CHAPTER 791: ANTS AND DUNGEON (END)

"Best way to fix a bad house is from the beams," he said. "Not the paint."

Elowen’s gaze didn’t leave the projection.

The blue light reflected in her golden eyes, making them look almost molten. Fear and fascination mixed there, swirling together.

"This is what you see," she said softly. "When you look at a dungeon."

Not just stone.

Not just monsters.

But currents, structures, weak points.

He glanced at her profile—the determined line of her jaw, the tired shadows under her eyes, the way one strand of hair had escaped and fallen against her cheek.

And this is what I want you to survive, he thought. Not just this dungeon. All of them.

"Sometimes," he answered. "Usually there’s more screaming."

Cerys rolled her eyes.

"That was supposed to be reassuring?" she muttered.

"A little," he said. "Did it work?"

"No," she said flatly.

But the edge in her voice was less sharp than before.

Rodion’s attention shifted, focusing the projection toward the hanging rings of light.

Three main anomalies, he said. Red: unstable. High destructive output. Blue: corridor structure, likely a transport channel. Green: low visible output but internal mana pattern indicates predatory behaviour.

"That’s one way to describe ’creepy as hell,’" Serelith said.

The projection zoomed in on the red portal first.

Up close, it looked worse.

The surface wasn’t smooth at all. It writhed slowly, folding and unfolding like muscle under skin. Strands of darker red twisted through it, then dissolved. From time to time, tiny sparks snapped off the surface—shards of too-bright light that shot outward and then vanished before touching anything physical.

The air around it shimmered, like heat above a forge.

"High threat," Mikhailis said. "Probably vaporises whatever goes in."

"Understatement," Serelith murmured. "I can feel the burn from here and this is only a projection."

Lira shifted on her knees, unconsciously moving a little closer to Elowen’s side.

Elowen’s hand brushed her shoulder in a small, grounding touch.

The image slid sideways with a slow glide to the second portal.

The blue one.

Its light rippled in long, even waves from one side of the ring to the other. The motion was almost gentle, almost calming, like the surface of a wide river with a steady current. But the longer they watched, the more wrong it felt that this "river" was vertical and hanging in the air.

If the red portal screamed danger, this one whispered invitation.

Mikhailis’s eyes narrowed slightly.

He could feel something when he looked at it. Not through the projection, but through the faint ripples reaching his hive link. A kind of pull, not strong, but... long.

Lira tilted her head, studying it with careful seriousness.

"This one?" she asked, glancing at him. "It feels... deeper. Like if you step in, you won’t come back out where you expect."

He nodded slowly.

"Feels like... a corridor," he said. "Something that goes on for a long time. Maybe another chamber. Maybe straight into a wall of teeth. Hard to say."

The green portal came last.

Up close, it looked less like energy and more like... something wet pretending to be light. The surface flexed inward slowly, then out, then in again.

Cerys shivered.

"That thing is breathing," she said.

Elowen’s jaw clenched.

"Gods..." she whispered.

Rodion’s tone flattened.

Recommendation: we do not step into any of them blind.

"Agreed," Mikhailis said. "So we don’t use ourselves first."

"Oh?" Serelith tilted her head. "You have volunteers?"

"In a way," he said.

He sent a thought down the hive-link, focused and sharp.

Necromantic units. Prepare test subjects.

Deep beneath, in the gloomy corners where the dungeon’s light did not reach, a different group stirred.

The projection flicked to one of those pockets.

A circle of dark carapaces stood around a patch of bare stone. The air there felt... thin, like a hole in the world. Threads of purple-black mana coiled from the soldiers and sank into the ground.

Bones began to rise.

At first, they were a scattered mess—pieces of old monsters, fragments of fallen adventurers, whatever the ants had dragged closer. Under necromantic guidance, they pulled together into rough shapes.

Three skeletal beasts took form.

One resembled a wolf, all ribs and fangs.

The second looked like some kind of horned lizard, spine arched, claws too long.

The third was a mass of extra limbs, as if several creatures had been confused and welded together.

Lira flinched a little.

"Those are..." she began.

"Dead things," Mikhailis said gently. "Already gone long before we arrived. We’re just borrowing the leftovers."

He watched as the undead shuffled forward, guided by invisible threads.

Forward, he commanded. One for each portal.

The projection split into three panes.

On the left, the skeletal wolf limped toward the red portal. As it crossed the stone threshold, the red surface surged outward.

There was no dramatic explosion.

One moment, the wolf existed.

The next, there was only a brief flare of light—and then nothing.

"Gone," Vyrelda said flatly.

"Disintegration," Serelith noted. "Fast. No pieces thrown back. Ugly."

In the middle pane, the horned lizard approached the blue portal.

