Chương 33: The Refuge

Behind the Blackstone Town Adventurers' Guild, the sound of wooden swords clashing rang out again and again across the training field. Bang! Asar retreated several steps, his chest rising and falling as his eyes fixed firmly on Rayne standing before him. Rayne was breathing hard too. But compared to Asar, his breathing was clearly much steadier. He could even still stand straight where he was, making it hard to believe the two of them had already been trading blows for half an hour.

The sight made Asar grind his teeth. Three days ago, when Rayne had only just used the Skill Book and sparred with him, Asar had still been able to hold the upper hand from a purely technical perspective. Yet only a few days had passed, and he was already starting to fall behind Rayne's rhythm. Asar drew in a deep breath, planted his foot, and lowered his stance as he pressed in. The wooden sword in his hand changed direction several times in succession.

A diagonal slash, an upward cut, followed immediately by a reverse horizontal sweep. He chained several utterly basic variations together into a single offensive sequence. However, today, Rayne only watched his movements closely with those bright, focused eyes. Then he stepped forward to meet him, using his wooden sword to block the first strike before turning the momentum aside and deflecting the second.

By the time Asar's third strike swept across, Rayne merely shifted his body slightly, letting it skim past the edge of his clothes. Asar took several heavy breaths. Then, for the first time, he casually tossed his wooden sword onto the ground.

"I'm done." Rayne froze for a moment, the wooden sword in his hand still held in a defensive posture.

"You don't want to continue?" Asar glanced at him and fell silent for a moment. Only then did he bend down, pick up the wooden sword he had thrown aside, and pat the dust off it.

"If we keep going, I'll probably be in a terrible mood for the rest of the day." For a moment, Rayne did not know how to answer. Asar rested the wooden sword back on his shoulder.

"That's why I decided to stop here." He paused, then added, "While I can still preserve my dignity." He looked at Rayne with mixed feelings. After a while, as though he had thought of something, he suddenly muttered quietly.

"I think I understand how my brother feels when he looks at me." Rayne paused slightly. Asar, however, had no intention of explaining. He merely shook his head and sighed. No wonder Skill Books were immediately bought up by major nobles and powerful figures whenever they appeared. What made those things truly terrifying was never simply that they let someone learn one more move. Especially the one Rayne had obtained. Hundred-Tempered Swordsmanship. It would not turn Rayne into a swordsmanship master overnight.

But every exchange allowed him to slowly see his own weaknesses more clearly, then quickly correct them and close those gaps. And Blackstone Dungeon could almost be called the perfect training ground for bringing out that kind of ability. Thinking of this, Asar could not help glancing at Rayne. Strictly speaking, it was not strange for him to be pressured by Rayne now. After all, Rayne was already Bronze-rank, while he was still stuck at mid Black Iron-rank.

The gap in physical ability and reaction speed alone was already obvious enough. What truly bothered Asar was something else. Rayne's technique was improving too quickly. So quickly that Asar could not help wondering whether giving up that Skill Book back then and choosing to continue studying his family inheritance had really been wise. Asar remained silent for several seconds before finally letting out a low sigh. Forget it. At least it suited Rayne.

After putting away the wooden training swords, the two of them returned to the Adventurers' Guild hall one after the other. Barton was sitting near the wall, waiting for them. A half-finished mug of light ale sat in front of him, while his freshly maintained greatshield leaned beside the table. Rather than drinking, he looked more like he was checking his condition before entering the dungeon again. Seeing Rayne and Asar walk in, Barton raised his head.

"Finished?" Asar sat down on a chair and let out a long breath.

"Finished. If we kept going, I probably wouldn't need to enter the dungeon today." Rayne glanced at him helplessly.

"It wasn't that exaggerated."

"Rayne, please don't speak right now." Asar rubbed his brow in irritation.

"I am working very hard to preserve the last bit of my dignity." Barton looked at the two of them, then nodded calmly.

"Looks like the training was effective." Asar had just been about to reply when the Guild's front door was pushed open. Tyren and Serin walked in one after another. The quiver on Tyren's back was clearly fuller than it had been that morning, and several bundles of spare arrows had been added to his waist. Serin, meanwhile, was holding a small cloth bundle. The cuffs of her white priest robe were stained with a little dust, making her look as though she had just hurried back from outside.

