Roger and Zoltan stopped simultaneously.
"Where?" they asked in unison.
Renn pointed ahead to the wide street below in the cave, where several items lay scattered. Zoltan adjusted his mechanical goggles, straining to see, but in vain. Roger strained his vision too—his Demon Hunter vertical pupils narrowed, gaze incredibly sharp, far surpassing normal superhumans, but the distance was too great, and he saw nothing. Bewilderment showed on their faces.
Only then did Renn realize how exceptional his sight was.
"Follow me," he said quietly.
They descended stone steps into the cave, another dwarven residential district. Their footsteps broke the dead silence of the underground.
Soon they reached the street, and Roger with Zoltan finally saw what Renn meant. On the ground lay several extinguished torches, ripped-open backpacks spilling blackened lumps—long-spoiled rations. Around were shattered long sword fragments, broken armor pieces, and numerous dried bloodstains on the stone pavement.
All this clearly belonged not to Dwarves but intruders—humans. Zoltan and Roger marveled at Renn's eyesight, spotting these inconspicuous details from such vast distance. Roger didn't question, approached, and examined the scene closely. Demon Hunters were experts in such matters. Soon he gave his verdict:
"Looks like superhumans who entered during the last rune circle activation. Five of them total. They clashed with an opponent, fight lasted under two minutes. All killed."
He circled the clash site, noting details.
"Traces of magic. Enemy—a very powerful spellcaster."
Zoltan and Renn grew alarmed. The rune circle activated every sixty years. They thought few entered, but apparently more knew of the Ironbeard Clan's fortress than they thought.
"And where are the bodies?" Renn suddenly asked.
Roger pointed to faint tracks on the dusty floor. His face turned very serious.
"Bodies dragged off, weapons and armor taken, but rations left. Highly likely undead did this. We need to be more careful."
Zoltan paled.
"You mean it's still here in the fortress, didn't get out?"
Roger nodded.
Renn gripped his hammer tighter. His sharp gaze scanned surroundings, Voice of All Things strained into the silence, but nothing suspicious.
All three doubled vigilance and pressed on.
Soon Zoltan found a stone map fragment in a residential room, helping pinpoint location and route to the temple on the next level.
They trekked through countless caves and rock tunnels.
"Central plaza of third level ahead, biggest cave here. From there a passage to fourth... " Zoltan trailed off and froze, staring ahead.
Renn and Roger stopped too.
Directly ahead, the ceiling had collapsed. Like after a terrible earthquake, huge boulders and tons of earth blocked most of the cave, fully barring the way.
Renn looked up at the collapse edge. A dark crack hundreds of meters long showed. Stones trickled occasionally, faint draft blowing from it. Airflow meant it led somewhere, but it could collapse anytime. Approaching, let alone passing, was too dangerous.
"This path blocked. Other passages?" Roger asked.
"Possibly, but hard to find. Detour needed," Zoltan pulled his ancient book again, plotting new route. They backtracked to previous cave, wandered bypasses long, finally finding a narrow shaft deeper to fourth level.
Fourth level also residential, structured like third. Moradin's temple Zoltan sought was here. But another massive collapse blocked the temple path.
Studying the cave blockage, Zoltan turned to companions with a crooked grin:
"We've got big problems."
"What happened?" Renn asked.
"This collapse started on second level. Likely Ferreglen river waters seeped in, eroded soil, collapsed at fortress's weakest spot. Cascading down layer by layer. Afraid lower levels blocked too. Fortress split in two, all paths to other side cut."
Zoltan showed the book map, explaining. Central zones of dwarven fortresses were largest caves. But after hollowing, most fragile. While Dwarves lived and maintained, preventing floods, all good. After they left, unsupervised, collapses inevitable.
Checking the map, Renn saw the collapse indeed halved the fortress like slicing a huge hive diagonally. One part two-thirds, other one-third. They were in the smaller. Moradin's temple and main passages on other side.
"Trapped?" Roger frowned.
"Possibly," Zoltan darkened, tugging his red hair. "This level impassable, so descend lower. Maybe path there."
"What if lower levels blocked too?" Renn said doubtfully.
Zoltan and Roger silent. After long, Zoltan said:
"Can't be that unlucky. Find way first."
Spending hours, Zoltan found a hidden passage to fifth level. Unfortunately, fifth also buried under tons of earth and stone. Worse, collapse diagonal like landslide; lower they went, more blocked. Fifth smaller than fourth/third, only few intact caves left.
Zoltan had no choice but suggest descending to sixth, hoping exit. But after long search, no downward passage—all blocked.
"Well, end now!" Zoltan, ignoring dust, slumped on small chapel steps, face utter dejection. Roger looked grim too.
Renn stayed calm. He eyed the chapel before them. Dedicated to Mahal, dwarven guardian god. Majestic stone statue towered on steps—Dwarf in heavy armor over ten meters tall, battle axe one hand, hammer other, frozen in boxing stance. Millennia without worship marked it: weathered damage, Renn sensed no divine power. Said Mahal gravely wounded by Abyss Demon, in coma, unresponsive to dwarven prayers.
But Renn cared not for statue, but chapel. His gaze pierced doorframe, catching faint magical fluctuation inside—so subtle without Will of Truth, hard to notice. Renn didn't enter right away, sat with companions.
