Barely an hour later, the King was calmly cleaning the blood from his sword. His eighth kill rested on the ground before him, neatly cut in half.

He seemed much calmer now, as did Metmore. Frensfeld had not seemed all that rattled, though he did smile a lot more now that the other [Nobles] were acting less jumpy. There was always a lot of security in working with a good team, after all.

They had already killed quite a few of the lower-level snakes. Frensfeld was at nine and Metmore had seven. Olivia and Clay had only needed to step in a handful of times so far, and he was relatively confident that within the next hour or so, the [Nobles] would have reached the first part of [Vipersbane].

As he continued to watch their progress, however, Clay had begun to feel that something was wrong. The way the snakes were moving seemed… odd, somehow. They were still patrolling the area and attacking, but there didn't seem to be nearly enough of them between him and the center of the Lair.

It felt too easy, like there should have been something else standing between him and the Guardian. Perhaps he'd just grown too used to fighting in tougher battles, but he felt uneasy about their progress.

The King didn't appear to have noticed, however. If anything, he seemed to be growing more and more enthusiastic about the fight. He turned to grin at Clay. "Shall we continue, Sir Clay? We might soon be ready for tougher prey."

Clay hesitated. He glanced at Olivia, who seemed to have picked up on his shift in attitude. "You are doing well, Your Majesty, but perhaps we should begin to withdraw soon."

John tilted his head at him; Clay could sense the frown even despite the visor. "Why?"

As Clay searched for a reason, Frensfeld spoke up. "Your Majesty, there's a limit to how many times we can use our [Styles] and [Charms] each day. If we push too far forward…"

"Then we risk being left without our powers at an inopportune time. I see." The King frowned. "But with [Chants]… I will need to be wiser about my resources in the future. Perhaps tomorrow I can improve."

Clay nodded and turned back towards Eldsford. The [Nobles] followed him, still searching the forest for incoming monsters. There were already a few creatures coming towards them. He could worry about whatever was going on with this place later.

Three snakes leapt at them from all sides, their hisses filling the air. They flashed towards their targets, fangs extended and ready to strike.

All three of them froze in midair, their forms suddenly writhing in the grip of invisible tendrils. King John looked amused as they hissed and spat. "These are a little more threatening, I suppose, but not by much. You're sure that they're stronger?"

The question made Clay roll his eyes. He glanced at Frensfeld, who remained silent in order to avoid breaking the [Chant] he'd used. Olivia had made the idle suggestion to use the Ballad of Air against their enemies, and so far it had proved a resounding success.

He looked back at John, who had tilted his head in a patient look. "They are, Your Majesty. You can see the difference in the way their heads are shaped, and their size."

"He's correct, my liege. They also…" Metmore's voice caught for a moment, at least until he shivered. "They have some sort of aura about them. It chills the blood."

"I suppose you're right. I did feel a little something, but my [Will] is higher than yours." The King looked at Frensfeld. "You have them, cousin?"

Frensfeld nodded, and the three [Nobles] advanced on the imprisoned snakes. Three sword strokes later, and the monsters were dead. King John stepped back from them with clear satisfaction. "You were correct, Sir Clay. These 'hissing dooms' do seem a bit overrated, however. It seems like even a [Commoner] should be able to handle them."

Clay snorted. He glanced at Olivia. "Technically, one has, Your Majesty."

He heard a huff of laughter and a polite cough from Lord Metmore, but Olivia seemed far less amused. She spoke in a low voice. "At level thirteen, they are simple, perhaps. It is a bit more difficult at level one, King John. Especially when all you have is a pitchfork."

The King looked over at her, a casual reply obviously on his lips. Then he paused and looked at Clay. "Wait. You mean…"

Clay grimaced and gave Olivia a look. "I didn't just have a pitchfork. I had a hunting bow and a woodaxe too."

"But surely at least you had access to [Chants] at the time, did you not?" King John's disbelief came through clearly despite his helm.

When Clay hesitated, Olivia spoke up again. "He learned them afterwards, actually. Even then, it was mostly just the minor ones until he'd gained enough strength."

