The Hidden Temple

Zara quickly scanned her surroundings. Fortunately, it seemed Bennett had not yet realized she had escaped.

Without giving herself a moment to catch her breath, she looked down at her chest. A crossbow bolt was buried deep within her flesh, having missed her heart by mere inches. Every instinct screamed at her to yank the missile out immediately, but doing so without medical supplies or healing potions risked turning a grave injury into a fatal hemorrhage.

"Dammit."

She had no choice but to quicken her pace. Her only hope was to reach the safe house as swiftly as possible and receive treatment from the personnel stationed there.

Bennett… What in the world is that man?

Having failed once before, they had prepared with meticulous care. They had assembled combatants far stronger than the team sent last time, yet the outcome had been utterly disastrous. His strength far exceeded their wildest calculations.

They had mobilized five Mana Practitioners. Even after coordinating a simultaneous pincer attack from the front and rear, they had failed to overwhelm a single man. Far from overpowering him, they had barely lasted ten minutes. To this moment, Zara struggled to believe it. It felt like an waking nightmare.

He's beyond our reach.

Slipping out through a drainage gap in the inner wall, she headed straight toward the slums. Just as the sprawling Dungeon City continuously expanded in real time, this wasteland of destitute squalor grew endlessly alongside it. Befitting an abyss where the lowest dregs of society gathered, cold, predatory eyes tracked her every move.

An attractive woman, visibly wounded.

Had Zara not gripped a bare blade despite her injuries, and had she not squeezed out every remaining droplet of mana to radiate an oppressive, lethal aura into her surroundings, someone would have ambushed her long ago.

She walked on for what felt like hours until the noise faded into an eerie stillness. Her destination was a decrepit building nestled in the deepest corner of the slums, surrounded by rows of weathered, abandoned shacks.

Painted across the exterior wall in large, crude red lettering was a single proclamation:

Zara hurried forward and pounded on the weathered wooden door.

A moment later, a low, guarded voice drifted from within.

"Who is it?"

"It's me. Zara."

The door cracked open slightly, revealing a man's face. The instant he recognized her, his expression twisted in shock.

"What happened? Why are you alone?"

"Everyone's dead."

"Dead?! All of them?!" The man threw the door wide open, waving her inside with frantic urgency. "Get in! Hurry!"

Zara dragged her battered body across the threshold. But the moment her foot cleared the frame, a concussive shock slammed into the back of her head.

"Ugh!"

She crashed to the floorboards, thrashing in confusion, completely unable to process what had struck her.

"Zara!"

Before her comrade could raise his weapon, a heavy bolt tore through the space between his brows. As his eyes rolled back, Zara finally grasped the cold, merciless reality.

I was… a decoy…

Agonizing self-reproach flared within her, but her thoughts soon fractured. Her vision bled into pitch blackness as a cold numbness engulfed her senses. Rasping for air with shallow, hitching breaths, Zara exhaled one final, shuddering sigh.

"Haaah…"

Bennett stepped cleanly over her corpse, her glazed eyes and parted lips frozen forever in shock.

Entering the safe house, he quickly assessed the interior. At a casual glance, it appeared to be an ordinary, somewhat spacious residence with several private rooms and matching beds, suggesting a communal living quarter. Aside from that mundane setup, one thing immediately drew his gaze: the statuettes.

Every single room contained an effigy identical to the idol he had destroyed before. Each piece had been cared for with meticulous devotion, polished until its wooden surface gleamed under the dim light.

Bennett examined the nearest statuette with Insight, only to freeze.

The space surrounding the idol was shrouded in a milky, turbid blur. Thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him, he sharpened his focus, but the phenomenon remained unchanged. The effigy and its immediate perimeter resisted perception, cloaked in an impenetrable haze. From that obscuring shroud leaked an eerie, dissonant wavelength. Though he had failed to identify it during their first encounter, he recognized it now.

Mana.

Yet it was not ordinary mana. It felt fundamentally warped, distinct from anything wielded by knights or traditional mages… an aberrant, corrupted variant.

By now, he had a clear sense of what 'acceleration' and 'delay' entailed. It undoubtedly referred to speeding up or setting back the expansion of their factional influence. Not that it mattered; his relationship with them was already ruined beyond repair. While thirty experience points was a modest sum, he had no reason to turn it down.

Bennett raised his baton, sheathing the heavy alloy core in a crackling sheath of Psionic Energy.

