The Hidden Monster of House Vale

Chapter 28: Chapter - 28 - The Long Creek

The mountain ridge offered a panoramic view of the valley below, its lush greenery stretching toward the horizon like an emerald sea. The village of Long Creek sat nestled in the center, its wooden buildings clustered together with the haphazard charm of a settlement that had grown organically over centuries. Smoke rose from chimneys, and the distant sound of livestock carried on the evening breeze.

Lucien stood at the edge of the ridge, his golden eyes scanning the scene below. The others were spread out behind him, their expressions ranging from cautious to curious.

”We won’t achieve anything by standing here,” Gwenra said finally, her voice cutting through the silence. ”Let’s go down and see what this place is about.”

They descended the mountain in silence, their peak Spirit Forge realm speed carrying them down the rocky slope in minutes. As they approached the village, they could see the walls—simple wooden palisades, manned by guards in rough-spun clothing. Ordinary people. Mortals.

Not a single realm master among them.

Gwenra raised a hand, signaling the group to halt. ”No one show any hostility,” she commanded, her golden eyes lingering on Quindic for a moment longer than necessary. ”Especially you, Quindic.”

The massive man grunted but said nothing.

They approached the village gates, their fine clothes and otherworldly presence immediately drawing the attention of the guards. The two peasants looked small and insignificant before them, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe.

Gwenra stepped forward, her voice smooth and polite. ”Good evening, people of this humble village. We are travelers, and this village came upon our path. May I know what this place is?”

The younger guard—barely more than a boy, his voice cracking with nervousness—stammered, ”G-g-good evening, ma’am.”

The other guard was older, a fierce-looking man with a thick mustache and suspicious eyes. He stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. ”Good evening, ma’am. This humble village is called Long Creek. Our ancestors have lived here for hundreds of years.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. ”I’m sorry, but I cannot let you enter without permission.”

”What did you say?” Quindic growled, stepping forward with a menacing glare.

Gwenra’s hand shot out, stopping him before he could do anything foolish. She turned back to the guard, her expression calm. ”I understand. But it’s very necessary for us to enter this village.”

The guard shook his head. ”I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s not possible.”

”Then allow me to ask you a few questions instead. That’s the least you can do.”

The guard considered for a moment, then nodded slowly. ”Please ask. That’s the least I can do.”

”What do you know about those mountains?” Gwenra gestured toward the peaks they had descended.

The guard’s face darkened. ”Our ancestors have always warned us. They used to say that beyond those mountains, there is a door—a door that leads to hell.”

Gwenra’s expression remained impassive, but Lucien caught the slight tightening around her eyes. ”What else did they say about those mountains?”

The guard opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, screams erupted from within the village. The sound of breaking wood and terrified cries filled the air.

The older guard’s face went pale. Without a word, he sprinted toward the source of the commotion, shouting over his shoulder, ”Tomas, keep an eye on them!”

The young guard nodded, his hand trembling on his sword, his eyes fixed on the strangers with a mix of fear and desperate hope.

The older guard—Torian, as they would later learn—raced through the village streets, his heart pounding. The screams grew louder, more desperate, and when he burst onto the main road, his blood ran cold.

Bandits. Dozens of them, mounted on horses, swinging swords and axes, setting houses ablaze. Men, women, and children ran in every direction, their cries piercing the smoky air.

Torian grabbed a passing villager—Mored, a farmer he had known for years. ”Mored, what’s going on?!”

Mored’s face was a mask of terror. ”Torian, thank the gods I found you! There are bandits everywhere! They’re killing everyone, burning everything! They keep saying they’re going to become rich, that they’ll—”

An arrow pierced Mored’s skull before he could finish. He dropped like a stone, his eyes still wide open.

Torian screamed, a sound of pure rage and grief. He drew his sword and charged into the fray, his movements clumsy but driven by adrenaline. He managed to cut down three bandits before they overwhelmed him, five of them circling him with savage grins.

”You bastard,” one of them snarled, raising his axe. ”You killed three of our men!”

Before the blow could fall, roots and vines erupted from the ground, wrapping around all five bandits and squeezing with crushing force. Blood sprayed from the vines as they pierced flesh, and the bandits screamed, their bodies torn apart in seconds.

Torian turned, his eyes wide, and saw a young man with flowing blonde hair and piercing golden eyes. The man was calm, almost bored, as if he had just swatted a fly. Behind him stood the other travelers, their faces impassive as they observed the carnage.

”Uncle Torian!” The young guard—Tomas—rushed forward, his face pale. ”Are you okay?”

Torian nodded, still catching his breath. ”I’m fine. But Tomas...” He grabbed the boy’s shoulders. ”You let them in?”

”They said they would help us!” Tomas protested. ”Look at them—they’re saving our village!”