Frensfeld started laughing. "Every time I believe I've heard everything…"

Lord Metmore spoke up, his voice thick with doubt. "Then surely these spiders you faced were not so difficult. The idea of facing them alone, with farming tools…"

He trailed off as Frensfeld shook his head. "I saw them, Lord Metmore. The things nearly killed one of the adventurers with me on the first day, and that was when he was level three. I was level four, and they were a threat. And the Lair there was considerably older. There was nothing easy or straightforward about facing them."

The Royal Guard turned back to Clay with something like awe in his stance. He bowed. "Sir Clay, you have my utmost respect, then." He straightened, and Clay could sense the grin in his next words clearly. "Perhaps I might doubt your sanity, but your courage remains obvious to my eyes."

Frensfeld snorted. "You aren't the only one with doubts in that direction, Lord Metmore. It's enough to make one question if the gods made him a [Commoner] just to help the rest of us keep up, honestly."

Clay snorted, even as Metmore let out a low laugh. They continued forward, further into the Lair. He couldn't help but notice that the King had fallen quiet, however. His steadily growing confidence and bluster seemed to have fled for the moment, but perhaps his mind was on something else.

He shrugged off the thought and kept his mind on his senses. There was still something he couldn't place that was bothering him, and there were plenty more snakes left to kill.

They had killed another few batches of snakes—each time, with either Frensfeld or the King using the Ballad to catch the things mid-strike before killing them—when the King abruptly came to a halt and removed his helmet. Clay stopped as well and looked back, watching the King idly heft his sword, still looking around at the forest.

For a moment, Clay debated whether he should interrupt the man's thoughts, but Olivia caught his eye and shook her head. There were no threats nearby, not yet, and so Clay simply waited until the King finally spoke. When the words came, they carried the tone of a sudden, unpleasant realization.

"This is easy for me. Isn't it?"

King John looked at Clay, and there was guilt and determination on his face. Clay returned his stare, searching for the right words to say. "Your Majesty—"

"My name is John. Out here, titles mean little." Lord Metmore stirred, but John quieted him with a look. "Be honest with me, Clay. This Lair isn't nearly the threat compared to what you've faced. Even the Tanglewood was more dangerous, wasn't it?"

Clay fought the urge to nod. "It isn't without risk, Your—John."

The King snorted. He made a gesture with the hand holding his helmet, taking in the woods around them. "Life holds risk, Clay. That is the way of things. Especially when one rules a Kingdom. The crown brings danger as well as power. Two edges of the same sword."

Then he looked around at the woods again, spreading his arms as if to take them all in. "I am a King, Clay. It is my duty to shoulder the burdens of my people, to safeguard against invader, usurper, and thief. To make them safe in return for their fealty. I face the dangers they cannot, and make the decisions I must."

He looked back at Clay with clear eyes. "And yet, I've been letting others face this particular threat alone, haven't I? I've let the Guild handle things—when I wasn't interfering—and focused on the dangers I understood. The ones that let me scheme and plot and sit a throne without facing the reality of any of this. As if it was below me. As if I was too important for it."

John stopped and looked back at the others. Lord Metmore stood as if he'd been stunned. Frensfeld had looked down, as if trying to avoid his cousin's shame. Olivia looked back at the King, her eyes unflinching.

Then he looked at Clay. "Tell me. Am I wrong?"

Clay looked back at him, feeling tightness in his chest. Then he shook his head. "You are not."

King John stared at Clay, tapping his sword against his leg plate. He nodded once, a jerky, reflexive motion, and blinked watery eyes. Then his expression grew firm. "You were right, in the throne room. The Honored was ashamed of me. He was right to be."

Lord Metmore spoke, his voice worried. "My liege—"

"He was right!" John glared at his Royal Guard, his words snapping out. "I could have been facing this already. I could have freed Rodcliff on my own, without involving the Guild at all. Every new Lair, I could stop before it grows dangerous, letting the Guild handle the worst ones. How many more Lairs like Ayleston would be gone, if I just handled things like this without demanding their help?"

Metmore fell silent, his stance uncertain, and John continued. "And yet here I sit, planning and plotting on how to outdo my fellow rulers. What right do I have to command my people to face Merarbor, when I do not face things like these? What use are any of the games I've played, if I have to rely on the sacrifice and bravery of men like you to shield me from my own decisions?"

