As Fergus and the prisoner continued to deliberate on their next steps when one of Fergus's subordinates, a sharp-eyed woman named Era, burst into the room.

  “Inquisitor! I think I’ve deciphered what the Gold Pentagate expedition members were doing in this hut before they were petrified!” she excimed, her voice urgent.

  Fergus and the prisoner turned to her, curiosity piqued. “What did you find?” Fergus asked, his tone shifting from deliberation to keen interest.

  Era took a moment to catch her breath before continuing. “I was examining the notes and artifacts they left behind. It appears they had discovered something called the Locus. It’s a key component needed to enter the deepest parts of Maker’s Labyrinth.”

  Era took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the gathered group as she prepared to eborate on her findings. “The Gold Pentagate expedition team wasn’t entirely sure what the Locus was either,” she expined, her tone serious. “But they specuted that it’s a magical artifact that acts as a guide through the byrinth. It helps navigate the shifting pathways and unlocks the barriers that protect the deeper sections.”

  She paused for a moment, allowing the weight of her words to settle in. “Without it, we’d be wandering aimlessly, and it’s likely we’d fall victim to the traps and creatures lurking within. The byrinth is designed to confuse and mislead, and the Locus seems to be the key to overcoming that.”

  As Era finished expining the significance of the Locus, the prisoner couldn’t help but inject a bit of humor into the tense atmosphere. He leaned back slightly, a pyful grin spreading across his face. “So, let me get this straight,” he said, feigning a dramatic tone. “We’re off to find a magical artifact that’s supposed to guide us through a byrinth filled with traps and monsters. Sounds like a lovely day trip, doesn’t it?”

  "Actually the Gold Pentagate expedition team had concluded that the Locus might actually be in this hut, specifically in one of the lower levels.”

  The room fell silent as everyone processed her words. Fergus leaned forward, intrigued. “In this hut? Are you sure?”

  Era nodded, her eyes bright with determination. “Yes. According to their notes, they believed that the Locus was hidden in a chamber beneath us. They mentioned a series of passages that lead down to lower levels, where they suspected the artifact was kept. They were trying to access it when they were petrified.”

  “Exactly,” Era replied, her enthusiasm returning. “If we can find the entrance to those lower levels, we might be able to locate the Locus without having to navigate too deeply into the byrinth itself.”

  Fergus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That could save us a lot of trouble. But we need to be cautious. If other members of their expedition team were petrified down there, it’s likely that the area is still dangerous.”

  The prisoner raised an eyebrow, a mix of excitement and skepticism on his face. “So, we might not even have to venture far? Just a little trip down below?”

  Era raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite the seriousness of the situation. “If only it were that simple,” she replied, her tone lightening. “But I’d take a day trip over being petrified any day.”

  The prisoner chuckled, nodding in agreement. “True enough! Just think of it as a treasure hunt, but with a lot more potential for disaster.” He gnced around at the group, trying to lift their spirits. “And if we find the Locus, we’ll be the most well-guided adventurers in the byrinth. We might even get a nice pque for our efforts!”

  Fergus couldn’t help but smirk at the banter. “A pque? I’d settle for making it out of here in one piece.”

  Fergus waved a hand dismissively at Era, signaling her to return to her tasks. As she stepped away, the prisoner turned to Fergus, his expression serious. “I think it should be me who ventures below, along with a few volunteers. You should stay back here with the others, just in case more from the expedition team arrive.”

  Fergus shook his head, a firm look on his face. “No, I should come with you. I’m a ‘San’—a saint. It would be unbecoming of me to shy away from danger while my companions face it.”

  The prisoner raised an eyebrow, trying to reason with him. “Exactly because you are a saint, you should stay. If something other than the remaining members of the expedition comes to our location, you’ll need to lead the people we have in the hut to defend our ground.”

