Marcelo and Lydia continued their hunt as they made their way toward the mountain. The road they followed was hard-packed earth that wound between the trees.
Marcelo kept his senses honed, alert for any sign of danger; if he came across a strong monster, he would certainly run without hesitation, using his summon. For him, strong monsters were the ones that Lydia obviously couldn't handle—he would never risk his life again, especially after the traumatic run-in with the one-horned rabbit.
Most of the journey so far had been relatively easy. Monsters were scarce, and in the few encounters they did have, Lydia dealt with them effortlessly, for they were nothing more than small rodents or birds.
Marcelo noticed that as Lydia devoured crystals, his own strength rose in tandem with hers. At first the change was obvious, but as she acquired more crystals, the difference gradually became almost imperceptible. It had to be tied to how much she herself was leveling up.
Because the sun was setting, he decided to camp.
While the sun painted the horizon in gold and orange, Marcelo set up his camp. He'd already bought every piece of gear and every resource he needed back in town, which let him work quickly and neatly, no improvising required.
Choosing a small clearing, Marcelo pulled the carefully packed items from his backpack. First he unwrapped the compact tent, made from tough fabric with reinforced seams. With practiced ease he staked the frame to the ground and secured it with ropes, making sure it was firmly anchored.
Next he spread out an insulated pad inside the tent and laid his sleeping bag on top, guaranteeing the comfort he wanted. After that he set up the portable stove he'd use to heat his meals.
Marcelo carried ample provisions—canned goods that only needed to be opened and warmed—since, given the short distance to the mountain, he would be back the very next day.
He felt tempted to eat the monsters' meat, but, not knowing if it was safe, decided to ask at the guild when he returned and maybe learn the proper prep methods.
As darkness settled in, the scent of food drifted through the air; it didn't make him drool, but at least to him it smelled wonderful.
Lydia clenched the can that was hers alone, devouring her meal with small, nimble claws, ignoring the fact it had just been pulled from the fire.
Waiting for his own dinner to cool, Marcelo watched her with growing fascination and wondered: since when had she shown such intelligence?
"Was she a smart brick?" Marcelo muttered inside while he quietly waited for Lydia to finish eating. As soon as she set the can down, he leaned in discreetly and asked:
— Do you have memories of when you were just a brick?
Lydia looked confused, still not grasping the question. As a summoned monster, she acted mostly on basic instinct, though her intelligence gave her a sliver of self-awareness.
Even so, she merely had a tendency to obey her summoner, for stamped deep inside her was the fact that if something bad happened to him, she would suffer terrible consequences.
Yet within her was a subtle margin of freedom—something other summoners would find absurd. It would be like your own arm gaining a will of its own and deciding it would do only what it liked.
Imagine waking up and having to negotiate with your arm to hold your coffee mug—that was the scale of her nature.
Lydia then answered that she did have memories, but not as images—only as sensations. She knew people called her "brick," though she hadn't realized she literally looked like one.
Moreover, while in that form she had been deprived of many senses, so almost everything she felt came through the bond she shared with Marcelo, she explained.
Marcelo was moved by her description and asked:
— What made you evolve into this form?
Lydia answered matter-of-factly:
— It was a midnight snack I ate.
Arngrim would have spat blood if he knew his main summoned monster had been nicknamed "midnight snack."
After clearing up most of his doubts, Marcelo realized it was getting late and it would be smarter to finish the mission in the morning, which meant getting up early. So, together with Lydia, he retired to the tent. While Marcelo drifted off, Lydia stayed awake, keeping watch.
She insisted on that arrangement and later would return to Marcelo, resting by day and coming only if Marcelo found himself in serious danger.
When the first rays of sunlight tinged the horizon pink and orange, Marcelo awoke determined to resume the journey. Still half-lost in his night-time reveries, he stepped out of the tent and, with a meticulously practiced motion, activated his magic seal—a curling ribbon of light that shimmered in the air, summoning Lydia back.
Lydia deserved the break, and thankfully the night had passed without any monster attacks. Marcelo was now fully recharged and 100 percent ready for the day's quest.
Alone, he set out toward the majestic mountain.
Marcelo followed the trail with care, his rhythmic steps echoing on the packed earth between shrubs and small clearings speckled with wildflowers.
The ascent was arduous, but every obstacle made the landscape even more enchanting. Exotic blossoms and curious life-forms appeared at every bend, as if the mountain itself wanted to welcome the adventurer.
As the path grew narrower and steeper, cool air heavy with the scent of plants filled Marcelo's senses.
At a spot where the morning light danced with the shadows of the trees, Marcelo spotted a plant whose translucent petals glimmered with an almost ethereal glow. Kneeling carefully, he picked it and tucked it into his lined basket.
