Chapter 61

  The caves were cold, silent, and far larger than I had expected. Of course, I’d anticipated a long, winding system of tunnels, damp passageways, and slippery floors — the kind you hear about in old stories. But by “large,” I didn’t just mean wide. It was the height that nearly intimidated me. Six meters across, perhaps, but the ceiling towered what felt like thirty meters above — a stone, frozen dome so vast the eye could barely take it in. In some places, icicles hung from above like spears, ready to fall at the slightest vibration.

  The walls shimmered in a deep, matte blue, streaked with lighter, almost silvery veins that seemed to glow faintly at certain angles. It was hard to tell whether the effect came from reflected light or some natural luminescence trapped within the layers of ice. Every now and then, you’d catch a warped reflection — a disjointed shadow, a strangely bent arm — mirrored in the smooth surfaces. More than once, I caught myself mistaking my own reflection for something else.

  At every turn, at every open shaft, Arik would silently dissolve into a glimmering cloud of ash that darted ahead through the corridors. Barely visible, yet unmistakably present. Minutes later, he would return, rematerialize beside us, and report in his dry tone: no traps, no beasts, no dead ends — proceed. That’s how we moved forward, step by step, accompanied only by our breath and the crunching of our boots on the frozen ground.

  Maira’s inner compass — or rather, the one granted by her divine patron — gave us a general sense of direction. Southwest, to be precise. But that didn’t help us navigate the endless labyrinth of stone, tunnels, shafts, and chambers. It was like being lost inside a subterranean body, all arteries and nerves, blindly feeling our way forward. And who could say if, somewhere in that icy anatomy, a heart still beat?

  I held my sword loosely in my hand, always ready. Not because I thought we were about to be attacked — but because the silence made me nervous. It was too quiet. No dripping. No wind. No sign of life. An unnatural, lifeless stillness — frozen, like everything else down here. And that, more than anything, frightened me.

  Maira, on the other hand… was calm. Not cold. Not distant. Just — composed. As if her contact with Erebos had taken something from her, but also given her something in return. No trace of fear or doubt, as if she already knew how all of this would end. I almost envied her for it. Or did I distrust her? Maybe both.

  We had just turned into another chamber — it opened narrow at first, then widened into a vast room. The walls here were less smooth, more jagged, with rocks jutting out like frozen tongues from the ice. The floor was slick — too slick — and I struggled to keep my footing.

  Then we heard it.

  A stomp.

  Slow. Heavy. Measured. Not scratching, not slithering, not skittering — but the confident steps of something that wasn’t afraid of being noticed. Something that knew it was the biggest thing down here. That it had no competition.

  I froze instantly and raised a hand. Arik, who understood the signal, gave a barely noticeable nod and, with a soft crackle, became a cloud. The ash rose gently, drifted to the side, and disappeared soundlessly into a side tunnel. Maira had closed her eyes, her lips moving faintly, as if already asking Erebos for his opinion.

  After a short while, we heard him again — a barely perceptible hiss, like fine ash brushing across frozen stone. Then, from the hovering cloud, a body began to take shape. The particles gathered, condensed, and a moment later, Arik stood silently beside me. No movement, no unnecessary sound — just a brief glance between us, silent understanding.

  The stomping we’d heard earlier hadn’t grown louder, or closer, or more erratic. It remained steady. Like the monotonous ticking of an ancient, frozen clock, its hands locked in ice.

  “It’s an Ice Stomper,” Arik said quietly, his voice barely more than a breath in the frigid air. “It doesn’t just appear in the Ice Wastes. The northern clans call it a cave beast. An old hunter.”

  I frowned beneath my helmet. That wasn’t a name — it was a condition.

  “And that was the best name you all could agree on?” I muttered, genuinely puzzled.

  Arik shrugged, a small, resigned twitch of the shoulders. “The few who survived meeting it didn’t seem to find it worth giving a poetic name.”

  I sighed, low and deep. My grip around the sword hilt tightened.

  “How comforting.”

  Carefully, I leaned around the corner. The corridor opened into a long chamber, with another tunnel beginning at the far end — our destination. Between us and it, though: the monster.

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  The Ice Stomper was huge. Not just in the way many northern beasts were — but oppressive. Five meters tall, maybe more. Its body was massive, compact, like an ancient battering ram made of flesh, ice, and stone. Its back formed a natural shield — not smooth, but layered with thick sheets of ice, crisscrossed by countless frozen cracks like old wounds. Some of them glowed faintly blue, as if life pulsed beneath the surface.

  It stood half-upright on thick, pillar-like hind limbs, which — like its front limbs — looked less like legs and more like tools. Crude, solid extensions made from compressed slabs of ice. No fingers. No claws. Just flat, misshapen blocks that could smash or blast through anything.

  Right now, it was using them differently. With a steady rhythm, almost trance-like, it stomped in place. The fists — that’s what I chose to call them — moved slowly against the ground, digging deeper, pushing aside chunks of stone as if it were searching for something. Maybe food. Maybe warmth. Maybe… just out of instinct.

