The Hidden Monster of House Vale

Kelie had entered the battle at the same time as Halfred, her twin daggers flashing in the dim light of the chasm. But Halfred, consumed by rage, wasn't looking anywhere except straight ahead. His eyes burned with the same fire that danced around his fists, and he attacked with reckless abandon, destroying whatever stood in his path. He believed—truly believed—that he could protect his people by annihilating everything before him.

Kelie was strong. She was a peak Spirit Forge realm master, after all. But this place was a hidden area of the dungeon, and hidden areas were always more treacherous than normal dungeons. The monsters here were stronger, faster, more cunning. They didn't fight like ordinary beasts—they hunted like predators who had learned the art of killing over countless centuries.

She fought valiantly for a while, her small daggers dancing through the air as she carved a path through the enemy ranks. But Kelie had always been a healer, accustomed to fighting in groups where others drew the attention while she supported from the shadows. Alone, her effectiveness diminished. She couldn't move as freely, couldn't coordinate with allies who weren't there.

Still, she managed to kill several monsters with her agility, slipping behind them and striking at their weak points. Her movements were graceful, almost like a dance, and for a brief moment, she felt a flicker of confidence.

Then a giant mantis managed to get behind her.

Its limbs wrapped around her arm, yanking her off balance. Her daggers clattered to the ground, and she realized with dawning horror that this could be the end. The mantis's face loomed close to hers, its mandibles clicking with anticipation. It extended its tongue, running it across her cheek, tasting her before the kill.

"Halfred! Help!" she screamed, her voice tearing through the chaos of battle.

But Halfred was too consumed by his fury, too focused on destroying the enemies before him to hear her cries. He was lost in his own world of vengeance and pain, and in that moment, Kelie understood something terrible.

Halfred had gone too far—not just physically, but from her as well. The distance between them wasn't measured in meters anymore. It was measured in years of neglect, of ambition, of a single-minded pursuit that left no room for anything else. Not for her. Not for her feelings. Not for the love she'd offered him so freely.

She saw him glance in her direction, saw the realization dawn on his face. But it was too late. He was too far away. She had given up all hope.

Kelie closed her eyes, waiting for death. Waiting to see her brother soon. 'I'm sorry, Katelle,' she thought, tears streaming down her cheeks. 'I tried everything, but it seems this is it for me too... I wish I could have said goodbye to mother.'

She loved her family. She'd always loved them. But she'd been so focused on Halfred, so consumed by her feelings for him, that she'd neglected the love of her own kin. Now, with death breathing down her neck, she realized what she'd sacrificed for nothing. She didn't blame Halfred—he'd never asked her to love him, never promised her anything in return. But she couldn't forgive him either. Not for the distance, not for the coldness, not for the years she'd wasted.

She waited for the end.

But instead of death, she felt herself falling.

Kelie opened her eyes, blinking in confusion. The giant mantis's head was gone, its limbs severed and twitching on the ground. She was falling through the air, and then—

Lucien caught her in his arms.

His grip was strong and steady, and for a moment, Kelie could only stare at him in shock. His eyes met hers, calm and reassuring.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Y-y-yeah," Kelie stammered, her heart pounding. "I'm okay."

Lucien smiled, a warm expression that seemed utterly out of place in this hellish landscape. Then his gaze hardened as he looked toward the remaining monsters. In one fluid motion, he swung his halberd, the World Root Executioner, and a wave of energy erupted from the blade.

The shockwave expanded outward, annihilating every being within a seventy-meter radius. The monsters didn't even have time to scream—they simply ceased to exist, their bodies dissolving into motes of light that scattered on the wind.

Halfred rushed toward them, panting heavily. His flames flickered and died as he approached, his expression shifting from concern to something that might have been guilt.

"Are you okay, Kelie?" he asked, his voice strained. "I... I didn't see that you were left behind."

Lucien gently set Kelie down, his eyes fixed on Halfred. There was no accusation in his gaze, but there was something far worse—disappointment.

"Halfred, you should have taken care of her," Lucien said, his voice calm but firm. "She's a healer. She can't fight like us. If you keep giving in to rage, one day you'll burn everything around you."

Halfred bristled at the words. He didn't like being lectured by someone younger, someone who'd barely lived two decades while he'd spent decades cultivating. But he couldn't deny the truth of Lucien's words. He'd been so consumed by his own fury that he'd almost let Kelie die.

"We should finish this first," Lucien said, turning back toward the remaining threats.

It didn't take long to eliminate the rest of the monsters. Lucien's Horizon Splitter technique carved through the giant serpent like a blade through silk, and the remaining creatures scattered in terror. Within minutes, the chasm fell silent, the only sounds the ragged breathing of three exhausted cultivators.

Evening had fallen, the sky darkening to a deep violet that seemed to swallow the light. They couldn't move forward in these conditions—not without risking more ambushes, more deaths.

"We don't have a choice," Lucien said, his voice heavy with resignation. "We need to stop here for now."

"Yeah," Kelie agreed quickly. "I think Lucien is right. We can't move forward, Halfred. We need to rest."

Halfred's jaw tightened. He didn't like how quickly she'd agreed with Lucien, how easily she'd accepted his judgment. His heart burned with something that wasn't ambition—it was jealousy. He could feel it, an insidious flame that consumed him from within. Something had changed during today's fight, something he couldn't quite identify. But he could feel Kelie slipping away from him, and he didn't know how to stop it.

"Yeah," he said finally, his voice hollow. "I guess we have no choice."

They set up separate camps, each cultivating in silence. The night passed slowly, the hours marked by the distant howls of beasts and the oppressive weight of the dungeon's presence.

The next morning, they encountered another monster—a giant anthropomorphic wolf with eyes that burned like coals. It was a formidable opponent, but with the three of them working together, it didn't take long to defeat.

