Elara slumped against a boulder, breath coming fast. The cavern still hummed with the echoes of battle, the scent of blood thick in the air. Her limbs felt leaden, her pulse refusing to slow. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to breathe, to steady the lingering adrenaline that left her nerves raw.

  A rush of footsteps sent her heart lurching. She turned just as Isolde knelt beside Velma’s prone form. A fresh wave of panic surged through her as she remembered Velma’s injury. Elara moved before thinking, stumbling to Velma’s side. Too pale. Too still. Her chest rose in ragged, shallow breaths, her skin slick with sweat.

  Isolde’s brow furrowed as she pressed two fingers to Velma’s wrist. “Velma, talk to me. How bad is the venom? Can you hold on, or do we need Krill now?”

  Velma barely stirred. A murmur—more breath than words as she fought against the venom coursing through her system.

  Elara swallowed hard. The Matriarch’s fangs hadn’t even broken skin. Then how? Did her skin absorb the venom? The idea sent a chill down her spine.

  Isolde’s jaw tightened. “The levels you gained use the stat points to increase your vitality. It not only expands your max health pool but also allows you to develop resistance skills more quickly.”

  Velma’s lashes fluttered. A barely perceptible nod.

  Relief flickered across Isolde’s face. “Good. You’ll need to build resistance faster.”

  Elara absorbed this new information. She had not heard of this before. She’d gained ten levels in that fight, and yet any sense of accomplishment felt hollow with Velma like this.

  Ignatius reached into his robe and retrieved a vibrant red potion. He dropped to a knee beside them, already uncorking it. The sharp tang of herbs cut through the cavern’s damp air. He tilted Velma’s chin, cradling her face as he brought the vial to her lips.

  Velma stirred weakly, trying to push him away. A weak protest formed on her lips.

  “You need this.” His voice left no room for argument.

  She stopped fighting. The potion slid past her lips, and color slowly returned to her cheeks. Her breath evened, though exhaustion still lined her features.

  Isolde exhaled and leaned back against a boulder. Her voice came quieter now, almost lost in the cavern’s echoes. “This might have been a waste. The Matriarch wasn’t the dungeon boss. We still have another fight ahead.”

  The weight of her words hung heavily in the air. Ignatius’s expression darkened. “If this gives her a better chance to hold on, then it’s not wasted.”

  Elara’s chest ached with unspoken agreement. The cavern’s shadows seemed to close in around them. Every moment felt stretched, the uncertainty of their situation weighing heavily on the group.

  Isolde turned her attention to her. “You did well, Alira.” Her tone was measured, but there was something behind it—something close to pride. “Not only did you get Velma out of the fray, but you also found a way to finish the battle quickly. It’s a good ability to determine such things in the heat of the moment.”

  Warmth spread through Elara’s chest at the words, an unexpected spark of pride cutting through the exhaustion. She nodded, unsure what to say.

  Isolde’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, as if assessing her, before she spoke again. “And congratulations on the ten levels. That’s a significant achievement, especially in a fight like this.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and she nodded once more. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Thank you,” she managed.

  Isolde’s expression shifted. “We need an exit. See what you can find.”

  Elara’s heart skipped a beat at the request. She knew the importance of finding an exit, of making progress through the dungeon, and finding Krill. She nodded, her voice steadier this time. “Of course, I’ll see what I can find.”

  She turned toward the cavern’s depths, where the Matriarch’s carcass loomed, and forced her legs to move.

  She picked her way past the carcass, stepping over its twisted limbs. The rough, uneven surface of the rock face seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction, the shadows cast by Ignatius’ flickering flames dancing across its surface.

  She moved cautiously, weaving between scattered boulders. Every few steps, she paused, scanning the rock walls for something—anything—that wasn’t just jagged stone and darkness. Her boots scraped against loose gravel, the sound swallowed by the vast emptiness around her.

  No openings. No tunnels. No way forward.

  Her fingers curled into fists. They couldn’t be trapped down here. How would they get Velma up the way they came without the webs?

  As she neared the far side of the cavern, her heart sank. Despite her thorough search, she had yet to find any clear signs of an exit. She glanced back towards her companions, seeing the weariness and concern etched on their faces. She redoubled her efforts, her eyes straining in the dim light as she scoured every inch. She refused to give up, refused to let her companions down.

  She scanned the cavern walls, frustration rising. Nothing. Just jagged rock and endless shadow. Then—wait. A trick of the light? No. A break in the stone, high above. Nearly lost in the dark. Her breath caught. It was nearly ten meters up, obscured by the way the cavern sloped. If she hadn’t been looking for something—if she’d let doubt creep in—she might have missed it entirely.

  She spun on her heel and sprinted back toward the others. "I found something!" Her voice echoed, bouncing off the stone, snapping Ignatius and Isolde’s heads toward her.