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He pointed at Clay as he said the last phrase, and Clay nearly stepped back as their eyes met. The intensity in the King's gaze mirrored what he'd seen in Olivia's sometimes. A part of him felt a flicker of triumph, and there was a hint of a victorious shout on the air.

"I've been a fool." The King donned his helm with a sharp motion. He nodded. "No longer. No more. It ends today. Sir Clay, we will delay no longer. Lead us to the center of this foul place and help me kill it. After that, we can talk about how we will proceed."

Clay nodded. "As you will, John. We finish it today."

Olivia laughed, a low, throaty sound. She walked past King John and clapped him on the shoulder. When she reached Clay's side, she nudged him. "Welcome to the war, traveler."

He snorted as he turned towards the Lair's center. It was going to be a far more interesting day than he'd thought.

Clay approached the snake as it writhed in the air.

It was larger than the ones they'd killed before, with scales that shone in the dim light from the sky above. Other scales were scattered across the forest floor, mixed in with the leaves and dirt. They glittered in the corner of his vision, catching his attention as he approached his target.

The distraction could have been fatal. As soon as he approached the hissing snake, it reared its head back and opened its fanged maw. A burst of green fluid shot at him in a stream, lancing straight towards his head.

Clay dodged, moving to one side as the stream went past. The fluid struck a nearby tree trunk, where it began to sear its way through the bark. A chemical stink filled the air. Frensfeld stepped over to look at the spot and grunted. "Acid of some kind."

"Still poison as well, I'd imagine." King John's lips twisted. "Definitely something to watch for."

Olivia spoke next, her voice low. "I've noticed that the higher monsters usually have some form of counter for tactics that were effective against lower versions. Something to keep in mind in the future, Your Majesty."

The King nodded to her. "Thank you, Syr Olivia. That is a very interesting insight."

She had been speaking more often with him now, and much more respectfully. To just as much of his surprise, the King had been listening attentively and thanking her. It was… uncomfortable, in a way, but Clay couldn't complain about the progress they'd made. Even Lord Metmore was starting to unbend a little.

Clay turned his attention back to the snake. It already seemed to be preparing the next attack. He killed it with a single thrust instead, noting that the thing's armor appeared to be a little thicker than before.

{Hissing Death slain! Soul increases by 60}

He nodded and released the Ballad of Air. "Something else to know, the worse a Lair is, the more it changes the place around it." Clay gestured to the fallen scales. "Each Lair causes different effects, but all of them do something to twist the land."

Olivia nodded, her face growing solemn. "We don't know how long it takes the world to return to normal once a Lair is destroyed, but it does take time. We'll have to see how long it takes places like Zelton to recover."

King John nodded, his fingers tightening on his sword hilt. Lord Metmore opened his visor to spit on the ground. "Such foulness. There must be some way to reverse the damage. A [Chant], perhaps?"

She shrugged. "It's possible, but I have not found one. Not yet."

"Then we'll have to hope that changes soon, Syr." King John nodded to her, and they started off again, still heading for the center of the corruption. "Perhaps you'll find it at the same time as you locate the Eternal Seal."

Clay raised an eyebrow at him. "You've heard about that?"

King John nodded. "The [Chant] that could destroy Dungeons? Yes, the Council has mentioned it once or twice. Normally when talking about the impossible. 'It will happen when we find the Eternal Seal.'" He shook his head. "Then again, if anyone could find the unfindable, it would be you two, I believe."

"If it is a [Chant]." Frensfeld made the comment as he stepped over a log. He spent a considerable amount of time looking under it, though Clay's senses had already told him there was nothing there. When the [Noble] looked up, he realized the others had all stopped to look at him. "Is something wrong?"

Clay glanced at Olivia. "You said that the Eternal Seal might not be a [Chant]."

Frensfeld nodded slowly. "That is one of the theories, yes." He blinked as Olivia's stare intensified, leaning back slightly. "Most of the Guild's research still believes it is one, like the Garden's Peace, but I'm not as convinced."