  The prisoner fshed a grin, trying to lighten the mood as he prepared to head below. “Alright, Fergus, I get it. You’re a saint, and saints don’t sit idly by while their friends go off to face danger. But let’s be honest—if I’m going to be the one risking my neck down there, I’d prefer to do it without the weight of your halo hovering over me.”

  Fergus couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “A halo? I’m not sure I’m quite that virtuous.”

  “Well, you certainly have the ‘noble leader’ thing down,” the prisoner replied, winking. “But think about it: if I’m down there fighting off whatever horrors await us, I’d hate to have to expin to the others why their saintly leader is off gallivanting in the depths while they’re left to fend for themselves.”

  Fergus raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips. “Gallivanting, you say? I’ll have you know that I’m quite the formidable presence, even in the face of danger.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt,” the prisoner said, feigning seriousness. “But let’s save your grand entrance for when we actually need a saintly figure to rally the troops. Right now, I’m just trying to avoid becoming a statue myself.”

  Fergus ughed, the tension easing a bit. “Alright, you’ve made your point. Just promise me you won’t turn into a statue down there. I’d hate to have to expin that to the others.”

  “No promises,” the prisoner replied with a cheeky grin. “But I’ll do my best to stay flesh and bone. Besides, I have a reputation to uphold."

  The prisoner turned to Fergus, his expression shifting to one of seriousness as he id out the criteria for who could join him on the descent. “Listen, Fergus, I need to set some ground rules for who’s coming with me to the lower floors. Only those with stable arcane physiques or those who can maintain a passive shield for half a day should join. We can’t risk contamination from whatever those automatons might have.”

  Fergus nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “That makes sense. We can’t afford to have anyone who might be vulnerable to whatever is lurking down there.”

  The prisoner continued, “I know it sounds a bit exclusive, but this isn’t a social outing. If we encounter any remnants of the automatons or their essence, we need to be prepared. Those with unstable arcane energies could end up being more of a liability than an asset.”

  Fergus crossed his arms, considering the implications. “So, you’re saying we need the best of the best for this little adventure? No pressure, then.”

  “Exactly,” the prisoner replied with a smirk. “I mean, I’d hate to have to babysit anyone who can’t keep their magic in check. It’s hard enough dealing with the byrinth without adding ‘contaminated companions’ to the list of problems.”

  Fergus chuckled, appreciating the humor even in a serious situation. “Alright, I’ll make sure to rey that to the others. We’ll only send those who can handle themselves.”

  The prisoner nodded, his expression turning serious again. “Good. I want to make sure we’re as prepared as possible. If we find the Locus, it’ll be worth the risk, but we need to be smart about it.”

  After half an hour of waiting, five volunteers stepped forward to join the prisoner on his descent into the lower levels. The atmosphere in the hut was charged with anticipation as the group gathered.

  The first male was a human named Aethelfinn, tall and lean, with sharp features and an air of quiet confidence. He nodded at the prisoner, ready for whatever y ahead.

  Next was Ventric, another human, but stockier and more robust than Aethelfinn. His broad shoulders and determined expression suggested he was no stranger to physical challenges.

  The third male was a bull-beastman named Dervish Braccha, towering over the others with his muscur build and impressive horns.

  As the prisoner’s gaze fell on Dervish, and a flicker of recognition crossed his face. “Wait a minute,” he said, a grin spreading across his lips. “Braccha? Are you reted to Torhenxz Braccha?”

  Dervish’s expression shifted to one of pride. “Yeah, Torhenxz is my grandfather.”

  The prisoner chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Ah, that old coot! How’s the brat doing?”

  Dervish smirked, crossing his arms. “Oh, you know him. He’s still as cantankerous as ever. But I think he’s still holding a grudge about that time you ‘borrowed’ his liquor.”

  The prisoner ughed heartily, the sound echoing in the hut. “I didn’t steal it! I merely ‘liberated’ it for a good cause. Besides, it was a dire situation! You can’t bme a man for needing a drink when facing certain doom.”

