This tunnel was not particularly deep. Dim magic runes adorned the walls, their enchantments slightly muffling sound, yet even through the layers of soil above, Punk's keen elven-inherited ears could still make out the distant roars and screams of refugees being mercilessly slaughtered.
The sorrow and resentment woven into those dying cries only added to the oppressive weight of the dark passage, deepening the already suffocating atmosphere. No matter how much they resented their desperate flight, the soldiers knew the harsh truth—they had no other choice. Their primary duty was to protect the princess. As elite warriors, they could only swallow their anger, etch this humiliation into their souls, and vow to return.
While the soldiers and even the old mage beside him clenched their jaws in anger, Punk remained as calm and detached as ever.
As they trudged through the long passage, he ordered the system to analyze the obscure magical fluctuations embedded in the tunnel walls. Soon, the results revealed something intriguing—the seemingly random, faint magical pulses actually connected into a coherent, structured pattern. A formation.
Closing his eyes slightly, Punk could sense it now. The fluctuations of magic, battle aura, heat, and sound were all being absorbed into an invisible web of "rune threads." Every bit of information was vanishing before it could reach the outside world.
"This structure… this linkage of runes… it's like a circuit diagram."
Examining the analyzed data, Punk felt an unexpected surge of inspiration. If these rune combinations shared fundamental similarities with programming back on Earth… did that mean the magic circle could be deciphered? Or perhaps… anche hacked?
Unfortunately, his current soul level was too low. Many of the idee forming in his mind would have to be shelved for the future. Time always seemed to slip away when he was lost in thought; before he realized it, the tunnel's exit was already in sight.
The Swamp of Old Nike
The exit led into a forest known to the locals as "Old Nike." The terrain was perpetually muddy due to the presence of the Haike Tree—a species capable of storing vast amounts of water in its roots. Originally created by an incompetent druid as a natural irrigation system, the species had turned the region into a swampy wasteland.
Stepping out, Punk found himself on ground covered in moss that concealed layers of sludge beneath. In the distance, several towering trees swayed gently, their trunks bending at unnatural angles. Small, bioluminescent flowers flickered softly, casting a dreamlike pink glow over the forest.
It was a deception.
Lightly stepping forward, Punk felt the ground shift. Three centimeters of thick mud oozed up from beneath his boots, emitting a putrid stench of decay. Menezi had chosen an excellent escape route; this terrain was an insurmountable barrier for ordinary soldiers, making a search nearly impossible.
Princess Nasya, unaccustomed to such environments, waved her hands in a futile attempt to ward off the smell. Punk, on the other hand, was focused on a far more important tactical decision: whether to stay or to leave.
He raised a hand to his chin, deep in thought.
"If I leave now… there's a small chance I might run into Prince William's forces. Given my 'performance' on the city walls, the professionals will certainly remember me. If I run into them alone… my chances of survival drop significantly."
His brows furrowed. He was no Lu Bu. He could fight and win—but fighting an army alone was suicide. However, if he stayed with the group until they reached the Kingdom of Dylan…
"The risk of being ambushed by enemy pursuers is higher," he mused. "But at least I'll have these 'loyal' trainee-level meat shields to absorb the hits for me. As long as I stay behind cover and fight conservatively… my survival chances improve significantly."
For the first time in a while, Punk found himself genuinely torn between two choices.