The crisp bite of Crestmoore's autumn air hits me like a slap from Lila's earth spikes as I step out of the Alchemy Guild, my body still aching from two days of salves and elixirs knitting my ribs back together. The Ice Dungeon's frozen colosseum feels like a fever dream now, but the weight of it—Jogen, Sylph, Aric, Kael, Grom, Torv, Mira, Dren, Thok, and Ysmera, all gone—sits heavier than N'Nazmuz's cursed 30 kilos dragging at my bones. My Starforged Tunic shimmers faintly under the overcast sky, its Star Qi humming against the curse's pull, while Varkoth, my Beginner Master Darkness Basilisk Emperor, coils around my arm like a living bracer, his four-meter red-black crested form shrunk to a sleek artifact thanks to his supreme bloodline. His voice, now clear as a blade's edge, hisses in my mind, "Fleshling, the air smells of decay and glory." I smirk, patting his scales. "That's just Crestmoore in fall, snake. Or maybe my legend stinking up the place."
Bera, Tira, and Lila walk beside me, their steps lighter now that the crystal's chill is gone from their veins. Bera's fiery corset strains as she tosses her hair, Middle Master Fire Qi sparking in her eyes. Tira, Beginner Grand Master Fire, smirks with that phoenix tattoo glowing under her sleeve, her alpha vibe stronger than ever. Lila, Middle Master Earth, glares at me for staring at her hips, but there's a flicker of nostalgia in her scowl, like she's remembering Opeka's dusty trails. Zephyr, Gorzka, Vira, Lirien, and Korn trail behind, their faces etched with grief but hardened by survival. Rocky and Vuk are already on their way to Opeka, carrying my scribbled note to Goran: "Supreme sword still outshines yours, old man. Kiss Janko for me." I chuckle, imagining his eye-roll.
We head to the Beast Taming Sect's grove first, a quiet place where ancient trees whisper with Wind Qi. The graves of our fallen comrades—Jogen's from before the dungeon, and now Sylph, Aric, Kael, Grom, Torv, Mira, Dren, Thok, and Ysmera—lie marked with elemental stones: wind for Jogen, fire for Aric, star for Kael, and so on. I lay a bundle of Glowvine flowers on each, their faint Wood Qi glowing in the dusk. Bera's hand brushes mine as she places her own flowers, her warmth cutting through the chill. Tira kneels, whispering something to Sylph's stone, while Lila's earth spikes carve a small rune of respect into the ground.
Zephyr's usually snarky "Perverted Elf" quips are silent, his Beginner Grand Master Darkness Qi heavy with loss. Gorzka's lightning crackles softly, her orcish jaw tight. Vira's water mist soothes the air, and Lirien's crystal arrows gleam as she salutes. Korn, Peak Scholar Wood, binds vines around the graves, his eyes red from mourning his student.
"No more losses," I mutter, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. Varkoth hisses, "Chaos fleshling carries their weight." I nod, the curse's stamina drain tugging at me, but my enhanced strength keeps me standing. The amulet's gone quiet since I stuffed it in my spatial ring—its cryptic "Child stirs" nonsense was driving me mad. No destiny's chasing me today. Just autumn leaves and the ghosts of my team.
At the Mercenary Sect hall, Elder Sani, his Peak Master Lightning Qi sparking, greets us with a grim nod. The Sect Master, a Middle Great Legend with eyes like void pits, stands beside him, his presence heavy as a Krovar's hide. I hand over the mission log, detailing the Royal Basilisk's fall and the girls' rescue. Sani scans it, his brow furrowing. "A 4-star mission, cleared with a Middle Grand Master beast, by cultivators barely scraping Master ranks. Even Great Legends would've struggled. You've got guts, elf, but the cost…" He trails off, glancing at the list of the fallen. I clench my jaw, the curse scarring the floor under my boots. "They didn't die for nothing," I say. "Bera, Tira, Lila—they're here. Dungeon's clear. Job's done."
The Sect Master nods, his voice low. "A feat worthy of legend, but tempered by loss. Your team's earned these." He hands out new Fiery Fissure badges, each gleaming with four stars—even for Bera, Tira, and Lila, who're officially my crew. I pass out the mission reward: 100 Level 3 Spirit Stones and 6 Level 4 Spirit Stones to each survivor—Zephyr, Gorzka, Vira, Lirien, and Korn. The girls get their badges but no stones, since they were the ones we hauled out of crystal. Bera smirks, "You owe us more than badges, elf." I wink, "My supreme sword's payment enough." Lila's earth spike grazes my boot, and Tira's fire orb singes my cloak. Worth it.
Back at The Iron Bloom, I've had the innkeeper rig my private room with a Spirit Ward formation—no spiritual sense can pierce it, so we're free to talk without eavesdroppers. The team piles in, the air thick with ale and tension.
I open my spatial ring, the haul from the dungeon glittering:
Royal Basilisk scales,
fangs,
a Legendary-grade core,
a poison bag,
and those three chests packed with rare and legendary gear. "Equal shares," I say, my scavenging greed screaming to hoard it all, but I owe these bastards my life.
