BANG!
Cenk landed on the ground with a heavy boom. The entire city shook as he failed to control his power properly. It had taken maybe half a minute at most for him to cross from the tower to this location, and that was already the result of him holding back significantly.
If he was too careless with how he used his power in this city, he would probably kill and destroy everything but the dungeon and the tower itself. So he had to show at least a little bit of restraint.
However, when he saw that there were no guards at the door, he couldn’t help but frown.
Cenk could have never expected that the moment he left the tower, his communication device would begin sending out blaring warning sounds. The timing couldn’t have been worse.
But ironically enough, even if he had known, he would have gotten here at the same speed. No, in reality, he had gotten here even faster because he left ahead of time.
Seeing that there were no guards at the entrances of the dungeons, and sensing the eerie silence, he felt that something was wrong, very wrong.
Was this the trap he had been worried about all along?
He took a tentative step forward, but he frowned when he didn’t feel any changes coming from his Luck. Was he facing an enemy that was so far beyond him in strength that he couldn’t sense anything? Or was he overthinking things?
No matter how sharp Cenk was, he couldn’t fathom that it was because Sylas was a Progenitor of Earth. They had put all this effort into curating a replica of the Summoned World, and then they allowed its Progenitor to sneak in right under their noses.
If Cenk could have precedent over Sylas in this world, Earth might as well self-destruct right this moment. It would have been the most useless of worlds in all of existence, and certainly not worthy of the Silver Grade upgrade it was currently receiving.
The struggle in Cenk’s expression was very real, but he also couldn’t see or sense anything either.
The dungeon was designed to be completely isolated from the rest of the city. They didn’t want most of the Clypsians to know of their real situation, so they obviously couldn’t allow potential whistleblowers to make a great deal of noise.
Now, that was coming back to bite them. It left him not knowing a single thing.
While he stood there hesitating on what to do, not wanting to risk his own life, he was burning away precious time.
…
Vaelmyr watched as his people fell one after another. There was a deep depth of concentration in his eyes, his focus singular and focused, but it was hard not to sweep his gaze over such things.
As he hovered there in the air, raining down strikes of telekinesis fueled by a depth of icy Aether, he recalled each one of their faces.
Sylas seemed to be nowhere in sight, and the bloody hall before them was only getting bloodier.
The only reason Vaelmyr continued to hold on was because he knew that it didn’t make sense for Sylas to risk life and limb to come here, just to pull them into a trap like this one.
If Sylas was going to use them, fine. That made sense. But what was the point of luring them here just to kill them?
Even though the man understood this logic, swallowing the loss was hard.
The Clypsians were on a level completely different from the Sylphs in terms of talent. But they had been dungeoned for so many years, and they didn’t have any treasures or equipment like the Sylphs did. The result was a battle that was much closer to level than it should have been otherwise.
The hall began to stink with the stench of blood, the guilt in Vaelmyr’s heart weighing heavier and heavier. He knew that his brothers were only doing this because he had agreed to it, and he would be lying if he didn’t admit to himself that he was mostly so agreeable because of the danger his daughter was in by being by Sylas’ side.
However, all they had to do was capture the F-Grade Sylas wanted. That was the only way to end all of this as quickly as possible.
Vaelmyr took another breath, his eyes landing on a young boy that might have been 17 or 18 years old at most. He stood behind an elder, his eyes flickering with both fear and arrogance.
Honestly, Drikan wasn’t even supposed to be here. It was only because Cenk had ordered those materials, and someone had to come and deliver them.
The Frostbane branch of the Sylphs felt that it was a good opportunity for him to see what the situation was like here on the set of one of their most important investments, but he didn’t expect that what should have been a field trip, for all intents and purposes, would suddenly become a death trap.
And now, because the Clypsians were using their lives with such wild abandon, the Sylphs guards were falling in droves and it would only be a matter of time before he was swallowed up into the chaos as well.
He was trying his best to maintain his arrogant, indifferent demeanor, but it was impossible to hide the shaking in his legs.
Vaelmyr suddenly swept down from the skies, taking advantage of a moment where all but one of the kid’s guards were occupied. A strong pulse of telekinesis nearly sent the guard flying off of his feet, but he just managed to stabilize himself.
Nosphaleen’s father had already expected this. His telekinesis wasn’t to the point that he could send such a strong opponent flying, but he could use it to gain an advantage.
He swiftly followed up with a javelin he had stolen from one of the many corpses littering the grand hall.
The timing was perfect and the guard found himself pinned to the wall through the throat.
‘Success.’
Vaelmyr reached forward, about to grab the F-Grade’s throat as piss ran down the latter’s leg…
Only for the pressure of a D-Grade to descend from above like a mighty tempest.