  Dervish chuckled, shaking his head. “I think he’d argue otherwise. He’s been telling stories about that night ever since. You might want to watch your back if you run into him again.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” the prisoner replied, still grinning. “But I have to say, it’s good to see the family legacy continues. Just make sure you don’t inherit his taste for trouble.”

  Dervish ughed, his deep voice rumbling. “No promises there. Trouble seems to find me no matter what.”

  Moving on to the female, first was Era, the sharp-eyed subordinate who had deciphered the expedition’s notes. She stepped forward with a determined look, ready to put her knowledge to use. “I’m not letting you all have all the fun without me,” she said with a hint of a smile.

  Finally, the st volunteer was a half-elf named Swen, her features a blend of human and elven grace. She had an air of mystery about her, and her keen eyes seemed to take in everything around her. “I can help with navigation,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “If we’re going to find the Locus, we’ll need someone who can sense the magical energies.”

  Before they proceeded to the lower floors the prisoner asked “Alright, before we head down, I need to know what your physiques are. If you don’t practice martial physiques, how long can you maintain a passive shield?”

  Dervish was quick to respond, his voice booming with confidence. “I inherited my cn’s runic tattoos. As long as I’m alive, I can regenerate my vitality in exchange for losing mana, and in the absence of that, my life force.”

  The prisoner nodded, impressed. “That’s a solid advantage. Here, take this.” He reached into his pack and pulled out a ring, handing it to Dervish. “This will accelerate your mana regeneration by several folds.”

  Dervish accepted the ring with a grin, carefully sliding it onto one of his horns. “Thanks! This will definitely come in handy.”

  Next, Ventric stepped forward, his expression determined. “I practice the Northern Iron physique,” he said. “I can maintain a passive shield for a good while.”

  The prisoner raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “How’s your mastery?”

  Ventric straightened, a hint of pride in his voice. “I have three seals.”

  The prisoner cpped his hands together, a wide smile on his face. “Well done! If you get three more seals, you’ll have the right to be crowned a king!”

  Ventric paused, shocked that someone knew what his physique entailed. “How did you know it took six seals to attain royalty?”

  The prisoner smiled mysteriously but did not respond, leaving Ventric with a mix of curiosity and intrigue.

  Aethelfinn stepped forward, a confident smile on his face. “I have an Abyss Banishing physique,” he decred, his tone proud.

  The prisoner raised an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his lips. “Oh, we’ve got a demon hunter in our midst! Just remember, though you have that physique, it has its limits. A powerful enough eldritch being can still py with your mind.”

  Aethelfinn nodded, acknowledging the warning. “I’m aware. I’ve faced my share of dark entities.”

  The prisoner let out a hard ugh, shaking his head. “You might think that, but had you faced anything of true note, you would have stunk of it. The real horrors leave a mark, my friend.”

  Aethelfinn’s expression shifted slightly, insulted. “What would you know about that?”

  The prisoner, unfazed, slowly undid his hood, revealing a mark etched into his skin—an intricate design that pulsed faintly with a dark energy. The sight was unsettling, something that had not been seen by the others in the group.

  Aethelfinn’s eyes widened, and he fell silent, the bravado fading as he took in the mark. The prisoner’s expression remained calm, but there was an intensity in his gaze that spoke volumes.

  “Trust me, I know more than you might think,” the prisoner said, his voice low and steady.

  Next, Swen chimed in, her voice calm and steady. “I can maintain a passive shield for 29 hours straight.”

  The prisoner nodded, not surprised. “That’s impressive, especially for a half-elf. You’ve got the natural affinity for magic.”

  When it was Era’s turn, she hesitated for a moment, pondering how the prisoner seemed to know a great many details about each physique presented so far. She only knew of the beastman’s physique; the rest were new to her.

  Finally, she spoke up. “I don’t have a physique, but I have 13 runes, artifacts, and seals that should prevent me from being corrupted. I can maintain a shield for 13 hours as well.”

  The prisoner regarded her with respect. “That’s quite a collection, Era. Those runes will serve you well in the depths of the byrinth.”

