The radiant warmth of the Ashen Shrine faded with agonizing speed as they stepped across the threshold of the armory, entering the sprawling, lightless arteries of the Lower Bastion.
Lenus walked in a state of hyper-awareness. With his Perception now at a staggering 37, the world had sharpened from a charcoal sketch into a high-definition 3D blueprint. He could hear the faint whistle of air through the arrow-slits sixty feet above. He could hear the microscopic grinding of dust motes trapped beneath Elara's boots.
But most importantly, he could hear the frequency of her weapon.
The Claymore of the First Oath was no longer a heavy burden. The Vanguard Soul-Shard had imbued the steel with a latent, humming frequency—a soft, continuous vrrrm that pulsed in perfect sync with her golden aura. To Lenus, it sounded like a tuning fork struck against crystal. To the corrupted things in the dark, it was likely an agonizing siren of pure, holy light.
"They know we're coming," Elara whispered, her voice reflecting off the vaulted ceilings. "The patrol retreated this way. We should expect a barricade."
"They won't barricade," Lenus replied, his [Silent Tread] making him look like a phantom gliding over the stone. "Barricades are for enemies you want to keep out. Berg knows exactly who you are. He doesn't want to block you—he wants to pull you in."
"An ambush, then."
"A gauntlet," Lenus corrected.
In the game, Floor 50 was a notorious "skill-check" area. Inquisitor Berg was a trap-master. He didn't just rely on his massive HP bar; he used the environment to drain the player's resources before the fight even began.
Lenus raised his left hand, signaling a halt. Elara froze instantly.
"What is it?"
"Don't move," Lenus murmured, kneeling slowly. He filtered out the hum of the sword, focusing on the ambient pressure of the corridor ahead.
Hsssss...
It was a sound so high-pitched it was practically a vibration. A microscopic hiss of pressurized gas seeping from a hairline seam in the wall. He tapped the floor with a fingernail. Tink.
The ripple traveled forward. In his mental map, the corridor looked smooth, but there was a "hollow" signature ten feet ahead. A perfectly square flagstone that didn't bounce sound with the density of solid rock.
"Miasma vents," Lenus warned. "The next thirty yards are a logic puzzle. If you step on a hollow tile, the walls open up and flood the hall with weaponized gas. It's concentrated enough to melt the leather off your feet in seconds."
Elara's golden aura tightened. "Can you lead us through?"
"Step exactly where I step. If I go diagonal, you go diagonal. Don't drift by an inch."
Lenus moved with surgical precision. Left. Forward. Diagonal right. Forward twice. Elara followed, her balance impeccable despite her size. They reached the center of the hall—the "kill zone."
Suddenly, Lenus's [Aura Perception] flared violently. Not from the floor, but from the ceiling. Three sickly purple auras materialized, clinging to the vaulted arches like predatory insects.
Assassins.
"They were waiting for the trap zone!" Lenus shouted, discarding stealth.
Thwip! Thwip!
Two barbed chains shot down, aiming for Elara's waist. They weren't trying to pierce her; they were trying to drag her off the "safe" tiles and onto the pressure plates.
"STAY STILL!" Lenus roared.
He didn't dodge. He pivoted on his safe tile, his thumb flicking his katana's guard.
[Skill Activation: Quickdraw - Flash of the Sightless]
The silver blade cleaved the air in an upward crescent. The impossibly sharp steel bit through the iron chains mid-air, severing the links with a shower of sparks. The heavy hooks crashed onto the hollow tiles beside Elara.
CLICK.
The grinding of gears echoed through the walls. Instantly, jets of thick, violet Miasma gas erupted from the stonework, flooding the hallway. The hiss of the gas blinded Lenus's acoustic map with white noise—he was suddenly in a fog of sound. But his perception of the auras remained.
The three assassins dropped into the toxic cloud, swords drawn. They were immune to the gas; they intended to butcher their targets while they were choking.
They had forgotten about the Claymore.
"FOR THE VANGUARD!" Elara bellowed.
She didn't need to see them. The holy frequency of her sword flared into a blinding, golden acoustic roar. She swept the blade in a 360-degree horizontal arc, her feet anchored to the safe tile.
The golden steel collided with the plunging assassins. The holy buff triggered a localized explosion of blessed kinetic energy. Two of the auras were annihilated instantly, their bodies shattering into ash before they even touched the floor.
