The second fall was worse.

  There was no warning this time. The ground simply ceased to exist, and gravity seized them by the throat. Ray twisted instinctively, wrapping his limbs around Niva as they plunged into the maw of the city. Smoke tore from his body in frantic, desperate bursts, surging downward—but the shaft was too wide, the air too thin. His power clawed uselessly at the dark.

  Then—they hit the water.

  Filthy, pressurized, and rancid, the runoff slammed into them like a physical blow, ripping them apart mid-fall. The impact hammered the breath from Ray’s lungs as the current swallowed them whole.

  Cold. Slime. Stench.

  The world turned sideways. Ray tumbled violently through a chute of slick stone and rusted iron. Sewer water roared in his ears, thick with debris—rotting wood, masonry, and things he refused to identify brushing against his face.

  “NIVA—!” he tried to scream.

  Liquid filth flooded his mouth. He clamped an arm around her waist just as the current hurled them into a twisting, sloped tunnel—a grotesque waterslide from hell. His back slammed against the masonry again and again as they careened through the pitch-black.

  Then, they were spat out.

  Ray skidded across slick stone and collapsed hard at the edge of a shallow runoff pool, rolling twice before slamming into a corroded support pillar. Sewer water splashed everywhere, coating him in a layer of grime. He lay there gasping, his chest burning and his ears ringing with the sound of rushing water.

  “Niva,” he croaked.

  She was beside him, coughing violently. She was soaked head to toe and shivering, but alive. Her small hands clutched his sleeve as she sucked in air between sobbing gasps. Ray rolled onto his side and pulled her against him, shielding her from the dripping ceiling.

  “I’ve got you,” he rasped. “I’ve got you.”

  Fire flared nearby. Rowan stumbled out of the darkness, sliding to one knee. Flames sputtered weakly around his fists, hissing as sewer water dripped from his hair onto his knuckles.

  “Alive?” Rowan forced out, his voice shaking.

  Ray nodded. “Yeah.”

  Rowan looked past him, his eyes sharpening despite the exhaustion. “…Where are the others? Where’s Alden?”

  Ray’s stomach dropped. He looked around the vaulted chamber. The tunnel they’d been thrown from was still vomiting water, but the floor branched into multiple outflows, spilling into different dark directions.

  No Alden. No Elaine. No Lucien.

  Ray felt a cold seep into his bones that had nothing to do with the temperature.

  “…Elaine?” he called out. Only the hollow echo of splashing water answered.

  Rowan swore, the sound muffled by the stone. “They got separated in the chute. The currents must have branched.”

  Ray clenched his jaw, tightening his grip on Niva. They were underground. Split up. With a group of professional killers likely hunting for the same exits. Ray swallowed the rising panic and forced himself upright.

  “…We find them,” he said. “Fast.”

  Ray moved Niva to his back, giving her a piggyback. She stirred faintly, her head lolling against his shoulder, but the shock had finally pulled her into a heavy, exhausted sleep. He adjusted his grip and started forward, his boots splashing softly through the shallow runoff.

  They moved in silence. The tunnels were cramped, the stone slick with centuries of moisture. The air was thick and sour, clinging to the back of Ray’s throat.

  After several minutes, Rowan finally spoke. “Who do you think those people were?”

  “I don’t know,” Ray said. “But I’m pretty sure the gaunt one was Orren Kest.”

  Rowan frowned, his flames casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. “The mass killer? The one from the Blackstone escape?”

  Ray nodded. “I heard the name. Kest. One of them said it before the floor gave way.”

  Rowan exhaled slowly. “I couldn’t hear much. But they were talking about a Paladin. They said one was... dead.”

  Ray felt a chill. “What did they mean? I thought Paladins were basically untouchable.”

  Rowan shook his head. “As far as I know, there are only three bearing the title in the Kingdom of Solennea: Sir Othric Vaelthorne, Dame Seraphine Valecourt, and Sir Valerius Dawnward. If one of them fell... the entire Empire would be in an uproar. You can't hide the death of a Paladin. It would be like the sun failing to rise.”

