Drion nodded as the icy wind whipped at his hair. "That's fine. Emela here will help with the final push."

"She will?" Noelle chirped. She shot a wry glance at Emela, a small gloating smile tugging at her lips. "That is mighty brave of her. And may I ask, sister, why so eager to volunteer?"

"She did not volunteer," Drion cut in before Emela could waste her breath answering. "She had nothing to do and lacked initiative, so I gave her a job."

"Ah, I see." Noelle's smile deepened.

Emela resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was one thing to kiss up to her brother—another thing to gloat while doing it.

In the trial realm, she couldn't fully vent her anger on Noelle. Someone was always watching, always ready to report back. And even then, a fight between them would hardly favour Emela.

Annoyingly, Noelle had improved during her time here, gaining points and completing quests.

She wasn't just a pawn to be sold off to the Muddust family after all, and so enjoyed a bit more freedom.

"Sir, when you're ready," Palmen said, hands clasped behind his back as he stood at Drion's side.

Barely regarding the man, Drion nodded. Then he turned to the group that had joined them from the abandoned town and singled out three mercenaries. "You, you, and you—go with my sister and the maid. Protect her as best you can and make sure you clear the wolves from the gate. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!" they all said in unison.

A brown-haired woman stepped forward, clad in simple leather armour with a sword at her waist.

She hadn't invested too many points into herself, but then again, she might have been saving those points for a cultivation technique.

After all, the cheapest cultivation technique costs upwards of 200 points. Not that the Frostkeeps needed them—none of the menu's options surpassed the families, anyway.

Not the cheap ones, that is.

The further you went up the list, though, the more eccentric and pricey some techniques became.

Normal people probably couldn't even cultivate some of the pricier ones, let alone afford them. Using them would likely kill the user.

"My lord, I am Rana Delcord of House Delcord. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said, bowing deep at the waist like a woman of a lower house should before a superior. Not a curtsy—she was no dandelion waiting to be plucked. She was a warrior.

"It is an honour to serve you," Rana said, gaze firm as she met Drion's uncaring eyes.

Emela scrunched her brow. The woman's house meant nothing to her. Then again, Middlec teemed with minor houses.

If one or two vanished, no one would notice. Another would simply take their place within a month. After all, there were plenty of ways to become a noble in Middlec—at least a minor one.

"You are seen," Drion said, his tone bored, eager to move things along. The woman didn't squirm under his gaze.

"I hope you will watch my fight, sir. I endeavour to take up the mantle and serve your house with the utmost pride."

Emela raised a brow. Impressing Drion was easier said than done. She'd have better luck trying to impress one of those ice wolves clawing people to death on the lake.

Maybe the beast would give her a second look before it punched a hole through her with its tail. Emela crossed her arms and stepped back.

At Drion's side, Noelle chuckled, covering her mouth with a pedicured hand. Even here, she fussed over her looks, though the effort did little for her pig face.

"You are seen," Drion said. He turned back to Emela. "Begin the operation, sister, and do not waste my time."

Nodding, Emela took a shaky step past her brother. Brom was not among the crowd as she passed several of the Frostkeeps that had gathered at the edge of the lake.

If only he were. It had been a fantastical hope of hers, but an impossible one; his quest no doubt took him far from this part of the trial realm.

Wherever he was now and whatever he was doing, it was probably a lot more tolerable than what she had to do.

"Are you okay, mistress?" Nyx whispered behind her, speaking for the first time since the dining hall.

Emela nodded. Behind her and Nyx, the mercenaries trudged across the loosely packed snow on the lake's surface. Rana, in the middle, marched with surprising pride for a noble of the lower house.

Did she think herself better? She couldn't have been a noble for long. Most minor houses in Middlec knew their place—bowing when told. Yet she tried to stand out to a higher family, keeping company even with mercenaries, people of the common ranks. A climber. An arrogant one at that.

Emela almost chuckled, sighing as wind whipped through her braids. Her hand fell to the sword at her waist. Social climbers were rare nowadays. Especially one clawing at the tails of a great family.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

But her fate would be the same as every climber's. Forgotten and discarded. Nothing would change that, no matter how hard she fought. Or whom she tried to impress.

"Are you ready, mistress?" Nyx asked, drawing a small blade from the scabbard at her side. She'd bought it the same day as Emela. It would keep her safe. Mostly.

Frowning, Emela narrowed her eyes at an ice wolf a few paces away. It battled a well-armoured man, its spiked appendage bouncing off his shield and snapping back before he could counter.

Nyx would have to be quick to avoid that and to land a strike with such a small dagger. Still, she would be fine. If needed, Emela could unleash [Arctic Barrage] to cover her. She hadn't revealed the Talent to her family; doing so would only put her in danger. But keeping herself and Nyx alive came first.

—- —- —- —-

"I smashed mine," Lincoln yelled, crunching through the trees and back into the small clearing, spear resting on his shoulder.

Hector nodded, adjusting his mask as he turned to Marcus, who knelt by the crypt entrance, still reading over the riddle. Not that he could get much more from the few words. He'd already deciphered it to mean that they should run around the nearby area and break small turtle statues that they found.

The term turtle had confused Jodie and Lincoln at first. The two were clueless about turtles, after all. Middlec wasn't by the ocean—it was on a lake, and lakes weren't exactly known for having turtles. Especially not cute ones that hid behind trees.