The third assassin narrowly ducked, landing on a safe tile directly in front of Lenus. It lunged with a jagged dagger.
Lenus couldn't hear its footsteps over the gas, but he felt the displacement of the heavy air. He sidestepped with an inch to spare, reversed his katana, and drove the pommel into the creature's back.
The assassin stumbled off the tile.
CLICK.
A massive iron portcullis slammed down from the ceiling like a guillotine, crushing the soldier beneath thousands of pounds of steel. The gas reset, and the violet cloud being sucked out through floor grates.
[EXP Gained: 180]
[Condition: Miasma Infection (Minor) inflicted.]
Lenus coughed, a burning sensation in his throat. He crushed his last Corrupted Core against his chest, let the cold purge the gas, and spat out a mouthful of black phlegm.
"The trap zone ends here," he rasped, sliding under the jammed portcullis.
They reached the grand double doors—twenty feet of iron-banded oak. Lenus pressed his hands against the wood, pushing his perception forward.
The feedback was staggering. It wasn't one aura. It was a wall of them.
"Twenty," Lenus whispered, his blood cooling. "A full phalanx. Shields in the front, pikes in the back. They've formed a Roman turtle in the antechamber."
And behind that wall was a black hole. A violet aura so dense it felt like a physical weight on Lenus's brain. It radiated a gravity that threatened to crush his senses.
Lord Inquisitor Berg.
"They're waiting for the door to open," Elara realized. "The moment we push, we're skewered."
"We can't brute-force twenty shields," Lenus said. "But we have the dungeon's own mechanics." He looked back at the narrow, trapped corridor they had just cleared. "A phalanx only works if they stay together. If we pull them onto the pressure plates, the gas breaks the line. But we need an igniter."
He pointed to her glowing sword. "Your holy buff detonates corrupted matter. If you strike a spark inside a cloud of pressurized Miasma gas..."
"A thermobaric explosion," she finished, her breath catching. "But the blast will take us with them!"
"Not if we're behind these doors. They're siege-rated. We pull them in, trigger the gas, and slam the doors. We turn the hallway into an oven."
"How do we pull them?"
"I'll be the bait," Lenus said, drawing his blade. "I have the Agility. I don't trip."
"Open them."
They shoved the doors inward. The antechamber was a cathedral of iron. There stood the corrupted Vanguard—a wall of shields and pikes. And on a throne of twisted metal sat a massive figure in inquisitorial robes, a spiked mace across his knees.
"Elara Vane," Berg's voice boomed, rich with dark authority. "You bring a blind rat to challenge a lion?"
Lenus stepped into the center of the doorway. "Hey, Berg!" he yelled. Tink. "Your traps are garbage, and your armor looks like it was forged by a drunk!"
The silence was absolute. Then, Berg's aura flared with explosive rage.
"CRUSH THEM!"
The phalanx moved. Clank. Clank. Clank. Twenty armored men charged the doorway in a wave of iron. Lenus stood his ground until they were five yards away.
"NOW!"
[Skill Activation: Phantom Step]
He vanished, reappearing ten feet back into the rigged corridor. The phalanx surged through the doors, their collective weight triggering half a dozen plates at once.
CLICK-CLICK-CLICK.
The walls hissed. Massive jets of gas enveloped the Vanguard.
"CLOSE THEM!"
Elara hauled the doors shut. Lenus grabbed the other. As they slammed home, Elara jammed her golden blade into the stone floor at the threshold, twisting it. Golden sparks showered into the gas cloud.
BOOOOOOM.
The detonation was apocalyptic. The concussive shockwave slammed into the oak doors, throwing Lenus and Elara backward. The doors bowed inward, groaning, their edges wreathed in fire.
From the other side, a chorus of muffled, metallic shrieks died out as the explosion superheated their armor, turning twenty men into human kilns.
[Massive EXP Gained: 1200]
[Level Up! Inias is now Level 7. 4 Free Attribute Points available.]
Lenus lay on the stone, a breathless, manic laugh escaping him. "It worked... we cheesed the mob..."
But the laugh died. Through the smoke, a slow, heavy footstep approached.
Thud... thud... thud...
The phalanx was ash. But the black-hole aura of Inquisitor Berg was standing right in front of them, his colossal mace dragging against the floor, leaving a trail of sparks.
"A clever trick, rat," Berg rumbled, the acoustic pressure vibrating in Lenus's chest. "But I am not constrained by iron. And I have plenty of Miasma left to burn."