The trip out of the mineshaft was the same when they entered: The group continued on in single column. Occasional stop here and there when Xylia’s hat got stuck between the small corridors and rough rocky walls.

  Arlene led the group with a small ball of light glowing right beside her shoulders. It wasn’t necessary as the mineshaft did have lit lantern powered by wires of manasteel, but nevertheless she still conjured it up.

  Her entire posture relaxed with a hand resting on the pommel of her blade. Her eyes softened with every steps. She occasionally glanced back to the group—finding a very relaxed Wattyson and Xylia, and a very conspiratorial pair with Rinea and Naciv. No doubt they were exchanging how to fool-proof their fabricated story.

  She wondered to herself what time it was outside. The dive was just past noon, and she harboured a guess they were past half a day inside. Perhaps it was cold and dark, lit only by the Hub’s torches and patrolling sentries. Would the full moon be visible amidst the thick canopy?

  Only the sounds of flickering lantern and surging mana through the wire entered her thought. She wanted to speculate with the others what outside was like right now. Alas, she held herself back. Partly because the pair behind was busy in their liemaking, while lastly she wanted it to be a surprise—something that didn’t involve fighting or tensed alertness.

  Though thinking about it, why did Wattyson not let her in on the reporting too? Why was he pushing the other three instead of her? He could’ve use her status again to shut anything the Guild wanted.

  Her smile formed unconsciously. It wasn’t like he didn’t use her status before. Back in Tamare, he did it to make a story through Rond. He was respecting her wishes then, to ensure she was just a normal girl now instead of the Chosen One. He wouldn’t usher her into bureaucracy just to make it easier to lie. He was her companion.

  Part of her didn’t believe it. She wasn’t na?ve. He probably didn’t let her in on it, because there were others to do the job. She was likely the last resort if the adventurers vouch didn’t go through. Nonetheless, she chose to see the better of him that he not letting her shoulder another lies.

  Content with herself, she let out a high pitch whistle in tempo of the group steps. It was faint, but the tight corridor made the whistle resonated and echoed off the stone walls.

  “Ahhh! The Chosen One bestowed upon us her terrible whistle!”

  “Terrible?!” She eyed to Xylia immediately who was looking at her with reverent. “It’s not bad! It’s perfectly normal!” Her glances landed on Wattyson. “Please tell me it’s not that bad.”

  Wattyson only shrugged, though his hands were shaky. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a good sense of rhythm.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. You don’t need that to know if it’s good or not!”

  Xylia raised a finger. “The Sage spoke with sense, Chosen One! Without such sense, it is impossible to recognize the ingenuity of your blissful whistling!”

  Arlene’s eyes narrowed. Her voice dropped low. “Yet you said it’s terrible.”

  “It is! That is fact, thee Chosen One!”

  Arlene clicked her tongue, and puffed out her cheek. “Fine. I won’t whistle then.”

  It was met with a low wail. “Noooooooo! You must bless our ears!”

  Arlene didn’t respond and instead just looked forward, marched on to the exit. The corridors had gotten wider. The cave became more uniform, beams of wood supporting the mineshaft more and more. The light no longer flickered.

  The track below was straighter now. It was only forward from here to the outside. She took a few breaths before glancing to Wattyson, and nudging him to come by her.

  Wattyson limped forward, striding besides her. His eyebrow raised. “What?”

  Alrene hissed, “Whisper!” before doing exactly that. “Do you think the other supernatural won’t notice? Like in Tamare?”

  She could see Wattyson’s expression changed, twitching to groan. He whispered back in protest. “Must we talk about this now?”

  “I just want to be sure.” She turned over her shoulder to see Xylia still far enough the whisper wouldn’t reach. “Well?” She added again to him.

  He groaned slightly more as he reached out to scratch his own chin. She could see the visible strain on his face.

  “They won’t. Our story is foolproof.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I have an informant inside the supernatural world.”

  “You?” She frowned. “Who?!”

  The silence stretched, deliberately set by him. It only made her anticipated further as she kept glancing over her shoulder. Was it one of them? Was it Xylia? Was that why he looked to her like someone’s his? That couldn’t be. He hated most of the supernatural.

  She recalled something else—something in plain sight to her this entire time. Who he instructed to set up this group, who he constantly glared to and… that person able to stand after all that injuries from the werewolf.

