Vanra reached into Bash’s open hand and lifted the relic into view, the metal glinting in the faint

  ambient glow that seeped through the shattered throne room. Dust still floated in slow spirals from the

  collapsed ceiling, settling over the ruined stone like snowfall. The others leaned in instinctively, their

  breathing quieting, their cores reacting in subtle pulses to the unmistakable resonance of a Relic.

  Even after the chaos of the battle, after the mother spider’s death shriek had faded into silence, the

  room felt charged. Heavy. Watching.

  Bash kept his expression as still as stone, but inside he spoke sharply to SC.

  “I am taking your word for it that the medallion is better than that ring.”

  “You made the correct decision,” SC replied without hesitation. “The medallion’s resonance is

  exponentially stronger. The gravity ring is useful, but primitive by comparison.”

  A slow wave of relief rolled through Bash’s chest.

  He had swapped the ring and medallion at the last second, hiding the true prize. Had he hesitated even

  a heartbeat longer, Vanra would be holding the wrong artifact. Instead, the medallion sat tucked safely

  within his void storage, masked completely from detection.

  Vanra raised the ring slightly higher and inspected it. “Did you already put it on?”

  “No,” Bash said quickly. “Just found it.”

  Tyrish stepped in with a grin that stretched ear to ear. “Then give it a whirl.”

  Vanra shot him a flat look. “I am not experimenting with a Relic. Absolutely not.”

  “That might be your only chance ever,” Korvex teased.

  “Seriously,” Kayris added. “Most spartor will never even stand near a Relic. You are touching one.”

  Rhoen shifted his rifle across his chest. “If you do not test it, you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

  Orran nodded with a grave, sage-like nod, as if weighing a life-altering decision. “You have to.”

  Vanra stared at them all. One by one. Each expression pressing in on her with the weight of unspoken

  expectations. Her shoulders stiffened, then sagged, then finally settled somewhere between resignation

  and reluctant excitement.

  She sucked in a long breath as if bracing herself. “Fine. But I am doing one test. One.”

  She slid the ring onto her finger.

  The metal tightened immediately, contracting in a smooth ripple until it fused perfectly with the

  contour of her hand. Even Bash felt the resonance shift slightly as it attuned to her core.

  Everyone leaned closer.

  “What does it do?” Tyrish asked, eager as a child.

  Vanra lifted her hand and pointed toward one of the remaining egg sacs on the wall. The sphere pulsed

  weakly, shadows moving inside like tiny limbs struggling to stretch.

  Bash felt a faint tightening in his chest.

  Vanra narrowed her eyes and focused.

  The air compressed.

  The egg sac crushed inward violently, collapsing in a wet implosion that sent flecks of membrane

  scattering across the floor.

  Everyone jerked backward in shock.

  Bash jumped for another reason entirely as SC’s voice cracked in his mind.

  “One hundred ninety-six T3C Space pulses absorbed.”

  His heart stopped.

  “Destroying helpless eggs gives me essence?”

  “Yes,” SC confirmed. “Small cores. Undeveloped. But essence. Pure and unfiltered.”

  He swallowed hard.

  Tyrish noticed his expression immediately. “My turn.”

  Vanra hesitated only a second before removing the ring and handing it over. Tyrish nearly ripped it

  from her hand, sliding it on and aiming at another egg sac. He clenched his fist.

  The sack burst inward like a paper bag crushed in a vice.

  Bash tightened every muscle.

  “One hundred eighty-seven,” SC announced.

  Kayris rushed forward next. Then Orran. Then Korvex. Then Rhoen. The ring passed from hand to

  hand like a toy instead of an ancient artifact. They laughed, yelled challenges, argued over whose

  gravity collapse was the strongest. Each time the ring activated, Bash inhaled sharply, bracing for

  another surge of essence.

  He absorbed just under two hundred pulses from every destroyed egg mass.

  Finally, when the last egg sac collapsed into nothing, Kayris approached him with the ring pinched

  between her fingers.

  “Your turn.”

  Bash accepted it calmly, though his pulse thundered in his ears.

  SC spoke quickly. “Do not use any real force. Do not reveal anything. This relic reacts to total core

  strength. You have absorbed far too much essence. If your output surpasses theirs, they will question

  everything.”

  Bash nodded subtly.

  He slid the ring onto his finger.

  The metal tightened.

  He raised his hand toward the mother spider’s remains. He focused. Nothing happened. He shook his

  hand. Still nothing. He sighed and lowered his arm.

  “I do not think it works for me.”

  Disappointment washed across the group.

  “Worth a try,” Tyrish muttered.