Torian shook his head, his expression grim. ”I can see that. But don’t be so gullible, boy. Not everyone in this world can be trusted.”

The battle was over in less than ten minutes. The bandits were mortals, and mortals were like ants before realm masters. Gwenra and her team had dispatched them with brutal efficiency, leaving only one alive for interrogation.

Isalyn dragged the captured bandit to the center of the village square, her white robe stained with blood. She knelt beside him, her expression serene, and began to work on him with practiced precision.

She cut off his fingers one by one, then removed his left eye. The bandit screamed, his voice hoarse and broken.

”Please,” he begged. ”Please, I’ll tell you everything!”

”Then speak,” Isalyn said, her voice soft and gentle, as if she were comforting a child.

”O-our leader found some people,” the bandit gasped, blood streaming from his empty eye socket. ”People who can use powers like yours. They call themselves realm masters. They’ve been helping our leader for the past few days. We’ve already taken care of many villages, but no one stopped us. They said that if anyone interfered, they would come here themselves.” He sobbed. ”Your days are numbered. My masters will be here any minute. They’re stronger than you—”

Isalyn’s blade flashed, and his head rolled across the dirt.

”It seems the problem isn’t over,” she said, wiping her hands on her robe.

”And what exactly is a ’realm master’?” said one villager.

The villagers had gathered, their faces etched with fear. They had heard the bandit’s words, had understood the implications. Mortals could fight other mortals, but how could they fight beings who commanded powers beyond their comprehension?

Torian stepped forward, his expression grim. He dropped to his knees before Gwenra, his head bowed.

”Please,” he said, his voice trembling. ”Forgive our rude behavior earlier. Please—save us. We are just simple folk. We can’t fight beings like those.”

Seeing their leader prostrate, the rest of the villagers followed suit, their pleas rising like a desperate prayer.

Gwenra stood among them, her expression unreadable. Finally, she nodded. ”We will help you.”

The villagers wept with relief.

The village hall was simple but warm, its wooden walls adorned with faded tapestries depicting scenes of harvest and battle. A long table dominated the center of the room, and the Lucien and others sat around it, their presence incongruous in such humble surroundings.

Food was brought—simple fare, bread and stew and ale—and the villagers filed out, leaving the strangers alone with their thoughts.

Gwenra broke the silence first. ”So it seems there are other realm masters here as well.”

Samley leaned back in his chair, his masked face unreadable. ”That’s what it looks like.”

”Could they be other realm masters who got trapped in this dungeon?” Isalyn asked.

”Perhaps,” Fayie said, her voice quiet but sharp.

The table fell silent, each of them lost in their own calculations.

Gwenra turned to Lucien, her golden eyes searching. ”What do you think of this whole situation?”

Lucien swirled the ale in his cup, his expression thoughtful. ”It’s my first time in a dungeon like this. I don’t think I have a good answer.”

That was a lie.

Lucien had many answers.

And even more questions.

But he did not trust anyone here enough to reveal his thoughts.

The only thing he could do was gather information.

”Maybe we should rest.”

He continued.

”It’s already night.”

”We cannot force anything.”

”Let’s see what time reveals about this dungeon.”

Everyone agreed.

Late at night.

Lucien opened his eyes.

Everyone was sleeping.

But something felt wrong.

He noticed Gwenra was missing.

Walking outside, he found her sitting on the roof.

Lucien jumped onto the roof beside her.

”Can’t sleep?”

Gwenra looked at him.

”What about you?”

She smiled faintly.

”Can’t sleep either?”

”Maybe.”

Lucien sat beside her.

”Seems like you have questions.”

”Yes.”

”What is it?”

Gwenra looked at him.

”Why didn’t you share your thoughts with the others?”

Lucien looked at the village below.

”Because I am not sure about my theory.”

”And what is your theory?”

Lucien became serious.

”I have a feeling...”

”This so-called dungeon...”

”Is not really a dungeon.”

Gwenra’s expression changed.

”But something else.”

”Something much more sinister.”

”Why?”

Lucien looked toward the mountains.

”The village exists here.”

”For hundreds of years.”

”They said the path beyond the mountains leads to hell.”

He paused.

”Everything connects.”

”When we entered, we fought those dragon heads.”

”But after defeating them...”

”We triggered something.”

”At first, I thought we were teleported somewhere else.”

”But I don’t think so.”

His eyes narrowed.

”I believe Long Creek is inside the dungeon.”

Gwenra remained silent.

Lucien continued.

”What guarantee do we have that this sky is real?”

A chill passed through the air.

”In the worst case...”

”This entire dungeon is a living creature.”

”And we activated it.”

Gwenra’s eyes widened.

”If the mountain path was the mouth...”

”Then this village is the neck.”

Lucien looked forward.

”Meaning somewhere deeper...”

”There should be something resembling the heart.”

”And if that power exists...”