  Her voice drop low as she stepped a tad closer, clutching his sleeve. She tip-toed slightly to his ear. “Is it Naciv?”

  “Yeh.”

  “What do you mean ‘Yeh’?!” Her exasperation controlled through a whisper. “You’re saying this entire time; we’ve been travelling with someone of the supernatural in this dungeon?”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Yeah?”

  She gripped his sleeve more intensely now. “Explain or I’ll ruin your robe.”

  “You monster! You dare?!”

  “I’m the Chosen One. I dare.” A challenge, serious yet playful.

  He brushed her hand off. Turning half of his face to her. “Ok, I’ll answer. Please don’t ruin my robe.” He crossed his arms. “Where to start?”

  Her smile turned crooked as she puffed out one cheek. “Start with how is Naciv here then? Did you plan this?”

  A question he scoffed at. “I can’t plan that far. Him being here is entirely coincidental.”

  “And you just so happen to… also know there’s a werewolf in here.”

  “No.” He swayed his hand around. “Naciv told me. Though I would’ve come to that conclusion myself after seeing the tell-tale signs.”

  She crossed her own arms now. “So?” Her eyes glared to his, demanding answers. “How is he going to prevent other from knowing?”

  “Simple,” he answered back deadpan. “He’ll lie.”

  “Just that?”

  “Indeed. Lying. If it doesn’t work, people will have stop using it.” He said it like it was a fact, like he invented it and proud of it.

  He continued, shrugging. “Besides, if he fails, he’ll probably get killed.”

  She eyed to him wide. “Wait what?”

  “Eaten too probably.” Continuing like he was talking about the weather. “Hence why he will do his utmost best in his duty. Otherwise… well.” He gestured a thumb then jerking it across his neck. The implication was there.

  “Then,” she stammered slightly from being caught off guard, “Shouldn’t you help him? Shouldn’t we help him? If he fails, he’ll die! And,” she held his wrist up. Her voice grew more steadfast and alert. “You say when supernatural discover the wider mundane world know, they’ll retaliate and wipe people off the map right? If Naciv fail, wouldn’t innocent people be caught in the crossfire?!”

  Wattyson didn’t jerk his wrist back, or brushed her off. His theatrics tone and retort was gone. “No.” It was flat. “We’re not helping him. He’s a vampire.” The term itself was said with such disgust. It was clear his hatred for them still burned brilliantly and dangerous.

  “Just because of that?!” She hissed back, meeting that same flame.

  “...He’ll do fine.”

  “And what make you so sure of that?”

  “I trust him.”

  Trust. Just that one word, yet coming from him meant a lot. He was a hunter of the supernatural. He had killed many of them to warrant the title ‘Anathema’. His hunt bore no discrimination and many were slain. She didn’t need to see it, but she understood the weight behind that title from few snippets in how he fought and what he chose to say.

  Vampire was a race he hated most, but here right now—he trusted one in the form of Naciv. She let go of her wrist and that hand fell limp. Only continued walking beside him.

  “...I see.” Her eyes still lingered to him. “You never stop, do you? Even though you said you retired.”

  He didn’t answer, but she kept going. “When will you stop?”

  A finger brushed to her lip. “Hardly the time right now.” His voice was more gentle now. Soft like the conversation earlier didn’t happen. “We can discuss more once we’re out. Let’s focus on that.”

  She swatted his finger away and rubbed her own lip. A small chuckle and an eyes roll. “Sheesh. Alright.”

  Another question added to the long list she had wanted to ask him since the beginning of this dungeon. She strode ahead of him now. Her arms folded behind. “Don’t fall on us now. Wouldn’t want to carry you out and,” she smirked, “dirty your robe, would you?”

  He shook his head. “What a tomboy, you are.”

  Dark. The entrance of the mineshaft, or from their perspective—the exit. It was night outside, but what time none of them knew yet. Only the light from the lanterns and the standing lamps outside.

  Those standing lights reflected off the pauldron plates, shining into the mineshaft like they were trying to blind them. Yet, with that observation meant other people outside—must be the two guards.

  Arlene reached out first, hand resting on her pommel while her cape fluttered from the outside breeze. Relief ran through her mind. The breeze wasn’t artificial for once like in the dungeon. It was real.

