Chapter 32: Lena’s Shy Request!

The man in the suit spoke first, his voice a little hoarse yet steady in tone. "I came through the Crystal Gate. I thought it was a high‑rank trial ground rich in mineral deposits, but I wandered around for three days, ran into that giant centipede, couldn’t beat it, and was forced back here. She’s been here for a week already." He jerked his chin toward Vera.

The middle‑aged woman picked up the conversation, her voice as rough as sandpaper scraping wood. "I entered through the Black Marsh Gate. I didn’t run into centipedes, but slimy swamp creatures that chased me down most of the passage. This girl—" she nodded at Vera, "—pulled me out of a dead end. I’ve stayed here ever since."

Vera sat on the crate with her legs crossed, saying nothing, yet a faint smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, as if she was listening to how others described her.

The chestnut‑haired girl had kept her head down, pretending to read, but Cecil noticed her page‑turning grew slower and slower, until she stopped entirely on one page. The colorful butterfly perched on her shoulder fluttered its wings gently, seemingly trying to hide her awkwardness.

"...What’s your name?" Cecil asked toward her direction. She jerked her head up abruptly, the book slipping halfway off her knees, and she fumbled to catch it, her face flushing even redder. "I‑I’m Lena Coleman," she whispered, her voice soft and faint, as if afraid her words would shatter something fragile. The butterfly flew up from her shoulder and landed on top of her head, its iridescent wings folding and unfolding slightly.

Cecil paused in surprise. "Coleman?"

"She’s my little sister," Vera’s voice came from the crate, with an unmissable drawl. "Blood sister. She came in with me and got trapped here too. Don’t let her looks fool you—she’s even stronger in a fight than I am. She’s just shy around strangers."

Lena’s ears turned bright red, and she buried her face in the book, hunching her shoulders. The butterfly flew down from her head to the edge of the pages, its blue‑green wing shimmering faintly in the dim yellow light, as if shielding its mistress from prying eyes.

Cecil’s gaze shifted from Lena back to Vera, then swept over the middle‑aged woman and the suited man. There were four people in the stone chamber—seven in total, counting their trio. With each of their spirit beasts, over a dozen living creatures crammed into this tiny refuge. The air was dry, yet slightly stuffy.

"How long have all of you been stuck here together?" Cecil asked.

"A week for me," Vera said.

"Five days," the middle‑aged woman replied.

"Four days," the suited man stated.

Lena lifted her face slightly from the book, murmuring softly, "...I came in with my sister, so it’s been a week for me too."

Cecil fell silent for a moment. Gwendolyn crouched before his knees, her tail brushing the straw mat, and spoke in a voice only he could hear: "They’re all refugees. No one knows the way out."

Cecil glanced down at her. Gwendolyn’s blue eyes reflected the dim yellow glow of the chamber, holding no fear or unease, only the calm understanding of someone who had taken stock of the situation.

He lifted his gaze to Vera.

"Have you tried finding an exit?"

Vera leaned back against the crate, her amber eyes fixed on him, the faint smirk on her lips fading into a more serious expression.

"We have," she said. "Every time, we end up right back here. This stone chamber isn’t a refuge—it’s the end of a loop. No matter which direction you go, if the path dead‑ends, you’ll always circle back to this room."

She paused. "I’ve been at it for seven days straight myself, ever since I got here—the others haven’t been trapped nearly as long, but none of us has found a way out yet. That’s why I said ’haven’t seen a newcomer in ages’ when I spotted you coming through the Gate."

Silence fell over the chamber for a few seconds.

Cecil sat on the straw mat, feeling the dry straw pricking his knees through his robe. Gwendolyn’s tail swayed slowly before his knees, at an even pace, as if counting something.

"So you want to get out," Cecil said.

Vera stared at him, a faint light swirling in her amber eyes. "We do," she said. "But first you have to survive long enough to reach that path."

"...So we’re trapped here too now," Freddy’s voice came from the side, dull and heavy with a weariness he rarely showed. "We fought our way through the Beast Gate, beat Leon, squeezed past the centipedes, only to find the end point is a stone chamber with no way out."