"You two already finished?" Tyren looked at Asar, then at Rayne, and immediately raised an eyebrow.

"Who won?" Asar expressionlessly turned his head away.

"It was training. There is no winning or losing." Tyren's face lit up with sudden understanding.

"Got it. Rayne won."

"I never admitted that." Serin could not help laughing softly, then looked at Rayne.

"I'm ready too. The letters that needed to be sent have already been handed over to the post station, and I brought back the supplies." Rayne nodded, his gaze sweeping over his companions one by one. Three days of rest had been enough. Their equipment had been replenished, their injuries had recovered, and everything they needed to check had more or less been checked. Now, only one thing remained. Rayne stood up and picked up the longsword leaning beside the table.

"Then let's go." He looked outside the Guild, in the direction of Blackstone Dungeon.

"We're returning to Blackstone Dungeon." When the group left the Guild, the streets of Blackstone Town were still lively. The streets were filled with the overlapping voices of adventurers. Some were discussing today's challenge slots, some were complaining that Bonecrusher's giant club hit too hard, and some were excitedly talking about finally getting something from the first treasure chest. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Blackstone Dungeon was becoming the true center of this town. And in places they could not see, several letters and reports were also traveling along different roads, carrying the name of that dungeon into the distance. ◆ ◆ ◆ Whiteoak County, Count Velmont's estate. Darian Velmont put down the report in his hand, his gaze stopping on one particular name. Asar Velmont. His originally calm expression darkened slightly. He remained silent for a long time. Then, all of a sudden, he let out a quiet laugh.

"No matter where it is, you always manage to leave your name behind, don't you?" There was not much amusement in those words. A moment later, he closed the report and spoke to the attendant outside the door.

"Inform Father first. Then have the horses prepared." ◆ ◆ ◆ At the same time, inside one of the churches of the Church of the Pure White Star, Elena Vesta quietly finished reading the letter from Blackstone Town.

"Could this be a miracle?" Her gaze lingered on Serin's name, then she drew in a deep breath.

"Or is it merely an exaggerated rumor?" The silver-haired pilgrim priestess remained silent for a moment, her fingertips lightly pressing against the Pure White Star emblem on her chest.

"Prepare the carriage." Her voice was very soft, but it carried not the slightest hesitation.

"I am going to Blackstone Town." ◆ ◆ ◆ And farther away, inside a grand Radiant Dawn church covered in golden patterns, Adjudicator Bishop Aurican Vald also closed the report in his hand. His solemn and dignified face was so calm that no emotion could be read from it. If this intelligence was true... Aurican lowered his eyes, his fingertips pressing lightly against the edge of the report.

"Signs of such blasphemy should not be left in the hands of unbelievers." The priest standing below gave a slight nod. Aurican slowly rose. The golden threads along the edges of his vestments seemed to flow faintly in the morning light.

"Notify the Dawn Knights."

"I will go to Blackstone Town myself. Immediately." ◆ ◆ ◆ When Rayne's group arrived at the temporary camp, Greer was already waiting near the dungeon entrance. Compared to three days ago, there were clearly many more people in the camp. Adventurers waiting in line, Guild staff maintaining order, and people who had simply come to watch the excitement had packed the area near the entrance until it was nearly impossible to move through.

Seeing Rayne's party approach, Greer put away the documents in his hand and looked up at them.

"Looks like you're all prepared." Rayne nodded.

"Yes." Greer's gaze swept across the group before finally stopping on Rayne's face.

"I'm not going in with you this time." Tyren froze.

"You're not coming with us, Guildmaster?"

"No." Greer said calmly, "I have already confirmed Blackstone Dungeon's anomalies with my own eyes. Next, I need to remain outside and deal with the troublesome people who may come looking for it." He paused, then glanced at the entrance again.