Olivia tilted her head, her gaze completely fixed on the man. "What else would it be?"

The [Noble] shrugged. "Some authors thought it was an artifact that was lost. They pointed out that the records always referred to adventurers that 'had' it rather than 'knew' it. It's not the way people would usually speak of a [Chant]." He looked at the King, who was studying him intently as well.

Lord Metmore grunted. "Well, gods send that isn't the case. Otherwise, we have no hope of reconstructing such a thing."

Clay thought of Master Taylor and her knowledge of runes. "Perhaps. Maybe we'll see."

John gestured for Frensfeld to continue, and the adventurer sighed. "The other possibility is that it was an [Achievement]. One that was unlocked with very specific conditions that have been lost to our knowledge." He smiled slightly. "That's actually the theory I support. After all, if it was a [Chant], and one that couldn't have been misused, why wouldn't they have included it everywhere they could?"

Olivia was silent for longer than Clay had expected. When she spoke, her words were slow, almost reluctant. "That… has been a question I've had myself."

"It would also explain why it's been so hard to recover." Frensfeld sounded a bit more confident now, a bit more energetic. "I mean, there's always been [Experiences] and [Achievements] that the Guild doesn't know how to acquire, and even when they do, they can't guarantee the actions are repeatable. It would explain a lot about how the Seal was referred to, and why they needed to send for specific adventurers in order to use it."

Clay frowned, the possibility unfolding in his mind. "Something like [Banisher], then? Or like [Paragon]?" He shook his head. "It might even have multiple parts."

Frensfeld nodded. "A combination of all three, perhaps." He shook his head. "The archives in the Guild had a few more details, but I wasn't able to study all of them before I came here. Maybe once you return to Crownsguard…"

Olivia gave Clay a look that told him she was going to be having words with the Guild—and full access to their libraries soon after—as soon as they visited the capital. Clay nodded back to her, wondering what else they could have missed.

King John, however, cleared his throat. "While that is fascinating, I believe we aren't going to find it here, are we?" He gestured in the direction they'd been heading. "Let's continue. The sooner we end this, the sooner we can return you to your search."

They pushed closer and closer to the source of the monsters. More and more snakes struck at them, only to fall to their combined efforts. There weren't enough of them to challenge their progress, however, and Clay continued to feel ill at ease as they closed in on the Lair's center. Something about the entire situation still sat oddly with him, even as they pushed through the waves of enemies.

Their path led them further into the depths of the forest until they had reached a small stream. Snakes launched themselves from the water and the trees; their scales littered the ground, and the water itself was clouded with a dark substance that smelled foul. Clay and the others avoided setting foot in it as they followed the creek back to its source, hoping to find the origin of the monsters as well.

It wasn't long before they reached the mouth of a small gully, one that had been steadily carved between two opposing hills over countless years. The hissing of the snakes inside rebounded off the vine-strewn rock; poison and acid bubbled in the water of the river. Clay felt the howl of the Curse ahead and knew that whatever the Guardian was, it would be waiting inside.

He looked back at the others, keeping his voice low. "The center should be just ahead."

The King smirked under his open visor; his nervousness was concealed beneath a shell of confidence. "I think we all could have guessed that, Sir Clay."

He gave the man a wry look before he continued. "As Sir Frensfeld could explain, the center of a Lair is guarded, usually by an army of the lesser monsters, and a much tougher creature called a Guardian."

Frensfeld nodded. "Killing the Guardian can cause the Lair to go dormant, but before it dies, it can command the others. They'll act in concert to defend the Curse. Once it dies, however…"

"The creatures will flee." The King nodded and shared a look with Metmore. He looked back at Clay. "I trust that you can kill the thing?"

Clay nodded. "We've faced worse and survived, but we'll all need to work together. Stay close, and don't allow yourself to be separated. Feel free to use whatever abilities you need to; do not hold back."

John and Metmore nodded. Clay looked at Frensfeld, who smiled confidently. Olivia only tightened her grip on her scythe.