CRUNCH!

The moment he crushed the idols placed throughout the rooms, a brief surge of exhilaration washed over him. Because it was only thirty experience points, the sensation remained mild and manageable.

Is that all of them?

Bennett cross-referenced the number of operatives he had eliminated against the number of beds in the safe house. Just as he turned to leave, his senses picked up an anomaly along the floorboards.

He kicked aside a worn carpet, exposing a hidden trapdoor. Pulling it open revealed a vertical shaft with a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sturdy wooden ladder. Confirming that the drop was short, Bennett dropped straight down.

Splash!

The subterranean tunnel was crude, but stout timber struts braced the earth ceiling and walls. Fresh boot prints were stamped deeply into the wet clay floor. Following the trail through the damp gloom, Bennett eventually reached the tunnel's terminus, where another ladder ascended toward the surface.

Creeeak.

Pushing open the overhead hatch, Bennett surveyed his surroundings. It appeared to be a disused storage room. Straining his senses with Auditory Enhancement, impassioned voices filtered through the thick walls.

"...And so, having witnessed the divine truth, our revered Leader made his holy resolve! He cast aside the false idols and deceitful gods of old, choosing instead to serve the one true sovereign!"

"Dharma Ahkhar!!!"

As the thunderous, fanatical chant shook the rafters, Bennett slipped out into the open hall.

He had stepped into a temple.

Though the interior bore an air of squalid decay, the architectural framework possessed the authentic grandeur of an ancient place of worship. The central hall was massive, easily capable of accommodating several hundred people, and an imposing stone dais commanded the far end. Atop the platform stood a woman shouting zealously to the assembly. Looming behind her was an idol of chillingly familiar design.

The Corrupted Religious Ruler?

It was unmistakably the same entity depicted by the smaller statuettes, yet this iteration radiated a far more colossal and oppressive presence. Though only a fraction of the vast hall was filled, the congregation was remarkably large considering it was broad daylight.

Fixing his gaze upon the towering idol, Bennett activated Insight once more.

Unlike the smaller effigies that repelled his sensory skill behind an obfuscating veil, this immense carving was entirely unshielded. It laid itself bare, brazenly inviting him to peer as deeply as he pleased. What emerged within his inner vision was not stone or wood, but the spectral visage of a haggard, emaciated man. It was not a description of the idol's craftsmanship, but the raw manifestation of the entity dwelling behind it.

"...!"

Bennett flinched in involuntary shock as he registered the presence, and in that precise instant, the apparition's mouth parted.

Though the utterance was composed of an utterly alien cadence that defied mortal speech, the intent burned into Bennett's consciousness with chilling clarity.

Seize that man.

He was not the only one who had heard the command. The priestess atop the dais suddenly snapped around, her arm thrusting straight toward Bennett.

"Our Leader has bestowed a revelation! That man! Seize him and drag him before the divine presence!"

With that shrill proclamation, the worshippers rose in unison. Nearly every devotee in the hall was armed. Having walked the mercenary path for a decade, Bennett immediately recognized the discipline in their postures. Most of these men were cutthroats and sellswords who made their living by the blade.

What is this nonsense?

There was no time to ponder the cryptic penalties; the cultists were already charging across the flagstones. Bennett's muscle memory took over. Drawing Shooting Star from beneath his coat, his finger depressed the trigger mechanism.

Th-th-th-thump!

Anchoring his stance to maximize the precision of Marksman, Bennett unleashed a continuous volley. Even firing on rapid-fire burst, not a single bolt strayed. While he had not yet mounted the specialized enchanted heads he had wrangled out of Balduin, these standard dwarven quarrels were forged from masterwork steel. They punched cleanly through hardened boiled leather and heavy clothing as if tearing through rotten linen.

Every strike found a lethal nexus: lungs, throats, and hearts. To take a bolt from Bennett's crossbow was to receive a death sentence.

Fwip!

An arrow hissed through the air on an ambush trajectory. Tracking its line with sharpened reflexes, Bennett pivoted Shooting Star without missing a beat and identified the sniper lurking in the shadows of an archway. A single trigger pull answered the threat, sending the nameless archer tumbling backward off the balcony with a split skull.

"Offer him up to our Leader!"

A squad of sellswords closed the gap, advancing in tight formation with interlocking shields. Keeping mental tally of his ammunition, Bennett dumped the remainder of his box magazine straight into the vanguard. The mechanism clicked dry, and the cultists at the front collapsed in violent spasms.