  The canopy predictably blocked the entire view above. The stars, the black sea and the green moon above were out of the view. The only light illuminating down here in the Hub were standing lamps all over and from the numerous tents themselves.

  “The Chosen One!” Both the sentinels greeted her as they turned, clicking the halberd once onto the hard soil. “You have returned and…” their voice dropped low. “Are... the others with you?” It was spoken with fears and inevitable as if they weren’t used to it still.

  Arlene jerked a thumb back. “They’re—“

  “—WE’RE FINE!” The short mage came out, taking few steps till beyond the two sentinels slightly. She turned, hands on hip. “Thanks to me, the Sage and the Chosen One!” She announced with smug as her head held high. Somehow removing the other two in the group.

  The two sentinels tilt their heads. “The Sage?” Sure enough, the supposed ‘Sage’ walked out, limping in robe of white and gold trimmed. “I see.”

  Following behind shortly after were the two. Naciv and Rinea, walking out and nodding to the sentinels to greet them. They didn’t stop and continued off—stuck in their own little worlds.

  “Wait for me!” Xylia shouted and rushed to them. She was probably forcing them into the path of rest for the night or week before reporting back to the higher up.

  One of the sentinel draped in Bavasr’s banner clicked his halberd lightly once. “Miss Chosen One, If I may, what happened in the Dungeon? Did you make it to Floor 40?”

  Arlene shook her head. “No we did not.” The answer seemed to down the two sentinels. She could see it from their heads movement. “But,” the but perked them, “We remove the cause. It was a ‘Challenger’.”

  “A Challenger?” The Guild draped Sentinel voiced out.

  “Yeah.” Arlene stood arms crossed, leaning against the wooden beam. “We stopped at Floor 39, but the ‘Challenger’ itself exited Floor 40 to come to us. We slay it.”

  The answer came out smoothly. It was the truth after all. Truth with a lot of missing information. Arlene sucking on her own lip hoping they wouldn’t ask more before she had to pull out the trump card. She couldn’t depend on Wattyson for this. He would probably stare them to death.

  The Bavasr’s Sentinel nodded. “That does sound like a Challenger. To think this whole time, the terrorizer in the Tu’ei dungeon is a Challenger.”

  The Guild’s Sentinel added in. “But doesn’t Challenger would you know… challenge the dungeon? Why would it stay in Floor 40 range for weeks now?”

  They both looked back to the Chosen One. She could practically feel their glittering curious eyes through their thick helmets.

  Arlene exhaled out. “Truth be told, we do not know. We think it’s the dungeon itself. It never fully matured and stuck in the maturing phase. Clean walls, dirtied floor or vice versa.”

  She was letting the bare minimum out, letting them filled their own understanding.

  The Guild’s Sentinel nodding before asking. “Miss Chosen One, can you tell us more of this ‘Challenger’?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t.” She shrugged her shoulder, then quickly added in. “Report will be from the Adventurer Naciv, Rinea and Xylia. You’ll hear from the Guild afterward once they gave their account.”

  The Bavasr’s Sentinel pressed again out of curiosity. “You cannot tell us?”

  “I’ve seen many things. I don’t think I can explain it that well compare to those three with their experiences.”

  Said sentinel lingered on her. “That makes sense… To you, it probably was a small feat compared to the Dark Lord’s Generals or Dark Lord himself. It’ll be hard to explain if you’ve faced stronger beings.”

  Arlene only smiled, thanking them for their understanding. “If you’ll excuse us… we would like to find our resting spot.”

  “If that’s the case,” Bavasr’s Sentinel held up a finger. “Let me have the honor to escort you two. I’ll talk to the supervisor of this Hub and get you both your own tent. You have done us a great deal by dealing with that ‘Challenger’. The private tent will be a small token in our gratitude.”

  A private tent would be nice. She could rest and then grilled Wattyson with question. “Yes, that would be nice.”

  Bavasr’s sentinel looked to the Guild’s counterpart. “Have fun standing guard alone.”

  “Tch. I can handle it.”

  “Heh.” The Sentinel turned around. “Please follow me.”

  Arlene did while dragging Wattyson by the arm. “Thank you again for escorting us to our tent.”

  “Of course. It is only natural.”