Starting With an SSS-Rank Goddess Summon!

Chapter 193: Under The Spire [II]

She looked horrific.

The white-hot flaming spear that Seraphina had driven through her chest had left a massive cauterized hole directly next to her heart.

Her left leg was completely mangled, the bone shattered from Elora’s ice spike, and her pale skin was covered in severe third-degree burns and deep lacerations.

Some of her organs were even showing too.

She slowly opened her purple eyes, looking up at him through a mask of blood and soot.

"Silas..." Harper rasped with her voice barely a wet whisper.

She tried to shift her torn, ruined leather armor to cover her exposed, burned chest. "...I didn’t... I didn’t want you to see me like this. I have so many wounds... it isn’t lady-like at all."

Silas dropped to his knees beside her with the usual stoicness for her overridden by genuine shock.

Harper was dying.

Her breathing was shallow, her pulse was practically nonexistent, and her core had cracks in it.

It was an undeniable miracle that she hadn’t died by now from the blood loss alone.

She looked so completely gone.

Silas gritted his teeth with his jaw tightening as he looked at the ruin of the powerful lightning Lord.

"Why?" Silas asked, his voice rough with frustration. "Why did you go ahead and do all of that? Why did you hold the line against the entire group of Lords? You barely know me."

Harper bit her bleeding lip a bit, feeling her vision fade at the edges.

"Because..." Harper whispered with a smile touching her lips. "...I told you. I loved you, Silas-kun. This... this was nothing."

Silas didn’t say another word. He was a Lord, and he protected the people who bled for him.

Silas pressed his calloused right hand directly against her ruined chest, right over her failing heart.

Harper yelped weakly with her eyes fluttering shut.

"Ah..."

"Hold still," Silas commanded her.

He didn’t use baseline healing magic as Silas tapped directly into his trump card.

The intricate glowing Genesis Rune tattooed across his knuckles violently flared to life.

FWOOSH!

A blinding surge of pure emerald-green healing energy completely covered her broken body.

Before Harper’s very eyes, the impossible happened.

The massive cauterized hole in her chest actively began knitting together. Muscle fibers reconnected, bone fused, and scorched skin was completely replaced by flawless pale flesh.

Her mangled left leg snapped back into perfect alignment.

Everything was healed completely shortly after.

Harper laid there on the cold stone, breathing deeply with her heart beating strongly in her chest.

She couldn’t help but blink, staring down at her perfectly restored body in absolute shock.

However, because her leather armor had been completely destroyed by the fire and the healing process, she was currently lying completely naked on the damp stone.

Silas immediately stood up. He unclasped his heavy dark trench coat and pulled it off, revealing the simple black tunic shirt he was wearing underneath.

He draped the heavy coat gently over her shivering form, placing it on her to preserve her dignity.

"Wear it," Silas told her softly.

He immediately turned the other way, facing down the dark corridor to give her privacy.

"Thank you," Harper whispered with her voice trembling.

She sat up, pulling the warm fabric of his trench coat around her shoulders and slipping her arms into the oversized sleeves.

And then, sitting there in the dark, wearing the coat of the man who had just pulled her back from the brink of oblivion... Harper cried.

She didn’t cry for manipulation.

She cried genuine silent tears.

She had been so incredibly close to death, and the suffocating terror of the void had truly scared her.

As she wore his trench coat, breathing in the scent of rain and steel woven into the fabric, she looked at his broad back.

"Silas..." Harper sniffled, wiping her eyes. "Thank you."

"Don’t worry about it," Silas replied without turning around with his focus returning. "Can you walk? We need to move. I want to regroup with the rest of my group before someone else finds the Core."

Harper sniffled, placing her hands on the stone wall. She tried to stand up but her newly fused leg muscles were still incredibly weak and completely uncoordinated from the trauma.

Her knees buckled instantly, and she fell back against the wall with a soft groan.

"Mmm..."

Silas heard her fall. He turned back around, taking in her exhausted trembling posture.

Without a word, Silas walked over. He turned around, giving her his broad back, and knelt slightly.

"Climb on," Silas told her. "I will carry you."

Harper knelt there on the stone, looking at his back in complete astonishment.

She slowly leaned forward.

Harper climbed onto his back, wrapping her arms securely around his neck.

"Sorry..."

Silas reached back, placing his strong hands firmly and respectfully directly on her lower thighs, right under her ass to secure her weight as she wrapped her pale legs around his waist.

Once she was securely positioned, Silas stood up effortlessly, adjusting her weight, and they began moving down the dark labyrinthine corridor.

Resting her chin on his broad shoulder, smelling the clean scent of his black shirt, Harper’s mind was spinning.

’Is this...?’ Harper thought, her purple eyes wide as she looked at the side of his sharp jawline. ’Is this how he treats the people he actually trusts...?’

At this exact point in time, Harper didn’t even think about the political mission for a single second.

She completely forgot the mission her father had assigned her.

Harper simply closed her eyes, resting her cheek against his neck, only enjoying the warmth of the man who had just saved her life.

...

Drip! Drip!

The rhythmic echoing sound of water falling from the high vaulted stone ceiling and striking the damp floor was the only noise accompanying them in the suffocating darkness.

Silas walked with heavy steps down the winding, cavernous corridor of the Treasury Dungeon.

His heavy combat boots sloshed slightly through shallow puddles of stagnant water, the sound reverberating off the slick moss-covered walls.

The air down here was incredibly thick, smelling pungently of dust, wet earth, and the tang of ozone radiating from the woman currently strapped to his back.

Harper was clinging to him like a terrified limpet.