Clay gave them one last nod and then turned towards the gully. He crept forward, keeping to the side of the creek. The foul water bubbled unpleasantly nearby as he walked carefully across the scale-strewn sand. Another gust of wind rustled through the branch trees overhead as the others followed, the noise barely acting to cover the rustle of clothing and clink of their armor.

Fortunately, the chorus of hissing did far more to conceal their approach. The snakes never seemed to stop their noise, the echoes of their sibilant conversation rebounding off the walls of the gully. Clay felt them through his ethereal senses as he moved closer. He paused at a bend in the creek, quietly beginning the modified version of the Orison of Soul. He hoped, with only one Guardian, that he'd be able to destroy the creature quickly. Knowing exactly what tricks it was capable of would do wonders to help that dream become a reality.

With the [Chant] mostly complete, Clay edged carefully around the bend, moving until he could see beyond the wall. What he found waiting for him was far, far different than what he'd imagined.

The gully widened up ahead, forming a small hollow where the stream had divided around a delta where a massive tree had taken root. Snakes writhed and slithered all over the walls of the place, hissing and moving past one another. Pale clutches of soft eggs had been settled in the pools where parts of the stream had stagnated and spilled over the banks. Small shadows of immature bodies moved inside them, promising the advent of a new generation of monsters.

Clay's attention was drawn to the tree, however. Its trunk was backlit by a harsh unnatural light that Clay recognized from other Curses. The center of the Lair wasn't tucked away in a separate building or cave; it was there, out in the open, behind the tree.

Yet his gaze was fixed on the creature that had its coils wrapped around the tree itself.

It was massive, with scales that had colors which shifted, like the surface of a pool of oil. The length of it was draped across the lowest branches or circled the trunk itself. A head the size of a boulder hung where its oversized fangs could drip poison into the water. At the tip of its tail was a club-like protrusion that twitched and rustled.

The most surprising thing, however, was the fact that it was asleep. Its eyes were shut, and a small, whiplike tongue made ripples in the water as it breathed.

The Orison activated a moment later, filling his vision with more details.

[Guardian Polluted Bone Rattle]

[Rank: 10, Type: Snake, Title: Guardian]

[Demesne: Eldsford Hollow Lair, Liege: The Ophidian Host]

[Type Kills: 0, Deaths Caused: 0, Age: 3 months]

[Guardian (Bound to the Lair, Bringer of Ruin),

Creator (Origin of Hissing Agonies),

Commander (Lord of Agonies, Captain of the Hollow),

Eternal (Reborn in the Hollow While the Lair Stands)

Pollution (Lethal Venom, Corrosive Coat, and Foul Blood)

Resonant (Sound Disruptor, Shattering Scales, Reflection, Weak Eyes)]

Clay blinked, banishing the words. He'd never seen a Guardian asleep before. Was it even possible for them to rest? None of the others had ever been asleep or unaware of his approach, before. They'd always known. Always.

He stayed where he was, his eyes moving across the hollow. The rest of the snakes seemed agitated, but they were clustered around the light behind the tree. Why weren't they keeping position around the Guardian? Why wasn't the Guardian waking up?

More than that, why did the Lair feel so… odd to him? Every Curse screamed and howled in his ethereal senses, and this one was no different. Yet it was still different, somehow, in a way that he was having a hard time describing. It was a familiar difference, but even as he studied the situation, he couldn't put a finger on what it was exactly.

Olivia reached out and touched his arm. He looked back at her, and she signed to him. Danger? Retreat?

Clay hesitated. Then he shook his head. Target vulnerable. Continue. She nodded, and he started to move forward. He clutched the haft of his spear, preparing to launch it across the distance. It was a Guardian, but if he could catch it unaware and strike a hard enough blow, it would go down like any other monster. The others followed, moving as quietly as they could; he heard Olivia beginning the Anthem of Thunder. Obviously, she had similar plans for the writhing mass of snakes behind the Guardian itself.

He reached a position where he was confident of his throw. Clay lined up the strike, shifting his hands on the haft. The others crouched, ready to strike, their whispered words forming a quiet contrast to the hissing cacophony ahead. In his view, the world seemed to narrow, and his breathing evened out. A single, brutal strike, and it would all be done.

Then a man walked out from behind the tree, and Clay froze.

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