Lilith sat perched atop a high boulder, cradling a family-sized bucket of fried chicken. She tore into a drumstick with her pearly white teeth, her small fingers glistening with grease.
She was chaotic, but she wasn’t stupid.
A moment’s reflection made it clear that taking on an entire team alone was unrealistic. Even if a sneak attack succeeded, she would only be able to strip away a layer or two of their shields before being forced to retreat. The Class Competition’s buffs to shields had turned ordinary students into “Super Soldiers” with two or three times their usual health. They were no longer fodder she could just pick off.
A war of attrition didn’t suit her.
Casting spells consumed mana, and mana could only be replenished through Stigmata. Once her mana was spent, she would have to disengage and wait for it to recover naturally. Even with her overwhelming strength, Lilith couldn’t ignore the laws of reality; once she unleashed a wave of Witchcraft, she had to pull back.
A surge of irritation rose in her chest.
If Mavis were to face her alone, it wouldn’t take more than a few minutes before Lilith snatched that cowlick right off her head and left her sobbing on the ground. The problem was that the little brat would never give her the chance for a fair duel.
Despite having polished off several pieces of chicken, the hunger in her soul only grew deeper.
Tossing the empty bucket aside, Lilith launched herself forward. She leaped thirty meters in a single bound, using stone pillars as stepping stones as she blurred toward the north. Taking advantage of her high mobility, she hit several locations in rapid succession to scavenge Shrines.
Soon, her bag was filled with supplies.
Minor shield restorers, smoke bottles, flashbangs—alongside these functional tools were several items of ambiguous purpose. Lilith suspected these were offerings.
She located a Demon Statue and placed an offering before it. The demon let out a delighted screech, bestowing a blessing upon her. The boons varied: physical enhancements, mana regeneration rates, mana output power, extra shielding, or boosts to Witchcraft potency.
For instance, the “White Plume” reduced her weight, the “Monkey-head Woodcarving” enhanced her athleticism, and the “Cat’s Tail” increased her flexibility. Though the individual improvements were minor—only five to ten percent—and didn’t stack, the comprehensive boost to her overall combat capability was significant.
“The items from Shrines are the lowest quality. The Stone Gates are better, but…”
Lilith furrowed her beautiful brows. Without anyone to watch her back, crawling into a narrow, claustrophobic dead end was too dangerous. If someone “shut the door to beat the dog,” she could easily be trapped and killed inside.
Without a hint of hesitation, she abandoned the idea of the Stone Gates. Even if she stumbled upon one, she would ignore it and seek other ways to obtain high-tier items.
Eventually, amidst a landscape of fractured ravines, she discovered a cave plunging deep into the earth.
Sharp stalagmites lined the entrance like jagged teeth. A flight of stone stairs descended into the gullet of the earth, swallowed by a darkness that led to a world unknown.
But she wasn’t the only one who had spotted the cave. The Blue Team had already arrived at the entrance and was preparing to descend.
Lilith had a vague memory of Modesty. Shortly after the school term began, that girl had approached her to strike up a conversation. Lilith dimly recalled her twisting her fingers nervously over her chest, her eyes shimmering with tears as if she were about to cry from shyness.
Lilith didn’t need friends. She hadn’t bothered to acknowledge the girl, walking straight past her. After several failed attempts, Modesty stopped coming around, though she would still steal glances at Lilith from a distance.
She hadn’t expected their next meeting to be as competitors.
Lilith’s gaze fell upon the three “fakes” following the girl.
“They look quite realistic… How revolting.”
She let out a cold sneer, observing the Blue Team from the shadows.
Modesty peered into the cave, where the stone stairs stretched into a bottomless abyss. She tapped the tip of her wand, sending a sphere of light arching through the air. It plummeted to the bottom, shattering into a swarm of glowing fireflies that illuminated the subterranean passage.
The walls and floor were constructed of heavy stone blocks, slick with filth and radiating a heavy, oppressive gloom.
