Chapter 252: Diffrent Struggles

Undead were split in two with each precise swing of Althirion's blade. He gave them no time to react, attacking with swift, merciless strikes. The other elves moved with similar grace and deadliness, their formation flowing like a single living organism through the dark. The first corridor they had tried led nowhere, completely submerged beneath ancient floodwaters. It appeared Thalion’s group faced the same fate, having already moved to the adjacent floor. From what Althirion could tell, both human forces were engaged in fierce combat. They had hoped their path would be easier, but reality had proven otherwise.

Through crumbling corridors and shattered chambers, they advanced. In some of the ruined palaces, entire floors had collapsed, exposing different levels like open wounds in the stone. The elves pressed forward, elegant and lethal, cutting down everything in their path. Their elite warriors led the charge, determined to bear the brunt of the fighting. Every fallen elf was a tragedy that could not be accepted. No one was left behind. Each time an elf was injured, the others rallied to cover them while healers worked quickly to restore their strength.

For Althirion, this type of battle felt almost refreshing. The endless squabbling between noble houses had vanished, replaced by unity in the face of a shared enemy. Yet he knew this peace was temporary. Once the war ended, the old hunger for power and influence would return stronger than ever. He had little patience for that game, perhaps because there was nothing left for him to gain. At the moment, he stood unchallenged atop the elven hierarchy.

Still, one thing troubled him. Elaria. Since the death of her son, she had changed. Power radiated from her, vast and unsettling. He could feel it even though she tried to hide it. That mystery bothered him. He too held back some of his strength, but what she concealed felt far greater. Something about it did not make sense.

Could grief alone have driven her to such growth? That seemed unlikely. She remained at level eighty, and her physical cultivation had progressed at a pace similar to his own. A hidden bloodline, perhaps? But he had observed her closely over the months, even during her hunts. She had fought powerful beasts and pushed herself to her limits, leaving no hint of such hidden strength. Bloodline evolution was slow, taking thousands of years to unfold. And even then, the changes were usually subtle. What she showed now was no minor increase. It was as if her strength had doubled.

He wondered if a new title had been bestowed on her. Perhaps she was the last of her lineage after her son's death. That might unlock some ancient legacy. Yet if that were true, many others—especially among the humans—would have experienced similar changes. And still, Althirion had never seen such a transformation. He had not yet spoken with his patron, but he knew something unusual had happened to Elaria, and he was determined to find out what.

The undead beasts themselves were not the problem. They were being used as tools, their presence carefully orchestrated to slow the elven advance. Someone had herded them into the catacombs and was now releasing them in waves. Even with their overwhelming strength, the elves were struggling to move forward. The narrow corridors restricted their movements, forcing them to proceed with caution. Every time an elf was injured, they had to shift formation and fall back slightly. The endless pressure made progress excruciatingly slow.

The vampires, strangely, remained hidden. That concerned Althirion more than if they had attacked. So far, they had advanced only three hundred meters since encountering the undead. If the pillar stood in a similar position as in the last catacomb, they could still make it. But if it had been placed deeper, the chances of Ankhet's death would diminish with every moment.

"Send someone to the humans," Althirion commanded, his voice firm as it echoed through the corridor. "Ask them how they are holding up, and whether any elite warriors have started fighting them."

As he spoke, he drove his fist into the chest of a grey undead tiger, smashing it into the wall with a sickening crunch. If the elites had truly moved against the humans, then now was their chance. The elves would need to increase their pace. Reaching the pillar quickly might be their only hope.

<--

“And what did the elf want?” Josh asked as Jack returned to their group. They were all lounging in their reclining chairs, chewing on freshly grilled meat. There wasn’t much else to do except make noise and pretend to be busy whenever a scout from the other factions dropped by to ask how things were going. Each time, one of their warriors stationed near the corridor fork would sprint down to fetch someone from their group. That person would then jog back up to claim they were fighting valiantly against an endless undead horde. This time it had been Jack’s turn, and everyone waited eagerly to hear what had happened.