"Besides, if I keep following beside you, it will affect your judgment instead." The group fell silent for a moment and soon understood what he meant. Greer was not an ordinary adventurer, after all. Even if his current physical condition was limited, his experience and vision far exceeded theirs. If he accompanied Rayne's party on every expedition, it would always give them an extra layer of insurance, preventing the training from having its true effect. Greer looked at them, his expression more solemn than usual.

"Follow your own pace. Advance if you can. If you cannot, come back." Rayne tightened his grip on his sword hilt.

"Understood." Greer nodded and stepped aside from the path leading to the entrance.

"Go." ◆ ◆ ◆ And at that same moment, deep inside Blackstone Dungeon, in the Core Chamber. Owen was hovering above the stone pedestal, slowly swaying back and forth like a restless little blue rock.

"The third day is already almost halfway over."

"Why aren't Rayne and the others here yet...?" As he muttered, he switched his view back and forth between the entrance, the camp, and the circular plaza. The next second, white light suddenly flared in the circular plaza. Owen's entire core lit up sharply, and even his hovering path wobbled twice in midair.

"They're here, they're here!" He pulled the screen in front of him almost instantly, his entire core practically pressing against it. On the screen, the figures of Rayne's party gradually emerged from the white light. Owen stared at them for several seconds, and the blue halo around his core brightened in rippling rings.

"I hope you like what I prepared." After saying that, he went quiet again. A moment later, Owen added softly,"And the little surprise I prepared too..." ◆ ◆ ◆ After the white light faded, the instant Rayne saw his surroundings clearly, his hand immediately gripped his sword hilt. Barton raised his greatshield almost at the same time, placing himself in front of everyone. This was not the starting chamber. They should have appeared in the starting chamber.

Instead, they were standing directly in the center of the circular plaza. The Bronze Gate stood silently ahead. And the towering figure that still made their nerves instinctively tense was standing beside the Bronze Gate. Cassandre. The Withered Knight had both hands resting on the hilt of his rusted heavy sword. The pale-gray patterns on his black armor flickered in and out of sight. For an instant, Rayne almost thought the battle was about to begin again. However, Cassandre did not draw his sword.

He merely stood quietly where he was, his eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his helmet calmly watching them. A few seconds later, Rayne slowly exhaled.

"Don't move yet." Barton still did not lower his shield.

"A trap?"

"I don't know." Rayne stared at Cassandre.

"But for now, he doesn't seem to intend to attack." Tyren looked at the Withered Knight, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

"I don't like him just standing there." Asar glanced at him.

"Would you rather he charged over and cut you down?" Tyren hurriedly waved both hands again and again.

"Hey, don't say things like that in a place like this." While they were still hesitating, Cassandre moved. Rayne's fingers instantly tightened. However, the Withered Knight did not walk toward them. He merely turned around, walked to the Bronze Gate, and planted the tip of his rusted heavy sword against the ground. The heavy tip of the sword struck the stone bricks with a low, muffled sound. Then Cassandre reached out and placed his hand on the Bronze Gate that had remained shut for so long.

Rumble— The heavy Bronze Gate slowly opened to both sides. Behind the gate was not a new stone chamber. Nor was it a corridor leading to the next boss room. It was a steep slope extending upward. Gray-black rock walls stretched along one side of the slope, while the other side suddenly broke off, revealing a canyon fissure whose bottom could not be seen. Cold wind rushed up from below the fissure, making the edges of their clothes flutter slightly.

Rayne and the others stood before the gate, and for a while, none of them spoke. The silence lasted for several seconds. In the end, the first one to move was Tyren. He stiffly took a step forward, then quickly picked up his pace and walked up the slope, as though afraid he would regret it if he hesitated.

"Come on, everyone!" His voice was clearly a little higher than usual.

"It's a new area! There's g-gotta be new treasure!" At the end, he even forced out a flat cheer.

"Woohoo." Rayne and the others looked at one another. A moment later, they could not help laughing. That really was something Tyren would do. When they finally reached the top of the slope, the scenery before them suddenly opened up. At the end of the slope was an open stretch of stone. Cracks and shattered rocks were scattered across the ground. Farther ahead, a ruined church stood quietly within the gray fog.

