(Interlude)
Part 1: The Blacksmith's Masterpiece
While the others rested or healed, Kael did not sleep. The shame of being knocked unconscious so easily by the Winter King burned hotter than any forge.
He set up a makeshift workshop in a side cavern where a vent of geothermal heat rose from the deep earth.
On his anvil lay the ruin of Elian's sword, The Reaper's Edge. The blade was chipped, the metal stressed from the sheer force of the "Monarch of Seconds" awakening. It had held the power of a god for a few moments, and it had nearly broken under the strain.
"Not good enough," Kael grunted, wiping soot from his beard. "He needs something that won't break when he breaks the world."
He opened his inventory and pulled out a heavy cloth bundle. He unwrapped it reverently.
Inside was the Growth-Type Black Sword—the jagged, living blade Elian had used in the lower floors before retiring it. Elian had returned it to Kael days ago, saying, "Keep it safe. It's hungry."
"Time to feed you," Kael whispered.
He tossed both swords into the fire.
As the metal softened, Kael added the prize of the raid. From the shattered remains of Glacius's Greatsword of Black Ice, he had extracted the Heart of the Winter King—a pulsating core of condensed permafrost and mana.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
The sound of his hammer became the heartbeat of the dungeon.
He folded the living metal of the black sword over the high-carbon steel of the Reaper's Edge. He hammered the Frost Core into the hilt, binding it with runic silver.
The metal screamed as it was forged. It didn't want to bond. Fire and Ice fought on the anvil.
Kael poured his own mana into the swing, his muscles aching. "Obey me!"
He struck the final blow.
HISSS.
He quenched the blade not in water, but in the blue blood of the Yeti elites they had slain.
When he lifted it, the weapon was no longer just a sword. It was a predator.
The blade was jet black, but it had a faint, jagged vein of glowing blue running down the center like a frozen lightning bolt. It hummed, cold and hungry.
[System: Legendary Item Created]
[Weapon: Winter's Eclipse (Growth Type)]
[Trait: Devourer of Mana]
Kael grinned, his teeth white against his soot-stained face. "Now that... that is a weapon fit for a monster."
Part 2: The Dance on the Abyss
Far below the safety of the shelter, out in the open expanse of the boss arena, three figures moved across the shattered floating islands.
The wind howled, threatening to blow them into the bottomless void, but they didn't stop.
Valen stood on the central platform, his shield raised, sweat freezing on his brow.
"Come on!" he roared. "If you can't break my guard, you can't hurt a Boss!"
Roger and Isara circled him.
It was a 2-vs-1 spar, played out on slippery, tilting ice chunks suspended over nothingness.
Roger leaped from a small shard to a stalactite, hanging by one hand while aiming his rifle with the other.
"Mana Round: Concussive!"
BANG.
A blue bullet—solidified mana designed to bruise, not kill—shot toward Valen's helmet.
Valen didn't flinch. He angled his shield perfectly. The bullet ricocheted off the holy steel, exploding into blue dust.
"Too slow, Roger!" Valen shouted. "You're moving like a statue! If Glacius was here, you'd be dead!"
Roger gritted his teeth. He remembered the feeling of helplessness when the Yeti King stomped the ground. He remembered watching Elian fight alone.
"Not again," Roger hissed.
He kicked off the wall, activating [Aerial Maneuver]. He twisted in mid-air, firing three shots in rapid succession while moving between platforms. He wasn't just shooting; he was learning to fly.
Part 3: The Shadow's Resolve
On the other side, Isara was struggling with her own demons.
During the fight with Glacius, she had frozen.
When the King had looked at her, she had felt a primal urge to flee, to hide in the shadows and never come out. She had been a coward.
Never again, she told herself.
She emerged from Valen's shadow, her daggers flashing.
Valen spun, his sword slashing horizontally.
Usually, Isara would have retreated. She would have used [Shadow Step] to run away.
But not today.
"Head on!" Isara screamed.
She didn't retreat. She ducked under the massive blade, sliding on her knees across the ice. She brought her daggers up, aiming for the gap in Valen's armor.
CLANG.
Valen slammed the rim of his shield down, blocking her strike and pinning her weapon.
"Better!" Valen grunted, pushing her back. "But you're still hesitating! You're scared of the hit! You have to be willing to bleed to get the kill!"
Isara scrambled back, panting. Her hands were blistered, her legs shaking from the cold and exhaustion.
She looked at the abyss below.
I am the dagger in the dark, she thought. But a dagger that breaks when it hits bone is useless.
She stood up, spinning her blades. Her eyes, usually cold and detached, burned with a new fire.
"Again," Isara commanded.
Part 4: The Unit
For hours, they fought.
Valen held the line, becoming the immovable object the team needed.
Roger rained fire from impossible angles, becoming the eyes that saw everything.
Isara threw herself into the fray, turning her fear into lethal precision.
They fell. They bled. They bruised.
But every time they slipped on the ice, they recovered faster. Every time they were knocked down, they got up quicker.
Finally, they collapsed on the central platform, chests heaving, steam rising from their bodies in the freezing air.
Roger checked his ammo counter, wiping sweat from his eyes. "Do you think... do you think we can stand next to him now?"
He didn't need to say the name.
Valen looked at his dented shield, then up at the shelter where Elian lay sleeping.
"Not yet," Valen said, sheathing his sword. "But we're getting there."
Isara stood up, looking at her trembling hands.
She clenched them into fists. "We won't be liabilities next time. We will be the Vanguard."
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the shelter above—the sound of glass breaking.
Roger's head snapped up. "That came from the Captain's room."
Valen grabbed his sword. "Let's go."
They ran up the stairs, exhaustion forgotten, hearts pounding with hope. They burst through the door, ready for a fight, only to find their leader awake, holding a crying alchemist, and smiling the smile they had missed for ten long days.