CHAPTER 123: SPEECHLESS CHIEF

Suddenly, like a whisper across the still battlefield, a small shadow flickered above the carcass-littered forest floor.

It moved so fast, it was almost invisible—a blur of black, glinting faintly as if dipped in starlight.

In the blink of an eye, the shadow descended like a falling feather, landing directly atop the head of the lone octopus-headed creature standing guard before the carriage. No warning, no sound.

Then—shlkk!—a slick, almost elegant slicing noise broke the tension.

A slender blade, narrow as a shard of obsidian, embedded itself between the creature’s abyssal eyes, sinking in so cleanly that for a second, it seemed the monster didn’t notice.

Then, like a reverse heartbeat, the blade zipped backward, vanishing into the carriage’s darkness before anyone could catch more than a glimmer.

The octopus-headed creature shuddered.

And then, to Varros’ stunned disbelief—it fell.

But not like before.

It didn’t regenerate. It didn’t twitch. It didn’t gasp or howl or coil its monstrous limbs in one last twitch of hate.

No.

It simply collapsed—its entire body undulating like ripples through a puddle of dark water. Skin sagged.

Bones liquefied.

Its form melted, not with fire or light, but as if time itself was withdrawing its right to shape.

What remained was a shimmering puddle of deep, thick red, spreading slowly across the soil like spilled ink in the rain.

Then, at the puddle’s center, something pulsed.

A gem.

No... a Mana Crystal.

Deep blue. Ocean dark. Glowing faintly, like bioluminescence under midnight waves.

Varros didn’t move.

He stared.

"This... isn’t like the others," he muttered, almost inaudibly. His voice trembled slightly, but not from fear—this time, it was awe.

The others never left crystals. The others never truly died.

He stepped forward, sword still drawn. Slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a sacred relic.

Then he looked up.

There were more.

All around the carriages—here and there, hidden in grass and mud and fallen leaves—other deep ocean-colored Mana Crystals lay like forgotten stars.

"...What in the gods’ names?" he whispered.

Even Nolan, watching from high above in his interface vision, blinked rapidly. His mind raced. "That color... that specific hue. I’ve seen it before."

But where?

It gnawed at him like an itch beneath his brain. Something familiar, something distant yet vivid.

Then, below—movement.

Varros turned sharply.

Another of the octopus humanoids came stumbling from between trees—two tentacles writhing from the sides of its head like twitching ears.

It snarled, its watery footsteps heavy on the grass. Varros raised his sword on instinct.

But he didn’t get to strike.

Another black flash.

Another whisper of motion too quick to follow.

Shlkk!—clean hit. Precise. Headshot.

The blade zipped back into the shadows of the carriage.

And again—collapse. Liquid fall. Body puddled. Crystal formed.

Varros stood frozen.

"W-what is this?" he gasped.

Another enemy approached.

Dead.

Another.

Dead.

Another. Two more. Five.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

Each time, a silent death. Each time, a blade flying out with mechanical efficiency and returning just as silently to its sanctuary. The pattern never changed. Head strike. Collapse. Dissolution. Crystal.

Over and over and over again.

Nolan leaned in toward the interface, eyes narrowing with a growing grin. "It’s not luck. It’s a system. Someone—something—in there... knows exactly how to kill them."

Varros stared in shock. His heartbeat thudded like war drums in his chest. Creatures were falling like dominoes—no screaming, no regeneration, no resistance. One by one, they fell. Each death marked by a single blue mana crystal left behind.

The clearing was soon littered with them. A trail of deaths. A graveyard of precision.

Varros backed up half a step. "T-this isn’t magic. This is... execution."

But what was it?

What in the gods’ bloody heavens was inside that carriage?

Then, without warning, more came.

A cluster—eight or nine of the octopus-headed monsters surged from the ridge, heads twitching, tentacles writhing with hunger. Their long limbs pounded the earth, and their mouths unhinged, letting out a low frequency growl like whales crying in reverse.

They reached the carriage.

Black flashes again.

But this time, they weren’t alone.

Tsst! Tsst! Tsst!

Ten.

Twelve.

More black shards—more than ever before—erupted outward in a fan of motion, each targeting a specific creature with terrifying precision. Some blades hit them square between the eyes, some struck the throat, others pierced the back of their skulls mid-leap.

And all were pulled back, as if dragged by invisible threads of fate.

One by one, the beasts hit the ground. Their bodies pulsed—then broke down, melting into the grass and dirt, leaving behind the soft glow of deep-sea blue crystals. They were scattered everywhere now, like coins from a fallen purse.

Varros turned his head in slow disbelief.

"...What are you?" he whispered toward the carriage.

From his distant vantage, Nolan smiled.

"...I see. So that’s how it is," he murmured. "That’s what’s been hiding in that box. You clever little bastard."

Back below, Varros stepped forward cautiously.

And then the ground shook.

A heavy thud. And another.

He froze.

The trees behind the carriage bent aside as something massive lumbered toward them.

A towering octopus creature emerged.

Far larger than the others—muscles coiled like ropes, its shoulders nearly scraping the high branches. Its face was armored in crusted chitin, and its tentacles curled in fury. Its glowing blue eyes radiated malice.

"Gods," Varros breathed, instinctively taking a step back.

The creature bellowed, a horrible sound—wet and deep like a ship groaning underwater.

But the carriage did not tremble.

Because once again—

Shlkk!

One final black shard. Larger this time.

Straight to the head.

The creature’s eyes blinked once, twice...

And then it collapsed with a mountainous crash.

A second later, two mana crystals, bigger than any before, dropped from its fading form and pulsed faintly before settling into silence.

Nolan blinked. "...So you even planned for that one too."

From the carriage, movement.

A small door creaked open at the back.

A hand reached out.

Then another.

Attendants.

Wearing the livery of the Silver Blade City.

Eyes wary, blades still in hand, two, three, then four of them stepped into the open cautiously. Their expressions were hard, pale with tension, and their clothes were bloodstained, but they were very much alive.

And in their hands—gathering the mana crystals.

They scooped the deep-blue stones with familiarity and routine. One cursed under his breath, muttering something about broken cases and mana storage. Another nearly tripped and hissed, "Gods above, they smell like salt and decay!"

Then they slipped back into the carriage without fanfare.

It was just business.

Varros stood frozen. His sword had dipped without him realizing.

"...Aren’t those the attendants of the students from Silver Blade City?" he muttered, voice quiet. "They’re alive?"

He looked at the carriage again, brows furrowed. "Wait... are all of them alive?"

He started to walk forward.

Slow, careful steps.

The mana crystals crunched faintly under his boots.

He reached the back of the carriage.

And just as he stepped around its corner—

Zzsskkk!

Something sliced the air near his ear. Fast. Sharp. Precise.

He stopped cold. Eyes wide.

Behind him—thud.

One last creature—its body previously hidden among the bushes—collapsed behind him, head pierced clean through.

Varros didn’t even look back.

He simply stood there.

Sweating.

Breathing.

Heart racing.