  Vanra stepped forward again and held out her hand. “You can hold onto it for now. That is the relic we

  came here for.”

  She pocketed the mother spider’s beast fragment and adjusted her pouch. Then she turned for the stairs.

  “Let us go gather all that armor.”

  The team moved out. Their footsteps echoed in long, tired patterns across the stone. Bash lingered

  behind by a few paces, staring toward the ruined throne, the broken walls, the shadowed edges of the

  chamber.

  Vanra paused halfway down the stairs and looked back at him. “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah,” Bash said. “I want to do one full round. Make sure nothing was missed.”

  She nodded. “Good thinking. We will meet you on the second floor.”

  When the sound of their boots faded, the throne room fell silent again.

  SC spoke softly. “There is nothing else of value. I swept the area twice.”

  Bash approached the collapsed egg sacs. Up close, he saw the fragments glittering faintly, tiny shards

  of essence-rich material mixed within the membranes. He crouched, extended his hand, and touched

  the first pile.

  It vanished.

  He moved to the next.

  Then the next.

  All twelve egg sacs held dozens of fragments each. His void storage swallowed them all.

  “That is two thousand one hundred ninety-three fragments,” Bash murmured. “The team has no idea

  these existed.”

  He stepped over the debris toward the mother spider’s corpse. Her carapace still held a faint structural

  integrity, though split and cracked.

  He stood still for a long moment.

  Then lifted his hand.

  “I wanted to see what this thing can actually do,” he whispered.

  He focused.

  The carapace collapsed into dust. A silent implosion.

  Satisfied, he turned and descended the stairs.

  Vanra was waiting on the second floor. “Find anything?”

  “No,” he said. “Not even a knife.”

  “Then help us get everything to the first floor.”

  The jewel room was empty when he entered. The others had already stripped it clean. He continued to

  the armor hall. Rhoen and Kayris were leaving with armfuls of equipment.

  Downstairs, Orran and Tyrish carried crates.

  No eyes were on him.

  SC’s voice sharpened. “Store one of everything. Weapons. Armor. You do not know when you will

  have access to such materials again.”

  Bash moved quickly.

  He reached the weapons rack first.

  One by one, he brushed his fingers across every type of weapon stored there.

  A zweihander, a bow, a quiver of arrows, a short sword, a set of throwing knives, a polearm, a battle

  axe, a war hammer, a large shield, a small shield all vanished.

  Each disappeared into his void storage with the same smooth pull, as though the relic had been starving

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  for items of this quality.

  He moved to the nearest mannequin and touched each piece of armor from helm to boots. The entire set

  slipped away into storage with a soft ripple of energy.

  Then he grabbed an armful of random pieces from nearby mannequins, forming a small pile to mask

  the missing sets before carrying them toward the stairs.

  He made two more trips with the others, helping move full sets of armor, shields, gauntlets and boots

  from the second-floor hall down to the first floor.

  Within half an hour the second floor was cleared.

  “Left wing next,” Vanra said.

  They crossed the balcony and descended the staircase leading into the wing, where hundreds of

  mannequins waited in perfect formation. The air felt heavier inside this chamber, as if history clung to

  every unmoving figure.

  “Same process,” Vanra ordered. “Strip everything.”

  The team fanned out.

  Orran and Tyrish lifted full suits off mannequins two at a time. Kayris and Korvex separated helmets

  and chestplates. Rhoen and Vanra folded the skirts and greaves. Bash worked alongside them, though

  SC murmured into his thoughts every time he passed an opening.

  “One more. Quickly.”

  Whenever no one faced him, he touched another complete set and it vanished instantly.

  By the end he had stored, one full suit from the right-side row, another from the back row, and a third

  from a mannequin near the wall damaged during the battle

  All without anyone noticing.

  After nearly two hours, the entire left wing was stripped. Piles of armor now filled the corridors leading

  to the castle entrance. The team gathered every crate, bundle, and stack into a central mound.

  “How do we get all of this back?” Bash asked as he set down another load.

  “Tyrish and I have a plan,” Orran said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

  A few minutes later, the two reappeared through a side hall dragging a massive wooden frame, twelve

  feet long, patched together with old beams and reinforced with scavenged brackets. Four crooked

  wheels wobbled beneath it.

  “A wagon,” Tyrish declared proudly. “Crafted with… questionable precision.”

  Orran grinned. “It will hold.”

  Vanra studied it, then nodded. “It will do. Load everything.”

  The team cheered weakly, more tired than triumphant, and got to work.

