SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 397: The Fall of the Thal’zar [XI]

The line flowed forward as if the interruption had never happened.

Stone swallowed the echoes behind them, and the tunnels closed in again, narrow and oppressive. The explorer led without hesitation, following the pull of essence deeper into the maze while Valttair and Elenara advanced behind him, silent and controlled, their presence enough to steady the formation.

The pattern repeated itself relentlessly.

Tunnel. Then a chamber. Then another tunnel.

Some of the chambers were disturbingly normal. Carefully kept spaces hidden beneath the castle, furnished and lived in. Tables pressed against the walls, crates stacked with methodical care, bedrolls folded rather than discarded. Signs of routine. Of people who had expected to survive long enough to care about order.

Then there were the others.

In those chambers, lycans waited.

They struck from blind corners and ceiling shadows, bodies already twisting mid-motion. Wolves the size of horses lunged forward, jaws snapping. Hybrid forms followed, muscle tearing under shifting skin as claws scraped against shields. The tunnels magnified every sound—snarls, steel ringing, the wet impact of bodies colliding.

The Morgain swordsmen met them head-on.

Shields locked first, absorbing the initial rush as claws screeched across iron. Then blades moved, precise and compact, cutting where space allowed. There was no wide swinging here, no wasted motion. A sword slid between ribs. Another took a wrist cleanly, steel biting deep before withdrawing to reset. Blood sprayed against stone and was trampled into the uneven floor as the lycans were forced back step by step.

Valttair did not move from his place.

Neither did Elenara.

They watched, corrected positions with brief gestures, kept the line tight. No skills were invoked. No power was released beyond what discipline allowed.

’Using too much force here would turn the entire castle into a grave.’

The thought remained steady in Valttair’s mind as another lycan fell, its body collapsing in the narrow passage with a final, choked sound.

Not all fights ended that way.

More than once, weapons clattered to the ground. Lycans backed away, breathing hard, eyes wide as they realized the outcome had already been decided. Some begged. Some only asked where to go. They were given directions and sent away without pursuit.

The ambush came without warning.

From a side passage barely wide enough for two men, the first lycan burst forward already fully transformed. A massive wolf form slammed into the front shields, its weight driving iron back with a shrill scream of metal against stone. Behind it came more—hybrids with elongated arms and hooked claws, bodies warped for close violence rather than speed.

The tunnel turned into a choke point instantly.

Visibility dropped to almost nothing as bodies collided. Torchlight fractured against wet stone, shadows twisting with every movement. Claws scraped across shields. Steel rang out in short, brutal bursts. Blood splashed against the walls and ran down into the cracks between uneven flagstones, darkening them further.

The Morgain swordsmen held.

They locked formation without hesitation, shields braced shoulder to shoulder to absorb the first impact. When a gap opened, blades slid forward in tight arcs, cutting low and precise. There was no room for wide swings here. Every strike was chosen to fit the space—throats opened at close range, joints severed with controlled force, bodies dragged down and pinned beneath boots before they could surge again.

A giant wolf lunged over the shield line, jaws snapping wide. A sword met it mid-leap, steel punching through its chest with a wet sound before withdrawing cleanly. The body collapsed between the ranks, twitching once before going still.

Valttair remained still behind the line.

Elenara did the same.

They watched closely, eyes tracking every shift, correcting positions with brief gestures when the pressure grew uneven. A raised hand here. A sharp glance there. The line tightened, adjusted, and held.

The fight ended as abruptly as it had begun.

One by one, the lycans fell, bodies piling awkwardly in the narrow passage until there was nowhere left to stand. The last of them tried to retreat, claws scraping uselessly against stone before a blade ended it.

The next chamber opened wider than the last.

The ceiling rose enough to let sound carry, revealing a broader space reinforced by thick stone supports. Old storage racks lined the walls, some shattered, others still stacked with supplies left untouched. Water dripped steadily from above, darkening the floor in irregular pools that reflected the torchlight in broken fragments.

Lycans were already inside.

Some were fully transformed—boars with thick, plated hides, wolves pacing in slow, tense arcs. Others held hybrid forms, weapons clenched in clawed hands, eyes fixed on the advancing line. They did not charge immediately. They hesitated, watching the disciplined formation advance without breaking stride.

The clash was brief.

Morgain swordsmen moved forward in controlled steps, shields absorbing the first impacts before steel answered. A boar-shaped lycan charged and was cut down in moments, its bulk collapsing heavily against the stone. Another tried to flank and was intercepted, a clean strike dropping it before it could reposition.

