NOVEL NEXT Chapter 124: Must’ve been a month already.
"Keep following my magic," Anders ordered as he pointed ahead. "We'll get there eventually."
The golden thread Anders had conjured darted forward, weaving between reeds and half-sunken logs, curling around fungal pillars as though it knew every secret turn. It was beautiful, precise, almost arrogant in its elegance. Top-tier pathfinder magic. A lost art, some (Lena) whispered.
But it didn't seem enough.
Because every time Anders's thread laid down a direction, the swamp itself seemed to laugh at their feeble attempt. A root would rise just enough to trip Marin. A clump of lilies would unpeel and slide across the water like greased tiles. The mud sloshed in patterns too regular to be natural, like someone was rearranging the terrain behind their backs.
"This isn't a path," Lena whispered. "This is a board game. And I didn't agree to play."
The filament bent suddenly left, cutting across what looked like solid waterlogged turf. Anders marched forward without hesitation, his boots landing exactly where the thread promised safety. Everyone else followed, muttering complaints (mainly Griesa) as they splashed knee-deep into murky muck.
"Does it feel like the swamp is moving around us?" Lena asked, her voice low, suspicious.
"It's not moving," Griesa replied as she gauged the readings on her contraption—a brass-and-ivory gyroscope housed in a glass dome, with sparkling teal spinning rings atop. The device clicked and groaned like a clock that hated its own job. Beside her, the rat Kurix scrambled furiously on a crank-wheel jutting from the side, tiny paws pumping to keep the gears wound. Each time he slowed, the gyroscope's glow dimmed, and Griesa gave him a sharp tap on the tail with her quill until he redoubled his efforts. "It's correcting. The swamp knows we're trying to leave."
There's absolutely nothing we can do to salvage this situation. We're all doomed.
[Reminder: Quest Received: The Pact Beneath Glass – Mythic Difficulty]
[Warning: Proceeding may alter fate, alignment, grant ways out of maze-like tower levels, or even grants ability to move.]
[Countdown until quest acceptance expiry: 9 hours 44 minutes 12 seconds.]
Wait. I'm no longer stunned, so I can accept this MYTHIC level quest. When did I even get it? Oh. Back in Chapter 117. I've been stuck at this level for like so long; must've been a month already. I almost forgot.
Hah! Screw you System! I've found a flaw in your game.
Blorbo enthusiastically accepted the quest, only to find its objective: Liberate Master Sensei from the Bubble Prison.
Reward: +10000 EXP
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
+15 Random Stats
+5 (MAX) HP
+1 Mythic Skill: The Fourth Eye of the Tree God
What? A MYTHIC SKILL?
He turned back to look at the elegant, stoic silhouette sealed inside a wobbling orb of translucent swamp-glass still floating a few paces behind them. But… that's literally the only reason we're back here. And you're telling me to release him?!
Wait. This isn't my duty. It's Anders's duty. And Anders is a prick. He should be punished for all his harlot-buttockedness.
I'll be remembered. I'll be the liberator. The breaker of bubbles. The splinter in fate's backside.
The bubble drifted closer, pulsing faintly as if it heard the thought. Inside, Master Sensei's eyes opened just a fraction, catching Blorbo's reflection in his mirrored calm.
Blorbo shivered all the way down his joints. Yes… yes… I shall release you. Not for honor, not for the swamp, not even for your sanctimonious wisdom, but because it will make Anders look like a mold-brained buffoon.
But how…
[Countdown until quest expiry: 9 hours 43 minutes 38 seconds.]
Hold on. You didn't even tell me this quest has an expiration date.
[It does now.]
You son of a…
Anders skidded to a halt, eyes blazing at the lagging group. "For the love of—do any of you actually see the path I'm laying?" His voice cracked the swamp air like a whip. "I can't drag the rest of you by the nose forever!"
Blorbo inwardly cheered. Yes! Let him show off! Let him panic!
But Anders's next move was… catastrophic.
He slammed both palms down, muttering words older than the oldest reeds. The golden filament shivered, then flared. Light twisted into a spiraling column that plunged straight through the swampy floor beneath their boots. The murky muck boiled. Roots groaned and splintered. Logs and reeds vanished into a gaping hole that seemed to breathe.
Everyone screamed.
"Rob! Tabby! Marin! Griesa! Dad!" Lena shrieked as the floor beneath them gave way.
Hey! What about my name! I'm right behind you!
The swamp swallowed screams, mud, reeds, and boots alike. They plummeted through layers of muck and fungal lattice, deeper into the twisting labyrinth of the swamp tower.
The golden thread dissolved into sparkling fragments, scattering in all directions like fireflies, leaving Anders's furious glare as the only beacon.
Griesa stood amidst the wreckage, staring at what remained of her once-proud contraption. The glass dome was cracked, the brass rings warped and crooked, and the teal sparks sputtered weakly like dying fireflies. Kurix sat nearby, a small bump already forming over his furry little head. "Stupid old man!" She growled. "You could've done that all along and chose not to?"
Anders's voice boomed from above, reverberating through the muck-choked shaft. "I was not going to lose to that infernal labyrinth of slime and roots! The only reason I unleashed the Wrath of the Sunken Spire was because you… slow-moving mortals… are too timid to keep pace with destiny itself!"
Before the bickering could escalate further, a muffled shout echoed from deeper in the shaft.
"You… might want to see this level," Rob called, his voice strained over the rumble of collapsing muck.
Everyone stopped and turned.