I hand out the legendary items first:
a Moonfrost Amulet to Zephyr, its Ice Qi humming;
Starveil Gauntlets to Gorzka, their Star Qi crackling;
a Shadowfrost Cloak to Vira, its Darkness Qi swirling;
a Frostborn Scepter to Lirien, Ice Qi pulsing; and a Glacial Crown to Korn, its icy weight suiting his somber vibe.
The rare stuff—Starfrost Blade, Glacial Bow, Frostweave Robe, Crystaline Shield, Icethorn Dagger—I divvy up based on their skills: blade to Zephyr,
bow to Lirien,
robe to Vira,
shield to Korn,
dagger to Gorzka.
The Basilisk loot—10 kg scales, 2 fangs, core, poison bag—goes into a shared pile for the next Starveil Auction, minus a few scales I slip into my ring for Stinky's pen.
"Fair's fair," I say, leaning back. Varkoth, uncoiled now, sprawls across the table, his red-black crest glinting, his new skills—Void Fang (a biting shadow that corrodes armor) and Umbral Pulse (a shockwave that disrupts Qi flow)—making him deadlier than ever. His Dread Glare's now a full second, and his Shadow Bind can lock a foe for three. He hisses, "Fleshling's greed is wise. These trinkets strengthen chaos." I grin, tossing him a chunk of smoked Gromble meat.
The others head out, citing wounds or ale, leaving me with Bera, Tira, and Lila. The room's warm, the ward's hum sealing us in. Bera's fire sparks as she sits close, her corset straining. "You're a reckless idiot, Killy," she says, but her hand lingers on my arm. Tira's smirk is sharp, her tattoo glowing. "You dragged us out of that ice hell. Don't think that makes us yours." Lila, quieter, traces an earth rune on the table. "You didn't leave us. That's… something." I lean back, the curse's weight eased by the tunic. "Spill it, ladies. What happened in there?"
Bera starts, her voice low. "We were hunting a Frost Wyrm for its core—good for my Fire Qi. Got cocky, pushed too deep. The Basilisk ambushed us, its ice breath trapping us in crystal. Felt like years, frozen, hearing nothing but its hisses." Tira cuts in, "I tried burning through, but my flames fizzled. Lila's earth shields held a bit, but…" Lila nods, her eyes distant. "It was like Opeka's mines collapsing, but colder. We thought you'd ditch us, Killy." I snort, "Leave my Fiery Triangle? Never. Who'd I prank without you?" Bera's fireball grazes my ear, but she's grinning.
I tell them my side—Jogen's funeral, the dungeon's traps, Varkoth's evolution, the losses. "Sylph's wind tricks, Aric's fireballs, Kael's star bolts—gone. Grom's earth walls, Torv's lava bursts, Mira's ice shields, Dren's wind spears, Thok's stone fists, Ysmera's fire storms… all dust." My voice cracks, and I hate it. The curse's stamina drain claws at me, but I push through. "Varkoth and I carved through Golems, Wyrms, Wraiths. Zephyr, Gorzka, Vira, Lirien, Korn—they held the line. For you." Tira's hand brushes mine, a rare soft gesture. "You're a fool, elf. But our fool."
We talk for hours, ale flowing, the ward keeping our words safe. Bera admits her jealousy flared when she heard I was cozy with Vira at the auction. "Thought you'd replaced me," she mutters. I laugh, "Nobody outshines your melons, Bera." She punches my shoulder, but it's playful. Tira confesses she broke through to Beginner Grand Master in the tower, pushing her Fire Qi to match her temper. "Wanted to burn you for that 'tattooed canyon' crap," she says, smirking. Lila's quieter, her Opeka memories surfacing—our old pranks, her saving me from that Crystal Wyrm ambush. "You're still a pain," she says, but her earth spike's gentle this time.
I pull out the Basilisk core, its Legendary-grade Ice Qi pulsing. "This thing's worth a fortune. Thinking Starveil Auction, split the take." Bera's eyes light up. "That'll buy me a new corset to make you drool." Tira snorts, "I'll get a phoenix blade to carve your ego." Lila smirks, "I'll build a stone keep to lock you in." I grin, the curse's weight lighter with their banter. Varkoth hisses, "Fleshlings bicker, yet thrive. Chaos binds them." I nod, tossing him another meat chunk.
The night deepens, and I feel the pull of something bigger—those damn amulet pulses I buried in my ring. "The Child stirs the Crystal's heart," it said in the dungeon. High Elven runes, First Altars hints—I'm done ignoring them, but not tonight. Tonight's for the girls, for the team, for the ghosts we buried. I raise my mug. "To Quad Storm, to Fiery Fissure, to surviving this icy hell." They clink mugs, even Lila, and for once, the curse feels like just another scar.
As the ale haze settles, I lean back, picturing Stinky in his Beast Ring, munching Crystal Worm dung. My beetle empire's growing, my loot's piling up, and my girls are back. Crestmoore's autumn might be cold, but this room's burning hot. "Supreme Prankster's back," I mutter, and Varkoth hisses, "Chaos reigns, fleshling." Damn right it does.