Chapter 29: Exam (9)

The heavy dust from the shattered bridge settled, swirling lazily in the cold updraft of the abyss, leaving a damning silence over the chasm. Down below, the darkness was absolute.

Oliver turned away from the jagged ledge, casually resting the shaft of his steel polearm against his shoulder. His breathing was remarkably even.

"A necessary sacrifice," the armored boy said, his voice completely devoid of any remorse, speaking as casually as if he were discussing the weather. "It’s a shame Rowan fell, but we wouldn’t be able to escape the Minotaur otherwise. We don’t have to worry about getting chased anymore."

Tristan stared at him. For a moment, the sheer audacity of it almost impressed him. His mouth pulled into a cynical, humorless smirk. "You don’t have to be so two-faced, Oliver. You can drop the valiant act. We both know you intended to bleed this team dry from the moment you volunteered to carry the points."

Oliver’s face transformed, his manufactured facade of Northern nobility completely dropping to reveal the cold, calculating sneer of a predator. "And you didn’t? Don’t act self-righteous with me, Verneuil. You purposefully routed us into multiple traps, including the fire array that cooked Ella both literally and figuratively. You bled them of their essence so we could run." He extended a gauntleted hand, the metal gleaming in the dim torchlight. "Let’s call a truce. You still have your uses in navigating us to the end. We split the pot just between the two of us."

Tristan found it deeply ironic to be forming a truce over the fresh, bottomless grave of a fallen teammate, but he supposed he was just as complicit. He didn’t take the hand. Instead, he thought about his options. His legs were burning and his lungs ached. To outpace the physically conditioned Southern scout earlier, Tristan had already burned both loaded casts of his [Swift] concept. He still had his [Restrain] concept primed, and a few casts of his innate [Reave] ability, but his essence pool was notoriously shallow and there were no good targets around to exploit. Glancing at Oliver’s balanced stance and the razor-sharp edge of his polearm, Tristan knew the truth. Taking Oliver in a straight, physical fight right now was a guaranteed losing gamble.

Before Tristan could even formulate an answer, a sickening "crunch" echoed from beneath them.

’Already?’ thought Tristan, his stomach dropping. ’Ah, shit.’

The sound came again, louder this time. "Crack. Crunch. Scrape." It was the unmistakable, terrifying screech of iron claws violently digging into solid limestone.

Oliver froze, the confident color draining rapidly from his face. Tristan just let out a long, exhausted sigh.

He had tried the bridge-drop tactic during his third playthrough of Flamecrest. He knew firsthand it was completely futile. A sheer drop didn’t kill a Fallen-class beast, it just made it unspeakably, violently angry.

’Great’, Tristan thought, rubbing his temples.

"It’s climbing the rock... ridiculous," Oliver realized, taking a frantic step backward as a guttural snarl vibrated up from the dark. "Hurry! Lead us to the exit!"

Tristan nodded, turning and breaking into a dead sprint down the final, winding corridor. The air grew hotter here, thick with the stench of ancient dust and blood. As they ran, Tristan actively scanned the floor and walls, looking for ways to "accidentally" solve his Oliver problem.

Three paces into the hall, Tristan deliberately stepped slightly off-center on a raised, discolored tile. "Click." A barrage of rusted kinetic spikes shot from the wall at blinding speed. Tristan ducked seamlessly, waiting for the wet thud of metal piercing flesh. But without missing a beat, Oliver vaulted over the trap, spinning gracefully in mid-air to deflect a straggler spike with the shaft of his polearm.

A few yards later, Tristan "tripped" over a highly visible tripwire, triggering a massive pendulum scythe that swung down from the ceiling with a terrifying "whoosh." Oliver didn’t even slow down. He simply engaged his physical stats, his body blurring as he slid smoothly beneath the lethal blade with terrifying agility, popping back up onto his feet without breaking stride.

The guy was a miserable excuse for a human being, but his physical talent was undeniable.

"Man, can this guy just drop dead already", Tristan mentally groaned.

Behind them, the heavy, booming thuds of the Minotaur cresting the chasm echoed through the stone. It had reached the top. The sheer acoustic pressure of its furious roar shook the dust from the ceiling. Tristan did the mental math. At their current pace, they weren’t going to reach the exit before the beast caught them.

Abruptly, Tristan veered hard off the main path. He threw his entire body weight against a heavy, unassuming stone door to the left, the ancient hinges screaming in protest as he tumbled into the pitch-black room beyond.

"What are you doing?!" Oliver yelled, scrambling in right behind him and nearly tripping over his own boots.

It was a sprawling, eerie chamber. The air was freezing cold. Dozens of dimly lit candles were scattered across the floor in a massive, circular array, illuminating a towering, rusted iron statue of a Minotaur in the very center. There were no other doors. To anyone else, it was a sealed tomb.

But per usual, Tristan had a few more tricks up his sleeve.

He didn’t need the door to forge a path forward. Probably..

***

Name: Tristan Verneuil

Rank: Awakened

Essence Core Absorption: 12/100

Unique Skill:

[Reave] Mastery: 88%

Abilities

[Dagger Skill (Basic)] Mastery: 76%

[Essence thread] Mastery: Mastery: 14%

[Restrain (Basic)][1 Use(s)]

Equipment

[Prowler’s Claw (Low-Grade)]

***