[: 3rd POV :]

The group stood in tense silence, the stale air pressing on their lungs like a suffocating blanket.

Every corner of the chamber seemed alive, the grotesque statues looming like sentinels in the half-dark, their red-carved eyes glowing faintly as if feeding on the fear of the intruders.

No one spoke, not even the bravest mercenary.

The sound of dripping blood from the middle statue echoed like a slow, maddening drumbeat.

It was then that something shifted.

The Guild Master, Arcturus, who had until now guided them with a steady calm, stopped in front of the altar.

His presence seemed to stretch, filling the room, and the atmosphere thickened like tar.

A wave of unseen pressure washed over them—heavy, suffocating, almost choking—and everyone felt the hairs on their arms rise.

Daniel's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

'This… aura. It's different'

Arcturus clasped his hands behind his back and turned toward the group.

His was voice no longer that of a calm leader but something deeper, weightier, as if carried by the very stones of the chamber.

"For thousands of years…"

His words rolled out slowly, every syllable heavy, deliberate.

"The Zero Organization has followed the rules… and the path of 'Evolution.'"

The mercenaries glanced at each other uneasily, their throats dry, their weapons trembling in their hands though they didn't know why.

"But everything changed…"

Arcturus continued, his eyes glinting strangely in the torchlight, "when those foolish First Generation Rulers… decided to seal off this planet from the path of 'Evolution.'"

A murmur rippled through the group.

"What is he talking about?" whispered one of the mercenaries, his knuckles white as he gripped his blade.

Another Guild member swallowed hard.

"He sounds… different. Like he's not just telling us history, but—" he stopped, unable to finish, because even speaking felt dangerous in that moment.

The heavy aura pressed deeper into their chests with each word.

It was as if the chamber itself leaned in, listening, savoring the sound of Arcturus's voice.

Even the torch flames seemed to sway toward him, flickering unnaturally.

Daniel said nothing.

His gaze was fixed, sharp, reading more than just the words.

He could feel something beneath the surface, something the others couldn't grasp.

Fear gnawed at the group.

The altar loomed behind Arcturus, blood still trickling like a living river, and the statues' eyes seemed brighter now, as though they hungered for the dread filling the chamber.

The Guild Master's tone never rose, but its weight was enough to silence them all.

And though none of them dared admit it, one thought echoed in every heart:

'We should never have come here'

The words slid from Arcturus's lips like venom, slow and deliberate, and the chamber itself seemed to tremble with every utterance.

His shadow stretched unnaturally across the cracked stone floor.

"They had followed their Monarch…the Apocalypse King"

Arcturus's eyes narrowed, voice dropping into something almost reverent.

"But because of the seal, they lost the connection… the link… between them."

A cold draft swept through the room though no doors or windows were open.

The mercenaries shivered and instinctively stepped back, their boots scraping against the damp floor.

"What… Monarch?" one of them whispered, his voice breaking in the silence.

"What is he talking about?"

No answer came.

Only the steady drip of blood from the altar.

Arcturus lifted a hand slowly, his finger brushing against the edge of one of the cloaked statues, as though daring to touch something sacred—or forbidden.

His tone grew heavier, commanding the attention of all who listened.

"For thousands of years...the Zero Organization has searched… clawed… bled… to find a method—any method—left by their Lord"

He continued, the words dragging like chains in their ears,

"To unseal the link between this world… and him."

He paused, the silence that followed deafening.

The mercenaries' breaths came shallow, uneven.

Some gripped their weapons tighter, though they could not explain why their instincts screamed danger, why their chests felt tight as if invisible hands were closing around their lungs.

"Yet…"

Arcturus finally whispered, the sound slithering across the chamber walls, "they failed to do so."

A low, almost imperceptible sound rippled from the altar—like a sigh, or perhaps the echo of laughter.

The statues' red eyes glimmered faintly, as if pleased by the despair creeping into the hearts of those present.

Daniel's gaze sharpened.

'Apocalypse King… Zero Organization… this isn't something a Guild Master should speak of so freely'

His fists tightened at his sides, though outwardly he remained calm.

The Guild Master's voice reverberated through the chamber like a dark hymn, every syllable coated with something ancient and unsettling.