This was a Dark Dungeon.
Modesty glanced back as if to confirm the area was secure, then began her descent. Once the entire Blue Team had entered the dungeon, Lilith emerged from her hiding spot and shadowed them silently.
The dungeon was damp and dark, the air heavy with a putrid stench. The rhythmic dripping of water echoed monotonously. Chilling drafts blew from unknown corners, raising goosebumps across Lilith’s skin.
Demon Statues stood at regular intervals, each cradling a torch. As the group approached, the obsidian-carved torches erupted with black flames. The light they cast didn’t offer warmth; instead, it caused Sanity to plummet. It triggered a ringing in the ears and a tightening of the nerves, pushing the mind to the brink of madness as fear took root in the heart.
Modesty seemed unfazed, but several of her teammates looked terrified. They huddled together, glancing around frantically, terrified that some ghost or monster would leap from the shadows.
Suddenly, Modesty froze. She turned her head to look at the teammate to her left. Her gaze didn’t land on the girl’s face; instead, it focused on the space behind her, her expression twisting into one of pure horror.
The teammate—Moira—shuddered. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor, her teeth chattering so hard they clicked. She didn’t even dare to look back.
A moment later, the horror on Modesty’s face vanished, replaced by the triumphant grin of a successful prankster.
“Hahaha!” She laughed gleefully, leaning in toward the paralyzed girl. “Moira, you’re such a coward. You really need to toughen up.”
The girl with the dyed hair looked utterly distraught, her small face crumpled as she fought back tears. Modesty pulled her close, her fingers digging into Moira’s shoulder as she whispered into her ear.
“Don’t cry. I don’t like crybabies. If you perform poorly, what will the rest of the class think of you? Any sign of weakness makes you lose your value… and people without value are just trash.”
The fear in Moira’s heart was eclipsed by a different kind of terror. She forced back her tears, her face contorting with the effort, but she managed to keep from crying.
After hauling her up, the Blue Team continued. Ten meters later, a stone wall blocked their path. Modesty raised her wand, illuminating the relief carved into the stone.
In the center was a bizarre plant that looked like a cross between a vine and a tree. Its branches were laden with fruit that resembled human hearts, complete with dense networks of veins. Beneath the tree stood a goat-horned demon on digitigrade hooves. Children surrounded it, standing on their tiptoes to give it high-fives.
Modesty’s eyes moved to a groove to the right of the carving—a handprint of a demon with razor-sharp, skeletal fingers. According to the relief, someone had to press their hand into it.
She glanced at the girl with dyed hair and commanded, “Moira, go. Put your hand on it.”
Moira hesitated, her hand hovering in the air for a long time before she finally made contact. The moment she touched it, she let out a piercing scream and recoiled as if she had been electrocuted!
When she turned her hand over, a ghastly purple stain had appeared on her palm.
“I told you to press down. Are you deaf?” Modesty’s tone suddenly turned vicious.
Seeing Moira trembling in place and too afraid to touch it again, Modesty grabbed the girl’s wrist and forced her hand onto the print!
Rumble!
The stone wall began to sink slowly.
Moira’s face twisted in agony. She struggled to pull her hand away, her body arching and writhing like a trapped animal trying to escape.
“Please… no…” she sobbed.
No matter how much she begged or apologized, Modesty held her hand firmly in place until the wall had completely vanished into the floor, revealing the passage beyond. Only then did she let go.
Moira collapsed again, gasping for breath like a fish out of water, her lips trembling.
“You really have no sense of collective honor, do you? You aren’t even willing to make a tiny sacrifice for the class’s victory?”
Modesty stepped on Moira’s wrist.
Moira winced in pain, her brow furrowed. Modesty ground her heel down, flipping the girl’s palm upward.
The palm was entirely stained a deep, bruised purple. It looked like a diseased film, and within the center of the mark, a cluster of wrinkled, grotesque things were writhing incessantly.