”That explains why it is called the Hollow Grave of Death Pit.”

”This is not a dungeon filled with treasure.”

”It is a death pit.”

”A death pit for Realm Masters.”

Gwenra’s expression became serious.

”Only seven peak Spirit Forge Realm masters can enter.”

”Not one less.”

Lucien nodded.

”Which means those Realm Masters the bandits mentioned...”

”Are probably seven peak Spirit Forge Realm masters.”

”And if that is true...”

”Why did this dungeon gather us here?”

”Is it alive?”

”Or will it become alive?”

”I don’t know.”

He looked at the moon.

”And what about stronger beings?”

”Fourth realm cultivators.”

”Abyss Core Realm masters.”

”How many more are trapped here?”

Gwenra’s eyes widened, the first genuine emotion he had seen on her face since they met. ”If that’s true... then we’re in a trap. A very big trap. And peak Spirit Forge realm is just the bare minimum.”

”Well.”

”At least I finally see some emotion in those eyes.”

Gwenra stared at him.

”How are you so calm?” she demanded. ”If you’ve already figured it out, how are you still so calm?”

”Because there’s no point thinking about what will happen,” he replied. ”I live in the present and make decisions based on what’s in front of me.”

Gwenra studied him, her golden eyes searching his face. ”You really fascinate me,” she admitted.

”How about we talk about something else?” Lucien suggested. ”Something to help us enjoy this moonlight.”

”Oh?” A hint of her old composure returned. ”What did you have in mind?”

Lucien’s smile widened. ”How about this—if I’m not mistaken, you’ve been to this dungeon before. Am I right?”

Gwenra’s composure cracked, her eyes widening in genuine shock. Then, slowly, she nodded. ”Yes. I came here years ago, when I was very young. Much younger than you.” She paused, her voice growing distant. ”It ended horribly.”

Lucien sensed her discomfort and changed the subject smoothly. ”Don’t worry if you’re uncomfortable. We can talk about something else.” He tilted his head. ”How about telling me why you never married?”

Gwenra raised an eyebrow. ”That’s a personal question.”

”Consider it compensation for my honesty,” Lucien replied. ”I gave you my theory. Now it’s your turn.”

She laughed, a sound like wind chimes. ”Very well. I always wanted to become the strongest. I may look composed now, but there was a time when I was hot-headed—unlike you, who seems to have been born calm.” She studied him. ”I did my research on you, you know. Your soul was very weak. Then you cultivated in seclusion, and now you’re a peak Spirit Forge realm master. Is there a secret?”

Lucien laughed. ”Maybe. If hatred and determination are secrets, then you’ve caught me.” He grinned. ”As for you being hot-headed, it’s hard to believe. But I suppose even you have layers.”

”Oh?” Gwenra leaned closer, a teasing smile on her lips. ”Are you trying to flirt with a single woman who’s more than twice your age?”

Lucien’s smirk didn’t waver. ”Maybe.”

Gwenra’s smile grew sharper. ”What if Delian finds out?”

Lucien’s smirk faltered slightly. ”What do you mean?”

”I mean,” Gwenra said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, ”that I know about you and Delian. I never expected her to betray her husband. And now it seems you want to add me to your list as well.”

Lucien’s expression hardened for just a fraction of a second before smoothing into amused acknowledgment. ”You know too much.”

”I’ve been watching you for a very long time,” Gwenra replied, her golden eyes glinting.

Somewhere in the shadows of Long Creek, two figures stood in a hidden chamber, their voices low and conspiratorial.

”So they came this year,” the first figure said, his voice ancient and dry.

”Yes. It seems so,” the second replied.

”I never thought she would bring so many peak Spirit Forge masters as sacrifice. It’s been only fifteen years since her last visit.”

The first figure nodded. ”If we manage to sacrifice all of them, our God will return to life and bring the day of salvation.”

”I’ve been waiting for this for hundreds of years,” the second said, his voice trembling with excitement. ”Peak Spirit Forge masters have become so rare that it took us many years to gather enough of them.”

”After sacrificing them, we’ll complete the ritual that our forefathers have been performing for centuries,” the first agreed.

”The sacrifice of one hundred peak Spirit Forge realm masters,” the second whispered reverently.

”And how many peak Spirit Forge masters are currently alive in Long Creek?”

The second figure’s voice was steady, certain. ”Twenty-one. After sacrificing them, the ritual will be complete.”

Morning arrived with a pale sun that did little to warm the air. The seven realm masters gathered in the village square, their expressions thoughtful.

Isalyn broke the silence first. ”Miss Gwenra, what should we do if these realm masters match our strength?”

”We’ll kill them, obviously,” Quindic growled, cracking his knuckles.

Perie shook his head. ”Maybe we should hide and wait for them. Gather more information before engaging.”

Then another voice spoke.

”What if we attack first?”