Chương 72: Chapter 30 part 1

The massive, spiraling stone staircase leading down to the fifth floor of the Grand Abyss did not look like it had been carved by human hands. The steps were jagged, uneven, and far too wide, plunging relentlessly downward into an impenetrable, suffocating blackness. Evanthe walked in the center of the Vanguard's diamond formation, her right hand resting firmly on the golden hilt of her sword. Every step she took, took her further away from the surface and further away from the safety of her master.

Xuan Ji had explicitly stated that she had judged Evanthe to have the qualification to dive, and would not be accompanying them into the dungeon today. The Heavenly Demon had remained behind at the estate, leaving the four of them to face the abyss alone. The absence of the Sovereign was an undeniable reality. Yesterday, even in the chaotic swarm of Crawlers, the dungeon had felt fundamentally trivialized.

Xuan Ji's passive aura had acted like a radiant, invisible sun, effortlessly pushing back the oppressive miasma and completely dominating the atmospheric pressure of the cavern. But today, without that divine safety net, the true, unfiltered horror of the Grand Abyss was actively pressing in against Evanthe. For the Vanguard, the descent through the upper levels was merely a warm-up.

Durgan, Axel, and Garrick had carved their way down to the fifteenth floor in their mercenary days; navigating the twisting tunnels of floors two, three, and four was a matter of ingrained muscle memory. They had moved with a calm, mechanical efficiency, effortlessly dismantling packs of low-tier monsters while actively drilling Evanthe on her footwork and Qi management.

But as they descended past the final landing of Floor 4, the dim, comforting bioluminescence of the glowing moss and scattered mana crystals completely died out. The environment violently shifted. The jagged stone walls gave way to a sprawling, petrified subterranean forest. Colossal, calcified mushroom stalks, thicker than the watchtowers of the Royal Spire, stretched upward to hold a ceiling entirely obscured by shadows.

The air grew incredibly dense, saturated with a thick, heavy miasma that smelled of ancient rot, damp spores, and stagnant water. For Evanthe, every breath required a conscious physical effort, the heavy air settling into her lungs like wet sand. More terrifying than the visual shift was the acoustic anomaly. The acoustics of Floor 5 were completely warped. The sound of their armored boots striking the stone did not echo.

The heavy, petrified fungal growths lining the walls actively absorbed the ambient noise, creating a deadened, muffled silence that felt like they were walking underwater.

"Keep your intervals tight," Durgan's voice rumbled from the front of the formation. Even though he was only a few feet ahead of Evanthe, his deep bass sounded incredibly distant, swallowed by the suffocating atmosphere.

"Visuals are compromised. Do not rely on your ears." Axel melted into the shadows along the right flank, his dark-elf eyes adjusting to the gloom far better than the humans. His crimson irises flared with a faint, predatory light.

"The miasma is always thick down here, Boss, but it feels heavier today. It's actively scrambling my mana-sense. I can only project a clear sensory net for about thirty feet. Anything beyond that is static."

"Understood," Durgan replied, his colossal battleaxe resting easily across his broad shoulder.

"Garrick, maintain the vanguard pace. We move slow. We do not rush blind corners."

"Aye, Captain," Garrick murmured, his massive Adamantine-scale shield raised and locked into position. Evanthe focused on her breathing, deliberately cycling neutral Qi through her battered meridians. Silas's alchemical poultice had performed a miracle overnight, knitting the worst of the micro-tears in her muscles, but her body still carried the deep, residual ache of yesterday's elemental friction. She did not let the pain distract her.

She kept her red eyes scanning the twisted, petrified fungal stalks, her senses completely heightened by the primal survival instincts Xuan Ji had forcefully awakened within her. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. They marched for two agonizing hours through the silent, oppressive forest. Unlike the upper floors, which had immediately swarmed them with mindless hordes, Floor 5 was a psychological battleground for a rookie.

The silence played terrible tricks on Evanthe's mind. A shifting shadow in the distance looked like a towering behemoth. A piece of calcified fungus snapping under a heavy boot sounded like a bone breaking. The veterans remained completely unfazed, their postures relaxed but alert, forcing Evanthe to anchor her own rising panic to their steady rhythm. Durgan suddenly raised a clenched fist, the universal mercenary signal to halt. The formation instantly froze. Garrick dropped into a heavy, anchored crouch.