Zoltan pulled rations from metal box, distributed to Renn and Roger. They'd roamed fortress nearly day, hungry. Besides food, Dwarf prepared three mugs. Taking water-gathering rod, chanted spell. Water elements from air gathered, condensing into pure water down long rod. Soon mugs half-full. Rod alchemical, essential for adventurers.
Renn ate ration, washing with water, while taking Zoltan's rod to study rune mechanism closely. Quite interesting.
Zoltan, chewing, noticed Renn's gaze and asked:
"Renn, you seem not worried at all we might not get out?"
Renn returned rod, smirked, pulled comm watch from pocket.
"We'll contact outside world with this. Escaping tough, but we won't die for sure."
Zoltan recognized device but still puzzled:
"What's use? Rune circle one-way, can't exit. Call someone here to certain death?"
Roger missed Renn's point too.
Renn sighed lightly and explained:
"Besides one-way teleportation circles, there are also two-way ones. We can ask someone outside to prepare a rune circle, then enter here and set up the corresponding circle for exit.
"I know that," Zoltan sighed. "But do you have any idea what materials are needed for a two-way teleportation circle? And how much they cost? At least ten thousand gold shields! Plus, only a Legend-level mage or higher can set one up. If I could hire a legendary mage and had ten thousand gold, I'd have prepared everything long ago.
Renn froze for a moment but didn't lose his composure. Contacting Captain Pollock through the watch to find Viola—that shouldn't be a problem. Ten thousand gold was no small sum, but there was definitely a way out.
"My friend can hire a legendary mage," he smirked. "And he'll find ten thousand gold too.
Zoltan's eyes lit up, and Roger sighed in relief too. They were about to ask who this friend of Renn's was when a sound came from the chapel—like a stone slab being shifted. Then came a horrific laugh, infused with magic.
The laugh carried a magical effect.
"Fear Spell!" Renn recognized the spell. It wasn't a simple Fear spell, but something like a mass version, though different. Likely an innate ability of some creature. Mass Fear was a fifth-circle spell, usable only by Legend-level casters and above. If their opponent was a legendary caster, Renn should run immediately.
He quickly glanced at his companions—Zoltan and Roger weren't affected by the laugh. The dwarf drew his spirit rifle, gripping a two-handed axe in his other hand. The demon hunter bared his swords too.
All three spread out slightly, eyes fixed on the chapel entrance.
A withered figure emerged from the doorway. Human-like, it was clad in a ragged, crumpled robe. Its face was a skull stretched with skin, muscles shriveled. The eye sockets were empty—the eyeballs long rotted away, replaced by two dark-red glows radiating malice. Bony hands protruded from the robe sleeves. In one hand it clutched a staff, in the other—a book. The book was closed, a purple rune symbol on the cover.
Without the lack of flesh, this figure could pass for a powerful caster.
"Lich!" Renn and his companions instantly recognized the infamous undead spawn.
Every lich was once a mage or other caster. In pursuit of eternal life, they turned to one of the four great evil gods of the Abyss—the Lord of the Dead—underwent a transformation ritual, turning their bodies into undead and pledging their souls to the dark god. As liches, casters no longer needed food, air, or water, theoretically gaining immortality. Moreover, liches retained all their former magical abilities and received the gift of necromancy from the Lord of the Dead.
Renn activated Soul Eye and cautiously scanned the lich. It hadn't reached Legend level but was very close. In life, it was a ninth-level elementalist with over thirty secret elements in its soul. Gray-white faith flames enveloped it, exuding endless malice and a death aura. Renn didn't dare look longer—this was a manifestation of the Lord of the Dead's power.
The Lord of the Dead, known as Yegres or simply God of Death, Lord of the Undead, King in Black, Reaper, Gravedigger… His Abyss domain was usually called the World of the Dead. Any topic related to death touched this terrifying ancient evil god somehow. Among the four great evil gods of the Abyss, the Lord of the Dead inspired the most fear. He wasn't as insanely cruel as the Dark Lord, not as fickle and cunning as the Lord of Chaos, nor as corruptly filthy as the Lord of Plague. He simply wanted to destroy all life, harvest souls, and comprehend the true essence of death! All undead in the world were his creations. And liches were one of his masterpieces.
Emerging from the chapel, the lich didn't attack immediately. The glows in its sockets flickered several times; it "looked" at Renn and spoke:
"You have a way out?
Its voice was horribly raspy, as if it hadn't spoken in ages, each word a struggle.
Renn didn't reply, just exchanged glances with his companions. The lich's words held much info. Clearly, it was trapped in the underground fortress too. Likely entered years ago via rune circle, realized no exit, and turned itself into a lich to survive. The battle traces on the third level were probably its doing. And now this lich wanted out—a truly impossible dream.
"Why don't you answer me?" Not getting a response, the lich was clearly angry. The glows in its sockets flared brighter. "Heh-heh… Don't want to talk? Fine. When I kill you and offer your souls, I'll learn everything I need!
Before finishing, it raised its staff and lightly tapped the ground.
Boom!
A powerful Fire Burst erupted, instantly turning the square before the chapel into a sea of fire. At the same moment, the lich's figure tripled—three identical liches appeared. Each held a staff and rune book, indistinguishable. They targeted Renn and his companions in the fire sea, each picking a victim, and began casting simultaneously.