After the battle, Lucien noticed something. Kelie was only using her healing powers, burning through her astral energy to mend their wounds. She hadn't attempted a single offensive technique.

Lucien approached her, his expression thoughtful. "You only use healing powers for the team?" he asked.

Kelie blinked, surprised by the question. "Y-yeah," she stammered. "I mean, that's what I always do."

"And you became a peak realm master by just cultivating through healing others?" Lucien asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

"Yeah." Kelie shifted uncomfortably. She didn't understand why he was asking such obvious questions.

But then Lucien said something that truly surprised her.

"I would never have told anyone to try this, but you're a peak Spirit Forge realm master, so I think you can handle what I'm about to say." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "You heal realm masters by burning your astral energy and giving it to them, right?"

Kelie nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's how my healing works. I can also provide my astral energy to other members in case of emergency."

Lucien's eyes gleamed with insight. "Then consider this: when you cultivate, try cultivating in the opposite way. What I mean is, you're focusing on giving others your astral energy and burning it to heal their wounds. But if you focus on cultivation in the opposite direction, you might unlock offensive skills. Skills that would be beneficial to the group."

Kelie was stunned. She'd never considered such a possibility. The knowledge he was offering felt almost heretical—beyond anything she'd ever read in any cultivation manual. She'd always been taught that healers should focus solely on support, that their role was to strengthen others, not themselves.

But Lucien was suggesting something different. Something new.

In this world, cultivators gained skills by focusing their minds during cultivation, channeling their energy in familiar directions based on their understanding of themselves. What Lucien had suggested was a complete paradigm shift. She understood the theory immediately, but the practical application terrified her.

And yet, she was excited.

If she could develop an offensive skill, she'd become invaluable to any team. She could protect herself—and others—without relying on someone else to save her. The thought was intoxicating.

Halfred watched the exchange from a distance, his expression unreadable. He wasn't surprised that Lucien was giving Kelie advice—the boy was stronger than both of them, despite his age. But somewhere deep inside, Halfred felt his heart aching. He'd been trying to get closer to Kelie for years, yet Lucien had managed to capture her attention in a single conversation.

Lucien handed Kelie a few resources to aid her cultivation. She accepted them gratefully, her mind already racing with possibilities. She wanted to help Halfred, to become more useful to him. But she also wanted to prove to herself that she was more than just a healer, more than just a support character in someone else's story.

With renewed determination, the three of them pressed forward. They traveled a long distance that day, fighting through wave after wave of monsters. Finally, they arrived at a place where a cave was carved into a giant hill. But this was no ordinary cave—a massive gate stood at its entrance, its arch adorned with intricate designs that seemed to pulse with ancient power.

Lucien, Halfred, and Kelie stood before the gate, observing its every detail. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the symbols carved into its surface speaking of a civilization far older than any they'd encountered.

"I don't think it's a good idea to go inside," Lucien said finally, his voice heavy with caution. "Maybe we should look for another exit."

"Why?" Halfred challenged. "I don't see any other way. Do you see any other path?"

Lucien shook his head. "No, but that doesn't mean we should rush into a potential trap. Maybe we should try going to higher ground—like the top of this hill. We might get a better view of the surrounding area, maybe find some clues."

Halfred's eyes narrowed. "You're being paranoid."

"Halfred," Kelie interjected, "Lucien is right. Maybe we should figure out if this is another trap first."

Halfred frowned, his expression darkening. "You don't believe me, Kelie? I'll protect you, even if it's a trap."

"I don't doubt that," Kelie said softly, "but we need to be smart about this."

"If the two of you don't want to come, I'm going alone," Halfred declared, stepping toward the gate.

Lucien sighed. "Fine. I'll come. But let's stay together in this unknown place. That'll be more helpful than splitting up."

Halfred nodded curtly. "Don't worry. We'll be together."

Together, they pushed open the ancient gate and stepped inside.

Somewhere in the same plane, Gwenra was fighting alone.

She'd lost count of the deaths. Every time she fell, every time the dragon's claws tore through her flesh or its flames reduced her to ash, she simply reappeared at the starting point, her injuries healed, her energy restored.

'How many times has it already happened?' she wondered, pushing herself to her feet. 'How many times have I died?'

She was alone. Completely, utterly alone. When she'd entered the gate, she'd expected a challenge—something she could overcome with her magic and her wits. What she'd found instead was torture.

Her opponent was a monstrous dragon, black as night with eyes that burned like molten rubies. It was unlike anything she'd ever encountered—magic-resistant, virtually immune to her most powerful spells. Gwenra was a specialist in magic, had devoted her entire cultivation to mastering the arcane arts. Against any ordinary foe, she would have been unstoppable.

But this dragon was no ordinary foe.

The battle had been raging for what felt like two days without rest. She kept dying, and the dungeon kept reviving her, trapping her in an endless cycle of pain and despair. The curse—or perhaps it was a blessing, she couldn't tell anymore—reversed time around her, returning her to the exact moment she'd entered the arena.

This was the power of the hidden path, a trial designed to break even the strongest wills.

Gwenra had already died seventy-nine times. She remembered every death, every agonizing moment. The feeling of claws piercing her chest, the searing pain of flames consuming her flesh, the crushing weight of the dragon's jaws closing around her body.

And yet, she was determined.

She would clear this area of the dungeon. Not because she wanted to save someone—not this time. This time, she was fighting for herself. For her own survival. For the simple, stubborn refusal to accept defeat.

The dragon appeared behind her, moving with impossible speed. It didn't teleport—it simply moved faster than her eyes could track. Before she could react, its claws sliced through her torso, splitting her in half.

'Not again,' Gwenra thought, her vision fading to black.

Author Note:

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