Lydia slid slowly down the wall to sit on the ground, Ivy hanging limply from her wrist, its emerald body drooping over the edge of the straw mat. She said nothing, but her silence spoke volumes.

Cecil closed his eyes.

No new silver characters popped up; the system interface hovered quietly deep in his consciousness — [Combat Power: 78] [Available Attribute Points: 0] [Divine Beast Unlock Progress: 1.5%]. He stared at those lines for a few seconds before exiting the interface.

"...We’ve been on our feet for an entire day," Gwendolyn’s voice came from before his knees, lower than usual but still unhurried. "Counting from when we got up at six this morning, it’s been at least twelve hours. You’ve fought brawls, navigated a maze, and barely made it past that fire centipede. Even the strongest person needs to catch their breath."

Cecil opened his eyes and looked at her. Gwendolyn crouched on the mat, her blue‑white scales glowing softly in the dim light, her tail sweeping gently behind her like that of a small animal calming someone down.

"What you mean is—"

"Rest," Gwendolyn said. "First figure out the survival conditions here, then plan our escape. Charging blindly into dead ends will only wear us out further."

Cecil paused for a few seconds, then nodded. He turned toward Vera.

"Here, what do you—" he chose his words carefully, "—eat? Drink? How do you rest?"

Vera straightened up from the crate, a glint of "finally someone’s asking this" flashing in her amber eyes. She pointed toward the dark corner of the chamber, where several old clay jars and a half‑full waterskin were stacked.

"Water seeps out from the rock crevices at the back of the chamber. It’s not much, but it flows every day. Food is what we all brought in our packs, pooled together. Rationed carefully, it’ll last another three or four days. We sleep on straw mats and blankets on the floor, taking turns standing watch." She paused. "No beasts venture in here, so we don’t have to worry about attacks.

But there’s no way out."

Lena lifted her eyes from the book and added quietly: "...We’ve tried going back through the passage we came from. Every time we looped right back. Once I left marks on the wall, and after walking three circles, I saw the same mark again. The passages of this chamber form a closed loop."

Freddy’s mouth twitched. "A closed loop? Does that mean we’re stuck here forever?"

"Theoretically, if you keep walking in one straight direction without turning, you might find another path," the suited man cut in, his voice still steady yet tinged with undeniable exhaustion. "But the passages shift slightly after you walk through them. Not big movements like walls sliding—subtle adjustments, the angle of corners offset by a degree or two, the position of fork markers shifted a little. The path you take gets slowly altered, and by the time you notice, you’re back where you started."

Cecil sat on the mat, processing this in his head. The passages shifted subtly. Corners offset. Fork markers moved. What did that mean? No fixed map. Visual memory was useless. He glanced at Gwendolyn.

Gwendolyn’s tail was tracing something on the ground stroke by stroke. She lifted her head, her blue eyes meeting his gaze, as if knowing exactly what he was thinking. Cecil said nothing more, only nodded, tucking the thought away.

At that moment, Lena stood up from her spot. Her movements were slow, like a cat testing its steps around strangers. She still clutched the book, and the colorful butterfly flew up from the pages to hover at her shoulder, its wings shimmering in the dim light.

She stopped roughly two paces away from Cecil, her gaze not on him but on Gwendolyn at his knees. Her eyes were bright, like two polished light brown glass beads.

"...She’s so tiny," Lena said, her voice soft and gentle. "Can I be friends with her?"

A brief hush fell over the stone chamber.

Vera stood up from the crate, hands planted on her hips, and shook her head at her younger sister. "Lena, every time you see someone else’s spirit beast you just—"

"But she can talk," Lena glanced back at her sister, then turned to face Gwendolyn, squatting down and resting the book on her knees. "I’m Lena. What’s your name?"

Gwendolyn remained crouched on the straw mat, her blue eyes fixed on the chestnut‑haired girl before her. Her tail swayed slowly behind her, and she hesitated for a moment, as if weighing something up, before speaking. Her tone was as cool as usual, yet the cadence of her words lifted ever so slightly at the end.

"Gwendolyn. The last Frost Dragon."

Lena’s eyes lit up even brighter. "A Frost Dragon... can you breathe ice?"

"I can."

"Then can you breathe a single snowflake for me?"