Unit 61, despite having more members than Cassian's team, was clearly the weaker bunch—not because they lacked skill, but because their leadership was... let's say, in need of improvement. Cassian wouldn't call himself some kind of tactical genius, but at least he wasn't charging headfirst into rat hell without a plan. Unit 61, on the other hand, had definitely been doing just that.
Now though, with Cassian stepping in—after his totally necessary, definitely not flashy entrance—they'd started falling in line under his lead. Some of it was probably due to the ridiculous tornado move, and some because Cassian's own teammates were just... easier to get along with compared to Simon's group.
Simon, meanwhile, looked like he was chewing on a lemon every time Mason or one of his own teammates gave Cassian the smallest nod of approval. Especially Mason, who was already joking around with Wanni and Robert like they were old drinking buddies. Simon's frown had been steadily deepening since.
The only one still fully on Team Simon seemed to be the woman with the tower shield. Cassian had assumed she was a man at first glance—broad-shouldered, towering, and wearing armor that had clearly seen better days. Her hair was short and wild, brown like dried mud, and her voice was gruff enough to make bandits reconsider their life choices. Her name, however, was Sofia, which felt mismatched to Cassian. A name like that deserved someone who sipped tea, not someone who could probably squat a horse ro two.
That aside, the group had now begun their trek into the dark, smelly cave—which, to everyone's surprise, was pretty spacious. Not that it made the stench any better.
Cassian and the other three supernatural humans led the way with torches raised, walking was just another Tuesday. Meanwhile, Karl had been left behind to guard the horses and probably question his life choices. The rest of the group followed reluctantly, all with makeshift cloth masks wrapped tightly around their faces like desperate bandits trying to survive a sewer level.
Lumine let out a muffled groan. "Wanni, can't you throw up some kind of spell to block this disgusting stench? Please?"
She glanced down as she walked, carefully stepping over what looked like an evil mix of dried mud and forgotten nightmares—except it wasn't mud. The floor was littered with black, round clumps of varying sizes.
Rat poop. So much rat poop.
And the worst part? Like everything else about these oversized hell rodents, their droppings were also unfairly large—some almost the size of a grown man's fist.
"This is undignified," Lumine muttered, tiptoeing over another one with a grimace. "I swear if I step in one, I'm burning my boots."
Cassian, of course, just kept walking, thanks to his domain keeping the stench away from going into his nostriel and the feces to stuck onto his clothes.
"Couldn't we have just waited outside for the rats to come out and fight them there?" asked Aron, the second archer, as he side-eyed a particularly suspicious puddle.
"Yeah, seriously," Robert chimed in, nodding with a wrinkled nose. "At least out there we had fresh air and dignity. In here, it's just poop and poor life decisions."
Wanni, her face and boots covered in shimmering little water bubbles—some kind of personal anti-grossness spell—glanced back and said, "We're fighting in here because it's actually smarter. In a narrow tunnel, they can't surround us. We block the front, hold the line, and our archers and mages pick them off from the back. Simple battlefield math."
Mason, walking just behind her and rocking his own version of the "no-stink spell," chimed in with a scoff, "Also, genius, we need to find where the rats are coming from. If we don't shut it down at the source, they'll just keep pouring out and chewing through the outer lines again. It's not just annoying—it's wasting real fighters' time. And hey, this time we've actually got numbers and someone who turns rats into shredded cheese with a sword." He nodded toward Cassian up front.
Cassian, not a tactical genius but not an idiot either, just gave a quiet nod. The mages were calling the shots on strategy, and frankly, he was fine with that—especially since Simon wasn't, and well… if Simon had been a little less Simon, maybe Karl would still be walking with them.
As they chatted, trying to distract themselves from the stench and the literal piles of rat crap underfoot, a sudden brightness at the end of the tunnel caught their attention.
They hadn't expected a second exit—everyone had assumed the tunnel would lead straight to some disgusting rat den.
Cassian, the first to spot it, squinted ahead and said, "There's light up ahead."
"Anyone have a clue how far we've walked?" Theron asked, glancing behind them. There was no trace of daylight back there anymore, just pure darkness.
"Not sure. Maybe half a mile?" Lumine guessed. "Why?"
"The entrance was near the third defensive line, right?" Theron said, frowning.
Everyone paused at that, the realization setting in. Simon muttered, "Then this... this exit is inside the third defensive line."
That sparked a bit of confusion and concern.
They'd entered the cave just outside the third defensive line, but now they were somehow emerging inside it—a section that should've been locked down tight by stationed warriors. Unlike their roaming units, the defense teams were meant to be permanent barriers, stopping strong monsters—or swarms like these rats—from slipping through.
"So... why the hell are rats getting past them?" Cassian asked quietly.
No one answered. The silence that followed was thick with unease.
The truth was probably waiting for them ahead—but no one seemed eager to face it. Because if the rats were getting through on their own, slipping past warriors strong enough to hold second and third circles—alongside mages of matching power—it would be nearly impossible.
Which left them with only one other explanation.
Someone was letting the rats through.
A traitor.A cult spy.
They weren't exactly thrilled to find out.