Chapter 109

A torch was hastily thrown like a spear, striking straight at the door.

Swift, powerful footsteps followed the flare of light; metal spun in the hand, fingers gripping the blade, using the guard and counterweight as a hammer to strike down.

This was a battlefield technique: when two fully armored knights in iron plate met, if no blunt weapon like a war hammer was available for effective damage, the longsword in hand had to serve as a substitute.

Sufficient skill allowed the user to strike with enough force to dent a helmet without cutting their own palm.

The seemingly harmless blunt end often proved more effective than a dangerous blade—manifesting as a sharp crack beneath the dented helmet, causing skull fractures, subdural hemorrhage, external bleeding, and severe brain contusions; with current medical capabilities, not even diagnosis was possible, let alone treatment.

In short, it was a tactic meant for hardened targets; when William’s dagger deflected, the attacker swiftly adjusted, delivering a targeted killing strike.

But beneath that face-skin lay something unnatural—even with prior expectation, the feedback suggested impact with some inorganic, lifeless substance, like striking rock. The force recoiled against him; the blade nearly slipped from his grip, slicing through the thick glove, its cold, sharp edge licking his palm.

The material was extremely hard, seemingly some kind of chitin—not as resilient as metal, deforming into a slight indentation before rapidly cracking and collapsing from the point of impact. Fragments, halfway between bone and stone, flipped up and pierced the pale skin, yet no blood flowed; the face pulled inward like a curtain, its radial wrinkles utterly destroying any association with “human.”

The part hidden in shadow behind the face briefly exposed itself for an instant, then vanished like a phantom, but enough was seen to glimpse what had been concealed.

Its matte surface resembled formed shadows, solidified by incomprehensible means into arthropod-like structures; William had no doubt it would dissolve into the dark background the next moment—it indeed did so, vanishing entirely once it left the brightest light. Even when it brushed the edge of vision, it was indistinguishable from flickering firelight or the probing limbs of the creature bearing the familiar face.

The violent blow drove it back; Walker’s face plunged into darkness, and the other two sailor faces retracted as well—simultaneously, without sequence, as if parts of a single entity.

Just as William thought he might catch a breath, a sharp angle jutted from the edge of the curved shadow, extending abruptly against the light, striking from a blind spot beyond his perception.

His slackened mind failed to command his body to react; the sense of danger made his brow itch, his pupils contract, reflecting the shadow’s tip—only belatedly did his mind identify it as a limb. As it neared, he saw fine, needle-like barbs at its end scraping toward his ear and cheek.

But the man before him moved faster, shifting target first, altering his technique again, regripping the hilt, one hand controlling the spine of the blade like a steel spike driven down, intercepting the backward-moving shadow that had almost scraped half of William’s face away.

The limb recoiled; the blade carved a long, jagged tear into it, exacting a heavy price before it retreated into shadow.

That should have hurt—its chitinous tip clattered against the ground, rolling away in chaotic, dense taps, impossible to count how many limbs propelled it.

“Wake up!” Kraft grabbed William, seizing the chance to pull back, but despite using all his strength, he dragged him only a few steps; in desperation, he yanked at the collar, trying to haul him off the ground. After a snap of stitching and tearing fabric, a large chunk of the right collar tore loose—the man still lay there, kicking.

“Get up, or we won’t escape!”

He wanted to activate his spiritual senses to track the thing’s movements, but couldn’t guarantee they’d escape the cave in time; he kept his eyes alert to the darkness and picked up the torch.

“Wait for me! Wait for me!” William cried out, rolling over and crawling away, scrambling on hands and knees for a long stretch before rising from the ground pressed against the cave wall. It was terrifying—the courage sparked by near-death vanished the moment he regained his senses.

For some reason, the expected pursuit didn’t follow; after the rapid tapping of limbs on rock, it seemed the creature had stabilized its position.

In the invisible darkness, a deep, resonant voice—amplified through long, hollow passages—swelled from faint to loud. Compressed air pushed steadily through expanding rigid channels, transforming into a distant, propagating vibration, like a colossal horn longer than a chimney, blown by countless voices in unison.

From William’s terrified face, Kraft realized this was worse than the limbs emerging from the dark.

“What is that?”

“It’s coming—run!” The captain forced his legs to move, sprinting back the way they came, merciful enough to call out to Kraft; but even if he hadn’t, any sane person would know to follow.

The latter’s confusion lasted only a moment.

A nearly identical response came from the other end—their path of approach. Though the sound matched the chitinous face-bearer’s voice perfectly, the sheer volume ruled out any possibility of an echo.

Across an impossibly vast distance, the majestic horn-call was clearly audible, arriving with the cold current and approaching vibrations.

The earlier sound had been imitation, a call—and the thing responding to that call was now approaching through the cave.

“We’re done.” William stopped, despairingly glancing both ways; since it was over, wasting time with a few more words didn’t matter: “You were right—we shouldn’t have come down.”

“Remember the rock carvings at the village entrance? These caves weren’t natural. That thing—the thing that carved these caves—it’s coming for us now.”

“No one thanks a man who dies with his eyes open,” Kraft replied offhandedly, sheathing his sword and slipping one hand into his sleeve, his motion oddly deliberate.

For some reason, William felt he wasn’t truly panicked—more like he’d accepted a worst option he’d rather not choose.

“We can’t outrun it.” He slumped down, his strength for running already drained from sheer desperation; since escape was impossible, he’d rather die comfortably.

【Honestly, lately I’ve been reading on Yeguo Reading for updates—easy source switching, multiple voice options, works on both Android and iOS.】

Still, overall, he’d gotten lucky—he still had time for a final prayer.

William emptied his coin purse and found the double-winged circular amulet he’d taken off before entering: “O Almighty Lord, I am guilty—my greed and stubbornness alone led me astray, dooming the crew to the beasts of heathens, and dragging Dr. Kraft into this fate with me.”

“But Dr. Kraft came to save lives; though not a believer, I beg you to open the gates of your realm for him…”

“I hope your last idea isn’t praying to some damn sky-father! I’ve never seen that thing—I’m the only one who can save you now!” The tremors grew stronger; Kraft dropped the torch, rushed to William’s side, seized his hand, pulling them so close they could fit inside a barrel.

“I beg your pardon for his earlier blasphemy in misusing your holy name…”

Kraft nearly laughed in fury—William’s prayer was thorough, even including himself: “**! Wouldn’t I be better than your sky-father at dragging you out of hell myself?”

A wave of dizziness and nausea cut short the captain’s last-minute plea to the sky-father; a sensation of weightlessness surged, senses scrambled.

As Kraft clenched something inside his sleeve before William’s eyes, he heard the burning sensation of acid reflux, tasted the rumbling vibration crawling through him; amid the tangled, chaotic perceptions, one stood out unmistakably—falling.