  Isolde's tired eyes filled with gratitude. A smile spread across her face as she thanked her for her discovery. “Well done, Alira,” she said, her voice weary but filled with appreciation.

  Isolde then turned to the others, her expression growing serious. “Before we move on, I think it would be wise for us all to take a few more minutes to meditate. We’ve used a lot of resources in the fight, and it’s important to recover what you can.”

  Elara glanced at her status, noting that her mana and stamina had already started to replenish since the battle ended. Her mana sat at 232 out of 340, while her stamina had reached 100 out of 170. It was a start, but she knew Isolde was right. A few minutes of meditation could make a significant difference.

  Elara hesitated, her gaze drifting to Velma’s still form. “Shouldn’t we hurry? Velma’s condition...”

  Ignatius stepped in, his voice calm but firm. “Rushing now will only endanger us all, Alira. I need to recover mana, and Velma is as stable as she can be for the moment. We must be strategic in our approach.”

  Elara nodded, understanding the wisdom in his words. She settled herself on the ground, crossing her legs and closing her eyes. As she focused on her breathing, she felt the familiar sensation of her mana and stamina slowly regenerating. Minutes passed. She knew that every moment spent in meditation brought them closer to being ready for whatever lay ahead. When she opened her eyes, she felt renewed, her mana and stamina significantly replenished.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  She took a moment to consider where to allocate her 50 stat points. The plan was to put more into strength, as she had failed again in her first approach during a fight because of her lack of it. She pondered her options for a moment, weighing the benefits of each attribute.

  After a brief deliberation, she allocated 35 points into strength and 15 into vitality. She was tired of her dagger failing to penetrate the tough hides of the monsters she faced. The extra strength would give her the power she needed to deal more effective blows and take down her enemies more efficiently. The additional 15 points in vitality also appealed to her, especially after witnessing firsthand how a status effect could severely hinder a person in battle. Velma’s struggle with the venom had been a stark reminder of the importance of resilience and endurance in the face of unexpected challenges.

  Despite her decision to invest in vitality, she had no intention of getting hit anytime soon. She had her trusty escape skills, Voidwalk and Umbral Shift, to rely on when things got dicey. These abilities will prove invaluable in the heat of battle, allowing her to reposition herself quickly and avoid incoming attacks. As she confirmed her stat allocation, she glanced at her companions, noting their own preparations.

  Isolde made her way over to Velma. With Ignatius’s aid, they carefully maneuvered Velma onto Isolde’s back, draping the injured woman’s arms over Isolde’s shoulders. Isolde secured her grip on Velma’s thighs, ensuring she was stable and secure.

  Ignatius turned to Elara, his eyes filled with a somber intensity that made her heart clench. “Alira,” he said, his voice low and serious, “would you be willing to walk beside me at the front? To keep an eye and ear out for any potential threats.”

  “Of course,” she said, her voice resolute. Ignatius nodded, a flicker of gratitude crossing his features. “Thank you, Alira.”

  Elara led the way to the hidden ledge she had discovered. As they approached the opening, Ignatius stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the climb ahead.

  He let out a heavy sigh; the sound echoing through the cavern. She watched as he reached up, his fingers finding purchase on the rough rock face. With a grunt of effort, he pulled himself up, his muscles straining beneath his robes.

  She followed close behind, fingers scraping against rough stone. The rough texture and the cool dampness of the rock sent a shiver down her spine. Halfway up, her foot slipped—just a fraction, but enough to send a jolt of panic through her. She grit her teeth, tightening her grip..

  As she climbed, she could hear Ignatius’s labored breathing now beside her, the sound mingling with the soft scrape of their boots against the rock. She focused on her own movements, her arms and legs working in tandem to propel her upward.

  Beneath them, Isolde waited patiently, Velma still secured on her back. Elara glanced down, marveling at the older woman’s strength. She knew that carrying Velma up the climb would be no easy feat. She pulled herself up over the ledge, her heart racing with exertion. She turned to offer Ignatius a hand, but he had already hoisted himself up, his face flushed with effort. They both turned their attention back to Isolde, watching as she took a few steps back from the base of the climb. She broke into a run, her feet pounding against the stone floor.

  In a display of incredible agility, she ran up the wall, her momentum carrying her upward. Elara watched in awe as the older woman scaled the vertical surface, Velma’s limp form still secured to her back. With a last burst of effort, she reached the ledge. Elara couldn’t help but stare, her mouth slightly agape. Isolde met her gaze, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Ignatius said, his voice tinged with admiration. “Isolde never ceases to amaze me.”

  Elara could only nod, her respect for the older woman growing.

  Ignatius turned towards the tunnel, the darkness ahead seeming to swallow the light from his staff. He motioned for her to join him at the front, and she complied, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger.

  As they walked, their footsteps echoing through the narrow passage, a sudden thought struck her. Velma’s short-sword, the very weapon that had dealt the killing blow to the Ivoryfang Matriarch, was still embedded in the creature’s brain. She hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should voice her concern.