  They hauled every last suit of armor, every helmet, every shield and blade from the castle entrance. The

  load rose into a towering pile, tied together with strips of torn banner fabric.

  When the wagon was finally full, creaking under the immense weight, the team stood shoulder to

  shoulder, exhausted but satisfied.

  “Next stop,” Vanra said, “the blacksmith district. Then we extract.”

  The team began pulling the overloaded wagon away from the castle entrance. The huge wooden frame

  groaned with every bump, but the wheels, crooked as they were, kept turning. Orran walked in front,

  pulling with both arms while Tyrish pushed from the back with steady, brute force.

  Bash lingered half a step behind the others, slipping a few rings and necklaces into his void storage

  whenever no one looked. Just small things. Just enough to build a future.

  Korvex glanced back at him once, but she seemed too exhausted to question anything. The team had

  been fighting, climbing and hauling for hours. No one had the strength left to scrutinize each other’s

  movements.

  Kayris walked beside the front wheel, steadying it when it threatened to catch on loose rubble.

  “Keep left,” she called softly. “The ground dips on the right.”

  Orran nodded and adjusted his pull.

  The path wound around old, abandoned imperial quarters, tall buildings with collapsed roofs and

  shattered windows, silent reminders of a once-great civilization. Every sound the team made echoed

  across the vast empty tier. Even the wagon’s low rumble sounded strange in the stillness.

  The descent to the next ring of the city was slow but steady. The large ramp leading down from the

  castle plateau was uneven, broken in several spots, but manageable.

  Vanra led the way, scouting ahead.

  “Clear so far,” she murmured.

  The team crossed into the jewelry and artisan quarter first. Several old shops still stood with their

  wooden signs barely attached, engraved with symbols of crafting professions long extinct. A cracked

  window displayed rusted metal ornaments, frozen in time.

  They skirted past it and continued down the street.

  “We are close,” Korvex said, recognizing the structures around them.

  Vanra nodded. “Blacksmith row should be just ahead.”

  The team turned a corner, wagon wheels grinding against broken stone, and the familiar sight came into

  view.

  The blacksmith district.

  Long, sturdy buildings lined both sides of the wide street, some with collapsed forges, others still intact

  enough to show massive stone hearths and anvil stations. The air felt colder here, as though the absence

  of heat had left the district hollow for centuries.

  And there, near the district’s entrance, were the two giant piles of equipment the team had gathered

  earlier.

  Weapons, jewels, and jewelry. All waiting just where they had left them.

  “Good,” Vanra said. “Let’s load it.”

  Tyrish rolled his shoulders. “Round two.”

  The team descended on the piles. Orran and Tyrish lifted the heaviest equipment, massive hammers,

  full sets of forged armor, crates of weapons.

  Bash helped Rhoen gather the delicate pieces, ornamental daggers, metal trinkets, unfinished jewelry

  projects. Every minute or so, whenever Rhoen shifted position, Bash brushed a finger across something

  small and valuable.

  Another ring.

  A pendant.

  A gem.

  A tiny forged statuette.

  Always timed. Always subtle.

  SC hummed in the back of his mind.

  “A good selection. Efficient… and cautious.”

  When the blacksmith piles were fully loaded, the wagon was stacked nearly twice the height of the

  wagon itself. The wheels bent under the weight, but still held.

  “Ready,” Orran announced, taking his position at the front again.

  “Start moving,” Vanra ordered. “We follow the outer ring and head directly for the descent ramp. Stay

  alert.”

  The team shifted formation automatically.

  Orran pulling.

  Tyrish pushing.

  Vanra scouting ahead.

  Rhoen watching their backs.

  Korvex and Kayris flanking the sides to keep the wagon stable.

  Bash walking between them, close enough to help, far enough not to draw questions.

  The blacksmith district faded behind them.

  The team made their way toward the long descent back into the lower tiers… straight toward the exit…

  and toward the portal that would take them home.

  They descended the tiers of the city. Rodents attacked twice, but the team dispatched them instantly.

  By the time they reached the portal, night had fallen. The forest outside was quiet, the air cool.

  Vanra stepped through the portal without another word.

  The shimmering surface swallowed her whole, leaving the rest of the team in the silent ruins beside the

  wagon. No voice came back. No update. No order. Nothing.

  She was gone.

  On the other side, back on the Ark, Vanra activated her communicator the moment her boots hit the

  platform.

  “Rhell,” she said, steady but urgent, “I need immediate transport teams at the portal entry point. We

  have a full haul that requires extraction.”

  The remaining six stood around the wagon, guarding it like a treasure caravan, unaware of the much

  greater fortune Bash carried alone.