Hector crossed his arms, nodding to Lincoln as he stepped over. Not that it would have made a difference if the city were by the sea, as the two would likely have never approached it.

The skyscraper-sized walls surrounding the city were near impregnable, and going to the lakeside would be borderline suicide. The mana beasts in there would probably use you for a snack, or perhaps just to clean out their teeth before they went in search of a proper meal.

"Can we go in now?" Jodie asked, eyeing Marcus with some mild annoyance.

The long-haired boy nodded, tucking a strand of brown hair behind his ear and getting to his feet. "I believe so. I just need to check one more thing." He shuffled over to the metal grate and rested a hand against what should have been a lock, but it was flat and missing a keyhole.

I swear, the old man must have designed this thing while he was completely blind drunk. So many riddles, and so many things, just to open a crypt entrance. I hate to imagine what's actually inside.

As the wind brushed against Hector's feet, his cloak billowed. Sighing, he plucked a strand of hair that had fallen over his mask and into his eye out of the way. Getting a haircut would have to be a priority when he returned to the sanctuary.

A click rang through the clearing, and then a low whine as Marcus pushed the crypt entrance open. "We're in," he said, a jubilant smile lighting up his features. One similar to the day his father had told him he'd be helping to manage the shop.

A simple thing, but Hector could sympathise. Marcus probably felt like a bit of a weight until now, but this time, he'd shown them what to do and how. He'd probably be doing more of that as he went into the crypt. The old man had likely left more than one riddle for them to solve.

"Come on," Marcus said, waving them in, his boots clacking against the stone.

The three of them shuffled in behind Marcus and into the crypt. The expected dank, stale air did not assault Hector as soon as he stepped in. Instead, the atmosphere practically dragged and cleaned his senses as they walked into a place that would rival the sanctuary in its level of perfection.

White tiles ran down a large hallway that could easily fit the four of them and leave space for more people. A red carpet trailed down the middle, and equally spaced mana stone sconces clung to the wall, holding extremely rare white mana stones.

"Are those pure mana stones?" Lincoln sang, taking a step closer to the sconces. He reached up, trying to grab one, his fingers clawing towards it, even hopping a little, but he failed. Shifting the spear onto his other shoulder, he turned back, tapping his mask. He dropped his hand to his side. "Anyone want to give me a boost?"

Hector rolled his eyes. "Pure mana stones or not, I don't think you should mess with that, Lincoln. You don't know what it would do," Hector said. Dungeons, or crypts in this case, could be unpredictable. Touch the wrong thing, and the next moment you're running for your life from a giant boulder.

Jodie whistled as she looked around. She stepped over to the wall, dragging her hand across its smooth white surface, and nodded. "Who in the world builds a crypt like this?" she said, dropping her hand.

"I don't know," Marcus shrugged, pulling on his backpack and eyeing his surroundings.

With a sense of appreciation washing over him, Hector shook his head. This was quite a sight. Instead of a dark, dingy space, they'd stumbled into an open, lavishly decorated hallway. The carpet alone didn't fit this place. Who would cover a crypt floor with a red silk carpet?

"I kind of think we should take some of them back," Lincoln said, eyeing the mana stones.

"And do what with it?" Hector asked.

Lincoln shrugged. "Sell it, obviously."

"Oh, shut up," Jodie said, stepping over Marcus and slapping him perhaps a bit too hard on the shoulder. "Marcus, I take it we just head down the hall?"

Rolling his shoulder, Marcus nodded, taking a moment to stroke back the same strand of hair. He'd probably be better off cutting it, with the amount he fussed with it. Eyes shifting around the area, Marcus padded down the carpet as if waiting for something to jump out.

Nothing did. They moved as one down the hallway, passing more mana stone lanterns. The white light from them lit the hall with a constant and perfect glow. It was quite amazing. The walls made it necessary for the mana stones to be white. Anything else, and they'd most likely ruin the feel that the crypt—if it could be called that anymore—was going for.

"How much do you think this all costs?" Lincoln mused at the back, a few paces behind Marcus. They still held the triangle formation. The hallway had more than enough room for it to be maintained with ease.

Hector shrugged, his cloak ruffling as the hairless rat fabric brushed against his underclothing. "I don't think it cost him anything aside from mana. Unless people came into this trial realm to build something like this."

"I could see that." Jodie nodded, adjusting the bottom of her mask. Reaching behind, she fixed the hood, taking her ginger ponytail out of it and letting it spill down her back. "Wherever this old man came from, it wasn't like Middlec, and as he said, it wasn't this planet. For all we know, he abducted people, brought them into this trial realm, and—"

Her words cut off, and Hector came to a stop.

Ahead, in front of a black metallic door—a sharp contrast to the white surrounding them—swayed a humanoid figure. It loomed way too tall, barely a few inches before its head touched the roof. Its smile, which was far too wide to begin with, stretched further as they approached, edges almost curving around its head like a crescent moon.

Its long arms rocked at its sides, the claws at the end of them dragging along the carpet with each subtle movement. Its knees were bent at an awkward angle, and the entire thing shook as if it were excited.

"What is that?" Lincoln asked, taking a shaky step back and gripping the handle of his spear.

"I don't know," Hector said, his fists tightening as his eyes ran over the creepy thing.

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