Chapter 329: Keep Up

Chapter 329: Chapter 329: Keep Up

Fayestar was the third to enter the crevice.

Because she was one of the last, the crevice had already widened considerably.

But despite this, Fayestar was an absolute mess; her face and body were covered in slime from the wall of flesh.

After finally squeezing through, her hair was completely soaked and plastered to her face, making it difficult to even breathe.

She had just found her footing and pulled a hand free to brush her hair back when she heard Seraphina Sinclair say from the other side, "Get ready."

’Us? Get ready?’

Fayestar questioned what she had just heard.

’Serafelle Sinclair is the one coming through now. If anyone needs to get ready, shouldn’t it be her?’

It wasn’t just Fayestar; Lyra Lowell, who had just been kicked, and Alaric Hawthorn, who was gripping his long spear, were also thoroughly confused.

Perhaps it was because of the high regard they held for Seraphina Sinclair, but even though they couldn’t understand, the three of them didn’t ask any questions.

Seraphina Sinclair took their silence as acknowledgement.

And so... in the next second...

Just as Fayestar and the other two expected Seraphina Sinclair to squeeze through the crevice in the same wretched state they had, a jet-black longsword suddenly pierced through the wall of flesh. The Blade’s cold light flashed, and as if cutting through a block of tofu, it sliced a smooth arc, carving a small archway right into the wall!

It all happened in a flash. Not only were Fayestar and the others silent, but even the severed wall of flesh itself made no sound.

The severed portion collapsed, revealing Seraphina Sinclair standing behind it.

She held a longsword that had appeared from nowhere, a grim chill on her face.

The three who had witnessed everything stood frozen in place, as if under a binding spell.

Their gazes shifted back and forth between Seraphina Sinclair’s calm face and the violently carved archway before her, its edges still twitching faintly. Their minds felt like they’d been scrambled into mush by the gory sight and the sheer, incomprehensible shock of it all.

’She... she cut it open?’

’Just like that... she cut it open?!’

’That wall of flesh—the one that terrified us, that we exhausted ourselves just to squeeze through—was as fragile as tofu before Seraphina Sinclair’s black sword? A sword that appeared and vanished in an instant? She just cut it open just like that??’

Lyra Lowell’s mouth hung open, his jaw nearly on the floor. He’d even forgotten to wipe the slime from his face.

He had already upgraded his name for Seraphina Sinclair from "Serafelle Sinclair" to "Boss," but now he felt even that title wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t that Seraphina Sinclair didn’t deserve the title; it was that the title wasn’t worthy of her.

Alaric Hawthorn’s grip on his long spear tightened and loosened, then tightened again.

’This woman... she hides her strength too well!’

’What was that sword?’

’A Skill? An item? Just how many trump cards does she have left?’

As the three of them watched, Seraphina Sinclair suddenly moved.

The longsword from nowhere vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. She bent down to pick up the lantern, held the Sunflower tightly in her other arm, and didn’t even turn off the lantern’s light as she strode through the archway she had made for herself.

As she passed the trio, she didn’t forget to remind them, "What are you gaping at? Let’s go."

"Go... Go! Let’s move!"

Alaric Hawthorn was the first to react. His voice sounded strange from the shock, but he immediately turned and illuminated the path ahead with his lantern.

Lyra Lowell also snapped out of it and hurried to follow.

Fayestar glanced back at the severed wall. It was as if the thing was only just now reacting. The flesh at the cut began to twitch violently, and the surrounding walls started squirming rapidly toward the opening, as if trying to close it again, or... to surge through!

The sight was far more terrifying than its previous slow writhing, now filled with a rage at having been violated.

"It’s... It’s coming through!" Fayestar’s voice trembled. Not daring to look any longer, she turned and fled.

Seraphina Sinclair also glanced at the commotion behind them, her expression showing no surprise, as if she had expected it all along.

She didn’t explain the origin of the sword, nor did she pay any mind to her teammates’ shocked and complicated stares. She simply tossed two fireballs at the wall of flesh behind them and urged, "This is why we have to hurry. Keep up."

Only then did Fayestar understand why Seraphina Sinclair had chosen to go last.

This wasn’t about bringing up the rear; this was clearly the privilege of the last person to pass through.

Once the monster was enraged, passage would become impossible. For the entire team to get through, only the last person could use this method.

Fayestar looked at the slime still coating her own body, then at Seraphina Sinclair’s pristine clothes.

She nearly ground her teeth to dust.

’So jealous! Who wouldn’t be?’

But she asked herself honestly: if she had been the last one, would she have had the courage or the confidence to do the same?

The answer was no.

Just imagining herself facing that furiously writhing wall of flesh alone, having to precisely cut a large enough opening in a split second, made Fayestar’s legs feel weak.

That jet-black longsword, that clean and decisive strike, and the almost indifferent calm on Seraphina Sinclair’s face...

Fayestar knew she might have the ability to do it.

But faced with that reality, she knew she would never have the nerve.

The two fireballs Seraphina Sinclair had thrown landed on the severed edges of the wall of flesh, creating a SIZZLING sound and a nauseating stench of burning protein.

The flames seemed to have a restraining effect on the living flesh. Its squirming slowed for a moment, buying them precious time to escape.

The four of them sprinted down the corridor and, encountering no further obstacles, successfully reached the end.

Descending a flight of stairs, they once again came face-to-face with the crowd of Ember’s Victims. The four of them acted as if they didn’t even see them, marching straight toward the scratch-covered door behind the victims.

The lantern’s effect on the Ember’s Victims was much stronger than on the one who released the Embers.

The one who released the Embers could still move slightly, but these victims were like stone statues, standing rooted to the spot.

The four of them stopped before the closed door.

Alaric Hawthorn glanced at the cowering Lyra Lowell and snorted coldly. He stepped forward, set down the Sunflower and the lantern, and with both hands, pushed open the heavy, scratch-covered door.

CREAK—

The grating sound was especially piercing in the silence.

Beyond the door lay an even deeper darkness. The lantern’s light seemed to be swallowed by it, illuminating only a small area near the entrance.

A stale, musty smell permeated the air.

Inside seemed to be a much larger space. They could faintly make out some blurry outlines that looked like abandoned machinery, scattered piles of ore, and...

Gripping his long spear, Alaric Hawthorn cautiously took a step inside and raised the lantern high.

The light stretched forward, illuminating a large, dark-red stain on the ground ahead—dried and caked—along with scattered fragments of clothing and a few stray bones within it.