Farther along, while traversing a rocky stretch of the trail, Marcelo stopped in front of a small herb whose silver leaves seemed to give off a faint hum.
"So easy—just like I thought. This quest is perfect for a rookie," he muttered, delighted by how ridiculously simple the gathering had been.
At the trail's peak, where the air grew thinner and thick with mystery, Marcelo paused to admire the varied harvest resting in his basket. A satisfied smile crept across his face. It was enough; time to head back.
*****
In a hidden cave somewhere on the mountain, darkness unfurled across a vast natural hall. The space was colossal, vaults of intertwined stalactites and stalagmites forming arches and sculptures that looked like they'd watched centuries slide by.
A faint light slipped through cracks in the rock, casting dancing shadows and revealing the cave's fascinating details.
In the heart of that gloom, an occult rite was taking shape. Hooded figures in black robes—each embroidered with an ornate scorpion—stood in a ring around a stone altar.
Their chants, intoned in unison, echoed along the walls, weaving a macabre symphony.
Just outside the circle, several people knelt in chains, irons groaning under the strain of enforced silence, their pleading eyes clashing with the cultists' impassive coldness.
Every detail vibrated with sinister allure, where the sacred and the profane merged into a single dark pact.
Incense mingled with the cave's damp air, thickening the mystery of that forsaken place.
At the crescendo of the profane chorus the ritual reached its climax. The hooded voices, throbbing in harmony, made the cavern shadows pulse while the stone altar seemed to drink in the energy of an un-named offering.
Among ancient runes and symbols scraped into the rock, the prisoners—chained and wide-eyed with terror—were slowly herded to the center of the profane circle.
Clanking irons and muffled sobs echoed through the cave while the rest of the congregation chanted words that felt older—and darker—than language itself.
Then, from the cave's depths, a rumble reverberated. As though darkness gained substance, a fissure in the opposite wall slowly split open.
A pulsing green light gushed out, bathing the ritual ring in a supernatural glow. Bit by bit, a colossal creature stepped through the gap, materializing amid the incense flames and the fevered chants.
The monster, glorious on entry, looked like a deity shrouded in shadow and light. Iridescent scales lacquered its skin, reflecting the cave's spectral gleam, while incandescent eyes revealed an ancient majesty.
With every step, the floor quivered, as if the mountain itself acknowledged the being's presence.
Its razor fangs flashed—a sight both awe-inspiring and terrifying—and the aura it radiated saturated the space with reverence and dread.
With a sudden, brutal lunge, the monster charged the offerings. Its jaws split open in a primal snarl, rows of serrated teeth catching the cave's greenish glow.
In a heartbeat it sank those fangs into the prisoners, ripping them apart with visceral ferocity, as though trying to tear out their very life essence.
Terror flooded the chamber: chains writhed in a chaotic metallic screech while prisoners, drowning in despair, screamed high and incoherent—screams swallowed by the creature's thunderous roar.
Each bite landed with fatal precision, tearing flesh and spattering a morbid sheen of blood across the altar's base.
Shadows whirled frantically to the rhythm of the slaughter, the condemned wails echoing off the stone until the ritual mutated into a symphony of horror and agony.
At the peak of the brutality, while the monster reveled in the sacrifice, a shrill cry—pure agony—shredded the air, as if the beast itself was exalting in some dark, perverse ecstasy.
The chamber, thick with the stench of blood and burnt incense, unsettled even the most fanatical celebrants, who couldn't stop themselves from trembling before such incarnate evil.
"Not enough!"
the creature bellowed in a cultured, rage-soaked voice. Its eyes—two red embers—locked onto the cultists, who writhed in terror, their robes quivering before the unspeakable horror unfolding.
In an instant it lunged at those who dared worship its power. Its jaws opened, beginning a banquet of brutality, devouring cultists with a hunger that surpassed hunger; every bite was a proclamation of ruin.
The cultists—utterly desperate—turned to summoning seals that flared one after another, trying to call their monsters to divert the doom crashing down on them. Grotesque figures of living shadow appeared, but each was wiped out at once by the same beast, which with lethal precision slew not only the summoners but their pitiful summons too. Every swipe, every bite rang like a verdict's hammer, swallowing screams and pleas in a whirlwind of blood and agony.
The cave became a theater of horror: the monster—magnificent and terrifying—bathed in carnage as though consuming not just flesh but the very mana of its victims.
The echo of its fury and the condemned's outcry were the final sounds before all light died and eternal silence swallowed the cave.
*****
Blissfully unaware of any of this, Marcelo was already descending the mountain.
"The mountain is such a peaceful place," he thought.
He quickened his pace, eager to turn in the quest and collect his reward.