As soon as its skull crossed the rim, the light folded around it, drawing it inward. The creature did not vanish instantly. It stretched, body elongating unnaturally as if falling sideways through a tunnel neither the projection nor their senses could follow.

The feed jittered, then cut off.

"Transport," Mikhailis said. "Destination unknown. Connection too thin for us to keep the link."

On the right, the malformed third undead shambled toward the green portal.

The surface of the green light flexed inward, then opened like a slow mouth.

Something about the motion made everyone’s skin crawl.

As the undead touched it, the portal did not flash or flare.

It... accepted.

The creature sank into the green light as if into thick liquid. The surface folded around it in small ripples.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then, deep behind the light, two faint points glowed.

Like eyes opening.

Lira made a small, involuntary sound.

Cerys’s hand dropped closer to her sword.

Serelith’s smile vanished.

"That thing is definitely breathing," she said.

Elowen’s fingers dug into Mikhailis’s wrist.

"Close it," she said quietly.

He sent a quick command.

The necromantic thread cut. The link to that undead snapped.

The green portal pulsed once, almost... disappointed.

Rodion gave a low digital hum.

Conclusion: red equals instant disintegration. Blue equals unknown corridor. Green equals predatory aperture. We should avoid feeding it anything we do not wish to lose permanently.

"No argument here," Mikhailis said.

The scouts, thankfully, did not linger.

At his mental nudge, they skirted wide around the portal plaza, hugging the shadows under broken structures instead.

Find me a way down, he thought. Not through those.

The view jumped again.

A different squad’s perspective filled the pane—a narrow tunnel sloping downward, walls glittering faintly with embedded crystal. The air looked denser there, as if light struggled to move.

"Natural passage?" Vyrelda asked.

"Looks like it," he said. "Or something close enough. We told them to avoid anything with rings and teeth."

The scouts flowed into the tunnel.

They emerged into the second floor.

The chamber that greeted them was larger than the first, but less harsh.

Instead of bare stone, the ground was covered in a carpet of faintly glowing moss, its light a soft blue-green. Above, thick columns of mana-crystal rose like trees, branches spreading and intertwining into a glittering canopy. Each crystal pulsed gently, like a heartbeat under glass.

Between these crystal trunks, strange shapes moved.

Creatures made of facets and edges lumbered slowly, their bodies like statues that had grown legs. Floating jelly-like forms drifted between the branches, trailing thin tendrils of light. On the ground, leech-like things clung to the bases of crystals, feeding on leaking mana.

Serelith stared, eyes wide.

"This is... gorgeous," she breathed.

"And deadly," Vyrelda added.

"Always both," Mikhailis said.

The workers spread out near the tunnel entrance, tapping at the moss, the crystal, the surrounding stone. Every touch sent back data through the link. The projection translated some of it into simple floating symbols.

A cluster of markers flashed at the edge of the screen.

Mikhailis narrowed his eyes.

"Treasure," he said.

The view shifted as a squad followed the signal.

Behind a half-collapsed crystal trunk, they found it—an ancient chest half-buried in the moss, metal eaten by time but still intact. Nearby lay scattered armor pieces, their enchantment runes faded but not fully dead. In a small hollow, crystalline cores pulsed weakly, remnants of constructs long destroyed.

Lira’s lips parted.

"That’s..."

Rodion made a quick series of calculations in his usual precise tone.

Estimated combined value of recoverable artifacts and cores, he said, is equivalent to approximately seventeen years of Silvarion’s current wartime budget, assuming conservative market conditions.

Serelith actually drooled a little.

Vyrelda smacked the back of her head lightly.

"Control yourself," the general said.

"Ow," Serelith muttered, rubbing the spot. "I’m just appreciating the possibilities."

Lira whispered, almost to herself, "We’re... rich..."

Elowen reached over and gently covered the maid’s mouth with her hand.

"Don’t tempt fate," she murmured, though her own eyes were wide.

Mikhailis watched the workers as they tested the chest’s stability, then began to lift.

They were small, but their bodies were efficient. Two, then four, then eight ants braced themselves, lifted the chest in perfect coordination, and started dragging it toward the tunnel.

The Silvarion high command stared.

Cerys finally broke the silence.

"They’re carrying something ten times their size," she said slowly. "Without straining."

Mikhailis smiled faintly.

"Never underestimate things closer to the ground," he said.

Elowen glanced at him.

"Is that a proverb?" she asked.

"Something like that," he replied.

The projection followed the treasure squad as they moved.

For a few moments, everything seemed calm.

Then the image shook.

It wasn’t a small tremor.

The entire view jolted sideways as if the ground had suddenly lurched. The sound—translated through mana resonance as a low, grinding roar—vibrated through the tent’s air.