The air grew colder, thicker, as if invisible chains were coiling around the hearts of everyone present.

"They had sacrificed…"

Arcturus said slowly, his tone deliberate, almost savoring the words, "…hundreds of thousands… no, perhaps even millions of lives… over the past thousand years."

His gaze swept over the group, his eyes glinting faintly in the flickering light of the torches.

"Yet… it was not sufficient."

A few of the mercenaries staggered back, their boots splashing in the shallow pools of blood that stained the chamber floor.

Gasps escaped some throats, while others bit their lips hard enough to bleed, struggling to keep composure.

Daniel's brow furrowed, his senses sharpened, every word slicing into him like a warning.

'He speaks not as one reporting rumors… but as though he's recounting a truth he has lived'

The altar seemed to respond, the flow of blood quickening down the central statue, the sound of its dripping louder, more insistent, like the ticking of a dreadful clock.

Arcturus's voice dropped lower, resonant and chilling.

"But… for some reason…"

He turned his gaze to the altar, reverence—or obsession—burning faintly in his eyes. "…a couple of years ago… their Lord finally answered."

The torches sputtered, their flames bowing as if cowed by the name left unspoken.

"Answered their call… their prayers… prayers that had remained unanswered… for thousands of years."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The mercenaries and Guild members stared at him in horror, every instinct screaming that something was very, very wrong.

A few clutched at their weapons, not out of courage but desperation, as if steel could protect them from the weight of what they were hearing.

One mercenary finally broke, his voice hoarse and shaking.

"Guild Master… what do you mean by that? Who—who is this Lord you speak of?"

Arcturus's head tilted slightly, the faint smile tugging once more at the corner of his lips.

He did not answer immediately. Instead, he let the silence deepen, the dread thicken, until it was almost unbearable.

Daniel's jaw tightened, his thoughts racing.

The chamber grew impossibly still, as though the air itself recoiled from the words that spilled from the Guild Master's lips.

Every pair of eyes was fixed on him—not in trust, but in unease, in the raw awareness that something about him had shifted.

Arcturus's tone softened, almost reverent, his voice dripping with an unsettling weight.

"They were left with disbelief…and at the same time… delight"

He said, his eyes glimmering faintly as the torchlight danced over the crimson flow of the altar.

"…. For their Lord… the very one whom they worshipped in silence for centuries, had *answered* their prayers."

The sound of dripping blood from the statue filled the silence.

*Drip. Drip. Drip.*

Each note struck like a heartbeat echoing through the chamber.

Arcturus stepped closer to the altar, his shadow stretching long across the bloodstained floor, his hand hovering dangerously near the stone as if drawn to it.

His voice trembled—not with fear, but with something more dangerous, and that was admiration.

"And their Lord… left only a single message."

He paused, letting the tension coil like a noose around the throats of all who listened.

His gaze swept across the group, and for a moment, the mercenaries and guild members swore the red eyes of the statue pulsed in unison with his words.

"…'He's coming.'"

A sharp gasp broke the silence.

One of the younger mercenaries staggered back, his voice cracking.

"C-Coming? Who's coming?!"

An elven archer pressed herself against the wall, whispering a prayer through clenched teeth, her knuckles white as she gripped her bow.

"This… this isn't just a cult's madness… is it?"

Even the dwarf, stubborn in his defiance, could not stop the way his hammer quivered in his grip.

"There's somethin' wrong in yer tone, Guild Master…" he muttered, glaring with narrowed eyes.

"Yer speakin' like ye believe the very filth ye condemn."

Daniel's eyes sharpened, his silence louder than any accusation.

He didn't miss the shift in Arcturus's aura—the way reverence bled through his words, the way his presence seemed heavier, almost aligned with the very dread bleeding from the altar.

'He's not speaking about them,'

Daniel thought, his chest tightening with cold realization.

'He's speaking *with* them.'

The mercenaries exchanged uneasy glances, none daring to voice the thought that now pressed heavily against their hearts.

Because the way their Guild Master explained, the quiet devotion that leaked through his voice…wasn't that of a guide warning them of an enemy.

It was the tone of a believer.

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