  Ray felt his head spin. A wanted mass killer. An organized group of professionals. A dead Paladin. And somehow, through sheer "protagonist-tier" bad luck, he was standing in the middle of it.

  He adjusted Niva's weight on his back and looked into the darkness ahead. He needed to find Alden and Elaine. He needed to get out.

  “They did say something about clerics hiding deaths,” Ray said slowly, his voice echoing off the damp masonry. “Maybe they knew the Church of Solennea would cover it up. If the public thinks the Paladin is alive, the Empire stays stable. If they know he's dead... it’s an invitation for a coup.”

  Rowan glanced at him, the orange glow of his knuckles reflecting in the oily water. “There is a Paladin in the city,” he admitted. “That part lines up. If Marr is involved, the 'Peace' he announced is just a curtain to hide the fact that our greatest shield is gone.”

  Ray grimaced. “Which makes this a pre-loaded attrition trap. My father is marching into a slaughterhouse while the capital is being hollowed out from the inside.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Rowan ran a hand through his hair, leaving a smear of grime across his temple. “I don’t know. There’s too much going on. Too many pieces that don’t fit.” He gestured ahead with a sharp nod. “First things first. We find a way out—or we find Elaine and Alden.”

  They moved on, the sewer opening into a literal maze.

  It wasn't a single tunnel anymore, but a web of passages branching at odd angles. Ancient, moss-covered stonework gave way to newer, desperate repairs—patches of reinforced brick jammed between blocks that looked like they’d been laid by the Founders. Iron braces, rusted to the color of dried blood, held up sections of the ceiling that groaned with the weight of the city above.

  The smell was a physical weight: rot, stagnant waste, and a sharp, metallic tang of old oil. Ray breathed through his mouth, trying to ignore the sensation of the "Empire's dirty water" soaking into his boots.

  Every turn felt like a gamble. Every splash behind them sounded like a predator. Ray adjusted Niva’s weight; she was a heavy, warm anchor against the cold filth of the tunnels. She smelled like festival sweets and woodsmoke—a painfully normal scent that made his chest ache.

  They passed rusted grates and broken pipes that jutted from the walls like snapped bones. Rowan was muttering under his breath, his fire flickering defensively. It was strange—wrong, even—to be walking shoulder-to-shoulder with his rival. Rowan had been a thorn in his side since his debut, yet here they were, two junior squires lost in the gut of the world.

  Ray opened his mouth to break the tension, but Rowan beat him to it.

  “…Do you hear that?”

  Ray froze. He focused, filtering out the constant drip of the ceiling. Beneath the rush of the sewage, he heard it: sharp, concussive thuds. Muted booms like depth charges detonating in the dark.

  “…Yeah,” Ray whispered. “I hear it.”

  They didn't need to discuss it. They ran.

  Boots splashed through the gray sludge as they tore through the maze. They took a wrong turn, doubled back, and followed the vibration until the air itself seemed to hum. Finally, the tunnel opened into a vast, vaulted junction.

  They skidded to a halt in the shadows. And they stared.

  Lucien D’Roselle stood at the center of the chamber.

  Lightning wrapped his body like a living shroud—white-blue arcs snapping along his arms, coiling around his legs, and cracking the air with the smell of ozone. He advanced with a predatory, deliberate grace. Every footfall shattered the puddles beneath him, the water recoiling from the sheer intensity of his mana.

  Opposite him stood Orren Kest.

  The killer moved like liquid given intent. A wide ring of sewer water rose around him, pulled from the channels and walls, twisting into spiraling blades and crushing whips. Sheets of water hardened mid-motion into ice-slicked spears that slammed toward Lucien with lethal precision.

  Lucien didn't retreat.

  A wall of compressed lightning erupted from his forearm, detonating the incoming wave into a violent cloud of scalding steam. He surged through the mist—too fast for the human eye to track.

  Orren’s eyes widened. He thrust a spear of water forward, but Lucien caught it with his bare hand.