  “Ignatius,” she said, her voice soft but steady, “is it alright that we forgot to retrieve Velma’s short-sword? It’s still stuck in the Matriarch’s head.”

  Isolde’s laughter rang out from behind them, the sound startling in the oppressive silence of the tunnel. “You’re more than welcome to go back and dig around for it, Alira,” she said, her tone light despite the gravity of their situation. “But we don’t have time for that now.”

  Elara nodded, every moment they spent in this dungeon was a moment that Velma’s life hung in the balance. They couldn’t afford to waste time searching for a lost weapon, no matter how valuable it might be. Still, a twinge of guilt tugged at her heart. It had been her plan, her actions that had sent the short-sword flying into the Matriarch’s brain. She felt responsible, in a way, for its loss.

  Isolde continues, her expression serious. “If it’s that important to Velma, she can come back and dig it out herself once she’s recovered. It’s not going anywhere.”

  Elara couldn’t help but smile at the implication that Velma will fully recover and be able to reclaim her lost weapon.

  She turned her attention back to the tunnel ahead, her hand still resting on the hilt of her dagger. The darkness seemed to press in around them, the only light coming from Ignatius’s staff.

  As they walked, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. She strained her ears, trying to pick out any unusual noises over the echo of their footsteps.

  Ignatius seemed to sense her unease. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers in the dim light. “Stay alert,” he said, his voice low and serious.

  She nodded, gripping her dagger, and stepped forward. The darkness ahead felt heavier than before.

  Something about it felt wrong.

  A prickle ran down her spine. Her ears strained against the silence.

  Then—

  “Stop,” Isolde whispered, her voice barely audible. “Someone’s coming.”

  The light from Ignatius’s staff dimmed instantly. The cavern plunged into near darkness.

  Elara’s heart thudded against her ribs. She tightened her grip on her dagger, reaching for the Void’s familiar pull.

  Her eyes narrowed, she was ready, poised to voidwalk behind whatever threat emerged from the shadows.

  Then—a flicker. A pinprick of light appeared in the distance. The light grew closer, bobbing with the movement of its bearer. The figure emerged from the shadows, and Elara’s breath caught.

  The Bard.

  She glanced at her companions, seeing her own surprise and confusion mirrored in their expressions. What was the bard doing here, alone in the dungeon?

  Ignatius raised his staff, light flaring brighter. The bard startled, blinking against the sudden glow. Then, when recognition set in, he let out a long breath, tension draining from his shoulders.

  Ignatius, his brow furrowed, asked, “Has it already been an hour since we parted ways?”

  The bard gave a sheepish shrug. “Plus minus a few,” he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment. He avoided making direct eye contact, his confident demeanor momentarily faltering.

  Isolde stepped forward, her tone serious and eyes narrowing with worry. “Where are the other members of your group?” she demanded, her voice edged with urgency.

  His face grew somber, and he sighed heavily, the weight of his words clear. “We had a run-in with a large group of Ivory Hares,” he explained, his voice heavy with regret. “They really did a number on us.”

  He described how the hares pushed him down a cliff, separating him from his companions. Elara raised an eyebrow at this revelation. They had encountered no hares during their own journey through the dungeon.

  Seeing her expression, he misunderstood it as skepticism. He defended himself, his voice growing more animated. “They were big,” he insisted, “and they were jumping around and hitting us with their legs. They could really pack a punch.”

  Elara remained silent, trying to reconcile his account with their own experiences. The idea of giant, aggressive hares seemed almost absurd, yet also sounded like a nightmare to fight.

  The bard motioned behind himself, his lantern casting flickering shadows on the tunnel walls. “I fell into a small cavern,” he explained, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space. “There was nothing there, so I did some exploring. That’s when I found this tunnel.”

  He paused, his brow furrowing as if trying to recall the details. “There was a split in the path,” he continued, his hand gesturing vaguely. “I headed this way, but there’s another route I haven’t explored yet.”

  Elara nodded, another path could mean a way out, or perhaps even to the dungeon’s boss.

  She glanced at Ignatius and Isolde, trying to gauge their reactions. Ignatius’ face was a mask of concentration. His eyes narrowed as he processed the bard’s words. Isolde, still carrying Velma’s unconscious form, looked pensive, her lips pressed into a thin line.

  Elara turned back, her decision made. “Can you show us where this split is?” she asked, her tone leaving no room for argument.

  He hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting between the three of them. She could see a reluctance in his expression.

  But then he nodded, his shoulders squaring as if steeling himself for what lay ahead. “Of course,” he said, his voice steady despite the slight tremor in his hands. “Follow me.”

  He turned, his lantern held high, as he retraced his steps. Elara fell into step behind him, Ignatius and Isolde close on her heels.