"I see everyone is injured, and our mana reserves are nearly depleted. Why don’t we all take some rest, recover our strength, and then explore this cave together?" Charles suggested.
Willo naturally had no objection and soon took her leave, returning to her own tribe. After hearing her plan, the satyrs pulled out medicinal herbs from their packs, applying them to the wounds of lightly-injured warriors, then settled into meditation, each restoring a little stamina and spell power however they could.
Charles glanced at the dark, stormy expression on Anno’s face. Once Willo was out of earshot, he quickly extricated himself from Nidalee’s arm and grumbled, pretending to be dissatisfied, "What was that about? Was that really necessary?"
The corners of Nidalee’s mouth curled into a secret smile—she was delighted—but on her face, she wore only innocent confusion. "Willo Green Vines, the satyr matriarch of the Green Vines tribe. I’ve never met her, but I’ve heard much about her."
"Their entire tribe are spellcasters, extremely rare. My father has always wished to ally with them. Now that the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers has formed, I suspect they’ve joined it as well."
"And those chimera-taming Chimera tribes are likely members of the alliance too. This time, it’s a joint operation."
Anno had heard about internal matters of the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers and Nidalee’s Mountaineer tribe. But as Charles could attest, she’d joined the monastery long ago and was unaware of its specifics, so she didn’t press Nidalee further.
"So, to escape my father’s arranged marriage, it’s absolutely necessary for me to play this role." Nidalee looked at him with puppy-dog eyes. "Priest, you’ll help me, right?"
"Lady Anno, you don’t mind, do you?"
She said it deliberately, making Charles lightly pinch her in retaliation, deciding he’d give her a proper lesson later.
Theresa quietly massaged her forehead; she didn’t particularly enjoy this sort of dispute. Hattie, meanwhile, hid her giggles behind a hand, finding these humans’ scheming and rivalry quite amusing.
When she realized the opposition was part of a military alliance openly hostile to Liberl Port, the female paladin’s expression changed; any jealousy was forgotten as she immediately shifted into professional mode: "They’re part of the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers? And I just revealed my identity... Isn’t that dangerous?"
Nidalee was a little disappointed but shook her head. "Of course not. Satyrs originated in the Feywild, and they’re emotional creatures, very sensitive to moods. By nature, they’re drawn to positivity and happiness, disliking grief and pain."
"So, they’re definitely in the anti-war camp. My father’s actually the same, though to gather allies, he puts on a radical face at first, then always finds reasons why war is unwise..."
Her answer eased Anno’s worries. But Charles, eyes narrow and thoughtful, was staring at the half-orc leader among them—the young, burly, and highly skilled half-orc. His mind was busy at work.
This chimera-rearing tribe is probably on the radical end. They’ve been openly hostile from the start.
He made a mental note, though for now, an uneasy alliance prevailed and outward harmony was maintained.
Both sides sat down to rest and recover. Charles handed Anno a mana recovery pearl—a magic item that restores five spell slots instantly and recharges itself every twenty-four hours—perfect for paladins unable to rely on steady supplies.
The only downside: a person can only use one per day without risking permanent mental damage. Otherwise, Charles would have bought ten of them at once.
Anno accepted without hesitation, expending its charge, then drank a Potion of Mental Clarity. This could be consumed repeatedly in a day, but after each dose, the user must meditate in silence to absorb its effects—any movement or sweating wastes the potion. Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn NoveIＦire.net
For each ten minutes of meditation, one spell slot is restored, up to five in total. Drinking multiple potions at once gives no additional benefit—only wastes them.
So, after drinking, Anno began to meditate and pray, slowly restoring her channelled Divine Power. Nidalee did the same with a mana pearl, then entered her own deep rest—not for spell slots, but just to recover energy and stamina.
Charles didn’t use or drink anything. He renewed his magic buffs, drained his own spell slots, then started meditating to absorb mana from the witches.
Thus, an hour quickly passed.
When Charles and his team finished, they were all essentially back to peak condition. The half-orcs, due to their many wounded and their low-level spellcasters being nearly out of mana, managed to send only five people to accompany Charles and the others into the cave; the rest waited outside.
The five selected were: the satyr matriarch Willo Green Vines, the Chimera tribe’s young chieftain Danche, the elderly priest capable of spellcasting, a male satyr, and a stout middle-aged half-orc barbarian.
Charles made no objection, but he could clearly sense the difference in attitude: Willo and the male satyr were approachable, but the three half-orcs—especially the old priest, Danche, and the middle-aged barbarian—couldn’t hide their enmity and resentment.
He remained extremely polite, but subtly kept his distance. Even cooperating for this joint move, they all acted as if they were two separate teams entering the cave side by side.
The cave entrance itself, two meters high, was almost perfectly circular. Walking inside, Charles couldn’t help but frown repeatedly, finding that it felt less like any natural cave and more like... a subway tunnel?
Too regular—although there were some pits and rough spots, the passage as a whole was a perfectly straight, cylindrical void...
He grew wary, and at his side, Willo—who’d been closely observing his expression—suddenly spoke up: "Mr. Charles, did you notice something as well?"
Charles nodded and didn’t deny it. "Yes, this place... doesn’t seem natural, nor like something beasts or miners dug. It’s more like..."
He wanted to say it looked like a drill, but realized there were no machines like that in this world. He hesitated, searching for a better comparison.
Willo picked up his unspoken thought: "More like the tunnel of a giant worm, isn’t it?"
Charles nodded. "Exactly—that’s the feeling this cave gives me!"
Willo gave a faint smile, but her eyes soon darkened with worry. "Mr. Charles, and all of you—since you’re learned mages from Liberl Port, I imagine your knowledge is broad."
A little flattery at first; Charles and Anno hastily offered modest responses. Behind them, Danche’s brow furrowed, a little uncomfortable. He couldn’t help but feel the implication was that all these mountain folk were a pack of ignorant rubes...
But he had to admit he truly didn’t know what Willo brought up next.
"Have any of you heard of a colossal monster called a... Chthonian?" Willo asked cautiously.
At once Charles and Anno’s faces changed. Hattie and Theresa stopped dead in their tracks, eyes wide with shock. "Chthonian?"
Only Nidalee stared in wide-eyed confusion, not understanding what they were talking about.
Seeing their reaction, Willo sighed in relief. "Good, you know about them—saves me a lot of explaining."
Charles mastered his shock, adopting a solemn expression. Of course he knew about Chthonians. These ultra-giant monsters—like a mixture of worm and squid—were not beasts, nor even true monsters, but, just like the Great Old Ones, Outer Gods, and the witches, were the result of loopholes in the fabric of the material world itself!
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