Level Up Legacy

Chapter 1193  Indispensable

Oriole eyed the food with skepticism, exhaustion giving way once more to the wariness of a cornered animal. The Knight of Courage, ever vigilant, hadn't moved from her post by the door, her gaze flicking between it and the tray. Even kindness, it seemed, wasn't without its dangers in this strange world.

"We can tell you everything," Oriole finally said, the weight of their situation settling deeper on his shoulders. He met the Knight's eyes, seeing the same grim resignation mirrored back. "But you must promise to help us. We didn't come here to fight your wars, and we won't be pawns in whatever conflict your city is locked in." Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs novelenglish.net . Fire(.)nᴇt

The scholar nodded, his gaze unwavering. "I have lived long in this dungeon, seen generations fight a war born from forgotten mistakes.  If you have truly come from this 'Earth', then perhaps...perhaps you offer a chance to break this cycle. Tell your tale, and I will offer what trust I can, even if others won't."

As the last rays of sunlight faded, Oriole spun their story. He painted a picture of Earth, its technological marvels and flawed humanity. He described their flight from their homeworld, the desperate gamble of a cross-dimensional escape, and the shadow of the Ancestor, the Empyrean who pursued them relentlessly. He saw shock mingled with doubt on the scholar's face, yet no outright dismissal.  Finally, he turned to Caleb.

"This boy," Oriole placed a hand on the prince, still locked in slumber, "This young man…he is connected to the Empyrean, a hostage against his grandfather's wrath. We are pursued by a powerful tyrant that is trying to save him.

The scholar's eyes widened, and he slumped back with a gasp. "The Empyrean…then the tales are true! And he is…the Empyrean's kin?" He trailed off, muttering to himself, a whirlwind of speculation and despair.

Unable to contain herself any longer, the Knight of Courage stepped forward. "Old man, riddles will aid us little now. You spoke of Earth, of others? What can you tell us about this dungeon, truly?"

A spark of determination flared in the scholar's eyes, straightening his weary posture.  "Long ago, before my time even, scrolls spoke of…rifts. Times when the boundaries of our world blurred, and people from this 'Earth' stumbled forth, confused and lost. It's said they fought alongside our ancestors during the First Breach…the first shattering of sanity this dungeon unleashed upon us."

Oriole felt a cold certainty settle upon him.  If people from Earth had appeared here before, it wasn't mere chance that brought them.  "Then there is a way out. The crystal Saint Ai used…it wasn't coincidence. If there have been breaches before, there may be one again."

The scholar nodded slowly. "It's the only explanation for your arrival. Your world, with its fantastical inventions…perhaps that is where the key to our salvation truly lies.  Perhaps you are not just a spark to reignite a stalemated war, but the catalyst that can end it entirely."

"You fought well, Earthlings," the lord acknowledged, his voice lacking any warmth. "Well enough to earn you an audience, but do not mistake this for kindness."

Oriole, throat raw from battle cries and the lingering tang of gunpowder, stood a bit taller. "We don't want kindness, my lord. We want the truth about this dungeon, and how we can escape it."

The tension in the room was a tangible thing. The lord's eyes narrowed. "Bold words for prisoners of war."

The Knight stepped forward, her greatsword resting easily against her shoulder, yet the unspoken threat was clear. "We did not come here to fight your wars. We are not your pawns. Help us get home, and we offer you something this city hasn't known in generations – a chance for victory."

A tense silence stretched, broken only by the flickering of torchlight. The lord leaned forward, resting his hands on a map weathered with age. Then he spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "Centuries ago, this dungeon was not a battlefield. It was one city, a haven, so the legends say. It was split during the First Breach, the war that shattered our sanity and our world."

The Knight snorted, a bitter sound. "And no one questions this? Fight a war you have no memory of starting?"

"Hope and desperation are potent motivators," the lord countered. He pointed to markings on the map. "Each city is said to hold a fragment of a relic, the key to opening a gateway out of this accursed place. We fight not just for dominion, but survival. If one city claims both fragments...they might have the power to escape, and doom the rest of us."

A chilling realization struck Oriole. This war WAS the escape for those trapped here, a twisted, brutal hope that fueled the endless conflict. "And if someone from Earth can open that gateway?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

The lord met his gaze, calculation flickering in his eyes. "The scholar's ravings speak of your kind being the key. Perhaps the only key." He spread his hands. "You are a weapon the likes of which this dungeon hasn't seen in generations. Wield it for us, and your freedom might be the reward."

The Knight swore viciously, disgust warring with pragmatic fury on her face. Yet, in that disgust, Oriole saw a flicker of something else. They wouldn't break free by refusing, only by becoming indispensable. "Tell us how we can help," he said, forcing the words from his reluctant throat.

Oriole knew that if he wanted to leave this place before the Yalen Ancestor finds them, he will have to play by its rules. Even though this place was a separate dimension, he could not rest, for some reason.