This wasn’t just their usual elite squad lounging around. Nearly a hundred people were gathered in this stretch of corridor alone. Some had even summoned flying carpets, hovering lazily in the air under the high stone ceiling. The arrival of an elf scout had been a rare and curious event, making Jack’s story all the more intriguing.

“He wanted to know if we were dealing with vampires and whether the undead elites had joined the fight,” Jack began casually. Then he raised his voice with dramatic flair. “That fool actually tried to sense me. I told him, as politely as I could, that I would welcome the chance to fight something other than vampires. A single undead beast would’ve been a blessing, I said. But alas, we’re only beset by these pesky vampires.”

The group erupted into laughter, his sarcasm painting a vivid picture of the elf’s confusion. A new wave of conversations broke out around the catacomb as people chuckled and debated the real issue at hand—how to smuggle better food down to their cozy hideaway. Spatial rings tended to ruin the flavor of cooked meals, and theories were flying about how to preserve the taste. Some argued for transporting food in barrels, while others suggested grilling it right there.

“We definitely picked the right guy to deal with the elves,” a wind mage chuckled from one of the floating carpets. Others joined in, hooting in agreement.

“I say we try the barrel idea,” another man added, still laughing. “That meat soup with the long noodles from that new tavern? Absolute perfection. I’d give it two Michelin stars.”

“That’s too risky,” a female warrior interjected from her sofa on the ground. She was munching on seasoned ham and sausage, sipping wine like it was a summer picnic. “If anyone from the other factions finds out what we’re really doing down here, we could get into serious trouble—especially without Lord Thalion here to cover for us.”

Alcohol wasn’t a major concern thanks to healing magic, but Evelyn, their only healer, had refused to spend her day running around curing hangovers. They were forced to rely on health potions for now. Hard liquors like Kargul’s vodka were strictly forbidden, but wine passed under the radar.

“If you’d tasted that soup, you’d be on my side,” the man argued, his tone more playful than serious. It was all friendly banter, a way to distract themselves from the tension thickening in the air like smoke.

“Can’t we just put it in a spatial ring?” a curious mage asked. “Does it really make that much of a difference?”

“To put a masterpiece like that soup in a spatial ring would be a crime,” the man on the carpet declared dramatically. “One of the worst I’ve seen during this entire tutorial.”

“Maybe it’s because the soup isn’t sealed,” someone else suggested. “Has anyone tried putting it in a barrel first, then into the ring?”

“Enough already,” Evelyn interrupted, cutting off the debate. “No more experiments for now. We’ll probably have to help one of the other factions soon if they can’t deal with the undead. I want no trouble until then. If you want to sneak food in, do it shortly before we’re called to battle.”

Their chatter masked a quiet dread. Everyone knew that when the real fighting started, not all of them would walk away. Even if they survived the undead, there was always the risk of betrayal by the other factions. The banter, food debates, and board games bought from the system shop were their last fragile attempts to pretend everything was normal.

“Do you think the elf bought your story?” Josh asked as Jack leaned back on his golden throne, clearly pleased with himself.

“Absolutely,” Jack replied with pride. “You should’ve seen the way he strolled over after talking to one of Kael’s men, probably thinking we were having a lazy afternoon while the undead elites took a nap. After I laid out my story, the guy nearly teleported back to his camp to warn his commanders.”

“Yeah, Josh, you really shouldn’t question the mighty Squidman,” Kargul laughed, then added in a more hushed tone, “You’re lucky he hasn’t told the lonely women around here what you’re capable of.”

“Please don’t,” Josh sighed.

Before anyone could pile on more teasing, a quiet signal echoed through the corridor. Someone was approaching. Likely another messenger. But when Evelyn turned and spotted the newcomers, she jumped to her feet and ran over, throwing her arms around both of them in a warm hug.

“Jakob, it’s so good to see you again,” she said excitedly, releasing them at last. Her embrace had probably been learned from Kargul’s overly affectionate nature. “How have the last few weeks been treating you?”