Axel drew his sound-dampening mythril dagger, fading entirely from view. Evanthe drew her Sungold longsword, holding it in a tight, two-handed guard, her heart hammering a steady, disciplined rhythm against her ribs.

"This is deep enough for today," Durgan declared softly, his eyes scanning a naturally occurring alcove formed by the intersection of three massive, petrified mushroom stalks.

"Floor five is where the true Dungeon begins, rookie. The miasma is starting to saturate your armor. We need to let you clear your lungs and establish a deep-dive endurance baseline before we push any further. We set up camp here."

Establishing a secure perimeter in the deep abyss was an art form the Vanguard had perfected over decades of survival. They did not simply sit down in the dirt. Garrick marched to the edge of the alcove and slammed the heavy edge of his shield into the stone, creating a physical bottleneck that forced any approaching threat to funnel directly into his line of sight. Axel effortlessly scaled the rough, calcified bark of the largest fungal stalk, taking up a high-vantage overwatch position in the shadows.

Durgan pulled a thick stick of pale, alchemical chalk from his utility belt. He walked a tight, twenty-foot circle around the alcove, crushing the chalk against the stone in a continuous, unbroken line. The chalk flared briefly with a dull silver light, creating a localized scent-masking ward that would prevent the wandering horrors of the dungeon from tracking their biological signatures. Finally, in the center of the alcove, Durgan set down a small, runic heating crystal.

With a quick pulse of his Qi, the crystal activated, producing a small, smokeless, odorless flame that cast a dim, flickering orange glow over the camp. Evanthe slowly sheathed her sword and sat on a relatively flat piece of petrified wood near the crystal. She let out a long, shuddering breath, finally allowing her rigid, combat-ready posture to relax. The warmth of the smokeless flame was a profound comfort against the biting, necrotic chill of the miasma.

Durgan unclasped the heavy straps of his drake-hide helmet, setting it on the ground beside his axe. He sat across from her, his dark brown face illuminated by the flickering light.

"The silence is heavy on the first real descent, isn't it?" Durgan asked quietly, passing her a sealed leather canteen of purified water.

"It feels like it's pressing against my eardrums," Evanthe admitted, taking a long drink. The water was cold and clean, a stark contrast to the foul air of the cavern.

"I expected more monsters. The upper floors were chaotic. Here... it feels like we are completely alone."

"That is exactly what the deep wants you to think," Durgan rumbled, his battle-hardened eyes watching the dancing flame.

"Low-tier monsters swarm because they are mindless. They run on the pure, aggressive instinct of the miasma. But the creatures that spawn in this forest? They have patience. They stalk and hunt." Durgan leaned forward, resting his thick forearms on his knees. He didn't speak to her like a noble charge. He spoke to her like a junior member of the guild.

"The greatest threat in a deep dive isn't a chieftain's spear or a bat's venom," the half-orc lectured softly.

"It is paranoia. The dark actively chips away at your sanity. You start questioning the shadows. You start wondering if the man standing next to you is real, or if he is an illusion conjured by the miasma. I have seen veteran parties tear each other to pieces on the lower floors because the silent but ever-present miasma convinced them they had been betrayed." Evanthe gripped her canteen, looking out at the oppressive, inky blackness beyond their chalk circle.

"How do you fight that? How do you stop your mind from breaking?"

"You trust your comrade with your life," a quiet voice dropped from the canopy above. Axel didn't reveal his position, but his words carried conviction.

"You anchor your sanity to the people standing beside you. If I say the flank is clear, you believe it is clear, even if your eyes tell you otherwise. We are your reality down here, rookie." Evanthe looked back at Durgan, who offered a slow, validating nod. The bonds forged in the blood of the first floor were cementing into an unbreakable foundation. They were no longer just retainers serving her master; they were a lifeline.

"Rest your eyes, Lady Evanthe," Garrick's deep voice echoed from the perimeter, his massive silhouette standing entirely motionless behind his shield.

"The Captain and I have the first watch. Conserve your Qi." Evanthe closed her eyes, leaning back against the petrified wood. Despite the terrifying environment, the presence of the Vanguard provided a profound, stabilizing comfort. She drifted into a light, meditative doze, her Dantian slowly processing the ambient neutral mana to soothe her aching meridians.