The remaining lycans faltered.

Weapons hit the ground one by one. Hands rose slowly. Breathing turned shallow and uneven as fear overtook instinct.

"We surrender," one of them said, voice rough. "We’ll do whatever you want."

Valttair did not soften.

He gave a single, precise gesture.

The swordsmen moved at once, disarming them fully, forcing them to their knees. Ropes were brought out without hesitation, binding wrists and pinning arms behind backs. Those who resisted were struck down immediately. The rest were secured and pushed toward the rear of the formation.

The advance did not pause for explanations.

As the prisoners were dragged into line, Elenara watched in silence. ’Even now... not everyone here chose this.’

The explorer slowed, then stopped.

For the first time since they had entered the lower tunnels, he turned back toward the formation instead of pressing forward. His expression was tense, focus sharpened by the pull of essence drawing him deeper.

He walked straight to Elenara and lowered his voice.

"Lady Elenara... we are very close to our objective."

Elenara’s posture shifted at once. Her breathing tightened, and the air around her responded before she spoke. From the stone beneath their feet, roots began to emerge, thin at first, then thicker, forcing their way through cracks in the floor and along the tunnel walls. The structure groaned softly, a low, strained sound that traveled through the stone.

Valttair turned toward her immediately.

"Calm yourself, Elenara," he said, his tone firm. "You’ll cause a problem."

The warning came too late.

The ground shuddered violently. Stone fractured overhead, dust pouring down as the tunnel split with a thunderous crack. The ceiling collapsed in a roaring cascade, severing the passage and swallowing voices and movement in choking clouds of debris.

When the noise finally settled, the formation was gone.

Only a smaller group remained—Valttair, Elenara, the explorer, and a handful of soldiers cut off from the rest by a wall of broken stone and twisted roots.

Valttair stared at the collapse.

His hand moved instinctively toward where his sword would materialize. One clean strike could clear the obstruction. He could feel it, measure it.

And just as quickly, he stopped.

Breaking through would destabilize everything above them. The upper levels of the castle would not withstand that kind of force.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue and lowered his hand.

Elenara exhaled slowly, forcing the tension down before it could surface again.

"What’s done is done," she said, voice steady once more. "They’ll be fine. Lord Thaleon au Rosenthal is with them. And your daughter as well."

Valttair said nothing.

He turned forward.

The path ahead was the only one left.

The tunnel narrowed once more before opening abruptly into a vast chamber.

Pillars rose from floor to ceiling, thick and ancient, bearing the weight of the structure above with silent endurance. Between them stood statues carved in dark stone—members of House Thal’zar rendered in rigid poses, faces locked in expressions of authority and pride. Time had worn their edges smooth, but not their presence. This place felt deliberate. Central. Like the heart of everything that sprawled beneath the castle.

The reduced group slowed instinctively.

Even the air felt different here, heavier, denser, as if the stone itself resisted being disturbed.

At the far end of the chamber stood a massive door, its surface etched with layered sigils and fractures that didn’t belong to any single school of magic. The explorer stopped before it, shoulders tightening as the pull he’d been following finally settled.

He did not look back.

"Lady Elenara..." he said quietly. "The energy of the Void Creature is behind that door."

Silence followed.

On the other side, three figures stood facing one another.

Kaedor broke the quiet first.

"They’ve arrived," he said flatly. "They’re on the other side of the door. You know that, don’t you, Icarus?"

Icarus smiled, unbothered. "I know perfectly well, my dear friend," he replied. "And you know what you have to do if you want your family to survive."

Kaedor’s jaw tightened.

"I’ve fulfilled my part of the deal," he snapped. "You’ve misused my family’s name enough. You already achieved your goal... giving reason to that filthy creature."

A low sound followed.

Rough. Broken. Yet unmistakably aware.

"You were the ones who trapped me," the Void Creature said. "And you, Lord Icarus... thanks to you, I can finally communicate."

Kaedor turned toward it with open disgust.

"Don’t speak, filthy creature."

Icarus’s smile widened slightly.

"You know what you have to do if you want your family to leave this alive, don’t you, Kaedor?"

Kaedor rose slowly.

His gaze moved from the creature to Icarus, something cold and murderous settling behind his eyes.

"You will die as well," he said. "Both of you. You won’t leave this alive."