Snapping a fresh magazine into the receiver, Bennett activated his mobility skill.

Whoosh!

He crossed five meters in the blink of an eye, weapon fully loaded and primed. The mercenaries who had sacrificed half their squad just to close the distance watched their efforts turn to ash in an instant. Horror froze their features.

"Fu—"

Th-th-thump!

Within minutes, several dozen corpses littered the temple floor. Bennett's expression remained completely indifferent as he swapped in another magazine. Having survived grueling sieges, territorial skirmishes, and full-scale warfare, the sight of a room drenched in gore held no shock for him.

His boots squelched rhythmically through the expanding pools of blood as he approached the grand dais. Even without activating Insight, he felt a prickling, malevolent gaze burning into his skin. Halting before the towering centerpiece, he reached out and touched the wood.

Unlike the brittle effigies he had destroyed earlier, this idol was carved from dense, ancient hardwood and polished with remarkable craft. It had clearly taken months of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠devoted labor to finish. Stepping back to maintain a safe blast perimeter, Bennett unhitched his Sub-space Pouch.

Which one should I use?

After a moment's consideration, he selected an explosive-type magic arrowhead. Retrieving a loose quarrel, he decoupled the conventional iron tip using a specialized set of field tools and seated the enchanted head in its place. He slotted the modified projectile into the guide rail and racked the cocking lever.

Leveling Shooting Star directly at the idol's torso, Bennett pulled the trigger.

TWANG!

The bolt streaked true, slamming flush into the core of the wooden carving. An instant later, the enchanted rune engraved upon the tip detonated.

BOOOOM!

A shockwave of heat and splintered timber tore through the air, throwing up a dense curtain of choking smoke. Though the wood was extraordinarily durable, it could not withstand a direct concussive blast. When the haze settled, the colossal idol lay cleaved in two, shattered into smoking ruin.

Clack.

From the heart of the fractured effigy, a dark pebble-like object tumbled free, rolling across the stone floor to come to rest at Bennett's boots.

What's this?

The instant he picked it up, the dormant psionic energy within his core surged violently. The small stone dissolved into fine grey powder and dispersed into the air.

An intoxicating shiver rippled through Bennett's marrow. He exhaled slowly, steadying his breathing as his newly expanded energy settled.

So that stone was the true fragment.

"NOOOOO!"

A piercing wail snapped Bennett out of his trance. In the far corner of the platform, the lone surviving priestess stared at him in utter disbelief. Her garb was strange and unfamiliar—loose desert robes of foreign cut that draped awkwardly over her frame, as though she had hastily donned garments tailored for an adult male.

Bennett advanced toward her with measured steps. Realizing her predicament, she recoiled against the wall, but her frantic stumbling offered no escape.

"Shaitan!"

Bennett had no idea what the word meant, nor did he care.

"Tell me everything you know."

"..."

"Everything concerning ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this Corrupted Religious Ruler—"

"Vile Shaitan! How dare you defile the name of the great Ra'al with such blasphemy! Retribution shall strike you down!"

Her fanatical outburst was shrill, but it yielded a vital piece of the puzzle: the entity's true name was Ra'al.

"He is our supreme leader, born of the great ruin! An insignificant demon like you cannot hope ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to oppose him!"

Born of the ruin? That meant he originated from within the dungeon worlds. Whether Ra'al was a human, a spirit, or an abomination remained to be seen.

"Is this Ra'al a man? Or a monster?"

"You dare utter such sacrilege?!"

Bennett pressed her further, deliberately provoking her zealotry to extract additional details, but her mind had descended into hysterical frenzy. Nothing else of value emerged from her screeching.

Thwack.

A bolt pierced her forehead. Her screams cut short, and she crumpled limp to the dais.

Bennett knelt beside the body and began searching her robes. Given her status as a ranking priestess of the sect, she was likely to carry documents or tokens of importance. After a thorough search of her inner vestments, his hand caught against something firm: a small pocket notebook.

Bound in plain leather, it was the sort of ledger commonly used by quartermasters and merchant overseers to record logistics.

Found it.

Flipping through the pages revealed a list of designated street locations and precise building addresses scattered throughout the city.

Stowing the ledger securely into his coat, Bennett walked leisurely toward the exit. Behind him, the temple fell into absolute, tomb-like silence, with only the blood-soaked dead left in his wake.