  The prisoner looked at the five volunteers, a serious expression settling on his face. “Alright, babies—and yes, I do think of you as infants,” he said, a hint of a smirk pying on his lips. “I won’t tell you what I can do; it’s better that way. If you have reservations, you can ask Fergus ter when we get back.”

  He took a moment to let that sink in before continuing. “Now, I have a few rules. First, I move, you move. I stop, you stop. Always have your mana churning; a slight dey will get you killed. If you hear anything that’s not us, you ignore it unless I say otherwise. No one splits up. If you split up, I will leave you for dead. If I don’t kill you first, I promise you I will kill you first.”

  The group exchanged gnces, the gravity of his words sinking in.

  “Lastly,” the prisoner added, his tone firm, “if you notice I’m casting spells you don’t know, there’s a reason you don’t know them. Don’t copy me.”

  With that, he locked eyes with each of them, ensuring they understood the seriousness of the situation. The atmosphere was thick with tension, but there was also a sense of resolve among the volunteers. They were ready to face whatever y ahead, united by the rules that would keep them alive.

  As the prisoner and his posse approached the staircase leading to the lower floors, they spotted four sentinels standing guard by the magical barrier that had been set up. The sentinels, tall and imposing, were etched with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light.

  The prisoner stepped forward, his expression serious. “Have there been any movements beyond the barrier?” he asked, his voice steady.

  One of the sentinels, a figure with a deep, resonant voice, replied, “Yes, there has been activity. Something—or some things—have been tapping against the barrier just moments before your group arrived.”

  The prisoner’s brow furrowed, concern creeping into his expression. “How many?”

  The sentinel shook his head. “We couldn’t determine an exact number, but the tapping was persistent. It felt… deliberate.”

  The prisoner exchanged gnces with his team, the tension in the air thickening. “Deliberate, you say? That’s not a good sign.”

  Aethelfinn stepped closer, his curiosity piqued. “What do you think it could be?”

  “I don’t know,” the prisoner admitted, his tone grave. “But whatever it is, it’s aware of us. We need to proceed with caution.”

  Dervish cracked his knuckles, a determined look on his face. “Let them come. I’m ready for a fight.”

  “Easy there, big guy,” the prisoner cautioned. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet. Stay alert, and remember the rules.”

  The prisoner closed his eyes for a moment, focusing his mind’s eye to peer beyond the barrier. As the vision unfolded, he saw a small horde of automatons—twenty-one in total—cnking and twisted amalgamations of flesh and machine, grotesque creations that seemed to embody the very essence of corruption. These were not mere machines; they were a perverse fusion of organic matter and cold metal, their forms shifting and writhing as if they were alive. Each one was a twisted amalgamation of metal and magic, their eyes glowing ominously in the dim light.

  A surge of instinct urged him to dispatch the automatons immediately, but a mischievous thought crossed his mind. Why not let his new subordinates show their abilities?

  With a sly grin, he opened his eyes and turned to the sentinels. “Stand back,” he commanded. “I’ll let my team deal with the abominations on the other side.”

  The sentinels exchanged gnces but complied, stepping aside to give the group room to maneuver.

  The prisoner faced his team, excitement glimmering in his eyes. “Alright, everyone. Here’s your chance to shine. Show me what you can do against these automatons. Remember the rules, and work together.”

  Aethelfinn stepped forward, his confidence renewed. “I’ll take the lead. Let’s see how many I can deal with.”

  Dervish cracked his knuckles, a fierce grin on his face. “I’ll back you up, Aethelfinn. Let’s smash some metal!”

  Swen and Era exchanged determined looks, ready to support their teammates with their own skills. Ventric took a deep breath, preparing to unleash his Northern Iron physique.

  “Remember, these aren’t just machines,” the prisoner called out to his team. “They’re infused with dark magic. Stay sharp and watch for any signs of their abilities.”

  “On my mark,” the prisoner said, his voice steady. “Three… two… one… go!”