NOVEL NEXT Chapter 112: Another sanctum
The Sanctum was real. Guarded. Aggressive. This wasn't just a sanctuary—it was a fortress. And they'd almost died for a glimpse of it.
But they were alive.
Only because of Ethan's foresight... and the strange, shimmering slime he'd quietly slipped into their pack.
And as they rested, marking down their brush with death, no one said what they all now believed:
Ethan wasn't just a leader anymore.
He was becoming a conqueror
The return journey from the dragon-men's Sanctum was nothing like the departure.
Back then, they'd moved with hope — quiet but pulsing in their chests — that discovery would come. Now, they traveled with heavy silence. The group had seen a glimpse of what true power looked like, and it wasn't a beast's claws or a monster's roar.
It was intelligence. Discipline. Fire-wreathed eyes behind walls forged in ancient glyphs.
They moved fast.
But not in a straight line.
David led them along a staggered route — weaving through dead corridors, detouring across broken bridges, even doubling back once to lose a winged beast that had tracked their scent for nearly two hours. Their every motion was calculated.
Nelda was the first to pick up the change in the Labyrinth. "It's shifting," she grunted one night as they passed through a forest of petrified vines. "We took a straight line to get here. This shouldn't be a slope."
David agreed. "The terrain's different now. Almost... testing us."
And it was.
The Labyrinth itself seemed aware of them.
In one stretch, the air thinned without warning, turning the path into a choking maze of oxygen-starved tunnels. Miv fainted halfway through, only to be carried on Nelda's shoulder until they emerged into a clearer chamber, gasping.
In another, the light itself turned treacherous — flickering red, then violet, before disappearing entirely. In the pitch dark, illusions sprang to life: long-lost voices, phantom footsteps, and even the cries of children. The slime, though exhausted, wrapped part of itself over the group's ears, dulling the psychic noise just enough for them to stagger through.
And always, they marked their passage.
Miv used a spell that embedded sigils into stone, fading after three days. Nelda scratched blade-signs into cave walls. David used scent markers, crushed herbs that would drive away predators but not attract anything intelligent.
They didn't sleep for long — one-hour cycles, guards rotating without fail.
Their food dwindled, then their water.
Once, they stopped at a luminous pool to refill. Nelda reached to drink before David barked, "Don't."
He dropped a piece of dried meat into the pool.
It melted — dissolved by the liquid in seconds.
"Acid lake. Masquerading as spring water," he said grimly.
Miv stared at it. "That would've been my kidneys."
By the seventh day of their return, even old tensions had faded to nothing. Orcs and humans shared what little rations they had left. The minotaur offered to carry two of the smallest members when they started limping.
Snirch, the goblin-turned-guide, surprised them all. With a sudden burst of awareness, he halted them outside what appeared to be a safe clearing. "Bad. There's something here."
They listened.
And then they heard it — a faint snore. Deep. Guttural. As if the mountain itself were breathing.
They quietly circled around, careful not to disturb the grass where mana hung heavy like fog. Later, they found tracks: a two-headed serpent, the size of a small house, curled in sleep beneath the earth.
"I owe Snirch a drink," Nelda muttered. The goblin only snorted and muttered something about not wanting to die without seeing his ugly cousins again.
Then came the strangest encounter of the journey.
A merchant.
Not a man. Not a beast. Something in-between.
They found him nestled in a broken archway covered in ivy, his cart floating behind him, tethered by runes. He wore a stitched robe made of skin and moss, and spoke in five voices at once.
"Buy... or passss... but do not linger, travelersss. The air here listens."
He offered bizarre things — bottled lightning, teeth that grew new teeth, a spoon that remembered flavors.
They bought nothing.
Except Miv, who traded a lock of her hair for a "map shard." Whether it would help remained to be seen, but she felt oddly drawn to it.
At last — after ten days of circling, dodging, starving, and surviving — they saw it:
Grosh'ka Sanctum.
Its crude towers of dark stone never looked so welcoming. The sigils carved into its gates pulsed like a heartbeat. Smoke rose from the kitchen fires. People moved along the walls — unaware of just how close the party had come to never returning.
David turned to the others. "One by one. Entry codeword is Stone Sleeps Deep. Don't break formation. Let me speak first."
No one argued.
They passed into the outer wards, weapons low but ready, eyes still sharp despite the exhaustion.