Its leaning steeple, half-collapsed walls, and stone windows tangled with vines all made the building look as though it had been forgotten for a very long time. And in front of the church, several ragged figures were gathered. Some sat beside broken stone steps. Some leaned against the base of the wall with their heads lowered in silence. Others hugged their knees and shrank into a corner, as though they did not even have the strength to lift their heads. Tyren suddenly stopped.

"Wait." He raised a hand and pointed toward the front of the church, his voice unconsciously lowering.

"Look over there." Rayne followed his gaze. Those figures were unnaturally quiet. Tyren swallowed.

"Are those... people?" Rayne did not answer immediately. He simply raised a hand, signaling for everyone to slow down first. The group approached along the cracked stone ground. As the distance shortened, those blurred figures gradually became clearer. Those figures were not the Desiccated Corpses they had seen before. A middle-aged man in worn clothes sat against the outer wall of the church, his expression exhausted, his blank gaze staring toward the distant canyon.

In the corner of the church, a haggard woman held a child in her arms, crouched in the shadows. She gently patted the child's back again and again, murmuring something softly to comfort the child. On the other side, an old man sat beside a broken bench, silently wiping the old amulet in his hands. Once. Then again. The worn amulet had already been polished so smooth that its original patterns could no longer be made out, but the old man still wiped it with great care, as though it was the last thing he had left.

And on the church steps, there was also a man wearing battered armor. He looked like a guard. The armor, however, was already covered in scars, and the longsword in his hand was badly nicked. His head was lowered, his hollow eyes staring at the ground. His whole body looked as though all strength had been drained from him. Tyren had originally wanted to say something, but in the end, he swallowed the words back down. How could humans appear inside a dungeon?

At least among the dungeons they knew, they had never heard of such a thing. Precisely because of that, the unease in their hearts only grew heavier. Rayne slowly approached the guard sitting on the steps and spoke in a softened voice.

"Hello... can you understand me?" The guard merely raised his head slowly and glanced at him. There was not the slightest trace of light in those dead eyes. He did not answer. Just then, a voice suddenly came from behind them.

"Ah, there's no need to bother with them." Rayne turned almost immediately, his hand once again pressing onto his sword hilt. The others also shifted into guarded stances. The speaker, however, seemed completely unaware of their wariness and only continued slowly,"They won't respond to you." But when they saw him clearly, the weapons in their hands lowered slightly again. It was a man who looked to be in his thirties.

Unlike the ragged, numb-looking people in front of the church, he looked relatively neat despite the road dust on him. A worn cloak was draped over his shoulders, and a large wooden-frame pack rested on his back. No matter how one looked at him, he did not seem like the sort of person who would suddenly draw a blade and start cutting people down. The man studied them for a few moments, then revealed a somewhat tired smile.

"From out of town?" He raised a hand and pointed at Rayne's party's equipment.

"Makes sense. Looking at how you're dressed, you don't look like people who've stayed in this damned place for very long." Rayne did not answer immediately. He stared at the man for a moment. After confirming that the man at least had no intention of attacking for now, he slowly spoke.

"What is this place?" The smile on the man's face faded a little. He looked back at the ruined church behind him, then at the canyon farther away, swallowed by gray fog.

"Once, this place had a name." He patted the wooden-frame pack on his back, his tone as though he were speaking of something that had long since stopped being surprising.

"Now, though... most people just call it a refuge."

"Oh, as for me." As if he had only just remembered that he had yet to introduce himself, the man raised a hand and patted the wooden-frame pack on his back.

"I'm a traveling merchant. I move between different refuges. You can call me Mr. Ashford." As he spoke, he bent slightly and gave a bow. However, the pack on his back swayed along with the movement, and the sound of bottles, jars, and iron tools clinking together immediately came from inside. In front of that deathly silent church, that series of noises sounded especially abrupt. The merchant calling himself Ashford seemed completely used to it.

He simply straightened as though nothing had happened, the same somewhat tired smile still hanging on his face.

"Of course, if you want something friendlier, that's fine too." He paused.

"Owen." Rayne froze slightly. The merchant raised a hand and pointed at himself.

"That's my name."