Her pale arms were wrapped securely around his neck, her fingers tightly fisted into the dark fabric of his shirt.

Her bare legs were locked firmly around his waist, her face buried deeply into the crook of his neck.

She was squeezing him with a crushing intensity with her breathing becoming rapid and shallow against his skin.

Silas let out a long, deeply exhausted sigh, adjusting his grip on her lower thighs to hoist her weight a fraction higher.

"You don’t have to cling so tight, Harper," Silas told her. "I’m not going to drop you. You’re going to choke me out before we even find the exit."

Harper didn’t listen.

She merely let out a soft muffled whimper of protest, tightening her grip around his neck even further, completely refusing to let go of the anchor keeping her tethered to reality.

Silas just sighed again, shaking his head in the gloom.

His head, which was usually cool, was struggling to fully process the absurdity of the situation.

’So many strange things have happened throughout this raid...’

This woman had literally just thrown herself into a meat grinder against a dozen elites.

She had been pierced, electrocuted, frozen, and finally impaled through the chest by a white-hot flaming spear, beaten to the undeniable point of death.

And she had done it all for him... All for a man she barely knew, just to protect his retreat.

’She’s so stupid.’

It was too surreal.

Silas narrowed his golden-ringed eyes, staring into the impenetrable darkness ahead.

Who actually did that for some random, psychotic crush?

In the slums, people sold their own mothers for a loaf of moldy bread. Out here, high-tier Lords were throwing their lives away just to buy him five minutes of running time?

The emotional arithmetic simply didn’t compute in his head.

Before Silas could dwell on her sanity any further, the atmosphere in the corridor violently shifted.

"Attention, surviving vermin!"

’First he called us Sweet little Lords, now surviving vermin? What are you, on your period?’ Silas thought as the dead god’s voice boomed suddenly from the very stone walls themselves, the volume vibrating the puddles beneath Silas’s boots.

Ititus sounded incredibly cheerful, thoroughly enjoying the chaotic aftermath of his collapsing Spire.

"I see some of you have finally picked yourselves up off the floor!" the god laughed, the audio crackling with magical static. "Welcome to the true test of the Treasury Dungeon! Consider this a formal warning! This labyrinth is not a safe zone! There are incredibly hungry monsters roaming these very halls!"

Silas stopped walking, his jaw tightening as he listened.

"Furthermore," Ititus continued, his voice dropping and becoming even more sinister. "Let us establish the ground rules for this final phase! High-tier spatial abilities, such as Teleportation, Rift-Walking, and all the rest of that other extra, cheating fluff, are completely dampened down here! You will walk on your own two feet like the mortals you are!"

Harper groaned softly against Silas’s neck, her grip tightening.

"Also," the god announced gleefully, "there will be strict curfews enforced! Given that today marks the official Third Day of the Secret Realm drop, the timer is ticking! If a surviving Lord or group does not locate the central Dungeon Core by the end of the Sixth Day... the Secret Realm will automatically detonate! It will be completely destroyed, atomizing everything inside while throwing you all out and you will not have any chance to claim the rewards!"

Three days left... The clock was ticking down to zero gradually.

"To help you track the time in the dark," Ititus explained, "look up at the ceiling! I have provided an atmospheric indicator!"

Silas tilted his head back, looking up at the vaulted stone above.

There was a faint luminescent gold light softly radiating from the cracks in the masonry, casting a dim twilight glow over the wet stone.

"That faint gold light is the proper light of Daytime," the god clarified. "However, when the light shifts and becomes completely blue... that means it is Night Time and once it is Night Time, you are not allowed to move through the corridors!"

The cheerful voice vanished, replaced by a dark promise.

"If you move through the halls during the blue light," Ititus whispered, "you will immediately trigger the aggro of one of my very own Lesser Generals. They will spawn directly onto your coordinates, and they will absolutely try to brutally kill you. Therefore, I highly suggest you set camp and stay perfectly still the moment you notice that the light is turning blue! Good luck, little mice! And good monster killing!"

The broadcast clicked off, plunging the damp corridor back into a heavy oppressive silence.

Harper muttered a curse directly into Silas’s ear.

"I hate him," Harper whispered fervently, her breath warm against his skin. "I hate this dead, sadistic god so much."

"Agreed," Silas muttered, adjusting her weight again and resuming his heavy stride down the tunnel. "For all of this theatrical life-threatening bullshit, there better be a shit ton of high-tier treasures waiting for us at the end of this maze."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, the faint golden light from the ceiling guiding their path through the gloom.

"Well," Silas remarked casually, his eyes scanning the branching intersections. "The god talked a big game, but I haven’t seen any monsters ye—"

A low vibrating growl echoed from the absolute darkness of the corridor directly up ahead, instantly cutting him off.

Silas stopped dead in his tracks.

From the shadows, six pairs of glowing malevolent crimson eyes snapped open.

Stepping out into the dim golden light, completely blocking their path forward, was a pack of real Dire Wolves.

They were absolutely massive, their muscular shoulders standing higher than Silas’s waist.

Their fur was a matted, oily black, and thick acidic drool dripped from their elongated, razor-sharp fangs, sizzling as it hit the damp stone floor.

The pack fanned out, their heads lowered, recognizing the scent of fresh wounded blood radiating from the two humans.

They stared at each other for a tense breathless bit.

Harper’s entire body went rigid against Silas’s back.

Her Lord core was still completely depleted with her mana pathways down from her previous battle. She was functionally a baseline mortal right now.

"Silas," Harper whispered with her voice trembling. "Silas, put me down. I can get off. I can try to channel a spark to distract them so you can draw your sword—"