  Electricity screamed through the liquid, superheating it instantly. The spear burst apart, boiling away into a fog that filled the room. Lucien struck. Every movement was clean, brutal, and terrifyingly efficient. A lightning-coated kick shattered Orren’s water barrier and sent the gaunt man skidding across the stone.

  Ray couldn't breathe.

  He's our age, Ray thought, his heart sinking into his stomach. The same age. And he’s fighting like a god of war.

  A thunderclap echoed as Lucien drove a fist into Orren's final barrier. The explosion threw Kest back, slamming him into a support pillar. The mass murderer coughed, blood mixing with the filth on the floor, his eyes still burning with a cornered, feral fury.

  Ray felt a coldness that had nothing to do with the sewer water.

  I’m not ready for this world, Ray realized.

  And Ray, watching from the shadows with Niva in his arms, realized just how fragile his place in this world really was.

  Orren staggered back, his chest heaving. Sewer water dripped from his sleeves and matted his hair as he dragged in ragged breaths, his eyes locked on Lucien like he was staring at a glitch in reality.

  “What the hell are you?” Orren rasped.

  Lucien didn’t answer right away. Lightning crawled lazily across his shoulders, crackling softly as if it were breathing in sync with him.

  “How are you doing that?” Orren demanded, his voice rising in a panic. “How are you—”

  “I’m not doing anything,” Lucien said flatly. He tilted his head, a cold, predatory light in his eyes. “I’m just kicking your ass.”

  He moved.

  Lucien surged forward, the lightning flaring white-hot as he closed the distance in a blink. Orren snarled and thrust out his hand, sewer water ripping free to form a jagged spear—but Ray’s eyes widened.

  The spear was thinner. Not by much, but enough to matter.

  Lucien smashed through the water with a lightning-coated forearm, the liquid dispersing into harmless mist. Orren barely managed to raise a defensive sheet before Lucien’s kick tore through it, sending the killer stumbling sideways. Orren recovered, teeth clenched, trying to harden the water into a wall—

  And then it faltered.

  The flow stuttered. For a fraction of a second, the water seemed to forget its command.

  Lucien was suddenly faster. Blindingly so. He crossed the chamber and struck Orren square in the ribs with a crack of thunder that rattled Ray’s teeth. Orren flew, skidding across the slick stone.

  Ray’s stomach twisted. Something is wrong. This isn't just a stat difference.

  Orren attacked again—a crushing surge of water—but each time, it was weaker. Slower. Less cohesive. It was as if the water itself was resisting him. And every time Orren’s sigil flickered, Lucien’s lightning tripled in intensity.

  He’s overpowering him, Ray realized, his breath hitching. No... he's balancing him out.

  Orren hit the sewer water hard, coughing violently as he struggled to push himself upright. He fell to one knee, his hands shaking as he tried to summon his power one last time. Nothing came. The water just sloshed at his feet, refusing to obey.

  “How?” Orren gasped, truly afraid now. “How are you manipulating my sigil?!”

  Lucien stood at the edge of the runoff, the lightning snapping quietly around him. He didn't explain. He didn't need to. Ray realized the horrifying truth: Lucien wasn’t just stronger; he was absorbing the "weight" of Orren's magic and adding it to his own.

  “I’m the guy who’s going to turn you in,” Lucien said quietly.

  Orren’s expression twisted, fear snapping into a cornered, feral fury. “My comrades are nearby!” he shouted. “We’ll capture you—tear you open—and uncover your secrets!”

  The tunnel echoed with the threat. From the shadows, Ray and Rowan stared in stunned silence. Neither of them spoke for several heartbeats, the sheer scale of the fight leaving them breathless.

  Rowan swallowed, leaning closer to Ray. “…Let’s get out of here,” he whispered. “We’re useless here. Liabilities.”

  Ray didn’t argue. Rowan was right. They had no business being in the center of that storm. He took a step back, ready to retreat into the tunnels—

  Ping.

  The blue light of the System flared in front of his eyes, bright and demanding.

  ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  QUEST: DEFEAT ORREN KEST

  Objective: Defeat the powerful criminal threatening the empire's future!!

  Reward: Skill Unlocked — [INVENTORY]

  Failure: unconscious or death.

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