The camera—scout sight—whipped around.

From between the crystal trunks, something huge emerged.

It walked on six legs, each limb like a column of black stone ending in clawed feet that cracked the moss and crystal under its weight. Its hide was obsidian-dark, not smooth but layered with overlapping plates. Between those plates, lines of molten gold mana pulsed like veins.

Its head was broad and angular, with no clear mouth at first glance—just a single, vertical slit that opened slowly to reveal rows of inner teeth. Above that, two eyes burned like twin suns, molten and furious.

Rodion’s voice was suddenly very calm.

The beast moved faster than something its size should move.

It slammed one foreleg down.

Five soldier shapes vanished under that impact.

The projection flickered as the shockwave ripped through the scouts’ senses. In the tent, everyone jolted as if the sound had punched their own ribs.

Elowen’s hand clamped around Mikhailis’s wrist hard enough to hurt.

Cerys took an involuntary step forward.

"Five lost," Mikhailis said quietly.

Serelith’s face went pale—not from fear for the ants, but from the sheer scale of the threat.

"This is only the second floor," she said. "What in all the hell-tomes did the creators build this place for?"

Vyrelda swore under her breath, a harsh word in an old tongue.

The Guardian turned.

Its glowing eyes tracked the retreating treasure squad with terrible focus. Cracks glowed brighter under its feet with every step, the crystal forest dimming slightly as if the dungeon shifted power to its hunter.

Rodion spoke fast.

Immune response fully activated, he said.

"In simpler words," Mikhailis said, throat dry, "we poked it by stealing its toys, and now it wants to crush the thief."

The Guardian thundered forward.

The projection shook with each step, the image blurring from the vibrations.

Workers scattered in several directions, treasure abandoned. Soldiers moved to intercept, forming a loose line. It didn’t matter.

Another stomp.

More sparks on the link as units vanished.

Mikhailis felt each loss as a small jolt in the back of his mind—not pain, exactly, but absence. Holes in a pattern that had been full seconds before.

Calm, he told himself. They knew the risk. They are not human soldiers. They are part of the structure.

Rodion was already ahead of him.

If we allow this direct engagement to continue, losses will accelerate exponentially, he said.

Mikhailis’s eyes narrowed.

He straightened slightly on his cushion, ignoring the protest of his ribs.

"Rodion," he said quietly, "order the necromantic unit."

Elowen looked at him sharply.

"Mikha—"

He lifted his free hand, just enough to reassure her.

"Not a frontal fight," he said. "A distraction."

He focused on the link.

All undead decoys, he commanded inwardly. Deploy. Move loud. Make it chase you, not the core squads.

Rodion’s answer came sharp and crisp.

The projection shifted once more.

From the shadowed hollows and cracks of the second floor, bones stirred again. This time, there were more of them—dozens, maybe hundreds of partial skeletons forced into new ugly shapes. Some stood on too many legs. Others had too many jaws. All of them burned with faint purple light in their empty eyes.

They rose as one.

The Guardian turned its massive head, sensing the new surge of death-magic.

The undead advanced, not stealthy now, but openly. They roared and screeched without lungs, sound made of mana rattling against crystal.

They formed a jagged line between the Guardian and the scattering scouts.

The last thing the projection showed was the Guardian lowering its body, mana veins blazing bright. The crystal trees shivered as if in a storm. The pressure of its gathered magic made the image waver.

Then, with a roar that shook even the air of the high tent, it charged.

The screen went white.

Rodion cut the feed.

Connection unstable. Visual relay has reached safe disruption limit, he said. Continuing to watch would risk revealing our observation channel to the dungeon’s core.

The light pane dimmed, then vanished, leaving only the ordinary glow of mage-lamps and the sharp, quiet breathing of everyone in the tent.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Mikhailis let his hand drop back to his lap.

Elowen’s grip on his wrist slowly loosened, though her fingers still rested there as if to confirm he was real.

Cerys’s jaw was tight enough that a muscle flickered near her ear.

Vyrelda stared at the empty air where the projection had been, mind already racing through new tactical calculations.

Serelith exhaled, a low, shaky breath that turned into a crooked grin.

"Well," she said. "On the bright side... at least we’re not bored anymore."

Mikhailis closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, focusing.

Hold, little monsters, he thought toward the hive. Hide where the storm doesn’t look. We’ll use this. We always do.

His ribs hurt.

His head ached.

But his eyes were steady.

"The distraction is in place," he said quietly. "Now we see if the dungeon chases phantoms... or learns."

Elowen looked at him.

There was fear in her gaze still.

But there was also something else now.

Something like trust sharpened by shared madness.

"Then," she said, voice low but firm, "we prepare for both."