. Strategic and safe. Hardly ’nowhere.’ More like... the other side of the forest."

Oliver’s face twisted, half in exasperation, half in disbelief. "So basically, you dragged me across the forest just because you didn’t want to pop out near people?"

"Exactly." She smirked. "And you should be thanking me for it."

"For what?!" He threw his hands up again. "For dumping me on a mountain with no bath, no food, and no bed?!"

Her eyes narrowed, and her tone sharpened just enough to slice through his whining. "What? Did you want to go crawling back to your so-called ’friends’—the same ones who kicked you aside and left you to die?"

"...Of course not." His tone soured instantly. "I don’t ever want to see their hypocritical faces again. I just... I just wanted a break. A hot bath. A proper meal. A soft bed. Maybe sleep for three days straight without a slime trying to eat my face. Is that too much to ask?"

"Haaah~ trivial worries." Isolde waved him off, her hand brushing across her generous chest, making it bounce with every pat. "There must be a river nearby. Heat it up and there’s your bath. You used fire magic before, didn’t you? As for food—" her lips curved in a smug smile "—this is a forest. Animals everywhere. Walking meat on legs. I’ll hunt, and once you taste my cooking, you’ll chew your fingers just to savor more."

Oliver blinked. "That’s... weirdly specific."

"And bedding? Animal skins and fur. Soft, warm, and far better than your dungeon stone floor." She flicked her hair. "Problem solved."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You make it sound so simple..."

"It is simple." She jabbed a finger toward the horizon. "And besides, this is just the edge of the forest. We cross that ridge, and we’ll be out of the woods. A day at most."

Oliver slumped back down with a long, tired sigh. "...What other options do I even have?"