When they were finally inside the gate, a cheer broke out.
Dozens of refugees and fighters rushed to greet them. People who had waited, worried. A few broke into tears.
Ethan wasn't among them.
He was waiting inside — where David would report in full.
But the scouting group?
They had made it.
Through the twisting hell of the Great Labyrinth... they had returned.
Not as fractured survivors.
But as a unit.
And though none said it aloud, each of them now believed one thing:
Whatever Ethan had planned for the future...
They were ready to follow him into it.
Ethan stood alone on the upper battlement of Grosh'ka Sanctum.
The wind tugged at his coat, carrying with it the scent of old smoke and blood. His gaze remained fixed toward the east, past the ruins, beyond the spiked hills and obsidian fields. Toward the part of the Labyrinth where the dragonkin Sanctum now slumbered like a slumbering leviathan.
He knew they would return.
He just didn't know how changed they'd be.
When the scouts emerged through the great gates, grime-streaked and worn, Ethan turned at last. The gate guards called his name, voices thick with relief.
But he said nothing. Not at first.
He descended the stairway slowly, each step echoing against the stone. The courtyard cleared. The crowd gave him space.
David stepped forward.
His armor was cracked. His cloak had been cut and stitched more than once. But his eyes—calm and sharp—met Ethan's without hesitation.
"We found it," David said simply.
Ethan's gaze swept across the others—Nelda, Miv, Snirch, the orcs, the humans, all standing like the worn edge of a well-used blade. Hardened. Tempered.
"I know," Ethan replied. "I felt the Slime's signal."
He stepped closer, his voice low. "You were nearly caught."
David nodded. "The dragonkin were well-organized. Their Sanctum wasn't just strong—it was civilized. Structured. Militarized. Magic defenses, aerial scouts, and… pride. They act like they're the rightful rulers of the Labyrinth."
"They aren't," Ethan said, his voice cold and unwavering. "Not anymore."
The others remained silent. Waiting.
Ethan turned toward the group at large. His voice rose—not loud, but sharp, cutting through the tired hush.
"I sent you to find a Sanctum. You found one ruled by dragonkin—a race that sees the rest of us as filth and fodder. They won't negotiate. They won't listen. And they won't hesitate."
He let that truth settle in.
"But I will tell you what they don't expect."
He stepped forward. "They don't expect a fractured band of ex-slaves, orcs, humans, goblins, minotaurs, and monsters to march on them united. They don't expect us to rise now—before they're ready. Before they finish building. Before they expand."
Ethan's aura simmered faintly, his presence drawing their gazes like gravity itself.
"They are strong," he said. "But we are desperate. And desperation has always been the greater weapon."
Miv looked up, brow furrowed. "You want to attack them? Now?"
"Exactly now," Ethan said. "While they slumber in false security."
He raised his hand—and in his palm, a floating soul-mark ignited. A mission glyph. The same mission the System had given him days ago:
> Sanctum Claiming Protocol Activated.
Target: [Unclaimed Dragonkin Sanctum]
Objective: Conquer, Subjugate, or Destroy the current leaders. Install new governance under the Supreme Fate-breaker.
Rewards: Access to Sanctum Core | Great Labyrinth Sovereignty Points | Additional Soul Authority
David blinked at the glyph. "You planned this."
"I predicted the variables," Ethan replied. "And now the probability aligns."
Nelda crossed her arms. "You're talking about a direct assault on a dragonkin stronghold. With what army?"
Ethan turned.
The gathered crowd of fighters, scouts, crafters, and survivors had swelled behind them.
Not an army in the traditional sense.
But a force.
Each had suffered under the Labyrinth. Each had lived by crawling. Survived by scraping. And now, each looked at Ethan as something more than just another Awakened.
He raised his voice to the crowd.
"You all know what lies out there," Ethan began. "You know what rules these Sanctums—greedy, arrogant beasts who see us as lesser."
He stepped forward.
"But they're wrong. We're not lesser. We're rising."
He pointed toward the east. "And we begin with fire. We begin with wings. We begin with the prideful."
A cheer broke out—scattered at first, then building as orcs pounded their fists into shields and minotaurs raised their axes. Even Snirch, hesitant and twitchy, let out a shriek of triumph.
Ethan's voice dropped to David and the scouting team.