’I need to appear skilled enough to warrant Church attention but not so exceptional that questions arise about my background.’

Rey sighed while looking around.

The other Searchers demonstrated their respective capabilities with varying effectiveness:

A woman wielding Null Art created zones of erasure that deleted portions of attacking creatures, though her Sequence #7 techniques lacked the power to eliminate them completely.

A man using Curse Art accelerated decay processes, turning Hollow Creatures brittle enough that physical strikes could shatter them—useful support for close-combat specialists.

Several Soul Art practitioners disrupted enemy coordination, their Consciousness techniques creating openings that others exploited.

But most of the unit relied on Spirit Art like Rey, their elemental techniques providing primary damage output when properly coordinated.

And supplementing their Arts were the Artifacts—Tier 8 equipment provided by the Church proved invaluable for compensating capability gaps.

Defensive talismans absorbed attacks that would have been lethal, offensive catalysts amplified techniques beyond normal parameters, purification charms cleansed minor plague exposure before it could establish infection.

’The Church’s investment in participants is showing its mettle right now,’ Rey observed while analyzing the equipment’s effectiveness.

’They’re not just sending people to die—they’re providing resources that genuinely improve survival chances. Which suggests they value the intelligence gathered and talent identified more than I initially calculated.’

The battle lasted twenty minutes before the last Hollow Creature was destroyed.

The unit had suffered casualties—three Searchers dead from plague transmission that bypassed protective equipment, five injured seriously enough to require emergency healing, another dozen showing early corruption symptoms requiring immediate purification.

But they’d survived their first major engagement, and valuable tactical data had been gathered about the threats they’d face deeper in the dungeon.

Seraphine moved among the unit with professional efficiency, coordinating healing for the injured and purification for those showing plague symptoms.

Her techniques operated at High Sequence—Sequence #3 and #4 executions that demonstrated capabilities far exceeding normal Paladins.

’She’s probably approaching Angel-tier threshold herself,’ Rey assessed. ’Operating at levels just below what would qualify for ascension, which explains why the Church deployed her as unit coordinator rather than keeping her at headquarters.’

"Form up!" Seraphine commanded once immediate medical needs were addressed. "We’re past the first boundary layer. The corruption intensifies from here—expect stronger enemies and more frequent encounters."

The unit reformed, noticeably diminished but still combat-effective. They continued deeper into the twisted city, following a pre-planned route toward the second boundary layer.

Rey walked among them while his enhanced perception catalogued the environment’s characteristics.

The spatial distortions intensified with depth, making navigation increasingly difficult. The ambient corruption grew heavier, requiring constant mystical resistance to prevent slow degradation of protective equipment.

And everywhere, signs of the city’s final days—skeletal remains showing plague transformation, possessions scattered in patterns suggesting mass panic, buildings showing evidence of desperate barricading attempts that had ultimately failed.

After another hour of careful advancement, they reached a vantage point that allowed a clear view of the dungeon’s full scope.

Rey stood at the edge of what had once been a city square, now transformed into an observation platform overlooking the corrupted landscape’s vastness.

The Great Dungeon of Death extended for dozens of kilometers in every direction—a massive urban sprawl frozen in moments of apocalyptic transformation.

The five boundary layers were visible as concentric rings of increasing corruption, each one darker and more twisted than the previous.

And at the center, barely visible through the oppressive atmosphere, stood the cathedral—corrupted nexus where the Emperor of Death supposedly resided, its twisted spires reaching toward the gray sky like claws attempting to tear reality itself.

’This is extraordinary,’ Rey thought, allowing himself a rare moment of genuine excitement. ’The scale of corruption here, the complexity of the plague’s effects, the sheer number of entities that could be studied and potentially controlled—’

The opportunities were staggering. If he could analyze the plague’s mechanisms, understand how it produced Hollow Creatures similar to his own Technique, perhaps even establish contact with the Emperor of Death before the Church destroyed it—

’The possibilities for advancement are beyond what normal Guild missions could ever provide.’

His expression showed appropriate awe rather than calculating excitement, maintaining his Eru persona even as his mind raced through strategic possibilities.

"Impressive, isn’t it?" one of his unit members said quietly, mistaking Rey’s expression for fear rather than anticipation. "Makes you wonder how the Angels plan to actually defeat something operating at this scale."

Rey nodded with appropriate gravity while internally his determination crystallized.

He would survive this expedition.

He would distinguish himself sufficiently to earn Church recognition. And he would gather whatever intelligence and resources this nightmare could provide.

Whatever it took.

However dangerous it became.

***

Meanwhile...

In the Cathedral Depths, Corruption Nexus.

In darkness so absolute that light itself died upon contact, something stirred.

Not movement in the physical sense—the entity that resided here had transcended such limitations long ago. But awareness, consciousness that had slumbered for decades, now awakening as it sensed intrusion into its domain.

The Emperor of Death had many names across the centuries.

Plague Lord.

Corruption Sovereign.

The Undying King.

But these were mortal appellations given to something that existed beyond mortal understanding.

Its voice emerged from the darkness—not sound, but pressure that made reality itself seem to groan under intolerable weight.

"The promised time... is upon us."

The words carried harmonics that suggested this entity understood concepts mortal minds couldn’t process, operated under rules that defied the True Realm’s normal constraints.

"Centuries of preparation. Millennia of positioning. All arrangements... converging."

Something that might have been laughter—or perhaps the sound of reality fracturing—echoed through the cathedral’s corrupted depths.

"They send their armies. Their Angels. Their blessed warriors. Believing they understand what they face."

The darkness intensified, corruption pressing outward with force that made even the plague seem benign by comparison.

"But they comprehend... nothing."

Dark laughter burst forth.

"Soon, the final arrangement... activates. And this prison... becomes a gateway. So let them come. Let them struggle. Let them believe..."

For a moment, silence reigned supreme.

Then, it broke.

"... Believe that they can win."