  And naturally, it was doing this exactly where we needed to go. The other tunnel lay open behind it — like a taunt.

  I leaned back, exhaled quietly, and looked to the others. Maira was utterly calm, as if she had seen all this coming. Arik, on the other hand, looked at me with the expression of a man who knew things were about to get dangerous — and that it really wasn’t his job.

  I clenched my fist.

  “Okay,” I whispered. “Any ideas?”

  While Maira furrowed her brow slightly and visibly weighed her options, Arik’s gaze shifted to me — and lingered there, with a faint trace of irritation.

  “Aren’t you our leader, Luken?” he asked calmly, almost casually, but with a tone that instantly made me pause.

  I blinked. Not because of the question itself. That I was the leader was never in doubt for him — after all, he revered me as some kind of holy warrior, an avatar of justice, chosen by the Light itself. And that’s exactly what made it odd.

  There was nothing submissive in his voice. No reverence. No “Lord,” no “Blessed One,” no “Shield of Truth” like he used to call me so often. No — he had simply called me Luken.

  Of course — I had asked him to do that. I didn’t want a cult forming around me. No fanatical nonsense at every break.

  But… that he was actually doing it now? That he seemed to openly question my decisions?

  That was new. And honestly: it was almost… refreshing.

  Arik was part of this mission for a specific reason. Not because of the rebellion. Not for the truth. But to apologize “reverently” to Vin — for the fact that she had to pay for our rooms at the inn.

  He had actually called it a sacrilege. “Injustice against the Sacred,” as he had literally put it. And even though I had assured him it was fine, he had apparently never let go of that “sin” in his mind.

  I sighed softly — not out of annoyance, but more out of weary amusement — and answered in the tone I knew he needed.

  “I’m always willing to let group members have a say in important situations.”

  He nodded, satisfied. Case closed.

  Meanwhile, the Ice Stomper was still busy tearing up the rocky cave floor beneath him with heavy, rhythmic blows. Its fists dug slowly but relentlessly into the frozen stone, accompanied by a deep rumble that vibrated through the ground. Tiny ice shards flaked from the walls with each strike and trickled to the floor. The creature was clearly occupied with something it considered important. A carcass? Prey? Or just digging a tunnel?

  Maira looked up, and her voice was calm, but firm.

  “The beast is distracted. We have two options: Either we take the opportunity and launch a well-prepared surprise attack… or we try to sneak past it. And if it notices us — we run. With some luck, it’s too slow to follow for long.”

  It was the obvious plan. One I would’ve agreed to immediately — in any other situation.

  But Arik shook his head slowly. His eyes were narrow, his voice low.

  “Neither will work. I know these beasts. The moment we round the corner, it’ll sense us — no matter how careful we are. It’s like they… read the air around them.”

  He gestured vaguely.

  “Body heat, movement, maybe even thoughts. I don’t know. But we won’t get past unnoticed. And if we attack without truly surprising it… we’re dead.”

  I stared back down the corridor, where the creature still pounded the ground with mechanical monotony.

  It was probably time to fall back on my ever-reliable secret weapon.

  I took a deep breath, toyed with the hilt of my sword — the very one whose pommel was fused with demonic essence — and let my thoughts drift silently through the mental veil into the other reality.

  “Gravor,” I thought. “You layered your essence onto my sword to conceal the pommel. Can you… do that on a slightly larger scale?”

  Outwardly, I raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider tactics for Arik’s benefit.

  Maira, however, wasn’t so easily fooled. Not since the fight in the chamber. Since she’d seen my powers break free, she knew. I had told her everything. About Gravor. About the pact. About the voice that never quite let go of me. And about the twisted, vile little smile that formed in my mind every time I called on him.

  And sure enough, I didn’t have to wait long.

  “Oh,” came Gravor’s voice — deep and velvety, tinged with that childlike curiosity that always crept in when it came to power. “I hadn’t really considered that…”

  A genuine, pondering hum followed. Then an amused chuckle. “Interesting.”

  I could feel him reaching outward with his metaphysical fingers — through my senses, through my aura, like a child testing how much canvas they could cover with paint. Then he continued:

  “But… a layer of my essence that makes you completely vanish? To all senses? Sight, sound, scent, even soul? That’s no simple trick, Luken. My portion within you isn’t enough.”

  “It would require your entire body… your whole mind. A moment of complete fusion.”

  Then, very calmly: “It would take both of us. Your control. My power.”

  I swallowed. That was more than just a neat little trick. More than a prank.

  That was dangerous. At least as risky as when he took control before. But also effective… and, damn it, pretty awesome.

  “Then let’s…” I closed my eyes. My grip on the sword tightened. “…work a little miracle.”

  Gravor laughed — this time in a tone that sent ice crawling down my spine.

  “With pleasure, Paladin of Damnation.”