CHAPTER 22: THE RAID PARTY

Life under the Inquisition’s Gaze was a masterclass in suffocating paranoia.

Every step Edward took felt measured. Every word he spoke felt weighed. He moved through the halls of Sunstone Academy not as a student or janitor. But as a prisoner in a panopticon. Acutely aware of the unseen eyes that followed his every move.

The passive debuff on his HUD was a constant, shimmering reminder. He was a bug under a divine magnifying glass.

To his surprise, the academy’s solution was to force him into a semblance of normalcy.

The day after his duel, he was removed from janitorial duty. Not an act of mercy. A strategic move. A janitor skulking in the shadows was suspicious. A student, attending classes, was observable. Controllable.

Which was how he found himself at the academy’s dungeon deployment gates. Awkwardly holding an adventurer’s pack. Surrounded by a team who looked at him with a mixture of fear, contempt, and morbid curiosity.

"Alright, listen up," a crisp, commanding voice cut through the air. "Pre-raid briefing."

The voice belonged to Princess Sofia. She stood before them. A map of their target dungeon was on a holographic table. She was the picture of regal competence.

Her silver-white hair was in a practical, severe braid. She wore a suit of exquisitely crafted mithril armor. She looked less like a princess, more like a high-ranking military commander.

This was his new "rehabilitation" group. An official raid party. Tasked with exploring a newly discovered B-Rank dungeon. The "Sunken Crypt."

And his designated team leader was the one person whose scrutiny he wanted to avoid. The royal prodigy herself.

Sofia had been a phantom in the background. A quiet observer. He had seen her in the crowd during his duel. He had felt her calculating gaze in the arena. Unlike Chris, driven by ego, or Jack, driven by dogma, Sofia was driven by intellect.

She didn’t see a monster to be hated. Or a heretic to be purged. She saw a puzzle. An anomaly that didn’t fit. And she was determined to solve it.

"Our target is the Sunken Crypt," she began. Her voice was sharp and precise. "Intel suggests it is a B-Rank undead zone. Primary threats will be skeletal warriors, spectral mages, and a high probability of a Lich or a Death Knight as the final boss. Standard undead protocols are in effect. Holy and fire-based attacks will be most effective."

Her eyes swept over the team. A brawny, cheerful knight named Gareth. Twin mages, a brother and sister. And a quiet, nimble rogue.

Then, her gaze landed on Edward. The team went silent. The air was thick with tension.

"And this," Sofia said, her voice carefully neutral, "is Edward Ross. The Headmaster has... assigned him to our party for field observation. He will be on the rear guard."

A subtle, political demotion. He wasn’t a scout. Not a damage dealer. He was baggage. A problem to be managed. Placed at the back where he could be watched.

The other team members visibly relaxed. The rogue looked relieved.

Edward just gave a slight, indifferent nod. The rear guard was perfect. The best vantage point to observe the team. To learn their styles, their strengths, their weaknesses. And it kept him out of the spotlight.

"Any questions?" Sofia asked. Her gaze lingered on Edward.

Silence.

"Good," she said. She deactivated the holographic map. "Gear up. We move out in five."

The journey into the Sunken Crypt was a descent into a cold, damp silence. The entrance was a grand, crumbling mausoleum. The air was frigid. It smelled of ancient dust, stagnant water, and decay.

Gareth, the tank, took the lead. His shield held high. A magical lantern cast a warm, golden light. The twin mages walked behind him. Their hands crackled with nascent flames. The rogue scouted a few paces ahead.

Edward brought up the rear. His hand rested on the hilt of the Shadowfang Dagger. Hidden beneath his tunic. A ghost at the back of the party. Almost forgotten.

But he was not idle. He was observing. Analyzing. He watched the way Gareth tested the floor. The way the mages whispered. He paid special attention to Sofia. She moved with an effortless, aristocratic grace. Her eyes were constantly scanning. A natural-born leader. A formidable opponent.

Their first encounter came in a vast, flooded chamber. The water was knee-deep. Unnervingly still. Dozens of pairs of glowing blue lights ignited in the darkness. Skeletal warriors rose from the murky water.

"Hostiles! Formation Delta!" Sofia commanded.

The team moved like a well-oiled machine. Gareth slammed his shield down. A shockwave staggered the first wave. The twin mages unleashed a torrent of fireballs. The rogue darted in and out. A display of perfect, textbook teamwork.

And Edward, on the rear guard, had nothing to do. Exactly the point.

He stayed back. Observing. He saw a skeleton flanking them. A move the others had missed. Before he could decide to intervene, Sofia was already there. Her mithril sword glowed with a soft, holy light. She met the skeleton’s charge with a single, elegant parry. A swift riposte shattered its skull.

She glanced back at him. Her expression was unreadable. She was testing him. Seeing if he would act.

He understood the game. He was a piece on her board. She was carefully, methodically, learning his rules.

They pressed deeper. The encounters grew more difficult. They fought through swarms of shrieking ghosts. Navigated corridors filled with traps. Through it all, Edward remained a silent, watchful presence. A coiled spring of lethal potential, never released.

He had to be careful. Every move he made, every skill he used, would be analyzed by Sofia. He couldn’t use Soul Rend. Or his Petrifying Gaze. He was a warrior stripped of his best weapons.

They finally reached a vast, multi-leveled chamber. A desecrated cathedral. On the raised dais at the far end, a congregation of robed figures was waiting.

Skeletal mages. At least twenty of them. Their empty eye sockets burned with a malevolent, purple light.

"Mages! High threat!" Sofia called out. Her voice was tight. "Focus fire! Bring them down!"

But it was too late.

The skeletal mages raised their staves. A chorus of dry, whispering incantations filled the chamber. Volleys of crackling, purple-black energy, bolts of pure necrotic magic, shot towards the party.

Gareth raised his shield. The necrotic bolts curved in the air. Bypassing him. Slamming into the twin fire mages. The siblings cried out in pain. Their magical auras flickered and died. Their fireballs were useless.

"Fall back! Defensive perimeter!" Sofia ordered. Her sword glowed brighter. She chanted a protective, holy incantation. A shimmering, golden barrier formed around their small group. The necrotic bolts sizzled against it. But the barrier was already cracking. It wouldn’t last.

The rogue was pinned down. Gareth was helpless. The fire mages were injured. They were trapped. They were going to be overwhelmed.

Sofia, her face grim, her teeth gritted as she poured her energy into the failing barrier, looked back at him. Her analytical gaze was now tinged with a desperate, pragmatic urgency.

"Whatever you did in the arena," she said, her voice strained. The sound of the cracking barrier was a frantic counterpoint to her words. "Whatever that... technique was. If you can do it again, do it now!"